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diff --git a/old/66982-0.txt b/old/66982-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 454dabf..0000000 --- a/old/66982-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,38728 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of New Century Speaker and Writer, by -Henry Davenport Northrop - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: New Century Speaker and Writer - A Standard Work on Composition and Oratory - -Author: Henry Davenport Northrop - -Release Date: December 20, 2021 [eBook #66982] - -Language: English - -Produced by: MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEW CENTURY SPEAKER AND -WRITER *** - - - - - - - NEW CENTURY - SPEAKER AND WRITER - - =BEING= - - =A Standard Work on Composition - and Oratory= - - CONTAINING - - RULES FOR EXPRESSING WRITTEN THOUGHT IN A CORRECT AND ELEGANT - MANNER; MODEL SELECTIONS FROM THE MOST FAMOUS AUTHORS; - SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS AND HOW TO TREAT THEM; USE - OF ILLUSTRATIONS; DESCRIPTIVE, PATHETIC AND - HUMOROUS WRITINGS, ETC., ETC. - - TOGETHER WITH A - - =PEERLESS COLLECTION OF READINGS AND RECITATIONS, - INCLUDING PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL - OCCASIONS= - - FROM AUTHORS OF WORLD-WIDE RENOWN, FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS, ACADEMIES, - COLLEGES, LODGES, SUNDAY-SCHOOL AND - SOCIAL ENTERTAINMENTS - - THE WHOLE FORMING AN - - =UNRIVALED SELF-EDUCATOR FOR YOUNG PEOPLE= - - =BY HENRY DAVENPORT NORTHROP= - Author of “Delsarte Manual of Oratory,” “Golden Gleanings of Poetry, - Prose and Song,” etc., etc. - - =Embellished with a Galaxy of Charming Engravings= - - NATIONAL PUBLISHING CO. - 239, 241, 243 SOUTH AMERICAN ST. - PHILADELPHIA - - ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE YEAR 1901, BY - D. Z. HOWELL - IN THE OFFICE OF THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS, - AT WASHINGTON, D. C., U. S. A. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -Millions of young people in America are being educated, and hence there -is a very great demand for a Standard Work showing how to express written -thought in the most elegant manner and how to read and recite in a way -that insures the greatest success. To meet this enormous demand is the -aim of this volume. - -PART I.—HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION.—The treatment of this subject is -masterly and thorough, and is so fascinating that the study becomes a -delight. Rules and examples are furnished for the right choice of words, -for constructing sentences, for punctuation, for acquiring an elegant -style of composition, for writing essays and letters, what authors should -be read, etc. The directions given are all right to the point and are -easily put into practice. - -The work contains a complete list of synonyms, or words of similar -meaning, and more than 500 choice subjects for compositions, which are -admirably suited to persons of all ages. These are followed by a charming -collection of Masterpieces of Composition by such world-renowned authors -as Emerson, Hawthorne, George Eliot, Lord Macaulay, Washington Irving, C. -H. Spurgeon, Sarah J. Lippincott, Mrs. Stowe and many others. - -These grand specimens of composition bear the stamp of the most brilliant -genius. They are very suggestive and helpful. They inspire the reader to -the noblest efforts, and teach the truth of Bulwer Lytton’s well-known -saying that “The pen is mightier than the sword.” - -PART II.—READINGS AND RECITATIONS.—The second part of this incomparable -work is no less valuable, and a candid perusal will convince you that -it contains the largest and best collection of recitations ever brought -together in one volume. These are of every variety and description. Be -careful to notice that every one of these selections, which are from the -writings of the world’s best authors, is especially adapted for reading -and reciting. This is something which cannot be said of any similar work. - -All the Typical Gestures used in Reciting are shown by choice engravings, -and the reader has in reality the best kind of teacher right before -him. The different attitudes, facial expressions and gestures are both -instructive and charming. These are followed by Recitations with Lesson -Talks. Full directions are given for reciting the various pieces, and -this is done by taking each paragraph or verse of the selection and -pointing out the gestures, tone of voice, emphasis, etc., required to -render it most effectively. The Lesson Talks render most valuable service -to all who are studying the grand art of oratory. - -The next section of this masterly volume contains Recitations with -Music. This is a choice collection of readings which are rendered most -effective by accompaniments of music, enabling the reader by the use of -the voice or some musical instrument to entrance his audience. - -These charming selections are followed by a superb collection of -Patriotic Recitations which celebrate the grand victories of our army -and navy in the Philippines and West Indies. These incomparable pieces -are all aglow with patriotic fervor and are eagerly sought by all -elocutionists. - -There is space here only to mention the different parts of this -delightful volume, such as Descriptive and Dramatic Recitations; Orations -by Famous Orators; a peerless collection of Humorous and Pathetic -Recitations, and Recitations for Children and Sunday Schools. - -Parents are charmed with this volume because it furnishes what the little -folks want and is a self-educator for the young. It marks a new era in -book publishing. - -PART III.—PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS.—These have been prepared -with the greatest care in order to meet a very urgent demand. The work -contains Programmes for Fourth of July; Christmas Entertainments; -Washington’s Birthday; Decoration Day; Thanksgiving Day; Arbor Day; -Public School and Parlor Entertainments; Harvest Home; Flower Day, etc. -Beautiful Selections for Special Occasions are contained in no other -work, and these alone insure this very attractive volume an enormous sale. - -DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX, ETC.—Added to the Rich Contents already described is -a Charming Collection of Dialogues and Tableaux for public and private -entertainments. These are humorous, pithy, TEACH IMPORTANT LESSONS and -are thoroughly enjoyed by everybody. - -In many places the winter lyceum is an institution; we find it not only -in academies, and normal schools, but very frequently the people in a -district or town organize a debating society and discuss the popular -questions of the day. The benefit thus derived cannot be estimated. In -the last part of this volume will be found by-laws for those who wish to -conduct lyceums, together with a choice selection of subjects for debate. - -Thus it is seen that this is a very comprehensive work. Not only is -it carefully prepared, not only does it set a very high standard of -excellence in composition and elocution, but it is a work peculiarly -fitted to the wants of millions of young people throughout our country. -The writer of this is free to say that such a work as this would have -been of inestimable value to him while obtaining an education. All wise -parents who wish to make the best provision for educating their children -should understand that they have in this volume such a teacher in -composition and oratory as has never before been offered to the public. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PART I.—HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION. - - PAGE - - Treatment of the Subject 18 - - Right Choice of Words 19 - - Obscure Sentences 19 - - Write Exactly what You Mean 20 - - What You Should Read 21 - - Our Great Writers 21 - - Learning to Think 22 - - How to Acquire a Captivating Style 23 - - Make Your Composition Attractive 24 - - The Choice of Language 25 - - Faults in Writing 26 - - Putting Words into Sentences 27 - - Suit the Word to the Thought 28 - - An Amusing Exercise 29 - - Errors to be Avoided 30 - - Exercises in Composition 32 - - Subject and Predicate 32 - - Practice in Simple Sentences 34 - - Sentences Combined 36 - - Punctuation 39 - - The Full Stop 39 - - The Note of Interrogation 40 - - The Comma 40 - - The Semi-colon 42 - - Quotation Marks 43 - - The Note of Exclamation 43 - - Exercises in Easy Narratives 46 - - Short Stories to be Written from Memory 47 - - Outlines to be Turned into Narratives 50 - - Stories in Verse to be Turned into Prose 51 - - Three Fishers Went Sailing 51 - - The Sands of Dee 52 - - The Way to Win 52 - - Press On 52 - - The Dying Warrior 52 - - The Boy that Laughs 53 - - The Cat’s Bath 53 - - The Beggar Man 53 - - The Shower Bath 54 - - Queen Mary’s Return to Scotland 54 - - The Eagle and Serpent 54 - - Ask and Have 55 - - What Was His Creed? 