No More Learning

THE
Sylvia Frere
was taken through the hospital and the workshops, shown
the semaphores, and shut up by Maurice in a "dark cell. "
Her husband and Burgess seemed to treat the prison like a tame
animal, whom they could handle at their leisure, and whose
natural ferocity was kept in check by their superior intelligence.
This bringing of a young and pretty woman into immediate
contact with bolts and bars had about it an incongruity which
pleased them. Maurice Frere penetrated everywhere, questioned
the prisoners, jested with the jailers; even, in the munificence of
his heart, bestowed tobacco on the sick.
With such graceful rattlings of dry bones, they got by-and-by
to Point Puer, where a luncheon had been provided.
An unlucky accident had occurred at Point Puer that morn-
ing, however; and the place was in a suppressed ferment. A
refractory little thief named Peter Brown, aged twelve years,
had jumped off the high rock and drowned himself in full view
of the constables. These "jumpings-off" had become rather
frequent lately, and Burgess was enraged at one happening on


## p. 3747 (#105) ###########################################

MARCUS A. H. CLARKE
3747
this particular day. If he could by any possibility have brought
the corpse of poor little Peter Brown to life again, he would
have soundly whipped it for its impertinence.
"It is most unfortunate," he said to Frere, as they stood in
the cell where the little body was laid, "that it should have
happened to-day. "
"Oh," says Frere, frowning down upon the young face that
seemed to smile up at him, "it can't be helped. I know those
young devils. They'd do it out of spite. What sort of a charac-
ter had he? "
"Very bad. Johnson, the book. "
Johnson bringing it, the two saw Peter Brown's iniquities set
down in the neatest of running-hand, and the record of his
punishments ornamented in quite an artistic way with flourishes
of red ink.
"20th November, disorderly conduct, 12 lashes. 24th Novem-
ber, insolence to hospital attendant, diet reduced. 4th December,
stealing cap from another prisoner, 12 lashes. 15th December,
absenting himself at roll-call, two days' cells. 23d December,
insolence and insubordination, two days' cells. 8th January,
insolence and insubordination, 12 lashes. 20th January, insolence
and insubordination, 12 lashes. 22d February, insolence and
insubordination, 12 lashes and one week's solitary. 6th March,
insolence and insubordination, 20 lashes. "
"That was the last? " asked Frere.
"Yes, sir," says Johnson.
"And then he-hum-did it? "
"Just so, sir. That was the way of it. "
Just so! The magnificent system starved and tortured a child
of twelve until he killed himself. That was the way of it.
•
•
After the farce had been played again, and the children had
stood up and sat down, and sung a hymn, and told how many
twice five were, and repeated their belief in "One God the
Father Almighty, maker of Heaven and earth," the party re-
viewed the workshops, and saw the church, and went everywhere
but into the room where the body of Peter Brown, aged twelve,
lay starkly on its wooden bench, staring at the jail roof which
was between it and heaven.
Just outside this room Sylvia met with a little adventure.
Meekin had stopped behind, and Burgess being suddenly sum-
moned for some official duty, Frere had gone with him, leaving


