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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10491 ***
+
+PRACTICE
+BOOK
+
+
+LELAND POWERS SCHOOL
+
+
+
+1909
+
+
+
+
+IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+My gratitude to publishers who have generously permitted the reprinting of
+copyrighted selections, I would here publicly express. To Little, Brown &
+Company I am indebted for the use of the extract called "Eloquence," which
+is taken from a discourse by Daniel Webster; to Small, Maynard & Company
+for the poem "A Conservative," taken from a volume by Mrs. Gilman,
+entitled "In This Our World;" to the Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for
+the poems by Mr. Burton; and to Longmans, Green & Company for the extracts
+from the works of John Ruskin. The selections from Sill and Emerson are
+used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin
+& Company, publishers of their works.
+
+The quotations under the headings "Exercises for Elemental Vocal
+Expression" and "Exercises for Transition," with a few exceptions, are
+taken from "The Sixth Reader," by the late Lewis B. Monroe, and are here
+reprinted through the courtesy of the American Book Company.
+
+LELAND POWERS.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE, _Richard Burton_
+
+BROOK, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
+
+CAVALIER TUNES _Robert Browning_
+   I. Give a Rouse.
+  II. Boot and Saddle.
+
+COLUMBUS _Joaquin Miller_
+
+COMING OF ARTHUR, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
+
+CONSERVATIVE, A _Charlotte Perkins Gilman_
+
+EACH AND ALL _Ralph Waldo Emerson_
+
+ELAINE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
+
+ELOQUENCE _Daniel Webster_
+
+EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION
+
+EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION
+
+FEZZIWIG BALL, THE _Charles Dickens_
+
+FIVE LIVES _Edward Rowland Sill_
+
+GREEN THINGS GROWING _Dinah Mulock Craik_
+
+HERVÉ RIEL _Robert Browning_
+
+IF WE HAD THE TIME _Richard Burton_
+
+LADY OF SHALOTT, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
+
+LAUGHING CHORUS, A
+
+LIFE AND SONG _Sidney Lanier_
+
+LOCHINVAR _Sir Walter Scott_
+
+MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE _S.T. Coleridge_
+
+MY LAST DUCHESS _Robert Browning_
+
+MY STAR _Robert Browning_
+
+PIPPA PASSES, Extracts from _Robert Browning_
+   I. Day.
+  II. The Year's at Spring.
+
+RHODORA, THE _Ralph Waldo Emerson_
+
+RING AND THE BOOK, THE, Extract from _Robert Browning_
+
+SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, I. _Charles Dickens_
+
+SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, II. _Charles Dickens_
+
+SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV--"Falstaff's Recruits" _William Shakespeare_
+
+SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN _Boucicault_
+
+SELF-RELIANCE _Ralph Waldo Emerson_
+
+TALE, THE--From The Two Poets of Croisic _Robert Browning_
+
+TRUE USE OF WEALTH, THE _John Ruskin_
+
+TRUTH AT LAST _Edward Rowland Sill_
+
+WORK _John Ruskin_
+
+
+
+
+EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION.
+
+
+The exercises under each chapter have _primarily_ the characteristics
+of that chapter, and _secondarily_ the characteristics of the other
+two chapters.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+VITALITY.
+
+
+MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Power, Largeness,
+Freedom, Animation, Movement_.
+
+
+1. "Ho! strike the flag-Staff deep, Sir Knight--ho! scatter flowers, fair
+              maids:
+    Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute--ho! gallants, draw your blades."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+2. "Awake, Sir King, the gates unspar!
+    Rise up and ride both fast and far!
+    The sea flows over bolt and bar."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+3. "I would call upon all the true sons of New England to co-operate with
+the laws of man and the justice of heaven."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+4. "Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane,
+    And Volmond, emperor of Allemaine,
+    Apparelled in magnificent attire,
+    With retinue of many a knight and squire,
+    On St. John's eve at vespers proudly sat,
+    And heard the priest chant the Magnificat."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+5. "Then the master,
+    With a gesture of command,
+    Waved his hand;
+    And at the word,
+    Loud and sudden there was heard
+    All around them and below
+    The sound of hammers, blow on blow,
+    Knocking away the shores and spurs.
+    And see! she stirs!
+    She starts,--she moves,--she seems to feel
+    The thrill of life along her keel,
+    And, spurning with her foot the ground,
+    With one exulting, joyous bound,
+    She leaps into the ocean's arms!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+6. "Under his spurning feet, the road
+    Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
+    And the landscape sped away behind,
+    Like an ocean flying before the wind."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+7. "The wind, one morning sprang up from sleep,
+    Saying, 'Now for a frolic! now for a leap!
+    Now for a madcap galloping chase!
+    I'll make a commotion in every place!'"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+8. "O hark! O hear! how thin and clear,
+    And thinner, clearer, farther going!
+    O sweet and far, from cliff and scar,
+    The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+9. "It is done!
+    Clang of bell and roar of gun!
+    Send the tidings up and down.
+      How the belfries rock and reel!
+      How the great guns, peal on peal,
+    Fling the joy from town to town!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+10. "O sacred forms, how proud you look!
+     How high you lift your heads into the sky!
+     How huge you are, how mighty and how free!
+     Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose smile
+     Makes glad--whose frown is terrible; whose forms,
+     Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear
+     Of awe divine."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+MENTALITY.
+
+
+MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Reflection_ OR
+_Processes_ OF _Thought, Clearness, Definiteness_.
+
+
+1. "Beyond the street a tower,--beyond the tower a moon,--beyond the moon
+a star,--beyond the Star, what?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+2. "Once more: speak clearly, if you speak at all;
+    Carve every word before you let it fall;
+    Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star,
+    Try overhard to roll the British R;
+    Do put your accents in the proper spot;
+    Don't--let me beg you--don't say 'How?' for 'What?'
+    And when you stick on conversation's burrs,
+    Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful urs."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+3. "To be, or not to be; that is the question:--
+    Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
+    The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;
+    Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
+    And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep,--
+    No more:"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+4. "I should say sincerity, a deep, great, genuine sincerity, is the first
+characteristic of all men in any way heroic. Not the sincerity that calls
+itself sincere; that is ... oftenest self-conceit mainly. The great man's
+sincerity is of the kind he cannot speak of, is not conscious of."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+5. "_Brutus_. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius.
+
+    _Lucius_. I will, my lord.  (_Exit_.)
+
+    _Brutus_. It must be by his death: and for my part,
+    I know no cause to spurn at him,
+    But for the general. He would be crown'd:--
+    How that might change his nature, there's the question.
+    It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;
+    And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--That:--
+    And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,
+    That at his will he may do danger with."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+6. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word
+was God. The same was in the beginning with God."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+7. "Just in proportion as the writer's aim, consciously or unconsciously,
+comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, but of
+his sense of it, he becomes an artist; his work a _fine_ art, and
+good art in proportion to the truth of his presentment of that sense.
+Truth! there can be no merit, no craft at all, without that. And further,
+all beauty is in the long run only _fineness_ of truth, or what we
+call expression, the finer accommodation of speech to that vision within."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+8. "For the Universe has three children, born at one time, which reappear,
+under different names, in every system of thought, whether they be called
+cause, operation, and effect; or, theologically, the Father, the Spirit,
+and the Son; but which we call here, the Knower, the Doer, and the Sayer.
+These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, and
+for the love of beauty. These three are equal. Each of these three has the
+power of the others latent in him, and his own patent."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+MORALITY.
+
+
+MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Purpose, Love, Harmony,
+Poise, Values_.
+
+1. "My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trundling at
+thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite bonfires visibly
+waiting ahead of thee, to blaze centuries long for thy victory on behalf
+of it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy baton, and say,
+'In Heaven's name, No!'"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+2. "Flower in the crannied wall,
+      I pluck you out of the crannies;--
+    Hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
+      Little flower--but if I could understand
+    What you are, root and all, and all in all,
+      I should know what God and man is."
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+3. "Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sun
+shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop with
+a broad patch of light fell full upon him, as though attracted by his
+sunny heart."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+4. "_Portia_ You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
+    Such as I am; though for myself alone,
+    I would not be ambitious in my wish,
+    To wish myself much better; yet, for you,
+    I would be trebled twenty times myself;
+    A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+5. "Listen to the water-mill;
+    Through the livelong day,
+    How the clicking of its wheels
+    Wears the hours away!
+    Languidly the autumn wind
+    Stirs the forest leaves,
+    From the fields the reapers sing,
+    Binding up their sheaves;
+    And a proverb haunts my mind,
+    As a spell is cast;
+    'The mill can never grind
+    With the water that is past.'"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+6. "Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is good
+steadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast all that is called
+evil I saw hastening to merge itself, and become lost and dead."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+7. "We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. At
+sea, everything that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanse
+attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been
+completely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which
+some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their
+being washed off by the waves.
+
+"There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained.
+The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of
+shell-fish had fastened about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its
+sides. But where, thought I, are the crew? Their struggle has long been
+over. They have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest. Their bones lie
+whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the
+waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+8. "Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me!
+    And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea;
+    But such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound and foam,
+    When that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+9. "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before the
+mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the
+world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God."
+
+
+
+
+EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION.
+
+
+
+1. "O, how our organ can speak with its many and wonderful voices!--
+    Play on the soft lute of love, blow the loud trumpet of war,
+    Sing with the high sesquialtro, or, drawing its full diapason,
+    Shake all the air with the grand storm of its pedals and stops."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+2. "The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
+    Who rush to glory or the grave!
+    Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
+      And charge with all thy chivalry!
+
+   "Ah! few shall part where many meet!
+    The snow shall be their winding sheet,
+    And every turf beneath their feet
+      Shall be a soldier's sepulcher."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+3. "Lo, dim in the starlight their white tents appear!
+    Ride softly! ride slowly! the onset is near
+    More slowly! more softly! the sentry may hear!
+    Now fall on the foe like a tempest of flame!
+    Strike down the false banner whose triumph were shame!
+    Strike, strike for the true flag, for freedom and fame!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+4. "Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by?
+    Came not faint whispers near?
+    No!--The wild wind hath many a sigh
+    Amid the foliage sere."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+5.               "Her giant form
+    O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
+    Majestically calm, would go,
+    Mid the deep darkness, white as snow!
+    But gentler now the small waves glide,
+    Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.
+    So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
+    The main she will traverse for ever and aye.
+    Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast.
+    Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+6. "Hark! distant voices that lightly
+    Ripple the silence deep!
+    No; the swans that, circling nightly,
+    Through the silver waters sweep.
+
+   "See I not, there, a white shimmer?
+    Something with pale silken shrine?
+    No; it is the column's glimmer,
+    'Gainst the gloomy hedge of pine."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+7. "Hark, below the gates unbarring!
+    Tramp of men and quick commands!
+    ''Tis my lord come back from hunting,'
+    And the Duchess claps her hands.
+
+   "Slow and tired came the hunters;
+    Stopped in darkness in the court.
+    'Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters!
+    To the hall! What sport, what sport.'
+
+   "Slow they entered with their master;
+      In the hall they laid him down.
