Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 6

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Charles H. Sylvester

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Title: Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 6

Author: Charles H. Sylvester

Release Date: June 19, 2007 [EBook #21864]

Language: English

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Transcriber’s Note

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A list of these changes is found at the end of the text. Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been maintained. A list of inconsistently spelled and hyphenated words is found at the end of the text. The original book used both numerical and symbolic footnote markers. This version follows the original usage.

The Tournament

A NEW AND ORIGINAL

PLAN FOR READING APPLIED TO THE

WORLD’S BEST LITERATURE

FOR CHILDREN

BY

CHARLES H. SYLVESTER

Author of English and American Literature

VOLUME SIX

New Edition

Chicago

BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1922

BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY

CONTENTS

For Classification of Selections, see General Index, at end of Volume X

ILLUSTRATIONS

HORATIUS

By Lord Macaulay

Note.

—This spirited poem by Lord Macaulay is founded on one of the most popular Roman legends. While the story is based on facts, we can by no means be certain that all of the details are historical.

According to Roman legendary history, the Tarquins, Lucius Tarquinius Priscus and Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, were among the early kings of Rome. The reign of the former was glorious, but that of the latter was most unjust and tyrannical. Finally the unscrupulousness of the king and his son reached such a point that it became unendurable to the people, who in 509 B. C. rose in rebellion and drove the entire family from Rome. Tarquinius Superbus appealed to Lars Porsena, the powerful king of Clusium for aid and the story of the expedition against Rome is told in this poem.

ars Porsena of Clusium ¹-¹

By the Nine Gods ¹-² he swore

That the great house of Tarquin

Should suffer wrong no more.

By the Nine Gods he swore it,

And named a trysting day,

And bade his messengers ride forth

East and west and south and north,

To summon his array.

East and west and south and north

The messengers ride fast,

And tower and town and cottage

Have heard the trumpet’s blast.

Shame on the false Etruscan

Who lingers in his home,

When Porsena of Clusium

Is on the march for Rome.

The horsemen and the footmen

Are pouring in amain

From many a stately market-place;

From many a fruitful plain.

From many a lonely hamlet,

Which, hid by beech and pine,

Like an eagle’s nest, hangs on the crest

Of purple Apennine;

 * * * * * * * *

There be thirty chosen prophets,

The wisest of the land,

Who alway by Lars Porsena

Both morn and evening stand:

Evening and morn the Thirty

Have turned the verses o’er,

Traced from the right on linen white ²-³

By mighty seers of yore.

And with one voice the Thirty

Have their glad answer given:

"Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena;

Go forth, beloved of Heaven:

Go, and return in glory

To Clusium’s royal dome;

And hang round Nurscia’s ³-⁴ altars

The golden shields of Rome."

And now hath every city

Sent up her tale ³-⁵ of men:

The foot are fourscore thousand,

The horse are thousand ten.

Before the gates of Sutrium ³-⁶

Is met the great array.

A proud man was Lars Porsena

Upon the trysting day.

For all the Etruscan armies

Were ranged beneath his eye,

And many a banished Roman,

And many a stout ally;

And with a mighty following

To join the muster came

The Tusculan Mamilius,

Prince of the Latian ³-⁷ name.

But by the yellow Tiber

Was tumult and affright:

From all the spacious champaign ³-⁸

To Rome men took their flight.

A mile around the city,

The throng stopped up the ways;

A fearful sight it was to see

Through two long nights and days.

For aged folks on crutches,

And women great with child,

And mothers sobbing over babes

That clung to them and smiled,

And sick men borne in litters

High on the necks of slaves,

And troops of sunburnt husbandmen

With reaping-hooks and staves,

And droves of mules and asses

Laden with skins of wine,

And endless flocks of goats and sheep,

And endless herds of kine,

And endless trains of wagons

That creaked beneath the weight

Of corn-sacks and of household goods,

Choked every roaring gate.

Now, from the rock Tarpeian ⁴-⁹

Could the wan burghers spy

The line of blazing villages

Red in the midnight sky.