55 - - The Old Reaper 55 - - The Gallant Sailboat 55 - - Wooing 56 - - Miss Laugh and Miss Fret 56 - - Monterey 56 - - A Woman’s Watch 57 - - Love Lightens Labor 57 - - Abou Ben Adhem 57 - - Essays to be Written from Outlines 58 - - Easy Subjects for Compositions 61 - - Use of Illustrations 62 - - Examples of Apt Illustrations 63 - - Examples of Faulty Illustrations 63 - - How to Compose and Write Letters 64 - - Examples of Letters 65 - - Notes of Invitation 65 - - Letters of Congratulation 66 - - Love Letters 66 - - Outlines to be Expanded into Letters 66 - - SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION. - - Getting the Right Start _J. G. Holland_ 67 - - Dinah, the Methodist _George Eliot_ 69 - - Godfrey and Dunstan _George Eliot_ 70 - - Rip Van Winkle _Washington Irving_ 72 - - Puritans of the Sixteenth Century _Lord Macaulay_ 73 - - On being in Time _C. H. Spurgeon_ 75 - - John Ploughman’s Talk on Home _C. H. Spurgeon_ 76 - - Pearl and her Mother _Nathaniel Hawthorne_ 78 - - Candace’s Opinions _Mrs. H. B. Stowe_ 80 - - Midsummer in the Valley of the Rhine _Geo. Meredith_ 81 - - Power of Natural Beauty _R. W. Emerson_ 82 - - SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS. - - Historical Subjects 84 - - Biographical Subjects 85 - - Subjects for Narration and Description 86 - - Popular Proverbs 87 - - Subjects to be Expounded 87 - - Subjects for Argument 89 - - Subjects for Comparison 89 - - Miscellaneous Subjects 90 - - Synonyms and Antonyms 91 - - Noms de Plume of Authors 111 - - PART II.—READINGS AND RECITATIONS. - - How to Read and Recite 113 - - Cultivation of the Voice 113 - - Distinct Enunciation 113 - - Emphasis 114 - - Pauses 114 - - Gestures 114 - - The Magnetic Speaker 114 - - Self-Command 114 - - Typical Gestures for Reading and Reciting 115 - - Malediction 115 - - Designating 115 - - Silence 115 - - Repulsion 115 - - Declaring 116 - - Announcing 116 - - Discerning 116 - - Invocation 117 - - Presenting or Receiving 117 - - Horror 117 - - Exaltation 117 - - Secrecy 117 - - Wonderment 118 - - Indecision 118 - - Grief 118 - - Gladness 118 - - Signalling 119 - - Tender Rejection 119 - - Protecting—Soothing 119 - - Anguish 119 - - Awe—Appeal 120 - - Meditation 120 - - Defiance 120 - - Denying—Rejecting 120 - - Dispersion 121 - - Remorse 121 - - Accusation 121 - - Revealing 121 - - Correct Positions of the Hands 122 - - RECITATIONS WITH LESSON TALKS. - - Song of Our Soldiers at Santiago _D. G. Adee_ 123 - - Lesson Talk 123 - - The Victor of Marengo 124 - - Lesson Talk 125 - - The Wedding Fee 125 - - Lesson Talk 126 - - The Statue in Clay 127 - - Lesson Talk 127 - - The Puzzled Boy 128 - - Lesson Talk 128 - - RECITATIONS WITH MUSIC. - - Twickenham Ferry 129 - - Grandmother’s Chair _John Read_ 130 - - Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel _H. Clifton_ 131 - - A Brighter Day is Coming _Ellen Burnside_ 132 - - Katie’s Love Letter _Lady Dufferin_ 132 - - Dost Thou Love Me, Sister Ruth? _John Parry_ 133 - - Two Little Rogues _Mrs. A. M. Diaz_ 134 - - Arkansaw Pete’s Adventure 135 - - PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. - - The Beat of the Drum at Daybreak _Michael O’Connor_ 137 - - The Cavalry Charge 137 - - Great Naval Battle at Santiago _Admiral W. S. Schley_ 138 - - Hobson’s Daring Deed 139 - - General Wheeler at Santiago _J. L. Gordon_ 140 - - The Flag Goes By 140 - - In Manila Bay _Chas. Wadsworth, Jr._ 141 - - My Soldier Boy 142 - - The Yankees in Battle _Captain R. D. Evans_ 142 - - The Banner Betsey Made _T. C. Harbaugh_ 143 - - Our Flag _Chas. F. Alsop_ 144 - - That Starry Flag of Ours 144 - - The Negro Soldier _B. M. Channing_ 145 - - Deeds of Valor at Santiago _Clinton Scollard_ 145 - - A Race for Dear Life 146 - - Patriotism of American Women _T. Buchanan Read_ 147 - - Our Country’s Call _Richard Barry_ 147 - - The Story of Seventy-Six _W. C. Bryant_ 148 - - The Roll Call 148 - - The Battle-Field _W. C Bryant_ 149 - - The Sinking of the Merrimac 150 - - The Stars and Stripes 151 - - Rodney’s Ride 152 - - A Spool of Thread _Sophia E. Eastman_ 153 - - The Young Patriot, Abraham Lincoln 154 - - Columbia _Joel Barlow_ 155 - - Captain Molly at Monmouth _William Collins_ 156 - - Douglas to the Populace of Stirling _Sir Walter Scott_ 157 - - Our Country _W. G. Peabodie_ 157 - - McIlrath of Malaté _John J. Rooney_ 158 - - After the Battle 159 - - Great Naval Battle of Manila 160 - - Sinking of the Ships _W. B. Collison_ 161 - - Perry’s Celebrated Victory on Lake Erie 163 - - Capture of Quebec _James D. McCabe_ 164 - - Little Jean _Lillie E. Barr_ 165 - - Defeat of General Braddock _James D. McCabe_ 166 - - DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS. - - Quick! Man the Life Boat 167 - - Beautiful Hands _J. Whitcomb Riley_ 167 - - The Burning Ship 168 - - The Unknown Speaker 169 - - Child Lost 171 - - The Captain and the Fireman _W. B. Collison_ 172 - - The Face on the Floor _H. Antoine D’Arcy_ 173 - - The Engineer’s Story _Eugene J. Hall_ 174 - - Jim _James Whitcomb Riley_ 175 - - Queen Vashti’s Lament _John Reade_ 176 - - The Skeleton’s Story 177 - - The Lady and the Earl 179 - - My Vesper Song 180 - - The Volunteer Organist _S. W. Foss_ 180 - - Comin’ thro’ the Rye _Robert Burns_ 181 - - Joan of Arc _Clare S. McKinley_ 181 - - The Vulture of the Alps 183 - - The Old-fashioned Girl _Tom Hall_ 184 - - Nathan Hale, the Martyr Spy _I. H. Brown_ 184 - - The Future _Rudyard Kipling_ 186 - - The Power of Habit _John B. Gough_ 186 - - Died on Duty 187 - - My Friend the Cricket and I _Lillie E. Barr_ 188 - - The Snowstorm 188 - - Parrhasius and the Captive _N. P. Willis_ 189 - - The Ninety-third off Cape Verde 190 - - A Felon’s Cell 191 - - The Battle of Waterloo _Victor Hugo_ 192 - - A Pin _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ 194 - - A Relenting Mob _Lucy H. Hooper_ 195 - - The Black Horse and His Rider _Chas. Sheppard_ 196 - - The Unfinished Letter 198 - - Legend of the Organ Builder _Julius C. R. Dorr_ 198 - - Caught in the Quicksand _Victor Hugo_ 200 - - The Little Quaker Sinner _Lucy L. Montgomery_ 201 - - The Tell-tale Heart _Edgar Allan Poe_ 202 - - The Little Match Girl _Hans Andersen_ 203 - - The Monk’s Vision 205 - - The Boat Race 205 - - Phillips of Pelhamville _Alexander Anderson_ 207 - - Poor Little Jim 208 - - ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. - - True Moral Courage _Henry Clay_ 209 - - The Struggle for Liberty _Josiah Quincy_ 210 - - Centennial Oration _Henry Armitt Brown_ 211 - - Speech of Shrewsbury before Queen Elizabeth _F. Von Schiller_ 212 - - Prospects of the Republic _Edward Everett_ 212 - - The People Always Conquer _Edward Everett_ 213 - - Survivors of Bunker Hill _Daniel Webster_ 214 - - South Carolina and Massachusetts _Daniel Webster_ 215 - - Eulogium on South Carolina _Robert T. Hayne_ 216 - - Character of Washington _Wendell Phillips_ 217 - - National Monument to Washington _Robert C. Winthrop_ 218 - - The New Woman _Frances E. Willard_ 219 - - An Appeal for Liberty _Joseph Story_ 220 - - True Source of Freedom _Edwin H. Chapin_ 220 - - Appeal to Young Men _Lyman Beecher_ 221 - - The Pilgrims _Chauncey M. Depew_ 222 - - Patriotism a Reality _Thomas Meagher_ 223 - - The Glory of Athens _Lord Macaulay_ 224 - - The Irish Church _William E. Gladstone_ 225 - - Appeal to the Hungarians _Louis Kossuth_ 226 - - The Tyrant Verres Denounced _Cicero_ 227 - - HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. - - Bill’s in Trouble 229 - - “Spacially Jim” 229 - - The Marriage Ceremony 230 - - Blasted Hopes 230 - - Tim Murphy Makes a Few Remarks 231 - - Passing of the Horse 231 - - A School-Day _W. F. McSparran_ 232 - - The Bicycle and the Pup 233 - - The Puzzled Census Taker 233 - - It Made a Difference 233 - - Bridget O’Flannagan on Christian Science and - Cockroaches _M. Bourchier_ 234 - - Conversational 235 - - Wanted, A Minister’s Wife 235 - - How a Married Man Sews on a Button _J. M. Bailey_ 236 - - The Dutchman’s Serenade 236 - - Biddy’s Troubles 237 - - The Inventor’s Wife _Mrs. E. T. Corbett_ 238 - - Miss Edith Helps Things Along _Bret Harte_ 239 - - The Man Who Has All Diseases at Once _Dr. Valentine_ 240 - - The School-Ma’am’s Courting _Florence Pyatt_ 240 - - The Dutchman’s Snake 241 - - No Kiss 243 - - The Lisping Lover 243 - - Larry O’Dee _W. W. Fink_ 243 - - How Paderewski Plays the Piano 244 - - The Freckled-Faced Girl 244 - - When Girls Wore Calico _Hattie Whitney_ 245 - - A Winning Company 246 - - The Bravest Sailor _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ 246 - - How She Was Consoled 247 - - That Hired Girl 247 - - What Sambo Says 248 - - The Irish Sleigh Ride 248 - - Jane Jones _Ben King_ 249 - - De Ole Plantation Mule 249 - - Adam Never Was a Boy _T. C. Harbaugh_ 250 - - A Remarkable Case of S’posin 251 - - My Parrot _Emma H. Webb_ 252 - - Bakin and Greens 252 - - Hunting a Mouse _Joshua Jenkins_ 253 - - The Village Sewing Society 254 - - Signs and Omens 255 - - The Ghost 255 - - A Big Mistake 256 - - The Duel _Eugene Field_ 258 - - Playing Jokes on a Guide _Mark Twain_ 258 - - A Parody 260 - - Man’s Devotion _Parmenas Hill_ 261 - - Aunt Polly’s “George Washington” 261 - - Mine