Fourth Reader

They stopped, and, perceiving that it was Don Quixote who was making signals, they approached slowly until they were near enough to hear him distinctly calling to them. They returned at length to the cart, and as they came up, Don Quixote said to the carter: “Put your mules to the cart once more, brother, and continue your journey; and do thou, Sancho, give him two gold crowns for himself and the keeper, to compensate them for the delay they have incurred through me.”

Sancho paid the crowns, the keeper kissed Don Quixote’s hands for the bounty bestowed on him, and promised to give an account of the valiant exploit to the king himself, as soon as he saw him at court. The cart went its way, and Don Quixote and Sancho went theirs.

    – Miguel de Cervantes.

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM

It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar’s work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun,
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet
In playing there had found;
He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by;
And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh:
“ ’Tis some poor fellow’s skull,” said he,
“Who fell in the great victory.

“I find them in the garden,
For there’s many here about;
And often when I go to plough,
The ploughshare turns them out!
For many thousand men,” said he,
“Were slain in that great victory.”

“Now tell us what ’twas all about,”
Young Peterkin, he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up,
With wonder-waiting eyes;
“Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for.”

“It was the English,” Kaspar cried,
“Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for,
I could not well make out;
But everybody said,” quoth he,
“That ’twas a famous victory.

“My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;
They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly;
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.

“With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide,
And many a nursing mother then
And new-born baby died;
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

“They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;
For many thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun;
But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.

“Great praise the Duke of Marlbro’ won,
And our good Prince Eugene.”
“Why, ’twas a very wicked thing!”
Said little Wilhelmine.
“Nay – nay – my little girl,” quoth he,
“It was a famous victory.

“And everybody praised the Duke,
Who this great fight did win.”
“But what good came of it at last?”
Quoth little Peterkin.
“Why, that I cannot tell,” said he,
“But ’twas a famous victory.”

    – Robert Southey.

A HURON MISSION HOUSE

By the ancient Huron custom, when a man or a family wanted a house, the whole village joined in building one. In the present case the neighboring town also took part in the work. Before October the task was finished.

The house was constructed after the Huron model. It was thirty-six feet long and about twenty feet wide, framed with strong sapling poles planted in the earth to form the sides, with the ends bent into an arch for the roof, – the whole lashed firmly together, braced with cross poles, and closely covered with overlapping sheets of bark.

Without, the structure was strictly Indian; but within, the priests, with the aid of their tools, made changes which were the astonishment of all the country. They divided their dwelling by transverse partitions into three apartments, each with its wooden door, – a wondrous novelty in the eyes of their visitors. The first served as a hall, an anteroom, and a place of storage for corn, beans, and dried fish. The second – the largest of the three – was at once kitchen, workshop, dining-room, drawing-room, school-room, and bedchamber. The third was the chapel. Here they made their altar, and here were their images, pictures, and sacred vessels.

Their fire was on the ground, in the middle of the second apartment, the smoke escaping by a hole in the roof. At the sides were placed two wide platforms, after the Huron fashion, four feet from the earthen floor. On these were chests in which they kept their clothing, and beneath them they slept, reclining on sheets of bark, and covered with skins and the garments they wore by day. Rude stools, a hand-mill, an Indian mortar for crushing corn, and a clock completed the furniture of the room.

There was no lack of visitors, for the house contained marvels the fame of which was noised abroad to the uttermost confines of the Huron nation. Chief among them was the clock. The guests would sit in expectant silence by the hour, squatted on the ground, waiting to hear it strike. They thought it was alive, and asked what it ate. As the last stroke sounded, one of the Frenchmen would cry “Stop!” – and to the admiration of the company the obedient clock was silent. The mill was another wonder, and they never tired of turning it. Besides these, there was a prism and a magnet; also a magnifying glass, wherein a flea was transformed to a frightful monster, and a multiplying lens which showed them the same object eleven times repeated.

“What does the Captain say?” was the frequent question; for by this title of honor they designated the clock.