The Fathers of the City, ⁵-¹⁰

They sat all night and day,

For every hour some horseman came

With tidings of dismay.

To eastward and to westward

Have spread the Tuscan bands;

Nor house nor fence nor dovecote

In Crustumerium stands.

Verbenna down to Ostia ⁵-¹¹

Hath wasted all the plain;

Astur hath stormed Janiculum, ⁵-¹²

And the stout guards are slain.

Iwis, ⁵-¹³ in all the Senate,

There was no heart so bold,

But sore it ached, and fast it beat,

When that ill news was told.

Forthwith up rose the Consul, ⁵-¹⁴

Uprose the Fathers all;

In haste they girded up their gowns,

And hied them to the wall.

They held a council standing

Before the River-Gate;

Short time was there, ye well may guess,

For musing or debate.

Out spake the Consul roundly:

"The bridge must straight go down;

For since Janiculum is lost,

Naught else can save the town."

Just then a scout came flying,

All wild with haste and fear;

"To arms! to arms! Sir Consul:

Lars Porsena is here."

On the low hills to westward

The Consul fixed his eye,

And saw the swarthy storm of dust

Rise fast along the sky.

And nearer fast and nearer

Doth the red whirlwind come;

And louder still and still more loud,

From underneath that rolling cloud,

Is heard the trumpet’s war-note proud,

The trampling, and the hum.

And plainly and more plainly

Now through the gloom appears,

Far to left and far to right,

In broken gleams of dark-blue light,

The long array of helmets bright,

The long array of spears.

And plainly, and more plainly

Above that glimmering line,

Now might ye see the banners

Of twelve fair cities shine;

But the banner of proud Clusium

Was highest of them all,

The terror of the Umbrian,

The terror of the Gaul.

Fast by the royal standard,

O’erlooking all the war,

Lars Porsena of Clusium

Sat in his ivory car.

By the right wheel rode Mamilius,

Prince of the Latian name,

And by the left false Sextus, ⁷-¹⁵

That wrought the deed of shame.

THE LONG ARRAY OF HELMETS BRIGHT

But when the face of Sextus

Was seen among the foes,

A yell that bent the firmament

From all the town arose.

On the house-tops was no woman

But spat toward him and hissed,

No child but screamed out curses,

And shook its little fist.

But the Consul’s brow was sad,

And the Consul’s speech was low,

And darkly looked he at the wall,

And darkly at the foe.

"Their van will be upon us

Before the bridge goes down;

And if they once may win the bridge,

What hope to save the town?"

Then out spake brave Horatius,

The Captain of the Gate:

"To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late.

And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds,

For the ashes of his fathers,

And the temples of his gods,

"And for the tender mother

Who dandled him to rest,

And for the wife who nurses

His baby at her breast,

And for the holy maidens

Who feed the eternal flame, ⁸-¹⁶

To save them from false Sextus

That wrought the deed of shame?

"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,

With all the speed ye may;

I, with two more to help me,

Will hold the foe in play.

In yon strait path a thousand

May well be stopped by three.

Now who will stand on either hand,

And keep the bridge with me?"

Then out spake Spurius Lartius;

A Ramnian proud was he:

"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,

And keep the bridge with thee."

And out spake strong Herminius;

Of Titian blood was he:

"I will abide on thy left side,

And keep the bridge with thee."

Horatius, quoth the Consul,

As thou sayest, so let it be.

And straight against that great array

Forth went the dauntless Three.

For Romans in Rome’s quarrel

Spared neither land nor gold,

Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,

In the brave days of old.

Then none was for a party;

Then all were for the state;

Then the great man helped the poor,

And the poor man loved the great:

Then lands were fairly portioned;

Then spoils were fairly sold:

The Romans were like brothers

In the brave days of old.

Now while the Three were tightening

Their harness on their backs,

The Consul was the foremost man

To take in hand an axe:

And Fathers mixed with Commons ¹⁰-¹⁷

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,

And smote upon the planks above,

And loosed the props below.