+    On his coat were leaves and blood-stains,
+      On his brow an angry frown."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+8. "Now clear, pure, hard, bright, and one by one, like to hailstones,
+    Short words fall from his lips fast as the first of a shower,--
+    Now in twofold column, Spondee, Iamb, and Trochee,
+    Unbroke, firm-set, advance, retreat, trampling along,--
+    Now with a sprightlier springiness, bounding in triplicate syllables,
+    Dance the elastic Dactylics in musical cadences on;
+    Now, their voluminous coil intertangling like huge anacondas,
+    Roll overwhelmingly onward the sesquipedalian words."
+
+
+
+
+SELECTIONS.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+HERVÉ RIEL.
+
+
+On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,
+Did the English fight the French,--woe to France!
+And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,
+Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,
+Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance,
+  With the English fleet in view.
+
+'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase;
+First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville;
+        Close on him fled, great and small,
+        Twenty-two good ships in all;
+        And they signalled to the place,
+        "Help the winners of a race!
+Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or quicker still,
+        Here's the English can and will!"
+
+Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board;
+"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they:
+"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored,
+Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns,
+Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,
+Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,
+        And with flow at full beside?
+        Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide.
+        Reach the mooring? Rather say,
+        While rock stands or water runs,
+        Not a ship will leave the bay!"
+
+        Then was called a council straight.
+        Brief and bitter the debate:
+"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow
+All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,
+        For a prize to Plymouth Sound?--
+        Better run the ships aground!"
+        (Ended Damfreville his speech.)
+        "Not a minute more to wait!
+        Let the captains all and each
+Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!
+        France must undergo her fate.
+        Give the word!"--But no such word
+        Was ever spoke or heard;
+For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these
+A captain? A lieutenant? A mate--first, second, third?
+        No such man of mark, and meet
+        With his betters to compete!
+But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet--
+A poor coasting pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese.
+
+And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel;
+"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues?
+Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell
+On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell,
+'Twixt the offing here and Grève, where the river disembogues?
+Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for?
+        Morn and eve, night and day,
+        Have I piloted your bay,
+Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.
+Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues!
+Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way!
+        Only let me lead the line,
+        Have the biggest ship to steer,
+        Get this 'Formidable' clear,
+        Make the others follow mine,
+And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well,
+        Right to Solidor, past Grève,
+        And there lay them safe and sound;
+        And if one ship misbehave,--
+        Keel so much as grate the ground,
+Why, I've nothing but my life,--and here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel.
+
+        Not a minute more to wait.
+        "Steer us in, then, small and great!
+Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief.
+        "Captains, give the sailor place!
+        He is Admiral, in brief."
+        Still the north-wind, by God's grace!
+        See the noble fellow's face
+        As the big ship with a bound,
+        Clears the entry like a hound,
+Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound!
+        See, safe through shoal and rock,
+        How they follow in a flock.
+Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,
+        Not a spar that comes to grief!
+        The peril, see, is past,
+        All are harbored to the last,
+And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"--sure as fate,
+        Up the English come, too late.
+
+        So, the storm subsides to calm;
+        They see the green trees wave
+        On the heights o'erlooking Grève.
+        Hearts that bled are stanched with balm.
+        "Just our rapture to enhance,
+        Let the English rake the bay,
+        Gnash their teeth and glare askance
+        As they cannonade away!
+Neath  rampired  Solidor  pleasant  riding  on  the Rance!"
+Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance!
+        Out burst all with one accord,
+        "This is Paradise for hell!
+        Let France, let France's king,
+        Thank the man that did the thing!"
+        What a shout, and all one word,
+            "Hervé Riel!"
+        As he stepped in front once more,
+        Not a symptom of surprise
+        In the frank blue Breton eyes,
+        Just the same man as before.
+
+        Then said Damfreville, "My friend,
+        I must speak out at the end,
+        Though I find the speaking hard.
+        Praise is deeper than the lips;
+        You have saved the King his ships,
+        You must name your own reward.
+        Faith, our sun was near eclipse!
+        Demand whate'er you will,
+        France remains your debtor still
+Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfreville!"
+
+        Then a beam of fun outbroke
+        On the bearded mouth that spoke,
+        As the honest heart laughed through
+        Those frank eyes of Breton blue:
+        "Since I needs must say my say,
+        Since on board the duty's done,
+And from Malo roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?--
+        Since 'tis ask and have, I may--
+        Since the others go ashore--
+        Come! A good whole holiday!
+Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!"
+        That he asked, and that he got--nothing more.
+        Name and deed alike are lost:
+        Not a pillar nor a post
+        In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell;
+        Not a head in white and black
+        On a single fishing-smack,
+In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack
+All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell.
+        Go to Paris; rank on rank
+        Search the heroes flung pell-mell
+        On the Louvre, face and flank!
+You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel.
+        So, for better and for worse,
+        Hervé Riel, accept my verse!
+        In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more
+Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!
+
+
+ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+LOCHINVAR.
+
+I.
+
+Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,--
+Through all the wild border his steed was the best!
+And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,--
+He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
+So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
+There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
+
+
+II.
+
+He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone;
+He swam the Eske river where ford there was none.
+But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
+The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
+For a laggard in love and a dastard in war
+Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
+
+
+III.
+
+So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,
+'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:
+Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword
+(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word)
+"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
+Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"
+
+
+IV.
+
+"I long wooed your daughter--my suit you denied;
+Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
+And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
+To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
+There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far
+That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."
+
+
+V.
+
+The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up;
+He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
+She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
+With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye.
+He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar;
+"Now tread we a measure?" said young Lochinvar.
+
+
+VI.
+
+So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
+That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
+While her mother did fret and her father did fume,
+And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
+And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far
+To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."
+
+
+VII.
+
+One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
+When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near;
+So light to the croup the fair lady he swung
+So light to the saddle before her he sprung:
+"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scar;
+They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
+Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
+There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee;
+But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
+So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
+Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
+
+SIR WALTER SCOTT.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES.
+
+1. "DAY."
+
+Day!
+Faster and more fast;
+O'er night's brim, day boils at last:
+Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim
+Where spurting and suppressed it lay,
+For not a froth-flake touched the rim
+Of yonder gap in the solid gray,
+Of the eastern cloud, an hour away;
+But forth one wavelet, then another curled,
+Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed,
+Rose, reddened, and its seething breast
+Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world.
+
+Oh Day, if I squandered a wavelet of thee,
+A mite of my twelve hours' treasure,
+The least of thy gazes or glances,
+(Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure)
+One of thy choices or one of thy chances,
+(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure)
+--My day, if I squander such labor or leisure,
+Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me!
+
+ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+
+II. "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING."
+
+The year's at the spring
+And day's at the morn;
+Morning's at seven;
+The hillside's dew-pearled;
+The lark's on the wing;
+The snail's on the thorn:
+God's in his heaven--
+All's right with the world!
+
+ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE FEZZIWIG BALL.
+
+Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed
+to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious
+waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of
+benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial
+voice: "Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!"
+
+A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a young man, came
+briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice.
+
+"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. Christmas eve,
+Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up, before a man can
+say Jack Robinson! Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!"
+
+Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't
+have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute.
+Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life
+forevermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel
+was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug and warm and dry
+and bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.
+
+In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and
+made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs.
+Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs,
+beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they
+broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In
+came the housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came the cook, with her
+brother's particular friend, the milkman. In they all came one after
+another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some
+pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they
+all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other
+way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of
+affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong
+place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all
+top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this result
+was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to Stop the dance,
+cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of
+porter especially provided for that purpose.
+
+There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and
+there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold
+Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince
+pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after
+the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley."
+Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too;
+with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty
+pair of partners, people who were not to be trifled with; people who
+_would_ dance, and had no notion of walking.
+
+But if they had been twice as many,--four times,--old Fezziwig would have
+been a match for them and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to _her_, she
+was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. A positive light
+appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the
+dance. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would become
+of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through
+the dance,--advance and retire, turn your partner, bow and courtesy,
+corkscrew, thread the needle and back again to your place,--Fezziwig
+"cut,"--cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs.
+
+When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs.
+Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and, shaking
+hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or
+her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices,
+they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the
+lads were left to their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE BROOK.
+
+I.
+
+I come from haunts of coot and hern,
+  I make a sudden sally,
+And sparkle out among the fern,
+  To bicker down a valley.
+
+
+II.
+
+By thirty hills I hurry down,
+  Or slip between the ridges;
+By twenty thorps, a little town,
+  And half a hundred bridges.
+
+
+III.
+
+I chatter over stony ways,
+  In little sharps and trebles,
+I bubble into eddying bays,
+  I babble on the pebbles.
+
+
+IV.
+
+With many a curve my banks I fret
+  By many a field and fallow,
+And many a fairy foreland set
+  With willow-weed and mallow.
+
+
+V.
+
+I chatter, chatter, as I flow
+  To join the brimming river;
+For men may come, and men may go,
+  But I go on forever.
+
+
+VI.
+
+I wind about and in and out,
+  With here a blossom sailing,
+And here and there a lusty trout,
+  And here and there a grayling.
+
+
+VII.
+
+And here and there a foamy flake
+  Upon me as I travel
+With many a silvery water-break
+  Above the golden gravel.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
+  I slide by hazel covers,
+I move the sweet forget-me-nots
+  That grow for happy lovers.
+
+
+IX.
+
+I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
+  Among my skimming swallows;
+I make the netted sunbeam dance
+  Against my sandy shallows.
+
+
+X.
+
+I murmur, under moon and stars
+  In brambly wildernesses,
+I linger by my shingly bars,
+  I loiter round my cresses.
+
+
+XI.
+
+And out again I curve and flow
+  To join the brimming river;
+For men may come, and men may go,
+  But I go on forever.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.
+
+
+A LAUGHING CHORUS.
+
+[Used by permission, from "Nature in Verse," copyrighted, 1895, by Silver,
+Burdett & Company.]
+
+
+Oh, such a commotion under the ground
+  When March called, "Ho, there! ho!"
+Such spreading of rootlets far and wide,
+  Such whispering to and fro.
+And "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked;
+  "'Tis time to start, you know."
+"Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied;
+  "I'll follow as soon as you go."
+Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came
+  Of laughter soft and low
+From the millions of flowers under the ground--
+  Yes--millions--beginning to grow.
+
+"I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said,
+  "When I hear the bluebirds sing."
+And straight thereafter Narcissus cried,
+  "My silver and gold I'll bring."
+"And ere they are dulled," another spoke,
+  "The Hyacinth bells shall ring."
+And the violet only murmured, "I'm here,"
+  And sweet grew the breath of spring.
+Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came
+  Of laughter soft and low
+From the millions of flowers under the ground--
+  Yes--millions--beginning to grow.
+
+Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days,
+  Imprisoned in walls of brown,
+They never lost heart though the blast shriek loud,
+  And the sleet and the hail came down,
+But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress,
+  Or fashioned her beautiful crown;
+And now they are coming to brighten the world,
+  Still shadowed by winter's frown;
+And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!"
+  In a chorus soft and low,
+The millions of flowers hid under the ground--
+  Yes--millions--beginning to grow.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+CAVALIER TUNES.
+
+
+1. GIVE A ROUSE.
+
+King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
+King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
+Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
+King Charles!
+
+Who gave me the goods that went since?
+Who raised me the house that sank once?
+Who helped me to gold I spent since?
+Who found me in wine you drank once?
+
+
+_Cho_. King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
+            King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
+            Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
+            King Charles!