## p. 3748 (#106) ###########################################

3748
MARCUS A. H. CLARKE
his wife to rest on a bench that, placed at the summit of the
cliff, overlooked the sea. While resting thus she became aware
of another presence, and turning her head, beheld a small boy
with his cap in one hand and a hammer in the other. The
appearance of the little creature, clad in a uniform of gray cloth
that was too large for him, and holding in his withered little
hand a hammer that was too heavy for him, had something
pathetic about it.
"What is it, you mite? " asked Sylvia.
"We thought you might have seen him, mum," said the little
figure, opening its blue eyes with wonder at the kindness of the
tone.
"Him? Whom? "
"Cranky Brown, mum," returned the child; "him as did it
this morning. Me and Billy knowed him, mum; he was a mate
of ours, and we wanted to know if he looked happy. "
"What do you mean, child? " said she, with a strange terror
at her heart; and then, filled with pity at the aspect of the little
being, she drew him to her, with sudden womanly instinct, and
kissed him.
He looked up at her with joyful surprise. "Oh! " he said.
Sylvia kissed him again.
"Does nobody ever kiss you, poor little man? " said she.
"Mother used to," was the reply; "but she's at home. Oh,
mem," with a sudden crimsoning of the little face, "may I fetch
Billy? »
And taking courage from the bright young face, he gravely
marched to an angle of the rock, and brought out another little
creature, with another gray uniform, and another hammer.
"This is Billy, mum," he said. "Billy never had no mother.
Kiss Billy. "
The young wife felt the tears rush to her eyes.
"You two poor babies! " she cried. And then, forgetting that
she was a lady, dressed in silk and lace, she fell on her knees
in the dust, and folding the friendless pair in her arms, wept
over them.
"What is the matter, Sylvia? " said Frere, when he came up.
"You've been crying. "
"Nothing, Maurice; at least, I will tell you by-and-by. "
When they were alone that evening she told him of the two
little boys, and he laughed.


## p. 3749 (#107) ###########################################

MARCUS A. H. CLARKE
3749
"Artful little humbugs," he said, and supported his argument
by so many illustrations of the precocious wickedness of juvenile
felons that his wife was half convinced against her will.
Unfortunately, when Sylvia went away, Tommy and Billy put
into execution a plan which they had carried in their poor little
heads for some weeks.
"I can do it now," said Tommy. "I feel strong. " >>
"Will it hurt much, Tommy? " said Billy, who was not so
courageous.
"Not so much as a whipping. "
"I'm afraid! Oh, Tom, it's so deep! Don't leave me, Tom! "
The bigger boy took his little handkerchief from his neck,
and with it bound his own left hand to his companion's right.
"Now I can't leave you. "
"What was it the lady that kissed us said, Tommy? "
“Lord, have pity of them two fatherless children! " repeated
Tommy.
"Let's say it, Tom. "
And so the two babies knelt on the brink of the cliff, and
raising the bound hands together, looked up at the sky, and
ungrammatically said, "Lord, have pity on we two fatherless
children. " And then they kissed each other, and "did it. "
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH
From His Natural Life'
I
T WAS not until they had scrambled up the beach to safety that
the absconders became fully aware of the loss of another of
their companions. As they stood on the break of the beach,
wringing the water from their clothes, Gabbett's small eye,
counting their number, missed the stroke oar.
"Where's Cox? "
« He
"The fool fell overboard," said Jemmy Vetch, shortly.
never had as much sense in that skull of his as would keep it
sound on his shoulders. "
Gabbett scowled. "That's three of us gone," he said, in the
tones of a man suffering some personal injury.
They summed up their means of defense against attack.
Sanders and Greenhill had knives. Gabbett still retained the axe
in his belt. Vetch had dropped his musket at the Neck; and
Bodenham and Cornelius were unarmed.