Vamily _Yawcob Strauss_ 263 - - At the Garden Gate 264 - - The Minister’s Call 264 - - Led by a Calf 265 - - Tom Goldy’s Little Joke 266 - - How Hezekiah Stole the Spoons 266 - - Two Kinds of Polliwogs _Augusta Moore_ 268 - - The Best Sewing Machine 268 - - How They Said Good Night 269 - - Josiar’s Courting 270 - - PATHETIC RECITATIONS. - - Play Softly, Boys _Teresa O’Hare_ 271 - - In the Baggage Coach Ahead 272 - - The Musing One _S. E. Kiser_ 272 - - In Memoriam _Thomas R. Gregory_ 273 - - The Dying Newsboy _Mrs. Emily Thornton_ 273 - - Coals of Fire 274 - - Dirge of the Drums _Ralph Alton_ 275 - - The Old Dog’s Death Postponed _Chas. E. Baer_ 275 - - The Fallen Hero _Minna Irving_ 276 - - The Soldier’s Wife _Elliott Flower_ 276 - - “Break the News Gently” 277 - - On the Other Train 277 - - Some Twenty Years Ago _Stephen Marsell_ 279 - - Only a Soldier 280 - - The Pilgrim Fathers 280 - - Master Johnny’s Next-Door Neighbor _Bret Harte_ 281 - - Stonewall Jackson’s Death _Paul M. Russell_ 282 - - The Story of Nell _Robert Buchanan_ 284 - - Little Nan 285 - - One of the Little Ones _G. L. Catlin_ 285 - - The Drunkard’s Daughter _Eugene J. Hall_ 286 - - The Beautiful 287 - - Trouble in the Amen Corner _C. T. Harbaugh_ 288 - - Little Mag’s Victory _Geo. L. Catlin_ 289 - - Life’s Battle _Wayne Parsons_ 290 - - The Lost Kiss _J. Whitcomb Riley_ 290 - - Execution of Mary, Queen of Scots _Lamartine_ 291 - - Over the Range _J. Harrison Mills_ 292 - - The Story of Crazy Nell _Joseph Whitten_ 292 - - Little Sallie’s Wish 293 - - Drowned Among the Lilies _E. E. Rexford_ 294 - - The Fate of Charlotte Corday _C. S. McKinley_ 294 - - The Little Voyager _Mrs. M. L. Bayne_ 295 - - The Dream of Aldarin _George Lippard_ 296 - - In the Mining Town _Rose H. Thorpe_ 297 - - Tommy’s Prayer _I. F. Nichols_ 298 - - Robby and Ruth _Louisa S. Upham_ 300 - - RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. - - Two Little Maidens _Agnes Carr_ 301 - - The Way to Succeed 301 - - When Pa Begins to Shave _Harry D. Robins_ 301 - - A Boy’s View 302 - - Mammy’s Churning Song _E. A. Oldham_ 302 - - The Twenty Frogs 303 - - Only a Bird _Mary Morrison_ 303 - - The Way to Do It _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 303 - - We Must All Scratch 304 - - Kitty at School _Kate Hulmer_ 304 - - A Fellow’s Mother _Margaret E. Sangster_ 305 - - The Story Katie Told 305 - - A Little Rogue 306 - - Mattie’s Wants and Wishes _Grace Gordon_ 306 - - Won’t and Will 307 - - Willie’s Breeches _Etta G. Saulsbury_ 307 - - Little Dora’s Soliloquy 307 - - The Squirrel’s Lesson 308 - - Little Kitty 308 - - Labor Song 309 - - What Baby Said 310 - - One Little Act 311 - - The Little Orator _Thaddeus M. Harris_ 311 - - A Gentleman _Margaret E. Sangster_ 312 - - Babies and Kittens _L. M. Hadley_ 312 - - A Dissatisfied Chicken _A. G. Waters_ 312 - - The Little Torment 313 - - The Reason Why 313 - - A Child’s Reasoning 314 - - A Swell Dinner 314 - - Little Jack _Eugene J. Hall_ 314 - - A Story of an Apple _Sydney Dayre_ 315 - - Idle Ben 315 - - Baby Alice’s Rain _John Hay Furness_ 316 - - Give Us Little Boys a Chance 316 - - Puss in the Oven 316 - - What Was It? _Sydney Dayre_ 317 - - The Cobbler’s Secret 317 - - A Sad Case _Clara D. Bates_ 318 - - The Heir Apparent 318 - - An Egg a Chicken 319 - - One of God’s Little Heroes _Margaret J. Preston_ 320 - - What the Cows were Doing 320 - - Mamma’s Help 320 - - How Two Birdies Kept House 321 - - Why He Wouldn’t Die 321 - - The Sick Dolly 322 - - Days of the Week _Mary Ely Page_ 322 - - Popping Corn 323 - - How the Farmer Works 323 - - The Birds’ Picnic 324 - - A Very Smart Dog 324 - - Opportunity 325 - - The Little Leaves’ Journey 325 - - The Broom Drill 325 - - RECITATIONS FOR SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. - - Little Servants 332 - - Willie and the Birds 332 - - A Child’s Prayer 332 - - God Loves Me 332 - - The Unfinished Prayer 333 - - Seeds of Kindness 333 - - A Lot of Don’ts _E. C. Rook_ 333 - - Little Willie and the Apple 334 - - The Child’s Prayer _Mary A. P. Humphrey_ 334 - - “Mayn’t I Be a Boy?” 335 - - Give Your Best _Adelaide A. Proctor_ 335 - - The Birds _Myra A. Shattuck_ 335 - - “Come Unto Me” 336 - - There is a Teetotaler 337 - - An Appeal for Beneficence 337 - - Address of Welcome to a New Pastor 337 - - Address of Welcome to a New Superintendent 338 - - Opening Address for a Sunday-school Exhibition 338 - - Closing Address for a Sunday-school Exhibition 338 - - Presentation Address to a Pastor 339 - - Presentation Address to a Teacher 339 - - Presentation Address to a Superintendent 339 - - Address of Welcome After Illness 340 - - Welcome to a Pastor _May Hatheway_ 340 - - PART III.—PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. - - Programme No. 1 for Fourth of July 341 - - “America” 341 - - The Fourth of July _Chas. Sprague_ 341 - - The Vow of Washington _J. G. Whittier_ 342 - - The Little Mayflower _Edward Everett_ 343 - - O Land of a Million Brave Soldiers 343 - - To the Ladies 344 - - Programme No. 2 for Fourth of July 344 - - God Bless our Native Land 344 - - Our Natal Day _Will Carleton_ 345 - - The Banner of the Sea _Homer Green_ 346 - - What America Has Done for the World _G. C. Verplanck_ 346 - - Stand Up for Liberty _Robert Treat Paine_ 347 - - Off with Your Hat as the Flag Goes By _H. C. Bunner_ 348 - - Programme for Christmas Entertainment 349 - - Ring, O Bells, in Gladness _Alice J. Cleator_ 349 - - A Letter to Santa Claus 349 - - Christmas in All the Lands _G. A. Brown_ 349 - - Santa Claus on the Train _Henry C. Walsh_ 350 - - The Waifs _Margaret Deland_ 351 - - Welcome Santa Claus 351 - - Santa Claus and the Mouse _Emilie Poulsson_ 351 - - What Ted Found in His Stocking 352 - - Programme for Decoration Day 353 - - The Meaning of the Day 353 - - Exercise for Fifteen Pupils 353 - - Decoration Day _J. Whitcomb Riley_ 354 - - Acrostic 355 - - Origin of Memorial Day 355 - - Strew with Flowers the Soldier’s Grave _J. W. Dunbar_ 355 - - Our Nation’s Patriots 356 - - Programme for Washington’s Birthday 357 - - Washington Enigma 357 - - Washington’s Day 357 - - A Little Boy’s Hatchet Story 357 - - Maxims of Washington 358 - - Once More We Celebrate _Alice J. Cleator_ 358 - - The Father of His Country 358 - - February Twenty-Second _Joy Allison_ 359 - - A True Soldier _Alice J. Cleator_ 359 - - Washington’s Life 360 - - Birthday of Washington _George Howland_ 360 - - Programme for Arbor Day 361 - - We Have Come with Joyful Greeting 361 - - Arbor Day 361 - - Quotations 361 - - What Do We Plant When We Plant a Tree? _Henry Abbey_ 362 - - Wedding of the Palm and Pine 363 - - Origin of Arbor Day 363 - - Value of Our Forests 364 - - Up From the Smiling Earth _Edna D. Proctor_ 364 - - The Trees 364 - - Programme for A Harvest Home 365 - - Through the Golden Summertime 365 - - A Sermon in Rhyme 365 - - Farmer John _J. T. Trowbridge_ 366 - - The Husbandman _John Sterling_ 366 - - The Nobility of Labor _Orville Dewey_ 367 - - The Corn Song _J. G. Whittier_ 367 - - Great God! Our Heartfelt Thanks _W. D. Gallagher_ 367 - - Programme for Lyceum or Parlor Entertainment 368 - - Salutatory Address 368 - - Mrs. Piper _Marian Douglass_ 369 - - Colloquy—True Bravery 370 - - Reverie in Church _George A. Baker_ 371 - - The Spanish-American War _President McKinley_ 372 - - A Cook of the Period 372 - - Song—Bee-Hive Town 373 - - Programme for Thanksgiving 373 - - Honor the Mayflower’s Band 373 - - What am I Thankful For? 374 - - The Pumpkin _J. G. Whittier_ 374 - - What Matters the Cold Wind’s Blast? 374 - - Outside and In 375 - - The Laboring Classes _Hugh Legare_ 375 - - A Thanksgiving _Lucy Larcom_ 376 - - Song—The Pilgrims 376 - - Programme for Flower Day 377 - - Let Us With Nature Sing 377 - - The Poppy and Mignonette 377 - - Flower Quotations 377 - - When Winter O’er the Hills Afar 378 - - Flowers _Lydia M. Child_ 378 - - The Foolish Harebell _George MacDonald_ 378 - - Questions About Flowers 379 - - Pansies _Mary A. McClelland_ 379 - - Plant Song _Nellie M. Brown_ 380 - - We Would Hail Thee, Joyous Summer 380 - - Summer-Time _H. W. Longfellow_ 380 - - The Last Rose of Summer _Thomas Moore_ 381 - - DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. - - In Want of a Servant _Clara Augusta_ 382 - - The Unwelcome Guest _H. Elliot McBride_ 386 - - Aunty Puzzled 388 - - The Poor Little Rich Boy _Mrs. Adrian Kraal_ 390 - - An Entirely Different Matter 391 - - The Gossips 392 - - Farmer Hanks Wants a Divorce 393 - - Taking the Census 397 - - Elder Sniffles’ Courtship _F. M. Whitcher_ 400 - - The Matrimonial Advertisement 403 - - Mrs. Malaprop and Captain Absolute _R. B. Sheridan_ 407 - - Winning a Widow 410 - - MISCELLANEOUS DIALOGUES AND DRAMAS 411 - - CONSTITUTION AND BY-LAWS FOR LYCEUMS 443 - - SUBJECTS FOR DEBATE BY LYCEUMS 446 - - TABLEAUX FOR PUBLIC ENTERTAINMENTS 447 - - - - -PART I. - -HOW TO WRITE A COMPOSITION - -AND - -Express Written Thought in a Correct and Elegant Manner. - - -The correct and pleasing expression of one’s thoughts in writing is an -accomplishment of