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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Speaker, No. 5: Volume II, Issue 1 + December, 1906. + +Author: Various + +Editor: Paul M. Pearson + +Release Date: April 5, 2009 [EBook #28498] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPEAKER, DECEMBER 1906 *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, C. St. Charleskindt, Bill +Tozier and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div><a name="BEGIN" id="BEGIN"></a></div> + +<div class="tnote"> +<h4>Transcriber's Note</h4> + +<p class="center">The Table of Contents for this issue is found <a href="#TOC_No._5">at the end of the text</a>.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="center"> + +<div class="bboxpad"> + +<div class="bbox"> +<h1>THE SPEAKER</h1> +</div> + +<hr class="spacer" /> + +<div class="bbox"> +<hr class="spacer" /> + +<span class="size75">EDITED BY</span> +<br /> +PAUL M. PEARSON + +<hr class="bigspacer" /> + +<span class="size125"><b>No. 5</b></span> + +<hr class="bigspacer" /> +<hr class="bigspacer" /> + +<span class="size125">PEARSON BROTHERS</span> +<br /> +PHILADELPHIA + +<hr class="spacer" /> + +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 1 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span> +<a name="The_Speaker_Dec_1906" id="The_Speaker_Dec_1906"></a> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/speaker_header.png" width="700" height="220" alt="The Speaker, Vol. II. DECEMBER, 1906. No. 1." /> +</div> + +<div class="sidenote"><b>The Will</b></div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/i.png" width="125" height="150" alt="I" /><span class="start">n</span> +teaching public speaking the final purpose must be to train the +will. Without this faculty in control all else comes to nothing. +Exercises may be given for articulation, but without a determined +purpose to speak distinctly little good will result. The teacher may +spend himself in an effort to inspire and enthuse the student, but +this is futile unless the student comes to a resolution to attain +those excellencies of which the teacher has spoken. That a student +may become self-reliant is the chief business of the teacher. To +suggest such vital things in a way that the student will feel +impelled to work them out for himself, this is the art in all +teaching. To tell a student all there is to know about a subject, or +to present what is said in such a way that the student thinks there +is nothing more to be said, is to dwarf and stultify the mind. The +inclination of most students is to depend upon the teacher with a +helplessness that is as enervating as it is pitiable. Too many +teachers, flattered by this attitude or possessed of a sentimental +sympathy, encourage it. Thought, discretion, and courage are +required to put a student on his own resources and compel him to +stay there until he has acquired self-mastery.</p> + +<p>Public speaking cannot be exchanged for so much time or money. It +cannot be bought or sold; it comes, if it comes at all, as the +result of a wisely-directed determination. The teacher's part is to +exalt, enthuse, stimulate. He must criticise, certainly, but this is +generally overdone. Like some teachers of English who can never +overlook a misplaced comma, whose idea of English seems to be to +spell and to punctuate correctly, there are teachers of public + +<!-- Page 2 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +speaking whose critical eye never sees farther than gesture, +articulation, and emphasis. With this attitude toward their work, +they become fault-finders rather than teachers. They nag, harrass, +and suppress. The business of the teacher is to make the student see +visions of beauty, truth and love, to open up to him these mighty +fields that he may go in and possess them. To implant a yearning, an +unquenchable, all-consuming desire to comprehend and to express the +emotions of which his teacher enables him to get glimpses.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><b>The Teacher</b></div> + +<p>Exercises? Yes, all the student can stand without becoming a drone. +Criticism? Yes, but no quibbling, no nagging. Criticism is something +more than fault-finding. The teacher exalts his profession, ennobles +his art, and begets consideration for himself when he maintains the +highest standards for himself and for his students.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><b>Habit</b></div> + +<p>Learning to speak well is, like forming character, a matter of +self-discipline and self-culture. A good voice is a good habit; +distinct articulation is a good habit; graceful and effective +gestures are a good habit. Like all good habits, these are formed by +a constant exercise of the will. The teacher's part is to get the +students to hear his own voice, to observe his own gestures, and +listen to his own articulation. These things cannot be accomplished +over night, and if attempted all at once may make the student too +self-conscious; certainly this condition will result if his faults +are continually insisted upon. The teacher's great opportunity is to +enable the student to know himself, and to see that he is determined +to develop his best self.</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<div class="sidenote"><b>Sincerity</b></div> + +<p>Sincerity in art! One sometimes doubts whether it exists. Take the +special field of art with which the readers of this magazine are +especially concerned. How many depend upon tricks to get their +effects! How many struggle mightily to gain a laugh or "a hand," +neglecting the theme, the message, the + +<!-- Page 3 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +spirit of that which they +are professing to interpret. If that which we read is worth while, +if it has anything vital in it, the effect will be stronger if the +skill and personality of the speaker are kept in the background, and +the audience is brought face to face with the spirit of that which +has been embodied in the lines. As some readers go through their +lines they seem to be saying, Listen to my voice, observe my +graceful gestures; isn't this a pretty gown I have? I'll win you +with my smile. Most audiences are good-natured, and enjoy to the +full such small vanities; moreover, we all like to see winning +smiles, beautiful gowns, and graceful gestures; but it is a pitiable +misnomer to call such exhibitions reading. But the more subtle forms +of insincerity in this art are even more prevalent. To exaggerate +some form of emphasis, to exaggerate a gesture or facial expression, +to wrest a passage from its meaning, these, and many other devices +for forcing immediate approval from an audience, are grossly +insincere. There is still a broader plan on which our sincerity must +be judged. To present this effectively I quote at length from Bliss +Carmen's recent book, "The Poetry of Life." The essay sets a high +standard, but by no other can enduring work be done. The fact that a +reader has many engagements, or that a teacher has many pupils is no +assurance of sincerity or the high grade of his work. "Munsey's +Magazine" has a larger circulation than "The Atlantic Monthly"; the +one, "hack stuff," to be suffered only a few minutes while waiting +for a train; the other is literature. But, to quote from Bliss +Carmen. He is discussing the poetry of life, but the same general +principles apply to all art:</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><b>Quoting Bliss Carmen</b></div> + +<p>"As for sincerity, the poetry of life need not always be solemn, any +more than life itself need not always be sober. It may be gay, +witty, humorous, satirical, disbelieving, farcical, even broad and +reckless, since life is all these; but it must never be insincere. +Insincerity, which is not always one of the greatest + +<!-- Page 4 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +sins of the +moral universe, becomes in the world of art an offence of the first +magnitude. Insincerity in life may be mean, despicable, and indicate +a petty nature; but in art insincerity is death. A strong man may +lie upon occasion, and make restitution and be forgiven, but for the +artist who lies there is hardly any reparation possible, and his +forgiveness is much more difficult. Art, being the embodiment of the +artist's ideal, is truly the corporeal substance of his spiritual +self; and that there should be any falsehood in it, any deliberate +failure to present him faithfully, it is as monstrous and unnatural +as it would be for a man to disavow his own flesh and bones. Here we +are every one of us going through life committed and attached to our +bodies; for all that we do we are held responsible; if we misbehave, +the world will take it out of our hide. But here is our friend, the +artist, committing his spiritual energy to his art, to an embodiment +outside himself, and escaping down a by-path from all the +consequences—what shall be said of him? The insincere artist is as +much beyond the pale of human sympathy as the murderer. Morally he +is a felon.</p> + +<p>"There is no excuse for him, either. There was no call for him to +make a liar of himself, other than the most sordid of reasons, the +little gain, the jingling reward of gold. For no man would ever be +insincere in his art, except for pay, except to cater to some other +taste than his own, and to win approval and favor by sycophancy. If +he were assured of his competency in the world, and placed beyond +the reach of necessitous want, how would it ever occur to him to +create an insincere art? Art is so simple, so spontaneous, so +dependent on the disingenuous emotion, that it can never be +insincere, unless violence is done to all laws of nature and of +spirit. Since art arises from the sacramental blending of the inward +spirit with the outward form, any touch of insincerity in it assumes +the nature of a horrible crime, a pitiable revolt against the order +and eternity of the universe.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 5 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +</div> + +<div class="sidenote"><b>Sincerity in Humor</b></div> + +<p>"It is not necessary, as I say, for art to be solemn and wholly +serious-minded in order to be sincere. Comedy is quite sincere. Yet +it is easy to usurp her name and play the fool for pennies, with +never a ray of appreciation of her true character. Sincerity, then, +is not the least averse to fun; it only requires that the fun shall +be genuine and come from the heart, as it requires that every note +of whatever sort shall be genuine and spring from the real +personality of the writer."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="On_Time" id="On_Time"></a></div> + +<h2>On Time</h2> + +<p class="center">BY JOHN MILTON.</p> + +<div class="blockwide"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,</span> +<span class="i0">Call on thy lazy, leaden-stepping hours,</span> +<span class="i0">Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;</span> +<span class="i0">And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,</span> +<span class="i0">Which is no more than what is false and vain,</span> +<span class="i0">And merely mortal dross;</span> +<span class="i0">So little is our loss,</span> +<span class="i0">So little is thy gain.</span> +<span class="i0">For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd,</span> +<span class="i0">And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd,</span> +<span class="i0">Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss</span> +<span class="i0">With an individual kiss;</span> +<span class="i0">And Joy shall overtake us as a flood;</span> +<span class="i0">When everything that is sincerely good</span> +<span class="i0">And perfectly divine,</span> +<span class="i0">With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine</span> +<span class="i0">About the supreme Throne</span> +<span class="i0">Of Him, t' whose happy-making sight alone,</span> +<span class="i0">When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall climb,</span> +<span class="i0">Then all this earthly grossness quit,</span> +<span class="i0">Attir'd with stars, we shall forever sit,</span> +<span class="i0">Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee,</span> +<span class="i2">O Time.</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 6 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +<a name="The_Knight_in_the_Wood" id="The_Knight_in_the_Wood"></a> +</div> + +<h2>The Knight in the Wood</h2> + +<p class="center">BY E. LEICESTER WARREN.</p> + +<p class="center">(Lord de Tabley.)</p> + +<div class="blockwide"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The thing itself was rough and crudely done,</span> +<span class="i0">Cut in coarse stone, spitefully placed aside</span> +<span class="i0">As merest lumber, where the light was worst</span> +<span class="i0">On a back staircase. Overlooked it lay</span> +<span class="i0">In a great Roman palace crammed with art.</span> +<span class="i0">It had no number in the list of gems</span> +<span class="i0">Weeded away, long since pushed out and banished,</span> +<span class="i0">Before insipid Guidos over-sweet</span> +<span class="i0">And Dolce's rose sensationalities,</span> +<span class="i0">And curly chirping angels, spruce as birds.</span> +<span class="i0">And yet the motive of this thing ill-hewn</span> +<span class="i0">And hardly seen did touch me. O, indeed,</span> +<span class="i0">The skill-less hand that carved it had belonged</span> +<span class="i0">To a most yearning and bewildered brain:</span> +<span class="i0">There was such desolation in the work;</span> +<span class="i0">And through its utter failure the thing spoke</span> +<span class="i0">With more of human message, heart to heart,</span> +<span class="i0">Than all these faultless, smirking, skin-deep saints,</span> +<span class="i0">In artificial troubles picturesque,</span> +<span class="i0">And martyred sweetly, not one curl awry.—</span> +<span class="i0">Listen; a clumsy knight, who rode alone</span> +<span class="i0">Upon a stumbling jade in a great wood</span> +<span class="i0">Belated. The poor beast, with head low-bowed</span> +<span class="i0">Snuffing the ground. The rider leant</span> +<span class="i0">Forward to sound the marish with his lance.</span> +<span class="i0">The wretched rider and the hide-bound steed,</span> +<span class="i0">You saw the place was deadly; that doomed pair,</span> +<span class="i0">Feared to advance, feared to return.—That's all.</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 7 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +<a name="A_Little_Feminine_Casabianca" id="A_Little_Feminine_Casabianca"></a> +</div> + +<h2>"A Little Feminine Casabianca"<a name="FNanchor_A_A" id="FNanchor_A_A"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_A" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Arranged by Maude Herndon and Grace Kellam.</i>)</p> + +<div class="subheader"><p>[By permission of the publishers and the author we reprint two +cuttings from stories in "Emmy Lou." There are ten stories in the +book, all of them excellent readings. McClure, Phillips & Co., New +York.]</p></div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/t.png" width="125" height="150" alt="T" /><span class="start">he</span> +Primer Class according to the degree of its precocity was +divided in three sections. Emmy Lou belonged to the third section. +It was the last section, and she was the last one in it, though she +had no idea what a section meant nor why she was in it; and Emmy Lou +went on wondering what it was all about, which never would have been +the case had there been a mother among the elders of the house, for +mothers have a way of understanding these things. But to Emmy Lou +"mother" had come to mean but a memory which faded as it came, a +vague consciousness of encircling arms, of a brooding tender face, +of yearning eyes; and it was only because they told her that Emmy +Lou remembered how mother had gone away South, one winter, to get +well. That they afterward told her it was heaven, in nowise confused +Emmy Lou, because, for aught she knew, South and heaven and much +else might be included in these points of the compass. Ever since +then Emmy Lou had lived with three aunties and an uncle; and papa +had been coming a hundred miles once a month to see her.</p> + +<p>But somehow the Primer year wore away; and the close of the first +week of Emmy Lou's second year at a certain large public school +found her round, chubby self, like a pink-cheeked period, ending the +long line of intermingled little boys and girls making what was +known, twenty-five years ago, as the First Reader Class.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 8 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>Her heart grew still within her at the slow, awful enunciation of +the Large Lady in black bombazine who reigned over the department of +the First Reader, pointing her morals with a heavy forefinger, +before which Emmy Lou's eyes lowered with every aspect of conscious +guilt. Nor did Emmy Lou dream that the Large Lady, whose black +bombazine was the visible sign of a loss by death that had made it +necessary for her to enter the school-room to earn a living, was +finding the duties incident to the First Reader almost as strange +and perplexing as Emmy Lou herself.</p> + +<p>Emmy Lou from the first day found herself descending steadily to the +foot of the class; and there she remained until the awful day, at +the close of the first week, when the Large Lady, realizing perhaps +that she could no longer ignore such adherence to that lowly +position, made discovery that while to Emmy Lou "d-o-g" might spell +"dog" and "f-r-o-g" might spell "frog," Emmy Lou could not find +either on a printed page, and further, could not tell wherein they +differed when found for her; that, also, Emmy Lou made her figure 8's +by adding one uncertain little o to the top of another uncertain +little o; and that while Emmy Lou might copy, in smeary columns, +certain cabalistic signs off the blackboard, she could not point +them off in tens, hundreds, thousands, or read their numerical +values, to save her little life. The Large Lady, sorely perplexed +within herself as to the proper course to be pursued, in the sight +of the fifty-nine other First Readers pointed a condemning +forefinger at the miserable little object standing in front of her +platform; and said, "You will stay after school, Emma Louise, that I +may examine further into your qualifications for this grade."</p> + +<p>Now Emmy Lou had no idea what it meant—"examine further into your +qualifications for this grade." It might be the form of punishment +in vogue for the chastisement of the members of the First Reader. +But "stay after school" she did understand, and her heart sank, and +her little breast heaved.</p> + +<p>It was past the noon recess. At last the bell for dismissal had +rung. The Large Lady, arms folded across her bombazine bosom, had +faced the class, and with awesome solemnity had already enunciated, +"Attention," and sixty little people had sat up straight, when the +door opened, and a teacher from the floor above came in.</p> + +<p>At her whispered confidence, the Large Lady left the room hastily, + +<!-- Page 9 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +while the strange teacher with a hurried "one-two-three, march out +quietly, children," turned, and followed her. And Emmy Lou, left +sitting at her desk, saw through gathering tears the line of First +Readers wind around the room and file out the door, the sound of +their departing footsteps along the bare corridors and down the +echoing stairway coming back like a knell to her sinking heart. Then +class after class from above marched past the door and on its +clattering way, while voices from outside, shrill with the joy of +the release, came up through the open windows in talk, in laughter, +together with the patter of feet on the bricks. Then as these +familiar sounds grew fewer, fainter, farther away, some belated +footsteps went echoing through the building, a door slammed +somewhere—then—silence.</p> + +<p>Emmy Lou waited. She wondered how long it would be. There was +watermelon at home for dinner; she had seen it borne in, a great, +striped promise of ripe juicy lusciousness, on the marketman's +shoulder before she came to school. And here a tear, long gathering, +splashed down the pink cheek.</p> + +<p>Still that awesome personage presiding over the fortunes of the +First Reader failed to return. Perhaps this was "the examination +into—into—" Emmy Lou could not remember what—to be left in this +big, bare room with the flies droning and humming in lazy circles up +near the ceiling. The forsaken desks, with a forgotten book or slate +left here and there upon them, the pegs around the wall empty of +hats and bonnets, the unoccupied chair upon the platform—Emmy Lou +gazed at these with a sinking sensation of desolation, while tear +followed tear down her chubby face. And listening to the flies and +the silence, Emmy Lou began to long for even the Bombazine Presence, +and dropping her quivering countenance upon her arms folded upon the +desk she sobbed aloud. But the time was long, and the day was warm, +and the sobs grew slower, and the breath began to come in +long-drawn, quivering sighs, and the next Emmy Lou knew she was +sitting upright, trembling in every limb, and some one coming up the +stairs—she could hear the slow, heavy footfalls, and a moment after +she saw the Man, the Recess Man, the low, black-bearded, +black-browed, scowling Man, with the broom across his shoulder, +reach the hallway, and make toward the open doorway of the First +Reader room. Emmy Lou held her breath, stiffened her little body, +and—waited. But the Man pausing to light his pipe, Emmy Lou, in +the sudden + +<!-- Page 10 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +respite thus afforded slid in a trembling heap beneath +the desk, and on hands and knees went crawling across the floor. And +as Uncle Michael came in, a moment after, broom, pan, and +feather-duster in hand, the last fluttering edge of a little pink +dress was disappearing into the depths of the big, empty coal-box, +and its sloping lid was lowering upon a flaxen head and cowering +little figure crouched within. Uncle Michael having put the room to +rights, sweeping and dusting, with many a rheumatic groan in +accompaniment, closed the windows, and going out, drew the door +after him, and, as was his custom, locked it.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, at Emmy Lou's home the elders wondered. But Emmy Lou did +not come. And by half-past two Aunt Louise, the youngest auntie, +started out to find her. But after searching the neighborhood in +vain, returned home in despair. Then Aunt Cordelia sent the house +boy down-town for Uncle Charlie. Just as Uncle Charlie arrived—and +it was past five o'clock by then—some of the children of the +neighborhood, having found a small boy living some squares off who +confessed to being in the First Reader with Emmy Lou, arrived also, +with the small boy in tow.</p> + +<p>"She didn't know 'dog' from 'frog' when she saw 'em," stated the +small boy, with derision of superior ability, "an' teacher, she told +her to stay after school. She was settin' there in her desk when +school let out, Emmy Lou was."</p> + +<p>But a big girl of the neighborhood objected. "Her teacher went home +the minute school was out," she declared. "Isn't the new lady, +Mrs. Samuels, your teacher?" "Well, her daughter, Lettie, she's in my +room, and she was sick, and her mother came up to our room and took +her home. Our teacher she went down and dismissed the First +Readers."</p> + +<p>"I don't care if she did," retorted the small boy. "I reckon I saw +Emmy Lou settin' there when we come away."</p> + +<p>The three aunts grew pale and tearful, and wrung their hands in +despair. The small boy from the First Reader, legs apart, hands in +knickerbocker pockets, gazed at the crowd of irresolute elders with +scornful wonder. "What you wanter do is find Uncle Michael; he keeps +the keys. He went past my house a while ago, going home. He lives in +Rose Lane Alley. 'Taint much outer my way, I'll take you there." And +meekly they followed in his footsteps.</p> + +<p>It was dark when a motley throng of uncles, aunties, visiting + +<!-- Page 11 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +lady, neighbors and children went climbing the cavernous, echoing stairway +of the dark school building behind the toiling figure of the +skeptical Uncle Michael, lantern in hand.</p> + +<p>"Ain't I swept over every inch of this here schoolhouse myself and +carried the trash outten a dust-pan?" grumbled Uncle Michael, with +what inference nobody just then stopped to inquire. Then with the +air of a mistreated, aggrieved person who feels himself a victim, he +paused before a certain door on the second floor, and fitted a key +in its lock. "Here it is then, No. 9, to satisfy the lady," and he +flung open the door. The light of Uncle Michael's lantern fell full +upon the wide-eyed, terror-smitten person of Emmy Lou, in her desk, +awaiting, her miserable little heart knew not what horror.</p> + +<p>"She—she told me to stay," sobbed Emmy Lou in Aunt Cordelia's arms, +"and I stayed; and the Man came, and I hid in the coal-box!"</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<a name="Footnote_A_A" id="Footnote_A_A"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_A_A"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> +<p>Copyright, 1901, 1902, by McClure, Phillips & Co.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="What_He_Got_Out_of_It" id="What_He_Got_Out_of_It"></a></div> + +<h2>What He Got Out of It</h2> + +<p class="center">BY S. E. KISER.</p> + +<p class="center">(From the <i>Chicago Record-Herald</i>.)</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He never took a day of rest,</span> +<span class="i2">He couldn't afford it;</span> +<span class="i0">He never had his trousers pressed,</span> +<span class="i2">He couldn't afford it;</span> +<span class="i0">He never went away, care-free,</span> +<span class="i2">To visit distant lands, to see</span> +<span class="i0">How fair a place this world might be—</span> +<span class="i2">He couldn't afford it.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He never went to see a play,</span> +<span class="i2">He couldn't afford it;</span> +<span class="i0">His love for art he put away,</span> +<span class="i2">He couldn't afford it.</span> +<span class="i0">He died and left his heirs a lot,</span> +<span class="i2">But no tall shaft proclaims the spot</span> +<span class="i0">In which he lies—his children thought</span> +<span class="i2">They couldn't afford it.</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 12 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +<a name="The_Plays_the_Thing" id="The_Plays_the_Thing"></a> +</div> + +<h2>The Play's the Thing<a name="FNanchor_B_B" id="FNanchor_B_B"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_B" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Arranged by Maude Herndon and Grace Kellam.</i>)</p> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/i.png" width="125" height="150" alt="I" /><span class="start">t</span> +was the day of the exhibition. Miss Carrie, teacher of the Third +Reader Class, talked in deep tones—gestures meant sweeps and +circles. Since the coming of Miss Carrie, the Third Reader Class +lived, as it were, in the public eye, for on Fridays books were put +away and the attention given to recitations and company. <i>No</i> other +class had these recitations, and the Third Reader was envied. Its +members were pointed out and gazed upon, until one realized one was +standing in the garish light of fame. The other readers, it seemed, +longed for fame and craved publicity, and so it came about that the +school was to have an exhibition with Miss Carrie's genius to plan +and engineer the whole. For general material Miss Carrie drew from +the whole school, but the play was for her own class alone.</p> + +<p>And this was the day of the exhibition.</p> + +<p>Hattie and Sadie and Emmy Lou stood at the gate of the school. They +had spent the morning in rehearsing. At noon they had been sent home +with instructions to return at half-past two. The exhibition would +begin at three.</p> + +<p>"Of course," Miss Carrie had said, "you will not fail to be on +time." And Miss Carrie had used her deepest tones.</p> + +<p>It was not two o'clock, and the three stood at the gate, the first +to return. They were in the same piece. It was "The Play." In a play +one did more than suit the part.</p> + +<p>In the play Hattie and Sadie and Emmy Lou found themselves the +orphaned children of a soldier who had failed to return from the +war. It was a very sad piece. Sadie had to weep, and more than once +Emmy Lou had found tears in her eyes, watching her.</p> + +<p>Miss Carrie said Sadie showed histrionic talent. Emmy Lou asked +Hattie about it, who said it meant tears, and Emmy Lou remembered +then how tears came naturally to Sadie.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 13 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>When Aunt Cordelia heard they must dress to suit the part she came +to see Miss Carrie, and so did the mamma of Sadie and the mamma of +Hattie.</p> + +<p>"Dress them in a kind of mild mourning," Miss Carrie explained, "not +too deep, or it will seem too real, and, as three little sisters, +suppose we dress them alike."</p> + +<p>And now Hattie and Sadie and Emmy Lou stood at the gate ready for +the play. Stiffly immaculate white dresses with beltings of black +sashes, flared jauntily out above spotless white stockings and sober +little slippers, while black-bound Leghorn hats shaded three anxious +little countenances. By the exact center, each held a little +handkerchief, black-bordered.</p> + +<p>Hattie and Sadie and Emmy Lou wore each an anxious seriousness of +countenance, but it was a variant seriousness; for as the hour +approached, the solemn importance of the occasion was stealing +brain-ward, and Emmy Lou even began to feel glad she was a part of +The Exhibition, for to have been left out would have been worse even +than the moment of mounting the platform.</p> + +<p>"My grown-up brother's coming," said Hattie, "an' my mamma an' +gran'ma an' the rest."</p> + +<p>"My Aunt Cordelia has invited the visiting lady next door," said +Emmy Lou.</p> + +<p>But it was Sadie's hour. "Our minister's coming," said Sadie.</p> + +<p>Emmy Lou's part was to weep when Sadie wept, and to point a chubby +forefinger skyward when Hattie mentioned the departure from earth of +the soldier parent, and to lower that forefinger footward at Sadie's +tearful allusion to an untimely grave.</p> + +<p>Emmy Lou had but one utterance, and it was brief. She was to advance +one foot, stretch forth a hand and say, in the character of orphan +for whom no asylum was offered, "We know not where we go." All day, +Emmy Lou had been saying it at intervals of half minutes, for fear +she might forget.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, it yet lacking a moment or so of two o'clock, the +orphaned heroes continued to linger at the gate, awaiting the hour.</p> + +<p>"Listen," said Hattie, "I hear music."</p> + +<p>There was a church across the street. It was a large church with +high steps and a pillared portico, and its doors were open.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 14 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"It's a band, and marching," said Hattie.</p> + +<p>The orphaned children hurried to the curb. A procession was turning +the corner and coming toward them. On either sidewalk crowds of men +and boys accompanied it.</p> + +<p>"It's a funeral," said Sadie.</p> + +<p>Hattie turned with a face of conviction. "I know. It's that big +general's funeral; they're bringing him home to bury him with the +soldiers."</p> + +<p>"We'll never see a thing for the crowd," despaired Sadie.</p> + +<p>Emmy Lou was gazing. "They've got plumes in their hats," she said.