McGuffey's Sixth Eclectic Reader

Examples — Sitting 18

NOTES.--Cadmus is said to have taught the Greeks the use of the alphabet.

Socrates (b. 469, d. 399 B. C.), a noted Athenian philosopher. Rebellion.--In 1798, the Irish organized and rose against the English rule. The rebellion was suppressed.

Actaeon [Ak-te'on], a fabled Greek hunter, who was changed into a stag.

Constantine, the Great (b. 272, d, 337), the first Christian emperor of Rome. He was an able general and wise legislator, In 328, he removed his capital to Byzantium, which he named Constantinople. AEschines [es'ke-nez] (b. 389, d. 314 B. C.), an Athenian orator, the rival of Demosthenes. Castlereagh, Lord (b. 1769, d. 1822), a British statesman. He was in power, and prominent in the suppression of the Rebellion. Brutus, see p. 145.

Elzevirs [el'ze-virs], the name of a family of Dutch printers noted for the beauty of their workmanship. They lived from 1540 to 1680.

Academicians.-The Old Academy was founded by Plato, at Athens, about 380 B. C. The New, by Carneades, about two hundred years later.

Jeremy Taylor (b. 1613, d. 1667), an English bishop and writer. His Ductor Dubitantium, or "Rule of Conscience," was one of his chief works.

Montaigne, Michel (b. 1533, d. 1592), was a celebrated French writer of peculiar characteristics. He owes his reputation entirely to his "Essais."

XLI. MARMION AND DOUGLAS. (176)

Not far advanced was morning day, When Marmion did his troop array To Surrey's camp to ride; He had safe conduct for his band, Beneath the royal seal and hand, And Douglas gave a guide.

The train from out the castle drew, But Marmion stopped to bid adieu: "Though something I might plain," he said, "Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your king's behest, While in Tantallon's towers I staid, Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble Earl, receive my hand." But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke: "My manors, halls, and bowers shall still Be open, at my sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer. My castles are my king's alone, From turret to foundation stone; The hand of Douglas is his own; And never shall, in friendly grasp, The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire; And--"This to me!" he said,-- "An 't were not for thy hoary beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas' head! And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer, He who does England's message here, Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: And, Douglas, more, I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride, Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near, I tell thee, thou'rt defied! And if thou said'st I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"

On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage O'ercame the ashen hue of age. Fierce he broke forth,--"And dar'st thou then To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall? And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go? No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no! Up drawbridge, grooms,--what, warder, ho! Let the portcullis fall." Lord Marmion turned,--well was his need,-- And dashed the rowels in his steed, Like arrow through the archway sprung; The ponderous gate behind him rung: To pass there was such scanty room, The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies, Just as it trembled on the rise; Nor lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim: And when Lord Marmion reached his band He halts, and turns with clenched hand, [1] And shout of loud defiance pours, And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

[Transcriber's Note 1: clenched, pronounced "clench-ed".]

"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!" But soon he reined his fury's pace: "A royal messenger he came, Though most unworthy of the name. Saint Mary mend my fiery mood! Old age ne'er cools the Douglas' blood; I thought to slay him where he stood. 'Tis pity of him, too," he cried; "Bold he can speak, and fairly ride; I warrant him a warrior tried." With this his mandate he recalls, And slowly seeks his castle halls. --Walter Scott.

clenched fist at a group behind a closed iron gate to a castle.]

NOTES:--In the poem from which this extract is taken, Marmion is represented as an embassador sent by Henry VIII., king of England, to James IV., king of Scotland, with whom he was at war. Having finished his mission to James, Marmion was intrusted to the protection and hospitality of Douglas, one of the Scottish nobles. Douglas entertained him, treated him with the respect due to his office and to the honor of his sovereign, yet he despised his private character. Marmion perceived this, and took umbrage at it, though he attempted to repress his resentment, and desired to part in peace. Under these circumstances the scene, as described in this sketch, takes place.

Tantallon is the name of the Douglas castle at Bothwell, Scotland.

