15

THE ESQUIMAUX KAYAK.

The little skiff in which the Esquimaux (pronounced Es'ke-mo) hunts the seal is called a kay-ak'. OVER the briny wave I go,

In spite of the weather, in spite of the snow:
What cares the hardy Esquimaux?
In my little skiff, with paddle and lance,
I glide where the foaming billows dance:
And when the cautious seal I spy,
I poise my ready lance on high,
And then like lightning let it fly.

Round me the sea-birds dip and soar;
Like me they love the ocean's roar.
Sometimes a floating iceberg gleams
Over me with its melting streams.
Sometimes a rushing wave will fall
Down on my skiff, and cover it all.
But what care I for the waves' attack?
With my paddle I right my little kayak;
And then its freight I speedily trim,
And over the waters away I skim.

Ye who lead a delicate life,

Far from the ice and the billows' strife,
What would ye think to be with me
One hour upon this desolate sea? -.
To glide where the young seals rise to breathe;
Where ridges of foam about them wreathe;
To stand on the ice where the walrus plays;
Or, hungry and savage, the white bear strays.
O! how would ye fancy sport like this?
Yet to me, ye men of the city, 't is bliss!

OSBORNE.

THE BEAR AND THE HORSE.

*** THE bear was slowly climbing out of the ravine, and when I first saw him was dragging his huge body over the escarpment of the cliff. In a moment he stood erect upon the open plain. I was filled with a new consternation; I saw too surely that he was about to attack my horse.

The latter had already observed the bear's approach, and seemed to be fully aware of his danger. I had staked him at the distance of about four hundred yards

from the barranca, and upon a lasso of about twenty in length. At sight of the bear, he had run out to the end of his trail rope, and was snorting and plunging with affright.

This new dilemma arrested my steps, and I stood with anxious feelings to watch the result. I had no hope of being able to yield the slightest aid to my poor horse at least, none occurred to me at that moment.

The bear made directly toward him, and my heart throbbed wildly as I beheld the ficrce monster almost within clawing distance. The horse sprang round, however, and galloped upon a circle of which the lasso was the radius. I knew, from the hard jerks he had already given to the rope, that there was no chance of its yielding, and setting him free. No; it was a raw-hide lasso of the toughest thong. I knew its power, and I remembered how firmly I had driven home the picket-pin. This I had now cause to regret. What would not I have given to have drawn the blade of my knife across that rope!

I continued to watch the struggle with a painful feeling of suspense. The horse still kept out of reach by galloping around the circumference of the circle, while the bear made his attacks by crossing its chords, running in circles of lesser diameter. The whole scene bore a resemblance to an act at the Hippodrome, the bear taking the part of the ring-master.

Once or twice, the rope circling round, and quite taut, caught upon the legs of the bear, and after carrying him along with it for some distance, flung him over upon his back. This seemed to add to his rage, and after rising each time he ran for the horse with redoubled fury. I might have been amused at the singular spectacle, but my mind was too painfully agitated about the result.

The scene continued for some minutes without much change in the relative position of the actors. I began to hope that the bear might be baffled, after all, and,

*A mountain ravine.

give over his attempts, particularly as I noticed the latter administer several kicks that might have discomfited any other assailant; but these only rendered the bear more savage and revengeful.

Just at this moment the scene assumed a new phase, likely to bring about the dénouement.* The rope had once more pressed against the bear; but this time, instead of trying to avoid it, he seized it in his teeth and paws, I thought, at first, he was going to cut it, and this was exactly what I wished for; but no to my consternation, I saw that he was crawling along it by constantly renewing his hold, and thus gradually and surely drawing nearer to his victim. The horse now

screamed with terror.

I could bear it no longer. I remembered that I had left my rifle near the edge of the barranca. I ran forward to the cliff, and dashed madly down its face; I climbed the opposite steep, and, clutching the gun, rushed toward the scene of strife. I was still in time; the bear had not yet reached his victim, though now within less than six feet of him. I advanced within ten paces, and fired. As though my shot had cut the thong, it gave way at the moment; and the horse, with a wild neigh, sprang off into the prairie.

I had hit the bear, as afterward ascertained, but not in a vital part, and bulmy let had no more effect upon him than if it had been a drop of snipe-shot. It was the strength of despair that had broken the rope, and set free the steed.