the highest order. To have little or no ability in the -art of composition is a great misfortune. - -Who is willing to incur the disgrace and mortification of being unable to -write a graceful and interesting letter, or an essay worthy to be read -by intelligent persons? What an air of importance belongs to the young -scholar, or older student, who can pen a production excellent in thought -and beautiful in language! Such a gifted individual becomes almost a hero -or heroine. - -When I was a pupil in one of our public schools the day most dreaded by -all of the scholars was “composition day.” What to write about, and how -to do it, were the most vexatious of all questions. Probably nine-tenths -of the pupils would rather have mastered the hardest lessons, or taken a -sound whipping, than to attempt to write one paragraph of a composition -on any subject. - -While some persons have a natural faculty for putting their thoughts into -words, a much larger number of others are compelled to confess that it is -a difficult undertaking, and they are never able to satisfy themselves -with their written productions. - -Let it be some encouragement to you to reflect that many who are -considered excellent writers labored in the beginning under serious -difficulties, yet, being resolved to master them, they finally achieved -the most gratifying success. When Napoleon was told it would be -impossible for his army to cross the bridge at Lodi, he replied, “There -is no such word as impossible,” and over the bridge his army went. -Resolve that you will succeed, and carry out this good resolution by -close application and diligent practice. “Labor conquers all things.” - - -WHAT TO DO, AND HOW TO DO IT. - -Study carefully the lessons contained in the following pages. They will -be of great benefit, as they show you what to do and how to do it. - -These lessons are quite simple at first, and are followed by others that -are more advanced. All of them have been carefully prepared for the -purpose of furnishing just such helps as you need. You can study them -by yourself; if you can obtain the assistance of a competent teacher, -so much the better. I predict that you will be surprised at the rapid -progress you are making. Perhaps you will become fascinated with your -study; at least, it is to be hoped you will, and become enthusiastic in -your noble work. - -Be content to take one step at a time. Do not get the mistaken impression -that you will be able to write a good composition before you have -learned how to do it. Many persons are too eager to achieve success -immediately, without patient and earnest endeavor to overcome all -difficulties. - -Choose a subject for your composition that is adapted to your capacity. -You cannot write on a subject that you know nothing about. Having -selected your theme, think upon it, and, if possible, read what others -have written about it, not for the purpose of stealing their thoughts, -but to stimulate your own, and store your mind with information. Then you -will be able to express in writing what you know. - - -The Treatment of the Subject. - -The principal reason why many persons make such hard work of the art of -composition is that they have so few thoughts, and consequently so little -to say, upon the subjects they endeavor to treat. The same rule must be -followed in writing a composition as in building a house—you must first -get your materials. - -I said something about stealing the thoughts of others, but must qualify -this by saying that while you are learning to write, you are quite at -liberty in your practice to make use of the thoughts of others, writing -them from memory after you have read a page or a paragraph from some -standard author. It is better that you should remember only a part of the -language employed by the writer whose thoughts you are reproducing, using -as far as possible words of your own, yet in each instance wherein you -remember his language you need not hesitate to use it. Such an exercise -is a valuable aid to all who wish to perfect themselves in the delightful -art of composition. - -Take any writer of good English—J. G. Holland, Oliver Wendell Holmes, -Irving, Cooper, or the articles in our best magazines—and read half a -page twice or thrice; close the book, and write, in your own words, what -you have read; borrowing, nevertheless, from the author so much as you -can remember. Compare what you have written with the original, sentence -by sentence, and word by word, and observe how far you have fallen short -of the skilful author. - - -A Frequent Change of Authors. - -You will thus not only find out your own faults, but you will discover -where they lie, and how they may be mended. Repeat the lesson with the -same passages twice or thrice, if your memory is not filled with the -words of the author, and observe, at each trial, the progress you have -made, not merely by comparison with the original, but by comparison with -the previous exercises. - -Do this day after day, changing your author for the purpose of varying -the style, and continue to do so long after you have passed on to the -second and more advanced stages of your training. Preserve all your -exercises, and occasionally compare the latest with the earliest, and so -ascertain what progress you have made. - -Give especial attention to the _words_, which, to my mind, are of greater -importance than the sentences. Take your nouns first, and compare them -with the nouns used by your author. You will probably find your words -to be very much bigger than his, more sounding, more far-fetched, more -classical, or more poetical. All young writers and speakers fancy that -they cannot sufficiently revel in fine words. Comparison with the great -masters of English will rebuke this pomposity of inexperience, and -chasten and improve your style. - -You will discover, to your surprise, that our best writers eschew big -words and do not aim to dazzle their readers with fine words. Where -there is a choice, they prefer the pure, plain, simple English noun—the -name by which the thing is known to everybody, and which, therefore, is -instantly understood by all readers. These great authors call a spade “a -spade;” only small scribblers term it “an implement of husbandry.” If -there is a choice of names, good writers prefer the one best known, while -an inexperienced writer is apt to select the most uncommon. - -The example of the masters of the English tongue should teach you that -commonness (if I may be allowed to coin a word to express that for which -I can find no precise equivalent) and vulgarity are not the same in -substance. Vulgarity is shown in assumption and affectation of language -quite as much as in dress and manners, and it is never vulgar to be -natural. Your object is to be understood. To be successful, you must -write and talk in a language that everybody can understand; and such is -the natural vigor, picturesqueness and music of our tongue, that you -could not possess yourself of a more powerful or effective instrument for -expression. - - -Right Choice of Words. - -It is well for you to be assured that while, by this choice of plain -English for the embodying of your thoughts, you secure the ears of -ordinary people, you will at the same time please the most highly -educated and refined. The _words_ that have won the applause of a -political meeting are equally successful in securing a hearing in -Congress, provided that the thoughts expressed and the manner of their -expression be adapted to the changed audience. - -Then for the _sentences_. Look closely at their construction, comparing -it with that of your author; I mean, note how you have put your words -together. The placing of words is next in importance to the choice of -them. The best writers preserve the natural order of thought. They -sedulously shun obscurities and perplexities. They avoid long and -involved sentences. Their rule is, that one sentence should express one -thought, and they will not venture on the introduction of two or three -thoughts, if they can help it. - - -Obscure Sentences. - -Undoubtedly this is extremely difficult—sometimes impossible. If you want -to qualify an assertion, you must do so on the instant; but the rule -should never be forgotten, that a long and involved sentence is to be -avoided, wherever it is practicable to do so. - -Another lesson you will doubtless learn from the comparison of your -composition with that of your model author. You will see a wonderful -number of _adjectives_ in your own writing, and very few in his. It -is the besetting sin of young writers to indulge in adjectives, and -precisely as a man gains experience do his adjectives diminish in -number. It seems to be supposed by all unpracticed scribblers that the -multiplication of epithets gives force. The nouns are never left to speak -for themselves. - -It is curious to take up any newspaper and read the paragraphs of news, -to open the books of nine-tenths of our authors of the third and downward -ranks. You will rarely see