XLII. THE PRESENT. (178)

Adelaide Anne Procter, 1825-1864, was the daughter of Bryan Waller Procter, known in literature as "Barry Cornwall." She is the author of several volumes of poetry, and was a contributor to "Good Words," "All the Year Round," and other London periodicals. Her works have been republished in America. ###

Do not crouch to-day, and worship The dead Past, whose life is fled Hush your voice in tender reverence; Crowned he lies, but cold and dead: For the Present reigns, our monarch, With an added weight of hours; Honor her, for she is mighty! Honor her, for she is ours!

See the shadows of his heroes Girt around her cloudy throne; Every day the ranks are strengthened By great hearts to him unknown; Noble things the great Past promised, Holy dreams, both strange and new; But the Present shall fulfill them; What he promised, she shall do.

She inherits all his treasures, She is heir to all his fame, And the light that lightens round her Is the luster of his name; She is wise with all his wisdom, Living on his grave she stands, On her brow she bears his laurels, And his harvest in her hands.

Coward, can she reign and conquer If we thus her glory dim? Let us fight for her as nobly As our fathers fought for him. God, who crowns the dying ages, Bids her rule, and us obey, Bids us cast our lives before her, Bids us serve the great To-day.

XLIII. THE BAPTISM. (180)

John Wilson, 1785-1854, a distinguished Scottish author, was born at Paisley. When fifteen years of age, he entered the University of Glasgow; but, three years later, he became a member of Magdalen College, Oxford. Here he attained eminence both as a student, and as a proficient in gymnastic games and exercises. Soon after graduating, he purchased an estate near Lake Windermere, and became a companion of Wordsworth and Southey; but he soon left his estate to reside in Edinburgh. In 1817, when "Blackwood's Magazine" was established in opposition to the "Edinburgh Review," he became chief contributor to that famous periodical. In its pages, he won his chief fame as a writer. In 1820, he succeeded Dr. Thomas Brown as Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh; this position he held for thirty years. His "Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life" was published in 1822. This is a collection of pathetic and beautiful tales of domestic life in Scotland. His contributions to Blackwood appeared over the pseudonym of "Christopher North," or more familiarly, "Kit North." Professor Wilson was a man of great physical power and of striking appearance. In character, he was vehement and impulsive; but his writings show that he possessed feelings of deep tenderness. ###

The rite of baptism had not been performed for several months in the kirk of Lanark. It was now the hottest time of persecution; and the inhabitants of that parish found other places in which to worship God, and celebrate the ordinances of religion. It was now the Sabbath day, and a small congregation of about a hundred souls had met for divine service, in a place more magnificent than any temple that human hands had ever built to Deity. The congregation had not assembled to the toll of the bell, but each heart knew the hour and observed it; for there are a hundred sundials among the hills, woods, moors, and fields; and the shepherd and the peasant see the hours passing by them in sunshine and shadow.

The church in which they were assembled, was hewn by God's hand out of the eternal rock. A river rolled its way through a mighty chasm of cliffs, several hundred feet high, of which the one side presented enormous masses, and the other corresponding recesses, as if the great stone girdle had been rent by a convulsion. The channel was overspread with prodigious fragments of rocks or large loose stones, some of them smooth and bare, others containing soil and verdure in their rents and fissures, and here and there crowned with shrubs and trees. The eye could at once command a long-stretching vista, seemingly closed and shut up at both extremities by the coalescing cliffs. This majestic reach of river contained pools, streams, and waterfalls innumerable; and when the water was low--which was now the case, in the common drought--it was easy to walk up this scene with the calm, blue sky overhead, an utter and sublime solitude.

On looking up, the soul was bowed down by the feeling of that prodigious height of unscalable, and often overhanging, cliff. Between the channel and the summit of the far extended precipices, were perpetually flying rooks and wood pigeons, and now and then a hawk, filling the profound abyss with their wild cawing, deep murmur, or shrilly shriek. Sometimes a heron would stand erect and still, on some little stone island, or rise up like a white cloud along the black walls of the chasm, and disappear. Winged creatures alone could inhabit this region. The fox and wild cat chose more accessible haunts. Yet, here came the persecuted Christians and worshiped God, whose hand hung over their head those magnificent pillars and arches, scooped out those galleries from the solid rock, and laid at their feet the calm water, in its transparent beauty, in which they could see themselves sitting, in reflected groups, with their Bibles in their hands.

