Her heart, her eyes all brimming o'er She seeks new life beneath the moon, Fair maiden, meditative, wise, Deep thoughts will come and feelings new. Through the black trunks' quiv'ring leaves, Till in a corner long in shade, Fair dawn of love, fair musing maid. (263.) RAPIDS. J. B. Gough, temperance author and orator. He was formerly a comedian, and in that capacity was reformed from drunkenness. I remember riding from Buffalo to the Niagara Falls, and I said to a gentleman, "What river is that, sir?" "That is Niagara river." "Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I; "bright, and fair, and glassy. How far off are the rapids?" "Only a mile or two." "Is it possible that only a mile from us we shall find the water in the turbulence which it must show when near the Falls?" "You will find it so, sir." And so I found it; and that first sight of the Niagara I shall never forget. Now launch your bark on that Niagara river; it is bright, smooth, beautiful, and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow; the silvery wake you leave behind adds to your enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, oars, sails, and helm in proper trim, and you set out on your pleasure excursion. Suddenly some one cries out from the bank, "Young men, ahoy!" "What is it?" "The rapids are below you." "Ha, ha! we have heard of the rapids, but we are not such fools as to get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with the helm and steer to the shore; we will set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and speed to land. Then on, boys; don't be alarmed -there's no danger." "Young men, ahoy there!" "What is it?" "The rapids are below you." "Ha, ha! we will laugh and quaff; all things delight us. What care we for the future? No man ever saw it. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. We will enjoy life while we may; we will catch pleasure as it flies. This is enjoyment: time enough to steer out of danger when we are sailing swiftly with the current." Young men, ahoy!" "What is it?" "Beware! beware! The rapids are below you." Now you see the water foaming all around. See how fast you pass that point! Up with the helm! Now turn! Pull hard!—quick! quick! Pull for your lives!-pull till the blood starts from the nostrils, and the veins stand like whipcord upon the brow! Set the mast in the socket!-hoist the sail! Ah! ah!--it is too late. Shrieking, cursing, howling, blaspheming ;—over you go! Thousands go over the rapids every year, through the power of evil habit, crying all the while, "When I find out that it is injuring me, I will give it up." The power of evil habit, I repeat, is fascinating, is deceptive, and man may go on arguing and coming to conclusions while on the way down to destruction. Let us look at the position of a man who is the slave of a bad habit. There he stands, and we will bring before him a vision. Here, before me, stands a bright, fair-haired, beautiful boy, with the rosy cheek, and curling lock, and ruby lips, and round limb, the type, the picture of human health and beauty. That is youth, that is his past. Another figure shall stand before him. The youth grown to the man, intellect flashing from his eye, his brow speaking of intellectual strength, as he claims for himself an influence over the hearts and feelings of his fellow-men. There he stands—a glorious being. That is your ideal. Then gropes in a wretched thing, fetters on his limbs, his brow seamed, sensuality seated on his swollen lip, the image of God marred. What is that? That is his present. He shall see another vision: it is a wretched, emaciated creature; you see his heart is all on fire, the worm that never dies has begun its fearful gnawings. What is that? It is his future. The power of evil habit does not destroy his consciousness. The curse to the man, who is going down step by step, is the remembrance of the past. All the bright dreams of his imagination are before him, yonder, separated from him by a continent of grief and disappointment, pain of body, and fever of spirit. Distant, clear, but cold, is the moon that shines on his waking agony, or on his desperate repose. All the enjoyments that can be obtained in this world, apart from the enjoyments God has sanctioned, lead to destruction. It is as if a man should start in a chase after a bubble, attracted by its bright and gorgeous hues. It leads him through vineyards, under trellised vines, with grapes hanging in all their purpled glory; it leads him by sparkling fountains with delicious music and the singing of birds; it leads him through orchards hanging thick with golden fruit. He laughs and dances. It is a merry chase. By-and-by that excitement becomes intense; that intensity becomes a passion; that passion a disease. Now his eye is fixed upon the bubble with fretful earnestness. Now he leaps with desperation and disappointment. Now it leads him away from all that is bright and beautiful; from all the tender, clustering, hallowed associations of bygone days, up the steep, hot sides of a fearful volcano. He leaps and falls, and rises, bruised, scorched, and blistered. Kneedeep in the hot ashes, he staggers up with limbs torn and bruised, the last semblance of humanity scorched out of him. Yet there is his prize. He will have it. With one desperate effort he makes a sudden leap. Ah! he's got it now; but he has leaped into the volcano, and, with a burst bubble in his hand, goes to his retribution! (264.) JOCK JOHNSTONE THE TINKLER. James Hogg (the Ettrick Shepherd), poet, b. 1772, d. 1835; the son of a shepherd. Whilst in farm service the songs he wrote attracted the attention of Scott, and encouraged by him and others he continued his poems till he was enabled by them to support himself. He subsequently became the editor of a weekly journal