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steed crashes up that steep cliff. That steed quivers ! he totters ! he falls ! No! No! Still on, still up the cliff, still on towards the fortress. The rider turns his face and shouts, “Come on, men of Quebec ! come on!” That call is needless. Already the bold riflemen are on the rock. Now, British cannon, pour your fires, and lay your dead in tens and twenties on the rock. Now, red-coat hirelings, shout your battle-cry if you can! For look! there, in the gate of the fortress, as the smoke clears away, stands the black horse and his rider. That steed falls dead, pierced by an hundred balls; but his rider, as the British cry for quarter, lifts up his voice and shouts afar to Horatio Gates waiting yonder in his tent, "Saratoga is won!” As that cry goes up to heaven, he falls with his leg shattered by cannon-ball.
Who was the rider of the black horse? Do you not guess his name? Then bend down and gaze on that shattered limb, and you will see that it bears the mark of a former wound. That wound was received in the storming of Quebec. The rider of the black horse was Benedict Arnold.
SAILING BEYOND SEAS
And the old brig's sails unfurl'd;
At the other side of the world."
The sun shot up from the bourn;
And dove with the white, white breast -
And my heart is full of rest.
My true love fares on this great hill,
Feeding his sheep for aye;
My love was gone away.
And the dove mourn'd on apace;
My love with the true, true heart,
we are apart !
My love! He stood at my right hand,
His eyes were grave and sweet;
O, is it thus we meet ?
I have no place, no part,
Till night rose over the bourn,
Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn.
THE SANDS OF DEE
“O Mary go and call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
Across the sands o' Dee!”
And all alone went she.
The creeping tide came up along the sand,
And o’er and o'er the sand,
As far as eye could see;
And never home came she.
A tress o golden hair,
Above the nets at sea ?
Among the stakes o' Dee.”
The cruel, crawling foam,
To her grave beside the sea;
Across the sands o' Dee.
THE SCHOOL OF SQUEERS 1
CHARLES DICKENS The following advertisement appeared in the morning papers :
EDUCATION. — At Mr. Wackford Squeers's Academy, Dothe'boys Hall at the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, Youth are boarded, clothed, booked, furnished with pocket money, provided with all necessaries, instructed in all languages living and dead, mathematics, orthography, geometry, astronomy, trigonometry, the use of the globes, algebra, single-stick, if required, writing, arithmetic, fortification, and every other branch of classical literature. Terms twenty guineas per annum. No extras, no vacations,
, and diet unparalleled. Mr. Squeers is in town and attends
Adapted by E. P. Trueblood from “Nicholas Nickleby.”
daily, from one till four, at the Saracen's Head, Snow Hill. N.B. An able assistant wanted. Annual salary, five pounds. A Master of Arts would be preferred.
Nicholas Nickleby obtained the above situation, having found that it was not absolutely necessary to have acquired the degree, and arrived at the inn, to join Mr. Squeers, at eight o'clock of a November morning. He found that learned gentleman sitting at breakfast, with five little boys in a row on the opposite seat. Mr. Squeers had before him a small measure of coffee, a plate of hot toast, and a cold round of beef; but he was at that moment intent on preparing breakfast for the little boys. “This is two penn'orth of milk, is it, waiter?” said Squeers, looking down into a large blue mug, and slanting it gently, so as to get an accurate view of the quantity of liquid contained in it.
“That's two penn'orth, sir,” replied the waiter.
“What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in London! Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water, William, will you?”
“To the very top, sir? Why, the milk will be drowned.”
“Never you mind that. Serve it right for being so dear. You ordered that thick bread and butter for three, did you?”
“Coming directly, sir."
“You needn't hurry yourself, there's plenty of time. Conquer your passions, boys, and don't be eager after vittles.” As he uttered this moral precept, Mr. Squeers took a large biteout of the cold beef, and recognized Nicholas.
“Sit down, Mr. Nickleby. Here we are, a-breakfasting, you see! Oh! that's the milk and water, is it, William? Very good; don't forget the bread and butter presently. Ah! here's richness! Think of the many beggars and orphans in the streets that would be glad of this, little boys. A shocking thing hunger is, isn't it, Mr. Nickleby?”
“Very shocking, sir,” said Nicholas. “When I say number one, the boy on the left hand nearest
the window may take a drink; and when I say number two, the boy next him will go in, and so till we come to number five which is the last boy. Are you ready?
“Yes, sir,” cried all the little boys.
"That's right, keep ready till I tell you to begin. Subdue your appetites, boys, and you've conquered human nature. This is the way we inculcate strength of mind, Mr. Nickleby. Number one may take a drink.”
Number one seized the mug ravenously, and had just drunk enough to make him wish for more, when Mr. Squeers gave the signal for number two, who gave up at the same interesting moment to number three; and the process was repeated until the milk and water terminated with number five.
“And now,” said Squeers, dividing the bread for three into as many portions as there were children, “You had better look sharp with your breakfast, for the horn will blow in a minute or two, and then every boy leaves off. Ah ! I thought it wouldn't be long; put what you haven't had time to eat in here, boys ! You'll want it on the road." Which they certainly did, for the air was cool, and the journey was long and tiresome. However, they arrived quite safely; and Nicholas, weary, retired to rest.
In the morning he was taken to the school-room accompanied by Squeers. “There, this is our shop, Nickleby.” It was a crowded
A bare and dirty room, with a couple of windows, whereof a tenth part might be of glass, the remainder being stopped up with old copybooks and paper. Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, little faces, which should have been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering. There was childhood with the light of its eye quenched its beauty gone and its helplessness alone remaining - truly an incipient Hell. A few minutes having elapsed, Squeers called up the first class.
“This is the first class in English, spelling, and philosophy,