They are not
unworthy
of being preserved with the original.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v16 to v20 - Phi to Qui
When her husband asked her to make pancakes,
she would say, "You thief, you don't deserve a pancake! " If he
said, "Don't make any pancakes, wife, if I don't deserve them,”
she would cook a two-gallon pot full, and say, "Eat away, you
thief, till they're all gone! "
One day, after having had his trouble and bother with her, he
went into the forest to look for berries and distract his grief; and
he came to where there was a currant-bush, and in the middle
of that bush he saw a bottomless pit. He looked at it for some
time and considered, "Why should I live in torment with a bad
wife? Can't I put her into that pit? Can't I teach her a good
lesson ? »
So when he came home he said:
"Wife, don't go into the woods for berries. "
«< Yes, you bugbear, I shall go! "
"I've found a currant-bush: don't pick it. "
"Yes, I will; I shall go and pick it clean: but I won't give
you a single currant! »
The husband went out, his wife with him. He came to the
currant-bush, and his wife jumped into the middle of it, and
went flop into the bottomless pit.
The husband returned home joyfully, and remained there
three days; on the fourth day he went to see how things were
going on. Taking a long cord, he let it down into the pit, and
out from thence he pulled a little demon. Frightened out of his
wits, he was going to throw the imp back again into the pit, but
it shrieked aloud and earnestly entreated him, saying:-
"Don't send me back again, O peasant! Let me go out into
the world! A bad wife has come and absolutely devoured us
all, pinching us and biting us-we're utterly worn out with it.
I'll do you a good turn if you will. "
So the peasant let him go free-at large in Holy Russia.
## p. 10539 (#411) ##########################################
MYTHS AND FOLK-LORE OF THE ARYAN PEOPLES 10539
HANGMAN'S ROPE
Russian variant of the superstition. Reported March 27th, 1880
THE
HE hangman is permitted to trade upon the superstition still
current in Russian society, respecting the luck conferred
upon gamesters by the possession of a morsel of the rope
with which a human being has been strangled, either by the hand
of justice or by his own. Immediately after young M'Cadetzky
had been hanged, only the other day, Froloff was surrounded by
members of the Russian jeunesse dorée, eager to purchase scraps
of the fatal noose; and he disposed of several dozen such talis-
mans at from three to five roubles apiece, observing with cynical
complacency that "he hoped the Nihilists would yet bring him in
plenty of money. "
MAY-DAY SONG
From J. G. Frazer's Golden Bough. ' Abingdon in Berkshire. Variant of
folk rhymes that survive from the old Aryan tree-worship, associated
with May Day.
WE'VE been rambling all the night,
And some time of this day;
And now returning back again,
We bring a garland gay.
WE
A garland gay we bring you here,
And at your door we stand;
It is a sprout, well budded out,
The work of our Lord's hand.
OLD ENGLISH CHARMS AND FOLK CUSTOMS
From Herrick's 'Hesperides. Devonshire: Seventeenth Century
BREAD CHARMS
I
B
RING the holy crust of bread,
Lay it underneath the head:
'Tis a certain charm to keep
Hags away, while children sleep.
## p. 10540 (#412) ##########################################
10540
MYTHS AND FOLK-LORE OF THE ARYAN PEOPLES
Κ
II
IF YE feare to be affrighted
When ye are by chance benighted,
In your pocket for a trust,
Carrie nothing but a crust;
For that holy piece of bread
Charmes the danger and the dread.
KNIFE CHARM
LET the superstitious wife
Neer the child's heart lay a knife;
Point be up, and haft be downe:
While she gossips in the towne,
This 'mongst other mystick charms
Keeps the sleeping child from harms.
YULE-LOG CEREMONY
INDLE the Christmas brand, and then
Till sunne-set, let it burne;
Which quencht, then lay it up agen,
Till Christmas next returne.
Part must be kept wherewith to teend
The Christmas log next yeare;
And where 'tis safely kept, the fiend
Can do no mischiefe there.
THE CHANGELING
From A Pleasant Treatise on Witchcraft. ' English variant of the almost
universal folk-tale
Α΄
CERTAIN woman having put out her child to nurse in the
country, found, when she came to take it home, that its
form was so much altered that she scarce knew it; never-
theless, not knowing what time might do, took it home for her
own. But when after some years it could neither speak nor go,
the poor woman was fain to carry it, with much trouble, in her
arms; and one day, a poor man coming to the door, "God bless
you, mistress," said he, "and your poor child: be pleased to be-
stow something on a poor man. "-"Ah! this child," replied she,
## p. 10541 (#413) ##########################################
MYTHS AND FOLK-LORE OF THE ARYAN PEOPLES
10541
"is the cause of all my sorrow," and related what had happened;
adding, moreover, that she thought it changed, and none of her
child. The old man, whom years had rendered more prudent in
such matters, told her, to find out the truth she should make a
clear fire, sweep the hearth very clean, and place the child fast
in his chair-that he might not fall-before it, and break a dozen
eggs, and place the four-and-twenty half shells before it; then go
out, and listen at the door; for if the child spoke, it was certainly
a changeling; and then she should carry it out, and leave it on
the dunghill to cry, and not to pity it, till she heard its voice no
The woman, having done all things according to these
words, heard the child say, "Seven years old was I before I
came to the nurse, and four years have I lived since, and never
saw so many milk-pans before. " So the woman took it up, and
left it upon the dunghill to cry and not to be pitied, till at last
she thought the voice went up into the air; and on going there
found her own child safe and sound.
more.
THE MAGIC SWORD (MIMUNG, OR BALMUNG)
Norse variant of the common Aryan sword-myths (Carlyle's version)
Β΄
Y THIS Sword Balmung also hangs a tale. Doubtless it was
one of those invaluable weapons sometimes fabricated by
the old Northern Smiths, compared with which our modern
Foxes and Ferraras and Toledos are mere leaden tools. Von der
Hagen seems to think it simply the Sword Mimung under another
name; in which case Siegfried's old master, Mimer, had been
the maker of it, and called it after himself, as if it had been his
son. In Scandinavian chronicles, veridical or not, we have the
following account of that transaction. Mimer was challenged by
another Craftsman, named Amilias, who boasted that he had made
a suit of armor which no stroke could dint, to equal that feat or
own himself the second Smith then extant. This last the stout
Mimer would in no case do, but proceeded to forge the Sword
Mimung; with which, when it was finished, he, "in presence of
the King," cut asunder "a thread of wool floating on water. "
This would have seemed a fair fire-edge to most smiths; not so
to Mimer: he sawed the blade in places, welded it in "a red-hot
fire for three days," tempered it "with milk and oatmeal,"
and by much other cunning brought out a sword that severed
## p. 10542 (#414) ##########################################
10542
MYTHS AND FOLK-LORE OF THE ARYAN PEOPLES
«
a ball of wool floating on water. " But neither would this suf-
fice him; he returned to his smithy, and by means known only
to himself produced, in the course of seven weeks, a third and
final edition of Mimung, which split asunder a whole floating
pack of wool. The comparative trial now took place forthwith.
Amilias, cased in his impenetrable coat of mail, sat down on a
bench, in presence of assembled thousands, and bade Mimer
strike him. Mimer fetched of course his best blow, on which
Amilias observed that there was a strange feeling of cold iron in
his inwards. "Shake thyself," said Mimer: the luckless wight
did so, and fell in two halves, being cleft sheer through, never
more to swing hammer in this world.
## p. 10543 (#415) ##########################################
10543
LADY NAIRNE (CAROLINA OLIPHANT)
(1766-1845)
BY THOMAS DAVIDSON
AROLINA OLIPHANT, better known as Lady Nairne, or the Bar-
oness Nairne, the sweetest and tenderest of all the Scottish
singers, was born at the house of Gask in Perthshire, on
August 16th, 1766. Her family, whose original name was Olifard, had
been distinguished for courage and loyalty from the middle of the
twelfth century. In the civil wars of 1715 and 1745 they took part
with the "Pretenders," and suffered grievously in consequence. Caro-
lina was named after "Prince Charlie. " From her earliest childhood
she was remarkable for beauty, sweetness of disposition, and men-
tal ability. She was especially fond of poetry and music, at which
several of her ancestors had tried their hands. She knew all the
old ballads and songs, and delighted to play and sing them. As she
grew up, she became a universal favorite with high and low, and
was celebrated in song as the "Flower o' Strathearn. " She was a
gay, robust, rollicking girl, extremely fond of dancing, riding, and all
healthy amusements. In 1797, when she was in Durham, she received
an offer of marriage from a royal duke, but declined it, being al-
ready engaged to her cousin Major (afterwards Lord) Nairne. Mean-
while, having observed that many of the beautiful, simple tunes sung
by the Scottish peasantry were accompanied with words of doubtful
tendency, and being also encouraged by the example of Burns, she
began to consider whether she might not do good by writing better
words. Her first effort was The Plowman,' whose immediate suc-
cess encouraged her to further effort. Soon after this she wrote most
of her humorous and Jacobite songs. In 1798, on the death of the
only child of a friend of her girlhood, she wrote the song by which
she is best known, The Land o' the Leal'; which, for tenderness and
genuine pathos, has no equal in any language. It is sung to almost
the same tune as Burns's 'Scots Wha Hae. ' About this time, the
deeply loyal and religious tendency in her nature manifested itself in.
a genuine "conversion," which made her a Christian, in the deepest
and best sense, for the rest of her life. She used to say, "Religion
is a walking and not a talking concern;" and so she did her good
deeds by stealth.