It was my turn now; for the bear, as soon as he perceived that the horse had escaped him, rushed forward upon me, uttering, as he did so, a loud cry. I had no choice but fight. I had no time to reload. I struck the brute once with my clubbed rifle, and, flinging the gun away, grasped the readier knife. With the strong, keen blade the knife was a bowie - I struck out before me; but the next moment I felt myself grappled and held fast. The sharp

* Pronounced dã-noo-mong.

I SAY to thee,do thou repeat
To the first man thou mayest meet,
In lane, highway, or open street, –
That he, and we, and all men, move
Under a canopy of love,

As broad as the blue sky above:
That doubt and trouble, fear and pain,
And anguish, all are shadows vain ;
That death itself shall not remain :
That weary deserts we may tread,
A dreary labyrinth we may thread,
Through dark ways under ground be led;

Yet, if we will our Guide obey,
The dreariest path, the darkest way,
Shall issue out in heavenly day ;·

And we, on divers shores now cast,
Shall meet, our perilous voyage past,
All in our Father's house, at last!
And ere thou leave him, say thou this
Yet one word more: they only miss
The winning of that final bliss,

Who will not count it true that Love,
Blessing, not cursing, rules above,
And that in it we live and move:-
And one thing further make him know:
That to believe these things are so,
This firm faith never to forego, -

Despite of all which seems at strife
With blessing, all with curses rife,
That this is blessing, this is life.

THE DEAN OF WESTMINSTER.

THE GOLDEN MADNESS.
BY CHARLES MACKAY.

Mr. Mackay, a popular poet and song-writer, is now (December, 1857) on a visit to the United States. In the following poem he shows that the passion of avarice, if indulged, may lead to madness. In the illustration of the poem, the artist (Mr. John Gilbert) imagines a good angel as looking sorrowfully on the old lunatic.

By the roadside there sat an aged man, Who all day long, from dawn into the night, Counted with weary fingers heaps of stones. I spake him kindly, saying, "Why this toil?" He made no answer, but went counting on, Mumbling and muttering slowly to himself, Clinking the stones with melancholy sound. There came a stranger by the way. I asked If he knew anght of this forlorn old man. "Right well," he said; "the creature is insane. He first went mad for greediness of gold." "Know you his story?"-"Perfectly," said he. "Look how he counts his miserable flints

And bits of slate. Twelve mortal hours each day
He sits at work, summer and winter both.
'Mid storm or sunshine, heat or nipping frost,
He counts and counts; and, since his limbs were
young,

Till now that he is crooked and stiffened old,
He hath not missed a day. The silly wretch
Believes each stone a lump of shining gold,
And that he made a bargain with the fiend,
That if he 'd count one thousand million coins
Of minted gold, audibly, one by one,
The gold should be his own the very hour
When he had told the thousand millionth piece;
Provided always, as such bargains go,
The fiend should have his soul in recompense.

"Unskilled in figures, but brimful of greed, He chuckled at his bargain, and began ; And for a year reckoned with hopeful heart. At last a glimpse of light broke on his sense, And showed the fool that millions- quickly said

Were not so quickly counted as he thought.
But still he plies his melancholy task,
Dreaming of boundless wealth and curbless power,
And slavish worship from his fellow-men.
"If he could reckon fifty thousand stones
Daily, and miss no day in all the year,
"T would take him five-and-fifty years of life
To reach the awful millions he desires.
He has been fifty of these years, or more,
Feeding his coward soul with this conceit.
Exposed to every blast, starved, wretched, old,
Toothless, and clothed with rags and squalidness,
He eyes his fancied treasure with delight.

"Look at his driveling lips, his bloodshot eyes,
His trembling hands, loose skin, and own with me
That this man's madness, though a piteous thing,
Deserves no pity, for the avarice

So mean and filthy, that was cause of it."

Original.

THE RIVAL GLADIATORS. Enter PHILO and FABRICIUS, from opposite sides. Philo. We meet again.

Fabricius. But not, I hope, in anger. Phi. Why didst thou assail me yesterday, disarming me, and hurling me to the ground?

Fab. 'Twas done to show thee who was likely to prove the victor in the amphitheater to-morrow.

