The Ontario Readers Part 19

However, a couple of boats full of young men are placed one on each side of the target, so as to be ready to take up the unsuccessful adventurer the moment he emerges from the stream and comes fairly to the surface.

The bridge and the balconies on the banks are filled with spectators, whose business is to laugh. On holidays, in summer, the pastime of the youth is to exercise themselves in archery, in running, leaping, wrestling, casting of stones, and flinging to certain distances, and, lastly, with bucklers.

In the winter holidays when that vast lake which waters the walls of the City towards the north is hard frozen, the youth, in great numbers, go to divert themselves on the ice. Some, taking a small run, place their feet at the proper distance, and are carried, sliding sideways, a great way; others will make a large cake of ice, and seating one of their companions upon it, they take hold of one another's hands, and draw him along: when it sometimes happens that, moving so swiftly on so slippery a plain, they all fall down headlong.

Others there are who are still more expert in these amus.e.m.e.nts on the ice; they place certain bones, the leg bones of some animal, under the soles of their feet by tying them round their ankles, and, then, taking a pole shod with iron into their hands, they push themselves forward by striking it against the ice, and are carried along with a velocity equal to the flight of a bird, or a bolt discharged from a cross-bow.

Sometimes two of them thus furnished agree to start opposite one to another, at a great distance; they meet, elevate their poles, attack and strike each other, when one or both of them fall, and not without some bodily hurt; and even after their fall they shall be carried a good distance from each other by the rapidity of the motion. Very often the leg or the arm of the party that falls, if he chances to light upon them, is broken; but youth is an age ambitious of glory, fond and covetous of victory, and that in future time it may acquit itself boldly and valiantly in real engagements, it will run these hazards in sham ones.

Hawking and hunting were sports only for persons of quality, and woe be to the unhappy man of the lower orders who indulged in either of these sports. If caught he would be severely punished and might have his eyes put out.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IN THE HIGHLANDS OF ONTARIO]

After breakfast, knights with their ladies ride out, each bearing upon his wrist a falcon with scarlet hood and collar of gold. As they near the river a heron, who had been fis.h.i.+ng for his breakfast among the reeds near the bank, hears them and spreading his wings flies upward. A knight slips the hood from the falcon's head and next instant he sees the heron. Away he darts, while knights and ladies rein in their horses and watch. Up, and up, he goes until he pa.s.ses the heron and still he flies higher. Next instant he turns and, with a terrible swoop downwards, pounces upon the heron and kills it.

The knight sounds his whistle and instantly the falcon turns and darts back to him for the dainty food which is given as a reward for his good hunting. Then he is chained and hooded again till another bird rises. So the morning pa.s.ses, and many a bird do the falcons bring down before the knights and ladies return to the castle for "noon-meat."

WILLIAM FITZSTEPHEN (Adapted)

And He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age!

SHAKESPEARE

A SONG OF CANADA

Sing me a song of the great Dominion!

Soul-felt words for a patriot's ear!

Ring out boldly the well-turned measure, Voicing your notes that the world may hear; Here is no starveling--Heaven-forsaken-- Shrinking aside where the Nations throng; Proud as the proudest moves she among them-- Worthy is she of a n.o.ble song!

Sing me the might of her giant mountains, Baring their brows in the dazzling blue; Changeless alone, where all else changes, Emblems of all that is grand and true: Free, as the eagles around them soaring; Fair, as they rose from their Maker's hand: Shout, till the snow-caps catch the chorus-- The white-topp'd peaks of our mountain land.

Sing me the calm of her tranquil forests, Silence eternal, and peace profound, In whose great heart's deep recesses Breaks no tempest, and comes no sound; Face to face with the deathlike stillness, Here, if at all, man's soul might quail: Nay! 'tis the love of that great peace leads us Thither, where solace will never fail!

Sing me the pride of her stately rivers, Cleaving their way to the far-off sea; Glory of strength in their deep-mouth'd music-- Glory of mirth in their tameless glee.

Hark! 'tis the roar of the tumbling rapids; Deep unto deep through the dead night calls; Truly, I hear but the voice of Freedom Shouting her name from her fortress walls!

Sing me the joy of her fertile prairies, League upon league of the golden grain: Comfort, housed in the smiling homestead-- Plenty, throned on the lumbering wain.

Land of Contentment! May no strife vex you, Never war's flag on your plains be unfurl'd; Only the blessings of mankind reach you-- Finding the food for a hungry world!

Sing me the charm of her blazing camp fires; Sing me the quiet of her happy homes, Whether afar 'neath the forest arches, Or in the shade of the city's domes; Sing me her life, her loves, her labours; All of a mother a son would hear; For when a lov'd one's praise is sounding, Sweet are the strains to the lover's ear.

Sing me the worth of each Canadian, Roamer in wilderness--toiler in town-- Search earth over you'll find none stancher, Whether his hands be white or brown; Come of a right good stock to start with, Best of the world's blood in each vein; Lords of ourselves, and slaves to no one, For us or from us, you'll find we're--MEN!

Sing me the song, then; sing it bravely; Put your soul in the words you sing; Sing me the praise of this glorious country-- Clear on the ear let the deep notes ring.

Here is no starveling--Heaven-forsaken-- Crouching apart where the Nations throng; Proud as the proudest moves she among them-- Well is she worthy a n.o.ble song!

ROBERT REID

A MAD TEA PARTY

There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cus.h.i.+on, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. "Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse," thought Alice; "only, as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind."

The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: "No room! No room!" they cried out when they saw Alice coming. "There's _plenty_ of room!" said Alice, indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.

"Your hair wants cutting," said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.

"You should learn not to make personal remarks," Alice said with some severity: "it's very rude."

The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he _said_ was: "Why is a raven like a writing-desk?"

"Come, we shall have some fun now!" thought Alice. "I'm glad they've begun asking riddles--I believe I can guess that," she added aloud.

"Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?" said the March Hare.

"Exactly so," said Alice.

"Then you should say what you mean," the March Hare went on.

"I do," Alice hastily replied; "at least--at least I mean what I say--that's the same thing, you know."

"Not the same thing a bit!" said the Hatter. "Why, you might just as well say that 'I see what I eat' is the same thing as 'I eat what I see'!"

"You might just as well say," added the March Hare, "that 'I like what I get' is the same thing as 'I get what I like'!"

"You might just as well say," added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in its sleep, "that 'I breathe when I sleep' is the same thing as 'I sleep when I breathe'!"

"It _is_ the same thing with you," said the Hatter, and here the conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and writing-desks, which wasn't much.

"Have you guessed the riddle yet?" the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.

"No, I give it up," Alice replied: "what's the answer?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," said the Hatter.

"Nor I," said the March Hare.

Alice sighed wearily. "I think you might do something better with the time," she said, "than wasting it in asking riddles that have no answers."

"Suppose we change the subject," the March Hare interrupted, yawning.