a noun standing alone, without one or more -adjectives prefixed. Be assured that this is a mistake. An adjective -should never be used unless it is essential to correct description. As -a general rule adjectives add little strength to the noun they are set -to prop, and a multiplication of them is always enfeebling. The vast -majority of nouns convey to the mind a much more accurate picture of the -thing they signify than you can possibly paint by attaching epithets to -them. - -Yet do not push to the extreme what has just been said. Adjectives are a -very important part of language, and we could not well do without them. -You do not need to say a “flowing river;” every river flows, but you -might wish to say a “swollen river,” and you could not convey the idea -you desire to express without using the adjective “swollen.” What I wish -to caution you against is the needless multiplication of adjectives, -which only serve to overload and weaken the expression of your thought. - - -Express Your Own Ideas. - -When you have repeated your lesson many times, and find that you can -write with some approach to the purity of your author, you should attempt -an original composition. In the beginning it would be prudent, perhaps, -to borrow the _ideas_, but to put them into your own language. The -difficulty of this consists in the tendency of the mind to mistake memory -for invention, and thus, unconsciously to copy the language as well as -the thoughts of the author. - -The best way to avoid this is to translate poetry into prose; to take, -for instance, a page of narrative in verse and relate the same story in -plain prose; or to peruse a page of didactic poetry, and set down the -argument in a plain, unpoetical fashion. This will make you familiar -with the art of composition, only to be acquired by practice; and the -advantage, at this early stage of your education in the arts of writing -and speaking, of putting into proper language the thoughts of others -rather than your own is, that you are better able to discover your -faults. Your fatherly love for your own ideas is such that you are really -incompetent to form a judgment of their worth, or of the correctness of -the language in which they are embodied. - -The critics witness this hallucination every day. Books continually come -to them, written by men who are _not_ mad, who probably are sufficiently -sensible in the ordinary business of life, who see clearly enough the -faults of other books, who would have laughed aloud over the same pages, -if placed in their hands by another writer, but who, nevertheless, are -utterly unable to recognize the absurdities of their own handiwork. The -reader is surprised that any man of common intelligence could indite such -a maze of nonsense where the right word is never to be found in its right -place, and this with such utter unconsciousness of incapacity on the part -of the author. - - -Write Exactly What You Mean. - -Still more is he amazed that, even if a sensible man could so write, a -sane man could read that composition in print, and not with shame throw -it into the fire. But the explanation is, that the writer knew what he -_intended_ to say; his mind is full of _that_, and he reads from the -manuscript or the type, not so much what is there set down, as what was -already floating in his own mind. To criticise yourself you must, to some -extent, forget yourself. This is impracticable to many persons, and, lest -it may be so with you, I advise you to begin by putting the thoughts -of others into your own language, before you attempt to give formal -expression to your own thoughts. - -You must habitually place your thoughts upon paper—first, that you may do -so rapidly; and, secondly, that you may do so correctly. When you come -to write your reflections, you will be surprised to find how loose and -inaccurate the most vivid of them have been, what terrible flaws there -are in your best arguments. - -You are thus enabled to correct them, and to compare the matured sentence -with the rude conception of it. You are thus trained to weigh your words -and assure yourself that they precisely embody the idea you desire to -convey. You can trace uncouthness in the sentences, and dislocations of -thought, of which you had not been conscious before. It is far better -to learn your lesson thus upon paper, which you can throw into the fire -unknown to any human being, than to be taught it by readers who are not -always very lenient critics and are quick to detect any faults that -appear in your production. - - -READING AND THINKING. - -Having accustomed yourself to express, in plain words, and in clear, -precise and straightforward sentences, the ideas of others, you should -proceed to express your own thoughts in the same fashion. You will now -see more distinctly the advantage of having first studied composition by -the process I have recommended, for you are in a condition to discover -the deficiencies in the flow of your own ideas. You will be surprised to -find, when you come to put them into words, how many of your thoughts -were shapeless, hazy and dreamy, slipping from your grasp when you try to -seize them, resolving themselves, like the witches in Macbeth, - - Into the air: and what seemed corporal melted - As breath into the wind. - - -What You Should Read. - -Thus, after you have learned _how_ to write, you will need a good deal of -education before you will learn _what_ to write. I cannot much assist you -in this part of the business. Two words convey the whole lesson—_Read_ -and _think_. What should you read? Everything. What think about? All -subjects that present themselves. The writer and orator must be a man of -very varied knowledge. Indeed, for all the purposes of practical life, -you cannot know too much. No learning is quite useless. But a speaker, -especially if an advocate, cannot anticipate the subjects on which he may -be required to talk. Law is the least part of his discourse. For once -that he is called upon to argue a point of law, he is compelled to treat -matters of fact twenty times. - -And the range of topics is very wide; it embraces science and art, -history and philosophy; above all, the knowledge of human nature that -teaches how the mind he addresses is to be convinced and persuaded, and -how a willing ear is to be won to his discourse. No limited range of -reading will suffice for so large a requirement. The elements of the -sciences must be mastered; the foundations of philosophy must be learned; -the principles of art must be acquired; the broad facts of history must -be stamped upon the memory; poetry and fiction must not be slighted or -neglected. - - -Our Great Writers. - -You must cultivate frequent and intimate intercourse with the genius -of all ages and of all countries, not merely as standards by which to -measure your own progress, or as fountains from which you may draw -unlimited ideas for your own use, but because they are peculiarly -_suggestive_. This is the characteristic of genius, that, conveying one -thought to the reader’s mind, it kindles in him many other thoughts. The -value of this to speaker and writer will be obvious to you. - -Never, therefore, permit a day to pass without reading more or less—if -it be but a single page—from some one of our great writers. Besides the -service I have described in the multiplication of your ideas, it will -render you the scarcely lesser service of preserving purity of style -and language, and preventing you from falling into the conventional -affectations and slang of social dialogue. - -For the same reason, without reference to any higher motive, but simply -to fill our mind with the purest English, read daily some portion of -the Bible; for which exercise there is another reason also, that its -phraseology is more familiar to all kinds of audiences than any other, is -more readily understood, and, therefore, is more sufficient in securing -their attention. - - -Three Kinds of Reading. - -Your reading will thus consist of three kinds: reading for _knowledge_, -by which I mean the storing of your memory with facts; reading for -_thoughts_, by which I mean the ideas and reflections that set your own -mind thinking; and reading the _words_, by which I mean the best language -in which the best authors have clothed their thoughts. And these three -classes of reading should be pursued together daily, more or less as -you can, for they are needful each to the others, and neither can be -neglected without injury to the rest. - -So also you must make it a business to _think_. You will probably say -that you are always thinking when you are not _doing_ anything, and often -when you are busiest. True, the mind is active, but wandering, vaguely -from topic to topic. You are not in reality _thinking out_ anything; -indeed, you cannot be sure that your thoughts have a shape until you try -to express them in words. Nevertheless you must think before you can -write or speak, and you should cultivate a _habit of thinking_ at all -appropriate seasons. - -But