Read Ebook: The Cyr Readers: Book 8 Arranged by grades by Cyr Ellen M

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His father, Ebenezer Webster, was a farmer and Justice of the County Court. He had been an officer in the Revolutionary war.

Daniel received his early instruction from his mother, a woman of rare intellectual powers, and from the country school which he attended during the winters.

Although he became a distinguished orator, he failed utterly in public speaking at school. He afterwards said: "There was one thing I could not do; I could not make a declamation. I could not speak before the school."

Daniel showed so great ability as a student that the family decided he must attend college, although this step called for additional hardship and sacrifice on the part of those at home. He studied under the direction of a clergyman in a neighboring town, spent one year at Phillips Exeter Academy, and entered Dartmouth College when he was fifteen years old. During his vacations he taught school to pay his expenses. He also assisted his brother Ezekiel in obtaining his education.

He finished his course at college with credit, and then studied law in Boston. He began his practice in Boscawen, a country town near his home; but after the death of his father he removed to Portsmouth, and was soon regarded as the leading man in his profession.

After a time he removed to Boston, where he became known as one of the ablest lawyers of his time.

Webster was elected to Congress from Boston, and took his seat in December, 1823, and continued to serve in that position till he was elected to the Senate, in which body he took his seat on the 4th of March, 1827.

The awkward village lad who could not declaim in the district school now ranked among the most eloquent orators of the country.

On the anniversary of the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, Webster delivered a stirring oration, which made him famous throughout the country; and at the laying of the corner stone of the Bunker Hill Monument he delivered an address which has not been equaled in this century. From that time Daniel Webster was sought after for every public occasion. He twice held the office of Secretary of State. He resigned the latter office on account of failing health during the summer of 1852, and retired to his country seat at Marshfield, Mass., where he died in the following October.

YOU have come down to us from a former generation. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives that you might behold this joyous day. You are now where you stood fifty years ago this very hour, with your brothers and your neighbors, shoulder to shoulder in the strife of your country. Behold how altered! The same heavens are indeed over your heads; the same ocean rolls at your feet; but all else, how changed! You hear now no roar of hostile cannon; you see no mixed volumes of smoke and flame rising from burning Charlestown. The ground strewed with the dead and the dying; the impetuous charge; the steady and successful repulse; the loud call to repeated assault; the summoning of all that is manly to repeated resistance; a thousand bosoms freely and fearlessly bared in an instant to whatever of terror there may be in war and death,--all these you have witnessed, but you witness them no more. All is peace. The heights of yonder metropolis, its towers and roofs, which you then saw filled with wives and children and countrymen in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions for the issue of the combat, have presented you to-day with the sight of its whole happy population, come out to welcome and greet you with a universal jubilee. Yonder proud ships, by a felicity of position appropriately lying at the foot of this mount, and seeming fondly to cling around it, are not means of annoyance to you, but your country's own means of distinction and defense. All is peace; and God has granted you this sight of your country's happiness ere you slumber in the grave forever. He has allowed you to behold and to partake the reward of your patriotic toils, and he has allowed us, your sons and countrymen, to meet you here, and, in the name of the present generation, in the name of your country, in the name of liberty, to thank you.

But, alas! you are not all here. Time and the sword have thinned your ranks. Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Read, Pomeroy, Bridge! our eyes seek for you in vain amidst this broken band. You are gathered to your fathers and live only to your country in her grateful remembrance and your own bright example. But let us not too much grieve that you have met the common fate of men. You lived at least long enough to know that your work, had been nobly and successfully accomplished. You lived to see your country's independence established and to sheathe your swords from war. On the light of liberty you saw arise the light of peace, like

another morn, Risen on mid-noon,--

and the sky on which you closed your eyes was cloudless.

Veterans of half a century! when, in your youthful days, you put everything at hazard in your country's cause, good as that cause was, and sanguine as youth is, still your fondest hopes did not stretch onward to an hour like this. At a period to which you could not reasonably hope to arrive, at a moment of national prosperity such as you could never have foreseen, you are now met here to enjoy the fellowship of old soldiers, and to receive the overflowings of a universal gratitude.

But your agitated countenances and your heaving breasts inform me that even this is not an unmixed joy. I perceive that a tumult of contending feelings rushes upon you. The images of the dead, as well as the persons of the living, throng to your embraces. The scene overwhelms you, and I turn from it. May the Father of all mercies smile upon your declining years and bless them! and when you shall here have exchanged your embraces, when you shall once more have pressed the hands which have been so often extended to give succor in adversity or grasped in the exultation of victory, then look abroad into this lovely land, which your young valor defended, and mark the happiness with which it is filled; yea, look abroad into the whole earth, and see what a name you have contributed to give to your country, and what a praise you have added to freedom, and then rejoice in the sympathy and gratitude which beam upon your last days from the improved condition of mankind.

THE AMERICAN UNION.

DANIEL WEBSTER.

I HAVE not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. Nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this government whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union may v be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my day at least, that curtain may not rise! God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind! When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may they not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood. Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced; its arms and trophies streaming in all their original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, not a single star obscured; bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as "What is all this worth?" nor those other words of delusion and folly, of "Liberty first, and Union afterwards"; but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, and blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment dear to every true American heart--"Liberty AND Union--now and forever--one and inseparable!"

RECESSIONAL.

RUDYARD KIPLING.

RUDYARD KIPLING was born in Bombay, India, in 1865.

His father and mother used to meet beside Lake Rudyard, and gave its name to their son. John Lockwood Kipling, the father, was at the head of the Lahore School of Art, and has illustrated a recent edition of his son's works.