called the Spy, which was but short-lived. His improvidence prevented his ever becoming rich in anything but in the love of all who knew him. "Oh, came ye ower by the Yoke-burn Ford, or down the King's Road of the cleuch? or saw ye a knight and a lady bright, wha hae gane the gate they baith shall rue?" "I saw a knight and a lady bright ride up the cleuch at the break of day; the kn.ght upon a coal-black steed and the dame on one of the silver grey. And the lady's palfrey flew the first, with many a clang of silver bell: swift as the raven's morning flight the two went scouring ower the fell. By this time they are man and wife, and standing in St. Mary's fane, and the lady in the grass-green silk a maid you will never see again." “But I can tell thee, saucy wight-and that the runaways shall prove-revenge to a Douglas is as sweet as maiden charms or maiden's love." "Since thou say'st that, my Lord Douglas, good faith some clinking there will be; beshrew my heart, but and my sword, if I winna turn and ride with thee!" They whipp'd out ower the shepherd cleuch, and down the links o' the Corsecleuch burn; and aye the Douglas swore by his sword to win his love or ne'er return. "First fight your rival, Lord Douglas, and then brag after, if you may; for the Earl of Ross is as brave a lord as ever gave good weapon sway. But I for aé poor siller merk, or thirteen pennies an' a bawbee, will tak in hand to fight you baith, or beat the winner, whiche'er it be." The Douglas turn'd him on his steed, and I wat a loud laughter leuch he: "Of all the fools I have ever met, man, I hae never met ane like thee. Art thou akin to lord or knight, or courtly squire or warrior leal?” “I am a tinkler,” quo the wight, “but I like crown-cracking unco weel." When they came to St. Mary's kirk, the chaplain shook for very fear; and aye he kiss'd the cross, and said, “What deevil has sent that Douglas here! He neither values book nor ban, but curses all without demur; and cares nae mair for a holy man than I do for a worthless cur.' " "Come here, thou bland and brittle priest, and tell to me without delay, where you have hid the Lord of Ross, and the lady that came at the break of day?" "No knight or lady, good Lord Douglas, have I beheld since break of morn; and I never saw the Lord of Ross since the woeful day that I was born." Lord Douglas turn'd him round about, and look'd the tinkler in the face; where he beheld a lurking smile and a deevil of a dour grimace. "How's this, how's this, thou tinkler loun? Hast thou presumed to lie to me?" "Faith that I have!" the tinkler said, "and a right good turn I have done to thee; for the Lord of Ross and thy own true love, the beauteous Harriet of Thirlestane, rade west away ere the break of day, and you'll never see that dear maid again : so I thought it best to bring you here, on a wrang scent, of my own accord; for had you met the Johnstone clan they wad hae made mincemeat of a lord." At this the Douglas was so wroth he wist not what to say or do; but he strak the tinkler o'er the croun, till the blood came dreeping ower his brow. "Beshrew thy heart," quo the tinkler lad, "thou bear'st thee most ungallantlye! If these are the manners of a lord, they are manners that winna gang down wi' me." "Hold up thy hand," the Douglas cried, "and keep thy distance, tinkler loun!" "That will I not," the tinkler said, "though I and my mare should both go down!" "I have armour on," cried the Lord Douglas, "cuirass and helm, as you may see.” "The deil may care!" quo the tinkler lad, "I shall have a skelp at them and thee." "You are not horsed," quo the Lord Douglas, "and no remorse this weapon brooks." "Mine's a right good yaud," quo the tinkler lad, "and a great deal better nor she looks. So stand to thy weapons, thou haughty lord; what I have taken I needs must give; thou shalt never strike a tinkler again, for the langest day thou hast to live." Then to it they fell, both sharp and snell, till the fire from both their weapons flew; but the very first shock that they met with, the Douglas his rashness 'gan to rue: for though he had on a sark of mail, and a cuirass on his breast wore he, with a good steel bonnet on his head, yet the blood ran trinkling to his knee. The Douglas sat upright and firm, aye as together their horses ran; but the tinkler laid on like a very deil-siccan strokes were never laid on by man. "Hold up thy hand, thou tinkler loun," cried the poor priest, with whining din; "if thou hurt the brave Lord James Douglas, a curse be on thee and all thy kin!" "I care no more for Lord James Douglas than Lord James Douglas cares for me; but I want to let his proud heart know that a tinkler's a man as well as he." So they fought on, and they fought on, till good Lord Douglas' breath was gone, and the tinkler bore him to the ground with rush, with rattle, and with groan. "O hon! O hon!" cried the proud Douglas, "that I this day should have lived to see! for sure my honour I have lost, and a leader again I can never be! But tell me of thy kith and kin, and where was bred thy weapon hand? for thou art the wale of tinkler louns that ever was born in fair Scotland." "My name's Jock Johnstone," quo the wight-"I winna keep in my name frae thee; and here, take thou thy sword again, and better friends we two shall be." But the Douglas swore a solemn oath, that was a debt he could never owe; he would rather die at the back of the dike than owe his sword to a man so low. "But if thou wilt ride under my banner, and bear my livery and my name, my right-hand warrior thou shalt be, and I'll knight thee on the field of fame." "Woe worth thy wit, good Lord Douglas, to think I'd change my trade for thine; far better and wiser would you be to live as journeyman of mine, to mend a kettle or a casque or clout a goodwife's yettlin pan— |