Meanwhile the Tuscan army,

Right glorious to behold,

Came flashing back the noonday light,

Rank behind rank, like surges bright

Of a broad sea of gold.

Four hundred trumpets sounded

A peal of warlike glee,

As that great host, with measured tread,

And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,

Rolled slowly towards the bridge’s head,

Where stood the dauntless Three.

The Three stood calm and silent,

And looked upon the foes,

And a great shout of laughter

From all the vanguard rose;

And forth three chiefs came spurring

Before that deep array;

To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,

And lifted high their shields, and flew

To win the narrow way;

Aunus from green Tifernum, ¹¹-¹⁸

Lord of the Hill of Vines;

And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves

Sicken in Ilva’s mines;

And Picus, long to Clusium

Vassal in peace and war,

Who led to fight his Umbrian powers

From that gray crag where, girt with towers,

The fortress of Nequinum lowers

O’er the pale waves of Nar.

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus

Into the stream beneath:

Herminius struck at Seius,

And clove him to the teeth:

At Picus brave Horatius

Darted one fiery thrust;

And the proud Umbrian’s gilded arms

Clashed in the bloody dust.

Then Ocnus of Falerii

Rushed on the Roman Three:

And Lausulus of Urgo,

The rover of the sea;

And Aruns of Volsinium,

Who slew the great wild boar,

The great wild boar that had his den

Amidst the reeds of Cosa’s fen,

And wasted fields, and slaughtered men,

Along Albinia’s shore.

Herminius smote down Aruns:

Lartius laid Ocnus low:

Right to the heart of Lausulus

Horatius sent a blow.

Lie there, he cried, "fell pirate!

No more, aghast and pale,

From Ostia’s walls the crowd shall mark

The track of thy destroying bark.

No more Campania’s ¹²-¹⁹ hinds ¹²-²⁰ shall fly

To woods and caverns when they spy

Thy thrice accursed sail."

But now no sound of laughter

Was heard among the foes.

A wild and wrathful clamor

From all the vanguard rose.

Six spears’ lengths from the entrance

Halted that deep array,

And for a space no man came forth

To win the narrow way.

But hark! the cry is Astur:

And lo! the ranks divide;

And the great Lord of Luna

Comes with his stately stride.

Upon his ample shoulders

Clangs loud the fourfold shield,

And in his hand he shakes the brand

Which none but he can wield.

LIE THERE, HE CRIED, FELL PIRATE!

He smiled on those bold Romans

A smile serene and high;

He eyed the flinching Tuscans,

And scorn was in his eye.

Quoth he, "The she-wolf’s litter ¹⁴-²¹

Stand savagely at bay:

But will ye dare to follow,

If Astur clears the way?"

Then, whirling up his broadsword

With both hands to the height,

He rushed against Horatius,

And smote with all his might.

With shield and blade Horatius

Right deftly turned the blow.

The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh;

It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh:

The Tuscans raised a joyful cry

To see the red blood flow.

He reeled, and on Herminius

He leaned one breathing-space;

Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds,

Sprang right at Astur’s face.

Through teeth, and skull, and helmet,

So fierce a thrust he sped,

The good sword stood a handbreadth out

Behind the Tuscan’s head.

And the great Lord of Luna

Fell at that deadly stroke,

As falls on Mount Alvernus

A thunder-smitten oak.

Far o’er the crashing forest

The giant arms lie spread;

And the pale augurs, muttering low,

Gaze on the blasted head.

On Astur’s throat Horatius

Right firmly pressed his heel,

And thrice and four times tugged amain,

Ere he wrenched out the steel.

And see, he cried, "the welcome,

Fair guests, that waits you here!

What noble Lucumo comes next

To taste our Roman cheer?"

But at his haughty challenge

A sullen murmur ran,

Mingled of wrath and shame and dread,

Along that glittering van.