</p> + +<p>"Let's go over on the church steps and see it go by," said Hattie, +"it's early."</p> + +<p>The orphaned children hurried across the street. They climbed the +steps. At the top they turned. There were plumes and more, there +were flags and swords, and a band led. But at the church, with +unexpected abruptness, the band halted, turned; it fell apart, and +the procession came through; it came right on through and up the +steps, a line of uniforms and swords on either side from curb to +pillar, and halted.</p> + +<p>Aghast, between two glittering files, the orphaned children shrank +into the shadow behind a pillar, while upstreamed from the carriages +below an unending line—bare-headed men and ladies bearing flowers. +Behind, below, about, closing in on every side, crowded people, a +sea of people.</p> + +<p>The orphaned children found themselves swept from their hiding by +the crowd and unwillingly jostled forward into prominence.</p> + +<p>A frowning man, with a sword in his hand, seemed to be threatening +everybody; his face was red and his voice was big, and he glittered +with many buttons. All at once he caught sight of the orphaned +children and threatened them vehemently.</p> + +<p>"Here," said the frowning man, "right in here," and he placed them +in line. The orphaned children were appalled, and even in the face +of the man cried out in protest. But the man of the sword did not +hear, for the reason that he did not listen. Instead he was +addressing a large and stout lady immediately behind them.</p> + +<p>"Separated from the family in the confusion, the grandchildren +evidently—just see them in, please."</p> + +<p>And suddenly the orphaned children found themselves a part + +<!-- Page 15 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +of the procession as grandchildren. The nature of a procession is to +proceed. And the grandchildren proceeded with it. They could not +help themselves. There was no time for protest, for, pushed by the +crowd, which closed and swayed above their heads, and piloted by the +stout lady close behind, they were swept into the church and up the +aisle, and when they came again to themselves were in the inner +corner of a pew near the front.</p> + +<p>The church was decked with flags. So was the Third Reader room. It +was hung with flags for The Exhibition.</p> + +<p>Hattie in the corner nudged Sadie. Sadie urged Emmy Lou, who, next +to the stout lady, touched her timidly. "We have to get out; we've +got to say our parts."</p> + +<p>"Not now," said the lady, reassuringly; "the program is at the +cemetery."</p> + +<p>Emmy Lou did not understand, and she tried to tell the lady.</p> + +<p>"S-h-," said the person, engaged with the spectacle and the crowd; +"sh-h-" Abashed, Emmy Lou sat, sh-h-ed.</p> + +<p>Hattie arose. It was terrible to rise in church, and at a funeral, +and the church was filled, the aisles were crowded, but Hattie rose. +Hattie was a St. George, and a Dragon stood between her and The +Exhibition. She pushed by Sadie, and past Emmy Lou. Hattie was slim +as she was strenuous, but not even so slim a little girl as Hattie +could push by the stout lady, for she filled the space.</p> + +<p>At Hattie's touch she turned. Although she looked good-natured, the +size and ponderance of the lady were intimidating. She stared at +Hattie; people were looking; it was in church; Hattie's face was +red.</p> + +<p>"You can't get to the family," said the lady; "you couldn't move in +the crowd. Besides I promised to see to you. Now be quiet," she +added crossly, when Hattie would have spoken. She turned away. +Hattie crept back vanquished by this Dragon.</p> + +<p>"So suitably dressed," the stout lady was saying to a lady beyond; +"grandchildren, you know. Even their little handkerchiefs have black +borders." The service began, and there fell on the unwilling +grandchildren the submission of awe. The stout lady cried, she also +punched Emmy Lou with her elbow whenever that little person moved, +but finally she found courage to turn her head so she could see +Sadie. Sadie was weeping into her black-bordered handkerchief, nor were + +<!-- Page 16 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +they tears of histrionic talent. They were real tears. People +all about were looking at her sympathetically. Such grief in a +grandchild was very moving. It may have been minutes; it seemed to +Emmy Lou hours, before there came a general uprising. Hattie stood +up. So did Sadie and Emmy Lou. Their skirts no longer stood out +jauntily; they were quite crushed and subdued. There was a wild, +hunted look in Hattie's eyes. "Watch the chance!" she whispered, +"and run."</p> + +<p>But it did not come. As the pews emptied, the stout lady passed Emmy +Lou on, addressing some one beyond. "Hold to this one," she said, +"and I'll take the other two, or they'll get tramped in the crowd."</p> + +<p>Slowly the crowd moved, and being a part of it, however unwillingly, +Emmy Lou moved, too, out of the church and down the steps. Then came +the crashing of the band and the roll of the carriages, and she +found herself in the front row on the curb.</p> + +<p>The man with the brandishing sword was threatening violently. "One +more carriage is here for the family," called the man with the +sword. His glance in search for the family suddenly fell on Emmy +Lou. She felt it fall.</p> + +<p>The problem solved itself for the man with the sword, and his brow +cleared.</p> + +<p>"Grandchildren next," roared the threatening man. "Keep an eye on +them—separated from the family," he was explaining, and in spite of +their protests, a moment later the three little girls were lifted +into the carriage, and as the door banged, their carriage moved with +the rest up the street.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Hattie, and Hattie sprang to the farther door. It would +not open. Through the carriage windows the school, with its arched +doorways and windows, gazed frowningly, reproachfully. A gentleman +entered the gate and went in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"It's our minister," said Sadie, weeping afresh. Then Hattie wept +and so did Emmy Lou. What would The Exhibition do without them?</p> + +<p>Late that afternoon a carriage stopped at a corner upon which a +school building stood. Since his charges were infantile affairs, the +colored gentleman on the box thought to expedite matters and drop +them at the corner nearest their homes. Descending, he flung open +the door, and three little girls crept forth, three crushed little +girls, three limp little + +<!-- Page 17 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +girls, three little girls in a mild kind +of mourning. They came forth timidly. They looked around. They hoped +they might reach their homes unobserved.</p> + +<p>There was a crowd up the street. A gathering of people—many people. +It seemed to be at Emmy Lou's gate. Hattie and Sadie lived farther +on.</p> + +<p>"It must be a fire," said Hattie.</p> + +<p>But it wasn't. It was The Exhibition, the Principal, and Miss +Carrie, and teachers and pupils, and mammas and aunties and Uncle +Charlie.</p> + +<p>"An' grand'ma," said Hattie. "And the visiting lady," said Emmy Lou. +"And our minister," said Sadie.</p> + +<p>The gathering of many people caught sight of them presently, and +came to meet them, three little girls in mild mourning.</p> + +<p>The parents and guardians led them home.</p> + +<p>Emmy Lou was tired. At supper she nodded and mild mourning and all, +suddenly she collapsed and fell asleep, her head against her chair.</p> + +<p>Uncle Charlie woke her. He stood her up on the chair, and held out +his arms. "Come," he said, "Come, suit the action to the word."</p> + +<p>Emmy Lou woke suddenly, the words smiting her ears with ominous +import. She thought the hour had come; it was The Exhibition. She +stood stiffly, she advanced a cautious foot, her chubby hand +described a careful half circle. Emmy Lou spoke her part.</p> + +<p>"We know not where we go."</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<a name="Footnote_B_B" id="Footnote_B_B"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_B_B"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> +<p>Copyright, 1901, 1902, by McClure, Phillips & Co.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 18 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +<a name="The_Dancing_School_and_Dicky" id="The_Dancing_School_and_Dicky"></a> +</div> + +<h2>The Dancing School and Dicky<a name="FNanchor_C_C" id="FNanchor_C_C"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_C" class="fnanchor">[C]</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY JOSEPHINE DODGE DASKAM.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Arranged by Maude Herndon and Grace Kellam.</i>)</p> + +<p class="center">[From "The Little God and Dicky."]</p> + +<div class="subheader"><p>[We have debated long and earnestly which of the seven stories in +"The Madness of Phillip and Other Tales of Childhood" is the best +public reading. As yet we have no decision; certainly six of them +are among the choicest readings of child-life which may be found in +American literature, where we have the real child in books. With the +permission of the author and the publishers, McClure, Phillips +& Co., New York, we reprint cuttings from two of these stories.]</p></div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/w.png" width="125" height="150" alt=""W" /><span class="start">here</span> +are you going?" said somebody, as he slunk out toward the +hat-rack.</p> + +<p>"Oh, out."</p> + +<p>"Well, see that you don't stay long. Remember what it is this +afternoon."</p> + +<p>He turned like a stag at bay.</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> is it this afternoon?" he demanded viciously.</p> + +<p>"You know very well."</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i>"</p> + +<p>"See that you're here, that's all. You've got to get dressed."</p> + +<p>"I will not go to that old dancing school again, and I tell you that +I won't, and I won't. And I won't!"</p> + +<p>"Now, Dick, don't begin that all over again. It's so silly of you. +You've got to go."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because it's the thing to do."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because you must learn to dance."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Every nice boy learns."</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 19 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"That will do, Richard. Go and find your pumps. Now, get right up +from the floor, and if you scratch the Morris chair I shall speak to +your father. Ain't you ashamed of yourself? Get right up—you must +expect to be hurt, if you pull so. Come, Richard! Now, stop +crying—a great boy like you! I am sorry I hurt your elbow, but you +know very well you aren't crying for that at all. Come along!"</p> + +<p>His sister flitted by the door, her accordeon-plaited skirt held +carefully from the floor, her hair in two glistening, blue-knotted +pigtails.</p> + +<p>"Hurry up, Dick, or we'll be late," she called back sweetly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you shut up, will you!" he snarled.</p> + +<p>She looked meek, and listened to his deprivation of dessert for the +rest of the week with an air of love for the sinner and hatred for +the sin that deceived even her older sister who was dressing her.</p> + +<p>A desperately patient monologue from the next room indicated the +course of events there.</p> + +<p>"Your necktie is on the bed. No, I don't know where the blue one +is—it doesn't matter; that it just as good. Yes, it is. No, you +cannot. You will have to wear one. Because no one ever goes without. +I don't know why.</p> + +<p>"Many a boy would be thankful and glad to have silk stockings. +Nonsense, your legs are warm enough. I don't believe you. Now, +Richard, how perfectly ridiculous! There is no left or right to +stockings. You have no time to change. Shoes are a different thing. +Well, hurry up, then. Because they are made so, I suppose. I don't +know why.</p> + +<p>"Brush it more on that side—no, you can't go to the barbers. You +went last week. It looks perfectly well. I cut it? Why, I don't know +how to trim hair. Anyway, there isn't time now. It will have to do. +Stop your scowling for goodness' sake, Dick. Have you a +handkerchief? It makes no difference, you must carry one. You +<i>ought</i> to want to use it. Well, you should. Yes, they always do, +whether they have colds or not. I don't know why.</p> + +<p>"Your Golden Text! The idea! No, you cannot. You can learn that +Sunday before church. This is not the time to learn Golden Texts. I +never saw such a child. Now take your pumps and find the plush bag. +Why not? Put them + +<!-- Page 20 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +right with Ruth's. That's what the bag was made +for. Well, how do you want to carry them? Why, I never heard of +anything so silly! You will knot the strings. I don't care if they +do carry skates that way—skates are not slippers. You'd lose them. +Very well, then, only hurry up. I should think you'd be ashamed to +have them dangling around your neck that way. Because people never +<i>do</i> carry them so. I don't know why.</p> + +<p>"Now, here's your coat. Well, I can't help it, you have no time to +hunt for them. Put your hands in your pockets—it's not far. And +mind, don't run for Ruth every time. You don't take any pains with +her, and you hustle her about, Miss Dorothy says. Take another +little girl. Yes, you must. I shall speak to your father if you +answer me in that way, Richard. Men don't dance with their sisters. +Because they don't. I don't know why."</p> + +<p>He slammed the door till the piazza shook, and strode along beside +his scandalized sister, the pumps flopping noisily on his shoulders. +She tripped along contentedly—she liked to go. The personality +capable of extracting pleasure from the hour before them baffled his +comprehension, and he scowled fiercely at her, rubbing his silk +stockings together at every step, to enjoy the strange smooth +sensation thus produced. This gave him a bow-legged gait that +distressed his sister beyond words.</p> + +<p>"I think you might stop. Everybody's looking at you! Please stop, +Dick Pendleton; you're a mean old thing. I should think you'd be +ashamed to carry your slippers that way. If you jump in that wet +place and spatter me I shall tell papa—you <i>will</i> care, when I tell +him just the same! You're just as bad as you can be. I shan't speak +with you to-day!"</p> + +<p>She pursed up her lips and maintained a determined silence. He +rubbed his legs together with renewed emphasis. Acquaintances met +them and passed, unconscious of anything but the sweet picture of a +sister and a brother and a plush bag going dutifully and daintily to +dancing school.</p> + +<p>He jumped over the threshold of the long room and aimed his cap at +the head of a boy he knew, who was standing on one foot to put on a +slipper. This destroyed his friend's balance, and a cheerful scuffle +followed. Life assumed a more hopeful aspect.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 21 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>A shrill whistle called them out in two crowded bunches to the +polished floor.</p> + +<p>Hoping against hope, he had clung to the beautiful thought that Miss +Dorothy would be sick, that she had missed her train—but no! There +she was, with her shiny high-heeled slippers, her pink skirt that +puffed out like a fan, and her silver whistle on a chain. The little +clicking castanets that rang out so sharply were in her hand beyond +a doubt.</p> + +<p>"Ready, children! Spread out. Take your lines. First position. Now!"</p> + +<p>The large man at the piano, who always looked half asleep, thundered +out the first bars of the latest waltz, and the business began.</p> + +<p>Their eyes were fixed solemnly on Miss Dorothy's pointed shoes. They +slipped and slid and crossed their legs and arched their pudgy +insteps; the boys breathed hard over their gleaming collars. On the +right side of the hall thirty hands held out their diminutive skirts +at an alluring angle. On the left, neat black legs pattered +diligently through mystic evolutions.</p> + +<p>The chords rolled out slower, with dramatic pauses between; sharp +clicks of the castanets rang through the hall; a line of toes rose +gradually towards the horizontal, whirled more or less steadily +about, crossed behind, bent low, bowed, and with a flutter of skirts +resumed the first position.</p> + +<p>A little breeze of laughing admiration circled the row of mothers +and aunts.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that too cunning! Just like a little ballet! Aren't they +graceful, really, now!"</p> + +<p>"<i>One</i>, two, three! <i>One</i>, two three! Slide, slide, cross; <i>one</i>, +two, three!"</p> + +<p>There are those who find pleasure in the aimless intricacies of the +dance; self-respecting men even have been known voluntarily to +frequent assemblies devoted to this nerve-racking attitudinizing +futility. Among such, however, you shall seek in vain in future +years for Richard Carr Pendleton.</p> + +<p>"<i>One</i>, two, three! <i>Reverse</i>, two, three!"</p> + +<p>The whistle shrilled.</p> + +<p>"Ready for the two-step, children?"</p> + +<p>A mild tolerance grew on him. If dancing must be, better + +<!-- Page 22 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +the two-step than anything else. It is not an alluring dance, your +two-step; it does not require temperament. Any one with a firm +intention of keeping the time and a strong arm can drag a girl +through it very acceptably.</p> + +<p>Dicky skirted the row of mothers and aunts cautiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, look! Did you ever see anything so sweet?" said somebody. +Involuntarily he turned. There in a corner, all by herself, a little +girl was gravely performing a dance. He stared at her curiously.</p> + +<p>She was ethereally slender, brown-eyed, brown-haired, brown-skinned. +A little fluffy white dress spread fan-shaped over her knees; her +ankles were bird-like. Her eyes were serious, her hair hung loose. +She swayed lightly; one little gloved hand held out her skirt, the +other marked the time. Her performance was an apotheosis of the +two-step; that metronomic dance would not have recognized itself +under her treatment.</p> + +<p>Dicky admired. But the admiration of his sex is notoriously fatal to +the art that attracts it. He advanced and bowed jerkily, grasped one +of the loops of her sash in the back, stamped gently a moment to get +the time, and the artist sank into the partner, the pirouette grew +coarse to sympathize with clay.</p> + +<p>"Don't they do it well, though! See those little things near the +door!" he caught as they went by, and his heart swelled with pride.</p> + +<p>"What's your name?" he asked abruptly after the dance.</p> + +<p>"Thithelia," she lisped. She was very shy.</p> + +<p>"Mine's Richard Carr Pendleton. My father's a lawyer. What's yours?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know!"</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" he said, grandly; "I guess you know. Don't you, really?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. Suddenly a light dawned in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Maybe I know," she murmured. "I gueth I know. He—he'th a really +thtate!"</p> + +<p>"A really state? That isn't anything—nothing at all. A really +state?" He frowned at her. Her lip quivered. She turned and ran +away.</p> + +<p>"Here, come back!" he called; but she was gone.</p> + +<p>"That will do for to-day," said Miss Dorothy, presently, and they +surged into the dressing-rooms, to be buttoned up and pulled out of +draughts and trundled home.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 23 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>She was swathed carefully in a wadded silk jacket, and then +enveloped in a hooded cloak; she looked like an angelic brownie. +Dicky ran to her as a woman led her out to a coupé at the curb, and +tugged at the ribbon of her cloak.</p> + +<p>"Where do you live? Say, where do you?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know." The woman laughed.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, you do, Cissy. Tell him directly, now."</p> + +<p>She put one tiny finger in her mouth.</p> + +<p>"I—I gueth I live on Chethnut Thtreet," he called as the door +slammed and shut her in.</p> + +<p>His sister amicably offered him half the plush bag to carry, and +opened a running criticism of the afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see anybody act like that Fannie Leach? She's awfully +rough. Miss Dorothy spoke to her twice—wasn't that dreadful? What +made you dance all the time with Cissy Weston? She's an awful +baby—a regular fraid-cat! We girls tease her just as easy—do you +like her?"</p> + +<p>"She's the prettiest one there!"</p> + +<p>"Why, Dick Pendleton, she is not! She's so little—she's not half so +pretty as Agnes, or—or lots of the girls. She's such a baby. She +puts her finger in her mouth if anybody says anything at all. If you +ask her a single thing she does like this: 'I don't know, I don't +know!'"</p> + +<p>He smiled scornfully. Did he not know how she did it?</p> + +<p>"And she can't talk plain! She lisps—truly she does!"</p> + +<p>Was ever a girl so thick-headed as that sister of his!</p> + +<p>"She puts her finger in her mouth! She can't talk plain!" Alas, my +sisters, it was Helen's finger that toppled over Troy, and Diane de +Poitiers stammered!</p> + +<p>For two long months the little girl led him along the primrose way. +The poor fellow thought it was the main road; he had yet to learn it +was but a by-path. But the Little God was not through with him. That +very night he reached the top of the wave.</p> + +<p>He came down to breakfast rapt and quiet. He salted his oatmeal by +mistake, and never knew the difference. His sister laughed +derisively, and explained his folly to him as he swallowed the last +spoonful, but he only smiled kindly at her. After his egg he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I dreamed that it was dancing school. And I went. And I was the +only fellow there. And what do you think? <i>All the little girls were +Cecilia!</i>"</p> + +<p>They gasped.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 24 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"You don't suppose he'll be a poet, do you? Or a genius, or +anything?" his mother inquired anxiously.</p> + +<p>"No!" his father returned. "I should say he was more likely to be a +Mormon!"</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<a name="Footnote_C_C" id="Footnote_C_C"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_C_C"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> +<p>Copyright, 1902, by McClure, Phillips & Co.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="A_Model_Story_in_the_Kindergarten" id="A_Model_Story_in_the_Kindergarten"></a></div> + +<h2>"A Model Story in the Kindergarten"<a name="FNanchor_D_D" id="FNanchor_D_D"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_D" class="fnanchor">[D]</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY JOSEPHINE DODGE DASKAM.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Arranged by Maude Herndon and Grace Kellam.</i>)</p> + +<div class="subheader">[From "The Madness of Philip." McClure, Phillips & Company.]</div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/i.png" width="125" height="150" alt="I" /><span class="start">t</span> +was evident that something was wrong that morning with the +children of the kindergarten. Two perplexed teachers were quieting +the latest outbreak and marshaling a wavering line of very little +people when the youngest assistant appeared on the scene.</p> + +<p>"Miss Hunt wants to know why you're so late with them," she +inquired. "She hopes nothing's wrong. Mr. R. B. M. Smith is here +to-day to visit the primary schools and kindergartens, and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, goodness," exclaimed a teacher, abruptly, ceasing her attempted +consolation of Marantha Judd. "I can't <i>bear</i> that woman! She's +always read Stanley Hall's <i>last</i> article that proves that what he +said before was wrong! Come along, Marantha, don't be a foolish +little girl any longer. We shall be late for the morning exercise."</p> + +<p>Upstairs a large circle was forming under the critical scrutiny of a +short, stout woman with crinkly, gray hair. This was Mr. R. B. M. Smith, +who, when the opening exercises were finished, signified her +willingness to relate to the children a model story, calling the +teacher's attention in advance to the almost incredible certainty +that would characterize the children's anticipation of the events +judiciously and psychologically selected.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 25 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>The arm-chairs shortly to contain so much accurate anticipation were +at last arranged and the children sat decorously attentive, their +faces turned curiously toward the strange lady with the fascinating +plumes in her bonnet.</p> + +<p>"Nothing like animals to bring out the protective instinct—feebler +dependent on the stronger," she said rapidly to the teachers, and +then addressed the objects of these theories.</p> + +<p>"Now, children, I'm going to tell you a nice story—you all like +stories, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>At just this moment little Richard Willetts sneezed loudly and +unexpectedly to all, himself included, with the result that his +ever-ready suspicion fixed upon his neighbor, Andrew Halloran, as +the direct cause of the convulsion. Andrew's well-meant efforts to +detach from Richard's vest the pocket-handkerchief securely fastened +thereto by a large black safety-pin strengthened the latter's +conviction of intended assault and battery, and he squirmed out of +the circle and made a dash for the hall—the first stage in an +evident homeward expedition.</p> + +<p>This broke in upon the story, and even when it got under way again +there was an atmosphere of excitement quite unexplained by the tale +itself.</p> + +<p>"Yesterday, children, as I came out of my yard, <i>what</i> do you think +I saw?" The elaborately concealed surprise in store was so obvious +that Marantha rose to the occasion and suggested:</p> + +<p>"An el'phunt?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no! Why should I see an elephant in my yard? It wasn't +<i>nearly</i> so big as that—it was a <i>little</i> thing!"</p> + +<p>"A fish?" ventured Eddy Brown, whose eye fell upon the aquarium in +the corner. The <i>raconteuse</i> smiled patiently.</p> + +<p>"Why, no! How could a fish, a live fish, get in my front yard?"</p> + +<p>"A dead fish?" persisted Eddy, who was never known to relinquish +voluntarily an idea.</p> + +<p>"It was a little kitten," said the story-teller, decidedly. "A +little white kitten. She was standing right near a great big puddle +of water. And what else do you think I saw?"</p> + +<p>"Another kitten?" suggested Marantha, conservatively.</p> + +<p>"No, a big Newfoundland dog. He saw the little kitten near the +water. Now cats don't like the water, do they? They don't like a wet +place. What do they like?"</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 26 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"Mice," said Joseph Zukoffsky, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, they do; but there were no mice in my yard. I'm sure you +know what I mean. If they don't like <i>water</i>, what do they like?"</p> + +<p>"Milk!"</p> + +<p>"They like a dry place," said Mrs. R. B. M. Smith.</p> + +<p>"Now what do you suppose the dog did?"</p> + +<p>It may be that successive failures had disheartened the listeners; +it may be that the very range presented alive to the dog and them +for choice dazzled their imaginations. At any rate, they made no +answer.</p> + +<p>"Nobody knows what the dog did?" repeated the story-teller, +encouragingly. "What would you do if you saw a little white kitten +like that?"</p> + +<p>Again a silence. Then Philip remarked gloomily, "I'd pull its tail."</p> + +<p>"And what do the rest of you think?" inquired Mrs. R. B. M. Smith, +pathetically. "I hope <i>you</i> are not so cruel as that little boy."</p> + +<p>But fully half the children had seen the youngest assistant giggle +at "that little boy's" answer, and with one accord came the quick +response, "<i>I'd</i> pull it too."</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<a name="Footnote_D_D" id="Footnote_D_D"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_D_D"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> +<p>Copyright, 1902, by McClure, Phillips & Co.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="Fishin" id="Fishin"></a></div> + +<h2>Fishin'?</h2> + +<p class="center">(From the <i>New Orleans Times-Democrat</i>.)</p> + +<div class="blocknarrow"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Settin' on a log</span> +<span class="i2">An' fishin'</span> +<span class="i0">An' watchin' the cork,</span> +<span class="i2">An' wishin'.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Jus' settin' round home</span> +<span class="i2">An' sighin',</span> +<span class="i0">Jus' settin' round home—</span> +<span class="i2">An' lyin'.</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 27 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +<a name="Ardelia_in_Arcady" id="Ardelia_in_Arcady"></a> +</div> + +<h2>"Ardelia in Arcady"<a name="FNanchor_E_E" id="FNanchor_E_E"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_E" class="fnanchor">[E]</a></h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>Arranged by Maude Herndon and Grace Kellam.</i>)</p> + +<div class="subheader">[From "The Madness of Philip," by Josephine Dodge Daskam. McClure, +Phillips & Co.]</div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/w.png" width="125" height="150" alt="W" /><span class="start">hen</span> +first the young lady from the College Settlement dragged +Ardelia from her degradation, she was sitting on a dirty pavement +and throwing assorted refuse at an unconscious policeman.</p> + +<p>"Come here, little girl," said the young lady, invitingly. "Wouldn't +you like to come with me and have a nice, cool bath?"</p> + +<p>"Naw," said Ardelia, in tones rivaling the bath in coolness.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't? Well, wouldn't you like some bread and butter and +jam?"</p> + +<p>"Wha's jam?"</p> + +<p>"Why, it's—er—marmalade. All sweet, you know."</p> + +<p>"Naw!"</p> + +<p>"I thought you might like to go on a picnic," said the young lady, +helplessly. "I thought all little girls liked—"</p> + +<p>"Picnic? When?" cried Ardelia, moved instantly to interest. "I'm +goin'! Is it the Dago picnic?"</p> + +<p>The young lady shuddered, and seizing the hand which she imagined to +have had the least to do with the refuse, she led Ardelia away—the +first stage of her journey to Arcady.</p> + +<p>Later arrayed in starched and creaking garments which had been made +for a slightly smaller child, Ardelia was transported to the +station, and for the first time introduced to a railroad car. She +sat stiffly on the red plush seat while the young lady talked +reassuringly of daisies and cows and green grass. As Ardelia had +never seen any of these things, it is hardly surprising that she was +somewhat unenthusiastic.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 28 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"You can roll in the daisies, my dear, and pick all you want—all!" +she urged eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Aw right," she answered, guardedly.</p> + +<p>The swelteringly hot day, and the rapid unaccustomed motion combined +to afflict her with a strange internal anticipation of future woe. +Once last summer, when she ate the liquid dregs of the ice-cream +man's great tin, and fell asleep in the room where her mother was +frying onions, she had experienced this same foreboding, and the +climax of that dreadful day lingered yet in her memory.