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THE ONTARIO READERS
THIRD BOOK
AUTHORIZED BY
THE MINISTER OF EDUCATION
The price of this book to the purchaser is not the total cost.
During the present period of abnormal and fluctuating
trade conditions, an additional sum, which may vary
from time to time, is paid to the Publisher
by the Department of Education.
Entered, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year 1909,
in the office of the Minister of Agriculture by the
Minister of Education for Ontario.
TORONTO:
THE T. EATON Co LIMITED
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THE MINISTER OF EDUCATION is indebted to Rudyard Kipling, Henry
Newbolt, Beckles Willson, E. B. Osborn, F. T. Bullen, Flora Annie Steel;
Charles G. D. Roberts, W. Wilfred Campbell, Ethelwyn Wetherald, Jean
Blewett, Robert Reid, "Ralph Connor," John Waugh, S. T. Wood; Henry Van
Dyke, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward, and Richard Watson Gilder for
special permission to reproduce, in this Reader, selections from their
writings.
He is indebted to Lord Tennyson for special permission to reproduce the
poems from the works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson; to Lloyd Osbourne for
permission to reproduce the selection from the works of Robert Louis
Stevenson; and to J. F. Edgar for permission to reproduce one of Sir
James D. Edgar's poems.
He is also indebted to Macmillan & Co., Limited, for special permission,
to reproduce selections from the works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Rudyard
Kipling, and Flora Annie Steel; to Smith, Elder & Co., for the extract
from F. T. Bullen's "The Cruise of the Cachalot"; to Elkin Mathews for
Henry Newbolt's poem from "The Island Race"; to Sampson Low, Marston &
Company for the extract from R. D. Blackmore's "Lorna Doone"; to Thomas
Nelson & Sons for the extract from W. F. Collier's "History of the
British Empire"; to Chatto and Windus for the extract from E. B. Osborn's
"Greater Canada"; to Houghton Mifflin Company for "The Chase" from
Charles Dudley Warner's "A-Hunting of the Deer," "Mary Elizabeth" by
Mrs. Phelps Ward, and the poems by Celia Thaxter and by Richard Watson
Gilder; to The Century Company for Jacob A. Riis' "The Story of a Fire"
from "_The Century Magazine_"; to The Copp Clark Co., Limited, for the
selections from Charles G. D. Roberts' works; to The Westminster Co.,
Limited, for the extract from "Ralph Connor's" "The Man from Glengarry."
The Minister is grateful to these authors and publishers and to others,
not mentioned here, through whose courtesy he has been able to include
in this Reader so many copyright selections.
Toronto, May, 1909.
CONTENTS
PAGE
_To-day_
_Thomas Carlyle_
1
Fortune and the Beggar
_Ivan Kirloff_
2
_The Lark and the Rook_
_Unknown_
4
The Pickwick Club on the Ice
_Charles Dickens_
6
_Tubal Cain_
_Charles Mackay_
11
Professor Frog's Lecture
_M. A. L. Lane_
14
_A Song for April_
_Charles G. D. Roberts_
25
How the Crickets Brought Good Fortune
_P. J. Stahl_
26
_The Battle of Blenheim_
_Robert Southey_
31
The Ride for Life
_"Ralph Connor"_
34
_Iagoo, the Boaster_
_Henry W. Longfellow_
39
The Story of a Fire
_Jacob A. Riis_
40
_The Quest_
_Eudora S. Bumstead_
43
The Jackal and the Partridge
_Flora Annie Steel_
44
_Hide and Seek_
_Henry Van Dyke_
50
The Burning of the "Goliath"
_Dean Stanley_
52
_Hearts of Oak_
_David Garrick_
55
_A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea_
_Allan Cunningham_
56
The Talents
_Bible_
57
_A Farewell_
_Charles Kingsley_
59
_An Apple Orchard in the Spring_
_William Martin_
60
The Bluejay
_"Mark Twain"_
61
_A Canadian Camping Song_
_Sir James David Edgar_
65
The Argonauts
_John Waugh_
66
_The Minstrel-Boy_
_Thomas Moore_
71
Mary Elizabeth
_Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward_
72
_The Frost_
_Hannah Flagg Gould_
83
_Corn-fields_
_Mary Howitt_
84
South-West Wind, Esq.