## p. 10544 (#416) ##########################################
10544
LADY NAIRNE
In 1806 she married her cousin, Major Nairne, then Inspector-
General of Barracks for Scotland; and settled in Edinburgh, where
her only child, named William Murray, was born in 1808. Though she
might have mixed with the best fashionable and literary society of
the Scottish capital, she preferred to live a retired life and to keep
the secret of her authorship to herself. She did not even commu-
nicate it to her adored husband, lest in his pride of her "he micht
blab. »
She did not even cultivate the friendship of Sir Walter Scott,
although her sister married a relative of his. She did, however, take
the lead in a committee of ladies who undertook to help Mr. Purdie,
an Edinburgh music-publisher, to bring out the Scottish Minstrel,' a
purified collection of Scotch songs and airs. In doing so, she assumed
the name of Mrs. Bogan of Bogan; and by this alone she was ever
known to Mr. Purdie, who was carefully cautioned not to divulge it.
And he didn't. The Minstrel' was completed in 1824, in six octavo
volumes. The same year Major Nairne was raised to the peerage,
which his family had lost through loyalty to the Stuarts; and so his
wife became Lady Nairne. He died in 1829; and then on account of
her son's health she removed first to Clifton, near Bristol, and then
to Ireland, where she made many friends, and took a deep interest in
the people. In 1834, after a brief visit to Scotland, she crossed over,
with her sister, son, and niece, to the Continent. After visiting Paris,
Florence, Rome, Naples, Geneva, Interlaken, and Baden, the party
wintered at Mannheim; and thence, in the spring of 1837, went to
Baden-Baden, where young Lord Nairne was seized with influenza,
which turned into consumption. He died on the 7th of December,
and was buried in Brussels. Lady Nairne, now seventy-two years of
age, never recovered from this blow; nevertheless, she refrained from
complaining, and devoted the rest of her life to doing good. After
visiting Paris, Wildbad, Stuttgart, and other places, she settled for a
time in Munich. She then traveled for four years in Germany, Aus-
tria, and France, never meaning to return to her own country. But
in 1843, yielding to the wishes of her nephew, James Blair Oliphant,
now proprietor of Gask, she was induced to return to the scenes of
her childhood; though she could not return to the "auld hoose,"
since that had been pulled down in 1819. Here she spent her time
communicating with old friends, arranging family papers, praying,
reading, and distributing her money among worthy causes,—always
with the proviso that her name was not to be mentioned. She
passed quietly away on the 26th of October, 1845, and was buried in
the private chapel at Gask,- a shrine thenceforth for all lovers of
poetry.
There are few lives on record in which one would not wish to see
something otherwise than it was; but Lady Nairne's is one of them.
## p. 10545 (#417) ##########################################
LADY NAIRNE
10545
Indeed it is difficult to conceive a life more simply, nobly lived. She
was adorned with every grace of womanhood: beauty, dignity, ten-
derness, loyalty, intelligence, art, religion. She was not only a model
daughter, sister, wife, and mother, and a charming conversationalist
and correspondent, but she was also an admirable artist and musi-
cian, and she wrote the finest lyrics in the Scottish language. Her
charity also was bounded only by her means. And yet, when she
went to her grave, there were probably not more than three or four
persons in the world who knew that she had ever written a line of
poetry, or expended a sovereign in charity. Dr. Chalmers, however,
who had been to a large extent her almoner, considered himself
relieved from his promise of secrecy by her death, and told of the
large sums he had received from her; while her sister and niece,
assuming a similar liberty, allowed the world to know that she had
written over seventy of the best songs that ever were composed,-
songs pathetic, humorous, playful, martial, religious. Thus her literary
fame was entirely posthumous; but it has grown steadily, and will
continue to grow. In the world of lyric poetry she stands, among
women, next to Sappho. There is something about her songs that
name, something simple, natural, living, inevitable. The
range of her work is not equal to that of Burns; but where she could
go, he could not follow her. She knew where the heart-strings lie,
and she knew how to draw from them their deepest music. In hand-
ling the Scottish language, she has no equal. She spoke from her
heart, in the heartiest of languages, and her words go to the heart
and remain there.
Hawar Davids
XVIII-660
THE LAND O' THE LEAL
'M WEARIN' awa', John,
I'M
Like snaw wreaths in thaw, John;
I'm wearin' awa'
To the land o' the leal.
There's nae sorrow there, John,
There's neither cauld nor care, John,
The day is aye fair
In the land o' the leal.
## p. 10546 (#418) ##########################################
10546
LADY NAIRNE
Our bonnie bairn's there, John;
She was baith gude and fair, John,
And oh! we grudged her sair
To the land o' the leal.
But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,
And joy's a-comin' fast, John,—
The joy that's aye to last
In the land o' the leal.
Sae dear that joy was bought, John,
Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought
To the land o' the leal.
Oh! dry your glist'ning e'e, John:
My saul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me
To the land o' the leal.
Oh! haud ye leal and true, John:
Your day it's wearin' thro', John,
And I'll welcome you
To the land o' the leal.
Now fare ye weel, my ain John:
This warld's cares are vain, John;
We'll meet, and we'll be fain,
In the land o' the leal.
THE HUNDRED PIPERS
W™
A hundred pipers an' a', an' a',
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a',
We'll up an' gie them a blaw, a blaw,
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
Oh! it's owre the Border awa, awa,
It's owre the Border awa, awa,
We'll on and we'll march to Carlisle ha',
Wi' its yetts, its castell, an' a', an' a'.
Oh! our sodger lads looked braw, looked braw,
Wi' their tartans, kilts, an' a', an' a',
Wi' their bonnets, an' feathers, an' glittering gear,
An' pibrochs sounding sweet and clear.
Will they a' return to their ain dear glen?
Will they a' return, our Hieland men?
## p. 10547 (#419) ##########################################
LADY NAIRNE
Second-sighted Sandy looked fu' wae,
And mothers grat when they marched away,
Wi' a hundred pipers, etc.
Oh, wha is foremost o' a', o' a'?
Oh, wha does follow the blaw, the blaw?
Bonnie Charlie, the king o' us a', hurra!
Wi' his hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
His bonnet an' feather he's wavin' high,
His prancin' steed maist seems to fly,
The nor' wind plays wi' his curly hair,
While the pipers blaw in an unco flare.
Wi' a hundred pipers, etc.
The Esk was swollen, sae red and sae deep,
But shouther to shouther the brave lads keep;
Twa thousand swam owre to fell English ground,
An' danced themselves dry to the pibroch's sound.
Dumfoundered, the English saw-they saw
Dumfoundered, they heard the blaw, the blaw;
Dumfoundered, they a' ran awa, awa,
From the hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a',
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a',
We'll up and gie them a blaw, a blaw,
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
W
CALLER HERRIN'
HA'LL buy my caller herrin'?
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?
When ye were sleepin' on your pillows,
Dreamed ye aught o' our puir fellows,
Darkling as they faced the billows,
A' to fill the woven willows?
Buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're no brought here without brave darin';
-
Buy my caller herrin',
Hauled through wind and rain.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? etc.
10547
## p. 10548 (#420) ##########################################
10548
LADY NAIRNE
Wha'll buy my caller herrin' ?
Oh, ye may ca' them vulgar farin':
Wives and mithers maist despairin'
Ca' them lives o' men.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? etc.
When the creel o' herrin' passes,
Ladies, clad in silks and laces,
Gather in their braw pelisses,
Cast their heads and screw their faces.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? etc.
Caller herrin's no got lightlie:
Ye can trip the spring fu' tightlie;
Spite o' tauntin', flauntin', flingin',
Gow has set you a' a-singin'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? etc.
Neebor wives, now tent my tellin':
When the bonny fish ye're sellin',
At ae word be in ye're dealin',—
Truth will stand when a' thing's failin'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're bonny fish and halesome farin';
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?
THE AULD HOUSE
OH
H, THE auld house, the auld house,-
What though the rooms were wee?
Oh! kind hearts were dwelling there,
And bairnies fu' o' glee;
The wild rose and the jessamine
Still hang upon the wa':
How mony cherished memories
Do they, sweet flowers, reca'!
