Home › Contents › The Castle Builders

The Castle Builders

Rainey (447) D Better a Word than a Blow.

URING a storm in Boston, a team, heavily loaded with iron, while passing through Congress Street, became imbedded in the snow.

The humane driver, instead of lashing his horses, procured a shovel and cleared away the snow from the wheels. Then stepping up to the shaft-horse, he said: "Now, Billy, we are in a bad fix; do all you can, will you?"

The horse, apparently understanding the appeal, rubbed his head against the driver, as if in assent. The team was successfully started without a blow peing struck.

A well-known gentleman in State Street, having witnessed the scene, was so well pleased that, on returning to his office, he immediately addressed a note to the owner of the team, enclosing a ten-dollar bill, with a request that it be given "to the driver who treated his horses so kindly."

The Ship and the Iceberg.

WAS night-our anchored vessel slept Out of the glassy sea; TWA And still as heaven the waters kept, And golden bright-as he, The setting sun, went sinking slow Beneath the eternal wave; And the ocean seemed a pall to throw Over the monarch's grave.

There was no motion of the air To raise the sleeper's tress, And no wave-building winds were there On ocean's loveliness; But ocean mingled with the sky With such an equal hue, That vainly strove the 'wildered eye To part their gold and blue.

And ne'er a ripple of the sea Came on our steady gaze, Save when some timorous fish stole out To bathe in the woven blaze- When, flouting in the light that played All over the resting main, He would sink beneath the wave, and dart To his deep, blue home again.

Yet, while we gazed, that sunny eve, Across the twinkling deep, A form came ploughing the golden wave, And rending its holy sleep; It blushed bright red, while growing on Our fixed, half-fearful gaze; ).

But it wandered down with its glow of light, And its robe of sunny rays.

It seemed like molten silver, thrown Together in floating flame; And as we looked, we named it then, The fount whence all colors came:

There were rainbows furled with a careless grace, And the brightest red that glows; The purple amethyst there had place, And the hues of a full-blown rose.

And the vivid green, as the sun-lit grass Where the pleasant rain hath been; And the ideal hues, that, thought-like, pass Through the minds of fanciful men; They beamed full clear-and that form moved on.

Like one from a burning grave; And we dared not think it a real thing, But for the rustling wave.

The sun just lingered in our view, From the burning edge of ocean, When by our bark that bright one passed With a deep, disturbing motion :

The far down waters shrank away, With a gurgling rush upheaving, And the lifted waves grew pale and sad, Their mother's bosom leaving.

Yet, as it passed our bending stern, In its throne-like glory going, It crushed on a hidden rock, and turned Like an empire's overthrowing.

The uptorn waves rolled hoar-and, huge, The far thrown undulations Swelled out in the sun's last, lingering smile, And fell like battling nations.

I