+
+To whom used my boy George quaff else,
+By the old fool's side that begot him?
+For whom did he cheer and laugh else,
+While Noll's damned troopers shot him.
+
+_Cho_. King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
+            King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
+            Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
+            King Charles!
+
+
+II. BOOT AND SADDLE.
+
+
+Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
+Rescue my castle before the hot day
+Brightens to blue from its silvery gray.
+
+_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
+
+Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
+Many's the friend there, will listen and pray
+"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay!"
+
+_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
+
+Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
+Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundhead's array:
+Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,
+
+_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
+
+Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,
+Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!
+I've better counsellors; what counsel they?
+
+_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
+
+
+ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE.
+
+From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward through the fields a mile to
+the little village of Shottery, in which is the cottage of Anne Hathaway,
+Shakespeare's sweetheart and wife.
+
+
+How often in the summer tide,
+His graver business set aside,
+Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed,
+As to the pipe of Pan
+Stepped blithsomely with lover's pride
+Across the fields to Anne!
+
+It must have been a merry mile,
+This summer-stroll by hedge and stile,
+With sweet foreknowledge all the while
+How sure the pathway ran
+To dear delights of kiss and smile,
+Across the fields to Anne.
+
+The silly sheep that graze to-day,
+I wot, they let him go his way,
+Nor once looked up, as who should say:
+"It is a seemly man."
+For many lads went wooing aye
+Across the fields to Anne.
+
+The oaks, they have a wiser look;
+Mayhap they whispered to the brook:
+"The world by him shall yet be shook,
+It is in nature's plan;
+Though now he fleets like any rook
+Across the fields to Anne."
+
+And I am sure, that on some hour
+Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower,
+He stooped and broke a daisy-flower
+With heart of tiny span,
+And bore it as a lover's dower
+Across the fields to Anne.
+
+While from her cottage garden-bed
+She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede,
+To scent his jerkin's brown instead;
+Now since that love began,
+What luckier swain than he who sped
+Across the fields to Anne?
+
+The winding path wheron I pace,
+The hedgerows green, the summer's grace,
+Are still before me face to face;
+Methinks I almost can
+Turn poet and join the singing race
+Across the fields to Anne!
+
+
+RICHARD BURTON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+GREEN THINGS GROWING.
+
+
+The green things growing, the green things growing,
+The faint sweet smell of the green things growing!
+I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve,
+Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.
+
+Oh the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing!
+How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing;
+In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight
+Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing.
+
+I love, I love them so--my green things growing!
+And I think that they love me, without false showing;
+For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much,
+With the soft mute comfort of green things growing.
+
+And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing,
+Ten for one I take they're on me bestowing:
+Oh, I should like to see, if God's will it may be,
+Many, many a summer of my green things growing!
+
+But if I must be gathered for the angels' sowing,
+Sleep out of sight a while like the green things growing,
+Though dust to dust return, I think I'll scarcely mourn,
+If I may change into green things growing.
+
+DINAH MULOCK CRAIK.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH.
+
+
+1. There is a saying which is in all good men's mouths; namely, that they
+are stewards or ministers of whatever talents are entrusted to them. Only,
+is it not a strange thing that while we more or less accept the meaning of
+that saying, so long as it is considered metaphorical, we never accept its
+meaning in its own terms? You know the lesson is given us under the form
+of a story about money. Money was given to the servants to make use of:
+the unprofitable servant dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's money. Well,
+we in our poetical and spiritual application of this, say that of course
+money doesn't mean money--it means wit, it means intellect, it means
+influence in high quarters, it means everything in the world except
+itself.
+
+2. And do you not see what a pretty and pleasant come-off there is for
+most of us in this spiritual application? Of course, if we had wit, we
+would use it for the good of our fellow-creatures; but we haven't wit. Of
+course, if we had influence with the bishops, we would use it for the good
+of the church; but we haven't any influence with the bishops. Of course,
+if we had political power, we would use it for the good of the nation; but
+we have no political power; we have no talents entrusted to us of any sort
+or kind. It is true, we have a little money, but the parable can't
+possibly mean anything so vulgar as money; our money's our own.
+
+3. I believe, if you think seriously of this matter, you will feel that
+the first and most literal application is just as necessary a one as any
+other--that the story does very specially mean what it says--plain money;
+and that the reason we don't at once believe it does so, is a sort of
+tacit idea that while thought, wit and intellect, and all power of birth
+and position, are indeed given to us, and, therefore, to be laid out for
+the Giver,--our wealth has not been given to us; but we have worked for
+it, and have a right to spend it as we choose. I think you will find that
+is the real substance of our understanding in this matter. Beauty, we say,
+is given by God--it is a talent; strength is given by God--it is a talent;
+but money is proper wages for our day's work--it is not a talent, it is a
+due. We may justly spend it on ourselves, if we have worked for it.
+
+4. And there would be some shadow of excuse for this, were it not that the
+very power of making the money is itself only one of the applications of
+that intellect or strength which we confess to be talents. Why is one man
+richer than another? Because he is more industrious, more persevering, and
+more sagacious. Well, who made him more persevering and more sagacious
+than others? That power of endurance, that quickness of apprehension, that
+calmness of judgment, which enable him to seize opportunities that others
+lose, and persist in the lines of conduct in which others fail--are these
+not talents?--are they not, in the present state of the world, among the
+most distinguished and influential of mental gifts?
+
+5. And is it not wonderful, that while we should be utterly ashamed to use
+a superiority of body in order to thrust our weaker companions aside from
+some place of advantage, we unhesitatingly use our superiorities of mind
+to thrust them back from whatever good that strength of mind can attain?
+You would be indignant if you saw a strong man walk into a theatre or
+lecture-room, and, calmly choosing the best place, take his feeble
+neighbor by the shoulder, and turn him out of it into the back seats or
+the street. You would be equally indignant if you saw a stout fellow
+thrust himself up to a table where some hungry children are being fed, and
+reach his arm over their heads and take their bread from them.
+
+6. But you are not the least indignant, if, when a man has stoutness of
+thought and swiftness of capacity, and, instead of being long-armed only,
+has the much greater gift of being long-headed--you think it perfectly
+just that he should use his intellect to take the bread out of the mouths
+of all the other men in the town who are in the same trade with him; or
+use his breadth and sweep of sight to gather some branch of the commerce
+of the country into one great cobweb, of which he is himself the central
+spider, making every thread vibrate with the points of his claws, and
+commanding every avenue with the facets of his eyes. You see no injustice
+in this.
+
+7. But there is injustice; and, let us trust, one of which honorable men
+will at no very distant period disdain to be guilty. In some degree,
+however, it is indeed not unjust; in some degree it is necessary and
+intended. It is assuredly just that idleness should be surpassed by
+energy; that the widest influence should be possessed by those who are
+best able to wield it; and that a wise man at the end of his career,
+should be better off than a fool. But for that reason, is the fool to be
+wretched, utterly crashed down, and left in all the suffering which his
+conduct and capacity naturally inflict? Not so.
+
+8. What do you suppose fools were made for? That you might tread upon
+them, and starve them, and get the better of them in every possible way?
+By no means. They were made that wise people might take care of them. That
+is the true and plain fact concerning the relations of every strong and
+wise man to the world about him. He has his strength given him, not that
+he may crush the weak, but that he may support and guide them. In his own
+household he is to be the guide and the support of his children; out of
+his household he is still to be the father, that is, the guide and
+support, of the weak and the poor; not merely of the meritoriously weak
+and the innocently poor, but of the guilty and punishably poor; of the men
+who ought to have known better--of the poor who ought to be ashamed of
+themselves.
+
+9. It is nothing to give pension and cottage to the widow who has lost her
+son; it is nothing to give food and medicine to the workman who has broken
+his arm, or the decrepit woman wasting in sickness. But it is something to
+use your time and strength in war with the waywardness and thoughtlessness
+of mankind to keep the erring workman in your service till you have made
+him an unerring one; and to direct your fellow-merchant to the opportunity
+which his dullness would have lost.
+
+10. This is much; but it is yet more, when you have fully achieved the
+superiority which is due to you, and acquired the wealth which is the
+fitting reward of your sagacity, if you solemnly accept the responsibility
+of it, as it is the helm and guide of labor far and near. For you who have
+it in your hands, are in reality the pilots of the power and effort of the
+State. It is entrusted to you as an authority to be used for good or evil,
+just as completely as kingly authority was ever given to a prince, or
+military command to a captain. And according to the quantity of it you
+have in your hands, you are arbiters of the will and work of the nation;
+and the whole issue, whether the work of the State shall suffice for the
+State or not, depends upon you.
+
+11. You may stretch out your sceptre over the heads of the laborers, and
+say to them, as they stoop to its waving, "Subdue this obstacle that has
+baffled our fathers; put away this plague that consumes our children;
+water these dry places, plough these desert ones, carry this food to those
+who are in hunger; carry this light to those who are in darkness; carry
+this life to those who are in death;" or on the other side you may say:
+"Here am I; this power is in my hand; come, build a mound here for me to
+be throned upon, high and wide; come, make crowns for my head, that men
+may see them shine from far away; come, weave tapestries for my feet, that
+I may tread softly on the silk and purple; come, dance before me, that I
+may slumber; so shall I live in joy, and die in honor." And better than
+such an honorable death it were, that the day had perished wherein we were
+born.
+
+12. I trust that in a little while there will be few of our rich men, who,
+through carelessness or covetousness, thus forfeit the glorious office
+which is intended for their hands. I said, just now, that wealth ill-used
+was as the net of the spider, entangling and destroying; but wealth
+well-used, is as the net of the sacred Fisher who gathers souls of men out
+of the deep. A time will come--I do not think it is far from us--when this
+golden net of the world's wealth will be spread abroad as the flaming
+meshes of morning cloud over the sky; bearing with them the joy of the
+light and the dew of the morning, as well as the summons to honorable and
+peaceful toil.
+
+JOHN RUSKIN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+LIFE AND SONG.
+
+
+[This poem is taken from "The Poems of Sidney Lanier," copyrighted 1891,
+and published by Charles Scribner's Sons.]
+
+
+If life were caught by a clarionet,
+  And a wild heart, throbbing in the reed,
+Should thrill its joy and trill its fret,
+  And utter its heart in every deed,
+
+"Then would this breathing clarionet
+  Type what the poet fain would be;
+For none o' the singers ever yet
+  Has wholly lived his minstrelsy,
+
+"Or clearly sung his true, true thought,
+  Or utterly bodied forth his life,
+Or out of life and song has wrought
+  The perfect one of man and wife;
+
+"Or lived and sung, that Life and Song
+  Might each express the other's all,
+Careless if life or art were long
+  Since both were one, to stand or fall:
+
+"So that the wonder struck the crowd,
+  Who shouted it about the land:
+_His song was only living aloud,
+  His work, a singing with his hand_!"
+
+SIDNEY LANIER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+ELOQUENCE.
+
+
+1. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when
+great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is
+valuable in speech farther than as it is connected with high intellectual
+and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are the qualities
+which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in
+speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it,
+but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every
+way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject,
+and in the occasion.
+
+2. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may
+aspire to it; they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the
+outbreaking of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force.
+The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied
+contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and
+the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the
+decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain,
+and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels
+rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities.
