THE SLAVE'S DREAM.

Beside the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand;
His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried in the sand.
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, He saw his native land.
Wide through the landscape of his dreams The lordly Niger flowed;
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain Once more a king he strode,
And heard the tinkling caravans Descend the mountain-road.
He saw once more his dark-eyed queen
Among her children stand;
They clasped
his neck, they kissed his cheeks, They held him by the hand
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids
And fell upon the sand.
And then at furious speed he rode 
 Along the Niger's bank;
His bridle-reins were golden chains,
 And, with a martial clank,
At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel
 Smiting his stallion's flank.
Before him, like a blood-red flag,
 The bright flamingoes* flew;
From morn till night he followed their flight
 O'er plains where the tamarind grew,
Till he saw the roofs of Kaffir huts,
 And the ocean rose to view.
At night he heard the lion roar,
 And the hyena scream,
And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds 
 Beside some hidden stream; 
And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,
Through the triumph of his dream.
The forests, with their myriad tongues,
Shouted of liberty;
And the blast of the desert cried aloud
With a voice so wild and free
That he started in his sleep, and smiled
At their tempestuous glee.
He did not feel the driver's whip,
Nor the burning heat of day;
For death had illumined the land of sleep,
And his lifeless body lay
A worn-out fetter, that the soul
Had broken and thrown away.
- H. W. LONGFELLOW.

A tall wading-bird, of a red or pink colour.  
A wide-spreading tree, the fruit of which is used for food.

THE PASSING OF THE BUSH

Arbor day, 21st July.

Drinking fresh odours, spicy wafts that blew,
We watched the glassy, quivering air asleep,
Midway between tall cliffs, that taller grew
Above the unseen torrent calling deep;
Till, like a sword, cleaving the foliage through,
The waterfall flashed foaming down the steep,
White, living water, cooling with its spray
Dense plumes of fragile fern, now scorched away.
-	Hon. W. P. Reeves

If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows that thou wouldst forget, If 
thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep Thy heart from fainting and
thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills! No tears Dim the sweet 
look that Nature wears.
-H. W. LONGFELLOW, " Sunrise on the Hills."

Keen is the axe; the forest fire streams bright,
Clear, beautiful, and fierce; it speeds for Man
The master, act to change and stern to smite,
Bronzed pioneer of nations ! Ay, but scan
The ruined wonder wasted in a night,
The ravaged beauty God alone could plan,
And builds not twice! A bitter price to pay
Is this for progress - beauty swept away!
-HON. W. P. REEVES.

THE THING YOU LEAVE UNDONE.
It isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
That gives you a bit of a heartache
At the setting of the sun;
The tender word forgotten,
The letter you did not write,
The flower you might have sent, dear,
Are your haunting ghosts to-night:
The stone you might have lifted
Out of the brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel
You were hurried too much to say,
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle and winsome tone
That you had no time or thought for,
With troubles enough of your own.
For life is all too short, dear,
And sorrow is all too great,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late
And it's not the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
That gives you the bitter heartache
At the setting of the sun.

THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
The breaking waves dashed high on a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky their giant branches tossed,
And the heavy night hung dark the hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark on the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes, they, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of stirring drums, and the trumpet that sings of fame;
Not as the flying come, in silence and in fear:
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom with their hymns of lofty 
cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang, and the stars heard and the sea,
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang to the anthems of the free;
The ocean-eagle soared from his nest by the white waves' foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared-this was their welcome home.
There were men with hoary hair amidst that pilgrim band: Why had they 
come to wither there, away from their
childhood's land ?
There was woman's fearless eye, lit by her deep love's truth ;
There was manhood's brow, serenely high, and the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar ?-bright jewels of the mine ? The wealth of 
seas, the spoils of war ? They sought a faith's
pure shrine!
Ay, call it holy ground, the soil where first they trod:
They have left unstained what there they found - freedom to worship God.
- MRS. HEMANS.