do not misunderstand this suggestion. I do not design advising you -to set yourself a-thinking, as you would take up a book to read at the -intervals of business, or as a part of a course of self-training; for -such attempts would probably begin with wandering fancies and end in a -comfortable nap. It is a fact worth noting, that few persons can think -continuously while the body is at perfect rest. The time for thinking is -when you are kept awake by some slight and almost mechanical muscular -exercise, and the mind is not busily attracted by external subjects of -attention. - -Thus walking, angling, gardening, and other rural pursuits are -pre-eminently the seasons for thought, and you should cultivate a habit -of thinking during those exercises, so needful for health of body and -for fruitfulness of mind. _Then_ it is that you should submit whatever -subject you desire to treat to careful review, turning it on all sides, -and inside out, marshalling the facts connected with it, trying what may -be said for or against every view of it, recalling what you may have read -about it, and finally thinking what you could say upon it that had not -been said before, or how you could put old views of it into new shapes. - - -Learning to Think. - -Perhaps the best way to accomplish this will be to imagine yourself -writing upon it, or making a speech upon it, and to think what in such -case you would say; I do not mean in what _words_ you would express -yourself, but what you would discourse about; what ideas you would put -forth; to what thoughts you would give utterance. - -At the beginning of this exercise you will find your reflections -extremely vague and disconnected; you will range from theme to theme, -and mere flights of fancy will be substituted for steady, continuous -thought. But persevere day by day, and that which was in the beginning an -effort will soon grow into a habit, and you will pass few moments of your -working life in which, when not occupied from without, your mind will not -be _usefully_ employed within itself. - -Having attained this habit of thinking, let it be a rule with you, -before you write or speak on any subject, to employ your thoughts upon -it in the manner I have described. Go a-fishing. Take a walk. Weed -your garden. Sweep, dust, do any sewing that needs to be done. While -so occupied, _think_. It will be hard if your own intelligence cannot -suggest to you how the subject should be treated, in what order of -argument, with what illustrations, and with what new aspects of it, the -original product of your own genius. - -At all events this is certain, that without preliminary reflection you -cannot hope to deal with any subject to your own satisfaction, or to the -profit or pleasure of others. If you neglect these precautions, you can -never be more than a wind-bag, uttering words that, however grandly they -may roll, convey no thoughts. There is hope for ignorance; there is none -for emptiness. - -To sum up these rules and suggestions: To become a writer or an orator, -you must fill your mind with knowledge by reading and observation, -and educate it to the creation of thoughts by cultivating a habit of -reflection. There is no limit to the knowledge that will be desirable and -useful; it should include something of natural science, much of history, -and still more of human nature. The latter must be your study, for it is -with this that the writer and speaker has to deal. - -Remember, that no amount of antiquarian, or historical, or scientific, or -literary lore will make a writer or orator, without intimate acquaintance -with the ways of the world about him, with the tastes, sentiments, -passions, emotions, and modes of thought of the men and women of the age -in which he lives, and whose minds it is his business to instruct and -sway. - - -HOW TO ACQUIRE A CAPTIVATING STYLE. - -You must think, that you may have thoughts to convey; and read, that -you may have words wherewith to express your thoughts correctly and -gracefully. But something more than this is required to qualify you to -write or speak. You must have a _style_. I will endeavor to explain what -I mean by that. - -As every man has a manner of his own, differing from the manner of -every other man, so has every mind its own fashion of communicating -with other minds. This manner of expressing thought is _style_, and -therefore may style be described as the features of the mind displayed in -its communications with other minds; as manner is the external feature -exhibited in personal communication. - -But though style is the gift of nature, it is nevertheless to be -cultivated; only in a sense different from that commonly understood by -the word cultivation. - -Many elaborate treatises have been written on style, and the subject -usually occupies a prominent place in all books on composition and -oratory. It is usual with teachers to urge emphatically the importance of -cultivating style, and to prescribe ingenious recipes for its production. -All these proceed upon the assumption that style is something artificial, -capable of being taught, and which may and should be learned by the -student, like spelling or grammar. - -But, if the definition of style which I have submitted to you is right, -these elaborate trainings are a needless labor; probably a positive -mischief. I do not design to say _a_ style may not be taught to you; -but it will be the style of some other man, and not your own; and, not -being your own, it will no more fit your mind than a second-hand suit of -clothes, bought without measurement at a pawn-shop, would fit your body, -and your appearance in it would be as ungainly. - -But you must not gather from this that you are not to concern yourself -about style, that it may be left to take care of itself, and that you -will require only to write or speak as untrained nature prompts. I say -that you must cultivate style; but I say also that the style to be -cultivated must be your own, and not the style of another. - - -How to Cultivate Style. - -The majority of those who have written upon the subject recommend you -to study the styles of the great writers of the English language, with -a view to acquiring their accomplishment. So I say—study them, by all -means; but not for the purpose of imitation, not with a view to acquire -_their_ manner, but to learn their language, to see how they have -embodied their thoughts in words, to discover the manifold graces with -which they have invested the expression of their thoughts, so as to -surround the act of communicating information, or kindling emotion, with -the various attractions and charms of art. - -_Cultivate style_; but instead of laboring to acquire the style of your -model, it should be your most constant endeavor to avoid it. The greatest -danger to which you are exposed is that of falling into an imitation of -the manner of some favorite author, whom you have studied for the sake of -learning a style, which, if you did learn it, would be unbecoming to you, -because it is not your own. That which in him was _manner_ becomes in you -_mannerism_; you but dress yourself in his clothes, and imagine that you -are like him, while you are no more like than is the valet to his master -whose cast-off coat he is wearing. - -There are some authors whose manner is so infectious that it is -extremely difficult _not_ to catch it. Hawthorne is one of these; it -requires an effort not to fall into his formula of speech. But your -protection against this danger must be an ever-present conviction that -your own style will be the best for you, be it ever so bad or good. You -must strive to _be_ yourself, to think for yourself, to speak in your -own manner; then, what you say and your _style_ of saying it will be in -perfect accord, and the pleasure to those who read or listen will not be -disturbed by a sense of impropriety and unfitness. - -Nevertheless, I repeat, you should cultivate your own style, not by -changing it into some other person’s style, but by striving to preserve -its individuality, while decorating it with all the graces of art. Nature -gives the style, for your style is yourself; but the decorations are -slowly and laboriously acquired by diligent study, and, above all, by -long and patient practice. There are but two methods of attaining to -this accomplishment—contemplation of the best productions of art, and -continuous toil in the exercise of it. - - -Make Your Composition Attractive. - -I assume that, by the process I have already described, you have acquired -a tolerably quick flow of ideas, a ready command of words, and ability -to construct grammatical sentences; all that now remains to you is to -learn to use this knowledge that the result may be presented in the most -attractive shape to those whom you address. I am unable to give you many -practical hints towards this, because it is not a thing to be acquired -by formal rules, in a few lessons and by a set course of study; it is -the product of very wide and long-continued gleanings from a