+
+3. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear
+conception, outrunning deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm
+resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the
+eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right
+onward to his object,--this, this is eloquence; or rather it is something
+greater and higher than all eloquence,--it is action, noble, sublime,
+god-like action.
+
+DANIEL WEBSTER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+TRUTH AT LAST.
+
+
+Does a man ever give up hope, I wonder,--
+Face the grim fact, seeing it clear as day?
+When Bennen saw the snow slip, heard its thunder
+Low, louder, roaring round him, felt the speed
+Growing swifter as the avalanche hurled downward,
+Did he for just one heart-throb--did he indeed
+Know with all certainty, as they swept onward,
+There was the end, where the crag dropped away?
+Or did he think, even till they plunged and fell,
+Some miracle would stop them? Nay, they tell
+That he turned round, face forward, calm and pale,
+Stretching his arms out toward his native vale.
+As if in mute, unspeakable farewell,
+And so went down.--'Tis something if at last,
+Though only for a flash, a man may see
+Clear-eyed the future as he sees the past,
+From doubt, or fear, or hope's illusion free.
+
+EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+WORK.
+
+
+1. What is wise work, and what is foolish work? What the difference
+between sense and nonsense, in daily occupation? There are three tests of
+wise work:--that it must be honest, useful and cheerful.
+
+It is _Honest_. I hardly know anything more strange than that you
+recognize honesty in play, and do not in work. In your lightest games, you
+have always some one to see what you call "fair-play." In boxing, you must
+hit fair; in racing, start fair. Your English watchword is
+"fair-_play_," your English hatred, "foul-_play_." Did it never
+strike you that you wanted another watchword also, "fair-_work_," and
+another and bitterer hatred,--"foul-_work_"?
+
+2. Then wise work is _Useful_. No man minds, or ought to mind, its
+being hard, if only it comes to something; but when it is hard and comes
+to nothing, when all our bees' business turns to spiders', and for
+honey-comb we have only resultant cobweb, blown away by the next
+breeze,--that is the cruel thing for the worker. Yet do we ever ask
+ourselves, personally, or even nationally, whether our work is coming to
+anything or not?
+
+3. Then wise work is _Cheerful_, as a child's work is. Everybody in
+this room has been taught to pray daily, "Thy Kingdom come." Now if we
+hear a man swearing in the streets we think it very wrong, and say he
+"takes God's name in vain." But there's a twenty times worse way of taking
+His name in vain than that. It is to _ask God for what we don't
+want_. If you don't want a thing don't ask for it: such asking is the
+worst mockery of your King you can insult Him with. If you do not wish for
+His kingdom, don't pray for it. But if you do, you must do more than pray
+for it; you must work for it. And, to work for it, you must know what it
+is.
+
+4. Observe, it is a Kingdom that is to come to us; we are not to go to it.
+Also it is not to come all at once, but quietly; nobody knows how. "The
+Kingdom of God cometh not with observation." Also, it is not to come
+outside of us, but in our hearts: "The Kingdom of God is within you." Now
+if we want to work for this Kingdom, and to bring it, and to enter into
+it, there's one curious condition to be first accepted. We must enter into
+it as children, or not at all; "Whosoever will not receive it as a little
+child shall not enter therein." And again, "Suffer little children to come
+unto me, and forbid them not, _for of such is the Kingdom of
+Heaven_."
+
+5. Of _such_, observe. Not of children themselves, but of such as
+children. It is the _character_ of children we want and must gain. It
+is modest, faithful, loving, and because of all these characters it is
+cheerful. Putting its trust in its father, it is careful for
+nothing--being full of love to every creature, it is happy always, whether
+in its play or in its duty. Well, that's the great worker's character
+also. Taking no thought for the morrow; taking thought only for the duty
+of the day; knowing indeed what labor is, but not what sorrow is; and
+always ready for play--beautiful play.
+
+JOHN RUSKIN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+EXTRACT FROM "THE RING AND THE BOOK."
+
+
+Our human speech is naught,
+Our human testimony false, our fame
+And human estimation words and wind.
+Why take the artistic way to prove so much?
+Because, it is the glory and good of Art,
+That Art remains the one way possible
+Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine, at least.
+How look a brother in the face and say
+"Thy right is wrong, eyes hast thou, yet art blind,
+Thine ears are stuffed and stopped, despite their length,
+And, oh, the foolishness thou countest faith!"
+Say this as silvery as tongue can troll--
+The anger of the man may be endured,
+The shrug, the disappointed eyes of him
+Are not so bad to bear--but here's the plague,
+That all this trouble comes of telling truth,
+Which truth, by when it reaches him, looks false,
+Seems to be just the thing it would supplant,
+Nor recognizable by whom it left;
+While falsehood would have done the work of truth.
+But Art,--wherein man nowise speaks to men,
+Only to mankind,--Art may tell a truth
+Obliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought,
+Nor wrong the thought, missing the mediate word.
+So may you paint your picture, twice show truth,
+Beyond mere imagery on the wall,--
+So, note by note, bring music from your mind,
+Deeper than ever the Adante dived,--
+So write a book shall mean, beyond the facts,
+Suffice the eye, and save the soul besides.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SELF-RELIANCE.
+
+
+1. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in
+your private heart is true for all men,--that is genius.
+
+Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal sense; for the
+inmost in due time becomes the outmost, and our first thought is rendered
+back to us by the trumpets of the Last Judgment. Familiar as the voice of
+the mind is to each, the highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato and
+Milton is that they all set at naught books and tradition, and spoke not
+what men but what _they_ thought.
+
+2. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which
+flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament
+of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because
+it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts;
+they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.
+
+3. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They
+teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humored
+inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side.
+Else to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what
+we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with
+shame our own opinion from another.
+
+4. There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the
+conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must
+take himself for better for worse as his portion; that though the wide
+universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but
+through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to
+till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he
+knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried.
+
+5. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact makes much impression
+on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without
+preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that
+it might testify of that particular ray.
+
+6. We but half express ourselves, and we are ashamed of that divine idea
+which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and
+of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his
+work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put
+his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done
+otherwise shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not
+deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no
+invention, no hope.
+
+7. Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the
+place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your
+contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so,
+and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying
+their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their
+heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being.
+
+8. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the same
+transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected corner,
+not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers and
+benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort and advancing on Chaos and the
+Dark.
+
+RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+RHODORA.
+
+ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THIS FLOWER?
+
+
+In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
+I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
+Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
+To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
+The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
+Made the black water with their beauty gay;
+Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
+And court the flower that cheapens his array.
+Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
+This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
+Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
+Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
+Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
+I never thought to ask, I never knew:
+But in my simple ignorance, suppose
+The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.
+
+RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+EACH AND ALL.
+
+
+Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown,
+Of thee from the hill-top looking down;
+The heifer that lows in the upland farm,
+Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;
+The sexton, tolling his bell at noon,
+Deems not that great Napoleon
+Stops his horse, and lists with delight,
+Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;
+Nor knowest thou what argument
+Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent.
+All are needed by each one;
+Nothing is fair or good alone.
+
+I thought the sparrow's note from heaven,
+Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
+I brought him home, in his nest, at even;
+He sings the song, but it cheers not now,
+For I did not bring home the river and sky;--
+He sang to my ear,--they sang to my eye.
+
+The delicate shell lay on the shore;
+The bubbles of the latest wave
+Fresh pearls to their enamel gave,
+And the bellowing of the savage sea
+Greeted their safe escape to me.
+I wiped away the weeds and foam,
+I fetched my sea-born treasures home;
+But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
+Had left their beauty on the shore
+With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.
+
+The lover watched his graceful maid,
+As 'mid the virgin train she strayed,
+Nor knew her beauty's best attire
+Was woven still by the snow-white choir.
+At last she came to his hermitage,
+Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;--
+The gay enchantment was undone;
+A gentle wife, but fairy none.
+
+Then I said, "I covet truth;
+Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat;
+I leave it behind with the games of youth:"--
+As I spoke, beneath my feet
+The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath,
+Running over the club-moss burrs;
+I inhaled the violet's breath;
+Around me stood the oaks and firs;
+Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground;
+Over me soared the eternal sky,
+Full of light and of deity;
+Again I saw, again I heard,
+The rolling river, the morning bird;--
+Beauty through my senses stole;
+I yielded myself to the perfect whole.
+
+RALPH WALDO EMERSON
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+COLUMBUS.
+
+
+[This poem is taken from the complete works of Joaquin Miller,
+copyrighted, published by the Whitaker Ray Company, San Francisco.]
+
+Behind him lay the gray Azores,
+  Behind the gates of Hercules;
+Before him not the ghost of shores,
+  Before him only shoreless seas.
+The good mate said, "Now must we pray,
+  For lo! the very stars are gone.
+Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say!"
+  "Why, say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"
+
+"My men grow mutinous by day,
+  My men grow ghastly pale and weak."
+The stout mate thought of home; a spray
+  Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
+"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,
+  If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
+"Why, you shall say at break of day,
+  'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"
+
+They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow,
+  Until at last the blanched mate said:
+"Why, now, not even God would know
+  Should I and all my men fall dead.
+These very winds forget their way,
+  For God from these dread seas has gone.
+Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"--
+  He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!"
+
+They sailed. They sailed.  Then spake the mate:
+  "This mad sea shows its teeth to-night.
+He curls his lips, he lies in wait
+  With lifted teeth as if to bite!
+Brave Admiral, say but one good word:
+  What shall we do when hope is gone?"
+The words leapt like a leaping sword,
+  "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"
+
+Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
+  And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
+Of all dark nights! And then a speck--
+  A light! A light! A light! A light!
+It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
+  It grew to be Time's burst of dawn,
+He gained a world; he gave that world
+  Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"
+
+JOAQUIN MILLER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+MY LAST DUCHESS.
+
+FERRARA.
+
+
+That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
+Looking as if she were alive. I call
+That piece a wonder, now; Frà Pandolf's hands
+Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
+Will't please you sit and look at her? I said.
+"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read
+Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
+The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
+But to myself they turned (since none puts by
+The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
+And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
+How such a glance came there; so, not the first
+Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
+Her husband's presence only, called that spot
+Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
+Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps
+Over my Lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
+Must never hope to reproduce the faint
+Half-flush that dies along her throat;" such stuff
+Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
+For calling up that spot of joy. She had
+A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad,
+Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
+She looked on, and her looks went everywhere
+Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast,
+The dropping of the daylight in the West,
+The bough of cherries some officious fool
+Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
+She rode with round the terrace--all and each
+Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
+Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked
+Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked
+My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
+With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
+This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
+In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will
+Quite clear to such an one, and say "Just this
+"Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
+"Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let
+Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
+Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
+--E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose
+Never to stoop. Oh, Sir, she smiled, no doubt,
+Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
+Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
+Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
+As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet
+The company below, then. I repeat
+The Count your Master's known munificence
+Is ample warrant that no just pretence
+Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
+Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
+At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
+Together down, Sir. Notice Neptune, though,
+Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
+Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!
+
+ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+"THE TALE."
+
+
+What a pretty tale you told me
+  Once upon a time
+--Said you found it somewhere (scold me!)
+  Was it prose or rhyme,
+Greek or Latin? Greek, you said,
+While your shoulder propped my head.