</p> + +<p>At last they stopped. The young lady seized her hand, and led her +through the narrow aisle, down the steep steps, across the little +country station platform, and Ardelia was in Arcady.</p> + +<p>A bare-legged boy in blue overalls and a wide straw hat then drove +them many miles along a hot, dusty road, that wound endlessly +through the parched country fields. Finally they turned into a +driveway, and drew up before a gray wooden house. A spare, dark-eyed +woman in a checked apron advanced to meet them.</p> + +<p>"Terrible hot to-day, ain't it?" she sighed. "I'm real glad to see +you, Miss Forsythe. Won't you cool off a little before you go on? +This is the little girl, I s'pose. I guess it's pretty cool to what +she's accustomed to, ain't it, Delia?"</p> + +<p>"No, I thank you, Mrs. Slater. I'll go right on to the house. Now, +Ardelia, here you are in the country. I'm staying with my friend in +a big white house about a quarter of a mile farther on. You can't +see it from here, but if you want anything you can just walk over. +Day after to-morrow is the picnic I told you of. You'll see me then, +anyway. Now run right out in the grass and pick all the daisies you +want. Don't be afraid; no one will drive you off this grass!"</p> + +<p>The force of this was lost on Ardelia, who had never been driven off +any grass whatever, but she gathered that she was expected to walk +out into the thick rank growth of the unmowed side yard, and strode +downward obediently.</p> + +<p>"Now pick them! Pick the daisies!" cried Miss Forsythe, excitedly. +"I want to see you."</p> + +<p>Ardelia looked blank.</p> + +<p>"Huh?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Gather them. Get a bunch. Oh, you poor child! Mrs. Slater, + +<!-- Page 29 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +she doesn't know how!" Miss Forsythe was deeply moved and illustrated by +picking imaginary daisies on the porch. Ardelia's quick eye followed +her gestures, and stooping, she scooped the heads from three daisies +and started back with them. Miss Forsythe gasped.</p> + +<p>"No, no, dear! Pull them up! Take the stem, too," she explained. +"Pick the whole flower."</p> + +<p>Ardelia bent over again, tugged at a thick-stemmed clover, brought +it up by the roots, and laid it awkwardly on the young lady's lap.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, dear," she said, politely, "but I meant them for you. I +meant you to have a bunch. Don't you want them?"</p> + +<p>"Naw," said Ardelia, decidedly.</p> + +<p>Miss Forsythe's eyes brightened suddenly.</p> + +<p>"I know what you want," she cried, "you're thirsty! Mrs. Slater, +won't you get us some of your good, creamy milk? Don't you want a +drink, Ardelia?"</p> + +<p>Ardelia nodded. When Mrs. Slater appeared with the foaming yellow +glasses she wound her nervous little hands about the stem of the +goblet and drank a deep draught.</p> + +<p>"There!" cried the young lady. "Now, how do you like real milk, +Ardelia? I declare you look like another child already! You can have +all you want every day—why, what's the matter?"</p> + +<p>For Ardelia was growing ghastly pale before them; her eyes turned +inward, her lips tightened. A blinding horror surged from her toes +upward, and the memory of the liquid ice-cream and the frying onions +faded before the awful reality of her present agony.</p> + +<p>Later, as she lay limp and white on the slippery haircloth sofa in +Mrs. Slater's musty parlor she heard them discussing her situation.</p> + +<p>"There was a lot of Fresh-Air children over at Mis' Simms's," her +hostess explained, "and they 'most all of 'em said the milk was too +strong—did you ever! Two or three of 'em was sick, like this one, +but they got to love it in a little while. She will, too."</p> + +<p>Ardelia shook her head feebly. In a few minutes she was asleep. When +she awoke all was dusk and shadow. She felt scared and lonely. Now +that her stomach was filled and her nerves refreshed by her long +sleep, she was in a condition to realize that aside from all bodily +discomfort + +<!-- Page 30 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +she was sad—very sad. A new, unknown depression weighed +her down. It grew steadily, something was happening, something +constant and mournful—what? Suddenly she knew. It was a steady, +recurrent noise, a buzzing, monotonous click. Now it rose, now it +fell, accentuating the silence dense about it.</p> + +<p>"Zig-a-zig! Zig-a-zig!" then a rest.</p> + +<p>"Zig-a-zig! Ziz-a-zig-a-zig!"</p> + +<p>"Wha's 'at?" she said.</p> + +<p>"That? Oh, those are katydids. I s'pose you never heard 'em, that's +a fact. Kind o' cozy, I think. Don't you like 'em?"</p> + +<p>"Naw."</p> + +<p>Another long silence intervened. Mr. Slater snored, William smoked, +and the monotonous clamor was uninterrupted.</p> + +<p>"Zig-a-zig! Zig-zig! Zig-a-zig-a-zig!"</p> + +<p>Slowly, against the background of this machine-like clicking, there +grew other sounds, weird, unhappy, far away.</p> + +<p>"Wheep, wheep, wheep!"</p> + +<p>This was a high, thin crying.</p> + +<p>"Burrom! Burrom! Brown!"</p> + +<p>This was low and resonant and solemn. Ardelia scowled.</p> + +<p>"Wha's 'at?" she asked again.</p> + +<p>"That's the frogs. Bull-frogs and peepers. Never heard them, either, +did ye? Well, that's what they are."</p> + +<p>William took his pipe out of his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Come here, sissy, 'n I'll tell y' a story," he said, lazily.</p> + +<p>Ardelia obeyed, and glancing timorously at the shadows, slipped +around to his side.</p> + +<p>"Onc't they was an' ol' feller comin' 'long crosslots, late at +night, an' he come to a pond, an' he kinder stopped up an' says to +himself, 'Wonder how deep the ol' pond is, anyhow?' He was just a +leetle—well, he'd had a drop too much, y' see—"</p> + +<p>"Had a what?" interrupted Ardelia.</p> + +<p>"He was sort o' rollin' 'round—he didn't know just what he was +doin'—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Jagged!" said Ardelia, comprehendingly.</p> + +<p>"I guess so. An' he heard a voice singin' out, 'Knee deep! Knee +deep! Knee deep.'"</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 31 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>William gave a startling imitation of the peepers; his voice was a +high, shrill wail.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, well,' s' he, ''f it's just knee deep, I'll wade through,' an' +he starts in.</p> + +<p>"Just then he hears a big feller singin' out, 'Better go rrround! +Better gorrround! Better gorrround!'</p> + +<p>"'Lord,' says he, 'is it s' deep 's that? Well, I'll go round then.' +'N' off he starts to walk around.</p> + +<p>"'Knee deep! Knee deep! Knee deep!' says the peepers.</p> + +<p>"An' there it was. Soon's he'd start to do one thing they'd tell him +another. Make up his mind he couldn't, so he stands there still, +they do say, askin' 'em every night which he better do."</p> + +<p>"Stands where?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I d' know. Out in the swamp, mebbe."</p> + +<p>Again he smoked. Time passed by.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Mr. Slater coughed and arose. "Well, guess I'll be gettin' +to bed," he said. "Come on, boys. Hello, little girl! Come to visit +us, hey? Mind you don't pick poison vine."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Slater led Ardelia upstairs into a little hot room, and told +her to get into bed quick, for the lamp drew the mosquitoes.</p> + +<p>Ardelia kicked off her shoes and approached the bed distrustfully. +It sank down with her weight and smelled hot and queer. Rolling off +she stretched herself on the floor, and lay there disconsolately. At +home the hurdy-gurdy was playing, the women were gossiping on every +step, the lights were everywhere—the blessed fearless gas +lights—and the little girls were dancing in the breeze that drew in +from East River.</p> + +<p>In the morning Miss Forsythe came over to inquire after her charge's +health, accompanied by another young lady.</p> + +<p>"Why, Ethel, she isn't barefoot!" she cried. "Come here, Ardelia, +and take off your shoes and stockings directly. Shoes and stockings +in the country! Now, you'll know what comfort is."</p> + +<p>To patter about bare-legged on the clear, safe pavement, was one +thing; to venture unprotected into that waving, tripping tangle was +another. Ardelia stepped cautiously upon the short grass near the +house, and with jaw set felt her + +<!-- Page 32 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +way into the higher growth. Suddenly she stopped; she shrieked:</p> + +<p>"Oh, gee! Oh, gee!"</p> + +<p>"What is it, Ardelia; what is it? A snake?" Mrs. Slater rushed out, +seized Ardelia, half rigid with fear, and carried her to the porch. +They elicited from her as she sat with feet tucked under her that +something had rustled by her "down at the bottom"—that it was +slippery, that she had stepped on it, and wanted to go home.</p> + +<p>"Toad," explained Mrs. Slater, briefly. "Only a little hop-toad, +Delia, that wouldn't harm a baby, let alone a big girl nine years +old, like you."</p> + +<p>"She's a queer child," Mrs. Slater confided to the young ladies. +"Not a drop of anything will she drink but cold tea. It don't seem +reasonable to give it to her all day, and I won't do it, so she has +to wait till meals. She makes a face if I say milk, and the water +tastes slippery, she says, and salty-like. She won't touch it. I +tell her it's good well-water, but she just shakes her head. She's +stubborn 's a bronze mule, that child. Just mopes around. 'S morning +she asked me when did the parades go by. I told her there wa'n't +any, but the circus, an' that had been already. I tried to cheer her +up, sort of, with that Fresh-Air picnic of yours to-morrow, Miss +Forsythe, an s'she, 'Oh, the Dago picnic,' s'she, 'will they have +Tong's band?'"</p> + +<p>"She don't seem to take any int'rest in th' farm, like those +Fresh-Air children, either. I showed her the hens an' the eggs, an' +she said it was a lie about the hens layin' 'em. 'What d' you take +me for?' s'she. The idea! Then Henry milked the cow, to show +her—she wouldn't believe that, either—and with the milk streamin' +down before her, what do you s'pose she said? 'You put it in!' +s'she. I never should a' believed that, Miss Forsythe, if I hadn't +heard it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, she'll get over it; just wait a few days. Good-bye, Ardelia. +Eat a good supper."</p> + +<p>But this Ardelia did not do. Mr. Slater ate in voracious silence. +William never spoke, and Mrs. Slater filled their plates without +comment. Ardelia had never in her life eaten in silence. Through the +open door the buzz of the katydids was beginning tentatively. In the +intervals of William's gulps a faint bass note warned them from the +swamp.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 33 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"Better gorrround! Better gorrround!"</p> + +<p>Ardelia's nerves strained and snapped. Her eyes grew wild.</p> + +<p>"Fer Gawd's sake, talk!" she cried, sharply. "Are youse dumbies?"</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p>The morning dawned fresh and fair; the homely barnyard noises +brought a smile to Miss Forsythe's sympathetic face, as she waited +for Ardelia to join her in a drive to the station. But Ardelia did +not smile.</p> + +<p>At the station Miss Forsythe shook her limp little hand.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, dear. I'll bring the other little children back with me. +You'll enjoy that. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"I'm comin', too," said Ardelia.</p> + +<p>"Why—no, dear—you wait for us. You'd only turn around and come +right back, you know."</p> + +<p>"Come, back nothin'. I'm goin' home."</p> + +<p>"Why—why, Ardelia! Don't you really like it?"</p> + +<p>"Naw, it's too hot."</p> + +<p>Miss Forsythe stared.</p> + +<p>"But Ardelia, you don't want to go back to that horribly smelly +street? Not truly?"</p> + +<p>"Betcher life I do!"</p> + +<p>"It's so lonely and quiet," pleaded the young lady. Ardelia +shuddered. Again she seemed to hear that fiendish, mournful wailing:</p> + +<p>"Knee deep! Knee deep! Knee deep!"</p> + +<p>They rode in silence. But the jar and jolt of the engine made music +in Ardelia's ears; the familiar jargon of the newsboy:</p> + +<p>"N' Yawk evening paypers! Woyld! Joynal!" was a breath from home to +her little cockney heart.</p> + +<p>They pushed through the great station, they climbed the steps of the +elevated track, they jingled on a cross-town car. And at a familiar +corner Ardelia slipped loose her hand, uttered a grunt of joy, and +Miss Forsythe looked after her in vain. She was gone.</p> + +<p>But late in the evening, when the great city turned out to breathe, +and sat with opened shirt and loosened bodice on the dirty steps; +when the hurdy-gurdy executed brassy scales and the lights flared in +endless sparkling rows; when the trolley gongs at the corner pierced +the air, and feet tapped cheerfully down the cool stone steps of the +beer-shop, + +<!-- Page 34 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +Ardelia, bare-footed and abandoned, nibbling at a +section of bologna sausage, cake-walked insolently with a band of +little girls behind a severe policeman, mocking his stolid gait, to +the delight of Old Dutchy, who beamed approvingly at her prancing.</p> + +<p>"Ja, ja, you trow out your feet good. Some day we pay to see you, +no? You like to get back already!"</p> + +<p>"Ja, danky slum, Dutchy," she said airily, as she sank upon her cool +step, stretched her toes and sighed:</p> + +<p>"Gee! N' Yawk's the place!"</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<a name="Footnote_E_E" id="Footnote_E_E"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_E_E"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> +<p>Copyright, 1902, by McClure, Phillips & Co.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="Meriel" id="Meriel"></a></div> + +<h2>Meriel</h2> + +<p class="center">BY MARGARET HOUSTON.</p> + +<p class="center">(From <i>Ainslee's Magazine</i>.)</p> + +<div class="blockwide"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Let go my hand!" (A start of quick surprise.)</span> +<span class="i0">"How could you dare?" (A flash of angry eyes.)</span> +<span class="i0">And yet her hand in mine all passive lies.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How rude you are!" (The rose-blush fully blown.)</span> +<span class="i0">"I trusted you!" ('Twould melt a heart of stone.)</span> +<span class="i0">And yet the little hand rests in mine own!</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, dainty Meriel—little April day!</span> +<span class="i0">However warmly pouting lips cry Nay,</span> +<span class="i0">That little hand shall rest in mine—alway!</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 35 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +</div> + +<div><a name="The_Old_Man_and_Shep" id="The_Old_Man_and_Shep"></a></div> + +<h2>The Old Man and "Shep"</h2> + +<p class="center">(A true story.)</p> + +<p class="center">BY JOHN G. SCORER.</p> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/i.png" width="125" height="150" alt="I" /><span class="start">t</span> +was on the morning of the second day of the new year. The mercury +hovered a few degrees above zero. The winds that swept down from the +North were keen and biting, and the mist-like snow fell fitfully. An +old man, his once tall form bent by the burdens and sorrows of sixty +odd years, his step slow and shuffling, his clothes unkempt and +tattered, his long beard flowing down upon his breast, his eye still +bright and in his face lingering traces of refinement, made his way +along the deserted street. He was accompanied by a dog, whose long, +shaggy hair indicated a blooded ancestry. So emaciated was his form +that even through his shaggy coat could be seen the outline of his +bony frame.</p> + +<p>The two, master and dog, hobbled into the city's out-door relief +department. The dog at once curled himself up on a rug near a +radiator and was soon asleep, dreaming, perchance, of other and more +prosperous days, with "a virtuous kennel and plenty of food." The +old man stood for a time warming his benumbed fingers at the +radiator. Presently one of the clerks approached and asked him who +he was and what he wanted.</p> + +<p>"I am John Owens," he replied; "and I want to go to the infirmary. I +am ill, homeless and penniless."</p> + +<p>"All right, my man," said the clerk, and at once wrote out a permit.</p> + +<p>The old man took the permit, read it over carefully, and said: "It +says nothing about the dog. I want one for the dog, too."</p> + +<p>"We can't give you one for the dog; we have no place out there for +him. You'll have to leave him behind."</p> + +<p>"Leave my dog behind? No, sir," said the old fellow, straightening +up his bent form. "He's the only friend I have in this world. Why +old 'Shep' has been my only friend for the last eight years. I had +money, friends and influence when he was a pup, and he had a better +bed and better food then + +<!-- Page 36 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +than I have had for many a year. I had my +carriages once, and a man to drive them, too. I know it sounds +strange, now. Sometimes it seems like a dream. But never mind. When +I woke up from that dream I had only my wife Martha, my son George, +and 'Shep.' Every one else turned from me.</p> + +<p>"My wife was a good, brave soul, but our reverses broke her down, +and on one spring day we laid her away beneath the daisies and the +myrtle. Soon after that my son George was taken from me by that +stern monster, death, leaving me alone—alone, with no friend but +'Shep.'</p> + +<p>"Where do I sleep? Why, my boy, anywhere. You don't know how many +warm stairways there are. 'Shep' and I do, though, and we curl up +together in them when the officer on the beat isn't looking. Yes, +poor fellow, he's lame; had his leg broken. He got that trying to +keep me out of the way of a coal wagon two years ago, when I slipped +on the icy street.</p> + +<p>"Here's your permit, mister. I won't go out there unless 'Shep' goes +with me. He can't? Well, good-bye, good-bye, sir. Come on, 'Shep.' +You can't stay there all day. Just as much obliged," and the two +passed out into the cold again.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="Who_Knows" id="Who_Knows"></a></div> + +<h2>Who Knows</h2> + +<div class="blockwide"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Lily lifts to mine her nunlike face,</span> +<span class="i2">But my wild heart is beating for the Rose;</span> +<span class="i0">How can I pause to behold the Lily's grace?</span> +<span class="i2">Shall I repent me by and by? Who knows?</span> +</div> + +<div> +<span class="i6">—<i>Louise Chandler Moulton</i>.</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 37 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +<a name="The_Negro" id="The_Negro"></a> +</div> + +<h2>The Negro</h2> + +<p class="center">BY BOOKER T. WASHINGTON.</p> + +<div class="subheader">(Adapted from the speech delivered at the opening of the Atlanta +Exposition.)</div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/o.png" width="125" height="150" alt="O" /><span class="start">ne-third</span> +of the population of the South is of the negro race. No +enterprise seeking the material, civil, or moral welfare of this +section can disregard this element of our population and reach the +highest success. I but convey to you, Mr. President and directors, +the sentiment of the masses of my race when I say that in no way +have the value and manhood of the American negro been more fittingly +and generously recognized than by the managers of this magnificent +Exposition at every stage of its progress. It is a recognition that +will do more to cement the friendship of the two races than any +occurrence since the dawn of our freedom.</p> + +<p>Not only this, but the opportunity here afforded will awaken among +us a new era of industrial progress. Ignorant and inexperienced, it +is not strange that in the first years of our new life we began at +the top instead of at the bottom; that a seat in Congress or a State +legislature was more sought than real estate or industrial skill; +that the political convention or stump speaking had more attractions +than starting a dairy farm or truck garden.</p> + +<p>A ship lost at sea for many days suddenly sighted a friendly vessel. +From the mast of the unfortunate vessel was seen a signal, "Water, +water; we die of thirst!" The answer from the friendly vessel at +once came back, "Cast down your bucket where you are." A second time +the signal, "Water, water; send us water!" ran up from the +distressed vessel, and was answered, "Cast down your bucket where +you are." And a third and fourth signal for water was answered, +"Cast down your bucket where you are." The captain of the distressed +vessel at last, heeding the injunction, cast down his bucket, and it +came up full of fresh, sparkling water from the mouth of the Amazon +River. To those of my race who depend on bettering their condition +in + +<!-- Page 38 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +a foreign land or who underestimate the importance of cultivating +friendly relations with the Southern white man, who is their +next-door neighbor, I would say: "Cast down your bucket where you +are." Cast it down in making friends in every manly way of the +people of all races by whom we are surrounded.</p> + +<p>Cast it down in agriculture, mechanics, in commerce, in domestic +service, and in the professions. And in this connection it is well +to bear in mind that whatever other sins the South may be called to +bear, when it comes to business, pure and simple, it is in the South +that the negro is given a man's chance in the commercial world, and +in nothing is this Exposition more eloquent than in emphasizing this +chance. Our greatest danger is that in the great leap from slavery +to freedom we may overlook the fact that the masses of us are to +live by the productions of our hands, and fail to keep in mind that +we shall prosper in proportion as we learn to dignify and glorify +common labor and put brains and skill into the common occupations of +life; shall prosper in proportion as we learn to draw the line +between the superficial and the substantial, the ornamental gewgaws +of life and the useful. No race can prosper till it learns that +there is as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem. It +is at the bottom of life we must begin, and not at the top. Nor +should we permit our grievances to overshadow our opportunities.</p> + +<p>To those of the white race who look to the incoming of those of +foreign birth and strange tongues and habits for the prosperity of +the South, were I permitted I would repeat what I say to my own +race, "Cast down your bucket where you are." Cast it down among the +eight millions of negroes whose habits you know, whose fidelity and +love you have tested in days when to have proved treacherous meant +the ruin of your firesides. Cast down your bucket among these people +who have, without strikes and labor wars, tilled your fields, +cleared your forests, builded your railroads and cities, and brought +forth treasure from the bowels of the earth, and helped make +possible this magnificent representation of the progress of the +South. Casting down your buckets among my people, helping and +encouraging them as you are doing on these grounds, and to education +of head, hand, and heart, you will find that they will buy your +surplus land, make blossom the waste places in your fields, and run +your factories. + +<!-- Page 39 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +While doing this you can be sure in the future as +in the past, that you and your families will be surrounded by the +most patient, faithful, law-abiding and unresentful people that the +world has seen. As we have proved our loyalty to you in the past, in +nursing your children, watching by the sick-bed of your mothers and +fathers, and often following them with tear-dimmed eyes to the +graves, so in the future, in our humble way, we shall stand by you +with a devotion that no foreigner can approach, ready to lay down +our lives, if need be, in defence of yours, interlacing our +industrial, commercial, civil and religious life with yours in a way +that shall make the interests of both races one. In all things that +are purely social we can be as separate as the fingers, yet one as +the hand in all things essential to mutual progress.</p> + +<p>There is no defence or security for any of us except in the highest +intelligence and development of all. If anywhere there are efforts +tending to curtail the fullest growth of the negro, let these +efforts be turned into stimulating, encouraging, and making him the +most useful and intelligent citizen. Efforts or means so invested +will pay a thousand per cent. interest. These efforts will be twice +blessed—"blessing him that gives and him that takes."</p> + +<p>Nearly sixteen millions of hands will aid you in pulling the load +upward, or they will pull against you the load downward. We shall +constitute one-third and more of the ignorance and crime of the +South, or one-third of its intelligence and progress; we shall +contribute one-third to the business and industrial prosperity of +the South, or we shall prove a veritable body of death, stagnating, +repressing, retarding every effort to advance the body politic.</p> + +<p>The wisest among my race understand that the agitation of questions +of social equality is the extremest folly, and that progress in the +enjoyment of all the privileges that will come to us must be the +result of severe and constant struggle rather than of artificial +forcing. No race that has anything to contribute to the markets of +the world is long in any degree ostracized. It is important and +right that all privileges of the law be ours, but it is vastly more +important that we be prepared for the exercise of these privileges. +The opportunity to earn a dollar in a factory just now is worth +infinitely more than the opportunity to spend a dollar in an +opera-house.</p> + +<p>Here bending, as it were, over the altar that represents the +struggles + +<!-- Page 40 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +of your race and mine, both starting practically +empty-handed three decades ago, I pledge that in your effort to work +out the great and intricate problem which God has laid at the doors +of the South, you shall have at all times the patient, sympathetic +help of my race; only let this be constantly in mind, that, while +from representations in these buildings of the product of field, of +forest, of mine, of factory, letters and art, much good will come, +yet far above and beyond material benefits will be that higher good, +that, let us pray God, will come, in a blotting out of sectional +differences and racial animosities and suspicions, in a +determination to administer absolute justice, in a willing obedience +among all classes to the mandates of the law. This, this, coupled +with our material prosperity, will bring into our beloved South a +new heaven and a new earth.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="The_Guillotine" id="The_Guillotine"></a></div> + +<h2>The Guillotine</h2> + +<p class="center">BY VICTOR HUGO.</p> + +<div class="subheader">(This is a part of the speech in defense of his son, under the +circumstances set forth in the oration.)</div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/g.png" width="125" height="150" alt="G" /><span class="start">entlemen</span> +of the jury, if there is a culprit here, it is not my +son,—it is I!—I, who for these twenty-five years have opposed +capital punishment,—have contended for the inviolability of human +life,—have committed this crime for which my son is now arraigned. +Here I denounce my self, Mr. Advocate-General! I have committed it +under all aggravated circumstances; deliberately, repeatedly, +tenaciously. Yes, this old and absurd <i>lex taliones</i>—this law of +blood for blood—I have combated all my life—all my life, gentlemen +of the jury! And, while I have breath, I will continue to combat it, +by all my efforts as a writer, by all my words and all my votes as a +legislator! I declare it before the crucifix; before that Victim of +the penalty of death, + +<!-- Page 41 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +who sees and hears us; before that gibbet, in +which, two thousand years ago, for the eternal instruction of the +generations, the human law nailed the divine!</p> + +<p>In all that my son has written on the subject of capital punishment +and for writing and publishing which he is now on trial—in all that +he has written, he has merely proclaimed the sentiments with which, +from his infancy, I have inspired him. Gentlemen jurors, the right +to criticise a law, and to criticise it severely—especially a penal +law—is placed beside the duty of amelioration, like the torch +beside the work under the artisan's hand. The right of the +journalist is as sacred, as necessary, as imprescriptible, as the +right of the legislator.</p> + +<p>What are the circumstances? A man, a convict, a sentenced wretch, is +dragged, on a certain morning, to one of our public squares. There +he finds the scaffold! He shudders, he struggles, he refuses to die. +He is young yet—only twenty-nine. Ah! I know what you will +say,—"He is a murderer!" But hear me. Two officers seize him. His +hands, his feet are tied. He throws off the two officers. A +frightful struggle ensues. His feet, bound as they are, become +entangled in the ladder. He uses the scaffold against the scaffold! +The struggle is prolonged. Horror seizes the crowd! The +officers,—sweat and shame on their brows,—pale, panting, +terrified, despairing,—despairing with I know not what horrible +despair,—shrinking under that public reprobation which ought to +have visited the penalty, and spared the passive treatment, the +executioner,—the officers strive savagely. The victim clings to the +scaffold and shrieks for pardon. His clothes are torn,—his +shoulders bloody,—still he resists. At length, after three-quarters +of an hour of this monstrous effort, of this spectacle without a +name, of this agony,—agony for all, be it understood,—agony for +the assembled spectators as well as for the condemned man,—after +this age of anguish, gentlemen of the jury, they take back the poor +wretch to his prison.</p> + +<p>The People breathe again. The People, naturally merciful, hope that +the man will be spared. But no,—the guillotine, though vanquished, +remains standing. There it frowns all day, in the midst of a +sickened population. And at night the officers, re-enforced, drag +forth the wretch again, so bound that he is but an inert +weight,—they drag him forth, haggard, bloody, weeping, pleading, +howling for life,—calling upon God, calling upon his father and +mother,—for like a + +<!-- Page 42 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +very child had this man become in the prospect +of death,—they drag him forth to execution. He is hoisted on the +scaffold and his head falls! And then through every conscience runs +a shudder. Never had legal murder appeared with an aspect so +indecent, so abominable. All feel jointly implicated in the deed. It +is at this very moment that from a young man's breast escapes a cry, +wrung from his very heart,—a cry of pity and anguish,—a cry of +horror,—a cry of humanity. And this cry you would punish! And in +the face of the appalling facts which I have narrated, you would say +to the guillotine, "Thou art right!" and to Pity, saintly Pity, +"Thou art wrong!" Gentlemen of the jury, it cannot be! Gentlemen, I +have finished.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="Robespierres_Last_Speech" id="Robespierres_Last_Speech"></a></div> + +<h2>Robespierre's Last Speech</h2> + +<p class="center">BY MAXIMILIAN MARIE ISIDORE DE ROBESPIERRE.