## p. 3750 (#108) ###########################################

3750
MARCUS A. H. CLARKE
1
"Let's have a look at the tucker," said Vetch.
There was but one bag of provisions. It contained a piece of
salt pork, two loaves, and some uncooked potatoes. Signal Hill
station was not rich in edibles.
"That ain't much," said the Crow, with rueful face. "Is it,
Gabbett ? »
"It must do, anyway," returned the giant, carelessly.
The inspection over, the six proceeded up the shore, and
encamped under the lee of a rock. Bodenham was for lighting
a fire; but Vetch, who by tacit consent had been chosen leader
of the expedition, forbade it, saying that the light might betray
them. "They'll think we're drowned, and won't pursue us," he
said. So all that night the miserable wretches crouched fireless
together.
Morning breaks clear and bright, and-free for the first time
in ten years—they comprehend that their terrible journey has
begun. "Where are we to go? How are we to live? " asks
Bodenham, scanning the barren bush that stretches to the barren
sea. "Gabbett, you've been out before-how's it done? "
"We'll make the shepherds' huts, and live on their tucker till
we get a change o' clothes," said Gabbett, evading the main ques-
tion. "We can follow the coast-line. "
"Steady, lads," said prudent Vetch; "we must sneak round
yon sandhills, and so creep into the scrub. If they've a good
glass at the Neck, they can see us. "
"It does seem close," said Bodenham, "I could pitch a stone
on to the guard-house. Good-by, you bloody spot! " he adds,
with sudden rage, shaking his fist vindictively at the peniten-
tiary, "I don't want to see you no more till the Day o' Judg-
ment. "
Vetch divides the provisions, and they travel all that day
until dark night. The scrub is prickly and dense. Their clothes
are torn, their hands and feet bleeding. Already they feel out-
wearied. No one pursuing, they light a fire, and sleep. The
second day they come to a sandy spit that runs out into the sea,
and find that they have got too far to the eastward, and must
follow the shore-line to East Bay Neck. Back through the scrub
they drag their heavy feet. That night they eat the last crumb
of the loaf. The third day at high noon, after some toilsome
walking, they reach a big hill, now called Collins's Mount, and
see the upper link of the ear-ring, the isthmus of East Bay


## p. 3751 (#109) ###########################################

MARCUS A. H. CLARKE
3751
A few rocks are on their right hand,
« We
Neck, at their feet.
and blue in the lovely distance lies hated Maria Island.
must keep well to the eastward," said Greenhill, "or we shall
fall in with the settlers and get taken. " So, passing the isth-
mus, they strike into the bush along the shore, and tightening
their belts over their gnawing bellies, camp under some low-
lying hills.
The fourth day is notable for the indisposition of Bodenham,
who is a bad walker, and falling behind, delays the party by fre-
quent cooeys. Gabbett threatens him with a worse fate than
sore feet if he lingers. Luckily, that evening Greenhill espies a
hut; but not trusting to the friendship of the occupant, they wait
until he quits it in the morning, and then send Vetch to forage.
Vetch, secretly congratulating himself on having by his counsel
prevented violence, returns bending under half a bag of flour.
"'You'd better carry the flour," said he to Gabbett, "and give
me the axe. " Gabbett eyes him for a while, as if struck by his
puny form, but finally gives the axe to his mate Sanders. That
day they creep along cautiously between the sea and the hills,
camping at a creek. Vetch, after much search, finds a handful
of berries, and adds them to the main stock. Half of this hand-
ful is eaten at once, the other half reserved for "to-morrow. "
The next day they come to an arm of the sea, and as they
struggle northward Maria Island disappears, and with it all
danger from telescopes. That evening they reach the camping-
ground by twos and threes; and each wonders-between the
paroxysms of hunger-if his face is as haggard and his eyes as
'blood-shot as those of his neighbor.
On the seventh day Bodenham says his feet are so bad he
can't walk, and Greenhill, with a greedy look at the berries, bids
him stay behind. Being in a very weak condition, he takes his
companion at his word, and drops off about noon the next day.
Gabbett, discovering this defection, however, goes back, and in
an hour or so appears, driving the wretched creature before him
with blows, as a sheep is driven to the shambles. Greenhill
remonstrates at another mouth being thus forced upon the party,
but the giant silences him with a hideous glance. Jemmy Vetch
remembers that Greenhill accompanied Gabbett once before, and
feels uncomfortable. He gives hint of his suspicions to Sanders,
but Sanders only laughs. It is horribly evident that there is an
understanding among the three.