+
+Anyhow there's no forgetting
+  This much if no more,
+That a poet (pray, no petting!)
+  Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore,
+Went where such like used to go,
+Singing for a prize, you know.
+
+Well, he had to sing, nor merely
+  Sing, but play the lyre;
+Playing was important clearly
+  Quite as singing; I desire,
+Sir, you keep the fact in mind
+For a purpose that's behind.
+
+There stood he, while deep attention
+  Held the judges round,
+--Judges able, I should mention,
+  To detect the slightest sound
+Sung or played amiss: such ears
+Had old judges, it appears!
+
+None the less he sang out boldly,
+  Played in time and tune
+Till the judges, weighing coldly
+  Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon,
+Sure to smile "In vain one tries
+Picking faults out: take the prize!"
+
+When, a mischief! Were they seven
+  Strings the lyre possessed?
+Oh, and afterwards eleven,
+  Thank you! Well, sir--who had guessed
+Such ill luck in store?--it happed
+One of those same seven strings snapped.
+
+All was lost, then! No! a cricket
+  (What "cicada"? Pooh!)
+--Some mad thing that left its thicket
+  For mere love of music--flew
+With its little heart on fire
+Lighted on the crippled lyre.
+
+So that when (Ah, joy!) our singer
+  For his truant string
+Feels with disconcerted finger,
+  What does cricket else but fling
+Fiery heart forth, sound the note
+Wanted by the throbbing throat?
+
+Ay and, ever to the ending,
+  Cricket chirps at need,
+Executes the hand's intending,
+  Promptly, perfectly,--indeed
+Saves the singer from defeat
+With her chirrup low and sweet.
+
+Till, at ending, all the judges
+  Cry with one assent
+"Take the prize--a prize who grudges
+  Such a voice and instrument?
+Why, we took your lyre for harp,
+So it shrilled us forth F sharp!"
+
+Did the conqueror spurn the creature,
+  Once its service done?
+That's no such uncommon feature
+  In the case when Music's son
+Finds his Lotte's power too spent
+For aiding soul development.
+
+No! This other, on returning
+  Homeward, prize in hand,
+Satisfied his bosom's yearning:
+ (Sir! I hope you understand!)
+--Said "Some record there must be
+Of this cricket's help to me!"
+
+So he made himself a statue:
+  Marble stood, life-size;
+On the lyre, he pointed at you,
+  Perched his partner in the prize;
+Never more apart you found
+Her, he throned, from him, she crowned.
+
+That's the tale: its application?
+  Somebody I know
+Hopes one day for reputation
+  Through his poetry that's--Oh,
+All so learned and so wise
+And deserving of a prize!
+
+If he gains one, will some ticket,
+  When his statue's built,
+Tell the gazer "'Twas a cricket
+  Helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt
+Sweet and low, when strength usurped
+Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped?
+
+"For as victory was nighest,
+  While I sang and played,--
+With my lyre at lowest, highest,
+  Right alike,--one string that made
+'Love' sound soft was snapt in twain
+Never to be heard again,--
+
+"Had not a kind cricket fluttered,
+  Perched upon the place
+Vacant left, and duly uttered
+  'Love, Love, Love,' whene'er the bass
+Asked the treble to atone
+For its somewhat sombre drone."
+
+But you don't know music! Wherefore
+  Keep on casting pearls
+To a--poet? All I care for
+  Is--to tell him a girl's
+"Love" comes aptly in when gruff
+Grows his singing. (There, enough!)
+
+ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE.
+
+
+Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
+In his steep course? So long he seems to pause
+On thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blanc!
+The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base
+Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form,
+Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
+How silently! Around thee, and above,
+Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
+An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it
+As with a wedge. But when I look again
+It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
+Thy habitation from eternity.
+
+O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee
+Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
+Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer
+I worshipped the Invisible alone.
+Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,--
+So sweet we know not we are listening to it,--
+Thou, the mean while wast blending with my thought.
+Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy;
+Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,
+Into the mighty vision passing--there,
+As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven.
+
+Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
+Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
+Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake,
+Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
+Green vales and icy cliffs! all join my hymn!
+
+Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale!
+O, struggling with the darkness all the night,
+And visited all night by troops of stars,
+Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink,--
+Companion of the morning-star at dawn,
+Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
+Co-herald--wake! O wake! and utter praise!
+Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
+Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?
+Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?
+
+And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
+Who called you forth from night and utter death,
+From dark and icy caverns called you forth,
+Down those precipitous, black, jaggëd rocks,
+Forever shattered, and the same forever?
+Who gave you your invulnerable life,
+Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy,
+Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam?
+And who commanded,--and the silence came,--
+"Here let the billows stiffen and have rest?"
+
+Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow
+Adown enormous ravines slope amain--
+Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
+And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!
+Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
+Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven
+Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
+Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
+Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?
+
+"God!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
+Answer! and let the ice-plain echo, "God!"
+"God!" sing, ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice
+Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds
+And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow,
+And in their perilous fall shall thunder, "God!"
+
+Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!
+Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest!
+Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm!
+Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
+Ye signs and wonders of the elements!
+Utter forth "God!" and fill the hills with praise!
+
+Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks
+Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard
+Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene
+Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,--
+Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou
+That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
+In adoration, upward from thy base
+Slow traveling, with dim eyes suffused with tears,
+Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud
+To rise before me,--rise, oh, ever rise!
+Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
+Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills,
+Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
+Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
+And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
+Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
+
+S.T. COLERIDGE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+MY STAR.
+
+
+All that I know
+  Of a certain star
+Is, it can throw
+  (Like the angled spar)
+Now a dart of red,
+  Now a dart of blue,
+Till my friends have said
+  They would fain see, too
+
+My star that dartles the red and the blue!
+Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled;
+They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.
+What matter to me if their star is a world?
+Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.
+
+
+ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+A CONSERVATIVE.
+
+
+The garden beds I wandered by
+  One bright and cheerful morn,
+When I found a new-fledged butterfly
+  A-sitting on a thorn,
+A black and crimson butterfly,
+  All doleful and forlorn.
+
+I thought that life could have no sting
+  To infant butterflies,
+So I gazed on this unhappy thing
+  With wonder and surprise,
+While sadly with his waving wing
+  He wiped his weeping eyes.
+
+Said I, "What can the matter be?
+  Why weepest thou so sore?
+With garden fair and sunlight free
+  And flowers in goodly store--"
+But he only turned away from me
+  And burst into a roar.
+
+Cried he, "My legs are thin and few
+  Where once I had a swarm!
+Soft fuzzy fur--a joy to view--
+  Once kept my body warm,
+Before these flapping wing-things grew,
+  To hamper and deform!"
+
+At that outrageous bug I shot
+  The fury of mine eye;
+Said I, in scorn all burning hot,
+  In rage and anger high,
+"You ignominious idiot!
+  Those wings are made to fly!"
+
+"I do not want to fly," said he,
+  "I only want to squirm!"
+And he drooped his wings dejectedly,
+  But still his voice was firm;
+"I do not want to be a fly!
+  I want to be a worm!"
+
+O yesterday of unknown lack!
+  To-day of unknown bliss!
+I left my fool in red and black,
+  The last I saw was this,--
+The creature madly climbing back
+  Into his chrysalis.
+
+CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+FIVE LIVES.
+
+
+Five mites of monads dwelt in a round drop
+That twinkled on a leaf by a pool in the sun.
+To the naked eye they lived invisible;
+Specks, for a world of whom the empty shell
+Of a mustard-seed had been a hollow sky.
+
+  One was a meditative monad, called a sage;
+And, shrinking all his mind within, he thought:
+"Tradition, handed down for hours and hours,
+Tells that our globe, this quivering crystal world,
+Is slowly dying. What if, seconds hence,
+When I am very old, yon shimmering dome
+Come drawing down and down, till all things end?"
+Then with a weazen smirk he proudly felt
+No other mote of God had ever gained
+Such giant grasp of universal truth.
+
+  One was a transcendental monad; thin
+And long and slim in the mind; and thus he mused:
+"Oh, vast, unfathomable monad-Souls!
+Made in the image"--a hoarse frog croaks from the pool--
+"Hark! 'twas some god, voicing his glorious thought
+In thunder music! Yea, we hear their voice,
+And we may guess their minds from ours, their work.
+Some taste they have like ours, some tendency
+To wiggle about, and munch a trace of scum."
+He floated up on a pin-point bubble of gas
+That burst, pricked by the air, and he was gone.
+
+  One was a barren-minded monad, called
+A positivist; and he knew positively:
+"There is no world beyond this certain drop.
+Prove me another! Let the dreamers dream
+Of their faint gleams, and noises from without,
+And higher and lower; life is life enough."
+Then swaggering half a hair's breadth, hungrily
+He seized upon an atom of bug and fed.
+
+  One was a tattered monad, called a poet;
+And with shrill voice ecstatic thus he sang:
+"Oh, the little female monad's lips!
+Oh, the little female monad's eyes!
+Ah, the little, little, female, female monad!"
+
+  The last was a strong-minded monadess,
+Who dashed amid the infusoria,
+Danced high and low, and wildly spun and dove
+Till the dizzy others held their breath to see.
+
+  But while they led their wondrous little lives
+Æonian moments had gone wheeling by.
+The burning drop had shrunk with fearful speed;
+A glistening film--'twas gone; the leaf was dry.
+The little ghost of an inaudible squeak
+Was lost to the frog that goggled from his stone;
+Who, at the huge, slow tread of a thoughtful ox
+Coming to drink, stirred sideways fatly, plunged,
+Launched backward twice, and all the pool was still.
+
+EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE COMING OF ARTHUR.
+
+[_Abridged_.]
+
+
+LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard,
+Had one fair daughter, and none other child;
+And she was fairest of all flesh on earth,
+Guinevere, and in her his one delight.
+
+  For many a petty king ere Arthur came
+Ruled in this isle and, ever waging war
+Each upon other, wasted all the land;
+And still from time to time the heathen host
+Swarm'd over seas, and harried what was left.
+And so there grew great tracts of wilderness,
+Wherein the beast was ever more and more,
+But man was less and less.  .   .   .
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  And thus the land of Cameliard was waste,
+Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein,
+And none or few to scare or chase the beast;
+So that wild dog and wolf and boar and bear
+Came night and day, and rooted in the fields,
+And wallow'd in the gardens of the King.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  .   .   .   .   .    And King Leodogran
+Groan'd for the Roman legions here again
+And Caesar's eagle.   .   .   .   .
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He knew not whither he should turn for aid.
+
+  But--for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd,
+  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . --the King
+Sent to him, saying, 'Arise and help us thou!
+For here between the man and beast we die.'
+
+  And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms,
+But heard the call and came; and Guinevere
+Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass;
+But since he neither wore on helm or shield
+The golden symbol of his kinglihood,
+But rode, a simple knight among his knights,
+And many of these in richer arms than he,
+She saw him not, or marked not, if she saw,
+One among many, tho' his face was bare.
+But Arthur, looking downward as he past,
+Felt the light of her eyes into his life
+Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'd
+His tents beside the forest. Then he drave
+The heathen; after, slew the beast, and fell'd
+The forest, letting in the sun, and made
+Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight
+And so returned.
+
+                  For while he linger'd there,
+A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts
+Of those great lords and barons of his realm
+Flashed forth and into war; for most of these,
+Colleaguing with a score of petty kings,
+Made head against him crying: "Who is he
+That should rule us? Who hath proven him
+King Uther's son?"