BARBARA FRIETCHIE.
The incident to which the following lines refer occurred during the Civil 
War in the United States, when the Southern
States resisted the abolition of slavery. Frederick is a town in the 
State of Maryland. General Lee was the
commander of the Southern forces, and Stonewall Jackson was one of his 
generals. He was called "Stonewall" from
his bravery and firmness at the battle of Bull Run in 1861.
Up from the meadows, rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, 
The clustered spires of Frederick stand,
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree fruited deep, Fair 
as the Garden of the Lord To the eyes of
the famished rebel horde.
On the pleasant morn of the early fall, When Lee marched over the 
mountain wall, Over the mountain winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town,
Forty flags, with their silver stars, Forty flags, with their crimson 
bars, Flapped in the morning wind: the sun Of noon
looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and 
ten: Bravest of all in Frederick town, She
took up the flag the men hauled down.
In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal 
yet. Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced  : the old flag met his sight.
 "Halt!" the dust-brown ranks stood fast.
"Fire!" out blazed the rifle-blast
It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and 
gash. Quick, as it fell, from the broken stall
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;
She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal 
will. " Shoot, if you must, this old grey head, But
spare your country's flag," she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came; 
The nobler nature within him stirred To life
at that woman's deed and word
" Who touches a hair on yon grey head Dies like a dog. March on," he said.
All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet;
All day long the free-flag tossed Over the heads of the rebel host;
Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well, 
And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over
it with a warm good-night.

THE WOMEN OF THE WEST.
In Part III of last year's May issue of the School Journal there appeared 
some stirring lines entitled " The Nation
Builders," written by George Essex Evans, a Queensland poet. In these was 
vividly expressed what has been done
for the Empire by the men on the nation's frontiers
A handful of workers seeking the star of a strong intent
A handful of heroes scattered to conquer a continent.
In the following lines the same poet pays a noble tribute to the women 
who have " left the vine-wreathed cottage and
the mansion on the hill " and have "faced the wilderness," where their 
toil, self-sacrifice, and love have helped their
husbands, sons, or brothers to found new homes and to establish the 
confines of the Empire.
They left the vine-wreathed cottage and the mansion
on the hill,
The houses in the busy streets where life is never still, The pleasures 
of the city, and the friends they cherished
best :
For love they faced the wilderness - the women of the
West.
The roar, and rush, and fever of the city died away,
And the old-time joys and faces --- they were gone for many a day;
In their place the lurching coach-wheel, or the creaking bullock-chains,
O'er the everlasting sameness of the never-ending plains.
In the slab-built, zinc-roofed homestead of some lately taken run,
In the tent beside the bankment of a railway just begun,
In the huts on new selections, in the camps of man's unrest,
On the frontiers of the Nation, live the Women of the West.
The red sun robs their beauty, and, in weariness and pain,
The slow years steal the nameless grace that never comes again
And there are hours men cannot soothe, and words men cannot say
The nearest woman's face may be a hundred miles away.
The wide bush holds the secrets of their longings and desires,
When the white stars in reverence light their holy altar-fires,
And silence, like the touch of God, sinks deep into the breast
Perchance He hears and understands the Women of the West.
For them no trumpet sounds the call, no poet plies his arts--
They only hear the beating of their gallant, loving hearts.
But they have sung with silent lives the song all songs above
The holiness of sacrifice, the dignity of love.
Well have we held our fathers' creed - no call has passed us by
We faced and fought the wilderness, we sent our sons to die. And we have 
hearts to do and dare - and yet, o'er all the
rest,
The hearts that made the Nation were the Women of the West.
-By permission of the publishers, Messrs. Angus and Robertson, from" The 
Secret Key and other Verses."

THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE
Brittania, the pride of the ocean The home of the brave and the free, The shrine of the sailor's devotion, No land can compare 
unto thee! They mandates make heroes assemble With vict'ry's bright laurel in view, Thy banners make tyranny tremble, When 
borne by the red, white & blue When borne by the red, white & blue
When borne by the red, white & blue
Thy banners make tyranny tremble, When borne by the red, white & blue

When war spread its wide desolation,
And threatened our land to deform,
The ark then of Freedom's foundation,
Brittania rode safe through the storm.
With her garlands of vict'ry around her,
When so nobly she bore her brave crew,
With her flag floating nobly before her,
The boast of the red, white, and blue.