Oh, the auld laird, the auld laird,
Sae canty, kind, and crouse,—
How mony did he welcome to
His ain wee dear auld house;
And the leddy too, sae genty,
There sheltered Scotland's heir,
And clipt a lock wi' her ain hand,
Frae his lang yellow hair.
## p. 10549 (#421) ##########################################
LADY NAIRNE
10549
The mavis still doth sweetly sing,
The bluebells sweetly blaw,
The bonny Earn's clear winding still,
But the auld house is awa'.
The auld house, the auld house,-
Deserted though ye be,
There ne'er can be a new house
Will seem sae fair to me.
Still flourishing the auld pear-tree
The bairnies liked to see;
And oh, how aften did they speir
When ripe they a' wad be!
The voices sweet, the wee bit feet
Aye rinnin' here and there,
The merry shout-oh! whiles we greet
To think we'll hear nae mair.
For they are a' wide scattered now:
Some to the Indies gane,
And ane, alas! to her lang hame:
Not here we'll meet again.
The kirkyaird, the kirkyaird!
Wi' flowers o' every hue,
Sheltered by the holly's shade
An' the dark sombre yew.
The setting sun, the setting sun!
How glorious it gaed doon;
The cloudy splendor raised our hearts
To cloudless skies aboon.
The auld dial, the auld dial!
It tauld how time did pass:
The wintry winds hae dung it doon,
Now hid 'mang weeds and grass.
THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN
THE
HE Laird o' Cockpen he's proud and he's great,
His mind is ta'en up with things o' the State;
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
But favor wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.
Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,
At his table-head he thought she'd look well:
## p. 10550 (#422) ##########################################
10550
LADY NAIRNE
M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee,
A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.
His wig was weel pouthered, and as gude as new;
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, and cocked-hat:
And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that?
He took the gray mare, and rade cannily,
And rapped at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee:
"Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,
She's wanted to speak wi' the Laird o' Cockpen. ”
Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine:
"And what brings the Laird at sic a like time? "
She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown,
Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.
And when she came ben he bowed fu' low,
And what was his errand he soon let her know:
Amazed was the Laird when the lady said "Na";
And wi' a laigh curtsey she turned awa'.
Dumfoundered he was, but nae sigh did he gie:
He mounted his mare, he rade cannily;
And aften he thought, as he gaed through the glen,
"She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen. "
And now that the Laird his exit had made,
Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said:
"Oh! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten,-
I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen. »
Next time that the Laird and the lady were seen,
They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the green;
Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen-
But as yet there's nae chickens appeared at Cockpen.
The last two verses were added by Miss Ferrier, author of 'Marriage.
They are not unworthy of being preserved with the original.
## p. 10551 (#423) ##########################################
LADY NAIRNE
10551
WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?
HE news frae Moidart cam yestreen,
Will soon gar mony ferlie;
For ships o' war hae just come in,
And landit Royal Charlie.
THE
Come through the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin:
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Come through the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
The Hieland clans, wi' sword in hand,
Frae John o' Groat's to Airlie,
Hae to a man declared to stand
Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie.
Come through the heather, etc.
The Lowlands a', baith great an' sma,
Wi' mony a lord and laird, hae
Declared for Scotia's king an' law,
An' speir ye, Wha but Charlie?
Come through the heather, etc.
There's ne'er a lass in a' the lan'
But vows baith late an' early,
She'll ne'er to man gie heart nor han'
Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.
Come through the heather, etc.
Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,
And be't complete an' early;
His very name our heart's blood warms:
To arms for Royal Charlie!
Come through the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin;
For wha'll be king but Charlie ?
Come through the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!
For wha'll be king but Charlie ?
## p. 10552 (#424) ##########################################
10552
LADY NAIRNE
WILL YE NO COME BACK AGAIN?
ONNIE Charlie's now awa',
B Safely owre the friendly main;
Mony a heart will break in twa,
Should he ne'er come back again.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,-
Will ye no come back again?
Ye trusted in your Hieland men,
They trusted you, dear Charlie;
They kent you hiding in the glen,
Your cleadin' was but barely.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again ?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,-
Will ye no come back again?
English bribes were a' in vain;
An' e'en though puirer we may be,
Siller canna buy the heart
That beats aye for thine and thee.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,—
Will ye no come back again ?
We watched thee in the gloaming hour,
We watched thee in the morning gray;
Though thirty thousand pounds they'd gie,
Oh there is nane that wad betray.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,-
Will ye no come back again?
Sweet's the laverock's note and lang,
Lilting wildly up the glen;
But aye to me he sings ae sang,
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,-
Will ye no come back again?
## p. 10553 (#425) ##########################################
LADY NAIRNE
10553
GUDE-NICHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A'
THE
HE best o' joys maun hae an end,
The best o' friends maun part, I trow;
The langest day will wear away,
And I maun bid farewell to you.
The tear will tell when hearts are fu';
For words, gin they hae sense ava,
They're broken, faltering, and few:
Gude-nicht, and joy be wi' you a'.
Oh, we hae wandered far and wide,
O'er Scotia's lands o' firth and fell,
And mony a simple flower we've pu'd,
And twined it wi' the heather bell.
We've ranged the dingle and the dell,
The cot-house and the baron's ha';
Now we maun tak a last farewell:
Gude-nicht, and joy be wi' you a'.
My harp, fareweel: thy strains are past,
Of gleefu' mirth, and heart-felt wae;
The voice of song maun cease at last,
And minstrelsy itsel' decay.
But, oh! where sorrow canna win,
Nor parting tears are shed ava,
May we meet neighbor, kith and kin,
And joy for aye be wi' us a'!
WOULD YOU BE YOUNG AGAIN?
LD you be young again?
So would not I-
WOULD
One tear to memory given,
Onward I'd hie.
Life's dark flood forded o'er,
All but at rest on shore,
Say, would you plunge once more,
With home so nigh?
If you might, would you now
Retrace your way?
Wander through thorny wilds,
Faint and astray?
## p. 10554 (#426) ##########################################
10554
LADY NAIRNE
Night's gloomy watches fled,
Morning all beaming red,
Hope's smiles around us shed,
Heavenward-away.
Where are they gone, of yore
My best delight?
Dear and more dear, though now
Hidden from sight.
Where they rejoice to be,
There is the land for me:
Fly time, fly speedily,
Come life and light.
## p. 10555 (#427) ##########################################
10555
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
(1861-)
HE great aid which science combined with common-sense can
render in overcoming the difficulties and dangers of arctic
exploration is illustrated in the expedition of Dr. Fridtjof
Nansen. His book 'Farthest North' is the record of this expedition,
the success of which was the result of adequate preparations both in
the vessel and its equipment for a voyage towards the Pole.
Dr. Nansen was born in Christiania, Norway, on October 10th,
1861. In 1880 he entered the university of his native city, devoting
himself to the study of zoology. In 1882 he
made a voyage to the Jan Mayen and Spitz-
bergen seas, for the purpose of observing
animal life in high latitudes; and in the
same year he was appointed curator in the
Natural History Museum at Bergen, Norway.
He took his degree in 1888. In 1888-9 he
crossed Southern Greenland on snow-shoes.
Subsequently he was appointed curator of
the Museum of Comparative Anatomy in the
University of Christiania. As early as 1884
Dr. Nansen had conceived the idea that
there must be a current flowing at some
point between the Pole and Franz Josef
Land, from the Siberian Arctic Sea to the
east coast of Greenland. The starting-point of his conjecture was the
fact that certain articles belonging to the ill-fated Jeannette, which
had foundered in the drift ice north of the New Siberian Islands, had
been found afterwards upon the southwest coast of Greenland, bear-
ing evidence to a hitherto unsuspected current in the arctic seas.
an address before the Christiania Geographical Society in 1890, Dr.
Nansen set forth his theory; and proposed that he should place him-
self at the head of an expedition which should endeavor, by taking
advantage of this current, to reach Greenland by way of the Pole.
The success of the expedition would depend largely on the design of
the vessel. Former arctic explorers had employed ordinary ships,-
ill adapted, as events proved, to resist the enormous pressure of the
ice in the polar regions. Nansen proposed to have a ship built of
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
In
## p. 10556 (#428) ##########################################
10556
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
such a shape as to enable it to withstand the ice pressure. In its
construction two points were to be especially studied: (1) that the
shape of the hull be such as to offer as small a vulnerable target as
possible to the attacks of ice; (2) that it be built so solidly as to be
able to withstand the greatest possible pressure from without in any
direction whatsoever. More attention was to be paid to making the
ship a safe and warm stronghold while drifting in the ice, than to
endow it with speed or good sailing qualities. These designs were
carried out in building the Fram, the vessel in which Nansen made
his voyage. The sides of the Fram were so well rounded that at no
portion of its frame could the ice take firm hold upon it. Its adapta-
bility to the conditions of the Arctic Sea was well proven. After the
vessel had left the open sea, its strength and its peculiar shape en-
abled it to resist the ice pressure. It was lifted by the ice out of the
water, and borne upon the drifting floe in the direction of the Pole.