countless -variety of sources; but, above all, it is taught by experience. - -If you compare your compositions at intervals of six months, you will -see the progress you have made. You began with a multitude of words, -with big nouns and bigger adjectives, a perfect firework of epithets, a -tendency to call everything by something else than its proper name, and -the more you admired your own ingenuity the more you thought it must -be admired by others. If you had a good idea, you were pretty sure to -dilute it by expansion, supposing the while that you were improving by -amplifying it. You indulged in small flights of poetry (in prose), not -always in appropriate places, and you were tolerably sure to go off into -rhapsody, and to mistake fine words for eloquence. This is the juvenile -style; and is not peculiar to yourself—it is the common fault of _all_ -young writers. - -But the cure for it may be hastened by judicious self-treatment. In -addition to the study of good authors, to cultivate your taste, you may -mend your style by a process of pruning, after the following fashion. -Having finished your composition, or a section of it, lay it aside, and -do not look at it again for a week, during which interval other labors -will have engaged your thoughts. You will then be in a condition to -revise it with an approach to critical impartiality, and so you will -begin to learn the wholesome _art of blotting_. Go through it slowly, pen -in hand, weighing every word, and asking yourself, “What did I _intend_ -to say? How can I say it in the briefest and plainest English?” - -Compare with the plain answer you return to this question the form in -which you had tried to express the same meaning in the writing before -you, and at each word further ask yourself, “Does this word precisely -convey my thought? Is it the aptest word? Is it a necessary word? Would -my meaning be fully expressed without it?” If it is not the best, change -it for a better. If it is superfluous, ruthlessly strike it out. - -The work will be painful at first—you will sacrifice with a sigh so -many flourishes of fancy, so many figures of speech, of whose birth you -were proud. Nay, at the beginning, and for a long time afterwards, your -courage will fail you, and many a cherished phrase will be spared by your -relenting pen. But be persistent, and you will triumph at last. Be not -content with one act of erasure. Read the manuscript again, and, seeing -how much it is improved, you will be inclined to blot a little more. Lay -it aside for a month, and then read again, and blot again as before. Be -severe toward yourself. - - -THE CHOICE OF LANGUAGE. - -Simplicity is the crowning achievement of judgment and good taste. It is -of very slow growth in the greatest minds; by the multitude it is never -acquired. The gradual progress towards it can be curiously traced in -the works of the great masters of English composition, wheresoever the -injudicious zeal of admirers has given to the world the juvenile writings -which their own better taste had suffered to pass into oblivion. Lord -Macaulay was an instance of this. Compare his latest with his earliest -compositions, as collected in the posthumous volume of his “Remains,” and -the growth of improvement will be manifest. - -Yet, at first thought, nothing appears to be easier to remember, and -to act upon, than the rule, “Say what you want to say in the fewest -words that will express your meaning clearly; and let those words be -the plainest, the most common (not vulgar), and the most intelligible -to the greatest number of persons.” It is certain that a beginner will -adopt the very reverse of this. He will say what he has to say in the -greatest number of words he can devise, and those words will be the -most artificial and uncommon his memory can recall. As he advances, he -will learn to drop these long phrases and big words; he will gradually -contract his language to the limit of his thoughts, and he will discover, -after long experience, that he was never so feeble as when he flattered -himself that he was most forcible. - - -Faults in Writing. - -I have dwelt upon this subject with repetitions that may be deemed almost -wearisome, because affectations and conceits are the besetting sin of -modern composition, and the vice is growing and spreading. The literature -of our periodicals teems with it; the magazines are infected by it almost -as much as the newspapers, which have been always famous for it. - -Instead of an endeavor to write plainly, the express purpose of the -writers in the periodicals is to write as obscurely as possible; they -make it a rule never to call anything by its proper name, never to say -anything directly in plain English, never to express their true meaning. -They delight to say something quite different in appearance from that -which they purpose to say, requiring the reader to translate it, if he -can, and, if he cannot, leaving him in a state of bewilderment, or wholly -uninformed. - -Worse models you could not find than those presented to you by the -newspapers and periodicals; yet are you so beset by them that it is -extremely difficult not to catch the infection. Reading day by day -compositions teeming with bad taste, and especially where the style -floods you with its conceits and affectations, you unconsciously fall -into the same vile habit, and incessant vigilance is required to restore -you to sound, vigorous, manly, and wholesome English. I cannot recommend -to you a better plan for counteracting the inevitable mischief than -the daily reading of portions of some of our best writers of English, -specimens of which you will find near the close of the First Part of this -volume. We learn more by example than in any other way, and a careful -perusal of these choice specimens of writing from the works of the most -celebrated authors will greatly aid you. - -You will soon learn to appreciate the power and beauty of those simple -sentences compared with the forcible feebleness of some, and the -spasmodic efforts and mountebank contortions of others, that meet your -eye when you turn over the pages of magazine or newspaper. I do not say -that you will at once become reconciled to plain English, after being -accustomed to the tinsel and tin trumpets of too many modern writers; but -you will gradually come to like it more and more; you will return to it -with greater zest year by year; and, having thoroughly learned to love -it, you will strive to follow the example of the authors who have written -it. - - -Read Great Authors. - -And this practice of daily reading the writings of one of the great -masters of the English tongue should never be abandoned. So long as you -have occasion to write or speak, let it be held by you almost as a duty. -And here I would suggest that you should read them _aloud_; for there is -no doubt that the words, entering at once by the eye and the ear, are -more sharply impressed upon the mind than when perused silently. - -Moreover, when reading aloud you read more slowly; the full meaning of -each word must be understood, that you may give the right expression -to it, and the ear catches the general structure of the sentences more -perfectly. Nor will this occupy much time. There is no need to devote to -it more than a few minutes every day. Two or three pages thus read daily -will suffice to preserve the purity of your taste. - -Your first care in composition will be, of course, to express yourself -grammatically. This is partly habit, partly teaching. If those with whom -a child is brought up talk grammatically, he will do likewise, from mere -imitation; but he will learn quite as readily anything ungrammatical -to which his ears may be accustomed; and, as the most fortunate of us -mingle in childhood with servants and other persons not always observant -of number, gender, mood, and tense, and as even they who have enjoyed -the best education lapse, in familiar talk, into occasional defiance of -grammar, which could not be avoided without pedantry, you will find the -study of grammar necessary to you under any circumstances. Your ear will -teach you a great deal, and you may usually trust to it as a guide; but -sometimes occasions arise when you are puzzled to determine which is the -correct form of expression, and in such cases there is safety only in -reference to the rule. - -Fortunately our public schools and academies give much attention to the -study of grammar. The very first evidence that a person is well educated -is the ability to speak correctly. If you were to say, “I paid big prices -for them pictures,” or, “Her photographs always flatters her,” or, “His -fund of jokes and stories make him a pleasant companion,” or, “He buys -the paper for you and I”—if you were guilty of committing such gross -errors against good grammar, or scores of others that might be mentioned, -your chances for obtaining a standing in polite society would be very -slim. Educated persons would at once rank you as an ignorant boor, and -their treatment of you