</p> + +<div class="subheader">[Before his execution, Robespierre addressed the populace of Paris +in part as follows:]</div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/t.png" width="125" height="150" alt="T" /><span class="start">he</span> +enemies of the Republic call me tyrant! Were I such, they would +grovel at my feet. I should gorge them with gold, I should grant +them immunity for their crimes, and they would be grateful. Were I +such, the kings we have vanquished, far from denouncing Robespierre, +would lend me their guilty support; there would be a covenant +between them and me. Tyranny must have tools. But the enemies of +tyranny,—whither does their path tend? To the tomb, and to +immortality! What tyrant is my protector? To what faction do I +belong? Yourselves! What faction since the beginning of the +Revolution, has crushed and annihilated so many detected traitors? +You, the people, our principles, are that faction—a faction to +which I am devoted, and against which all the scoundrelism of the +day is banded!</p> + +<p>The confirmation of the Republic has been my object; and I + +<!-- Page 43 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +know +that the Republic can be established only on the eternal basis of +morality. Against me, and against those who hold kindred principles, +the league is formed. My life? Oh! my life I abandon without a +regret. I have seen the past; and I foresee the future. What friend +of this country would wish to survive the moment when he could no +longer serve it,—when he could no longer defend innocence against +oppression? Wherefore should I continue in an order of things where +intrigue eternally triumphs over truth; where justice is mocked; +where passions the most abject, or fears the most absurd, over-ride +the sacred interests of humanity? In witnessing the multitude of +vices which the torrent of the Revolution has rolled in turbid +communion with its civic virtues, I confess that I have sometimes +feared that I should be sullied, in the eyes of posterity, by the +impure neighborhood of unprincipled men, who had thrust themselves +into association with the sincere friends of humanity; and I rejoice +that these conspirators against my country have now, by their +reckless rage, traced deep the line of demarcation between +themselves and all true men.</p> + +<p>Question history, and learn how all the defenders of liberty, in all +times, have been overwhelmed by calumny. But their traducers died +also. The good and the bad disappear alike from the earth; but in +very different conditions. O Frenchmen! O my countrymen! Let not +your enemies, with their desolating doctrines, degrade your souls +and enervate your virtues! No, Chaumette, no! Death is not "an +eternal sleep"! Citizens, efface from the tomb that motto, graven by +sacrilegious hands, which spreads over all nature a funereal crape, +takes from suppressed innocence its support, and affronts the +beneficent dispensation of death! Inscribe rather thereon these +words: "Death is the commencement of immortality!" I leave to the +oppressors of the People a terrible testament, which I proclaim with +the independence befitting one whose career is so nearly ended; it +is the awful truth,—"Thou shalt die!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 44 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +<a name="Secession" id="Secession"></a> +</div> + +<h2>Secession</h2> + +<p class="center">BY ALEXANDER H. STEPHENS.</p> + +<div class="subheader">[Delivered at the Georgia State Convention, January, 1861.]</div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/m.png" width="125" height="150" alt="M" /><span class="start">r. President</span>: +This step of secession, once taken, can never be +recalled, and all the baleful and withering consequences that must +follow will rest on the convention for all coming time. When we and +our posterity shall see our lovely South desolated by the demon of +war, which this act of yours will inevitably invite and call forth; +when our green fields of waving harvest shall be trodden down by the +murderous soldiery and fiery car sweeping over our land; our temples +of justice laid in ashes; all the horrors and desolation of war upon +us; who but this convention will be held responsible for it? And who +but him who shall have given his vote for this unwise and ill-timed +measure, as I honestly think and believe, shall be held to strict +account for this suicidal act by the present generation, and +probably cursed and execrated by posterity for all coming time, for +the wide and desolating ruin that will inevitably follow this act +you now propose to perpetrate? Pause, I entreat you, and consider +for a moment what reasons you can give that will even satisfy +yourselves in calmer moments—what reasons you can give to your +fellow-sufferers in the calamity that it will bring upon us. What +reasons can you give to the nations of the earth to justify it? They +will be calm and deliberate judges in the case; and what cause or +one overt act can you name or point, on which to rest the plea of +justification? What right has the North assailed? What interest of +the South has been invaded? What justice has been denied? And what +claim founded in justice and right has been withheld? Can either of +you to-day name one governmental act of wrong, deliberately and +purposely done by the government of Washington, of which the South +has a right to complain? I challenge the answer. While, on the other +hand, let me show the facts (and believe me, gentlemen, I am not +here, the advocate of the North; but I am here the friend, the firm +friend, and lover + +<!-- Page 45 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +of the South and her institutions, and for this +reason I speak thus plainly and faithfully, for yours, mine, and +every other man's interest, the words of truth and soberness), of +which I wish you to judge, and I will only state facts which are +clear and undeniable, and which now stand as records authentic in +the history of our country. When we of the South demanded the +slave-trade, or the importation of Africans for the cultivation of +our lands, did they not yield the right for twenty years? When we +asked a three-fifths representation in Congress for our slaves, was +it not granted? When we asked and demanded the return of any +fugitive from justice, or the recovery of those persons owing labor +or allegiance, was it not incorporated in the Constitution, and +again ratified and strengthened by the Fugitive Slave Law of 1850? +But do you reply that in many instances they have violated this +compact and have not been faithful to their engagements? As +individuals and local communities they may have done so; but not by +the sanction of government; for that has always been true to +Southern interests. Again, gentlemen, look at another act; when we +have asked that more territory should be added, that we might spread +the institution of slavery, have they not yielded to our demands in +giving us Louisiana, Florida and Texas, out of which four States +have been carved, and ample territory for four more to be added in +due time, if you, by this unwise and impolitic act, do not destroy +this hope, and perhaps by it lose all, and have your last slave +wrenched from you by stern military rule, as South American and +Mexican were; or by the vindictive decree of a universal +emancipation which may reasonably be expected to follow.</p> + +<p>But, again, gentlemen, what have we to gain by this proposed change +of our relation to the general government? We have always had the +control of it, and can yet, if we remain in it, and are as united as +we have been. We have had a majority of the Presidents chosen from +the South, as well as the control and management of most of those +chosen from the North. We have had sixty years of Southern +Presidents to their twenty-four, thus controlling the executive +department. So, of the judges of the Supreme Court, we have had +eighteen from the South and but eleven from the North, although +nearly four-fifths of the judicial business has arisen in the free +States, yet a majority of the court has always been from the South. +This we have acquired so as to guard + +<!-- Page 46 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +against any interpretation of +the Constitution unfavorable to us. In like manner we have been +equally watchful to guard our interests in the legislative branch of +government. In choosing the presiding presidents (pro tem.) of the +Senate, we have had twenty-four to their eleven. Speakers of the +House we have had twenty-three, and they twelve. While the majority +of the representatives, from their greater population, have always +been from the North, yet we have so generally secured the Speaker, +because he, to a great extent, shapes and controls the legislation +of the country. Nor have we had less control in every other +department of the general government. Attorney-generals we have had +fourteen, while the North have had but five. Foreign ministers we +have had eighty-six, and they but fifty-four. While three-fourths of +the business which demands diplomatic agents abroad is clearly from +the free States, from their greater commercial interest, yet we have +had the principal embassies, so as to secure the world-markets for +our cotton, tobacco and sugar on the best possible terms. We have +had a vast majority of the higher offices of both army and navy, +while a larger proportion of the soldiers and sailors were drawn +from the North. Equally so of clerks, auditors and comptrollers +filling the executive department; the records show, for the last +fifty years, that of the three thousand thus employed, we have had +more than two-thirds of the same, while we have but one-third of the +white population of the Republic.</p> + +<p>Again, look at another item, and one, be assured, in which we have a +great and vital interest; it is that of revenue, or means of +supporting government. From official documents we learn that a +fraction over three-fourths of the revenue collected for the support +of the government has uniformly been raised from the North.</p> + +<p>Pause now while you can, gentlemen, and contemplate carefully and +candidly these important items. Look at another necessary branch of +government, and learn from stern statistical facts how matters stand +in that department. I mean the mail and post-office privileges that +we now enjoy under the general government as it has been for years +past. The expense for the transportation of the mail in the free +States was, by the report of the Postmaster-General for the year +1860, a little over $13,000,000, while the income was $19,000,000. +But in the slave States the transportation of the mail was +$14,716,000, while the revenue from the same was + +<!-- Page 47 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +$8,001,026, +leaving a deficit of $6,704,974 to be supplied by the North for our +accommodation, and without it we must have been entirely cut off +from this most essential branch of government.</p> + +<p>Leaving out of view, for the present, the countless millions of +dollars you must expend in a war with the North; with tens of +thousands of your sons and brothers slain in battle and offered up +as sacrifices upon the altar of your ambition—and for what, we ask +again? Is it for the overthrow of the American Government, +established by our common ancestry, cemented and built up by their +sweat and blood, and founded on the broad principles of right, +justice and humanity? And as such, I must declare here, as I have +often done before, and which has been repeated by the greatest and +wisest of statesmen and patriots, in this and other lands, that it +is the best and freest government—the most equal in its rights, the +most just in its decisions, the most lenient in its measures, and +the most aspiring in its principles, to elevate the race of men, +that the sun of heaven ever shone upon. Now, for you to attempt to +overthrow such a government as this, under which we have lived for +more than three-quarters of a century—in which we have gained our +wealth, our standing as a nation, our domestic safety, while the +elements of peril are around us, with peace and tranquillity +accompanied with unbounded prosperity and rights unassailed—is the +height of madness, folly, and wickedness, to which I neither lend my +sanction nor my vote.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="Birds" id="Birds"></a></div> + +<h2>Birds</h2> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Birds are singing round my window,</span> +<span class="i2">Tunes the sweetest ever heard,</span> +<span class="i0">And I hang my cage there daily,</span> +<span class="i2">But I never catch a bird.</span> +<span class="i0">So with thoughts my brain is peopled,</span> +<span class="i2">And they sing there all day long;</span> +<span class="i0">But they will not fold their pinions</span> +<span class="i2">In the little cage of song!</span> +</div> + +<div> +<span class="i4">—<i>Richard Henry Stoddard</i>.</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 48 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +<a name="The_Death_of_Hypatia" id="The_Death_of_Hypatia"></a> +</div> + +<h2>The Death of Hypatia</h2> + +<p class="center">BY CHARLES KINGSLEY.</p> + +<div class="subheader"><p>["Hypatia was a mathematician of Alexandria, who taught her students +the philosophy of Plato. Orestes, governor of Alexandria, admired +the talents of Hypatia, and frequently had recourse to her for +advice. He was desirous of curbing the too ardent zeal of St. Cyril, +who saw in Hypatia one of the principal supports of paganism. The +most fanatical followers of the bishop, in March, A.D. 415, seized +upon Hypatia as she was proceeding to her school, forced her to +descend from her chariot, and dragged her into a neighboring church, +where she was put to death by her brutal foes. Canon Kingsley's +historical romance has done much to make her name familiar to +English readers" (Classical Dictionary). Raphael Aben-Ezra, a former +pupil, converted to Christianity and returning to Alexandria, seeks +audience with Hypatia to tell her of the Nazarene. Broken and +discouraged, she still holds to her philosophy, but finally consents +to hear what Raphael has to say of Christianity. It is almost time +for her to lecture at the school, so she makes an appointment for +Raphael the following day. She sends him from her until then with +the words with which this cutting begins.]</p></div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/y.png" width="125" height="150" alt=""Y" /><span class="start">es</span>, +come.... The Galilean.... If he conquers strong men, can the +weak maid resist him? Come soon ... this afternoon.... My heart is +breaking fast."</p> + +<p>"At the eighth hour this afternoon?" asked Raphael.</p> + +<p>"Yes.... At noon I lecture ... take my farewell, rather, forever, of +the schools.... Gods! What have I to say?... And tell me about Him +of Nazareth. Farewell!"</p> + +<p>"Farewell, beloved lady! At the ninth hour you shall hear of Him of +Nazareth."</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 49 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>As Raphael went down the steps into the street, a young man sprang +from behind one of the pillars and seized his arm.</p> + +<p>"Aha! my young Coryphæus of pious plunderers! What do you want with +me?"</p> + +<p>Philammon, for it was he, looked at him an instant, and recognized +him.</p> + +<p>"Save her! for the love of God, save her!"</p> + +<p>"Whom?"</p> + +<p>"Hypatia!"</p> + +<p>"How long has her salvation been important to you, my good friend?"</p> + +<p>"For God's sake," said Philammon, "go back and warn her! She will +hear you—you are rich—you used to be her friend—I know you—I +have heard of you.... Oh, if you ever cared for her—if you ever +felt for her a thousandth part of what I feel—go in and warn her +not to stir from home!"</p> + +<p>"Of what is she to be warned?"</p> + +<p>"Of a plot—I know that there is a plot—against her among the monks +and parabolani. As I lay in bed this morning in Arsenius' room they +thought I was asleep—"</p> + +<p>"Arsenius? Has that venerable fanatic, then, gone the way of all +monastic flesh, and turned persecutor?"</p> + +<p>"God forbid! I heard him beseeching Peter, the reader, to refrain +from something, I cannot tell what; but I caught her name.... I +heard Peter say, 'She that hindereth will hinder till she be taken +out of the way.' And when he went out in the passage I heard him say +to another, 'That thou doest, do quickly!'"</p> + +<p>"These are slender grounds, my friend."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you do not know of what these men are capable."</p> + +<p>"Do I not?"</p> + +<p>"I know the hatred which they bear her, the crimes which they +attribute to her. Her house would have been attacked last night had +it not been for Cyril.... And I knew Peter's tone. He spoke too +gently and softly not to mean something devilish. I watched all the +morning for an opportunity of escape, and here I am! Will you take +my message, or see her—"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"God only knows, and the devil whom they worship instead of God."</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 50 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>Raphael hurried back into the house. "Could he see Hypatia?" She had +shut herself up in her private room, strictly commanding that no +visitor should be admitted.... "Where was Theon, then?" He had gone +out by the canal gate half an hour before, and he hastily wrote on +his tablet:</p> + +<p>"Do not despise the young monk's warning. I believe him to speak the +truth. As you love yourself and your father, Hypatia, stir not out +to-day."</p> + +<p>He bribed the maid to take the message up-stairs; and passed his +time in the hall in warning the servants. But they would not believe +him. It was true the shops were shut in some quarters, and the +Museum gardens empty; people were a little frightened after +yesterday. But Cyril, they had heard for certain, had threatened +excommunication only last night to any Christian who broke the +peace; and there had not been a monk to be seen in the streets the +whole morning. And as for any harm happening to their +mistress—impossible! "The very wild beasts would not tear her," +said the huge negro porter, "if she were thrown into the +amphitheater."</p> + +<p>Whereat the maid boxed his ears for talking of such a thing: and +then, by way of mending it, declared that she knew for certain that +her mistress could turn aside the lightning and call legions of +spirits to fight for her with a nod.... What was to be done with +such idolaters. And yet who could help liking them the better for +it?</p> + +<p>At last the answer came down, in the old, graceful, studied, +self-conscious handwriting:</p> + +<p>"I dread nothing. They will not dare. Did they dare now, they would +have dared long ago. As for that youth—to obey or to believe his +word, even to seem aware of his existence, were shame to me +henceforth. Because he is insolent enough to warn me, therefore I +will go. Fear not for me. You would not wish me, for the first time +in my life, to fear for myself. I must follow my destiny. I must +speak the words which I have to speak. Above all, I must let no +Christian say that the philosopher dared less than the fanatic. If +my gods are gods, then will they protect me; and if not, let your +God prove His rule as seems to Him good."</p> + +<p>Raphael tore the letter to fragments.... The guards, at least, were +not gone mad like the rest of the world. It wanted half an hour of +the time for her lecture. In the interval he might summon force +enough to crush all Alexandria. + +<!-- Page 51 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +And turning suddenly, he darted out +of the room and out of the house.</p> + +<p>"Stay here and stop her! Make a last appeal," cried he to Philammon, +with a gesture of grief. "Drag the horses' heads down, if you can! I +will be back in ten minutes." And he ran off for the nearest gate of +the Museum gardens.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the gardens lay the courtyard of the palace. +There were gates in plenty communicating between them. If he could +but see Orestes, even alarm the guard in time!...</p> + +<p>And he hurried through the walks and alcoves, now deserted by the +fearful citizens, to the nearest gate. It was fast and barricaded +firmly on the outside.</p> + +<p>Terrified, he ran on to the next; it was barred also. He saw the +reason in a moment, and maddened as he saw it. The guards, careless +about the Museum, or reasonably fearing no danger from the +Alexandrian populace to the glory and wonder of their city, or +perhaps wishing wisely enough to concentrate their forces in the +narrowest space, had contented themselves with cutting off all +communication with the gardens. At all events, the doors leading +from the Museum itself might be open. He knew them, every one. He +found an entrance, hurried through well-known corridors to a postern +through which he and Orestes had lounged a hundred times. It was +fast. He beat upon it; but no one answered. He rushed on and tried +another. No one answered there. Another—still silence and +despair!... He rushed up-stairs, hoping that from a window above he +might be able to call the guard. The prudent soldiers had locked and +barricaded the entrances to the upper floors of the whole right +wing, lest the palace court should be commanded from thence. Whither +now? Back—and whither then? And his breath failed him, his throat +was parched, his face burned as with the simoon wind, his legs were +trembling under him. His presence of mind, usually so perfect, +failed him utterly. He was baffled, netted. His brain, for the first +time in his life, began to reel. He could recollect nothing but that +something dreadful was to happen—and that he had to prevent it, and +could not.... Where was he now? In a little by-chamber. What was +that roar below?... A sea of weltering heads, thousands on thousands +down into the very beach; and from their innumerable throats one +mighty war-cry—"God, and the Mother of God!" Cyril's hounds were +loose.... + +<!-- Page 52 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +He reeled from the window, and darted frantically away +again ... whither, he knew not, and never knew until his dying day.</p> + +<p>Philammon saw Raphael rush across the streets into the Museum +gardens. His last words had been a command to stay where he was, and +the boy obeyed him, quietly ensconced himself behind a buttress, and +sat coiled up on the pavement ready for a desperate spring.</p> + +<p>There Philammmon waited a full half-hour. It seemed to him hours, +day, years. And yet Raphael did not return; and yet no guards +appeared.</p> + +<p>What meant that black knot of men some two hundred yards off, +hanging about the mouth of the side street, just opposite the door +which led to her lecture-room? He moved to watch them; they had +vanished. He lay down again and waited.... There they were again. It +was a suspicious post. That street ran along the back of the +Cæsareum, a favorite haunt of monks, communicating by innumerable +entries and back buildings with the great church itself.... He knew +that something terrible was at hand. More than once he looked out +from his hiding place—the knot of men were still there; ... it +seemed to have increased, to draw nearer. If they found him, what +would they not suspect? What did he care? He would die for her if it +came to that—not that it would come to that; but still he must +speak to her—he must warn her.</p> + +<p>At last, a curricle, glittering with silver, rattled round the +corner and stopped opposite him. She must be coming now. The crowd +had vanished. Perhaps it was, after all, a fancy of his own. No; +there they were, peeping round the corner, close to the +lecture-room—the hell-hounds! A slave brought out an embroidered +cushion, and then Hypatia herself came forth, looking more glorious +than ever; her lips set in a sad, firm smile; her eyes uplifted, +inquiring, eager, and yet gentle, dimmed by some great inward awe, +as if her soul were far away aloft, and face to face with God.</p> + +<p>In a moment he sprang up to her, caught her robe convulsively, threw +himself on his knees before her.</p> + +<p>"Stop! Stay! You are going to destruction!"</p> + +<p>Calmly she looked down upon him.</p> + +<p>"Accomplice of witches! Would you make of Theon's daughter a traitor +like yourself?"</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 53 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>He sprang up, stepped back, and stood stupefied with shame and +despair....</p> + +<p>She believed him guilty then!... It was the will of God!</p> + +<p>The plumes of the horses were waving far down the street before he +recovered himself, and rushed after her, shouting he knew not what.</p> + +<p>It was too late! A dark wave of men rushed from the ambuscade, +surged up round the car, ... swept forward.... She had disappeared, +and, as Philammon followed breathless, the horses galloped past him +madly homeward with the empty carriage.</p> + +<p>Whither were they dragging her? To the Cæsareum, the church of God +Himself? Impossible! Why thither of all places of the earth? Why did +the mob, increasing momentarily by hundreds, pour down upon the +beach, and return brandishing flints, shells, fragments of pottery?</p> + +<p>She was upon the church steps before he caught them up, invisible +among the crowd; but he could track her by the fragments of her +dress.</p> + +<p>Where were her gay pupils now? Alas! they had barricaded themselves +shamefully in the Museum at the first rush which swept her from the +door of the lecture-room. Cowards! He would save her.</p> + +<p>And he struggled in vain to pierce the dense mass of parabolani and +monks, who, mingled with the fish-wives and dock workers, leaped and +yelled around their victim. But what he could not do another and a +weaker did—even the little porter. Furiously—no one knew how or +whence—he burst up, as if from the ground in the thickest of the +crowd, with knife, teeth and nails, like a venomous wild-cat, +tearing his way toward his idol. Alas! he was torn down himself, +rolled over the steps, and lay there half dead in an agony of +weeping, as Philammon sprang up past him into the church.</p> + +<p>Yes! On into the church itself! Into the cool, dim shadow, with its +fretted pillars, and lowering domes, and candles, and incense, and +blazing altar, and great pictures looking down from the walls +athwart the gorgeous gloom. And right in front, above the altar, the +colossal Christ, watching unmoved from off the wall, his right hand +raised to give a blessing—or a curse!</p> + +<p>On, up the nave, fresh shreds of her dress strewing the holy + +<!-- Page 54 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +pavement—up the chancel steps themselves—up to the altar—right +underneath the great, still Christ; and there even those hell-hounds +paused....</p> + +<p>She shook herself free from her tormentors, and, springing back, +rose for one moment to her full height, naked, snow-white against +the dusky mass around—shame and indignation in those wide, clear +eyes, but not a stain of fear. With one hand she clasped her golden +locks around her, the other long, white arm was stretched upward +toward the great, still Christ, appealing—and who dare say, in +vain?—from man to God. Her lips were opened to speak; but the words +that should have come from them reached God's ear alone; for in an +instant Peter struck her down, the dark mass closed over her again, +... and then wail on wail, long, wild, ear-piercing, rang along the +vaulted roofs, and thrilled like the trumpet of avenging angels +through Philammon's ears.</p> + +<p>Crushed against a pillar, unable to move in the dense mass, he +pressed his hands over his ears. He could not shut out those +shrieks! When would they end? What in the name of the God of mercy +were they doing? Tearing her piecemeal? Yes, and worse than that. +And still the shrieks rang on, and still the great Christ looked +down on Philammon with that calm, intolerable eye, and would not +turn away. And over his head was written in the rainbow, "I am the +same, yesterday, to-day, and forever!" The same as he was in Judæa +of old, Philammon? Then what are these, and in whose temple? And he +covered his face with his hands and longed to die.</p> + +<p>It was over. The shrieks had died away into moans; the moans to +silence.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="Death_Stands_Above_Me" id="Death_Stands_Above_Me"></a></div> + +<h2>"Death Stands Above Me."</h2> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Death stands above me, whispering low</span> +<span class="i0">I know not what into my ear;</span> +<span class="i0">Of this strange language all I know</span> +<span class="i0">Is, there is not a word of fear.</span> +</div> + +<div> +<span class="i6">—<i>Walter Savage Landor</i>.</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 55 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +<a name="The_Tournament" id="The_Tournament"></a> +</div> + +<h2>The Tournament</h2> + +<p class="center">BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Arranged by Maude Herndon.</i>)</p> + +<div class="subheader"><p>[The scene from Ivanhoe is of the description of the grand +tournament, held by Prince John Lockland, at Ashby, in which Robin +Hood, under the disguise of Locksley, wins the prize for his skill +in archery.]</p></div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/t.png" width="125" height="150" alt="T" /><span class="start">he</span> +sound of the trumpets soon recalled those spectators who had +already begun to leave the field; and proclamation was made that +Prince John, suddenly called by high and peremptory public duties, +held himself obliged to discontinue the entertainments of the +morrow's festival. Nevertheless, that, unwilling so many good yeomen +should depart without a trial of skill, he was pleased to appoint +them, before leaving the ground, to execute the competition of +archery intended for the morrow. To the best archer a prize was to +be awarded, being a bugle-horn, mounted with silver, and a silken +baldric richly ornamented with a medallion of St. Hubert, the patron +of sylvan sport.</p> + +<p>More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselves as +competitors, but when the archers understood with whom they were to +be matched, upwards to twenty withdrew themselves from the contest, +unwilling to encounter the dishonor of almost certain defeat.</p> + +<p>The diminished list of competitors for sylvan fame still amounted to +eight. Prince John stepped from his royal seat to view the persons +of these chosen yeomen. He looked for the object of his resentment, +whom he observed standing on the same spot, and with the same +composed countenance which he had exhibited upon the preceding day.</p> + +<p>"Fellow," said Prince John, "I guessed by thy insolent babble thou +wert no true lover of the long-bow, and I see thou darest not +adventure thy skill among such merry-men as stand yonder."</p> + +<p>"Under favor, sir," replied the yeomen, "I have another reason for +refraining to shoot, besides the fearing discomfiture and disgrace."</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 56 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"And what is thy other reason?" said Prince John.</p> + +<p>"Because I know not if these yeomen and I are used to shoot at the +same marks; and because, moreover, I know not how your Grace might +relish the winning of a third prize by one who has unwillingly +fallen under your displeasure."</p> + +<p>"What is thy name, yeoman?"</p> + +<p>"Locksley," answered the yeoman.