_John Ruskin_
86
_The Meeting of the Waters_
_Thomas Moore_
97
Love
_Bible_
98
_The Robin's Song_
_Unknown_
99
Work or Play
_"Mark Twain"_
100
_Burial of Sir John Moore_
_Charles Wolfe_
106
The Whistle
_Benjamin Franklin_
108
_A Canadian Boat Song_
_Thomas Moore_
109
The Little Hero of Haarlem
_Sharpe's London Magazine_
110
_Father William_
_"Lewis Carroll"_
115
David and Goliath
_Bible_
117
_Charge of the Light Brigade_
_Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
123
Maggie Tulliver
_George Eliot_
125
_The Corn Song_
_John G. Whittier_
134
Sports in Norman England
_William Fitzstephen_
136
_A Song of Canada_
_Robert Reid_
140
A Mad Tea Party
_"Lewis Carroll"_
142
_The Slave's Dream_
_Henry W. Longfellow_
149
The Chase
_Charles Dudley Warner_
152
_The Inchcape Rock_
_Robert Southey_
158
A Rough Ride
_Richard D. Blackmore_
161
_The Arab and His Steed_
_The Honourable Mrs. Norton_
169
_The Poet's Song_
_Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
173
Adventure with a Whale
_Frank T. Bullen_
174
_The Maple_
_H. F. Darnell_
179
Damon and Pythias
_Charlotte M. Yonge_
181
_The Wreck of the Orpheus_
_C. A. L._
184
_The Tide River_
_Charles Kingsley_
185
Wisdom the Supreme Prize
_Bible_
187
_The Orchard_
_Jean Blewett_
188
Inspired by the Snow
_Samuel T. Wood_
189
_The Squirrel_
_William Cowper_
192
_Soldier, Rest_
_Sir Walter Scott_
192
Fishing
_Thomas Hughes_
193
_The Fountain_
_James Russell Lowell_
199
_Break, Break, Break_
_Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
201
The Bed of Procrustes
_Charles Kingsley_
202
_"Bob White"_
_George Cooper_
208
Radisson and the Indians
_Beckles Willson_
209
_The Brook_
_Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
212
"Do Seek Their Meat From God"
_Charles G. D. Roberts_
215
_A Song of the Sea_
_"Barry Cornwall"_
222
Little Daffydowndilly
_Nathaniel Hawthorne_
223
_The Sandpiper_
_Celia Thaxter_
234
From "The Sermon on the Mount"
_Bible_
236
_The Legend of Saint Christopher_
_Helen Hunt Jackson_
237
William Tell and His Son
_Chamber's "Tracts"_
241
_A Midsummer Song_
_Richard Watson Gilder_
244
The Relief of Lucknow
_"Letter from an officer's wife"_
246
_The Song in Camp_
_Bayard Taylor_
250
_Afterglow_
_William Wilfred Campbell_
252
King Richard and Saladin
_Sir Walter Scott_
253
_England's Dead_
_Felicia Hemans_
258
_Hohenlinden_
_Thomas Campbell_
260
The Dream of the Oak Tree
_Hans Christian Andersen_
262
A Prayer
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
266
_The Death of the Flowers_
_William Cullen Bryant_
267
_'Tis the Last Rose of Summer_
_Thomas Moore_
269
A Roman's Honour
_Charlotte M. Yonge_
270
_The Fighting Temeraire_
_Henry Newbolt_
273
Don Quixote's Fight with the Windmills
_Miguel de Cervantes_
275
_The Romance of the Swan's Nest_
_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_
281
Moonlight Sonata
_Unknown_
285
_The Red-Winged Blackbird_
_Ethelwyn Wetherald_
290
_To the Cuckoo_
_John Logan_
291
The Story of a Stone
_D. B._
293
_The Snow-Storm_
_John G. Whittier_
298
The Heroine of Vercheres
_Francis Parkman_
301
_Jacques Cartier_
_Thomas D'Arcy M'Gee_
307
Ants and Their Slaves
_Jules Michelet_
310
_Lead, Kindly Light_
_John Henry Newman_
315
The Jolly Sandboys
_Charles Dickens_
316
_The Gladness of Nature_
_William Cullen Bryant_
324
Old English Life
_William F. Collier_
325
_Puck's Song_
_Rudyard Kipling_
330
The Battle of Queenston Heights
_Unknown_
332
_The Bugle Song_
_Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
337
Charity
_Bible_
338
_A Christmas Carol_
_James Russell Lowell_
339
The Barren Lands
_E. B. Osborn_
341
_A Spring Morning_
_William Wordsworth_
345
_Crossing the Bar_
_Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
346
EMPIRE DAY
I want you to remember what Empire Day means. Empire Day is the festival
on which every British subject should reverently remember that the
British Empire stands out before the whole world as the fearless
champion of freedom, fair play and equal rights; that its watchwords are
responsibility, duty, sympathy and self-sacrifice, and that a special
responsibility rests with you individually to be true to the traditions
and to the mission of your race.