There lacked not men of prowess,

Nor men of lordly race;

For all Etruria’s noblest

Were round the fatal place.

But all Etruria’s noblest

Felt their hearts sink to see

On the earth the bloody corpses,

In the path the dauntless Three:

And, from the ghastly entrance

Where those bold Romans stood,

All shrank, like boys who unaware,

Ranging the woods to start a hare,

Come to the mouth of the dark lair

Where, growling low, a fierce old bear

Lies amidst bones and blood.

Was none who would be foremost

To lead such dire attack:

But those behind cried Forward!

And those before cried Back!

And backward now and forward

Wavers the deep array;

And on the tossing sea of steel,

To and fro the standards reel;

And the victorious trumpet-peal

Dies fitfully away.

Yet one man for one moment

Stood out before the crowd;

Well known was he to all the Three,

And they gave him greeting loud.

"Now welcome, welcome, Sextus!

Now welcome to thy home!

Why dost thou stay, and turn away?

Here lies the road to Rome."

Thrice looked he at the city;

Thrice looked he at the dead;

And thrice came on in fury,

And thrice turned back in dread;

And, white with fear and hatred,

Scowled at the narrow way

Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,

The bravest Tuscans lay.

But meanwhile axe and lever

Have manfully been plied;

And now the bridge hangs tottering

Above the boiling tide.

Come back, come back, Horatius!

Loud cried the Fathers all.

"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius!

Back, ere the ruin fall!"

Back darted Spurius Lartius;

Herminius darted back:

And, as they passed, beneath their feet

They felt the timbers crack.

But when they turned their faces,

And on the farther shore

Saw brave Horatius stand alone,

They would have crossed once more.

But with a crash like thunder

Fell every loosened beam,

And, like a dam, the mighty wreck

Lay right athwart the stream;

And a long shout of triumph

Rose from the walls of Rome,

As to the highest turret-tops

Was splashed the yellow foam.

And, like a horse unbroken

When first he feels the rein,

The furious river struggled hard,

And tossed his tawny mane,

And burst the curb, and bounded,

Rejoicing to be free,

And whirling down, in fierce career,

Battlement, and plank, and pier,

Rushed headlong to the sea.

Alone stood brave Horatius,

But constant still in mind;

Thrice thirty thousand foes before,

And the broad flood behind.

Down with him! cried false Sextus,

With a smile on his pale face.

Now yield thee, cried Lars Porsena,

Now yield thee to our grace.

Round turned he, as not deigning

Those craven ranks to see;

Naught spake he to Lars Porsena,

To Sextus naught spake he;

But he saw on Palatinus ¹⁸-²²

The white porch of his home;

And he spake to the noble river

That rolls by the towers of Rome.

"O Tiber! father Tiber! ¹⁸-²³

To whom the Romans pray,

A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms,

Take thou in charge this day!"

So he spake, and speaking sheathed

The good sword by his side,

And with his harness on his back

Plunged headlong in the tide.

No sound of joy or sorrow

Was heard from either bank;

But friends and foes in dumb surprise,

With parted lips and straining eyes,

Stood gazing where he sank;

And when above the surges

They saw his crest appear,

All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,

And even the ranks of Tuscany

Could scarce forbear to cheer.

But fiercely ran the current,

Swollen high by months of rain:

And fast his blood was flowing,

And he was sore in pain,

And heavy with his armor,

And spent with changing blows:

And oft they thought him sinking,

But still again he rose.

Never, I ween, did swimmer,

In such an evil case,

Struggle through such a raging flood

Safe to the landing-place:

But his limbs were borne up bravely

By the brave heart within,

And our good father Tiber

Bore bravely up his chin.

Curse on him! quoth false Sextus;

"Will not the villain drown?

But for this stay, ere close of day

We should have sacked the town!"

Heaven help him! quoth Lars Porsena,

"And bring him safe to shore;

For such a gallant feat of arms

Was never seen before."