</p> + +<p>"Then Locksley," said Prince John, "thou shalt shoot in thy turn, +when these yeomen have displayed their skill. If thou carriest the +prize, I will add to it twenty nobles; but if thou losest it, thou +shalt be stript of thy Lincoln green, and scourged out of the lists +with bowstrings, for a wordy and insolent braggart, and if thou +refusest my fair proffer, the Provost of the lists shall cut thy +bowstring, break thy bow and arrows, and expel thee from the +presence as a faint-hearted craven."</p> + +<p>"This is no fair chance you put on me, proud Prince, to compel me to +peril myself against the best archers of Leicester and +Staffordshire, under the penalty of infamy if they should overshoot +me. Nevertheless, I will obey your pleasure."</p> + +<p>A target was placed at the upper end of the southern avenue which +led to the lists. The contending archers took their station in turn, +at the bottom of the southern access; the distance between that +station and the mark allowing full distance for what was called a +shot at rovers. The archers, having previously determined by lot +their order of precedence, were to shoot each three shafts in +succession.</p> + +<p>One by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered their shafts +yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-four arrows, shot in succession, +ten were fixed in the target, and the others ranged so near it, +that, considering the distance of the mark, it was accounted good +archery. Of the ten shafts which hit the target, two within the +inner ring were shot by Hubert.</p> + +<p>"Now, Locksley," said Prince John, "wilt thou try conclusions with +Hubert, or wilt thou yield up bow, baldric, and quiver, to the +Provost of the sports?"</p> + +<p>"Sith it be no better, I am content to try my fortune; on condition +that when I have shot two shafts at yonder mark of Hubert's, he +shall be bound to shoot one at that which I propose."</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 57 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"That is but fair," answered Prince John, "and it shall not be +refused thee. If thou beat this braggart, Hubert, I will fill the +bugle with silver pennies for thee."</p> + +<p>The former target was now removed, and a fresh one of the same size +placed in its room. Hubert took his aim with great deliberation, +long measuring the distance with his eye, while he held in his hand +his bended bow, with the arrow placed on the string. At length he +made a step forward, and raising the bow at the full stretch of his +left arm, till the centre or grasping place was nigh level with his +face, he drew his bow-string to his ear. The arrow whistled through +the air, and lighted within the inner ring of the target, but not +exactly in the centre.</p> + +<p>"You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert, or that had been a +better shot."</p> + +<p>So saying, Locksley stept to the appointed station, and shot his +arrow as carelessly in appearance as if he had not even looked at +the mark. He was speaking almost at the instant that the shaft left +the bow-string, yet it alighted in the target two inches nearer to +the white spot which marked the centre, than that of Hubert.</p> + +<p>"By the light of heaven!" said Prince John to Hubert, "and thou +suffer that runagate knave to overcome thee, thou art worthy of the +gallows!"</p> + +<p>"Shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it shall be the worse for +thee!"</p> + +<p>Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not neglecting the +caution which he had received from his adversary, he made the +necessary allowance for a very light air of wind, which had just +arisen, and shot so successfully that his arrow alighted in the very +centre of the target.</p> + +<p>"A Hubert! a Hubert!" shouted the populace, more interested in a +known person than in a stranger.</p> + +<p>"Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley," said the Prince with an +insulting smile.</p> + +<p>"I will notch his shaft for him, however," replied Locksley.</p> + +<p>And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution than before, +it lighted right upon that of his competitor, which it split to +shivers. "This must be the devil, and no man of flesh and blood," +whispered the yeomen to each other; "such archery was never seen +since a bow was first bent in Britain."</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 58 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"And now," said Locksley, "I will crave your Grace's permission to +plant such a mark as is used in the North Country; and welcome every +brave yeoman who shall try a shot at it to win a smile from the +bonny lass he loves best."</p> + +<p>He then turned to leave the lists, but returned almost instantly +with a willow wand about six feet in length, perfectly straight, and +rather thicker than a man's thumb. He began to peel this with great +composure, observing at the same time that to ask a good woodsman to +shoot at a target so broad as had hitherto been used, was to put +shame upon his skill. "A child of seven years old might hit yonder +target with a headless shaft, but," added he, walking deliberately +to the other end of the lists, and, sticking the willow wand upright +in the ground, "he that hits that rod five-score yards, I call him +an archer fit to bear both bow and quiver before a king, and it were +the stout King Richard himself."</p> + +<p>"My grandsire," said Hubert, "drew a good bow at the battle of +Hastings, and never shot at such a mark in his life—and neither +will I. I might as well shoot at the edge of our parson's whittle, +or at a wheat straw, or at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak +which I can hardly see."</p> + +<p>"Cowardly dog!" said Prince John. "Sirrah Locksley, do thou shoot; +but, if thou hittest such a mark, I will say thou art the first man +ever did so. Howe'er it be, thou shalt not crow over us with a mere +show of superior skill."</p> + +<p>"I will do my best, no man can do more."</p> + +<p>So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the present occasion looked +with attention to his weapon, and changed the string, which he +thought was no longer truly round, having been a little frayed by +the two former shots. He then took his aim with some deliberation, +and the multitude awaited the event in breathless silence. The +archer vindicated their opinion of his skill; his arrow split the +willow rod against which it was aimed. A jubilee of acclamations +followed; and even Prince John, in admiration of Locksley's skill, +lost for an instant his dislike to his person. "These twenty +nobles," he said, "which, with the bugle, thou hast fairly won, are +thine own; we will make them fifty, if thou wilt take livery and +service with us as a yeoman of our body guard, and be near to our +person. For never + +<!-- Page 59 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +did so strong a hand bend a bow, or so true an +eye direct a shaft."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, noble Prince," said Locksley, "but I have vowed, that if +ever I take service, it should be with your royal brother, King +Richard. These twenty nobles I leave to Hubert, who has this day +drawn as brave a bow as his grandsire did at Hastings. Had his +modesty not refused the trial, he would have hit the wand as well as +I."</p> + +<p>Hubert shook his head as he received with reluctance the bounty of +the stranger; and Locksley, anxious to escape further observation, +mixed with the crowd, and was seen no more.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="A_Plea_for_the_Old_Year" id="A_Plea_for_the_Old_Year"></a></div> + +<h2>A Plea for the Old Year<a name="FNanchor_F_F" id="FNanchor_F_F"></a><a href="#Footnote_F_F" class="fnanchor">[F]</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.</p> + +<div class="blockwide"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see the smiling New Year climb the heights—</span> +<span class="i2">The clouds, his heralds, turn the sky to rose,</span> +<span class="i2">And flush the whiteness of the winter snows,</span> +<span class="i0">Till Earth is glad with Life and Life's delight.</span> +<span class="i0">The weary Old Year died when died the night,</span> +<span class="i2">And this newcomer, proud with triumph, shows</span> +<span class="i2">His radiant face, and each glad subject knows</span> +<span class="i0">The welcome monarch, born to rule aright.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet there are graves far off that no man tends,</span> +<span class="i2">Where lie the vanished loves and hopes and fears,</span> +<span class="i0">The dreams that grew to be our hearts' best friends,</span> +<span class="i2">The smiles, and, dearer than the smiles, the tears—</span> +<span class="i0">These were that Old Year's gifts, whom none defends,</span> +<span class="i2">Now his strong Conqueror, the New, appears.</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<a name="Footnote_F_F" id="Footnote_F_F"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_F_F"><span class="label">[F]</span></a> +<p>Copyright, 1899, by Little, Brown & Co. (Reprinted by +permission.)</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 60 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +<a name="Fagins_Last_Day" id="Fagins_Last_Day"></a> +</div> + +<h2>Fagin's Last Day</h2> + +<p class="center">(From Oliver Twist.)</p> + +<p class="center">BY CHARLES DICKENS.</p> + +<div class="subheader"><p>[It will be remembered that Fagin was leader of a band of thieves, +and that little Oliver Twist had once been held in the Jew's school +for educating criminals. Through the influence of Mr. Brownlow and +some friends the kidnapped boy was rescued and the Jew brought to +justice.]</p></div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/h.png" width="125" height="150" alt="H" /><span class="start">e</span> +sat down on a stone bench opposite the door, which served for a +seat and bedstead, and casting his bloodshot eyes upon the ground, +tried to collect his thoughts. After a while he began to remember a +few disjointed fragments of what the judge had said, though it had +seemed to him, at the time, that he could not hear a word. These +gradually fell into their proper places, and by degrees suggested +more; so that in a little time he had the whole almost as it was +delivered. To be hanged by the neck till he was dead—that was the +end—to be hanged by the neck till he was dead!</p> + +<p>As it came on very dark, he began to think of all the men he had +known who had died upon the scaffold, some of them through his +means. They rose up in such quick succession that he could hardly +count them. He had seen some of them die—and had joked, too, +because they died with prayers upon their lips. With what a rattling +noise the drop went down, and how suddenly they changed, from strong +and vigorous men to dangling heaps of clothes!</p> + +<p>Some of them might have inhabited that very cell—sat upon that very +spot. It was very dark; why didn't they bring a light? The cell had +been built for many years. Scores of men must have passed their last +hours there. It was like sitting in a vault strewn with dead +bodies—the cap, the noose, the pinioned arms, the faces that he +knew, even beneath that hideous veil. Light, light!</p> + +<p>At length, when his hands were raw with beating against the heavy +door and walls, two men appeared—one bearing a + +<!-- Page 61 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +candle, which he +thrust into an iron candlestick fixed against the wall; the other +dragging in a mattress on which to pass the night, for the prisoner +was to be left alone no more.</p> + +<p>Then came night—dark, dismal, silent night. Other watchers are glad +to hear the church clock strike, for they tell of life and coming +day. To the Jew they brought despair. The boom of every iron bell +came laden with the one, deep, hollow sound—death! What availed the +noise and bustle of cheerful morning which penetrated even there to +him? It was another form of knell, with mockery added to the +warning.</p> + +<p>The day passed off. Day? There was no day. It was gone as soon as +come; and night came on again—night so long, and yet so short; long +in its dreadful silence, and short in its fleeting hours. At one +time he raved and blasphemed, and at another howled and tore his +hair. Venerable men of his own persuasion had come to pray beside +him, but he had driven them away with curses. They renewed their +charitable efforts, and he beat them off.</p> + +<p>Saturday night. He had only one night more to live. And as he +thought of this the day broke—Sunday.</p> + +<p>It was not until the night of this last awful day that a withering +sense of his helpless, desperate state came in its full intensity +upon his blighted soul; not that he had ever held any defined or +positive hope of mercy, but that he had never been able to consider +more than the dim probability of dying so soon. He had spoken little +to either two men, who relieved each other in their attendance upon +him; and they, for their parts, made no effort to rouse his +attention. He had sat there awake, but dreaming. Now, he started up +every minute, and with gasping mouth and burning skin, hurried to +and fro in such a paroxysm of fear and wrath that even they—used to +such sights—recoiled from him with horror. He grew so terrible, at +last, in all the tortures of his evil conscience, that one man could +not bear to sit there, eyeing him alone, and so the two kept watch +together.</p> + +<p>He cowed down upon his stone bed, and thought of the past. He had +been wounded with some missiles from the crowd on the day of his +capture, and his head was bandaged with a linen cloth. His red hair +hung down upon his bloodless face; his beard was torn, and twisted +into knots; his + +<!-- Page 62 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +eyes shone with a terrible light; his unwashed +flesh crackled with the fever that burnt him up. Eight—nine—ten. +If it was not a trick to frighten him, and those were the real hours +treading on each other's heels, where would he be, when they came +round again? Eleven! Another struck, before the voice of the +previous hour had ceased to vibrate. At eight he would be the only +mourner in his own funeral train; at eleven—</p> + +<p>Those dreadful walls of Newgate, which have hidden so much misery +and such unspeakable anguish, not only from the eyes, but, too often +and too long, from the thoughts of men, never held so dread a +spectacle as that. The few who lingered as they passed, and wondered +what the man was doing who was to be hung to-morrow, would have +slept but ill that night if they could have seen him.</p> + +<p>From early in the evening until nearly midnight, little groups of +two and three presented themselves at the lodge-gate and inquired, +with anxious faces, whether any reprieve had been received. These +being answered in the negative, communicated the welcome +intelligence to clusters in the street, who pointed out to one +another the door from which he must come out, and showed where the +scaffold would be built, and walking with unwilling steps away, +turned back to conjure up the scene. By degrees they fell off, one +by one; and, for an hour in the dead of night, the street was left +to solitude and darkness.</p> + +<p>The space before the prison was cleared, and a few strong barriers, +painted black, had been already thrown across the road to break the +pressure of the expected crowd, when Mr. Brownlow and Oliver +appeared at the wicket, and presented an order of admission to the +prisoner, signed by one of the sheriffs. They were immediately +admitted into the lodge.</p> + +<p>The condemned criminal was seated on his bed, rocking himself from +side to side, with a countenance more like that of a snared beast +than the face of a man. His mind was evidently wandering to his old +life, for he continued to mutter, without appearing conscious of +their presence otherwise than as a part of his vision.</p> + +<p>"Good boy, Charley—well done," he mumbled; "Oliver, too, ha! ha! +ha! Oliver, too—quite the gentleman now—quite the—take that boy +away to bed!"</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 63 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver, and whispering him +not to be alarmed, looked on without speaking.</p> + +<p>"Take him away to bed!" cried the Jew. "Do you hear me, some of you? +He has been the—the—somehow the cause of all this. It's worth the +money to bring him up to it—Bolter's throat, Bill; never mind the +girl—Bolter's throat, as deep as you can cut. Saw his head off!"</p> + +<p>"Fagin," said the jailer.</p> + +<p>"That's me!" cried the Jew, falling instantly into the attitude of +listening he had assumed upon his trial. "An old man, my lord; a +very old, old man!"</p> + +<p>"Here," said the turnkey, laying his hand upon his breast to keep +him down—"here's somebody wants to see you—to ask you some +questions, I suppose. Fagin, Fagin! Are you a man?"</p> + +<p>"I shan't be one long," replied the Jew, looking up with a face +retaining no human expression but rage and terror. "Strike them all +dead! what right have they to butcher me?"</p> + +<p>As he spoke he caught sight of Oliver and Mr. Brownlow. Shrinking to +the farthest corner of the seat he demanded to know what they wanted +there.</p> + +<p>"Steady," said the turnkey, still holding him down.</p> + +<p>"Now, sir, tell him what you want—quick, if you please, for he +grows worse as the time gets on."</p> + +<p>"You have some papers," said Mr. Brownlow, advancing, "which were +placed in your hands for better security by a man called Monks."</p> + +<p>"It's all a lie together," replied the Jew. "I haven't one—not +one."</p> + +<p>"For the love of God," said Mr. Brownlow, solemnly, "do not say that +now, upon the very verge of death, but tell me where they are. You +know that Sikes is dead, that Monks has confessed, that there is no +hope of any further gain. Where are those papers?"</p> + +<p>"Oliver," cried the Jew, beckoning to him. "Here, here! Let me +whisper to you."</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid," said Oliver, in a low voice, as he relinquished +Mr. Brownlow's hand.</p> + +<p>"The papers," said the Jew, drawing him towards him, "are in a +canvas bag, in a hole a little way up the chimney in the top front +room. I want to talk to you, my dear; I want to talk to you."</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 64 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"Yes, yes," returned Oliver. "Let me say a prayer. Do! Let me say +one prayer—say only one, upon your knees with me, and we will talk +till morning."</p> + +<p>"Outside, outside," replied the Jew, pushing the boy before him +towards the door, and looking vacantly over his head. "Say I've gone +to sleep—they'll believe <i>you</i>. You can get me out, if you take me +so. Now then, now then!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! God forgive this wretched man!" cried the boy, with a burst of +tears.</p> + +<p>"That's right, that's right," said the Jew; "that'll help us on. +This door first. If I shake and tremble as we pass the gallows, +don't you mind, but hurry on. Now, now, now!"</p> + +<p>"Have you nothing else to ask him, sir?" inquired the turnkey.</p> + +<p>"No other question," replied Mr. Brownlow. "If I hoped we could +recall him to a sense of his position—"</p> + +<p>"Nothing will do that, sir," replied the man, shaking his head. "You +had better leave him."</p> + +<p>The door of the cell opened, and the attendants returned.</p> + +<p>"Press on, press on," cried the Jew. "Softly, but not so slow. +Faster, faster!"</p> + +<p>The men laid hands upon him, and disengaging Oliver from his grasp, +held him back. He struggled with the power of desperation for an +instant, and then sent up cry upon cry that penetrated even those +massive walls, and rang in their ears until they reached the open +yard.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="A_Caution_to_Poets" id="A_Caution_to_Poets"></a></div> + +<h2>A Caution to Poets.</h2> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What poets feel not, when they make</span> +<span class="i2">A pleasure in creating,</span> +<span class="i0">The world, in its turn, will not take</span> +<span class="i2">Pleasure in contemplating.</span> +</div> + +<div> +<span class="i6">—<i>Matthew Arnold</i>.</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 65 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +<a name="Apollo_Belvedere" id="Apollo_Belvedere"></a> +</div> + +<h2>Apollo Belvedere<a name="FNanchor_G_G" id="FNanchor_G_G"></a><a href="#Footnote_G_G" class="fnanchor">[G]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><i>A Christmas Episode of the Plantation.</i></p> + +<p class="center">BY RUTH McENERY STUART.</p> + +<div class="subheader"><p>[In the same volume which contains this story there are many others +that lend themselves to recitation. "Moriah's Mourning" is one of +the best pieces of humor which Mrs. Stuart has written; "Christmas +at the Trimbles" has proven itself a never-failing success, and "The +Second Mrs. Slimm" is an excellent reading.]</p></div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/h.png" width="125" height="150" alt="H" /><span class="start">e</span> +was a little yellow man, with a quizzical face and sloping +shoulders, and when he gave his full name, with somewhat of a +flourish, as if it might hold compensations for physical +shortcomings, one could hardly help smiling. And yet there was a +pathos in the caricature that dissipated the smile half-way.</p> + +<p>"Yas, I'm named 'Pollo Belvedere, an' my marster gi'e me dat +intitlemint on account o' my shape," he would say, with a strut, as +if he were bantered. As Apollo would have told you himself, the fact +that he had never married was not because he couldn't get anybody to +have him, but simply that he hadn't himself been suited.</p> + +<p>Lily Washington was a beauty in her own right, and she was the belle +of the plantation. She was an emotional creature, with a caustic +tongue on occasion, and when it pleased her mood to look over her +shoulder at one of her numerous admirers and to wither him with a +look or a word, she did not hesitate to do it. For instance, when +Apollo first asked her to marry him—it had been his habit to +propose to her every day or so for a year or two past—she glanced +at him askance from head to foot, and then she said: "Why, yas. Dat +is, I s'pose, of co'se, you's de sample. I'd order a full-size by +you in a minute." This was cruel, and seeing the pathetic + +<!-- Page 66 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +look come +into his face, she instantly repented of it, and walked home from +church with him, dismissing a handsome black fellow, and saying only +kind things to Apollo all the way.</p> + +<p>Of course no one took Apollo seriously as Lily's suitor, much less +the chocolate maid herself. But there were other lovers. Indeed, +there were all the others, for that matter, but in point of +eligibility the number to be seriously regarded was reduced to about +two. These were Pete Peters, a handsome griff, with just enough +Indian blood to give him an air of distinction, and a French-talking +mulatto, who had come up from New Orleans to repair the machinery in +the sugar-house, and who was buying land in the vicinity, and drove +his own sulky. Pete was less prosperous than he, but, although he +worked his land on shares, he owned two mules and a saddle horse, +and would be allowed to enter on a purchase of land whenever he +should choose to do so. Although Pete and the New Orleans fellow, +whose name was also Peter, but who was called Pierre, met constantly +in a friendly enough way, they did not love each other. They both +loved Lily too much for that. But they laughed good-naturedly +together at Apollo and his "case," which they inquired after +politely, as if it were a member of his family.</p> + +<p>"Well, 'Pollo, how's yo' case on Miss Lily comin' on?" either one +would say, with a wink at the other, and Apollo would artlessly +report the state of the heavens with relation to his particular +star, as when he once replied to this identical question:</p> + +<p>"Well, Miss Lily was mighty obstropulous 'istiddy, but she is mo' +cancelized dis mornin'."</p> + +<p>It was Pete who had asked the question, and he laughed aloud at the +answer. "Mo' cancelized dis mornin', is she?" he replied. "How do +you know she is?"</p> + +<p>"'Caze she lemme tote her hoe all de way up f'rom de field," +answered the ingenuous Apollo.</p> + +<p>"She did, did she? An' who was walkin' by her side all dat time, I +like to know?"</p> + +<p>Apollo winced a little at this, but he answered, bravely, "I don't +kyah ef Pier was walkin' wid her; I was totin' her hoe, all de +samee."</p> + +<p>The Christmas-eve dance in the sugar-house had been for years an +annual function on the plantation. At this, since her debut, at +fourteen, three Christmases before, Lily had held + +<!-- Page 67 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +undisputed sway, +and all her former belles amiably accepted their places as lesser +lights.</p> + +<p>Lily was perfectly ravishing in her splendor at the dance this year. +The white Swiss frock she wore was high in the neck, but her brown +shoulders and arms shone through the thin fabric with fine effect. +About her slim waist she tied a narrow ribbon of blue, and she +carried a pink feather fan, and the wreath about her forehead was of +lilies-of-the-valley. She had done a day's scouring for them, and +they had come out of the summer hat of one of the white ladies on +the coast. This insured their quality, and no doubt contributed +somewhat to the quiet serenity with which she bore herself as, with +her little head held like that of the Venus of Milo, she danced down +the center of the room, holding her flounces in either hand, and +kicking the floor until she kicked both her slippers to pieces, when +she finished the figure in her stocking feet.</p> + +<p>She had a relay of slippers ready, and there was a scramble as to +who should put them on; but she settled that question by making +'Pollo rise, with his fiddle in his arms, and lend her his chair for +a minute while she pulled them on herself. Then she let Pete and +Pierre each have one of the discarded slippers as a trophy. Lily had +always danced out several pairs of slippers at the Christmas dance, +but she never achieved her stocking feet in the first round until +now, and she was in high glee over it. If she had been admired +before, she was looked upon as a raving, tearing, beauty to-night, +and so she was. Fortunately 'Pollo had his fiddling to do, and this +saved him from any conspicuous folly. But he kept his eyes on her, +and when she grew too ravishingly lovely to his fond vision, and he +couldn't stand it a minute longer in silence, he turned to the man +next him, who played the bones, and remarked, "Ef—ef anybody but +Gord A'mighty had a-made anything as purty as Miss Lily, dey'd 'a' +stinted it somewhar," and, watching every turn, he lent his bow to +her varying moods while she tired out one dancer after another. It +was the New Orleans fellow who first lost his head utterly. He had +danced with her but three times, but, while she took another's hand +and whizzed through the figures, he scarcely took his eyes from her, +and when, at about midnight, he succeeded in getting her apart for a +promenade, he poured forth his soul to her in the picturesque +English of the quadroon quarter of New Orleans. "An' now, to proof +to you my lorv, + +<!-- Page 68 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +Ma'm'selle Leelee"—he gesticulated vigorously as +he spoke—"I am geeving you wan beau-u-tiful Christmas present—I am +goin' to geev you—w'at you t'ink? My borgee!" With this he turned +dramatically and faced her. They were standing now under the shed +outside the door in the moonlight, and, although they did not see +him, Apollo stood within hearing, behind a pile of molasses barrels, +where he had come "to cool off."</p> + +<p>Lily had several times been "buggy-ridin'" with Pierre in this same +"borgee," and it was a very magnificent affair in her eyes. When he +told her that it was to be hers she gasped. Such presents were +unknown on the plantation. But Lily was a "mannerly" member of good +society, if her circle was small, and she was not to be taken back +by any compliment a man should pay her. She simply fanned herself, a +little flurriedly perhaps, with her feather fan, as she said: "You +sho' must be jokin', Mr. Pier. You cert'n'y must." But Mr. Pierre +was not joking. He was never more in earnest in his life, and he +told her so, and there is no telling what else he would have told +her but for the fact that Mr. Pete Peters happened to come out to +the shed to cool off about this time, and as he almost brushed her +shoulder, it was as little as Lily could do to address a remark to +him, and then, of course, he stopped and chatted awhile; and, after +what appeared a reasonable interval, long enough for it not to seem +that she was too much elated over it, she remarked, "An', by-de-way, +Mr. Peters, I must tell you what a lovely Christmas gif' I have just +received by de hand of Mr. Pier. He has jest presented me with his +yaller-wheeled buggy, an' I sho' is proud of it." Then, turning to +Pierre, she added, "You sho' is a mighty generous gen'leman, +Mr. Pier—you cert'n'y is."</p> + +<p>Peters give Lily one startled look, but he instantly realized, from +her ingenuous manner, that there was nothing back of the gift of the +buggy—that is, it had been, so far as she was concerned, simply a +Christmas present. Pierre had not offered himself with the gift. And +if this were so, well—he reckoned he could match him.</p> + +<p>He reached forward and took Lily's fan from her hand. He hastened to +do this to keep Pierre from taking it. Then, while he fanned her, he +said, "Is dat so, Miss Lily, dat Mr. Pier is give you a buggy? Dat +sholy is a fine Christmas gif'—it sho' is. An' sense you fin' +yo'se'f possessed of a buggy, I trust you will allow me de pleasure +of presentin' you wid a + +<!-- Page 69 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +horse to drive in de buggy." He made a +graceful bow as he spoke, a bow that would have done credit to the +man from New Orleans. It was so well done, indeed, that Lily +unconsciously bowed in return, as she said, with a look that savored +a little of roguishness: "Oh, hursh, Mr. Peters! You des a-guyin' +me—dat what you doin'."</p> + +<p>"Guyin' nothin'," said Peters, grinning broadly as he noted the +expression of Pierre's face. "Ef you'll jes do me de honor to accep' +of my horse, Miss Lily, I'll be de proudest gen'leman on dis +plantation."</p> + +<p>At this she chuckled, and took her fan in her own hand. And then she +turned to Pierre.</p> + +<p>"You sho' has set de style o' mighty expensive Christmas gif's on +dis plantation, Mr. Pier—you cert'n'y has. An' I wants to thank you +bofe mos' kindly—I cert'n'y does."</p> + +<p>Having heard this much, 'Pollo thought it time to come from his +hiding, and he strolled leisurely out in the other direction first, +but soon returned this way. And then he stopped, and, reaching over, +took the feather fan—and for a few moments he had his innings. Then +some one else came along and the conversation became impersonal, and +one by one they all dropped off—all except 'Pollo. When the rest +had gone, he and Lily found seats on the cane carrier, and they +talked a while, and when a little later supper was announced, it was +the proud fiddler who took her in, while Pierre and Peters stood off +and politely glared at each other; and after a while Pierre must +have said something, for Peters suddenly sprang at him and tumbled +him out the door and rolled him over in the dirt, and they had to be +separated. But presently they laughed and shook hands, and Pierre +offered Pete a cigarette, and Pete took it, and gave Pierre a +light—and it was all over.</p> + +<p>It was next day—Christmas morning—and the young people were +standing about in groups under the China-trees in the campus, when +Apollo joined them, looking unusually chipper and beaming. He was +dressed in his best—Prince Albert, beaver, and all—and he sported +a bright silk handkerchief tied loosely about his neck.