I also want you to remember that one day Canada will become, if her
people are faithful to their high British traditions, the most powerful
of all the self-governing nations, not excluding the people of the
United Kingdom, which make up the British Empire, and that it rests with
each one of you individually to do your utmost by your own conduct and
example to make Canada not only the most powerful, but the noblest of
all the self-governing nations that are proud to owe allegiance to the
King.
Earl Grey.
Governor-General of Canada
THIRD READER
TO-DAY
So here hath been dawning
Another blue day;
Think, wilt thou let it
Slip useless away?
Out of Eternity
This new day is born;
Into Eternity
At night will return.
Behold it aforetime
No eye ever did;
So soon it forever
From all eyes is hid.
Here hath been dawning
Another blue day;
Think, wilt thou let it
Slip useless away?
CARLYLE
FORTUNE AND THE BEGGAR
One day a ragged beggar was creeping along from house to house. He
carried an old wallet in his hand, and was asking at every door for a
few cents to buy something to eat. As he was grumbling at his lot, he
kept wondering why it was that folks who had so much money were never
satisfied but were always wanting more.
"Here," said he, "is the master of this house--I know him well. He was
always a good business man, and he made himself wondrously rich a long
time ago. Had he been wise he would have stopped then. He would have
turned over his business to some one else, and then he could have spent
the rest of his life in ease. But what did he do instead? He built ships
and sent them to sea to trade with foreign lands. He thought he would
get mountains of gold.
"But there were great storms on the water; his ships were wrecked, and
his riches were swallowed up by the waves. Now all his hopes lie at the
bottom of the sea, and his great wealth has vanished.
"There are many such cases. Men seem to be never satisfied unless they
gain the whole world.
"As for me, if I had only enough to eat and to wear, I would not want
anything more."
Just at that moment Fortune came down the street. She saw the beggar and
stopped. She said to him:
"Listen! I have long wished to help you. Hold your wallet and I will
pour this gold into it, but only on this condition: all that falls into
the wallet shall be pure gold; but every piece that falls upon the
ground shall become dust. Do you understand?"
"Oh, yes, I understand," said the beggar.
"Then have a care," said Fortune. "Your wallet is old, so do not load it
too heavily."
The beggar was so glad that he could hardly wait. He quickly opened his
wallet, and a stream of yellow dollars poured into it. The wallet grew
heavy.
"Is that enough?" asked Fortune.
"Not yet."
"Isn't it cracking?"
"Never fear."
The beggar's hands began to tremble. Ah, if the golden stream would only
pour for ever!
"You are the richest man in the world now!"
"Just a little more, add just a handful or two."
"There, it's full. The wallet will burst."
"But it will hold a little, just a little more!"
Another piece was added, and the wallet split. The treasure fell upon
the ground and was turned to dust. Fortune had vanished. The beggar had
now nothing but his empty wallet, and it was torn from top to bottom. He
was as poor as before.
IVAN KIRLOFF
THE LARK AND THE ROOK
"Good-night, Sir Rook!" said a little lark,
"The daylight fades; it will soon be dark;
I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray;
I've sung my hymn to the parting day;
So now I haste to my quiet nook
In yon dewy meadow--good-night, Sir Rook!"
