SCOT AT TOLEDO

In following the course which Michael Scot held in his voyage to Spain, we approach what was beyond all doubt the most important epoch in the life of that scholar. Hitherto we have seen him as the student preparing at Paris or Bologna for a brilliant future, or as the tutor of a youthful monarch, essaying some literary ventures, which justified the position he held in Sicily, and recommended him…

Share

SCOT AT THE COURT OF SICILY

All tradition assures us that the chief occupation of Scot’s life was found at the Court of Frederick II., King of Sicily, and afterwards Emperor of Germany: a Prince deservedly famous, not only for his own talent, but for the protection and encouragement he afforded to men of learning. A manuscript in the Laurentian Library,[31] hitherto unnoticed in this connection, seems to throw some light upon the time and manner…

Share

BIRTHPLACE AND EARLY STUDIES OF MICHAEL SCOT

In the Borders of Scotland it is well known that any piece of hill pasture, if it be fenced in but for a little from the constant cropping of the sheep, will soon show springing shoots of forest trees indigenous to the soil, whose roots remain wherever the plough has not passed too deeply. Centuries ago, when nature had her way and was unrestrained, the whole south-eastern part of the…

Share

Pure as the trembling stars above

Banished every thought of sadness In our home of quiet gladness; Absence, separation o’er, Together, and to part no more. United, lovingly we glide, Ever going with the tide. Storm nor tempest fear we now, Love sits watching at the prow; Happy, trusting, silently, Onward to the shoreless sea, Together let us drift or glide, Ever going with the tide. ST. JAMES’S MAGAZINE. “And you love me, dear Newton—and—and no…

Share

Every man of them has been face to face

Away with my firelock! Here, take my red coat! On danger and glory No longer I’ll dote. A train of soft passions Now rise in my breast; The soldier subsides, And ambition’s at rest. And no more shall the sound Of the trumpet or drum Forewarn the poor shepherd Of evils to come. SOLDIER’S SONG. Poor Willie Pitblado sank fast after the extraction of the ball, and the subsequent amputation…

Share

She was too full of pure joy to speak

Then I thought of one fair spring-time, When she placed her hand in mine, And, half-silent, said she loved me, And, half-blushing, seemed divine. Then I thought of that same winter, When the earth was dead and cold; Fit time, in sooth, to marry one She worshipped for his gold. I had been some days in Messirie’s Hotel, at Pera, before I realized or quite became reconciled to the idea…

Share

On surveying the horrors of that day

Half a league, half a league, Half a league, onward, Into the Valley of Death, Rode the Six Hundred! TENNYSON. Recoiling before the glorious charges of our Heavy Brigade, the Russian horse and foot had retired into a narrow gorge at the head of the long green valley. There thirty pieces of cannon were in position, and in rear of them were formed six solid columns of cavalry and six…

Share

Conspicuous by their colour

The line divides: the right half, which is Conspicuous for madder breeches, Presses, like flock of hunted sheep, Towards yon tower, so grim and steep. STONE TALK. On that day, never to be forgotten in the annals of the British cavalry, the 25th of October, when we fought the battle of Balaclava, no man in all the Light Division mounted his horse with a more reckless heart than I, and…

Share

That fate so unlooked for and mysterious freed

To-morrow? O, that’s sudden! Spare him: He’s not prepared for death! Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season. Shall we serve Heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves? Good, good, my lord, bethink you: Who is it that hath died for this offence? There’s many have committed it. SHAKSPEARE. “I have been on board the yacht, Newton. I have seen Berkeley and…

Share

She is now at anchor close to the old ruined castle

The tattoo beats, the lights are gone, The camp around in slumber lies; The night with solemn pace moves on, The shadows thicken o’er the skies. But sleep my weary eyes hath flown, And sad, uneasy thoughts arise. I think of thee, oh, dearest one, Whose love my early life hath blest— God of the gentle, frail, and lone, Oh, guard the tender sleeper’s rest. I awaited his return with…

Share