</p> + +<p>He was altogether a delightful figure, absolutely content with +himself, and apparently at peace with the world. No sooner had he +joined the crowd than the fellows began chaffing him, as usual, and +presently some one mentioned Lily's name and spoke of her presents. +The two men who had broken + +<!-- Page 70 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +the record for generosity in the history +of plantation lovers were looked upon as nabobs by those of lesser +means. Of course everybody knew the city fellow had started it, and +they were glad that Peters had come to time and saved the dignity of +the place; indeed, he was about the only one on the plantation who +could have done it.</p> + +<p>As they stood talking it over, the two heroes had nothing to say, of +course, and 'Pollo began rolling a cigarette—an art he had learned +from the man from New Orleans.</p> + +<p>Finally, he remarked, "Yas, Miss Lily got sev'al mighty nice +presents last night."</p> + +<p>At this Pierre turned, laughing, and said, "I s'pose you geeve 'er +somet'ing, too, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Pity you hadn't a-give her dat silk hank'cher. Hit 'd become her a +heap better'n it becomes you," Peters said, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Yas, I reckon it would," said 'Pollo; "but de fact is she gi' me +dis hank'cher—an' of co'se I accepted it."</p> + +<p>"But why ain't you tellin' us what you give her?" insisted Peters.</p> + +<p>'Pollo put the cigarette to his lips, deliberately lit it, puffed +several times, and then, removing it in a leisurely way, he drawled:</p> + +<p>"Well, de fact is, I heerd Mr. Pier here give her a buggy, +an'—Mr. Peters, he up an' handed over a horse,—an' so, quick as I got a +chance, I des balanced my ekalub'ium an' went an' set down beside +her an' ast her ef she wouldn't do me the honor to accep' of a +driver, an'—an' she say yas.</p> + +<p>"You know I'm a coachman by trade.</p> + +<p>"An dat's huccome I to say she got sev'al presents las' night."</p> + +<p>And he took another puff of his cigarette.</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<a name="Footnote_G_G" id="Footnote_G_G"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_G_G"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> +<p>From "Moriah's Mourning." Copyright, 1898, by Harper & Brothers.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 71 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +<a name="An_Invalid_in_Lodgings" id="An_Invalid_in_Lodgings"></a> +</div> + +<h2>An Invalid in Lodgings</h2> + +<p class="center">BY J. M. BARRIE.</p> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/u.png" width="125" height="150" alt="U" /><span class="start">ntil</span> +my system collapsed, my landlady only spoke of me as her +parlor. At intervals I had communicated with her through the medium +of Sarah Ann, the servant, and, as her rent was due on Wednesday, +could I pay my bill now? Except for these monetary transactions, my +landlady and I were total strangers, and, though I sometimes fell +over her children in the lobby, that led to no intimacy. Even Sarah +Ann never opened her mouth to me. She brought in my tea, and left me +to discover that it was there. My first day in lodgings I said +"Good-morning" to Sarah Ann, and she replied, "Eh?" "Good-morning," +I repeated, to which she answered contemptuously, "Oh, ay." For six +months I was simply the parlor; but then I fell ill, and at once +became an interesting person.</p> + +<p>Sarah Ann found me shivering on the sofa one hot day a week or more +ago, beneath my rug, two coats, and some other articles. My landlady +sent up some beef-tea, in which she has a faith that is pathetic, +and then, to complete the cure, she appeared in person. She has +proved a nice, motherly old lady, but not cheerful company.</p> + +<p>"Where do you feel it worst, sir?" she asked.</p> + +<p>I said it was bad all over, but worst in my head.</p> + +<p>"On your brow?"</p> + +<p>"No; on the back of my head."</p> + +<p>"It feels like a lump of lead?"</p> + +<p>"No; like a furnace."</p> + +<p>"That's just what I feared," she said. "It began so with him."</p> + +<p>"With whom?"</p> + +<p>"My husband. He came in one day, five years ago, complaining of his +head, and in three days he was a corpse."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid, sir. Maybe it isn't the same thing."</p> + +<p>"Of course it isn't. Your husband, according to the story you told +me when I took these rooms, died of fever."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but the fever began just in this way. It carried him off + +<!-- Page 72 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +in +no time. You had better see a doctor, sir. Doctor was no use in my +husband's case, but it is satisfaction to have him."</p> + +<p>Here Sarah Ann, who had been listening with mouth and eyes open, +suddenly burst into tears, and was led out of the room, exclaiming, +"Him such a quiet gentleman, and he never flung nothing at me."</p> + +<p>Though I knew that I had only caught a nasty cold, a conviction in +which the doctor confirmed me, my landlady stood out for its being +just such another case as her husband's, and regaled me for hours +with reminiscences of his rapid decline. If I was a little better +one day, alas! he had been a little better the day before he died; +and if I answered her peevishly, she told Sarah Ann that my voice +was going. She brought the beef-tea up with her own hands, her +countenance saying that I might as well have it, though it could not +save me. Sometimes I pushed it away untasted (how I loathe beef-tea +now!), when she whispered something to Sarah Ann that sent that +tender-hearted maid howling once more from the room.</p> + +<p>"He's supped it all," Sarah Ann said one day, brightening.</p> + +<p>"That's a worse sign," said her mistress, "than if he hadn't took +none."</p> + +<p>I lay on a sofa, pulled close to the fire, and when the doctor came, +my landlady was always at his heels, Sarah Ann's dismal face showing +at the door. The doctor is a personal friend of my own, and each day +he said I was improving a little.</p> + +<p>"Ah, doctor!" my landlady said, reprovingly.</p> + +<p>"He does it for the best," she exclaimed to me, "but I don't hold +with doctors as deceive their patients. Why don't he speak out the +truth like a man? My husband were told the worst, and so he had time +to reconcile himself."</p> + +<p>On one of these occasions I summoned up sufficient energy to send +her out of the room; but that only made matters worse.</p> + +<p>"Poor gentleman!" I heard her say to Sarah Ann; "he is very violent +to-day. I saw he were worse the moment I clapped eyes on him. Sarah +Ann, I shouldn't wonder though we had to hold him down yet."</p> + +<p>About an hour afterwards she came in to ask me if I "had come more +round to myself," and when I merely turned round + +<!-- Page 73 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +on the sofa for +reply, she said, in a loud whisper to Sarah Ann, that I "were as +quiet as a lamb now." Then she stroked me and went away.</p> + +<p>So attentive was my landlady that she was a ministering angel. Yet I +lay on that sofa plotting how to get her out of the room. The plan +that seemed the simplest was to pretend sleep, but it was not easily +carried out. Not getting any answer from me, she would approach on +tiptoe and lean over the sofa, listening to hear me breathe. +Convinced that I was still living, she and Sarah Ann began a +conversation in whispers, of which I or the deceased husband was the +subject. The husband had slept a good deal, too, and it wasn't a +healthy sign.</p> + +<p>"It isn't a good sign," whispered my landlady, "though them as know +no better might think it is. It shows he's getting weaker. When they +takes to sleeping in the day-time, it's only because they don't have +the strength to keep awake."</p> + +<p>"Oh, missus!" Sarah Ann would say.</p> + +<p>"Better face facts, Sarah Ann," replied my landlady.</p> + +<p>In the end I had generally to sit up and confess that I heard what +they were saying. My landlady evidently thought this another bad +sign.</p> + +<p>I discovered that my landlady held receptions in another room, where +visitors came who referred to me as her "trial." When she thought me +distinctly worse, she put on her bonnet and went out to disseminate +the sad news. It was on one of these occasions that Sarah Ann, who +had been left in charge of the children, came to me with a serious +request.</p> + +<p>"Them children," she said, "want awful to see you, and I sort of +promised to bring 'em in, if so you didn't mind."</p> + +<p>"But, Sarah Ann, they have seen me often, and, though I'm a good +deal better, I don't feel equal to speaking to them."</p> + +<p>Sarah Ann smiled pityingly when I said I felt better, but she +assured me the children only wanted to look at me. I refused her +petition, but, on my ultimatum being announced to them, they set up +such a roar that, to quiet them, I called them in.</p> + +<p>They came one at a time. Sophia, the eldest, came first. She looked +at me very solemnly, and then said bravely that If I liked she would +kiss me. As she had a piece of flannel tied round her face, and was +swollen in the left cheek, I declined this honor, and she went off +much relieved. Next came + +<!-- Page 74 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +Tommy, who sent up a shriek as his eyes +fell on me, and had to be carried off by Sarah Ann. Johnny was +bolder and franker, but addressed all his remarks to Sarah Ann. +First, he wanted to know if he could touch me, and, being told he +could, he felt my face all over. Then, he wanted to see the +"spouter." The "spouter" was a spray through which Sarah Ann blew +coolness on my head, and Johnny had heard of it with interest. He +refused to leave the room until he had been permitted to saturate me +and my cushion.</p> + +<p>I am so much better now that even my landlady knows I am not dying. +I suppose she is glad that it is so, but at the same time she +resents it. There is an impression in the house that I am a fraud. +They call me by my name as yet, but soon again I shall be the +parlor.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="The_Stirrup-Cup" id="The_Stirrup-Cup"></a></div> + +<h2>The Stirrup-Cup</h2> + +<p class="center">BY SIDNEY LANIER.</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Death, thou'rt a cordial old and rare:</span> +<span class="i0">Look how compounded, with what care!</span> +<span class="i0">Time got his wrinkles reaping thee</span> +<span class="i0">Sweet herbs from all antiquity.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">David to thy distillage went,</span> +<span class="i0">Keats, and Gotama excellent,</span> +<span class="i0">Omar Khayyam, and Chaucer bright,</span> +<span class="i0">And Shakespeare for a king-delight.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, Time, let not a drop be spilt;</span> +<span class="i0">Hand me the cup whene'er thou wilt;</span> +<span class="i0">'Tis thy rich stirrup-cup to me;</span> +<span class="i0">I'll drink it down right smilingly.</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 75 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +<a name="Das_Krist_Kindel" id="Das_Krist_Kindel"></a> +</div> + +<h2>Das Krist Kindel.<a name="FNanchor_H_H" id="FNanchor_H_H"></a><a href="#Footnote_H_H" class="fnanchor">[H]</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.</p> + +<div class="blockfull"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight</span> +<span class="i0">Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night;</span> +<span class="i0">And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my throne"—</span> +<span class="i0">The old split-bottomed rocker—and was musing all alone.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I could hear the hungry Winter prowling round the outer door,</span> +<span class="i0">And the tread of muffled footsteps on the white piazza floor;</span> +<span class="i0">But the sounds came to me only as the murmur of a stream</span> +<span class="i0">That mingled with the current of a lazy-flowing dream.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like a fragrant incense rising, curled the smoke of my cigar,</span> +<span class="i0">With the lamp-light gleaming through it like a mist-enfolded star;—</span> +<span class="i0">And as I gazed, the vapor like a curtain rolled away,</span> +<span class="i0">With a sound of bells that tinkled, and the clatter of a sleigh.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And in a vision, painted like a picture in the air,</span> +<span class="i0">I saw the elfish figure of a man with frosty hair—</span> +<span class="i0">A quaint old man that chuckled with a laugh as he appeared,</span> +<span class="i0">And with ruddy cheeks like embers in the ashes of his beard.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He poised himself grotesquely, in an attitude of mirth,</span> +<span class="i0">On a damask-covered hassock that was sitting on the hearth;</span> +<span class="i0">And at a magic signal of his stubby little thumb,</span> +<span class="i0">I saw the fire place changing to a bright procenium.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And looking there, I marveled as I saw a mimic stage</span> +<span class="i0">Alive with little actors of a very tender age;</span> +<span class="i0">And some so very tiny that they tottered as they walked,</span> +<span class="i0">And lisped and purled and gurgled like the brooklets, when they talked.</span> +</div> + +<div> +<!-- Page 76 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And their faces were like lilies, and their eyes like purest dew,</span> +<span class="i0">And their tresses like the shadows that the shine is woven through;</span> +<span class="i0">And they each had little burdens, and a little tale to tell</span> +<span class="i0">Of fairy lore, and giants, and delights delectable.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And they mixed and intermingled, weaving melody with joy.</span> +<span class="i0">Till the magic circle clustered round a blooming baby-boy;</span> +<span class="i0">And they threw aside their treasures in an ecstasy of glee,</span> +<span class="i0">And bent, with dazzled faces, and with parted lips, to see.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas a wondrous little fellow, with a dainty double chin,</span> +<span class="i0">And chubby cheeks, and dimples for the smiles to blossom in;</span> +<span class="i0">And he looked as ripe and rosy, on his bed of straw and reeds;</span> +<span class="i0">As a mellow little pippin that had tumbled in the weeds.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I saw the happy mother, and a group surrounding her,</span> +<span class="i0">That knelt with costly presents of frankincense and myrrh;</span> +<span class="i0">And I thrilled with awe and wonder, as a murmur on the air</span> +<span class="i0">Came drifting o'er the hearing in a melody of prayer:—</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 ital">By the splendor in the heavens, and the hush upon the sea,</span> +<span class="i0 ital">And the majesty of silence reigning o'er Galilee,—</span> +<span class="i0 ital">We feel Thy kingly presence, and we humbly bow the knee</span> +<span class="i0 ital">And lift our hearts and voices in gratefulness to Thee.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 ital">Thy messenger has spoken, and our doubts have fled and gone</span> +<span class="i0 ital">As the dark and spectral shadows of the night before the dawn,</span> +<span class="i0 ital">And, in the kindly shelter of the light around us drawn,</span> +<span class="i0 ital">We would nestle down forever in the breast we lean upon.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 ital">You have given us a shepherd, you have given us a guide,</span> +<span class="i0 ital">And the light of Heaven grew dimmer when you sent Him from your side,—</span> +<span class="i0 ital">But He comes to lead Thy children where the gates will open wide</span> +<span class="i0 ital">To welcome His returning when His works are glorified.</span> +</div> + +<div> +<!-- Page 77 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 ital">By the splendor in the Heavens, and the hush upon the sea,</span> +<span class="i0 ital">And the majesty of silence reigning over Galilee,—</span> +<span class="i0 ital">We feel Thy kingly presence, and we humbly bow the knee</span> +<span class="i0 ital">And lift our hearts and voices in gratefulness to Thee.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then the vision, slowly failing, with the words of the refrain,</span> +<span class="i0">Fell swooning in the moonlight through the frosty windowpane;</span> +<span class="i0">And I heard the clock proclaiming, like an eager sentinel</span> +<span class="i0">Who brings the world good tidings,—"It is Christmas—all is well!"</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<a name="Footnote_H_H" id="Footnote_H_H"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_H_H"><span class="label">[H]</span></a> +<p>From "Afterwhiles." Copyright, 1898. By special permission of +the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="Hiram_Fosters_Thanksgiving_Turkey" id="Hiram_Fosters_Thanksgiving_Turkey"></a></div> + +<h2>Hiram Foster's Thanksgiving Turkey</h2> + +<p class="center">BY S. E. KISER.</p> + +<div class="subheader"><p>[Of the many poems written when President McKinley was assassinated, +none surpassed in sympathy and original conception the verses +printed below.]</p></div> + +<div class="blockfull"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">See that turkey out there, mister? Ain't he big and fat and nice?</span> +<span class="i0">Well, you couldn't buy that gobbler, not for any kind of price.</span> +<span class="i0">Now, I'll tell you how it happened: 'Way along last spring, you know,</span> +<span class="i0">This here turkey's mother hatched some twenty little ones or so—</span> +<span class="i0">Hatched 'em in the woods down yonder, and come marchin' home one day</span> +<span class="i0">With them stringin' out behind 'er, catchin' bugs along the way.</span> +</div> + +<div> +<!-- Page 78 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well, my little grandson named 'em—both his folks are dead, you see,</span> +<span class="i0">So he's come and gone to livin' with his grandma, here, and me.</span> +<span class="i0">He give each a name to go by: one was Teddy, one was Schley,</span> +<span class="i0">One was Sampson, one was Dewey, one was Bryan, too, but I</span> +<span class="i0">Liked the one he called McKinley best of all the brood, somehow—</span> +<span class="i0">He was that there turkey yonder that's a gobblin' at you now.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How them cunnin' little rascals grew and grew! Sometimes, I swear,</span> +<span class="i0">It 'most seemed as though we seen 'em shootin' upward in the air.</span> +<span class="i0">And McKinley was the leader and the best of all the lot,</span> +<span class="i0">And you'd ought to seen the mother—proud of him?—I tell you what!</span> +<span class="i0">So I says to ma and Charley—oh, three months ago at least—</span> +<span class="i0">That I guessed we'd keep McKinley for our own Thanksgivin' feast.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then we sold off all the others, keepin' only this one here,</span> +<span class="i0">And I guess we won't have turkey for Thanksgivin' Day this year.</span> +<span class="i0">Just the name we gave that gobbler makes him sacreder to me,</span> +<span class="i0">After all the things that's happened, than I—well, somehow you see</span> +<span class="i0">I was in his ridgement—so you'll please excuse me—I dunno—</span> +<span class="i0">I don't want to show my feelin's—sometimes folks can't help it, though.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hear 'im gobble now, and see him as he proudly struts away;</span> +<span class="i0">Don't you s'pose he knows there's something in the name he bears to-day?</span> +<span class="i0">See how all his feathers glisten—ain't he big and plump and nice?</span> +<span class="i0">No, sir! No; you couldn't buy 'im, not for any kind of price.</span> +<span class="i0">That there gobbler, there, that Charley gave the name McKinley to,</span> +<span class="i0">He'll die natural—that's something turkeys mighty seldom do.</span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<!-- Page 79 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +<a name="The_Winning_of_Lorna_Doone" id="The_Winning_of_Lorna_Doone"></a> +</div> + +<h2>The Winning of Lorna Doone</h2> + +<p class="center">(From Lorna Doone.)</p> + +<p class="center">BY R. D. BLACKMORE.</p> + +<div class="subheader"><p>[The Doones were a band of aristocratic, but lawless, people living +in the Doone Valley, from which they sallied forth to raid the +neighboring farmers and travelers. John Ridd, who tells the story, +while fishing one spring had followed a stream into the Doone +estate. When the following scene opens he had just had a desperate +struggle to save himself from the swift current of the stream, and +had nearly lost his life.]</p></div> + +<p class="start"> +<img class="dropcap" src="images/w.png" width="125" height="150" alt="W" /><span class="start">hen</span> +I came to myself again, my hands were full of young grass and +mold, and a little girl, kneeling at my side, was rubbing my +forehead tenderly with a dock-leaf and a handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am so glad!" she whispered, softly, as I opened my eyes and +looked at her; "now you will try to be better, won't you?"</p> + +<p>I had never heard so sweet a sound as came from between her bright +red lips, while there she knelt and gazed at me; neither had I ever +seen anything so beautiful as the large, dark eyes intent upon me, +full of pity and wonder. And then, my nature being slow, and +perhaps, for that matter, heavy, I wandered with my hazy eyes down +the black shower of her hair, as to my jaded gaze it seemed. Perhaps +she liked my countenance, and indeed I know she did, because she +said so afterward; although at that time she was too young to know +what made her take to me.</p> + +<p>Thereupon I sat upright, with my little trident still in one hand, +and was much afraid to speak to her, being conscious of my country +brogue, lest she should cease to like me. But she clapped her hands, +and made a trifling dance around my back, and came to me on the +other side, as if I were a great play thing.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" she said, as if she had every right to + +<!-- Page 80 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +ask me; +"and how did you come here, and what are these wet things in this +great bag?"</p> + +<p>"You had better let them alone," I said; "they are loaches for my +mother. But I will give you some, if you like."</p> + +<p>"Dear me, how much you think of them! Why, they are only fish. But +how your feet are bleeding! Oh, I must tie them up for you. And no +shoes nor stockings! Is your mother very poor, poor boy?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said, being vexed at this; "we are rich enough to buy all +this great meadow, if we chose; and here my shoes and stockings be."</p> + +<p>"Why, they are quite as wet as your feet; and I cannot bear to see +your feet. Oh, please to let me bandage them; I will do it very +softly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't think much of that," I replied; "I shall put some goose +grease to them. But how you are looking at me! I never saw one like +you before. My name is John Ridd. What is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Lorna Doone," she answered, in a low voice, as if afraid of it, and +hanging her head so that I could see only her forehead and +eyelashes; "if you please, my name is Lorna Doone, and I thought you +must have known it."</p> + +<p>Young and harmless as she was, her name alone made guilt of her. +Nevertheless, I could not help looking at her tenderly, and the more +when her blushes turned into tears, and her tears to long, low sobs.</p> + +<p>"Don't cry," I said, "whatever you do. I am sure you have never done +any harm. I will give you all my fish, Lorna, and catch some more +for mother; only don't be angry with me."</p> + +<p>She flung her soft arms up in the passion of her tears, and looked +at me so piteously that what did I do but kiss her. It seemed to be +a very odd thing, when I came to think of it, because I hated +kissing so, as all honest boys must do. But she touched my heart +with a sudden delight.</p> + +<p>She gave me no encouragement, as my mother in her place would have +done; nay, she even wiped her lips (which methought was rather rude +of her), and drew away, and smoothed her dress, as if I had used a +freedom.</p> + +<p>I, for my part, being vexed at her behavior to me, took up all my +things to go, and made a fuss about it, to let her know I was going. +But she did not call me back at all, as I had made sure she would +do; moreover, I knew that to try the + +<!-- Page 81 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +descent was almost certain +death to me, and it looked as dark as pitch; and so at the mouth I +turned round again, and came back to her, and said, "Lorna."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I thought you were gone," she answered; "why did you ever come +here? Do you know what they would do to us if they found you here +with me?"</p> + +<p>"Beat us, I dare say, very hard, or me at least. They could never +beat you."</p> + +<p>"No. They would kill us both outright, and bury us here by the +water; and the water often tells me that I must come to that."</p> + +<p>"But what should they kill me for?"</p> + +<p>"Because you have found the way up here, and they could never +believe it. Now, please to go; oh please go. They will kill us both +in a moment. Yes, I like you very much"—for I was teasing her to +say it—"very much indeed, and I will call you John Ridd, if you +like; only please to go, John. And when your feet are well, you +know, you can come and tell me how they are."</p> + +<p>"But I tell you, Lorna, I like you very much indeed, nearly as much +as Annie, and a great deal more than Lizzie. And I never saw any one +like you; and I must come back again to-morrow, and so must you, to +see me; and I will bring you such lots of things—there are apples +still, and a thrush that I caught, with only one leg broken, and our +dog has just had puppies—"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear! they won't let me have a dog. There is not a dog in the +valley. They say that they are such noisy things—"</p> + +<p>"Only put your hands in mine—what little things they are, +Lorna!—and I will bring you the loveliest dog; I will show you just +how long he is."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" A shout came down the valley, and all my heart was +trembling, like water after sunset, and Lorna's face was altered +from pleasant play to terror. She shrunk to me, and looked up at me, +with such a power of weakness, that I at once made up my mind to +save her or die with her. A tingle went through all my bones, and I +only longed for my carbine. The little girl took courage from me, +and put her cheek quite close to mine.</p> + +<p>"Come with me down the water-fall. I can carry you easily, and +mother will take care of you."</p> + +<p>"No, no," she cried, as I took her up; "I will tell you what to + +<!-- Page 82 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +do. They are only looking for me. You see that hole, that hole there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see it; but they will see me crossing the grass to get +there."</p> + +<p>"Look, look!" She could hardly speak. "There is a way out from the +top of it; they would kill me if I told it. Oh, here they come; I +can see them." Then she began to sob aloud, being so young and +unready. But I drew her behind the withy-bushes, and close down to +the water, where it was quiet and shelving deep, ere it came to the +lip of the chasm. Here they could not see either of us from the +upper valley.</p> + +<p>Crouching in that hollow nest, as children get together in ever so +little compass, I saw a dozen fierce men come down on the other side +of the water, not bearing any fire-arms, but looking lax and jovial, +as if they were come from riding and a dinner taken hungrily. +"Queen, queen!" they were shouting, here and there, and now and +then; "where the pest is our little queen gone?"</p> + +<p>"They always call me 'queen,' and I am to be queen by-and-by," Lorna +whispered to me, with her soft cheek on my rough one, and her little +heart beating against me; "oh, they are crossing by the timber +there, and then they are sure to see us."</p> + +<p>"Stop," said I; "now I see what to do. I must get into the water, +and you must go to sleep."</p> + +<p>"To be sure, yes; away in the meadow there. But how bitter cold it +will be for you!"</p> + +<p>She saw in a moment the way to do it sooner than I could tell her; +and there was no time to lose.</p> + +<p>"Now, mind you, never come again," she whispered over her shoulder, +as she crept away with a childish twist, hiding her white front from +me; "only I shall come sometimes—oh, here they are, Madonna!"</p> + +<p>Daring scarce to peep, I crept into the water, and lay down bodily +in it, with my head between two blocks of stone, and some flood +drift combing over me. I knew that for her sake I was bound to be +brave and hide myself. She was lying beneath a rock, thirty or forty +yards from me, feigning to be fast asleep, with her dress spread +beautifully, and her hair drawn over her.</p> + +<p>Presently one of the great, rough men came round a corner upon her; +and there he stopped and gazed a while at her fairness + +<!-- Page 83 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +and her +innocence. Then he caught her up in his arms, and kissed her so that +I heard him; and if I had only brought my gun, I would have tried to +shoot him.</p> + +<p>"Here our queen is! Here's the queen; here's the captain's +daughter!" he shouted to his comrades; "fast asleep, and hearty! Now +I have first claim to her; and no one else shall touch the child. +Back to the bottle, all of you!"</p> + +<p>He set her dainty little form upon his great, square shoulder, and +her narrow feet in one broad hand; and so in triumph marched away.</p> + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<div class="subheader"><p>[After this, John and Lorna met often in a secret place, where there +was little chance of discovery. It was decided by the family that +Lorna should be the wife of Carver Doone, the leader of the band, +but as she was unwilling, and Grandfather Doone, the retiring +leader, would not permit them to compel her, years went by without +Carver accomplishing his purpose. Finally Lorna came no more to the +trysting place, so that John suspected she had been put in a +dungeon. He resolved to gain an entrance to the Doone village, and, +after a desperate night adventure, succeeded.]</p></div> + +<p>My heart was in my mouth, as they say, when I stood in the shade of +Lorna's window, and whispered her name gently. But, though the +window was not very close, I might have whispered long enough before +she would have answered me, frightened as she was, no doubt, by many +a rude overture. And I durst not speak aloud, because I saw another +watchman posted on the western cliff, and commanding all the valley. +And now this man espied me against the wall of the house, and +advanced against the brink and challenged me.</p> + +<p>"Who are you, there? Answer! One, two, three; and I fire at thee."