"Good-night, poor Lark," said his titled friend
With a haughty toss and a distant bend;
"I also go to my rest profound,
But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground.
The fittest place for a bird like me
Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine tree.
"I opened my eyes at peep of day
And saw you taking your upward way,
Dreaming your fond romantic dreams,
An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams,
Soaring too high to be seen or heard;
And I said to myself: 'What a foolish bird!'
"I trod the park with a princely air;
I filled my crop with the richest fare;
I cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew,
And I made more noise in the world than you!
The sun shone forth on my ebon wing;
I looked and wondered--good-night, poor thing!"
"Good-night, once more," said the lark's sweet voice,
"I see no cause to repent my choice;
You build your nest in the lofty pine,
But is your slumber more sweet than mine?
You make more noise in the world than I,
But whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?"
UNKNOWN
What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted?
Thrice is he armed, that hath his quarrel just;
And he but naked, though locked up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
SHAKESPEARE
THE PICKWICK CLUB ON THE ICE
"You skate, of course, Winkle?" said Wardle.
"Ye-yes; oh, yes," replied Mr. Winkle. "I--I--am _rather_ out of
practice."
"Oh, _do_ skate, Mr. Winkle," said Arabella. "I like to see it so much."
"Oh, it is _so_ graceful," said another young lady. A third young lady
said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was
"swan-like."
"I should be very happy, I'm sure," said Mr. Winkle, reddening; "but I
have no skates."
This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had got a couple of pair,
and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more downstairs,
whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely
uncomfortable.
Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fat boy
and Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the snow which had
fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted his skates with a
dexterity which to Mr. Winkle seemed perfectly marvellous, and described
circles with his left leg, and cut figures of eight, and inscribed upon
the ice, without once stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant
and astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwick,
Mr. Tupman, and the ladies; which reached a pitch of positive
enthusiasm, when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by the
aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which they
called a reel.
All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold,
had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his feet, and putting his
skates on with the points behind, and getting the straps into a very
complicated and entangled state, with the assistance of Mr. Snodgrass,
who knew rather less about skates than a Hindoo. At length, however,
with the assistance of Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly
screwed and buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet.
"Now, then, sir," said Sam in an encouraging tone; "off vith you, and
show 'em how to do it."
"Stop, Sam, stop," said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and clutching
hold of Sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man. "How slippery it
is, Sam!"
"Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir," replied Mr. Weller. "Hold up,
sir."
This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a demonstration
Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feet
into the air and dash the back of his head on the ice.
"These--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sam?" inquired Mr.
Winkle, staggering.
"I'm afeerd there's an orkard gen'lm'n in 'em, sir," replied Sam.
"Now, Winkle," cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that there was
anything the matter. "Come, the ladies are all anxiety."
"Yes, yes," replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. "I'm coming."
"Just a goin' to begin," said Sam, endeavouring to disengage himself.
"Now, sir, start off."
"Stop an instant, Sam," gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most affectionately
to Mr. Weller. "I find I've a couple of coats at home that I don't want,
Sam. You may have them, Sam."
"Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"Never mind touching your hat, Sam," said Mr. Winkle, hastily. "You
needn't take your hand away to do that. I meant to have given you five
shillings this morning for a Christmas-box, Sam. I'll give it to you
this afternoon, Sam."
"You're wery good, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?" said Mr. Winkle. "There--that's
right. I shall soon get into the way of it, Sam. Not too fast, Sam; not
too fast."
Mr. Winkle, stooping forward with his body half doubled up, was being
assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singular and un-swan-like
manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted from the opposite
bank--
"Sam!"
"Sir?" said Mr. Weller.
"Here. I want you."
"Let go, sir," said Sam. "Don't you hear the governor a-callin'? Let go,
sir!"
With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the grasp of
the agonized Pickwickian; and, in so doing, administered a considerable
impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an accuracy which no degree of
dexterity or practice could have insured, that unfortunate gentleman
bore swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at the very moment when
Mr. Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr.
Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fell
heavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his
feet, but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind in
skates. He was seated on the ice making spasmodic efforts to smile; but
anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance.
"Are you hurt?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety.
"Not much," said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard.
