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sea and land on the rush of engines not then imagined, in a time so full of exciting hopes that it hardly has leisure to contemplate the past, we pause from all our toil and traffic, our eager plans and impetuous debate, to commemorate the event.

The whole land pauses, as I have said ; and some distinct impression of it will follow the sun, wherever he climbs the steep of heaven, until in all countries it has more or less touched the thoughts of men.

The voice of the cottage as well as the college, of the church as well as the legislative assembly, was in the paper. It echoed the talk of the farmer in homespun, as well as the classic eloquence of Lee, or the terrible tones of Patrick Henry. It gushed at last from the pen of its writer," like the fountain from the roots of Lebanon, a brimming river where it issues from the rock.

But it was because its sources had been supplied, its fullness filled, by unseen springs; by the rivulets winding far up among the cedars, and percolating through hidden crevices in the stone; by melting snows, whose white sparkle seemed still on the stream ; by fierce rains, with which the basins above were drenched; by even the dews, silent and wide, which had lain in stillness all night upon the hill.


i Thomas Jefferson.


WALTER Scott was born in Edin. burgh, Scotland, Aug. 15, 1771. At the age of eight he attended the high school, and there acquired some knowl. edge of languages and improved his ardent taste for poetry.

He studied law, and was admitted to practice; but, fortunately for the world, he was irresistibly drawn toward the art of letters. His first published work was a series of ballads translated from the German. In 1802 he published “ The Lay of the Last Minstrel," and thus began that career of wonderful productiveness, in poetry and in fiction,

which has delighted and instructed many readers, from that time to this. He is among the noblest characters in all literature. The selection here given is taken from that delightful romance in verse, “ The Lady of the Lake.”

The death of Scott occurred Sept. 21, 1832.


The stag at eve had drunk his fill
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill,
And deep his midnight lair had made
In lone Glenarty's hazel shade;
But when the sun his beacon red
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head,
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay
Resounded up the rocky way,
And faint, from farther distance borne,
Were heard the clanging hoof and horn.

As Chief who hears his warder call,
“ To arms! the foemen storm the wall,”

The antlered monarch of the waste
Sprung from his heathery couch in haste.
But, ere his fleet career he took,
The dewdrops from his flank he shook ;
Like crested leader proud and high,
Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky;
A moment gazed adown the dale,
A moment snuffed the tainted gale,
A moment listened to the cry
That thickened as the chase drew nigh;
Then, as the headmost foes appeared,
With one brave bound the copse he cleared,
And, stretching forward free and far,
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.

Yelled on the view the opening pack;
Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back;
To many a mingled sound at once
The awakened mountain gave response.
A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong,
Clattered a hundred steeds along,
Their merry peal the horns rung out,
A hundred voices joined the shout;
With hark and whoop and wild halloo,
No rest Ben voirlich's echoes knew.

Far from the tumult fled the roe,
Close in her covert cowered the doe,
The falcon, from her cairn on high,
Cast on the rout a wondering eye,
Till far beyond her piercing ken
The hurricane had swept the glen.

Faint, and more faint, its failing din
Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn,
And silence settled, wide and still,
On the lone wood and mighty hill.

Less loud the sounds of sylvan war
Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var,
And roused the cabin where, 'tis told,
A giant made his den of old;
For ere that steep ascent was won,
High in his pathway hung the sun,
And many a gallant, stayed perforce,
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse,
And of the trackers of the deer
Scarce half the lessening pack was near ;
So shrewdly on the mountain side
Had the bold burst their mettle tried.

The noble stag was pausing now
Upon the mountain's southern brow,
Where broad extended, far beneath,
The varied realms of fair Menteith.
But nearer was the copsewood gray,
That waved and wept on Loch-Achray,
And mingled with the pine trees blue
On the bold cliffs of Benvenue.
Fresh vigor with the hope returned,
With flying feet the heath he spurned,
Held westward with unwearied race,
And left behind the panting chase.


EDWIN ARNOLD was born at Gravesend, England, June 10, 1832. He studied at Rochester and at King's College, London. In 1854 he received his degree at University College, Oxford. For a brief time he taught school in Birmingham, and then became principal of the Sanskrit College in Poona, Bombay, India. In 1861 he returned to England and joined the editorial staff of the London Telegraph. He is the author of several books of excellent verse, the best known of these being “ The Light of Asia.” His prose books are also very entertaining. In 1891 he visited the United States and gave public readings from his own works.

He died March 29, 1904.

The present selection is taken from “Wandering Words,” by courtesy of Longmans, Green and Company.


The morning had been fine, but at midday a wind rose up from the southwest suddenly, and rolled a rough sea along the feet of the cliffs.

Clannen had gone out after his lobster-pots alone, and whether one of them had drifted, which he was trying to recover, or whether, skillful boatman as he was, he misjudged the force of the incoming surge, he got his dingey' flung upon the rocks and stove in, while he himself, in scrambling out upon a ledge of the cliff, sprained his ankle, and by the same fall broke his arm. This was not known until the broken boat of

din'gỹ ; a small boat.


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