## p. 3752 (#110) ###########################################

3752
MARCUS A. H. CLARKE
secrets.
The ninth sun of their freedom, rising upon sandy and bar-
ren hillocks, bristling thick with cruel scrub, sees the six famine-
stricken wretches cursing their God, and yet afraid to die. All
round is the fruitless, shadeless, shelterless bush. Above, the
pitiless heaven. In the distance the remorseless sea. Something
terrible must happen. That gray wilderness, arched by gray
heaven stooping to gray sea, is a fitting keeper of hideous
Vetch suggests that Oyster Bay cannot be far to the
eastward, the line of ocean is deceitfully close, and though
such a proceeding will take them out of their course, they
resolve to make for it. After hobbling five miles they seem no
nearer than before, and nigh dead with fatigue and starvation,
sink despairingly upon the ground. Vetch thinks Gabbett's eyes
have a wolfish glare in them, and instinctively draws off from
him. Said Greenhill, in the course of a dismal conversation, "I
am so weak that I could eat a piece of a man. "
On the tenth day Bodenham refuses to stir, and the others,
being scarcely able to drag along their limbs, sit on the ground
about him. Greenhill, eyeing the prostrate man, said slowly, “I
have seen the same done before, boys, and it tasted like pork. "
Vetch, hearing his savage comrade give utterance to a
thought all had secretly cherished, speaks out, crying, "It would
be murder to do it; and then perhaps we couldn't eat it. "
"Oh," said Gabbett, with a grin, "I'll warrant you that; but
you must all have a hand in it. "
Gabbett, Sanders, and Greenhill then go aside, and presently
Sanders, coming to the Crow, said, "He consented to act as
flogger. He deserves it. "
―――
-
"So did Gabbett, for that matter," shudders Vetch.
"Ay, but Bodenham's feet are sore," said Sanders, "and 'tis
a pity to leave him. "
Having no fire, they made a little break-wind; and Vetch,
half dozing behind this, at about three in the morning hears
some one cry out "Christ! " and awakes, sweating ice.
No one but Gabbett and Greenhill would eat that night.
That savage pair, however, make a fire, fling ghastly fragments
on the embers, and eat the broil before it is right warm. In
the morning the frightful carcass is divided.
That day's march takes place in silence, and at the mid-
day halt Cornelius volunteers to carry the billy, affecting great
restoration from the food. Vetch gives it him, and in half an


## p. 3753 (#111) ###########################################

MARCUS A. H. CLARKE
3753
hour afterward Cornelius is missing. Gabbett and Greenhill
pursue him in vain, and return with curses. "He'll die like a
dog," said Greenhill, "alone in the bush.
" Jemmy Vetch, with
his intellect acute as ever, thinks that Cornelius prefers such a
death to the one in store for him, but says nothing.
The twelfth morning dawns wet and misty, but Vetch, seeing
the provision running short, strives to be cheerful, telling stories
of men who have escaped greater peril. Vetch feels with dis-
may that he is the weakest of the party, but has some sort of
ludicro-horrible consolation in remembering that he is also the
leanest. They come to a creek that afternoon, and look until
nightfall in vain for a crossing-place. The next day Gabbett and
Vetch swim across, and Vetch directs Gabbett to cut a long sap-
ling, which being stretched across the water, is seized by Green-
hill and the Moocher, who are dragged over.
"What would you do without me? " said the Crow, with a
ghastly grin.
They cannot kindle a fire, for Greenhill, who carries the tin-
der, has allowed it to get wet. The giant swings his axe in
savage anger at enforced cold, and Vetch takes an opportunity
to remark privately to him what a big man Greenhill is.
On the fourteenth day they can scarcely crawl, and their
limbs pain them. Greenhill, who is the weakest, sees Gabbett
and the Moocher go aside to consult, and crawling to the Crow,
whimpers, "For God's sake, Jemmy, don't let 'em murder me! »
"I can't help you," says Vetch, looking about in terror.
"Think of poor Tom Bodenham. "
"But he was no murderer. If they kill me, I shall go to hell
with Tom's blood on my soul. "
He writhes on the ground in sickening terror, and Gabbett,
arriving, bids Vetch bring wood for the fire. Vetch going, sees
Greenhill clinging to wolfish Gabbett's knees, and Sanders calls
after him, "You will hear it presently, Jem. "
The nervous Crow puts his hands to his
scious, nevertheless, of a dull crash and a groan.
back, Gabbett is putting on the dead man's shoes, which are
better than his own.
«<
"We'll stop here a day or so and rest," said he, now we've
got provisions. "
Two more days pass, and the three, eying each other sus-
piciously, resume their march. The third day-the sixteenth of
ears, but is con-
When he comes