Nansen did not accomplish all that he set out to do, but he did
traverse the unknown polar sea northwestward from the New Siberian
Islands, and he did explore the region north of Franz Josef Land as
far as 86° 14', the highest latitude yet reached by man. His success
was largely due to the construction of the Fram. The first volume
of Farthest North' contains the account of the building of the
Fram, and of its voyage to the eighty-fourth parallel. The second
volume tells of the sledge journey still farther north, undertaken by
Dr. Nansen and one companion. Both accounts are rich in scientific
observations, and in details of the daily lives of the explorers. Dr.
Nansen's passion for science has absorbed neither his humanity nor
his capacity for poetry. His record of his travels is lightened by his
appreciation of the little pleasantries possible within four degrees of
the Pole, and by his sensitiveness to the ghostly beauty of a shrouded
world. He writes of his inner life of hope and ambition and frequent
depression, and of his outer life of adventure, with the ease and
charm of a man so completely under the sway of his subject that
literary graces are the natural accompaniment of his record.
AN EVENING'S AURORA
From Farthest North. Copyright 1897, by Harper & Brothers
ECEMBER, 1893. - As we were sitting at supper about 6 o'clock,
pressure suddenly began. The ice creaked and roared so
along the ship's sides close by us that it was not possi-
ble to carry on any connected conversation; we had to scream,
and all agreed with Nordahl when he remarked that it would be
D
## p. 10557 (#429) ##########################################
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
10557
much pleasanter if the pressure would confine its operations to
the bow instead of coming bothering us here aft. Amidst the
noise we caught every now and again from the organ a note or
two of Kjerulf's melody, 'I Could not Sleep for the Nightin-
gale's Voice. ' The hurly-burly outside lasted for about twenty
minutes, and then all was still.
Later in the evening Hansen came down to give notice of
what really was a remarkable appearance of aurora borealis.
The deck was brightly illuminated by it, and reflections of its
light played all over the ice. The whole sky was ablaze with
it, but it was brightest in the south; high up in that direction
glowed waving masses of fire. Later still Hansen came again to
say that now it was quite extraordinary. No words can depict
the glory that met our eyes. The glowing fire masses had
divided into glistening, many-colored bands, which were writhing
and twisting across the sky both in the south and north. The
rays sparkled with the purest, most crystalline rainbow colors,
chiefly violet-red or carmine and the clearest green. Most fre-
quently the rays of the arch were red at the ends, and changed
higher up into sparkling green, which, quite at the top, turned
darker and went over into blue or violet before disappearing in
the blue of the sky; or the rays in one and the same arch might
change from clear red to clear green, coming and going as if
driven by a storm. It was an endless phantasmagoria of spark-
ling color, surpassing anything that one can dream. Sometimes.
the spectacle reached such a climax that one's breath was taken
away; one felt that now something extraordinary must hap-
pen, at the very least the sky must fall. But as one stands in
breathless expectation, down the whole thing trips, as if in a
few quick, light scale-runs, into bare nothingness. There is some-
thing most undramatic about such a dénouement, but it is all
done with such confident assurance that one cannot take it amiss;
one feels one's self in the presence of a master who has the
complete command of his instrument. With a single stroke of
the bow he descends lightly and elegantly from the height of
passion into quiet, every-day strains, only with a few more strokes
to work himself up into passion again. It seems as if he were
trying to mock, to tease us. When we are on the point of going
below, driven by 61 degrees of frost (-33. 9 C. ), such magnificent
tones again vibrate over the strings that we stay until noses and
ears are frozen. For a finale, there is a wild display of fireworks
-
## p. 10558 (#430) ##########################################
10558
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
in every tint of flame,- such a conflagration that one expects
every minute to have it down on the ice, because there is not
room for it in the sky. But I can hold out no longer. Thinly
dressed, without a proper cap and without gloves, I have no feel-
ing left in body or limbs, and I crawl away below.
THE POLAR NIGHT
From Farthest North. Copyright 1897, by Harper & Brothers
M
ONDAY, December 25th (Christmas Day), 1893. -O Arctic
night, thou art like a woman, a marvelously lovely woman.
Thine are the noble, pure outlines of antique beauty, with
its marble coldness. On thy high, smooth brow, clear with the
clearness of ether, is no trace of compassion for the little suffer-
ings of despised humanity; on thy pale, beautiful cheek no blush.
of feeling. Among thy raven locks, waving out into space, the
hoar-frost has sprinkled its glittering crystals. The proud lines
of thy throat, thy shoulders' curves, are so noble, but, oh! unbend-
ingly cold; thy bosom's white chastity is feelingless as the snowy
ice. Chaste, beautiful, and proud, thou floatest through ether over
the frozen sea; thy glittering garment, woven of aurora-beams,
covering the vault of heaven. But sometimes I divine a twitch
of pain on thy lips, and endless sadness dreams in thy dark eye.
Oh, how tired I am of thy cold beauty! I long to return
to life. Let me get home again: as conqueror or as beggar,
what does that matter? but let me get home to begin life anew.
The years are passing here, and what do they bring? Nothing
but dust, dry dust, which the first wind blows away; new dust
comes in its place, and the next wind takes it too. Truth? Why
should we always make so much of truth? Life is more than
cold truth, and we live but once.
THE NEW YEAR, 1896: OUR DAILY LIFE
From Farthest North. ' Copyright 1897, by Harper & Brothers
EDNESDAY, January 1st, 1896. -41. 5° C. (42. 7° below zero,
W Fahr. ). —So a new year has come, the year
of joy and
home-coming. In bright moonlight 1895 departed, and in
bright moonlight 1896 begins; but it is bitterly cold,- the coldest
## p. 10559 (#431) ##########################################
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
10559
days we have yet known here. I felt it, too, yesterday, when
all my finger-tips were frost-bitten. I thought I had done with
all that last spring.
Friday, January 3d. Morning. It is still clear. and cold out.
of doors. I can hear reports from the glacier. It lies up there
on the crest of the mountain like a mighty ice-giant peering
down at us through the clefts. It spreads its giant body all
over the land, and stretches out its limbs on all sides into the
sea. But whenever it turns cold-colder than it has hitherto
been-it writhes horribly, and crevice after crevice appears in
the huge body; there is a noise like the discharge of guns, and
the sky and the earth tremble so that I can feel the ground that
I am lying on quake. One is almost afraid that it will some day
come rolling over upon one.
Johansen is asleep, and making the hut resound. I am glad
his mother cannot see him now. She would certainly pity her
boy, so black and grimy and ragged as he is, with sooty streaks
all over his face. But wait, only wait! She shall have him
again, safe and sound and fresh and rosy.
Wednesday, January 8th. - Last night the wind blew the
sledge to which our thermometer was hanging, out over the slope.
Stormy weather outside-furious weather, almost taking away
your breath if you put your head out. We lie here trying to
sleep sleep the time away. But we cannot always do it. Oh,
those long sleepless nights when you turn from side to side, kick
your feet to put a little warmth into them, and wish for only.
one thing in the world-sleep! The thoughts are constantly
busy with everything at home; but the long, heavy body lies
here trying in vain to find an endurable position among the
rough stones. However, time crawls on, and now little Liv's
birthday has come. She is three years old to-day, and must be
a big girl now. Poor little thing! You don't miss your father
now, and next birthday I shall be with you, I hope. What good
friends we shall be! You shall ride a-cockhorse, and I will tell
you stories from the north about bears, foxes, walruses, and all
the strange animals up there in the ice. No, I can't bear to
think of it.
-
Saturday, February 1st. -Here I am down with the rheuma-
tism. Outside it is growing gradually lighter day by day; the
sky above the glaciers in the south grows redder, until at last
one day the sun will rise above the crest, and our last winter
## p. 10560 (#432) ##########################################
10560
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
night be past. Spring is coming! I have often thought spring
sad. Was it because it vanished so quickly, because it carried
promises that summer never fulfilled? But there is no sadness in
this spring: its promises will be kept; it would be too cruel if
they were not.
It was a strange existence, lying thus in a hut underground
the whole winter through, without a thing to turn one's hand to.
How we longed for a book! How delightful our life on board the
Fram appeared, when we had the whole library to fall back upon!
We would often tell each other how beautiful this sort of life
would have been, after all, if we had only had anything to read.