"I wish you'd let me bleed you," said Mr. Benjamin, with great
eagerness.
"No, thank you," replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly.
"I really think you had better," said Allen.
"Thank you," replied Mr. Winkle "I'd rather not."
"What do _you_ think, Mr. Pickwick?" inquired Bob Sawyer.
Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr. Weller, and
said in a stern voice:
"Take his skates off."
The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed Sam to obey it in
silence.
"Lift him up," said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise.
Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders; and,
beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look upon him, and
uttered in a low but distinct and emphatic tone these remarkable words:
"You're a humbug, sir."
"A what?" said Mr. Winkle, starting.
"A humbug, sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An impostor, sir."
With these words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel and rejoined
his friends.
DICKENS: "The Pickwick Papers."
TUBAL CAIN
Old Tubal Cain was a man of might,
In the days when earth was young;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright,
The strokes of his hammer rung:
And he lifted high his brawny hand
On the iron glowing clear,
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,
As he fashioned the sword and spear.
And he sang--"Hurrah for my handiwork!
Hurrah for the spear and sword!
Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well,
For he shall be king and lord!"
To Tubal Cain came many a one,
As he wrought by his roaring fire;
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade,
As the crown of his desire;
And he made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud for glee;
And they gave him gifts of pearls and gold,
And spoils of the forest free.
And they sang--"Hurrah for Tubal Cain,
Who hath given us strength anew!
Hurrah for the smith, hurrah for the fire,
And hurrah for the metal true!"
But a sudden change came o'er his heart,
Ere the setting of the sun;
And Tubal Cain was filled with pain
For the evil he had done:
He saw that men, with rage and hate,
Made war upon their kind,
That the land was red with the blood they shed,
In their lust for carnage blind.
And he said--"Alas! that I ever made,
Or that skill of mine should plan,
The spear and the sword for men whose joy
Is to slay their fellow-man!"
And for many a day old Tubal Cain
Sat brooding o'er his woe;
And his hand forbore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smouldered low.
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,
And a bright courageous eye,
And bared his strong right arm for work,
While the quick flames mounted high.
And he sang--"Hurrah for my handiwork!"
And the red sparks lit the air;
"Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made,"
And he fashioned the first ploughshare.
And men, taught wisdom from the past,
In friendship joined their hands;
Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,
And ploughed the willing lands:
And sang--"Hurrah for Tubal Cain!
Our stanch good friend is he;
And for the ploughshare and the plough,
To him our praise shall be.
But while oppression lifts its head,
Or a tyrant would be lord;
Though we may thank him for the plough,
We'll not forget the sword!"
CHARLES MACKAY
PROFESSOR FROG'S LECTURE
Bobby was not quite sure that he was awake, but when he opened his eyes
there was the blue sky, with the soft, white clouds drifting across it,
the big pine waving its spicy branches over his head, and beyond, the
glint of sunshine on the waters of the pond. Presently Bobby heard
voices talking softly.
"This is a good specimen," said one voice. "See how stout and strong he
looks!"
"I wonder who that is, and what he has found," thought Bobby. "I wish it
wasn't such hard work to keep my eyes open." He made a great effort,
however, and raised his heavy lids. At first he could see nothing. Then
he caught a glimpse of a mossy log, with a row of frogs and toads
sitting upon it. They were looking solemnly at him. Bobby felt a little
uncomfortable under that steady gaze.
"The toads are making their spring visit to the pond to lay their eggs,"
thought the boy. "I forgot that they were due this week."
"He must have done a good deal of mischief in his day," said an old
bull-frog, gravely. A chill crept over Bobby. "In his day."--What did
that mean?
A toad hopped out from the line and came so close to Bobby that he could
have touched her but for the strange spell which held him fast.
"Yes," said she; "this is one of the species. We are very fortunate to
have caught him. Now we shall be ready to listen to Professor Rana's
remarks."
Still Bobby could not move. What were they going to do? In a moment
there was a rustling among the dry leaves and dozens of frogs and toads
were seen hurrying towards the pine tree. Among them was a ponderous
frog, carrying a roll of manuscript under his arm. He wore huge goggles,
and looked so wise that Bobby did not dare to laugh.