## p. 3754 (#112) ###########################################

MARCUS A. H. CLARKE
3754
their awful journey—such portions of the carcass as they have
with them prove nfit to eat. They look into each other's famine-
sharpened faces, and wonder "Who next? »
"We must all die together," said Sanders, quickly, "before
anything else must happen. "
Vetch marks the terror concealed in the words, and when the
dreaded giant is out of ear-shot, says, "For God's sake, let's go
on alone, Alick. You see what sort of a cove that Gabbett is,—
he'd kill his father before he'd fast one day. "
They made for the bush, but the giant turned and strode
toward them. Vetch skipped nimbly on one side, but Gabbett
struck the Moocher on the forehead with the axe. "Help! Jem,
help! " cried the victim, cut but not fatally, and in the strength
of his desperation tore the axe from the monster who bore it,
and flung it to Vetch. "Keep it, Jemmy," he cried; "let's have
no more murder done! "
They fare again through the horrible bush until nightfall,
when Vetch, in a strange voice, called the giant to him.
"He must die. "
"Give me the axe. "
>>>
"Either you or he," laughs Gabbett.
"No, no," said the Crow, his thin malignant face distorted
by a horrible resolution. "I'll keep the axe. Stand back! You
shall hold him, and I'll do the job. "
Sanders, seeing them approach, knew his end had come, and
submitted, crying, "Give me half an hour to pray for myself. "
They consent, and the bewildered wretch knelt down and
folded his hands like a child. His big stupid face worked with
emotion. His great cracked lips moved in desperate agony.
He wagged his head from side to side, in pitiful confusion of
his brutalized senses. "I can't think o' the words, Jem! "
"Pah," snarled the cripple, swinging the axe, we can't
starve here all night. "
((
Four days had passed, and the two survivors of this awful
journey sat watching each other. The gaunt giant, his eyes
gleaming with hate and hunger, sat sentinel over the dwarf.
The dwarf, chuckling at his superior sagacity, clutched the fatal
axe. For two days they had not spoken to each other. For two
days each had promised himself that on the next his companion
must sleep-and die. Vetch comprehended the devilish scheme
of the monster who had entrapped five of his fellow-beings to
aid him by their deaths to his own safety, and held aloof.


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MARCUS A. H. CLARKE
3755
Gabbett watched to snatch the weapon from his companion, and
make the odds even for once and forever. In the daytime they
traveled on, seeking each a pretext to creep behind the other.
In the night-time when they feigned slumber, each stealthily
raising a head caught the wakeful glance of his companion.
Vetch felt his strength deserting him, and his brain overpow-
ered by fatigue. Surely the giant, muttering, gesticulating, and
slavering at the mouth, was on the road to madness. Would the
monster find opportunity to rush at him, and braving the blood-
stained axe, kill him by main force? or would he sleep, and be
himself a victim? Unhappy Vetch! It is the terrible privilege
of insanity to be sleepless.
On the fifth day, Vetch, creeping behind a tree, takes off his
belt, and makes a noose. He will hang himself. He gets one
end of the belt over a bough, and then his cowardice bids him
pause. Gabbett approaches; he tries to evade him, and steal
away into the bush. In vain. The insatiable giant, ravenous
with famine and sustained by madness, is not to be shaken off.
Vetch tries to run, but his legs bend under him. The axe that
has tried to drink so much blood feels heavy as lead. He will
fling it away. No-he dares not. Night falls again. He must
rest, or go mad. His limbs are powerless. His eyelids are
glued together. He sleeps as he stands. This horrible thing
must be a dream. He is at Port Arthur, or will wake on his
pallet in the penny lodging-house he slept at when a boy. Is
that the deputy come to wake him to the torment of living? It
is not time-surely not time yet. He sleeps and the giant,
grinning with ferocious joy, approaches on clumsy tiptoe and
seizes the coveted axe.
On the northeast coast of Van Diemen's Land is a place
called St. Helen's Point, and a certain skipper, being in want of
fresh water, landing there with a boat's crew, found on the
banks of the creek a gaunt and blood-stained man, clad in
tattered yellow, who carried on his back an axe and a bundle.
When the sailors came within sight of him he made signs to
them to approach, and opening his bundle with much ceremony,
offered them some of its contents. Filled with horror at what
the maniac displayed, they seized and bound him. At Hobart
Town he was recognized as the only survivor of the nine
desperadoes who had escaped from Colonel Arthur's "natural
penitentiary. "


