The Ontario Readers: Third Book

By Ontario. Department of Education

"The Ontario Readers: Third Book" by Ontario. Department of Education. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Good Press
• Release date: Nov 25, 2019
• ISBN: 4057664642318

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Ontario. Department of Education

The Ontario Readers: Third Book

Published by Good Press, 2022

[e-mail]

EAN 4057664642318

Table of Contents

ILLUSTRATIONS

EMPIRE DAY

THIRD READER

TO-DAY

FORTUNE AND THE BEGGAR

THE LARK AND THE ROOK

THE PICKWICK CLUB ON THE ICE

TUBAL CAIN

PROFESSOR FROG'S LECTURE

A SONG FOR APRIL

HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT GOOD FORTUNE

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM

THE RIDE FOR LIFE

IAGOO, THE BOASTER

THE STORY OF A FIRE

THE QUEST

THE JACKAL AND THE PARTRIDGE

HIDE AND SEEK

THE BURNING OF THE GOLIATH

HEARTS OF OAK

A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA

THE TALENTS

A FAREWELL

AN APPLE ORCHARD IN THE SPRING

THE BLUEJAY

A CANADIAN CAMPING SONG

THE ARGONAUTS

THE MINSTREL-BOY

MARY ELIZABETH

THE FROST

CORN-FIELDS

SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQ.

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS

LOVE

THE ROBIN'S SONG

WORK OR PLAY

BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE

THE WHISTLE

A CANADIAN BOAT SONG

THE LITTLE HERO OF HAARLEM

FATHER WILLIAM

DAVID AND GOLIATH

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE

MAGGIE TULLIVER

THE CORN SONG

SPORTS IN NORMAN ENGLAND

A SONG OF CANADA

A MAD TEA PARTY

THE SLAVE'S DREAM

THE CHASE

THE INCHCAPE ROCK

A ROUGH RIDE

THE ARAB AND HIS STEED

THE POET'S SONG

ADVENTURE WITH A WHALE

THE MAPLE

DAMON AND PYTHIAS

THE WRECK OF THE ORPHEUS

THE TIDE RIVER

WISDOM THE SUPREME PRIZE

THE ORCHARD

INSPIRED BY THE SNOW

THE SQUIRREL

SOLDIER, REST

FISHING

THE FOUNTAIN

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK

THE BED OF PROCRUSTES

BOB WHITE

RADISSON AND THE INDIANS

THE BROOK

DO SEEK THEIR MEAT FROM GOD

A SONG OF THE SEA

LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY

THE SANDPIPER

FROM THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT

THE LEGEND OF SAINT CHRISTOPHER

WILLIAM TELL AND HIS SON

A MIDSUMMER SONG

THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW

THE SONG IN CAMP

AFTERGLOW

KING RICHARD AND SALADIN

ENGLAND'S DEAD

HOHENLINDEN

THE DREAM OF THE OAK TREE

A PRAYER

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS

'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER

A ROMAN'S HONOUR

THE FIGHTING TÉMÉRAIRE

DON QUIXOTE'S FIGHT WITH THE WINDMILLS

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST

MOONLIGHT SONATA

THE RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD

TO THE CUCKOO

THE STORY OF A STONE

THE SNOW-STORM

THE HEROINE OF VERCHÈRES

JACQUES CARTIER

ANTS AND THEIR SLAVES

LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT

THE JOLLY SANDBOYS

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE

OLD ENGLISH LIFE

PUCK'S SONG

THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTON HEIGHTS

THE BUGLE SONG

CHARITY

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

THE BARREN LANDS

A SPRING MORNING

CROSSING THE BAR

ILLUSTRATIONS

Table of Contents

Frontispiece

ALEXANDRA, THE QUEEN MOTHER

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

AT THE END OF THE MEAL

IN THE HIGHLANDS OF ONTARIO

ONTARIO AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE

NIAGARA FALLS

IN THE PASTURE

DEEP SEA FISHERS

no caption

Trilobite

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EMPIRE DAY

Table of Contents

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

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THIRD READER

Table of Contents

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TO-DAY

Table of Contents

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

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FORTUNE AND THE BEGGAR

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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

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THE LARK AND THE ROOK

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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

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THE PICKWICK CLUB ON THE ICE

Table of Contents

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.

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TUBAL CAIN

Table of Contents

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

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PROFESSOR FROG'S LECTURE

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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.

I am very sleepy, murmured a portly toad near Bobby's left ear. "I laid over eight thousand eggs last night, and I have a long journey before me. But I must stay to hear this. We may never have such a chance