On reaching the school age, young Kipling was sent to England to be educated, as was the custom among the English residents of India. He was educated in the United Services College, returning home at the age of eighteen.

It was his ambition to become a writer and he secured employment on the "Civil and Military Gazette." His work here familiarized him with the life in the garrisons, which he afterwards turned to good account in his ballads and short stories.

He was twenty-one years old when he became assistant editor of the "Lahore Journal." It was a strange newspaper office, judging by accounts which he has given us of it. There were native type-setters and a queer Mohammedan foreman. In a story which he wrote, called "The Man Who Would be King," Kipling tells how they worked in the stifling Indian heat.

From time to time Kipling published verses and stories in the local paper, and when these had been gathered together and sent out into the world in the form of a book called "Plain Tales from the Hills," the name of the young author and poet became famous.

He then went to England and made his home in London. He wrote many stories and poems of the old life in India, one of the best collections of which is the "Barrack-Room Ballads."

In London he met Walcott Balestier, of Brattleboro, Vt., and they wrote stories together until Balestier's death. Not long after, Kipling married Caroline Balestier. They came to this country and lived for a time in Vermont, where the poet surrounded himself with everything that would remind him of the life in India.

Among other works of Kipling are "Soldiers Three," "The Phantom 'Rickshaw, and Other Stories," the two Jungle Books, and "The Day's Work."

At the time of Queen Victoria's jubilee, Kipling wrote what was perhaps his greatest poem, the "Recessional," which was published in "The London Times."

GOD of our fathers, known of old-- Lord of our far-flung battle line-- Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine-- Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies-- The Captains and the Kings depart-- Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away-- On dune and headland sinks the fire-- Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe-- Such boasting as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law-- Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard-- All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding calls not Thee to guard. For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

Amen.

WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT.

WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT was born in the quaint old town of Salem, Mass., on the 4th of May, 1796. His father was a successful lawyer, and his mother was a lady of great ability who spent much time in educating and training her son. William was a bright, merry boy, who learned with ease, and was a great favorite among the boys. The first school he attended was taught by a gentle, old-fashioned lady, who was called the school mother. When he was seven years old he was sent to a more advanced school, taught by "Master Knapp," and remained there for five years.

Though strong and large of his age, he cared more for books than he did for boyish sports. He never remembered a time when he did not love to read.

When he was twelve years old his father removed to Boston, and William was sent to the best classical school then known in New England. He had George Ticknor the historian for a classmate and friend. The two boys progressed so rapidly in Latin and Greek that they outdistanced the rest of the class and recited by themselves.

Books and reading matter were then much more rare than now; but not far from the Prescott home there had been started a library, called the Boston Athenaeum. The founder, Mr. William Shaw, who also acted as librarian, was fond of bright boys and allowed a few of them to read there. William, who was one of his favorites, spent many an hour in these rooms, reading whatever pleased his fancy. He was especially fond of romances and tales of wild adventure.

His most intimate friend was a son of Dr. Gardiner, his teacher, and the boys were constantly together. They used to invent stories to tell each other on their way to and from school. Prescott's tales were the wilder, for he had a vivid imagination and had read many books of adventure.

William's grandfather, Colonel Prescott, had commanded the American forces at Bunker Hill, and William often listened to the story of this battle, and gazed with awe upon the sword which the colonel wore during the contest. He and young Gardiner amused themselves with fighting mock battles, dressing in some pieces of old armor which they found among the curiosities of the Athenaeum, and imagining that they were Revolutionary heroes, Greeks or Romans, or knights of the olden time.

Prescott entered Harvard College at the age of fifteen, passing his examinations with credit. He wished to hold a high rank in his class, and as it was an effort for him to apply himself, he made rules devoting a certain time to each study. He was of a happy, gay disposition and enjoyed the college life; but his course was interrupted by a painful accident. He was passing out of the dining hall one day when the sound of some frolic attracted his attention and he turned his head to see what it was. At that moment one of the students threw a piece of bread, which struck him on the open eye.

The shock of the blow was so great that he fell and was taken to his home and placed in the charge of a physician. After several weeks he returned to college, but the sight of the injured eye was entirely destroyed. He was graduated with honors in spite of this affliction, and wrote a Latin poem for Commencement.

On leaving college Prescott entered his father's law office, but continued reading Latin and Greek. After several months his sound eye became affected and there was fear of his becoming totally blind. He spent four months in a darkened room and bore his suffering bravely, always greeting the family with some word of cheer, as though they were the sufferers and it was his place to comfort them. As soon as he was able to travel he was sent to visit his grandfather Hickling, who was United States Consul at the Azores.

The passage was long and trying, and he was glad to reach land and receive the hearty welcome of his relatives. They lived in a delightful country house, in the midst of a beautiful garden, and Prescott was charmed with the tropical plants and orange groves.

He had been there but a fortnight when his eye again became affected, and he was obliged to spend three months in a darkened room. But he was so bright and patient that he won the hearts of all, and it was with sorrow that they finally saw him sail away.

After leaving the Azores, he spent several months in Europe, and then returned to America, spending the next winter at home. He was obliged to avoid the light; but his old school friend, Gardiner, read some of his favorite books to him each day, and his sister spent the greater part of her time with him, reading to him for hours.

Prescott was now twenty-two years old, and his outlook for the future was discouraging. He did not know what profession to follow, for there was no hope of his fully regaining his sight. There seemed no improvement in spite of his quiet life, and he began to go about and enjoy society.

He was married, when he was twenty-four years of age, to Miss Susan Amory, who was his devoted wife and companion. Mrs. Prescott's grandfather had also been a commander at the Battle of Bunker Hill, and captain of a British sloop-of-war.

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