</p> + +<p>The nozzle of his gun was pointed full upon me, as I could see, with +the moonlight striking on the barrel; he was not more than fifty +yards off, and now he began to reckon. Being almost desperate about +it, I began to whistle, wondering how far I should get before I lost +my windpipe; and, as luck would have it, my lips fell into that +strange tune I had practiced + +<!-- Page 84 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +last,—the one I heard from Charlie +Doone. My mouth would scarcely frame the notes, being parched with +terror; but, to my surprise, the man fell back, dropped his gun and +saluted. Oh, sweetest of all sweet melodies!</p> + +<p>That tune was Carver Doone's passport (as I heard long afterward), +which Charleworth Doone had imitated, for decoy of Lorna. The +sentinel took me for that vile Carver, who was like enough to be +prowling there, for private talk with Lorna, but not very likely to +shout forth his name, if it might be avoided. The watchman, +perceiving the danger, perhaps, of intruding on Carver's privacy, +not only retired along the cliff, but withdrew himself to good +distance.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile he had done me the kindest service; for Lorna came to the +window at once to see what the cause of the shout was, and drew back +the curtain timidly. Then she opened the rough lattice; and then she +watched the cliff and trees; and then she sighed very sadly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lorna, don't you know me?" I whispered from the side, being +afraid of startling her by appearing over suddenly.</p> + +<p>Quick though she was of thought, she knew me not from my whisper, +and was shutting the window hastily, when I caught it back and +showed myself.</p> + +<p>"John!" she cried, yet with sense enough not to speak aloud; "oh, +you must be mad, John!"</p> + +<p>"As mad as a March hare," said I, "without any news of my darling. +You knew I would come—of course you did."</p> + +<p>"Well, I thought, perhaps—you know; now, John, you need not eat my +hand. Do you see, they have put iron bars across?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure. Do you think I should be contented even with this +lovely hand, but for these vile iron bars? I will have them out +before I go. Now, darling, for one moment—just the other hand, for +a change, you know."</p> + +<p>So I got the other, but was not honest; for I kept them both, and +felt their delicate beauty trembling as I laid them to my heart.</p> + +<p>"Oh, John, you will make me cry directly"—she had been crying long +ago—"if you go on in that way. You know we can never have one +another; every one is against it. Why should I make you miserable? +Try not to think of me any more."</p> + +<p>"And will you try the same of me, Lorna?"</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 85 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"Oh yes, John; if you agree to it. At least I will try to try it."</p> + +<p>"Then you won't try anything of the sort," I cried, with great +enthusiasm, for her tone was so nice and melancholy; "the only thing +we will try to try is to belong to one another. And if we do our +best, Lorna, God alone can prevent us."</p> + +<p>She crossed herself with one hand drawn free, as I spoke so boldly; +and something swelled in her little throat, and prevented her from +answering.</p> + +<p>"Now tell me," I said; "what means all this? Why are you so pent up +here? Why have you given me no token? Has your grandfather turned +against you? Are you in any danger?"</p> + +<p>"My poor grandfather is very ill. I fear that he will not live long. +The Counselor and his son are now masters of the valley; and I dare +not venture forth for fear of anything they might do to me. When I +went forth to signal for you, Carver tried to seize me; but I was +too quick for him. Little Gwenny is not allowed to leave the valley +now, so that I could send no message. I have been so wretched, dear, +lest you should think me false to you. The tyrants now make sure of +me. You must watch this house both night and day, if you wish to +save me. There is nothing they would shrink from, if my poor +grandfather—oh, I cannot bear to think of myself, when I ought to +think of him only; dying without a son to tend him or a daughter to +shed a tear."</p> + +<p>"But surely he has sons enough; and a deal too many," I was going to +say, but stopped myself in time. "Why do none of them come to him?"</p> + +<p>"I know not. I cannot tell. He is a very strange old man, and few +have ever loved him. He was black with wrath at the Counselor this +afternoon—but I must not keep you here—you are much too brave, +John; and I am too selfish; there, what was that shadow?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing more than a bat, darling, come to look for his sweetheart. +I will not stay long; you tremble so; and yet for that very reason +how can I leave you, Lorna?"</p> + +<p>"You must—you must," she answered; "I shall die if they hurt you. I +hear the old nurse moving. Grandfather is sure to send for me. Keep +back from the window."</p> + +<p>However, it was only Gwenny Carfax, Lorna's little handmaid; my +darling brought her to the window and presented her to me, almost +laughing through her grief.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 86 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"Oh, I am so glad, John; Gwenny, I am so glad you came. I have +wanted long to introduce you to my 'young man,' as you call him. It +is rather dark, but you can see him. I wish you to know him again, +Gwenny."</p> + +<p>"Whoy!" cried Gwenny, with great amazement, standing on tiptoe to +look out, and staring as if she were weighing me; "he be bigger nor +any Doone! I shall knoo thee again, young man; no fear of that," she +answered, nodding with an air of patronage. "Now, missis, gae on +coortin', and I will gae outside and watch for 'ee." Though +expressed not over-delicately, this proposal arose, no doubt, from +Gwenny's sense of delicacy; and I was very thankful to her for +taking her departure.</p> + +<p>"She is the best little thing in the world," said Lorna, softly, +laughing, "and the queerest, and the truest. Nothing will bribe her +against me. If she seems to be on the other side, never, never doubt +her. Now, no more of your 'coortin',' John. I love you far too well +for that. Yes, yes, ever so much! If you will take a mean advantage +of me—as much as ever you like to imagine; and then you may double +it after that. Only go, do go, good John; kind, dear, darling John; +if you love me, go."</p> + +<p>"How can I go without settling anything?" I asked, very sensibly. +"How shall I know of your danger now? Hit upon something; you are so +quick. Anything you can think of; and then I will go, and not +frighten you."</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking long of something," Lorna answered, rapidly, +with that peculiar clearness of voice which made every syllable ring +like music of a several note. "You see that tree with the seven +rooks' nests, bright against the cliffs there? Can you count them +from above, do you think? From a place where you would be safe, +dear?"</p> + +<p>"No doubt I can; or, if I cannot, it will not take me long to find a +spot whence I can do it."</p> + +<p>"Gwenny can climb like any cat. She has been up there in the summer +watching the young birds day by day, and daring the boys to touch +them. There are neither birds nor eggs there now, of course, and +nothing doing. If you see but six rooks' nests, I am in peril, and +want you. If you see but five, I am carried off by Carver."</p> + +<p>"Good God!" said I, at the mere idea, in a tone which frightened +Lorna.</p> + +<p>"Fear not, John," she whispered, sadly, and my blood grew + +<!-- Page 87 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +cold at +it; "I have means to stop him, or at least to save myself. If you +can come within one day of that man's getting hold of me, you will +find me quite unharmed. After that you will find me, dead or alive, +according to circumstances, but in no case such that you need blush +to look at me."</p> + +<p>I only said, "God bless you, darling!" and she said the same to me, +in a very low, sad voice. And then I stole below Carver's house in +the shadow from the eastern cliff; and, knowing enough of the +village now to satisfy all necessity, betook myself to my well-known +track in returning from the valley.</p> + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<div class="subheader"><p>[It was not long after this that John Ridd saw the signal that Lorna +was in danger. With the aid of friends he planned and successfully +executed a raid upon the Doone village, and carried away Lorna to +his mother's house. Subsequently the Doones attacked the house where +Lorna was staying, but John Ridd and his friends were prepared to +meet them, as is related in the following scene:]</p></div> + +<p>It was not likely that the outlaws would attack our premises until +some time after the moon was risen, because it would be too +dangerous to cross the flooded valleys in the darkness of the night. +And, but for this consideration, I must have striven harder against +the stealthy approach of slumber. But even so, it was very foolish +to abandon watch, especially in such as I, who sleep like any +dormouse. Moreover, I had chosen the very worst place in the world +for such employment, with a goodly chance of awaking in a bed of +solid fire.</p> + +<p>And so it might have been—nay, it must have been—but for Lorna's +vigilance. Her light hand upon my arm awoke me, not too readily, +and, leaping up, I seized my club, and prepared to knock down +somebody.</p> + +<p>"Who's that?" I cried. "Stand back, I say, and let me have a fair +chance at you."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to knock me down, dear John?" replied the voice I +love so well. "I am sure I should never get up again, after one blow +from you, John."</p> + +<p>"My darling, is it you?" I cried; "and breaking all your orders? + +<!-- Page 88 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +Come back into the house at once; and nothing on your head, dear."</p> + +<p>"How could I sleep, while at any moment you might be killed beneath +my window? And now is the time of real danger, for men can see to +travel."</p> + +<p>I saw at once the truth of this. The moon was high and clearly +lighting all the watered valleys. To sleep any longer might be +death, not only to myself, but all.</p> + +<p>"The man on guard at the back of the house is fast asleep," she +continued; "Gwenny, who let me out, and came with me, has heard him +snoring for two hours. I think the women ought to be the watch, +because they have had no traveling. Where do you suppose little +Gwenny is?"</p> + +<p>"Surely not gone to Glen Doone?" I was not sure, however, for I +could believe almost anything of the Cornish maiden's hardihood.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Lorna, "although she wanted even to do that. But, of +course, I would not hear of it, on account of the swollen waters. +But she is perched in yonder tree, which commands the Barrow Valley. +She says that they are almost sure to cross the streamlet there."</p> + +<p>"What a shame," I cried, "that the men should sleep and the maidens +be the soldiers! I will sit in that tree myself, and send little +Gwenny back to you. Go to bed, my best and dearest; I will take good +care not to sleep again."</p> + +<p>Before I had been long on duty, making the round of the ricks and +the stables, and hailing Gwenny now and then from the bottom of her +tree, a short, wide figure stole toward me, in and out the shadows, +and I saw that it was no other than the little maid herself, and +that she bore some tidings.</p> + +<p>"Ten on 'em crossed the water down yonder," said Gwenny, putting her +hand to her mouth, and seeming to regard it as good news rather than +otherwise; "be arl craping up by the hedgerow now. I could shutt +dree on 'em from the bar of the gate, if so be I had your goon, +young man."</p> + +<p>"There is no time to lose, Gwenny. Run to the house and fetch Master +Stickles, and all the men while I stay here and watch the +rick-yard."</p> + +<p>The robbers rode into our yard as coolly as if they had been +invited, having lifted the gate from the hinges first, on account of +its being fastened. Then they actually opened our stable doors, and +turned our honest horses out, and put their own rogues in place of +them. At this my breath was quite + +<!-- Page 89 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +taken away, for we think so much +of our horses. By this time I could see our troopers waiting in the +shadow of the house round the corner from where the Doones were, and +expecting the order to fire; but Jeremy Stickles very wisely kept +them in readiness until the enemy should advance upon them.</p> + +<p>"Two of you lazy fellows go,"—it was the deep voice of Carver +Doone, "and make us a light to cut their throats by. Only one thing, +once again. If any man touches Lorna, I will stab him where he +stands. She belongs to me. There are two other young damsels here, +whom you may take away if you please. And the mother, I hear, is +still comely. Now for our rights. We have borne too long the +insolence of these yokels. Kill every man and every child, and burn +this cursed place down."</p> + +<p>Presently two young men came toward me, bearing brands of resined +hemp, kindled from Carver's lamp. The foremost of them set his torch +to the rick within a yard of me, the smoke concealing me from him. I +struck him with a backhanded blow on the elbow as he bent it, and I +heard the bone of his arm break as clearly as ever I heard a twig +snap. With a roar of pain, he fell on the ground, and his torch +dropped there and singed him. The other man stood amazed at this, +not having yet gained sight of me, till I caught his fire-brand from +his hand, and struck it into his countenance. With that he leaped at +me, but I caught him in a manner learned from early wrestling, and +snapped his collar bone, as I laid him upon the top of his comrade.</p> + +<p>This little success so encouraged me that I was half inclined to +advance and challenge Carver Doone to meet me; but I bore in mind +that he would be apt to shoot me without ceremony; and what is the +utmost of human strength against the power of powder? Moreover, I +remembered my promise to sweet Lorna; and who would be left to +defend her, if the rogues got rid of me?</p> + +<p>While I was hesitating thus, a blaze of fire lit up the house, and +brown smoke hung around it. Six of our men had let go at the Doones, +by Jeremy Stickles's order, as the villains came swaggering down in +the moonlight ready for rape or murder. Two of them fell, and the +rest hung back, to think at their leisure what this was. They were +not used to this sort of thing; it was neither just nor courteous.</p> + +<p>Being unable any longer to contain myself, as I thought of + +<!-- Page 90 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +Lorna's +excitement at all this noise of firing, I ran across the yard, +expecting whether they would shoot at me. However, no one shot at +me; and I went up to Carver Doone, whom I knew by his size in the +moonlight, and I took him by the beard and said, "Do you call +yourself a man?"</p> + +<p>For a moment he was so astonished that he could not answer. None had +ever dared, I suppose, to look at him in that way. And then he tried +a pistol at me; but I was too quick for him.</p> + +<p>"Now, Carver, take warning," I said to him, very soberly; "you have +shown yourself a fool by your contempt of me. I may not be your +match in craft, but I am in manhood. You are a despicable villain. +Lie low in your native muck."</p> + +<p>And with that word I laid him flat upon his back in our straw-yard +by the trick of the inner heel, which he could not have resisted +unless he were a wrestler. Seeing him down, the others ran, though +one of them made a shot at me, and some of them got their horses +before our men came up, and some went away without them. And among +these last was Captain Carver, who arose while I was feeling myself +(for I had a little wound), and strode away with a train of curses +enough to poison the light of the moon.</p> + +<h3>IV.</h3> + +<div class="subheader"><p>[Through many vicissitudes and many dangers, Lorna and John spend +the months following the incident just related. John learns that +Lorna is, after all, not a Doone, but the daughter of a family the +Doones had waylaid. John's father had also been murdered by the +Doones when John was a lad at school. The following scene carries +its own story:]</p></div> + +<p>Everything was settled smoothly and without any fear or fuss that +Lorna might find end of troubles, and myself of eager waiting, with +the help of Parson Bowden, and the good wishes of two counties. We +heard that people meant to come for more than thirty miles around, +upon excuse of seeing my stature and Lorna's beauty; but in good +truth, out of sheer curiosity and the love of meddling.</p> + +<p>Dear mother arranged all the ins and outs of the way in which it was +to be done; and Annie and Lizzie made such a sweeping of dresses +that I scarcely knew where to place my feet, and longed for a staff +to put by their gowns. Then Lorna + +<!-- Page 91 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +came out of a pew half-way, in a +manner which quite astonished me, and took my left hand in her +right, and I prayed God that it were done with.</p> + +<p>My darling looked so glorious that I was afraid of glancing at her, +yet took in all her beauty. I was afraid to look at her, except when +each of us said, "I will," and then each dwelt upon the other.</p> + +<p>It is impossible for any who have not loved as I have to conceive my +joy and pride when, after ring and all was done, and the parson had +blessed us, Lorna turned to look at me with her glances of subtle +fun subdued by this great act.</p> + +<p>Her eyes, which none on earth may ever equal or compare with, told +me such a depth of comfort, yet awaiting further commune, that I was +almost amazed, thoroughly as I knew them. Darling eyes, the sweetest +eyes, the loveliest, the most loving eyes—the sound of a shot rang +through the church, and those eyes were filled with death.</p> + +<p>Lorna fell across my knees when I was going to kiss her, a flood of +blood came out upon the yellow wood of the altar steps, and at my +feet lay Lorna, trying to tell me some last message out of her +faithful eyes. I lifted her up, and petted her, and coaxed her, but +it was no good; the only sign of life remaining was a spot of bright +red blood.</p> + +<p>She sighed a long sigh on my breast, for her last farewell to life, +and then she grew so cold, and cold, that I asked the time of the +year.</p> + +<p>Of course I knew who had done it. There was but one man in the +world, or, at any rate, in our part of it, who would have done such +a thing—such a thing. I use no harsher word about it, while I +leaped upon our best horse, with bridle, but no saddle, and set the +head of Kickums toward the course now pointed out to me. Who showed +me the course I cannot tell. I only knew that I took it. And the men +fell back before me.</p> + +<p>Weapon of no sort had I. Unarmed, and wondering at my strange attire +(with a bridal vest wrought by our Annie, and red with the blood of +the bride), I went forth just to find out this—whether in this +world there be or be not God of justice.</p> + +<p>With my vicious horse at a furious speed, I came upon Black Barrow +Down, directed by some shout of men, which seemed to me but a +whisper. And there, about a furlong before me, rode a man on a great +black horse, and I knew that the man was Carver Doone.</p> + +<div> +<!-- Page 92 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +</div> + +<p>"Your life, or mine," I said to myself; "as the will of God may be. +But we two live not upon this earth one more hour together."</p> + +<p>I knew the strength of this great man; and I knew that he was armed +with a gun—if he had time to load again, after shooting my +Lorna—or at any rate with pistols, and a horseman's sword, as well. +Nevertheless, I had no more doubt of killing the man before me than +a cook has of spitting a headless fowl.</p> + +<p>Sometimes seeing no ground beneath me, and sometimes heeding every +leaf, and the crossing of the grass-blades, I followed over the long +moor, reckless whether seen or not. But only once the other man +turned and looked back again, and then I was beside a rock, with a +reedy swamp behind me.</p> + +<p>Although he was so far before me, and riding as hard as ride he +might, I saw that he had something on the horse in front of him, +something which needed care, and stopped him from looking backward. +In the whirling of my wits I fancied first that this was Lorna; +until the scene I had been through fell across my hot brain and +heart, like the drop at the close of a tragedy. Rushing there +through crag and quag at utmost speed of a maddened horse, as of +another's fate, calmly (as on canvas laid), the brutal deed, the +piteous anguish, and the cold despair.</p> + +<p>The man turned up the gully leading from the moor to Cloven Rocks. +But, as Carver entered it, he turned round and beheld me not a +hundred yards behind; and I saw that he was bearing his child, +little Ensie, before him. Ensie also descried me, and stretched his +hands and cried to me; for the face of his father frightened him.</p> + +<p>Carver Doone, with a vile oath, thrust spurs into his flagging +horse, and laid one hand on a pistol stock, whence I knew that his +slung carbine has received no bullet since the one that had pierced +Lorna. And a cry of triumph rose from the black depths of my heart. +What cared I for pistols? I had no spurs, neither was my horse one +to need the rowel; I rather held him in than urged him, for he was +fresh as ever; and I knew that the black steed in front, if he +breasted the steep ascent, where the track divided, must be in our +reach at once.</p> + +<p>His rider knew this, and, having no room in the rocky channel to +turn and fire, drew rein at the crossways sharply, and plunged into +the black ravine leading to the Wizard's Slough. + +<!-- Page 93 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +"Is it so?" I said +to myself, with brain and head cold as iron; "though the foul fiend +come from the slough to save thee, thou shalt carve it, Carver."</p> + +<p>I followed my enemy carefully, steadily, even leisurely—for I had +him as in a pitfall, whence no escape might be. He thought that I +feared to approach him, for he knew not where he was; and his low, +disdainful laugh came back.</p> + +<p>"Laugh he who wins," thought I.</p> + +<p>A gnarled and half-starved oak, as stubborn as my own resolve, and +smitten by some storm of old, hung from the crag above me. Rising +from my horse's back, although I had no stirrups, I caught a limb, +and tore it (like a mere wheat-awn) from the socket. Men show the +rent even now with wonder—none with more wonder than myself.</p> + +<p>Carver Doone turned the corner suddenly on the black and bottomless +bog; with a start of fear he reigned back his horse, and I thought +he would have turned upon me. Upon this he made up his mind; and, +wheeling, fired, and then rode at me.</p> + +<p>His bullet struck me somewhere, but I took no heed of that. Fearing +only his escape, I laid my horse across the way, and with the limb +of the oak struck full on the forehead his charging steed. Ere the +slash of the sword came nigh me, man and horse rolled over, and +well-nigh bore my own horse down with the power of their onset.</p> + +<p>Carver Doone was somewhat stunned, and could not arise for a moment. +Meanwhile I leaped on the ground and waited, smoothing my hair back +and baring my arm as though in the ring for wrestling. Then the +little boy ran to me, clasped my leg, and looked up at me; and the +terror in his eyes made me almost fear myself.</p> + +<p>"Ensie, dear," I said, quite gently, grieving that he should see his +wicked father killed, "run up yonder round the corner, and try to +find a pretty bunch of bluebells for the lady." The child obeyed me, +hanging back, and looking back, and then laughing, while I prepared +for business. There and then I might have killed my enemy with a +single blow while he lay unconscious, but it would have been foul +play.</p> + +<p>With a sudden and black scowl, the Carver gathered his mighty limbs +and arose, and looked round for his weapons; but I had put them well +away. Then he came to me and gazed, being wont to frighten thus +young men.</p> + +<p>"I would not harm you, lad," he said, with a lofty style of +sneering. "I have punished you enough, for most of your +impertinence. + +<!-- Page 94 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +For the rest I forgive you, because you have been good +and gracious to my little son. Go and be contented."</p> + +<p>For answer I smote him on the cheek, lightly, and not to hurt him, +but to make his blood leap up. I would not sully my tongue by +speaking to a man like this.</p> + +<p>I think he felt that his time was come; I think that he knew from my +knotted muscles and the firm arch of my breast, and the way in which +I stood, but most of all from my stern blue eyes, that he had found +his master. At any rate a paleness came, an ashy paleness on his +cheeks, and the vast calves of his legs bowed in as if he was out of +training.</p> + +<p>Seeing this, villain as he was, I offered him first chance. I +stretched forth my left hand, as I do to a weaker antagonist, and I +let him have the hug of me. But in this I was too generous; having +forgotten my pistol-wound, and the cracking of one of my short lower +ribs. Carver Doone caught me round the waist with such a grip as +never yet had been laid upon me.</p> + +<p>I heard my rib go; I grasped his arm, and tore the muscle out of it +(as the string comes out of an orange); then I took him by the +throat, which is not allowed in wrestling, but he had snatched at +mine; and now was no time of dalliance. In vain he tugged and +strained, and writhed, and dashed his bleeding fist into my face, +and flung himself on me with gnashing jaws. Beneath the iron of my +strength—for God that day was with me—I had him helpless in two +minutes, and his fiery eyes lolled out.</p> + +<p>"I will not harm thee any more," I cried, so far as I could for +panting, the work being very furious. "Carver Doone, thou art +beaten; own it, and thank God for it; and go thy way, and repent +thyself."</p> + +<p>It was all too late. Even if he had yielded in his ravening +frenzy—for his beard was like a mad dog's jowl—even if he would +have owned that for the first time in his life he had found his +master, it was all too late.</p> + +<p>The black bog had him by the feet; the sucking of the ground drew +him on, like the thirsty lips of death. In our fury we had heeded +neither wet nor dry; nor thought of earth beneath us. I myself might +scarcely leap, with the last spring of o'erlabored legs, from the +ingulfing grave of slime. He fell back, with his swarthy breast, +like a hummock of bog-oak, standing out the quagmire; and then he +tossed his arms + +<!-- Page 95 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +to heaven, and they were black to the elbow, and +the glare of his eyes was ghastly. I could only gaze and pant, for +my strength was no more than an infant's, from the fury and the +horror. Scarcely could I turn away, while, joint by joint, he sunk +from sight.</p> + +<p>When the little boy came back with the bluebells, which he had +managed to find, the only sign of his father left was a dark brown +bubble upon a new-formed patch of blackness. But to the center of +its pulpy gorge the greedy slough was heaving, and sullenly grinding +its weltering jaws among the flags and sedges.</p> + +<p>With pain and ache, both of mind and body, and shame at my own fury, +I heavily mounted my horse again, and looked down at the innocent +Ensie. Would this playful loving child grow up like his cruel +father, and end a godless life of hatred with a death of violence? +He lifted his noble forehead toward me, as if to answer, "Nay, I +will not"; but the words he spoke were these:</p> + +<p>"Don"—for he never could say "John"—"oh Don, I am so glad that +nasty, naughty man is gone away. Take me home, Don. Take me home."</p> + +<p>It hurt me more than I can tell, even through all other grief, to +take into my arms the child of the man just slain by me. But I could +not leave him there till some one else might fetch him, on account +of the cruel slough, and the ravens which had come hovering over the +dead horse; neither could I, with my wound, tie him on my horse and +walk.</p> + +<p>For now I had spent a great deal of blood, and was rather faint and +weary. And it was luck for me that Kickums had lost spirit like his +master, and went home as mildly as a lamb. For, when we came toward +the farm, I seemed to be riding in a dream almost; and the voices of +both men and women (who had hurried forth upon my track), as they +met me, seemed to wander from a distant, muffling cloud. Only the +thought of Lorna's death, like a heavy knell, was tolling in the +belfry of my brain.</p> + +<p>When we came to the stable door I rather fell from my horse than got +off; and John Fry, with a look of wonder, took Kickum's head and led +him in. Into the old farmhouse I tottered, like a weanling child, +with mother, in her common clothes, helping me along, yet fearing, +except by stealth, to look at me.</p> + +<p>"I have killed him," was all I said, "even as he killed Lorna. + +<!-- Page 96 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +Now +let me see my wife, mother. She belongs to me none the less, though +dead."</p> + +<p>"You cannot see her now, dear John," said Ruth Huckaback, coming +forward, since no one else had the courage.</p> + +<p>"Annie is with her now, John."</p> + +<p>"What has that to do with it? Let me see my dead and pray to die."</p> + +<p>All the women fell away and whispered, and looked at me with side +glances, and some sobbing, for my face was hard as flint. Ruth alone +stood by me, and dropped her eyes and trembled. Then one little hand +of hers stole into my great shaking palm, and the other was laid on +my tattered coat; yet with her clothes she shunned my blood, while +she whispered gently:</p> + +<p>"John, she is not dead. She may even be your living one yet—your +wife, your home, and your happiness. But you must not see her now."</p> + +<p>Now, whether it was the light and brightness of my Lorna's nature, +or the freedom from anxiety, but anyhow, one thing is certain; sure +as the stars of hope above us, Lorna recovered long ere I did.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div><a name="The_Sky" id="The_Sky"></a></div> + +<h2>The Sky</h2> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sky is a drinking-cup,</span> +<span class="i2">That was overturned of old,</span> +<span class="i0">And it pours in the eyes of men</span> +<span class="i2">Its wines of airy gold.</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We drink that wine all day,</span> +<span class="i2">Till the last drop is drained up,</span> +<span class="i0">And are lighted off to bed</span> +<span class="i2">By the jewels in the cup!</span> +</div> + +<span class="i4">—<i>Richard Henry Stoddard</i>.