+
+  And, Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt
+Travail, and throes and agonies of the life,
+Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere,
+And thinking as he rode: "Her father said
+That there between the man and beast they die.
+Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts
+Up to my throne and side by side with me?
+What happiness to reign a lonely king?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+   .   .   .   . But were I join'd with her,
+Then might we live together as one life,
+And reigning with one will in everything
+Have power on this dark land to lighten it,
+And power on this dead world to make it live."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  When Arthur reached a field of battle bright
+With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the world
+Was all so clear about him that he saw
+The smallest rock far on the faintest hill,
+And even in high day the morning star.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  .   .   .   . But the Powers who walk the world,
+Made lightnings and great thunders over him,
+  And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might,
+And mightier of his hands with every blow,
+And leading all his knighthood, threw the kings.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So like a painted battle the war stood
+Silenced, the living quiet as the dead,
+And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Then quickly from the foughten field he sent
+  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . Sir Bedivere
+  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . to King Leodogran,
+Saying, "If I in aught have served thee well,
+Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife."
+
+  Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart
+Debating--"How should I that am a king,
+However much he holp me at my need,
+Give my one daughter saving to a king,
+And a king's son"?--lifted his voice, and call'd
+A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom
+He trusted all things, and of him required
+His counsel: "Knowest thou aught of Arthur's birth?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Then while the King debated with himself,
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  .   .   .   .   .   there came to Cameliard,
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent;
+Whom  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  the King
+Made feast for, as they sat at meat:
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+'Ye come from Arthur's court.   Victor his men
+Report him! Yea, but ye--think ye this king--
+So many those that hate him, and so strong,
+So few his knights, however brave they be--
+Hath body enow to hold his foeman down?'
+
+  'O King,' she cried, 'and I will tell thee: few,
+Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him;
+For I was near him when the savage yells
+Of Uther's peerage died, and Arthur sat
+Crowned on the dais, and all his warriors cried,
+"Be thou the King, and we will work thy will
+Who love thee,"    Then the King in low deep tones,
+And simple words of great authority,
+Bound them by so straight vows to his own self
+That when they rose, knighted from kneeling, some
+Were pale as at the passing of a ghost,
+Some flush'd, and others dazed, as one who wakes
+Half blinded at the coming of a light.
+
+'But when he spake, and cheer'd his Table Round
+With large, divine, and comfortable words,
+Beyond my tongue to tell thee--I beheld
+From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash
+A momentary likeness of the King;
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  'And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast wit
+And hundred winters are but as the hands
+Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege.
+
+  'And near him stood the Lady of the Lake,
+Who knew a subtler magic than his own--
+Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful.
+She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword,
+Whereby to drive the heathen out: a mist
+Of incense curl'd about her, and her face
+Wellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom;
+But there was heard among the holy hymns
+A voice as of the waters, for she dwells
+Down in a deep--calm, whatsoever storms
+May shake the world--and when the surface rolls,
+Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord.'
+
+  Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thought
+To sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd,
+Fixing full eyes of question on her face,
+'The swallow and the swift are near akin,
+But thou art closer to this noble prince,
+Being his own dear sister;'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . 'What know I?
+For dark my mother was in eyes and hair,
+And dark in hair and eyes am I;   .   .
+  .   .   .   .  yea and dark was Uther too,
+Wellnigh to blackness; but this king is fair
+Beyond the race of Britons and of men.
+
+  'But let me tell thee now another tale:
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  on the night
+When Uther in Tintagil past away
+Moaning and wailing for an heir, Merlin
+Left the still King, and passing forth to breathe,
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Beheld, so high upon the dreary deeps
+It seem'd in heaven, a ship, the shape thereof
+A dragon wing'd and all from stem to stern
+Bright with a shining people on the decks,
+And gone as soon as seen.  .   .   .   .   . He
+  .   .   .   .   .   .watch'd the great sea fall,
+Wave after wave, each mightier than the last,
+Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep
+And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged
+Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame:
+And down the wave and in the flame was borne
+A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet,
+Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried, "The King!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And presently thereafter follow'd calm,
+Free sky and stars: "And this same child," he said,
+"Is he who reigns."  .   .   .   .
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  .   .   .   .   .   . And ever since the Lords
+Have foughten like wild beasts among themselves,
+So that the realm has gone to wrack; but now,
+This year, when Merlin--for his hour had come--
+Brought Arthur forth, and sat him in the hall,
+Proclaiming, "Here is Uther's heir, your King,"
+A hundred voices cried: "Away with him!
+No king of ours!"  .   .   .   .   .
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  .   .   .   .   Yet Merlin thro' his craft,
+And while the people clamor'd for a king,
+Had Arthur crown'd; but after, the great lords
+Banded, and so brake out in open war.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  .   .   .   . and Merlin in our time
+Hath spoken also,  .   .   .   .   .
+Tho' men may wound him that he will not die,
+But pass, again to come, and then or now
+Utterly smite the heathen under foot,
+Till these and all men hail him for their king.'
+
+  .   .   .   .   .  King Leodogran rejoiced,
+But musing 'Shall I answer yea or nay?'
+Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw,
+Dreaming a slope of land that ever grew,
+Field after field, up to a height, the peak
+Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king,
+Now looming, and now lost; and on the slope
+The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven,
+Fire glimpsed; and all the land from roof and rick,
+In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind,
+Stream'd to the peak, and mingled with the haze
+And made it thicker; while the phantom king
+Sent out at times a voice; and here or there
+Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest
+Slew on and burnt, crying, 'No king of ours,
+No son of Uther, and no king of ours;'
+Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze
+Descended, and the solid earth became
+As nothing, but the king stood out in heaven,
+Crown'd. And Leodogran awoke, and sent
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Back to the court of Arthur answering yea.
+
+  Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved
+And honor'd most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth
+And bring the Queen, and watched him from the gates:
+And Lancelot past away among the flowers--
+For then was latter April--and return'd--
+Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere.
+To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint,
+Chief of the church in Britain, and before
+The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the King
+That morn was married, while in stainless white,
+The fair beginners of a noble time,
+And glorying in their vows and him, his knights
+Stood around him, and rejoicing in his joy.
+Far shone the fields of May thro' open door,
+The sacred altar blossom'd white with May,
+The sun of May descended on their King,
+They gazed on all earth's beauty in their Queen,
+Roll'd incense, and there past along the hymns
+A voice as of the waters, while the two
+Sware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love.
+And Arthur said, 'Behold, thy doom is mine.
+Let chance what will, I love thee to the death!'
+To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes,
+'King and my Lord, I love thee to the death!'
+And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake:
+'Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world
+Other, and may the Queen be one with thee,
+And all this Order of thy Table Round
+Fulfil the boundless purpose of their King!'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And Arthur's knighthood sang before the King:--
+
+  '_Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May!!
+Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll'd away!
+Blow thro' the living world--"Let the King reign_!"
+
+  '_Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's realm?
+Flash brand and lance, fall battle-axe on helm,
+Fall battle-axe, and flash brand! Let the King reign_!
+
+  '_Strike for the King and live! his knights have heard
+That God hath told the King a secret word.
+Fall battle-axe and flash brand! Let the King reign_!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  '_Strike for the King and die! and if thou diest,
+The king is king, and ever wills the highest.
+Clang battle-axe, and clash brand! Let the King reign_!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  '_The King will follow Christ, and we the King,
+In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing.
+Fall battle-axe, and clash brand! "Let the King reign_!"
+
+
+And Arthur and his knighthood for a space
+Were all one will, and thro' that strength the King
+Drew in the petty princedoms under him,
+Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame
+The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd.
+
+ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+ELAINE.
+
+
+Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable,
+Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
+High in her chamber up a tower to the east
+Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
+Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray
+Might strike it, and awaken her with the gleam;
+Then fearing rust or soilure, fashion'd for it
+A case of silk, and braided thereupon
+All the devices blazon'd on the shield
+In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
+A border fantasy of branch and flower,
+And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
+Nor rested thus content, but day by day
+Leaving her household and good father, climb'd
+That eastern tower, and entering barr'd the door,
+Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
+Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms,
+Now made a pretty history to herself
+Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,
+And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
+Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;
+That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
+That at Cearleon; this at Camelot;
+And ah, God's mercy what a stroke was there!
+And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God
+Broke the Strong lance and roll'd his enemy down,
+And saved him; so she lived in fantasy.
+
+ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE LADY OF SHALOTT.
+
+PART I.
+
+
+On either side the river lie
+Long fields of barley and of rye,
+That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
+And thro' the field the road runs by
+  To many-tower'd Camelot
+And up and down the people go,
+Gazing where the lilies blow
+Round an island there below,
+     The Island of Shalott.
+
+Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
+Little breezes, dusk and shiver
+Thro' the wave that runs for ever
+By the island in the river
+     Flowing down to Camelot.
+Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
+Overlook a space of flowers,
+And the silent isle imbowers
+     The lady of Shalott.
+
+By the margin, willow-veil'd,
+Slide the heavy barges trail'd
+By slow horses; and unhail'd
+The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
+     Skimming down to Camelot:
+But who hath seen her wave her hand?
+Or at the casement seen her stand?
+Or is she known in all the land,
+     The Lady of Shalott?
+
+Only reapers, reaping early
+In among the bearded barley,
+Hear a song that echoes cheerly,
+From the river winding clearly,
+     Down to tower'd Camelot;
+And by the moon the reaper weary,
+Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
+Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy
+  Lady of Shalott."
+
+
+PART   II.
+
+There she weaves by night and day
+A magic web with colors gay.
+She has heard a whisper say,
+A curse is on her if she stay
+  To look down to Camelot.
+She knows not what the curse may be,
+And so she weaveth steadily,
+And little other care hath she,
+  The Lady of Shalott.
+
+And moving thro' a mirror clear
+That hangs before her all the year,
+Shadows of the world appear.
+There she sees the highway near
+  Winding down to Camelot;
+There the river eddy whirls,
+And there the surly village-churls,
+And the red cloaks of market-girls,
+  Pass onward from Shalott.
+
+Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
+An abbot on an ambling pad,
+Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
+Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
+  Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
+And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
+The knights come riding two and two;
+She hath no loyal knight and true,
+  The Lady of Shalott.
+
+But in her web she still delights
+To weave the mirror's magic sights,
+For often thro' the silent nights
+A funeral, with plumes and lights,
+  And music, went to Camelot:
+Or when the moon was overhead,
+Came two young lovers lately wed:
+"I am half sick of shadows" said
+  The Lady of Shalott.
+
+
+PART   III.
+
+A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
+He rode between the barley sheaves,
+The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
+And flamed upon the brazen greaves
+  Of bold Sir Lancelot.
+A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
+To a lady in his shield,
+That sparkled on the yellow field,
+  Beside remote Shalott.
+
+The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
+Like to some branch of stars we see
+Hung in the Golden Galaxy.
+The bridle bells rang merrily
+  As he rode down to Camelot;
+And from his blazon'd baldric slung
+A mighty silver bugle hung,
+And as he rode his armor rung,
+     Beside remote Shalott.
+
+All in the blue unclouded weather
+Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather.