## p. 3756 (#114) ###########################################

3756
MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS
(1740-1815)
M
ATTHIAS CLAUDIUS, best known as "the Wandsbecker Bote>
(the Messenger from Wandsbeck), was born at Reinfeld in
Holstein, August 15th, 1740. He was of excellent stock,
coming from a long line of clergymen. It was said that scarcely
another family in Schleswig-Holstein had given to the church so
many sons.
There is but little to record of the quiet boyhood passed in the
picturesque stillness of the North German village. At the outset the
education of Claudius was conducted by his
father, the village pastor. From beginning
to end his life was simple, moderate, and
well ordered. After finishing his school
days at Ploen, he entered the University
of Jena (1759), with the intention of study-
ing theology, in order to follow the tradi-
tions of the family and enter the ministry.
This idea he was soon obliged to relinquish
on account of a pulmonary weakness, and
he turned instead to the study of juris-
prudence. His strongest attraction was
towards literature. He became a member
of the literary guild in Jena; and later.
when he had attained fame as the "Wands-
becker Bote," he was intimately associated with Voss, F. L. Stol-
berg, Herder, and others of the Göttingen fraternity. His first
verses, published in Jena in 1763, under the title Tändeleien und
Erzählungen (Trifles and Tales), gave no indication of his talents,
and were no more than the usual student efforts of unconscious
imitation; they have absolutely no poetic value, and are interesting
only as they indicate a stage of development. In editing his works
in later years, Claudius preserved of this early poetry only one song,
'An eine Quelle (To a Spring).
After leaving the university in 1764, he took a position as pri-
vate secretary to Count Holstein in Copenhagen; and here, under
the powerful influence of Klopstock, whose friendship was at this
time the most potent element of his life, and in the brilliant circle
which that poet had drawn around him, Claudius entered fully into

MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS


## p. 3757 (#115) ###########################################

MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS
3757
In
the life of sentiment and ideas which conduced so largely to his
intellectual development. Some years later, after a fallow period
spent in the quiet of his father's house at Reinfeld, he settled at
Wandsbeck, near Altona (1771), where in connection with Bode he
published the Wandsbecker Bote, the popular weekly periodical so
indissolubly associated with his name. His contributions under the
name of "Asmus" found everywhere the warmest acceptance.
1775, through Herder's recommendation, Claudius was appointed
Chief Land Commissioner at Darmstadt; but circumstances rendering
the position uncongenial, he returned to his beloved Wandsbeck,
where he supported his family by his pen until 1788, when Crown
Prince Frederick of Denmark appointed him revisor of the Holstein
Bank at Altona. He died in Hamburg, January 1st, 1815, in the
house of his son-in-law, the bookseller Perthes.
A collection of his works, with the title Asmus omnia sua secum
portans, oder Sämmtliche Werke des Wandsbecker Boten' (The Col-
lected Works of the Wandsbeck Messenger), appeared at Hamburg,
1775-1812. These collected works comprise songs, romances, fables,
poems, letters, etc. , originally published in various places. The
translation of Saint Martin and Fénelon marked the pietistic spirit of
his later years, and is in strong contrast to the exuberance which
produced the 'Rheinweinlied' (Rhine Wine Song) and Urian's Reise
um die Welt' (Urian's Journey around the World).
Claudius as a poet won the hearts of his countrymen.
His verses
express his idyllic love of nature and his sympathy with rustic life.
The poet and the man are one. His pure and simple style appealed
to the popular taste, and some of his lyrics have become genuine
folk-songs.
SPECULATIONS ON NEW YEAR'S DAY
From the Wandsbecker Bote
A
HAPPY new year! A happy new year to my dear country,
the land of old integrity and truth! A happy new year to
friends and enemies, Christians and Turks, Hottentots and
Cannibals! To all on whom God permits his sun to rise and his
rain to fall! Also to the poor negro slaves who have to work
all day in the hot sun. It's wholly a glorious day, the New
Year's Day! At other times I can bear that a man should be a
little bit patriotic, and not make court to other nations. True,
one must not speak evil of any nation. The wiser part are
everywhere silent; and who would revile a whole nation for the


## p. 3758 (#116) ###########################################

3758
MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS
sake of the loud ones? As I said, I can bear at other times
that a man should be a little patriotic: but on New Year's Day
my patriotism is dead as a mouse, and it seems to me on that
day as if we were all brothers, and had one Father who is in
heaven; as if all the goods of the world were water which God
has created for all men, as I once heard it said.
And so I am accustomed, every New Year's morning, to sit
down on a stone by the wayside, to scratch with my staff in the
sand before me, and to think of this and of that.
Not of my
readers. I hold them in all honor: but on New Year's morning,
on the stone by the wayside, I think not of them; but I sit
there and think that during the past year I saw the sun rise so
often, and the moon,- that I saw so many rainbows and flowers,
and breathed the air so often, and drank from the brook,—and
then I do not like to look up, and I take with both hands my
cap from my head and look into that.
Then I think also of my acquaintances who have died during
the year; and how they can talk now with Socrates and Numa,
and other men of whom I have heard so much good, and with
John Huss. And then it seems as if graves opened round me,
and shadows with bald crowns and long gray beards came out of
them and shook the dust out of their beards. That must be the
work of the "Everlasting Huntsman," who has his doings about
the twelfth. The old pious long-beards would fain sleep. But a
glad new year to your memory and to the ashes in your graves!
WTH
RHINE WINE
гн laurel wreathe the glass's vintage mellow,
And drink it gayly dry!
Through farthest Europe, know, my worthy fellow.
For such in vain ye'll try.
Nor Hungary nor Poland e'er could boast it;
And as for Gallia's vine,
Saint Veit the Ritter, if he choose, may toast it,-
We Germans love the Rhine.
Our fatherland we thank for such a blessing,
And many more beside;
And many more, though little show possessing,
Well worth our love and pride.


## p. 3759 (#117) ###########################################

MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS
3759
Not everywhere the vine bedecks our border,
As well mountains show,
That harbor in their bosoms foul disorder;
Not worth their room below.
Thuringia's hills, for instance, are aspiring
To rear a juice like wine;
But that is all; nor mirth nor song inspiring,
It breathes not of the vine.
And other hills, with buried treasures glowing,
For wine are far too cold;
Though iron ores and cobalt there are growing,
And 'chance some paltry gold.
The Rhine, the Rhine,- there grow the gay plantations!
Oh, hallowed be the Rhine!
―
Upon his banks are brewed the rich potations
Of this consoling wine.
Drink to the Rhine! and every coming morrow
Be mirth and music thine!
And when we meet a child of care and sorrow,
We'll send him to the Rhine.
Ο
WINTER
A SONG TO BE SUNG BEHIND THE STOVE
LD Winter is the man for me-
Stout-hearted, sound, and steady;
Steel nerves and bones of brass hath he:
Come snow, come blow, he's ready!
If ever man was well, 'tis he;
He keeps no fire in his chamber,
And yet from cold and cough is free
In bitterest December.
He dresses him out-doors at morn,
Nor needs he first to warm him;
Toothache and rheumatis' he'll scorn,
And colic don't alarm him.
In summer, when the woodland rings,
He asks "What mean these noises? »