Johansen always spoke with a sigh of Heyse's novels: he had
specially liked those on board, and he had not been able to finish
the last one he was reading. The little readable matter which
was to be found in our navigation table and almanac, I had read
so many times already that I knew it almost by heart- all about
the Norwegian royal family, all about persons apparently drowned,
and all about self-help for fishermen. Yet it was always a com-
fort to see these books: the sight of the printed letters gave one
a feeling that there was, after all, a little bit of the civilized man
left.
she would say, "You thief, you don't deserve a pancake! " If he
said, "Don't make any pancakes, wife, if I don't deserve them,”
she would cook a two-gallon pot full, and say, "Eat away, you
thief, till they're all gone! "
One day, after having had his trouble and bother with her, he
went into the forest to look for berries and distract his grief; and
he came to where there was a currant-bush, and in the middle
of that bush he saw a bottomless pit. He looked at it for some
time and considered, "Why should I live in torment with a bad
wife? Can't I put her into that pit? Can't I teach her a good
lesson ? »
So when he came home he said:
"Wife, don't go into the woods for berries. "
«< Yes, you bugbear, I shall go! "
"I've found a currant-bush: don't pick it. "
"Yes, I will; I shall go and pick it clean: but I won't give
you a single currant! »
The husband went out, his wife with him. He came to the
currant-bush, and his wife jumped into the middle of it, and
went flop into the bottomless pit.
The husband returned home joyfully, and remained there
three days; on the fourth day he went to see how things were
going on. Taking a long cord, he let it down into the pit, and
out from thence he pulled a little demon. Frightened out of his
wits, he was going to throw the imp back again into the pit, but
it shrieked aloud and earnestly entreated him, saying:-
"Don't send me back again, O peasant! Let me go out into
the world! A bad wife has come and absolutely devoured us
all, pinching us and biting us-we're utterly worn out with it.
I'll do you a good turn if you will. "
So the peasant let him go free-at large in Holy Russia.
## p. 10539 (#411) ##########################################
MYTHS AND FOLK-LORE OF THE ARYAN PEOPLES 10539
HANGMAN'S ROPE
Russian variant of the superstition. Reported March 27th, 1880
THE
HE hangman is permitted to trade upon the superstition still
current in Russian society, respecting the luck conferred
upon gamesters by the possession of a morsel of the rope
with which a human being has been strangled, either by the hand
of justice or by his own. Immediately after young M'Cadetzky
had been hanged, only the other day, Froloff was surrounded by
members of the Russian jeunesse dorée, eager to purchase scraps
of the fatal noose; and he disposed of several dozen such talis-
mans at from three to five roubles apiece, observing with cynical
complacency that "he hoped the Nihilists would yet bring him in
plenty of money. "
MAY-DAY SONG
From J. G. Frazer's Golden Bough. ' Abingdon in Berkshire. Variant of
folk rhymes that survive from the old Aryan tree-worship, associated
with May Day.
WE'VE been rambling all the night,
And some time of this day;
And now returning back again,
We bring a garland gay.
WE
A garland gay we bring you here,
And at your door we stand;
It is a sprout, well budded out,
The work of our Lord's hand.
OLD ENGLISH CHARMS AND FOLK CUSTOMS
From Herrick's 'Hesperides. Devonshire: Seventeenth Century
BREAD CHARMS
I
B
RING the holy crust of bread,
Lay it underneath the head:
'Tis a certain charm to keep
Hags away, while children sleep.
## p. 10540 (#412) ##########################################
10540
MYTHS AND FOLK-LORE OF THE ARYAN PEOPLES
Κ
II
IF YE feare to be affrighted
When ye are by chance benighted,
In your pocket for a trust,
Carrie nothing but a crust;
For that holy piece of bread
Charmes the danger and the dread.
KNIFE CHARM
LET the superstitious wife
Neer the child's heart lay a knife;
Point be up, and haft be downe:
While she gossips in the towne,
This 'mongst other mystick charms
Keeps the sleeping child from harms.
YULE-LOG CEREMONY
INDLE the Christmas brand, and then
Till sunne-set, let it burne;
Which quencht, then lay it up agen,
Till Christmas next returne.
Part must be kept wherewith to teend
The Christmas log next yeare;
And where 'tis safely kept, the fiend
Can do no mischiefe there.
THE CHANGELING
From A Pleasant Treatise on Witchcraft. ' English variant of the almost
universal folk-tale
Α΄
CERTAIN woman having put out her child to nurse in the
country, found, when she came to take it home, that its
form was so much altered that she scarce knew it; never-
theless, not knowing what time might do, took it home for her
own. But when after some years it could neither speak nor go,
the poor woman was fain to carry it, with much trouble, in her
arms; and one day, a poor man coming to the door, "God bless
you, mistress," said he, "and your poor child: be pleased to be-
stow something on a poor man. "-"Ah! this child," replied she,
## p. 10541 (#413) ##########################################
MYTHS AND FOLK-LORE OF THE ARYAN PEOPLES
10541
"is the cause of all my sorrow," and related what had happened;
adding, moreover, that she thought it changed, and none of her
child. The old man, whom years had rendered more prudent in
such matters, told her, to find out the truth she should make a
clear fire, sweep the hearth very clean, and place the child fast
in his chair-that he might not fall-before it, and break a dozen
eggs, and place the four-and-twenty half shells before it; then go
out, and listen at the door; for if the child spoke, it was certainly
a changeling; and then she should carry it out, and leave it on
the dunghill to cry, and not to pity it, till she heard its voice no
The woman, having done all things according to these
words, heard the child say, "Seven years old was I before I
came to the nurse, and four years have I lived since, and never
saw so many milk-pans before. " So the woman took it up, and
left it upon the dunghill to cry and not to be pitied, till at last
she thought the voice went up into the air; and on going there
found her own child safe and sound.
more.
THE MAGIC SWORD (MIMUNG, OR BALMUNG)
Norse variant of the common Aryan sword-myths (Carlyle's version)
Β΄
Y THIS Sword Balmung also hangs a tale. Doubtless it was
one of those invaluable weapons sometimes fabricated by
the old Northern Smiths, compared with which our modern
Foxes and Ferraras and Toledos are mere leaden tools. Von der
Hagen seems to think it simply the Sword Mimung under another
name; in which case Siegfried's old master, Mimer, had been
the maker of it, and called it after himself, as if it had been his
son. In Scandinavian chronicles, veridical or not, we have the
following account of that transaction. Mimer was challenged by
another Craftsman, named Amilias, who boasted that he had made
a suit of armor which no stroke could dint, to equal that feat or
own himself the second Smith then extant. This last the stout
Mimer would in no case do, but proceeded to forge the Sword
Mimung; with which, when it was finished, he, "in presence of
the King," cut asunder "a thread of wool floating on water. "
This would have seemed a fair fire-edge to most smiths; not so
to Mimer: he sawed the blade in places, welded it in "a red-hot
fire for three days," tempered it "with milk and oatmeal,"
and by much other cunning brought out a sword that severed
## p. 10542 (#414) ##########################################
10542
MYTHS AND FOLK-LORE OF THE ARYAN PEOPLES
«
a ball of wool floating on water. " But neither would this suf-
fice him; he returned to his smithy, and by means known only
to himself produced, in the course of seven weeks, a third and
final edition of Mimung, which split asunder a whole floating
pack of wool. The comparative trial now took place forthwith.
Amilias, cased in his impenetrable coat of mail, sat down on a
bench, in presence of assembled thousands, and bade Mimer
strike him. Mimer fetched of course his best blow, on which
Amilias observed that there was a strange feeling of cold iron in
his inwards. "Shake thyself," said Mimer: the luckless wight
did so, and fell in two halves, being cleft sheer through, never
more to swing hammer in this world.
## p. 10543 (#415) ##########################################
10543
LADY NAIRNE (CAROLINA OLIPHANT)
(1766-1845)
BY THOMAS DAVIDSON
AROLINA OLIPHANT, better known as Lady Nairne, or the Bar-
oness Nairne, the sweetest and tenderest of all the Scottish
singers, was born at the house of Gask in Perthshire, on
August 16th, 1766. Her family, whose original name was Olifard, had
been distinguished for courage and loyalty from the middle of the
twelfth century. In the civil wars of 1715 and 1745 they took part
with the "Pretenders," and suffered grievously in consequence. Caro-
lina was named after "Prince Charlie. " From her earliest childhood
she was remarkable for beauty, sweetness of disposition, and men-
tal ability. She was especially fond of poetry and music, at which
several of her ancestors had tried their hands. She knew all the
old ballads and songs, and delighted to play and sing them. As she
grew up, she became a universal favorite with high and low, and
was celebrated in song as the "Flower o' Strathearn. " She was a
gay, robust, rollicking girl, extremely fond of dancing, riding, and all
healthy amusements. In 1797, when she was in Durham, she received
an offer of marriage from a royal duke, but declined it, being al-
ready engaged to her cousin Major (afterwards Lord) Nairne. Mean-
while, having observed that many of the beautiful, simple tunes sung
by the Scottish peasantry were accompanied with words of doubtful
tendency, and being also encouraged by the example of Burns, she
began to consider whether she might not do good by writing better
words. Her first effort was The Plowman,' whose immediate suc-
cess encouraged her to further effort. Soon after this she wrote most
of her humorous and Jacobite songs. In 1798, on the death of the
only child of a friend of her girlhood, she wrote the song by which
she is best known, The Land o' the Leal'; which, for tenderness and
genuine pathos, has no equal in any language. It is sung to almost
the same tune as Burns's 'Scots Wha Hae. ' About this time, the
deeply loyal and religious tendency in her nature manifested itself in.
a genuine "conversion," which made her a Christian, in the deepest
and best sense, for the rest of her life. She used to say, "Religion
is a walking and not a talking concern;" and so she did her good
deeds by stealth.
