I learned “A Modest Wit” as a reading-lesson when I was a child. It has clung to me and so I cling to it. It is just as good as it ever was. It is a sharp thrust at power that depends on externalities. Selleck Osborne. (——.)

A supercilious nabob of the East—
Haughty, being great—purse-proud, being rich—
A governor, or general, at the least,
I have forgotten which—
Had in his family a humble youth,
Who went from England in his patron’s suit,
An unassuming boy, in truth
A lad of decent parts, and good repute.
This youth had sense and spirit;
But yet with all his sense,
Excessive diffidence
Obscured his merit.
One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine,
His honour, proudly free, severely merry,
Conceived it would be vastly fine
To crack a joke upon his secretary.
“Young man,” he said, “by what art, craft, or trade,
Did your good father gain a livelihood?”—
“He was a saddler, sir,” Modestus said,
“And in his time was reckon’d good.”
“A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek,
Instead of teaching you to sew!
Pray, why did not your father make
A saddler, sir, of you?”
Each parasite, then, as in duty bound,
The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.
At length Modestus, bowing low,
Said (craving pardon, if too free he made),
“Sir, by your leave, I fain would know
Your father’s trade!”
“My father’s trade! by heaven, that’s too bad!
My father’s trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad?
My father, sir, did never stoop so low—
He was a gentleman, I’d have you know.”
“Excuse the liberty I take,”
Modestus said, with archness on his brow,
“Pray, why did not your father make
A gentleman of you?”

Selleck Osborne.

The Legend of Bishop Hatto.

“The Legend of Bishop Hatto” is doubtless a myth (Robert Southey, 1774-1843). But “The Mouse-Tower on the Rhine” is an object of interest to travellers, and the story has a point

The summer and autumn had been so wet,
That in winter the corn was growing yet:
’Twas a piteous sight to see, all around,
The grain lie rotting on the ground.
Every day the starving poor
Crowded around Bishop Hatto’s door;
For he had a plentiful last-year’s store,
And all the neighbourhood could tell
His granaries were furnished well.
At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day
To quiet the poor without delay:
He bade them to his great barn repair,
And they should have food for winter there.
Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,
The poor folk flocked from far and near;
The great barn was full as it could hold
Of women and children, and young and old.
Then, when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto, he made fast the door;
And while for mercy on Christ they call,
He set fire to the barn and burned them all.
“I’ faith, ’tis an excellent bonfire!” quoth he;
“And the country is greatly obliged to me
For ridding it in these times forlorn
Of Rats that only consume the corn.”
So then to his palace returnèd he,
And he sat down to supper merrily,
And he slept that night like an innocent man;
But Bishop Hatto never slept again.
In the morning as he entered the hall,
Where his picture hung against the wall,
A sweat-like death all over him came;
For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.
As he looked, there came a man from his farm;
He had a countenance white with alarm:
“My Lord, I opened your granaries this morn,
And the Rats had eaten all your corn.”
Another came running presently,
And he was pale as pale could be:
“Fly, my Lord Bishop, fly!” quoth he,
“Ten thousand Rats are coming this way;
The Lord forgive you yesterday!”
“I’ll go to my town on the Rhine,” replied he;
“’Tis the safest place in Germany;
The walls are high, and the shores are steep,
And the stream is strong, and the water deep.”
Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,
And he crossed the Rhine without delay,
And reached his tower, and barred with care
All windows, doors, and loop-holes there.
He laid him down, and closed his eyes;
But soon a scream made him arise:
He started and saw two eyes of flame
On his pillow, from whence the screaming came.
He listened and looked; it was only the cat:
But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that;
For she sat screaming, mad with fear
At the army of Rats that was drawing near.
For they have swum over the river so deep,
And they have climbed the shore so steep;
And up the tower their way is bent,
To do the work for which they were sent.
They are not to be told by the dozen or score;
By thousands they come, and by myriads and more;
Such numbers had never been heard of before,
Such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore.
Down on his knees the Bishop fell,
And faster and faster his beads did tell,
As, louder and louder drawing near,
The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.
And in at the windows and in at the door,
And through the walls, helter-skelter they pour,
And down from the ceiling and up through the floor,
From the right and the left, from behind and before,
And all at once to the Bishop they go.
They have whetted their teeth against the stones;
And now they pick the Bishop’s bones:
They gnawed the flesh from every limb;
For they were sent to do judgment on him!

Robert Southey.

Columbus.

We are greatly indebted to Joaquin Miller for his “Sail On! Sail On!” Endurance is the watchword of the poem and the watchword of our republic. Every man to his gun! Columbus discovered America in his own mind before he realised it or proved its existence. I have often drawn a chart of Columbus’s life and voyages to show what need he had of the motto “Sail On!” to accomplish his end. This is one of our greatest American poems. The writer still lives in California.

Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: “Now must we pray,
For lo! the very stars are gone;
Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?”
“Why say, sail on! and on!”
“My men grow mut’nous day by day;
My men grow ghastly wan and weak.”
The stout mate thought of home; a spray
Of salt wave wash’d his swarthy cheek.
“What shall I say, brave Admiral,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?”
“Why, you shall say, at break of day:
'Sail on! sail on! and on!’”
They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
Until at last the blanch’d mate said;
“Why, now, not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone.
Now speak, brave Admiral, and say——”
He said: “Sail on! and on!”
They sailed, they sailed, then spoke his mate:
“This mad sea shows his teeth to-night,
He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
With lifted teeth as if to bite!
Brave Admiral, say but one word;
What shall we do when hope is gone?”
The words leaped as a leaping sword:
“Sail on! sail on! and on!”
Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And thro’ the darkness peered that night.
Ah, darkest night! and then a speck,—
A light! a light! a light! a light!
It grew—a star-lit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time’s burst of dawn;
He gained a world! he gave that world
Its watch-word: “On! and on!”