And now he feels the bottom;

Now on dry earth he stands;

Now round him throng the Fathers

To press his gory hands;

And now, with shouts and clapping,

And noise of weeping loud,

He enters through the River-Gate,

Borne by the joyous crowd.

They gave him of the corn-land,

That was of public right,

As much as two strong oxen

Could plow from morn till night;

And they made a molten image,

And set it up on high,

And there it stands unto this day

To witness if I lie.

It stands in the Comitium, ²⁰-²⁴

Plain for all folk to see;

Horatius in his harness,

Halting upon one knee:

And underneath is written,

In letters all of gold,

How valiantly he kept the bridge

In the brave days of old.

And still his name sounds stirring

Unto the men of Rome,

As the trumpet-blast that cries to them

To charge the Volscian ²⁰-²⁵ home;

And wives still pray to Juno ²⁰-²⁶

For boys with hearts as bold

As his who kept the bridge so well

In the brave days of old.

And in the nights of winter,

When the cold north-winds blow,

And the long howling of the wolves

Is heard amidst the snow;

When round the lonely cottage

Roars loud the tempest’s din,

And the good logs of Algidus

Roar louder yet within:

HORATIUS IN HIS HARNESS, HALTING UPON ONE KNEE

When the oldest cask is opened,

And the largest lamp is lit;

When the chestnuts glow in the embers,

And the kid turns on the spit;

When young and old in circle

Around the firebrands close;

And the girls are weaving baskets,

And the lads are shaping bows;

When the goodman mends his armor,

And trims his helmet’s plume;

When the goodwife’s shuttle merrily

Goes flashing through the loom,—

With weeping and with laughter

Still is the story told,

How well Horatius kept the bridge

In the brave days of old. ²²-²⁷

¹-¹ Clusium was a powerful town in Etruria.

¹-² According to the religion of the Etruscans there were nine great gods. An oath by them was considered the most binding oath that a man could take.

²-³ This line shows us that the writing of the Etruscans was done backwards, as we should consider it; that is, they wrote from right to left instead of from left to right.

³-⁴ Nurscia was a city of the Sabines.

³-⁵ Tale here means number.

³-⁶ Sutrium was an Etruscan town twenty-nine miles from Rome.

³-⁷ The Latins were an Italian race who, even before the dawn of history, dwelt on the plains south of the Tiber. Rome was supposed to be a colony of Alba Longa, the chief Latin city, but the Latin peoples were in the fourth century brought into complete subjection to Rome.

³-⁸ Champaign, or campagna, means any open, level tract of country. The name is specifically applied to the extensive plains about Rome.

⁴-⁹ A part of the Capitoline, one of the seven hills on which Rome is built, was called the Tarpeian Rock, after Tarpeia, daughter of an early governor of the citadel on the Capitoline. According to the popular legend, when the Sabines came against Rome, Tarpeia promised to open the gate of the fortress to them if they would give her what they wore on their left arms. It was their jewelry which she coveted, but she was punished for her greed and treachery, for when the soldiers had entered the fortress they hurled their shields upon her, crushing her to death.

⁵-¹⁰ Fathers of the City was the name given to the members of the Roman Senate.

⁵-¹¹ Ostia was the port of Rome, situated at the mouth of the Tiber.

⁵-¹² Janiculum is a hill on the west bank of the Tiber at Rome. It was strongly fortified, and commanded the approach to Rome.

⁵-¹³ Iwis is an obsolete word meaning truly.

⁵-¹⁴ When the kings were banished from Rome the people vowed that never again should one man hold the supreme power. Two chief rulers were therefore chosen, and were given the name of consuls.

⁷-¹⁵ Sextus was the son of the last king of Rome. It was a shameful deed of his which finally roused the people against the Tarquin family.

⁸-¹⁶ In the temple of the goddess Vesta a sacred flame was kept burning constantly, and it was thought that the consequences to the city would be most dire if the fire were allowed to go out. The Vestal virgins, priestesses who tended the flame, were held in the highest honor.