## p. 10544 (#416) ##########################################
10544
LADY NAIRNE
In 1806 she married her cousin, Major Nairne, then Inspector-
General of Barracks for Scotland; and settled in Edinburgh, where
her only child, named William Murray, was born in 1808. Though she
might have mixed with the best fashionable and literary society of
the Scottish capital, she preferred to live a retired life and to keep
the secret of her authorship to herself. She did not even commu-
nicate it to her adored husband, lest in his pride of her "he micht
blab. »
She did not even cultivate the friendship of Sir Walter Scott,
although her sister married a relative of his. She did, however, take
the lead in a committee of ladies who undertook to help Mr. Purdie,
an Edinburgh music-publisher, to bring out the Scottish Minstrel,' a
purified collection of Scotch songs and airs. In doing so, she assumed
the name of Mrs. Bogan of Bogan; and by this alone she was ever
known to Mr. Purdie, who was carefully cautioned not to divulge it.
And he didn't. The Minstrel' was completed in 1824, in six octavo
volumes. The same year Major Nairne was raised to the peerage,
which his family had lost through loyalty to the Stuarts; and so his
wife became Lady Nairne. He died in 1829; and then on account of
her son's health she removed first to Clifton, near Bristol, and then
to Ireland, where she made many friends, and took a deep interest in
the people. In 1834, after a brief visit to Scotland, she crossed over,
with her sister, son, and niece, to the Continent. After visiting Paris,
Florence, Rome, Naples, Geneva, Interlaken, and Baden, the party
wintered at Mannheim; and thence, in the spring of 1837, went to
Baden-Baden, where young Lord Nairne was seized with influenza,
which turned into consumption. He died on the 7th of December,
and was buried in Brussels. Lady Nairne, now seventy-two years of
age, never recovered from this blow; nevertheless, she refrained from
complaining, and devoted the rest of her life to doing good. After
visiting Paris, Wildbad, Stuttgart, and other places, she settled for a
time in Munich. She then traveled for four years in Germany, Aus-
tria, and France, never meaning to return to her own country. But
in 1843, yielding to the wishes of her nephew, James Blair Oliphant,
now proprietor of Gask, she was induced to return to the scenes of
her childhood; though she could not return to the "auld hoose,"
since that had been pulled down in 1819. Here she spent her time
communicating with old friends, arranging family papers, praying,
reading, and distributing her money among worthy causes,—always
with the proviso that her name was not to be mentioned. She
passed quietly away on the 26th of October, 1845, and was buried in
the private chapel at Gask,- a shrine thenceforth for all lovers of
poetry.
There are few lives on record in which one would not wish to see
something otherwise than it was; but Lady Nairne's is one of them.
## p. 10545 (#417) ##########################################
LADY NAIRNE
10545
Indeed it is difficult to conceive a life more simply, nobly lived. She
was adorned with every grace of womanhood: beauty, dignity, ten-
derness, loyalty, intelligence, art, religion. She was not only a model
daughter, sister, wife, and mother, and a charming conversationalist
and correspondent, but she was also an admirable artist and musi-
cian, and she wrote the finest lyrics in the Scottish language. Her
charity also was bounded only by her means. And yet, when she
went to her grave, there were probably not more than three or four
persons in the world who knew that she had ever written a line of
poetry, or expended a sovereign in charity. Dr. Chalmers, however,
who had been to a large extent her almoner, considered himself
relieved from his promise of secrecy by her death, and told of the
large sums he had received from her; while her sister and niece,
assuming a similar liberty, allowed the world to know that she had
written over seventy of the best songs that ever were composed,-
songs pathetic, humorous, playful, martial, religious. Thus her literary
fame was entirely posthumous; but it has grown steadily, and will
continue to grow. In the world of lyric poetry she stands, among
women, next to Sappho. There is something about her songs that
name, something simple, natural, living, inevitable. The
range of her work is not equal to that of Burns; but where she could
go, he could not follow her. She knew where the heart-strings lie,
and she knew how to draw from them their deepest music. In hand-
ling the Scottish language, she has no equal. She spoke from her
heart, in the heartiest of languages, and her words go to the heart
and remain there.
Hawar Davids
XVIII-660
THE LAND O' THE LEAL
'M WEARIN' awa', John,
I'M
Like snaw wreaths in thaw, John;
I'm wearin' awa'
To the land o' the leal.
There's nae sorrow there, John,
There's neither cauld nor care, John,
The day is aye fair
In the land o' the leal.
## p. 10546 (#418) ##########################################
10546
LADY NAIRNE
Our bonnie bairn's there, John;
She was baith gude and fair, John,
And oh! we grudged her sair
To the land o' the leal.
But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,
And joy's a-comin' fast, John,—
The joy that's aye to last
In the land o' the leal.
Sae dear that joy was bought, John,
Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought
To the land o' the leal.
Oh! dry your glist'ning e'e, John:
My saul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me
To the land o' the leal.
Oh! haud ye leal and true, John:
Your day it's wearin' thro', John,
And I'll welcome you
To the land o' the leal.
Now fare ye weel, my ain John:
This warld's cares are vain, John;
We'll meet, and we'll be fain,
In the land o' the leal.
THE HUNDRED PIPERS
W™
A hundred pipers an' a', an' a',
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a',
We'll up an' gie them a blaw, a blaw,
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
Oh! it's owre the Border awa, awa,
It's owre the Border awa, awa,
We'll on and we'll march to Carlisle ha',
Wi' its yetts, its castell, an' a', an' a'.
Oh! our sodger lads looked braw, looked braw,
Wi' their tartans, kilts, an' a', an' a',
Wi' their bonnets, an' feathers, an' glittering gear,
An' pibrochs sounding sweet and clear.
Will they a' return to their ain dear glen?
Will they a' return, our Hieland men?
## p. 10547 (#419) ##########################################
LADY NAIRNE
Second-sighted Sandy looked fu' wae,
And mothers grat when they marched away,
Wi' a hundred pipers, etc.
Oh, wha is foremost o' a', o' a'?
Oh, wha does follow the blaw, the blaw?
Bonnie Charlie, the king o' us a', hurra!
Wi' his hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
His bonnet an' feather he's wavin' high,
His prancin' steed maist seems to fly,
The nor' wind plays wi' his curly hair,
While the pipers blaw in an unco flare.
Wi' a hundred pipers, etc.
The Esk was swollen, sae red and sae deep,
But shouther to shouther the brave lads keep;
Twa thousand swam owre to fell English ground,
An' danced themselves dry to the pibroch's sound.
Dumfoundered, the English saw-they saw
Dumfoundered, they heard the blaw, the blaw;
Dumfoundered, they a' ran awa, awa,
From the hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a',
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a',
We'll up and gie them a blaw, a blaw,
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
W
CALLER HERRIN'
HA'LL buy my caller herrin'?
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?
When ye were sleepin' on your pillows,
Dreamed ye aught o' our puir fellows,
Darkling as they faced the billows,
A' to fill the woven willows?
Buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're no brought here without brave darin';
-
Buy my caller herrin',
Hauled through wind and rain.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? etc.
10547
## p. 10548 (#420) ##########################################
10548
LADY NAIRNE
Wha'll buy my caller herrin' ?
Oh, ye may ca' them vulgar farin':
Wives and mithers maist despairin'
Ca' them lives o' men.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? etc.
When the creel o' herrin' passes,
Ladies, clad in silks and laces,
Gather in their braw pelisses,
Cast their heads and screw their faces.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? etc.
Caller herrin's no got lightlie:
Ye can trip the spring fu' tightlie;
Spite o' tauntin', flauntin', flingin',
Gow has set you a' a-singin'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? etc.
Neebor wives, now tent my tellin':
When the bonny fish ye're sellin',
At ae word be in ye're dealin',—
Truth will stand when a' thing's failin'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're bonny fish and halesome farin';
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?
THE AULD HOUSE
OH
H, THE auld house, the auld house,-
What though the rooms were wee?
Oh! kind hearts were dwelling there,
And bairnies fu' o' glee;
The wild rose and the jessamine
Still hang upon the wa':
How mony cherished memories
Do they, sweet flowers, reca'!
