FROM "EVANGELINE "

By HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, Professor, Poet. Born in Portland, Maine, 1807; died in Cambridge, Mass., 1882.

By permission of the publishers of Longfellow's Poems, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston.

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard,
Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal.
There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the
notary seated;

There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith.
Not far withdrawn from these by the cider-press and the

beehives,

Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats.

Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white

Hair, as it waved in the wind; and the jolly face of the fiddler

Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers.

Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, Tous les Bourgeois de Chatres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerque, And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows; Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them.

Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter! Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the Blacksmith! So passed the morning away. And lo! with summons

sonorous

Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat.

Thronged ere long was the church with men.

Without in

the churchyard

Waited the women.

on the headstones

They stood by the graves, and hung

Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the

forest.

Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them

Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and

casement,

Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers.

Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar,

Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commis

sion.

“You are convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty's orders.

Clement and kind he has been; but how you have answered his kindness,

Let your own hearts reply! To my natural make and my

temper

Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be

grievous.

Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch;

Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all

kinds

Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves from this

province

Be transported to other lands.

there

God grant you may dwell

Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people! Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Majesty's pleasure!"'

As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer,

Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hail

stones

Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his

windows,

Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs,

Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures; So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker.

Silent they stood a moment in speechless wonder, and then

rose

Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger,

And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the

doorway.

Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations

Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads of the others

Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the black

smith,

As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows.

Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he shouted,

"Down with these tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance!

Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!'

More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a

soldier

Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement.

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar.

Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence

All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his people; Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents measured and mournful

Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes.

66

What is this ye do, my children? what madness has seized you?

Forty years

you,

of my life have I labored among you, and taught

Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another!

Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and

privations ?

Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness?

This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it

Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred ? Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you!

See! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion!

Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer, ‘O Father, forgive them!'

Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail

us,

Let us repeat it now, and say, 'O Father, forgive them!

Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of the

people

Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak,

While they repeated his prayer, and said, “O Father, forgive them!"

THE MONROE DOCTRINE

By JOHN MELLEN THURSTON, Lawyer; Senator from Nebraska, 1895—. Born at Montpelier, Vt., 1847.

From a speech delivered in the United States Senate, January 28, 1896; the Senate having under consideration a concurrent resolution relative to the assertion and enforcement of the Monroe doctrine. See Congressional Record, Jan. 28, 1896.

Mr. President, it is gravely argued that our country has outgrown the necessity for any further enforcement of the Monroe doctrine. It is urged that the United States has waxed strong and powerful; that we no longer need fear any foreign interference in our affairs; that all our boundary lines have been definitely settled; and that we cannot be affected or disturbed by South American controversies. It is, therefore, insisted that we can now afford to let the other American Republics look out for themselves, and that we should stand supinely by while foreign powers overawe and outrage our weak and defenseless neighbors.

Mr. President, ours is the one great nation of this continent; Mother of Republics, her lullaby has been sung over every cradle of liberty in the New World. Under the inspiration of her glorious example, the last throne has disappeared from the Western Hemisphere and the Old World's dominion over American territory and American affairs will not outlast the morning of the twentieth century. . .

I am not unmindful of the seriousness and gravity of the present situation. We are calling a halt upon that settled policy of aggression and dominion which has characterized the extension of the British Empire from the hour in which her first adventurous prow turned to unknown seas. The history of the English people is an almost unbroken series of military achievements. Great Britain has cleared her pathway into every corner of the earth with the naked sword; she has acquired and held her vast possessions by force of arms; she has mastered and subjugated the people of every zone; her navies are upon every sea, her armies in every