</span> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/speaker_toc_header.png" width="650" height="150" alt="The Speaker: Table of Contents" /> +</div> + +<div><a name="SPEAKER_CONTENTS" id="SPEAKER_CONTENTS"></a></div> + +<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> + +<div><a name="TOC_No._1" id="TOC_No._1"></a></div> + +<h3><span class="smcap size125">No. 1</span></h3> + +<div class="center"> +<table class="contents" summary="TOC No. 1"> + +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Editorials</td> +<td class="toc2"> </td> +<td class="toc3">1-4</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Artist's Secret</td> +<td class="toc2">Olive Schreiner</td> +<td class="toc3">5</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The History Lesson from L'Aiglon</td> +<td class="toc2">Edmund Rostand</td> +<td class="toc3">6</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Dawn</td> +<td class="toc2">Paul Laurence Dunbar</td> +<td class="toc3">11</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Bill, the Lokil Editor</td> +<td class="toc2">Eugene Field</td> +<td class="toc3">12</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Arena Scene from Quo Vadis</td> +<td class="toc2">Henry Sienkiewicz</td> +<td class="toc3">15</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Cushville Hop</td> +<td class="toc2">Ben King</td> +<td class="toc3">21</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Sonny's Christening</td> +<td class="toc2">Ruth McEnery Stuart</td> +<td class="toc3">22</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">How She Went into Business</td> +<td class="toc2">Joel Chandler Harris</td> +<td class="toc3">28</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Leadership of Educated Men</td> +<td class="toc2">George William Curtis</td> +<td class="toc3">34</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Jean Valjean and the Bishop</td> +<td class="toc2">Victor Hugo</td> +<td class="toc3">38</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Coom, Lassie, Be Good to Me</td> +<td class="toc2">Charles McIlvaine</td> +<td class="toc3">43</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Bird in the Hand</td> +<td class="toc2">F. S. Weatherby</td> +<td class="toc3">44</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Slow Man</td> +<td class="toc2">Ernest Poole</td> +<td class="toc3">45</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Emmy Lou</td> +<td class="toc2">George Madden Martin</td> +<td class="toc3">49</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Glory</td> +<td class="toc2">John Luther Long</td> +<td class="toc3">53</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Rose and the Gardener</td> +<td class="toc2">Austin Dobson</td> +<td class="toc3">57</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Cap that Fits</td> +<td class="toc2">Austin Dobson</td> +<td class="toc3">58</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Cure's Progress</td> +<td class="toc2">Austin Dobson</td> +<td class="toc3">60</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Philosopher in the Apple Orchard</td> +<td class="toc2">Anthony Hope</td> +<td class="toc3">61</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Photograph</td> +<td class="toc2">Paul Laurence Dunbar</td> +<td class="toc3">67</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Message to Garcia</td> +<td class="toc2">Elbert Hubbard</td> +<td class="toc3">68</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Lovey-Loves</td> +<td class="toc2">Ben King</td> +<td class="toc3">69</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Fall of the House of Usher</td> +<td class="toc2">Edgar Allan Poe</td> +<td class="toc3">70</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Nini, Ninette, Ninon</td> +<td class="toc2">Frederick S. Weatherby</td> +<td class="toc3">77</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">With Any Amazement</td> +<td class="toc2">Rudyard Kipling</td> +<td class="toc3">78</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">One, Two, Three</td> +<td class="toc2">H. C. Bunner</td> +<td class="toc3">83</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Mr. Dooley, on the Grip</td> +<td class="toc2"> </td> +<td class="toc3">85</td> +</tr> + +</table> +</div> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<div><a name="TOC_No._2" id="TOC_No._2"></a></div> + +<h3><span class="smcap size125">No. 2</span></h3> + +<div class="center"> +<table class="contents" summary="TOC No. 2"> + +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Editorials</td> +<td class="toc2"> </td> +<td class="toc3">97-100</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Sign of the Cross</td> +<td class="toc2">Wilson Barrett</td> +<td class="toc3">101</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">My Heart Leaps Up When I Behold</td> +<td class="toc2">William Wordsworth</td> +<td class="toc3">105</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">"Gentlemen, the King"</td> +<td class="toc2">Robert Barr</td> +<td class="toc3">106</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Only Way</td> +<td class="toc2">Charles Dickens</td> +<td class="toc3">111</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The New Americanism</td> +<td class="toc2">Henry Watterson</td> +<td class="toc3">114</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Plea for Patriotism</td> +<td class="toc2">Benjamin Harrison</td> +<td class="toc3">116</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Fame</td> +<td class="toc2">Ben Jonson</td> +<td class="toc3">117</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Independence of Cuba</td> +<td class="toc2">J. M. Thurston</td> +<td class="toc3">118</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Children of the Poor</td> +<td class="toc2">Theodore Parker</td> +<td class="toc3">122</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Burns</td> +<td class="toc2">George William Curtis</td> +<td class="toc3">124</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Night in Ste. Pilagie</td> +<td class="toc2">Mary H. Catherwood</td> +<td class="toc3">127</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Call of the Wild</td> +<td class="toc2">Jack London</td> +<td class="toc3">131</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Prisoner of Zenda</td> +<td class="toc2">Anthony Hope</td> +<td class="toc3">135</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">In the Toils of the Enemy</td> +<td class="toc2">John S. Wood</td> +<td class="toc3">139</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Advocate's First Plea</td> +<td class="toc2">George Barr McCutcheon</td> +<td class="toc3">144</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Tell-Tale Heart</td> +<td class="toc2">Edgar Allan Poe</td> +<td class="toc3">148</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Trial of Ben Thomas</td> +<td class="toc2">H. S. Edwards</td> +<td class="toc3">151</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Even This Shall Pass Away</td> +<td class="toc2">Theodore Tilton</td> +<td class="toc3">155</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">On Milton</td> +<td class="toc2">John Dryden</td> +<td class="toc3">156</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Richelieu</td> +<td class="toc2">Bulwer Lytton</td> +<td class="toc3">157</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Flower in the Crannied Wall</td> +<td class="toc2">Lord Tennyson</td> +<td class="toc3">161</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Burgomaster's Death (from "The Bells")</td> +<td class="toc2"> </td> +<td class="toc3">162</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Jathrop Lathrop's Cow</td> +<td class="toc2">Anna Warner</td> +<td class="toc3">167</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Hunchback</td> +<td class="toc2">Sheridan Knowles</td> +<td class="toc3">172</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Love</td> +<td class="toc2">Shakespeare</td> +<td class="toc3">180</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Last Speech of William McKinley</td> +<td class="toc2"> </td> +<td class="toc3">181</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">For Dear Old Yale</td> +<td class="toc2">James Langston</td> +<td class="toc3">184</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Lance of Kanana</td> +<td class="toc2"> </td> +<td class="toc3">189</td> +</tr> + +</table> +</div> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<div><a name="TOC_No._3" id="TOC_No._3"></a></div> + +<h3><span class="smcap size125">No. 3</span></h3> + +<div class="center"> +<table class="contents" summary="TOC No. 3"> + +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Editorials</td> +<td class="toc2"> </td> +<td class="toc3">193-198</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Reading</td> +<td class="toc2">Elizabeth B. Browning</td> +<td class="toc3">198</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Shave-Store</td> +<td class="toc2">Edmund Vance Cooke</td> +<td class="toc3">199</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Moo-Cow-Moo</td> +<td class="toc2">Edmund Vance Cooke</td> +<td class="toc3">200</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Brother Wolf and the Horned Cattle</td> +<td class="toc2">Joel Chandler Harris</td> +<td class="toc3">201</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Summer Lullaby</td> +<td class="toc2">Eudora S. Bumstead</td> +<td class="toc3">204</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The First Nowell</td> +<td class="toc2">(Old Carol)</td> +<td class="toc3">205</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Riddle</td> +<td class="toc2">Jonathan Swift</td> +<td class="toc3">206</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Tiny Tim (from "A Christmas Carol")</td> +<td class="toc2">Charles Dickens</td> +<td class="toc3">207</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The American Flag</td> +<td class="toc2">Joseph R. Drake</td> +<td class="toc3">212</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Grace for a Child</td> +<td class="toc2">Robert Herrick</td> +<td class="toc3">212</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Fairies</td> +<td class="toc2">William Allingham</td> +<td class="toc3">213</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Rule for Birds' Nesters</td> +<td class="toc2">(Old Rhyme)</td> +<td class="toc3">214</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Queen Mab</td> +<td class="toc2">Thomas Hood</td> +<td class="toc3">215</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Star Song</td> +<td class="toc2">Robert Herrick</td> +<td class="toc3">216</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">O Little Town of Bethlehem</td> +<td class="toc2">Phillips Brooks</td> +<td class="toc3">217</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Santa Claus</td> +<td class="toc2">(Anonymous)</td> +<td class="toc3">218</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Recessional</td> +<td class="toc2">Rudyard Kipling</td> +<td class="toc3">219</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Bonniest Bairn in a' the Warl'</td> +<td class="toc2">Robert Ford</td> +<td class="toc3">220</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Flag Goes By</td> +<td class="toc2">Henry Holcomb Bennett</td> +<td class="toc3">221</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Pocahontas</td> +<td class="toc2">William Makepeace Thackeray</td> +<td class="toc3">222</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Farewell</td> +<td class="toc2">Charles Kingsley</td> +<td class="toc3">223</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Shepherd Boy Sings</td> +<td class="toc2">John Bunyan</td> +<td class="toc3">223</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Two Apple-Howling Songs</td> +<td class="toc2">(Old Rhymes)</td> +<td class="toc3">224</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Boy's Prayer</td> +<td class="toc2">Henry Charles Beeching</td> +<td class="toc3">224</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">To-day</td> +<td class="toc2">Thomas Carlyle</td> +<td class="toc3">225</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Be True</td> +<td class="toc2">Horatio Bonar</td> +<td class="toc3">225</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">My Native Land</td> +<td class="toc2">Sir Walter Scott</td> +<td class="toc3">226</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Green Things Growing</td> +<td class="toc2">Dinah Maria Mulock</td> +<td class="toc3">226</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Wonderful Country of Good-Boy Land</td> +<td class="toc2">Mary E. Blake</td> +<td class="toc3">227</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Fir-Tree</td> +<td class="toc2">Hans Christian Andersen</td> +<td class="toc3">229</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">From a Railway Carriage</td> +<td class="toc2">Robert Louis Stevenson</td> +<td class="toc3">233</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Land of Nod</td> +<td class="toc2">Robert Louis Stevenson</td> +<td class="toc3">234</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Burns</td> +<td class="toc2">George William Curtis</td> +<td class="toc3">124</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Whole Duty of Children</td> +<td class="toc2">Robert Louis Stevenson</td> +<td class="toc3">234</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Story of Joseph</td> +<td class="toc2">(Arranged from Genesis)</td> +<td class="toc3">235</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Auld Daddy Darkness</td> +<td class="toc2">James Ferguson</td> +<td class="toc3">240</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Owl and the Pussy-Cat</td> +<td class="toc2">Edward Lear</td> +<td class="toc3">241</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Angel's Whisper</td> +<td class="toc2">Samuel Lover</td> +<td class="toc3">242</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Going into Breeches</td> +<td class="toc2">Charles and Mary Lamb</td> +<td class="toc3">243</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Lost Doll</td> +<td class="toc2">Charles Kingsley</td> +<td class="toc3">244</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Baby Corn</td> +<td class="toc2">(Unknown)</td> +<td class="toc3">245</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Who Stole the Bird's Nest?</td> +<td class="toc2">Lydia Maria Child</td> +<td class="toc3">246</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Po' Little Lamb</td> +<td class="toc2">Paul Laurence Dunbar</td> +<td class="toc3">248</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Little Brown Baby</td> +<td class="toc2">Paul Laurence Dunbar</td> +<td class="toc3">250</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">An Incident of the French Camp</td> +<td class="toc2">Robert Browning</td> +<td class="toc3">251</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Lullaby of an Infant Chief</td> +<td class="toc2">Sir Walter Scott</td> +<td class="toc3">252</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Old Ironsides</td> +<td class="toc2">Oliver Wendell Holmes</td> +<td class="toc3">253</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Concord Hymn</td> +<td class="toc2">Ralph Waldo Emerson</td> +<td class="toc3">254</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">His College Examination (from "Up from Slavery")</td> +<td class="toc2">Booker T. Washington</td> +<td class="toc3">255</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Child's Grace</td> +<td class="toc2">Robert Burns</td> +<td class="toc3">260</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Howdy Song</td> +<td class="toc2">Joel Chandler Harris</td> +<td class="toc3">261</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Duty</td> +<td class="toc2">Ralph Waldo Emerson</td> +<td class="toc3">261</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Bud's Fairy Tale</td> +<td class="toc2">James Whitcomb Riley</td> +<td class="toc3">262</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Boy that was Scaret o' Dyin'</td> +<td class="toc2">Annie Trumbull Slosson</td> +<td class="toc3">268</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">What Does Little Birdie Say?</td> +<td class="toc2">Lord Tennyson</td> +<td class="toc3">270</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Laetus Sorte Mea (from "The Story of a Short Life")</td> +<td class="toc2">Juliana H. Ewing</td> +<td class="toc3">271</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Victor of Marengo</td> +<td class="toc2"> </td> +<td class="toc3">275</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Good Morning</td> +<td class="toc2">Robert Browning</td> +<td class="toc3">279</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Miranda and Her Friend Kroof (from "The Heart of the Ancient Wood")</td> +<td class="toc2">Charles G. D. Roberts</td> +<td class="toc3">277</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Little Nell</td> +<td class="toc2">Charles Dickens</td> +<td class="toc3">282</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Parsifal the Pure</td> +<td class="toc2">(from "Stories from Wagner")</td> +<td class="toc3">285</td> +</tr> + +</table> +</div> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<div><a name="TOC_No._4" id="TOC_No._4"></a></div> + +<h3><span class="smcap size125">No. 4</span></h3> + +<div class="center"> +<table class="contents" summary="TOC No. 4"> + +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Editorials</td> +<td class="toc2"> </td> +<td class="toc3">289-292</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Charles Sumner</td> +<td class="toc2">Carl Schurz</td> +<td class="toc3">293</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">How the Elephant Got His Trunk</td> +<td class="toc2">Rudyard Kipling</td> +<td class="toc3">295</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Owl</td> +<td class="toc2">Lord Tennyson</td> +<td class="toc3">299</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">T'nowhead's Bell</td> +<td class="toc2">J. M. Barrie</td> +<td class="toc3">300</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">John Storm's Resolution</td> +<td class="toc2">Hall Cain</td> +<td class="toc3">308</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Flood of the Floss</td> +<td class="toc2">George Eliot</td> +<td class="toc3">314</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Real Muck Rake Man</td> +<td class="toc2">Henry van Dyke</td> +<td class="toc3">319</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Hunt</td> +<td class="toc2">Mercy E. Baker</td> +<td class="toc3">322</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Francois Villon, About to Die</td> +<td class="toc2">John D. Swain</td> +<td class="toc3">323</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Lady Moon</td> +<td class="toc2">Lord Haughton</td> +<td class="toc3">326</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Good Dinner</td> +<td class="toc2">Mary Stuart Cutting</td> +<td class="toc3">326</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">My Rival</td> +<td class="toc2">Rudyard Kipling</td> +<td class="toc3">328</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Imph-m</td> +<td class="toc2">James Nicholson</td> +<td class="toc3">328</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Looking Forward</td> +<td class="toc2">Robert Louis Stevenson</td> +<td class="toc3">329</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Mrs. Atwood's Raiment</td> +<td class="toc2">Mary Stuart Cutting</td> +<td class="toc3">330</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Hymn of a Child</td> +<td class="toc2">Charles Wesley</td> +<td class="toc3">341</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Day of Precious Penalties</td> +<td class="toc2">Marion Hill</td> +<td class="toc3">342</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Cradle Hymn</td> +<td class="toc2">Martin Luther</td> +<td class="toc3">349</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Kentucky Cinderella</td> +<td class="toc2">F. Hopkinson Smith</td> +<td class="toc3">350</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">At Lincoln's Tomb</td> +<td class="toc2">Robertus Love</td> +<td class="toc3">355</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Mammy's Pickanin'</td> +<td class="toc2">Lucy Dean Jenkins</td> +<td class="toc3">357</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Old Doll</td> +<td class="toc2">Edith M. Thomas</td> +<td class="toc3">359</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Santa Claus</td> +<td class="toc2">Unknown</td> +<td class="toc3">360</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Little Christel</td> +<td class="toc2">Wm. B. Rands</td> +<td class="toc3">361</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Seven Times One</td> +<td class="toc2">Jean Ingelow</td> +<td class="toc3">363</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Daffy-Down-Dilly</td> +<td class="toc2">Anna B. Warner</td> +<td class="toc3">364</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Ant and the Cricket</td> +<td class="toc2">Unknown</td> +<td class="toc3">366</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Cradle Hymn</td> +<td class="toc2">Isaac Watts</td> +<td class="toc3">367</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Usual Way</td> +<td class="toc2">Anonymous</td> +<td class="toc3">368</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Lark and the Rook</td> +<td class="toc2">Anonymous</td> +<td class="toc3">369</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">The Gondola Race</td> +<td class="toc2">F. Hopkinson Smith</td> +<td class="toc3">371</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Lincoln</td> +<td class="toc2">Jonathan P. Dolliver</td> +<td class="toc3">374</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Spacially Jim</td> +<td class="toc2">Bessie Margon</td> +<td class="toc3">376</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">An Opera</td> +<td class="toc2">George Ade</td> +<td class="toc3">378</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">A Little Knight-Errant</td> +<td class="toc2">Margaret A. Richard</td> +<td class="toc3">382</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1">Jane Jones</td> +<td class="toc2">Ben King</td> +<td class="toc3">383</td> +</tr> + +</table> +</div> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<div><a name="TOC_No._5" id="TOC_No._5"></a></div> + +<div class="navlink"> +<a href="#BEGIN">Return to Beginning of Text</a> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap size125">No. 5</span></h3> + +<div class="center"> +<table class="contents" summary="TOC No. 5"> + +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Speaker_Dec_1906">Editorials</a></td> +<td class="toc2"> </td> +<td class="toc3">1-5</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#On_Time">On Time</a></td> +<td class="toc2">John Milton</td> +<td class="toc3">5</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Knight_in_the_Wood">The Knight in the Wood</a></td> +<td class="toc2">E. Leicester Warren</td> +<td class="toc3">6</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#A_Little_Feminine_Casabianca">A Little Feminine Casabianca</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Geo. Madden Martin</td> +<td class="toc3">7</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#What_He_Got_Out_of_It">What He Got Out of It</a></td> +<td class="toc2">S. E. Kiser</td> +<td class="toc3">11</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Plays_the_Thing">The Play's the Thing</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Geo. Madden Martin</td> +<td class="toc3">12</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Dancing_School_and_Dicky">The Dancing School and Dicky</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Josephine Dodge Daskam</td> +<td class="toc3">18</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#A_Model_Story_in_the_Kindergarten">A Model Story in the Kindergarten</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Josephine Dodge Daskam</td> +<td class="toc3">24</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Fishin">Fishin'?</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Anonymous</td> +<td class="toc3">26</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Ardelia_in_Arcady">Ardelia in Arcady</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Josephine Dodge Daskam</td> +<td class="toc3">27</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Meriel">Meriel</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Margaret Houston</td> +<td class="toc3">34</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Old_Man_and_Shep">The Old Man and "Shep"</a></td> +<td class="toc2">John G. Scorer</td> +<td class="toc3">35</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Who_Knows">Who Knows</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Louise Chandler Moulton</td> +<td class="toc3">36</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Negro">The Negro</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Booker T. Washington</td> +<td class="toc3">37</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Guillotine">The Guillotine</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Victor Hugo</td> +<td class="toc3">40</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Robespierres_Last_Speech">Robespierre's Last Speech</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Maximilian M. I. Robespierre</td> +<td class="toc3">42</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Secession">Secession</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Alex. H. Stephens</td> +<td class="toc3">44</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Birds">Birds</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Richard Henry Stoddard</td> +<td class="toc3">47</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Death_of_Hypatia">The Death of Hypatia</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Charles Kingsley</td> +<td class="toc3">48</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Death_Stands_Above_Me">Death Stands Above Me.</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Walter Savage Landor</td> +<td class="toc3">54</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Tournament">The Tournament</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Sir Walter Scott</td> +<td class="toc3">55</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#A_Plea_for_the_Old_Year">A Plea for the Old Year</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Louise Chandler Moulton</td> +<td class="toc3">59</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Fagins_Last_Day">Fagin's Last Day</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Charles Dickens</td> +<td class="toc3">60</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#A_Caution_to_Poets">A Caution to Poets.</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Matthew Arnold</td> +<td class="toc3">64</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Apollo_Belvedere">Apollo Belvedere</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Ruth McEnery Stuart</td> +<td class="toc3">65</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#An_Invalid_in_Lodgings">An Invalid in Lodgings</a></td> +<td class="toc2">J. M. Barrie</td> +<td class="toc3">71</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Stirrup-Cup">The Stirrup-Cup</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Sidney Lanier</td> +<td class="toc3">74</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Das_Krist_Kindel">Das Krist Kindel.</a></td> +<td class="toc2">James Whitcomb Riley</td> +<td class="toc3">75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#Hiram_Fosters_Thanksgiving_Turkey">Hiram Foster's Thanksgiving Turkey</a></td> +<td class="toc2">S. E. Kiser</td> +<td class="toc3">77</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Winning_of_Lorna_Doone">The Winning of Lorna Doone</a></td> +<td class="toc2">R. D. Blackmore</td> +<td class="toc3">79</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc1"><a href="#The_Sky">The Sky</a></td> +<td class="toc2">Richard Henry Stoddard</td> +<td class="toc3">96</td> +</tr> +</table></div> + +<div class="navlink"> +<a href="#BEGIN">Return to Beginning of Text</a> +</div> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p class="center">Published by PEARSON BROTHERS</p> +<p class="center">29 S. Seventh St., Philadelphia</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="tnote"> +<h3>Transcriber's Note</h3> + +<p>Variant forms of words in the original text, sometimes within the same +selection, have been retained in this ebook. Ellipses have been standardized. +Omissions in the Table of Contents match those of the original document.</p> + +<p>The following typographical corrections have been made in this ebook:</p> + +<div class="center"> +<table class="tntable" summary="Transcriber's Note"> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_17">Page 17</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed , to . (kind of mourning.)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_18">Page 18</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed You're to You've (You've got to go.)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_23">Page 23</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Added missing quotes; changed single to double ('I don't know, I don't know!'")</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_27">Page 27</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed helpessly to helplessly (said the young lady, helplessly)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_40">Page 40</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed constanly to constantly (constantly in mind)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_40">Page 40</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Removed duplicate word 'these' (these twenty-five years)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_41">Page 41</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed scafforld to scaffold (the scaffold against the scaffold)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_47">Page 47</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed shown to shone (the sun of heaven ever shone)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_53">Page 53</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Removed stray period (She had disappeared, and)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_66">Page 66</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed constanly to constantly (met constantly)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_71">Page 71</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Removed duplicate quotes (I feared," she said.)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_72">Page 72</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed is to it (but it is satisfaction)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_82">Page 82</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed single-quote to double (go to sleep.")</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_87">Page 87</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed by to my (hand upon my arm)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_90">Page 90</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed Doone's to Doones (murdered by the Doones)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#Page_93">Page 93</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed though to thought (I thought he would)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#TOC_No._3">Table of Contents</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Added missing parenthesis (from "The Heart of the Ancient Wood")</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#TOC_No._5">Table of Contents</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Added missing question mark to match title in text (Fishin'?)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#TOC_No._5">Table of Contents</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Changed Kris to Krist to match title in text (Das Krist Kindel.)</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="col1"><a href="#TOC_No._5">Table of Contents</a>:</td> +<td class="col2">Added missing word 'On' to match title in text (On Time)</td> +</tr> + +</table> +</div> + +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Speaker, No. 5: Volume II, Issue 1, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPEAKER, DECEMBER 1906 *** + +***** This file should be named 28498-h.htm or 28498-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/4/9/28498/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, C. 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