¹⁰-¹⁷ The Roman people were divided into two classes, the patricians, to whom belonged all the privileges of citizenship, and the plebeians, who were not allowed to hold office or even to own property. Macaulay gives the English name Commons to the plebeians.

¹¹-¹⁸ A discussion as to who these chiefs were, or as to where the places mentioned were located, would be profitless. The notes attempt to give only such information as will aid in understanding the story.

¹²-¹⁹ Campania is another name for the campagna.

¹²-²⁰ Hinds here means peasants.

¹⁴-²¹ Romulus, the founder of Rome, and Remus, his brother, were, according to the legend, rescued and brought up by a she-wolf, after they had been cast into the Tiber to die.

¹⁸-²² The Palatine is one of the seven hills of Rome.

¹⁸-²³ The Romans personified the Tiber River, and even offered prayers to it.

²⁰-²⁴ The Comitium was the old Roman polling-place, a square situated between the Forum and the Senate House.

²⁰-²⁵ The Volscians were among the most determined of the Italian enemies of Rome.

²⁰-²⁶ Juno was the goddess who was thought of as presiding over marriage and the birth of children.

²²-²⁷ You can tell from these last three stanzas, that Macaulay is writing his poem, not as an Englishman of the nineteenth century, but as if he were a Roman in the days when Rome, though powerful, had not yet become the luxurious city which it afterward was. That is, he thought of himself as writing in the days of the Republic, not in the days of the Empire.

LORD ULLIN’S DAUGHTER

By Thomas Campbell

chieftain, to the Highlands bound,

Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!

And I’ll give thee a silver pound,

To row us o’er the ferry."

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,

This dark and stormy water?"

"O, I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle,

And this Lord Ullin’s daughter.

"And fast before her father’s men

Three days we’ve fled together,

For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us ride;

Should they our steps discover,

Then who will cheer my bonny bride

When they have slain her lover?"

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,

"I’ll go, my chief—I’m ready;

It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady:

"And by my word! the bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry;

So though the waves are raging white,

I’ll row you o’er the ferry."

BOATMAN, DO NOT TARRY!

By this the storm grew loud apace,

The water-wraith was shrieking;

And in the scowl of heaven each face

Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,

And as the night grew drearer,

Adown the glen rode armed men,

Their trampling sounded nearer.

O haste thee, haste! the lady cries,

"Though tempests round us gather;

I’ll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father."

The boat had left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her,—

When, oh! too strong for human hand,

The tempest gather’d o’er her.

And still they row’d amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reach’d that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismay’d, through storm and shade,

His child he did discover:—

One lovely hand she stretch’d for aid,

And one was round her lover.

Come back! come back! he cried in grief,

"Across this stormy water:

And I’ll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter!—oh my daughter!"

’Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore,

Return or aid preventing;

The waters wild went o’er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

SIR WALTER SCOTT

By Grace E. Sellon

f the old and honorable families of Scotland there are perhaps none more worthy than those from which were descended the parents of Sir Walter Scott. In the long line of ancestors on either side were fearless knights and bold chiefs of the Scottish Border whose adventures became a delightful heritage to the little boy born into the Edinburgh family of Scott in 1771. Perhaps his natural liking for strange and exciting events would have made him even more eager than other children to be told fairy stories and tales of real heroes of his own land. But even had this not been so, the way in which he was forced to spend his early childhood was such that entertainment of this kind was about all that he could enjoy. He was not two years old when, after a brief illness, he lost the use of one of his legs and thus became unable to run about as before, or even to stand. Soon afterward he was sent to his grandfather’s farm at Sandy-Knowe, where it was thought that the country life would help him. There he spent his days in listening to lively stories of Scotsmen who had lived in the brave and rollicking fashion of Robin Hood, in being read to by his aunt or in lying out among the rocks, cared for by his grandfather’s old shepherd. When thus out of doors he found so much of interest about him that he could not lie still and would try so hard to move himself about that at length he became able to rise to his feet and even to walk and run.