Phi. A valiant reason, truly! Thou wouldst weaken my arm by robbing me beforehand of my confidence. But count not upon that. Despair may give a strength you dream not of. Better had you left me ignorant of your superiority. Fab. What I did was in friendship. Phi. Make it appear.

Fab. For months we have known that our haughty masters would in the end set us against each other in mortal combat in the a-re'na. They have arranged for that, at last. All Rome is in an ecstasy of impatience for to-morrow's fight.

Phi. Let it come on! Think not I fear thee. In spite of thy mastery yesterday, I defy thee!

Fab. There was no witness of our encounter. For months I have seen thee measuring, with stolen glances, my bulk and sinews. Thou hast felt that life and death were in the scale.

Phi. Enough. If I play the coward to-morrow, hack me in pieces and spare not.

Fab. I know thee brave and generous.

Phi. Then why-why attack me as

you did?

Fab. For this: that you might not suspect that what I now propose is the prompting of fear lest in to-morrow's fight my life-blood should wet the sand. Philo, you know me not.

Phi. I know thee as Rome's foremost gladiator, whose sword has spilt blood enough to float a galley.

Fab. The thought is hateful to me. Listen, Philo. When Rome first tried to force me to this business, I defied our tyrants— I rebelled—I refused to fight. In vain they starved me- scourged me — tortured me; for a time I would not fight. At length, driven to frenzy by their goadings, I stood up in the arena, sword in hand. A madness seized me. Why, thought I, should I not send these poor gladiators to a better world, where Roman tyranny can not reach? I fought - I prevailed. I was merciful, too; for I did not merely wound. I killed. No man could stand against me. So certain was my arm that for two years I have had a respite from fighting, until now a match for me in you, as they think, has been found. But Rome shall be disappointed to-morrow. I fight no more except against my tyrants. No more for them no more for them!

Phi. How! You will not fight? They will scourge you to death.

Fab. If-if they find me.

man?

Are you a

man.

you

I escape. Will follow me? Phi. To freedom?

Ay, even though Ay, even though

death oppose. Fab. Your hand upon it. Phi. (giving hand). There! Fab. My plot is this: The pre'tor, who has bet upon me largely, has given consent I should refresh my limbs to-night by bathing in the Tiber. You can obtain the We'll same privilege, and go with me. swim across the stream. The unsuspecting guards will dream no harm. Once on the other side, I know where two fleet horses in their stalls stand ready for us. We mount them, and are free — free as the winds upon the hills of Thrace!

Phi. O, joy! I shall see Thrace again my mother-sister! But should we fail

-

19

I can fancy the emotions of Galileo, when first raising the newlyconstructed telescope to the heavens, he saw fulfilled the grand prophecy of Copernicus, and beheld the planet Venus crescent like the moon. It was such another moment as that when the immortal printers of Mentz and Strasburg received the first copy of the Bible into their hands, the like that work of their divine Art;when Columbus, through the gray dawn of the 12th October, 1492, beheld the shores of San Salvador; - like that when the law of gravitation first revealed itself to like that when the intellect of Newton;Franklin saw, by the stiffening fibers of the hempen cord of his kite, that he held the lightning in his grasp;-like that when Leverrier received back from Berlin the tidings that the predicted planet was found.

Yes, noble Galileo, thou art right. It does move. Bigots may make thee recant it; but it moves nevertheless. Yes, the earth moves, and the planets move, and the mighty waters move, and the great sweeping tides of air move, and the empires of men move, and the world of thought moves ever onward and upward to higher facts and bolder theories. The Inquisition may seal thy lips, but they can no more stop the progress of the great truth propounded by Copernicus and demon'strated by thee, than they can stop the revolving earth.

Close now, venerable sage, that sightless, tearful eye: it has seen what man never before saw; it has seen enough. Hang up that poor little spy-glass; it has done its work. Not Herschel nor Rosse Francishas comparatively done more. cans and Domin'icans deride thy discoveries now, but the time will come when from two hundred observatories in Europe and America the glorious artillery of science shall nightly assault the skies, but they shall gain no conquests in those glittering fields before which thine shall be forgotten. Rest in peace, great Columbus of the heavens, like him scorned, persecuted,