Oh, the auld laird, the auld laird,
Sae canty, kind, and crouse,—
How mony did he welcome to
His ain wee dear auld house;
And the leddy too, sae genty,
There sheltered Scotland's heir,
And clipt a lock wi' her ain hand,
Frae his lang yellow hair.
## p. 10549 (#421) ##########################################
LADY NAIRNE
10549
The mavis still doth sweetly sing,
The bluebells sweetly blaw,
The bonny Earn's clear winding still,
But the auld house is awa'.
The auld house, the auld house,-
Deserted though ye be,
There ne'er can be a new house
Will seem sae fair to me.
Still flourishing the auld pear-tree
The bairnies liked to see;
And oh, how aften did they speir
When ripe they a' wad be!
The voices sweet, the wee bit feet
Aye rinnin' here and there,
The merry shout-oh! whiles we greet
To think we'll hear nae mair.
For they are a' wide scattered now:
Some to the Indies gane,
And ane, alas! to her lang hame:
Not here we'll meet again.
The kirkyaird, the kirkyaird!
Wi' flowers o' every hue,
Sheltered by the holly's shade
An' the dark sombre yew.
The setting sun, the setting sun!
How glorious it gaed doon;
The cloudy splendor raised our hearts
To cloudless skies aboon.
The auld dial, the auld dial!
It tauld how time did pass:
The wintry winds hae dung it doon,
Now hid 'mang weeds and grass.
THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN
THE
HE Laird o' Cockpen he's proud and he's great,
His mind is ta'en up with things o' the State;
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
But favor wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.
Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,
At his table-head he thought she'd look well:
## p. 10550 (#422) ##########################################
10550
LADY NAIRNE
M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee,
A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.
His wig was weel pouthered, and as gude as new;
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, and cocked-hat:
And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that?
He took the gray mare, and rade cannily,
And rapped at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee:
"Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,
She's wanted to speak wi' the Laird o' Cockpen. ”
Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine:
"And what brings the Laird at sic a like time? "
She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown,
Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.
And when she came ben he bowed fu' low,
And what was his errand he soon let her know:
Amazed was the Laird when the lady said "Na";
And wi' a laigh curtsey she turned awa'.
Dumfoundered he was, but nae sigh did he gie:
He mounted his mare, he rade cannily;
And aften he thought, as he gaed through the glen,
"She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen. "
And now that the Laird his exit had made,
Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said:
"Oh! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten,-
I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen. »
Next time that the Laird and the lady were seen,
They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the green;
Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen-
But as yet there's nae chickens appeared at Cockpen.
The last two verses were added by Miss Ferrier, author of 'Marriage.
They are not unworthy of being preserved with the original.
## p. 10551 (#423) ##########################################
LADY NAIRNE
10551
WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?
HE news frae Moidart cam yestreen,
Will soon gar mony ferlie;
For ships o' war hae just come in,
And landit Royal Charlie.
THE
Come through the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin:
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Come through the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
The Hieland clans, wi' sword in hand,
Frae John o' Groat's to Airlie,
Hae to a man declared to stand
Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie.
Come through the heather, etc.
The Lowlands a', baith great an' sma,
Wi' mony a lord and laird, hae
Declared for Scotia's king an' law,
An' speir ye, Wha but Charlie?
Come through the heather, etc.
There's ne'er a lass in a' the lan'
But vows baith late an' early,
She'll ne'er to man gie heart nor han'
Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.
Come through the heather, etc.
Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,
And be't complete an' early;
His very name our heart's blood warms:
To arms for Royal Charlie!
Come through the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin;
For wha'll be king but Charlie ?
Come through the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!
For wha'll be king but Charlie ?
## p. 10552 (#424) ##########################################
10552
LADY NAIRNE
WILL YE NO COME BACK AGAIN?
ONNIE Charlie's now awa',
B Safely owre the friendly main;
Mony a heart will break in twa,
Should he ne'er come back again.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,-
Will ye no come back again?
Ye trusted in your Hieland men,
They trusted you, dear Charlie;
They kent you hiding in the glen,
Your cleadin' was but barely.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again ?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,-
Will ye no come back again?
English bribes were a' in vain;
An' e'en though puirer we may be,
Siller canna buy the heart
That beats aye for thine and thee.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,—
Will ye no come back again ?
We watched thee in the gloaming hour,
We watched thee in the morning gray;
Though thirty thousand pounds they'd gie,
Oh there is nane that wad betray.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,-
Will ye no come back again?
Sweet's the laverock's note and lang,
Lilting wildly up the glen;
But aye to me he sings ae sang,
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,-
Will ye no come back again?
## p. 10553 (#425) ##########################################
LADY NAIRNE
10553
GUDE-NICHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A'
THE
HE best o' joys maun hae an end,
The best o' friends maun part, I trow;
The langest day will wear away,
And I maun bid farewell to you.
The tear will tell when hearts are fu';
For words, gin they hae sense ava,
They're broken, faltering, and few:
Gude-nicht, and joy be wi' you a'.
Oh, we hae wandered far and wide,
O'er Scotia's lands o' firth and fell,
And mony a simple flower we've pu'd,
And twined it wi' the heather bell.
We've ranged the dingle and the dell,
The cot-house and the baron's ha';
Now we maun tak a last farewell:
Gude-nicht, and joy be wi' you a'.
My harp, fareweel: thy strains are past,
Of gleefu' mirth, and heart-felt wae;
The voice of song maun cease at last,
And minstrelsy itsel' decay.
But, oh! where sorrow canna win,
Nor parting tears are shed ava,
May we meet neighbor, kith and kin,
And joy for aye be wi' us a'!
WOULD YOU BE YOUNG AGAIN?
LD you be young again?
So would not I-
WOULD
One tear to memory given,
Onward I'd hie.
Life's dark flood forded o'er,
All but at rest on shore,
Say, would you plunge once more,
With home so nigh?
If you might, would you now
Retrace your way?
Wander through thorny wilds,
Faint and astray?
## p. 10554 (#426) ##########################################
10554
LADY NAIRNE
Night's gloomy watches fled,
Morning all beaming red,
Hope's smiles around us shed,
Heavenward-away.
Where are they gone, of yore
My best delight?
Dear and more dear, though now
Hidden from sight.
Where they rejoice to be,
There is the land for me:
Fly time, fly speedily,
Come life and light.
## p. 10555 (#427) ##########################################
10555
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
(1861-)
HE great aid which science combined with common-sense can
render in overcoming the difficulties and dangers of arctic
exploration is illustrated in the expedition of Dr. Fridtjof
Nansen. His book 'Farthest North' is the record of this expedition,
the success of which was the result of adequate preparations both in
the vessel and its equipment for a voyage towards the Pole.
Dr. Nansen was born in Christiania, Norway, on October 10th,
1861. In 1880 he entered the university of his native city, devoting
himself to the study of zoology. In 1882 he
made a voyage to the Jan Mayen and Spitz-
bergen seas, for the purpose of observing
animal life in high latitudes; and in the
same year he was appointed curator in the
Natural History Museum at Bergen, Norway.
He took his degree in 1888. In 1888-9 he
crossed Southern Greenland on snow-shoes.
Subsequently he was appointed curator of
the Museum of Comparative Anatomy in the
University of Christiania. As early as 1884
Dr. Nansen had conceived the idea that
there must be a current flowing at some
point between the Pole and Franz Josef
Land, from the Siberian Arctic Sea to the
east coast of Greenland. The starting-point of his conjecture was the
fact that certain articles belonging to the ill-fated Jeannette, which
had foundered in the drift ice north of the New Siberian Islands, had
been found afterwards upon the southwest coast of Greenland, bear-
ing evidence to a hitherto unsuspected current in the arctic seas.
an address before the Christiania Geographical Society in 1890, Dr.
Nansen set forth his theory; and proposed that he should place him-
self at the head of an expedition which should endeavor, by taking
advantage of this current, to reach Greenland by way of the Pole.
The success of the expedition would depend largely on the design of
the vessel. Former arctic explorers had employed ordinary ships,-
ill adapted, as events proved, to resist the enormous pressure of the
ice in the polar regions. Nansen proposed to have a ship built of
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
In
## p. 10556 (#428) ##########################################
10556
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
such a shape as to enable it to withstand the ice pressure. In its
construction two points were to be especially studied: (1) that the
shape of the hull be such as to offer as small a vulnerable target as
possible to the attacks of ice; (2) that it be built so solidly as to be
able to withstand the greatest possible pressure from without in any
direction whatsoever. More attention was to be paid to making the
ship a safe and warm stronghold while drifting in the ice, than to
endow it with speed or good sailing qualities. These designs were
carried out in building the Fram, the vessel in which Nansen made
his voyage. The sides of the Fram were so well rounded that at no
portion of its frame could the ice take firm hold upon it. Its adapta-
bility to the conditions of the Arctic Sea was well proven. After the
vessel had left the open sea, its strength and its peculiar shape en-
abled it to resist the ice pressure. It was lifted by the ice out of the
water, and borne upon the drifting floe in the direction of the Pole.
