"Excuse the liberty I take,"

Modestus said, with archness on his brow, "Pray, why did not your father make A gentleman of you?"

SELLECK OSBORNE.

THE LEGEND OF BISHOP HATTO.

"The Legend of Bishop Hatto" is doubtless a myth (Robert Southey, 1774-1843). But "The Mouse-Tower on the Rhine" is an object of interest to travellers, and the story has a point

The summer and autumn had been so wet, That in winter the corn was growing yet: 'Twas a piteous sight to see, all around, The grain lie rotting on the ground.

Every day the starving poor Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door; For he had a plentiful last-year's store, And all the neighbourhood could tell His granaries were furnished well.

At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day To quiet the poor without delay: He bade them to his great barn repair, And they should have food for winter there.

Rejoiced such tidings good to hear, The poor folk flocked from far and near; The great barn was full as it could hold Of women and children, and young and old.

Then, when he saw it could hold no more, Bishop Hatto, he made fast the door; And while for mercy on Christ they call, He set fire to the barn and burned them all.

"I' faith, 'tis an excellent bonfire!" quoth he; "And the country is greatly obliged to me For ridding it in these times forlorn Of Rats that only consume the corn."

So then to his palace returned he, And he sat down to supper merrily, And he slept that night like an innocent man; But Bishop Hatto never slept again.

In the morning as he entered the hall, Where his picture hung against the wall, A sweat-like death all over him came; For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.

As he looked, there came a man from his farm; He had a countenance white with alarm: "My Lord, I opened your granaries this morn, And the Rats had eaten all your corn."

Another came running presently, And he was pale as pale could be: "Fly, my Lord Bishop, fly!" quoth he, "Ten thousand Rats are coming this way; The Lord forgive you yesterday!"

"I'll go to my town on the Rhine," replied he; "'Tis the safest place in Germany; The walls are high, and the sh.o.r.es are steep, And the stream is strong, and the water deep."

Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away, And he crossed the Rhine without delay, And reached his tower, and barred with care All windows, doors, and loop-holes there.

He laid him down, and closed his eyes; But soon a scream made him arise: He started and saw two eyes of flame On his pillow, from whence the screaming came.

He listened and looked; it was only the cat: But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that; For she sat screaming, mad with fear At the army of Rats that was drawing near.

For they have swum over the river so deep, And they have climbed the sh.o.r.e so steep; And up the tower their way is bent, To do the work for which they were sent.

They are not to be told by the dozen or score; By thousands they come, and by myriads and more; Such numbers had never been heard of before, Such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore.

Down on his knees the Bishop fell, And faster and faster his beads did tell, As, louder and louder drawing near, The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.

And in at the windows and in at the door, And through the walls, helter-skelter they pour, And down from the ceiling and up through the floor, From the right and the left, from behind and before, And all at once to the Bishop they go.

They have whetted their teeth against the stones; And now they pick the Bishop's bones: They gnawed the flesh from every limb; For they were sent to do judgment on him!

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

COLUMBUS.

We are greatly indebted to Joaquin Miller for his "Sail On! Sail On!"

Endurance is the watchword of the poem and the watchword of our republic. Every man to his gun! Columbus discovered America in his own mind before he realised it or proved its existence. I have often drawn a chart of Columbus's life and voyages to show what need he had of the motto "Sail On!" to accomplish his end. This is one of our greatest American poems. The writer still lives in California.

Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of sh.o.r.es, Before him only sh.o.r.eless seas.

The good mate said: "Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone; Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?"

"Why say, sail on! and on!"

"My men grow mut'nous day by day; My men grow ghastly wan and weak."

The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave wash'd his swarthy cheek.

"What shall I say, brave Admiral, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"

"Why, you shall say, at break of day: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanch'd mate said; "Why, now, not even G.o.d would know Should I and all my men fall dead.

These very winds forget their way, For G.o.d from these dread seas is gone.

Now speak, brave Admiral, and say----"

He said: "Sail on! and on!"

They sailed, they sailed, then spoke his mate: "This mad sea shows his teeth to-night, He curls his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth as if to bite!

Brave Admiral, say but one word; What shall we do when hope is gone?"

The words leaped as a leaping sword: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, And thro' the darkness peered that night.

Ah, darkest night! and then a speck,-- A light! a light! a light! a light!

It grew--a star-lit flag unfurled!

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn; He gained a world! he gave that world Its watch-word: "On! and on!"

JOAQUIN MILLER.

THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS.

Once a year the children learn "The Shepherd of King Admetus," which is one of the finest poems ever written as showing the possible growth of real history into mythology, the tendency of mankind to deify what is fine or sublime in human action. Not every child will learn this entire poem, because it is too long. But every child will learn the best lines in it while the children are teaching it to me and when I take my turn in teaching it to them. No child fails to catch the spirit and intent of the poem and to become entirely familiar with it. (1819-91.)

There came a youth upon the earth, Some thousand years ago, Whose slender hands were nothing worth, Whether to plow, or reap, or sow.

Upon an empty tortoise-sh.e.l.l He stretched some chords, and drew Music that made men's bosoms swell Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew.

Then King Admetus, one who had Pure taste by right divine, Decreed his singing not too bad To hear between the cups of wine:

And so, well pleased with being soothed Into a sweet half-sleep, Three times his kingly beard he smoothed, And made him viceroy o'er his sheep.

His words were simple words enough, And yet he used them so, That what in other mouths was rough In his seemed musical and low.

Men called him but a shiftless youth, In whom no good they saw; And yet, unwittingly, in truth, They made his careless words their law.

They knew not how he learned at all, For idly, hour by hour, He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, Or mused upon a common flower.