+The helmet and the helmet-feather
+Burned like one burning flame together,
+     As he rode down to Camelot;
+As often through the purple night,
+Below the starry clusters bright,
+Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
+     Moves over still Shalott.
+
+His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
+On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
+From underneath his helmet flow'd
+His coal-black curls as on he rode,
+     As he rode down to Camelot.
+From the bank and from the river
+He flashed into the crystal mirror,
+"Tirra lirra" by the river
+     Sang Sir Lancelot.
+
+She left the web, she left the loom,
+She made three paces thro' the room,
+She saw the water-lily bloom,
+She saw the helmet and the plume,
+     She looked down to Camelot.
+Out flew the web and floated wide;
+The mirror cracked from side to side;
+"The curse is come upon me," cried
+  The Lady of Shalott.
+
+
+PART IV.
+
+In the stormy east-wind straining,
+The pale yellow woods are waning,
+The broad stream in his banks complaining,
+Heavily the low sky raining
+  Over tower'd Camelot;
+Down she came and found a boat
+Beneath a willow left afloat,
+And round about the prow she wrote
+  The Lady of Shalott.
+
+And down the river's dim expanse
+Like some bold seer in a trance,
+Seeing all his own mischance--
+With a glassy countenance
+  Did she look to Camelot.
+And at the closing of the day
+She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
+The broad stream bore her far away,
+  The Lady of Shalott.
+
+Lying, robed in snowy white
+That loosely flew to left and right--
+The leaves upon her falling light--
+Thro' the noises of the night
+  She floated down to Camelot;
+And as the boat-head wound along
+The willowy hills and fields among,
+They heard her singing her last song,
+  The Lady of Shalott.
+
+Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
+Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
+Til' her blood was frozen slowly,
+And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
+  Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
+For ere she reached upon the tide
+The first house by the water-side,
+Singing in her song she died.
+  The Lady of Shalott.
+
+Under tower and balcony,
+By garden-wall and gallery,
+A gleaming shape she floated by,
+Dead-pale between the houses high,
+  Silent into Camelot.
+Out upon the wharfs they came,
+Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
+And round the prow they read her name
+  _The Lady of Shalott_.
+
+Who is this? and what is here?
+And in the lighted palace near
+Died the sound of royal cheer;
+And they crossed themselves for fear,
+  All the knights at Camelot:
+But Lancelot mused a little space;
+He said "She has a lovely face;
+God in his mercy lend her grace,
+     The Lady of Shalott."
+
+ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+IF WE HAD THE TIME.
+
+
+If I had the time to find a place
+And sit me down full face to face
+  With my better self, that cannot show
+  In my daily life that rushes so:
+It might be then I would see my soul
+Was stumbling still towards the shining goal,
+  I might be nerved by the thought sublime,--
+    If I had the time!
+
+If I had the time to let my heart
+Speak out and take in my life a part,
+  To look about and to stretch a hand
+  To a comrade quartered in no-luck land;
+Ah, God! If I might but just sit still
+And hear the note of the whip-poor-will,
+  I think that my wish with God's would rhyme--
+    If I had the time!
+
+If I had the time to learn from you
+How much for comfort my word could do;
+  And I told you then of my sudden will
+  To kiss your feet when I did you ill;
+If the tears aback of the coldness feigned
+Could flow, and the wrong be quite explained,--
+  Brothers, the souls of us all would chime,
+    If we had the time!
+
+RICHARD BURTON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+A SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV.
+"FALSTAFF'S RECRUITS."
+
+
+_Introduction_.--Sir John Falstaff has received a commission from the
+King to raise a company of soldiers to fight in the King's battles. After
+drafting a number of well-to-do farmers, whom he knows will pay him snug
+sums of money rather than to serve under him, he pockets their money and
+proceeds to fill his company from the riff-raff of the country through
+which he passes.
+
+The scene is a village green before Justice Shallow's house. The Justice
+has received word from Sir John that he is about to visit him, and desires
+him to call together a number of the villagers from which recruits may be
+selected.
+
+These villagers are now grouped upon the green, with Justice Shallow
+standing near.
+
+Bardolph, Sir John Falstaff's corporal, enters and addresses Justice
+Shallow.
+
+_Bardolph_.--Good morrow, honest gentlemen. I beseech you, which is
+Justice Shallow?
+
+_Shallow_.--I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this county,
+and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good pleasure
+with me?
+
+_Bardolph_.--My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir
+John Falstaff, a tall gentlemen, by heaven, and a most gallant leader.
+
+_Shallow_.--He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword man.
+How doth the good Knight now? Look! here comes good Sir John. _(Enter
+Falstaff_.) Give me your good hand, give me your worship's good hand.
+By my troth you look well and bear your years very well; welcome, good Sir
+John.
+
+_Falstaff_.--I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow.
+Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you provided me with half a
+dozen sufficient men?
+
+_Shallow_.--Marry have we, sir.
+
+_Falstaff_.--Let me see them, I beseech you.
+
+_Shallow_.--Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Let
+me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so; yea, marry
+sir.--Ralph Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do
+so. Let me see; where is Mouldy?
+
+_Mouldy_.--Here, an't please you.
+
+_Shallow_.--What think you, Sir John? A good limbed fellow: young,
+strong, and of good friends.
+
+_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Mouldy?
+
+_Mouldy_.--Yea, an't please you.
+
+_Falstaff_.--'Tis the more time thou wert used.
+
+_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are
+mouldy lack use; very singular good! Well said, Sir John, very well said.
+Shall I prick him, Sir John?
+
+_Falstaff_.--Yes, prick him.
+
+_Mouldy_.--I was pricked well enough before, an' you could have let
+me alone; my old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and
+her drudgery; you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter
+to go out than I.
+
+_Shallow_.--Peace, fellow, peace! Stand aside; know you where you
+are? For the next, Sir John; let me see.--Simon Shadow?
+
+_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to
+be a cold soldier.
+
+_Shallow_.--Where's Shadow?
+
+_Shadow_.--Here, sir.
+
+_Falstaff_.--Shadow, whose son art thou?
+
+_Shadow_.--My mother's son, sir.
+
+_Falstaff_.--Thy mother's son! Like enough, and thy father's shadow.
+Prick him. Shadow will serve for summer.
+
+_Shallow_.--Thomas Wart!
+
+_Falstaff_.--Where's he?
+
+_Wart_.--Here, sir!
+
+_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Wart?
+
+_Wart_.--Yea, sir.
+
+_Falstaff_.--Thou art a very ragged wart.
+
+_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! Shall I prick him down, Sir John?
+
+_Falstaff_.--It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his
+back and the whole frame stands upon pins; prick him no more.
+
+_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it; I commend
+you well.--Francis Feeble.
+
+_Feeble_.--Here, sir.
+
+_Falstaff_.--What trade art thou, Feeble?
+
+_Feeble_.--I'm a woman's tailor, sir.
+
+_Falstaff_.--Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou make as many holes
+in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat?
+
+_Feeble_.--I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.
+
+_Falstaff_.--Well said, good woman's tailor! Well said, courageous
+Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous
+mouse. Prick me the woman's tailor well, Master Shallow; deep, Master
+Shallow.
+
+_Feeble_.--I would Wart might have gone, too, sir.
+
+_Falstaff_.--I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend
+him and make him fit to go. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble.
+
+_Feeble_.--It shall suffice, sir.
+
+_Falstaff_.--I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?
+
+_Shallow_.--Peter Bullcalf, o' the green.
+
+_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf.
+
+_Bullcalf_.--Here, sir.
+
+_Falstaff_.--Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till
+he roar again.
+
+_Bullcalf_.--O Lord! Good my lord captain,--
+
+_Falstaff_.--What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked?
+
+_Bullcalf_.--O Lord, sir! I'm a diseased man.
+
+_Falstaff_.--What disease hast thou?
+
+_Bullcalf_.--A terrible cold, sir, a cough, sir.
+
+_Falstaff_.--Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will have
+away with thy cold. Is here all?
+
+_Shallow_.--Here is two more than your number. You must have but four
+here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner.
+
+_Falstaff_.--Come, I will go drink with you.
+
+(_Exit Sir John and Justice Shallow_.)
+
+_Bullcalf_.--(_Approaching Bardolph_.) Good Master Corporate
+Bardolph, stand my friend; and here's four Harry ten shillings in French
+crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I'd as lief be hanged, sir, as to go;
+and yet for mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am
+unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my friends;
+else, sir, I did not care, for my own part, so much.
+
+_Bardolph_.--(_Pocketing the money_.) Go to; stand aside.
+
+_Feeble_.--By my troth, I care not.
+
+WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD.
+
+AT THE LODGINGS OF MR. AND MRS. MICAWBER.
+
+
+_Introduction_.--The scene opens in the lodgings of Mr. and Mrs.
+Micawber. Mr. Micawber at this time is suffering under, what he terms, "A
+temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities," and is out looking for
+something to turn up.
+
+Mrs. Micawber is at home attending to the twins, one of which she is
+holding in her arms, the other is in the cradle near by, and various of
+the children are scattered about the floor.
+
+Mrs. Micawber has been bothered all the morning by the calling of
+creditors;--at last she exclaims, as she trots the babe in her arms:--
+
+(_Mrs. Micawber_.) Well, I wonder how many more times they will be
+calling! However, it's their fault. If Mr. Micawber's creditors won't give
+him time, they must take the consequences. Oh! there is some one knocking
+now! I believe that's Mr. Heep's knock. It _is_ Mr. Heep! Come in,
+Mr. Heep. We are very glad to see you. Come right in.
+
+_Heep_.--Is Mr. Micawber in?
+
+_Mrs. Mic_.--No, Mr. Heep. Mr. Micawber has gone out. We make no
+stranger of you, Mr. Heep, so I don't mind telling you Mr. Micawber's
+affairs have reached a crisis. With the exception of a heel of Dutch
+cheese, which is not adapted to the wants of a young family,--and
+including the twins,--there is nothing to eat in the house.
+
+_Heep_.--How dreadful! (_Aside_.) The very man for my purpose.
+(_Explanation_. At this moment there is a noise heard on the landing.
+Micawber himself rushes into the room, slamming the door behind him.)
+
+_Micawber_.--(_Not seeing Heep_.) The clouds have gathered, the
+storm has broken, and the thunderbolt has fallen on the devoted head of
+Wilkins Micawber! Emma, my dear, the die is cast. All is over. Leave me in
+my misery!
+
+_Mrs. Mic_.--I'll never desert my Micawber!
+
+_Mic_.--In the words of the immortal Plato, "It must be so, Cato!"
+But no man is without a friend when he is possessed of courage and shaving
+materials! Emma, my love, fetch me my razors! (_Recovers himself_)
+sh--sh! We are not alone! (_Gayly_) Oh, Mr. Heep! Delighted to see
+you, my young friend! Ah, my dear young attorney-general, in prospective,
+if I had only known you when my troubles commenced, my creditors would
+have been a great deal better managed than they were! You will pardon the
+momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent
+collision with a minion of the law,--in short, with a ribald turncock
+attached to the waterworks. Emma, my love, our supply of water has been
+cut off. Hope has sunk beneath the horizon! Bring me a pint of laudanum!
+
+_Heep_.--Mr. Micawber, would you be willing to tell me the amount of
+your indebtedness?