When Peace reigns among all her nations,
And Love binds her endless domains,
With Freedom as her sure foundation,
No country can rival her claims;
With her signs of prosperity before us,
With her hopes of success still in view,
Let her sons join in one united chorus,
Three cheers for the red, white, and blue.

  THE ARMADA.
Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise ;
I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,
When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain
The richest spoils of Mexico, the  stoutest hearts of Spain.
It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day
There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;
Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's 1 isle,
At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile.
At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace ;
And the tall "Pinta," till the noon, had held her close in chase.

1 Alderney.

Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall;
The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty hall 1 ;
Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast,
And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post.
With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes
Behind him march the halberdiers 2 ; before him sound the drums ;
His yeomen round the market-cross make clear an ample space ;
For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace.
And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,
As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.
Look how the Lion of the Sea lifts up his ancient crown,
And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies 3 down.
So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field, 4
Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Caesar's eagle shield. 5
So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay,
And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay.
Ho ! strike, the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight: ho! scatter flowers, fair 
maids:
Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw your blades :
Thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes, waft her wide ;
0ur glorious SEMPER EADEM,6 the banner of our pride.
The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold ;
The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold ;
Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea,
Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be.

1 On the Plymouth Sound. 2 Men armed with halberds - a combined axe and 
spear. 3 The arms of France. 4 Crecy. 5 Charles, King of the Romans, was among the 
slain. 6 Semper eadem = Always 
the same (the motto of Elizabeth).

From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,
That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;
For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread,
High on St. Michael's Mount 1 it shone: it shone on Beachy Head.
Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,
Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.
The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves :
The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves 2 :
O'er Longleat's 3 towers, o'er Cranbourne's 4 oaks, the fiery herald flew;
He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu. 5
Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town,
And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton 6 down;
The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,
And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill 7 the streak of blood-red light.
Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the deathlike silence broke,
And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city 'woke.
At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires ;
At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;
From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear ;
And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer

1 In Cornwall.
2 In the Mendip Hills in Somerset are lead-mines which have been worked 
since the earliest times.
3 The home of the Marquis of Bath. 4 In Dorset.
5 Near Southampton. 6 Near Bristol. 7 Near London.

And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,
And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street ;
And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,
As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in
And eastward straight from wild Blackheath 1 the warlike errand went,
And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.
Southward, from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth ;
High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the North ;
And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still:
All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill:
Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's 2 rocky dales,
Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales,
Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height,
Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wreckin's 3 crest of light,
Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,
And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain ;
Till Belvoir's 4 lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,
And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent ;
Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile, 5
And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.
LORD MACAULAY (1800-1859).

1 Near London. 2 Derwent River, in Derbyshire. 3 A hill in Shropshire.
4 (Bee-ver.) In south Lincolnshire ; it is twenty-five miles from Lincoln.
6 The Castle of Lancaster.
 
THE JESTER.
One of the Kings of Scanderoon,
A royal jester, Had in his train a gross buffoon,
Who used to pester The Court with tricks inopportune, Venting on the highest folks his 
Scurvy 
pleasantries and
hoaxes.
It needs some sense to play the fool;
Which wholesome rule Occurr'd not to our jackanapes,
Who consequently found his freaks Lead to innumerable scrapes,
And quite as many kicks and tweaks, Which only seem'd to make him faster Try the 
patience of his 
master.
Some sin, at last, beyond all measure, Incurr'd the desperate displeasure  Of his 
serene and raging 
highness
Whether the wag had twitched his beard, Which he was bound to have revered,
Or had intruded on the shyness Of the seraglio,* or let fly An epigram on royalty, 
None knows -his sin 
was an occult
one, But records tell us that the Sultan,
Meaning to terrify the knave, Exclaimed, " 'Tis time to stop that breath;
Thy doom is sealed; presumptuous slave, Thou stand'st condemn'd to certain death 
Silence, base rebel; 
no replying.
But, such is my indulgence still,
That, of my own free grace and will, I leave to thee the mode of dying."
" Thy royal will be done 'tis just," Replied the wretch, and kissed the dust;
" Since, my last moments to assuage, Your Majesty's humane decree Has deign'd to leave 
the choice to 
me,
I'll die, so please you, of old age.
-HORACE SMITH.

* Seraglio (pronounced se-ral-yo) - The private apartments in which the women lived.