Nansen did not accomplish all that he set out to do, but he did
traverse the unknown polar sea northwestward from the New Siberian
Islands, and he did explore the region north of Franz Josef Land as
far as 86° 14', the highest latitude yet reached by man. His success
was largely due to the construction of the Fram. The first volume
of Farthest North' contains the account of the building of the
Fram, and of its voyage to the eighty-fourth parallel. The second
volume tells of the sledge journey still farther north, undertaken by
Dr. Nansen and one companion. Both accounts are rich in scientific
observations, and in details of the daily lives of the explorers. Dr.
Nansen's passion for science has absorbed neither his humanity nor
his capacity for poetry. His record of his travels is lightened by his
appreciation of the little pleasantries possible within four degrees of
the Pole, and by his sensitiveness to the ghostly beauty of a shrouded
world. He writes of his inner life of hope and ambition and frequent
depression, and of his outer life of adventure, with the ease and
charm of a man so completely under the sway of his subject that
literary graces are the natural accompaniment of his record.
AN EVENING'S AURORA
From Farthest North. Copyright 1897, by Harper & Brothers
ECEMBER, 1893. - As we were sitting at supper about 6 o'clock,
pressure suddenly began. The ice creaked and roared so
along the ship's sides close by us that it was not possi-
ble to carry on any connected conversation; we had to scream,
and all agreed with Nordahl when he remarked that it would be
D
## p. 10557 (#429) ##########################################
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
10557
much pleasanter if the pressure would confine its operations to
the bow instead of coming bothering us here aft. Amidst the
noise we caught every now and again from the organ a note or
two of Kjerulf's melody, 'I Could not Sleep for the Nightin-
gale's Voice. ' The hurly-burly outside lasted for about twenty
minutes, and then all was still.
Later in the evening Hansen came down to give notice of
what really was a remarkable appearance of aurora borealis.
The deck was brightly illuminated by it, and reflections of its
light played all over the ice. The whole sky was ablaze with
it, but it was brightest in the south; high up in that direction
glowed waving masses of fire. Later still Hansen came again to
say that now it was quite extraordinary. No words can depict
the glory that met our eyes. The glowing fire masses had
divided into glistening, many-colored bands, which were writhing
and twisting across the sky both in the south and north. The
rays sparkled with the purest, most crystalline rainbow colors,
chiefly violet-red or carmine and the clearest green. Most fre-
quently the rays of the arch were red at the ends, and changed
higher up into sparkling green, which, quite at the top, turned
darker and went over into blue or violet before disappearing in
the blue of the sky; or the rays in one and the same arch might
change from clear red to clear green, coming and going as if
driven by a storm. It was an endless phantasmagoria of spark-
ling color, surpassing anything that one can dream. Sometimes.
the spectacle reached such a climax that one's breath was taken
away; one felt that now something extraordinary must hap-
pen, at the very least the sky must fall. But as one stands in
breathless expectation, down the whole thing trips, as if in a
few quick, light scale-runs, into bare nothingness. There is some-
thing most undramatic about such a dénouement, but it is all
done with such confident assurance that one cannot take it amiss;
one feels one's self in the presence of a master who has the
complete command of his instrument. With a single stroke of
the bow he descends lightly and elegantly from the height of
passion into quiet, every-day strains, only with a few more strokes
to work himself up into passion again. It seems as if he were
trying to mock, to tease us. When we are on the point of going
below, driven by 61 degrees of frost (-33. 9 C. ), such magnificent
tones again vibrate over the strings that we stay until noses and
ears are frozen. For a finale, there is a wild display of fireworks
-
## p. 10558 (#430) ##########################################
10558
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
in every tint of flame,- such a conflagration that one expects
every minute to have it down on the ice, because there is not
room for it in the sky. But I can hold out no longer. Thinly
dressed, without a proper cap and without gloves, I have no feel-
ing left in body or limbs, and I crawl away below.
THE POLAR NIGHT
From Farthest North. Copyright 1897, by Harper & Brothers
M
ONDAY, December 25th (Christmas Day), 1893. -O Arctic
night, thou art like a woman, a marvelously lovely woman.
Thine are the noble, pure outlines of antique beauty, with
its marble coldness. On thy high, smooth brow, clear with the
clearness of ether, is no trace of compassion for the little suffer-
ings of despised humanity; on thy pale, beautiful cheek no blush.
of feeling. Among thy raven locks, waving out into space, the
hoar-frost has sprinkled its glittering crystals. The proud lines
of thy throat, thy shoulders' curves, are so noble, but, oh! unbend-
ingly cold; thy bosom's white chastity is feelingless as the snowy
ice. Chaste, beautiful, and proud, thou floatest through ether over
the frozen sea; thy glittering garment, woven of aurora-beams,
covering the vault of heaven. But sometimes I divine a twitch
of pain on thy lips, and endless sadness dreams in thy dark eye.
Oh, how tired I am of thy cold beauty! I long to return
to life. Let me get home again: as conqueror or as beggar,
what does that matter? but let me get home to begin life anew.
The years are passing here, and what do they bring? Nothing
but dust, dry dust, which the first wind blows away; new dust
comes in its place, and the next wind takes it too. Truth? Why
should we always make so much of truth? Life is more than
cold truth, and we live but once.
THE NEW YEAR, 1896: OUR DAILY LIFE
From Farthest North. ' Copyright 1897, by Harper & Brothers
EDNESDAY, January 1st, 1896. -41. 5° C. (42. 7° below zero,
W Fahr. ). —So a new year has come, the year
of joy and
home-coming. In bright moonlight 1895 departed, and in
bright moonlight 1896 begins; but it is bitterly cold,- the coldest
## p. 10559 (#431) ##########################################
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
10559
days we have yet known here. I felt it, too, yesterday, when
all my finger-tips were frost-bitten. I thought I had done with
all that last spring.
Friday, January 3d. Morning. It is still clear. and cold out.
of doors. I can hear reports from the glacier. It lies up there
on the crest of the mountain like a mighty ice-giant peering
down at us through the clefts. It spreads its giant body all
over the land, and stretches out its limbs on all sides into the
sea. But whenever it turns cold-colder than it has hitherto
been-it writhes horribly, and crevice after crevice appears in
the huge body; there is a noise like the discharge of guns, and
the sky and the earth tremble so that I can feel the ground that
I am lying on quake. One is almost afraid that it will some day
come rolling over upon one.
Johansen is asleep, and making the hut resound. I am glad
his mother cannot see him now. She would certainly pity her
boy, so black and grimy and ragged as he is, with sooty streaks
all over his face. But wait, only wait! She shall have him
again, safe and sound and fresh and rosy.
Wednesday, January 8th. - Last night the wind blew the
sledge to which our thermometer was hanging, out over the slope.
Stormy weather outside-furious weather, almost taking away
your breath if you put your head out. We lie here trying to
sleep sleep the time away. But we cannot always do it. Oh,
those long sleepless nights when you turn from side to side, kick
your feet to put a little warmth into them, and wish for only.
one thing in the world-sleep! The thoughts are constantly
busy with everything at home; but the long, heavy body lies
here trying in vain to find an endurable position among the
rough stones. However, time crawls on, and now little Liv's
birthday has come. She is three years old to-day, and must be
a big girl now. Poor little thing! You don't miss your father
now, and next birthday I shall be with you, I hope. What good
friends we shall be! You shall ride a-cockhorse, and I will tell
you stories from the north about bears, foxes, walruses, and all
the strange animals up there in the ice. No, I can't bear to
think of it.
-
Saturday, February 1st. -Here I am down with the rheuma-
tism. Outside it is growing gradually lighter day by day; the
sky above the glaciers in the south grows redder, until at last
one day the sun will rise above the crest, and our last winter
## p. 10560 (#432) ##########################################
10560
FRIDTJOF NANSEN
night be past. Spring is coming! I have often thought spring
sad. Was it because it vanished so quickly, because it carried
promises that summer never fulfilled? But there is no sadness in
this spring: its promises will be kept; it would be too cruel if
they were not.
It was a strange existence, lying thus in a hut underground
the whole winter through, without a thing to turn one's hand to.
How we longed for a book! How delightful our life on board the
Fram appeared, when we had the whole library to fall back upon!
We would often tell each other how beautiful this sort of life
would have been, after all, if we had only had anything to read.
Johansen always spoke with a sigh of Heyse's novels: he had
specially liked those on board, and he had not been able to finish
the last one he was reading. The little readable matter which
was to be found in our navigation table and almanac, I had read
so many times already that I knew it almost by heart- all about
the Norwegian royal family, all about persons apparently drowned,
and all about self-help for fishermen. Yet it was always a com-
fort to see these books: the sight of the printed letters gave one
a feeling that there was, after all, a little bit of the civilized man
left.