+
+_Mic_.--It is only a small matter for nutriment, beef, mutton, etc.,
+some trifle, seven and six pence ha'penny.
+
+_Heep_.--I'll pay it for you.
+
+_Mic_.--My dear friend! You overpower me with obligation! Shall I
+admit the officer? (_Turns and goes to the door, opens it_.) Enter
+myrmidon! Hats off, in the presence of a solvent debtor and a lady.
+(_Heeps pays the officer and dismisses him_.)
+
+_Heep_.--Now, Mr. Micawber, I suppose you have no objection to
+giving me your I.O.U. for the amount.
+
+_Mic_.--Certainly not. I am always ready to put my name to any
+species of negotiable paper, from twenty shillings upward. Excuse me,
+Heep, I'll write it. (_Goes through motion of writing it on leaf of
+memo, book. Tears it out and hands it to Heep_.) I suppose this is
+renewable on the usual term?
+
+_Heep_.--Better. You can work it out. I come to offer you the
+position of clerk in my partner's office--the firm of Wickfield and
+Heep.
+
+_Mic_.--What! A clerk! Emma, my love, I believe I may have no
+hesitation in saying something has at last turned up!
+
+_Heep_.--You will excuse me, Mrs. Micawber, but I should like to
+speak a few words to your husband in private.
+
+_Mrs. Mic_.--Certainly! Wilkins, my love, go on and prosper!
+
+_Mic_.--My dear, I shall endeavor to do so to an unlimited extent!
+Ah, the sun has again risen--the clouds have passed--the sky is clear, and
+another score may be begun at the butcher's.--Heep, precede me. Emma, my
+love. _Au Revoir_.
+
+(_A gallant bow to Mrs. Micawber_.)
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD.
+
+  CHARACTERS.
+
+    OLD FISHERMAN PEGGOTTY,
+
+      HAM PEGGOTTY,
+
+        DAVID COPPERFIELD.
+
+_Introduction_.--The scene is the interior of the "Old Ark"; the time
+is evening. The rain is falling outside, yet inside the old ark all is
+snug and comfortable. The fire is burning brightly on the hearth, and
+Mother Gummidge sits by it knitting. Ham has gone out to fetch little
+Em'ly home from her work,--and the old fisherman sits smoking his
+evening pipe by the table near the window. They are expecting Steerforth
+and Copperfield in to spend the evening. Presently a knock is heard and
+David enters. Old Peggotty gets up to greet him.
+
+_Old Peg_.--Why! It's Mas'r Davy? Glad to see you, Mas'r Davy, you're
+the first of the lot! Take off that cloak of yours if it's wet and draw
+right up to the fire. Don't you mind Mawther Gummidge, Mas'r Davy; she's
+a-thinkin' of the old 'un. She allers do be thinkin of the old 'un when
+there's a storm a-comin' up, along of his havin' been drowned at sea.
+Well, now, I must go and light up accordin' to custom. (_He lights a
+candle and puts it on the table by the window_.) Theer we are! Theer we
+are! A-lighted up accordin' to custom. Now, Mas'r Davy, you're a-wonderin'
+what that little candle is for, ain't yer? Well, I'll tell yer. It's for
+my little Em'ly. You see, the path ain't o'er light or cheerful arter
+dark, so when I'm home here along the time that Little Em'ly comes home
+from her work, I allers lights the little candle and puts it there on the
+table in the winder, and it serves two purposes,--first, Em'ly sees it and
+she says: "Theer's home," and likewise, "Theer's Uncle," fur if I ain't
+here I never have no light showed. Theer! Now you're laughin' at me, Mas'r
+Davy! You're a sayin' as how I'm a babby. Well, I don't know but I am.
+(_Walks towards table_.) Not a babby to look at, but a babby to
+consider on. A babby in the form of a Sea Porky-pine.
+
+See the candle sparkle! I can hear it say--"Em'ly's lookin' at me! Little
+Em'ly's comin'!" Right I am for here she is! (_He goes to the door to
+meet her; the door opens and Ham comes staggering in_.)
+
+_Ham_.--She's gone! Her that I'd a died fur, and will die fur even
+now! She's gone!
+
+_Peggotty_.--Gone!!
+
+_Ham_.--Gone! She's run away! And think how she's run away when I
+pray my good and gracious God to strike her down dead, sooner than let her
+come to disgrace and shame.
+
+_Peggotty_.--Em'ly gone! I'll not believe it. I must have
+proof--proof.
+
+_Ham_.--Read that writin'.
+
+_Peggotty_.--No! I won't read that writin'--read it you, Mas'r Davy.
+Slow, please. I don't know as I can understand.
+
+_David_.--(_Reads_) "When you see this I shall be far away."
+
+_Peggotty_.--Stop theer, Mas'r Davy! Stop theer! Fur away! My Little
+Em'ly fur away! Well?
+
+_David_.--(_Reads_) "Never to come back again unless he brings
+me back a lady. Don't remember, Ham, that we were to be married, but try
+to think of me as if I had died long ago, and was buried somewhere. My
+last love and last tears for Uncle."
+
+_Peggotty_.--Who's the man? What's his name? I want to know the man's
+name.
+
+_Ham_.--It warn't no fault of yours, Mas'r Davy, that I know.
+
+_Peggotty_.--What! You don't mean his name's Steerforth, do you?
+
+_Ham_.--Yes! His name is Steerforth, and he's a cursed villain!
+
+_Peggotty_.--Where's my coat? Give me my coat! Help me on with it,
+Mas'r Davy. Now bear a hand theer with my hat.
+
+_David_.--Where are you going, Mr. Peggotty?
+
+_Peggotty_.--I'm a goin' to seek fur my little Em'ly. First, I'm
+going to stave in that theer boat and sink it where I'd a drownded him, as
+I'm a living soul; if I'd a known what he had in him! I'd a drownded him,
+and thought I was doin' right! Now I'm going to seek fur my Little Em'ly
+throughout the wide wurrety!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+A SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN.
+
+
+_Introduction_.--This scene introduces the following
+characters:--Conn, the Shaughraun, a reckless, devil-may-care,
+true-hearted young vagabond, who is continually in a scrape from his
+desire to help a friend and his love of fun; his mother, Mrs. O'Kelly; his
+sweetheart, Moya Dolan, niece of the parish priest.
+
+It is evening. Moya is alone in the kitchen. She has just put the kettle
+on the fire when Mrs. O'Kelly, Conn's mother, enters.
+
+_Mrs. O'K_.--Is it yourself, Moya? I've come to see if that vagabond
+of mine has been around this way.
+
+_Moya_.--Why should he be here, Mrs. O'Kelly? Hasn't he a home of his
+own?
+
+_Mrs. O'K_.--The Shebeen is his home when he is not in jail. His
+father died o' drink, and Conn will go the same way.
+
+_Moya_.--I thought your husband was drowned at sea?
+
+_Mrs. O'K_.--And bless him, so he was.
+
+_Moya_.--Well, that's a quare way o' dying o' drink.
+
+_Mrs. O'K_.--The best of men he was, when he was sober--a betther
+never drhawed the breath o' life.
+
+_Moya_.--But you say he never was sober.
+
+_Mrs. O'K_.--Niver! An' Conn takes afther him!
+
+_Moya_.--Mother, I'm afeared I shall take afther Conn.
+
+_Mrs. O'K_.--Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin him! You a good
+dacent gurl, and desarve the best of husbands.
+
+_Moya_.--Them's the only ones that gets the worst. More betoken
+yoursilf, Mrs. O'Kelly.
+
+_Mrs. O'K_.--Conn niver did an honest day's work in his life--but
+dhrinkin' and fishin', an' shootin', an' sportin', and love-makin'.
+
+_Moya_.--Sure, that's how the quality pass their lives.
+
+_Mrs. O'K_.--That's it. A poor man that sports the sowl of a
+gintleman is called a blackguard.
+
+(_At this moment Conn appears in the doorway_.)
+
+_Conn_.--(_At left_.) Some one is talkin' about me! Ah, Moya,
+Darlin', come here. (_Business as if he reached out his hands to Moya as
+he comes forward to meet her, and passes her over to his left so he seems
+to stand in center between Moya on left and Mrs. O'Kelly on right_.)
+Was the old Mother thryin' to make little o' me? Don't you belave a word
+that comes out o' her! She's jealous o' me. (_Laughing as he shakes his
+finger at his mother_.) Yes, ye are! You're chokin' wid it this very
+minute! Oh, Moya darlin', she's jealous to see my two arms about ye. But
+she's proud o' me. Oh, she's proud o' me as an old him that's got a duck
+for a chicken. Howld your whist now Mother! Wipe your mouth and give me a
+kiss.
+
+_Mrs. O'K_.--Oh, Conn, what have you been afther? The polls have been
+in the cabin today about ye. They say you stole Squire Foley's horse.
+
+_Conn_.--Stole his horse! Sure the baste is safe and sound in his
+paddock this minute.
+
+_Mrs. O'K_.--But he says you stole it for the day to go huntin'?
+
+_Conn_.--Well, here's a purty thing, for a horse to run away wid a
+man's characther like this! Oh, Wurra! may I never die in sin, but this
+was the way of it. I was standin' by owld Foley's gate, whin I heard the
+cry of the hounds coming across the tail of the bog, an' there they wor,
+my dear, spread out like the tail of a paycock, an' the finest dog fox ye
+ever seen a sailin' ahead of thim up the boreen, and right across the
+churchyard. It was enough to raise the inhabitints out of the ground!
+Well, as I looked, who should come and put her head over the gate besoide
+me but the Squire's brown mare, small blame to her. Divil a word I said to
+her, nor she to me, for the hounds had lost their scent, we knew by their
+yelp and whine as they hunted among the gravestones. When, whist! the fox
+went by us. I leapt upon the gate, an' gave a shriek of a view-halloo to
+the whip; in a minute the pack caught the scent again, an' the whole field
+came roaring past.
+
+The mare lost her head entoirely and tore at the gate. "Stop," says I, "ye
+divil!" an' I slipt a taste of a rope over her head an' into her mouth.
+Now mind the cunnin' of the baste, she was quiet in a minute. "Come home,
+now," ses I. "aisy!" an' I threw my leg across her.
+
+Be jabbers! No sooner was I on her back than--Whoo! Holy Rocket! she was
+over the gate, an' tearin' afther the hounds loike mad. "Yoicks!" ses I;
+"Come back you thafe of the world, where you takin' me to?" as she carried
+me through the huntin' field, an' landed me by the soide of the masther of
+the hounds, Squire Foley himself.
+
+He turned the color of his leather breeches.
+
+"Mother o'Moses!" ses he, "Is that Conn, the Shaughraun, on my brown
+mare?"
+
+"Bad luck to me!" ses I, "It's no one else!"
+
+"You sthole my horse," ses the Squire.
+
+"That's a lie!" ses I, "for it was your horse sthole me!"
+
+_Moya_.--(_Laughing_.) And what did he say to that, Conn?
+
+_Conn_.--I couldn't stop to hear, Moya, for just then we took a stone
+wall together an' I left him behind in the ditch.
+
+_Mrs. O'K_.--You'll get a month in jail for this.
+
+_Conn_.--Well, it was worth it.
+
+BOUCICAULT.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Practice Book, by Leland Powers
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10491 ***