Sir Walter Scott

1771-1832

Except for his lameness, he grew so well and strong that when he was about eight years old he was placed with his brothers in the upper class of the Edinburgh grammar school, known as the High School. Though he had had some lessons in Latin with a private tutor, he was behind his class in this subject, and being a high-spirited and sensitive boy, he felt rather keenly this disadvantage. Perhaps the fact that he could not be one of the leaders of his class made him careless; at any rate, he could never be depended upon to prepare his lesson, and at no time did he make a consistently good record. However, he found not a little comfort for his failure as a student in his popularity as a storyteller and kind-hearted comrade. Among the boys of his own rank in the school he won great admiration for his never-ending supply of exciting narratives and his willingness to give help upon lessons that he would otherwise have left undone.

At the end of three years his class was promoted, and he found the new teacher much more to his liking. Indeed, his ability to appreciate the meaning and beauty of the Latin works studied became recognized: he began to make translations in verse that won praise, and, with a new feeling of distinction, he was thus urged on to earnest efforts. After leaving this school, he continued his excellent progress in the study of Latin for a short time under a teacher in the village of Kelso, where he had gone to visit an aunt.

Meanwhile his hours out of school were spent in ways most pleasing to his lively imagination. His lameness did not debar him from the most active sports, nor even from the vigorous encounters in which, either with a single opponent or with company set against company, the Scotch schoolboys defended their reputation as hard fighters. One of these skirmishes that made a lasting impression upon Walter Scott he himself tells us of, and his biographer, Lockhart, has quoted it in describing the hardy boyhood days of the great writer. It frequently happened that bands of children from different parts of Edinburgh would wage war with each other, fighting with stones and clubs and other like weapons. Perhaps the city authorities thought that these miniature battles afforded good training: at least the police seem not to have interfered. The boys in the neighborhood where Walter lived had formed a company that had been given a beautiful standard by a young noblewoman. This company fought every week with a band composed of boys of the poorer classes. The leader of the latter was a fine-looking young fellow who bore himself as bravely as any chieftain. In the midst of a hotly fought contest, this boy had all but captured the enemy’s proudly erected standard when he was struck severely to the ground with a cruelly heavy weapon. The dismayed companies fled in all directions, and the lad was taken to the hospital. In a few days, however, he recovered; and then it was that through a friendly baker Walter Scott and his brothers were able to get word to their mistreated opponent and to offer a sum of money in token of their regret. But Green-breeks, as the young leader had been dubbed, refused to accept this, and said besides that they might be sure of his not telling what he knew of the affair in which he had been hurt, for he felt it a disgrace to be a talebearer. This generous conduct so impressed young Scott and his companions that always afterward the fighting was fair.

It must have been with not a little difficulty that this warlike spirit was subdued and made obedient to the strict rules observed in the Presbyterian home on Sunday. To a boy whose mind was filled with stirring deeds of adventure and all sorts of vivid legends and romances, the long, gloomy services seemed a tiresome burden. Monday, however, brought new opportunities for reading favorite poets and works of history and travel, and many were the spare moments through the week that were spent thus. The marvelous characters and incidents in Spenser’s Faerie Queene were a never-ending source of enjoyment, and later Percy’s Reliques of Ancient English Poetry was discovered by the young reader with a gladness that made him forget everything else in the world. I remember well, he has written, "the spot where I read these volumes for the first time. It was beneath a huge platanus tree, in the ruins of what had been intended for an old-fashioned arbor in the garden I have mentioned. The summer day sped onward so fast that, notwithstanding the sharp appetite of thirteen, I forgot the hour of dinner, was sought for with anxiety, and was found still entranced in my intellectual banquet. To read and to remember was in this instance the same thing, and henceforth I overwhelmed my schoolfellows, and all who would hearken to me, with tragical recitations from the ballads of Bishop Percy. The first time, too, I could scrape a few shillings together, which were not common occurrences with me, I bought unto myself a copy of these beloved volumes; nor do I believe