Here, upon a semicircular ledge of rocks, over a narrow chasm, of which the tiny stream played in a murmuring waterfall, and divided the congregation into two equal parts, sat about a hundred persons, all devoutly listening to their minister, who stood before them on what might he called a small, natural pulpit of living stone. Up to it there led a short flight of steps, and over it waved the canopy of a tall, graceful birch tree. The pulpit stood in the middle of the channel, directly facing the congregation, and separated from them by the clear, deep, sparkling pool, into which the scarce-heard water poured over the blackened rock. The water, as it left the pool, separated into two streams, and flowed on each side of that altar, thus placing it in an island, whose large, mossy stones were richly embowered under the golden blossoms and green tresses of the broom.

At the close of divine service, a row of maidens, all clothed in purest white, came gliding off from the congregation, and, crossing the murmuring stream on stepping stones, arranged themselves at the foot of the pulpit with those who were about to be baptized. Their devout fathers, just as though they had been in their own kirk, had been sitting there during worship, and now stood up before the minister. The baptismal water, taken from that pellucid pool, was lying, consecrated, in an appropriate receptacle, formed by the upright stones that composed one side of the pulpit, and the holy rite proceeded.

Some of the younger ones in that semicircle kept gazing down into the pool, in which the whole scene was reflected; and now and then, in spite of the grave looks and admonishing whispers of their elders, letting fall a pebble into the water, that they might judge of its depth, from the length of time that elapsed before the clear air bells lay sparkling on the agitated surface. The rite was over, and the religious service of the day closed by a psalm. The mighty rocks hemmed in the holy sound, and sent it in a more compact volume, clear, sweet, and strong, up to heaven. When the psalm ceased, an echo, like a spirit's voice, was heard dying away, high up among the magnificent architecture of the cliffs; and once more might be noticed in the silence, the reviving voice of the waterfall.

Just then, a large stone fell from the top of the cliff into the pool, a loud voice was heard, and a plaid was hung over on the point of a shepherd's staff. Their wakeful sentinel had descried danger, and this was his warning. Forthwith, the congregation rose. There were paths, dangerous to unpracticed feet, along the ledges of the rocks, leading up to several caves and places of concealment. The more active and young assisted the elder, more especially the old pastor, and the women with the infants; and many minutes had not elapsed, till not a living creature was visible in the channel of the stream, but all of them were hidden, or nearly so, in the clefts and caverns.

The shepherd who had given the alarm, had lain down again instantly in his plaid on the greensward, upon the summit of these precipices. A party of soldiers was immediately upon him, and demanded what signals he had been making, and to whom; when one of them, looking over the edge of the cliff, exclaimed, "See, see! Humphrey, We have caught the whole tabernacle of the Lord in a net at last. There they are, praising God among the stones of the river Mouse. These are the Cartland Craigs. A noble cathedral!" "Fling the lying sentinel over the cliffs. Here is a canting Covenanter for you, deceiving honest soldiers on the very Sabbath day. Over with him, over with him; out of the gallery into the pit." But the shepherd had vanished like a shadow, and, mixing with the tall, green broom and bushes, was making his unseen way toward a wood. "Satan has saved his servant; but come, my lads, follow me. I know the way down into the bed of the stream, and the steps up to Wallace's Cave. They are called, 'kittle nine stanes;' The hunt's up. We'll all be in at the death. Halloo! my boys, halloo!"

The soldiers dashed down a less precipitous part of the wooded banks, a little below the "craigs," and hurried up the channel. But when they reached the altar where the old, gray-haired minister had been seen standing, and the rocks that had been covered with people, all was silent and solitary; not a creature to be seen. "Here is a Bible, dropped by some of them," cried a soldier, and, with his foot, he spun it away into the pool. "A bonnet, a bonnet," cried another; "now for the pretty, sanctified face, that rolled its demure eyes below it." But after a few jests and oaths, the soldiers stood still, eying with a kind of mysterious dread the black and silent walls of the rocks that hemmed them in, and hearing only the small voice of the stream that sent a profounder stillness through the heart of that majestic solitude. "What if these cowardly Covenanters should tumble down upon our heads pieces of rock, from their hiding places! Advance, or retreat?"