## p. 3760 (#118) ###########################################

3760
MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS
Warm sounds he hates, and all warm things
Most heartily despises.
But when the fox's bark is loud;
When the bright hearth is snapping;
When children round the chimney crowd,
All shivering and clapping;-
When stone and bone with frost do break,
And pond and lake are cracking, -
Then you may see his old sides shake,
Such glee his frame is racking.
Near the North Pole, upon the strand,
He has an icy tower;
Likewise in lovely Switzerland
He keeps a summer bower.
So up and down - now here—now there -
His regiments manœuvre;
When he goes by, we stand and stare,
And cannot choose but shiver.
NIGHT SONG
HE moon is up in splendor,
And golden stars attend her;
THE
The heavens are calm and bright;
Trees cast a deepening shadow;
And slowly off the meadow
A mist is rising silver-white.
Night's curtains now are closing
Round half a world, reposing
In calm and holy trust;
All seems one vast, still chamber,
Where weary hearts remember
No more the sorrows of the dust.
Translations of Charles T. Brooks.


## p. 3760 (#119) ###########################################



## p. 3760 (#120) ###########################################


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## p. 3760 (#121) ###########################################

3761
(n
1
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the Sofa i*
201
NRY CLAY Paist not be pidged as cho
Stee, les which are but Sketons of
"t by the lasting effect of these st
d by his a'ity as an org?
25l his sacccs, in carrying these meas pes
ang and poportul oratory. Judged by hi
spread ir nence, he 1st take I.
112-effent wlity. The set of a
bit
ant a kvantages for acquiring an
Ca' F ace and going among strat、s to
ties and so I connections were a confe
1
-with fan by 13mnce, & Notar
acter and abilis a leadership wi
1. And years after he had passed a
of Henry Clay "
who kept Kutucky an
'stecessita cforts 4. .
ז' ז'
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HENRY CLAY
(~77 1857
A
BY JOHN R PROFTR
256
"
1:
"
. L #. .
to a
"
eratory Robert C. W throp wre «i :
only bear witness to an impressivene
4% i ver eld, within an experince
116 the g
3
which I n. ve stored to my
4 {
NATYR
謇
​S not of that, an order winch metely e tris " 1
sal following: was the leadership of a sti i
to promote great public interests. ”
a presiding er he was the most
and is
4 16use of Representatives has er had.
Clag woh hin Congress, said of hari.
dfa prsdiag ofer ever sat in th Sa
sule of the Aarti Prompt, dignited, rose to
ħda comi 'ngior of intelicctual and physical curde,
*yal ruler ve "en. ” He was six these
1. 8 almost Ly acclamation, and GOTES
he prended over 't's Hotse not one of it's
1.
the Auntie » As a parliamentary Dudu, RS
gitatest in our history. «His leade" lop,' 2175
13
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## p. 3760 (#122) ###########################################

HENRY CLAY


## p. 3761 (#123) ###########################################

3761
HENRY CLAY
(1777-1852)
BY JOHN R. PROCTER
H
ENRY CLAY must not be judged as an orator by his reported
speeches, which are but skeletons of the masterly originals,
but by the lasting effect of these speeches on those who
heard them, and by his ability as an originator of important meas-
ures and his success in carrying these measures to a conclusion by
convincing and powerful oratory. Judged by his achievements and
by his wide-spread influence, he must take rank as a statesman and
orator of pre-eminent ability. The son of a poor Baptist clergyman,
with but scant advantages for acquiring an education; leaving home.