would be suggestive of weather below zero. Do not -“murder the King’s English.” - - -PUTTING WORDS INTO SENTENCES. - -Having pointed out the importance of correct grammar and the right choice -of language, I wish now to furnish you with some practical suggestions -for the construction of sentences. Remember that a good thought often -suffers from a weak and faulty expression of it. - -Your sentences will certainly shape themselves after the structure of -your own mind. If your thoughts are vivid and definite, so will be your -language; if dreamy and hazy, so will your composition be obscure. Your -speech, whether oral or written, can be but the expression of yourself; -and what you are, that speech will be. - -Remember, then, that you cannot materially change the substantial -character of your writing; but you may much improve the form of it by the -observance of two or three general rules. - -In the first place, _be sure you have something to say_. This may appear -to you a very unnecessary precaution; for who, you will ask, having -nothing to say, desires to write or to speak? I do not doubt that you -have often felt as if your brain was teeming with thoughts too big for -words; but when you came to seize them, for the purpose of putting them -into words, you have found them evading your grasp and melting into the -air. They were not _thoughts_ at all, but _fancies_—shadows which you -had mistaken for substances, and whose vagueness you would never have -detected, had you not sought to embody them in language. Hence you will -need to be assured that you have thoughts to express, before you try to -express them. - -And how to do this? By asking yourself, when you take up the pen, what -it is you intend to say, and answering yourself as you best can, without -caring for the form of expression. If it is only a vague and mystical -idea, conceived in cloudland, you will try in vain to put it into any -form of words, however rude. If, however, it is a definite thought, -proceed at once to set it down in words and fix it upon paper. - - -Vague and Hazy Ideas. - -The expression of a precise and definite thought is not difficult. Words -will follow the thought; indeed, they usually accompany it, because -it is almost impossible to think unless the thought is clothed in -words. So closely are ideas and language linked by habit, that very few -minds are capable of contemplating them apart, insomuch that it may be -safely asserted of all intellects, save the highest, that if they are -unable to express their ideas, it is because the ideas are incapable of -expression—because they are vague and hazy. - -For the present purpose it will suffice that you put upon paper the -substance of what you desire to say, in terms as rude as you please, the -object being simply to measure your thoughts. If you cannot express them, -do not attribute your failure to the weakness of language, but to the -dreaminess of your ideas, and therefore banish them without mercy, and -direct your mind to some more definite object for its contemplations. If -you succeed in putting your ideas into words, be they ever so rude, you -will have learned the first, the most difficult, and the most important -lesson in the art of writing. - -The second is far easier. Having thoughts, and having embodied those -thoughts in unpolished phrase, your next task will be to present them in -the most attractive form. To secure the attention of those to whom you -desire to communicate your thoughts, it is not enough that you utter -them in any words that come uppermost; you must express them in the best -words, and in the most graceful sentences, so that they may be read with -pleasure, or at least without offending the taste. - -Your first care in the choice of words will be that they shall express -precisely your meaning. Words are used so loosely in society that the -same word will often be found to convey half a dozen different ideas -to as many auditors. Even where there is not a conflict of meanings -in the same word, there is usually a choice of words having meanings -sufficiently alike to be used indiscriminately, without subjecting the -user to a charge of positive error. But the cultivated taste is shown in -the selection of such as express the most delicate shades of difference. - - -Suit the Word to the Thought. - -Therefore, it is not enough to have abundance of words; you must learn -the precise meaning of each word, and in what it differs from other words -supposed to be synonymous; and then you must select that which most -exactly conveys the thought you are seeking to embody. There is but one -way to fill your mind with words, and that is, to read the best authors, -and to acquire an accurate knowledge of the precise meaning of their -words—by _parsing_ as you read. - -By the practice of _parsing_, I intend very nearly the process so -called at schools, only limiting the exercise to the definitions -of the principal words. As thus: take, for instance the sentence -that immediately precedes this,—ask yourself what is the meaning of -“practice,” of “parsing,” of “process,” and such like. Write the answer -to each, that you may be assured that your definition is distinct. -Compare it with the definitions of the same word in the dictionaries, and -observe the various senses in which it has been used. - -You will thus learn also the words that have the same, or nearly the -same, meaning—a large vocabulary of which is necessary to composition, -for frequent repetition of the same word, especially in the same -sentence, is an inelegance, if not a positive error. Compare your -definition with that of the authorities, and your use of the word with -the uses of it cited in the dictionary, and you will thus measure your -own progress in the science of words. - - -An Amusing Exercise. - -This useful exercise may be made extremely amusing as well as -instructive, if friends, having a like desire for self-improvement, will -join you in the practice of it; and I can assure you that an evening will -be thus spent pleasantly as well as profitably. You may make a merry game -of it—a game of speculation. Given a word; each one of the company in -turn writes his definition of it; Webster’s Dictionary, or some other, is -then referred to, and that which comes nearest the authentic definition -wins the honor or the prize; it may be a sweepstakes carried off by him -whose definition hits the mark the most nearly. - -But, whether in company or alone, you should not omit the frequent -practice of this exercise, for none will impart such a power of accurate -expression and supply such an abundance of apt words wherein to embody -the delicate hues and various shadings of thought. - -So with _sentences_, or the combination of words. Much skill is required -for their construction. They must convey your meaning accurately, and as -far as possible in the natural order of thought, and yet they must not be -complex, involved, verbose, stiff, ungainly, or full of repetitions. They -must be brief, but not curt; explicit, but not verbose. Here, again, -good taste must be your guide, rather than rules which teachers propound, -but which the pupil never follows. - -Not only does every style require its own construction of a sentence, but -almost every combination of thought will demand a different shape in the -sentence by which it is conveyed. A standard sentence, like a standard -style, is a pedantic absurdity; and, if you would avoid it, you must -_not_ try to write by rule, though you may refer to rules in order to -find out your faults after you have written. - -Lastly, inasmuch as your design is, not only to influence, but to -please, it will be necessary for you to cultivate what may be termed the -_graces_ of composition. It is not enough that you instruct the minds -of your readers; you must gratify their taste, and win their attention, -giving pleasure in the very process of imparting information. Hence you -must make choice of words that convey no coarse meanings, and excite -no disagreeable associations. You are not to sacrifice expression to -elegance; but so, likewise, you are not to be content with a word or -a sentence if it is offensive or unpleasing, merely because it best -expresses your meaning. - - -Graces of Composition. - -The precise boundary between refinement and rudeness cannot be defined; -your own cultivated taste must tell you the point at which power or -explicitness is to be preferred to delicacy. One more caution I would -impress upon you, that you pause and give careful consideration to it -before you permit a coarse expression, on account of its correctness, to -pass your critical review when you revise your manuscript, and again when -you read the proof, if ever you rush into print. - -And much might be said also about the _music of speech_. Your words -and sentences must be musical. They must not come harshly from the -tongue, if uttered, or grate upon the ear, if heard. There is a rhythm -in words which should be observed in all composition, written or oral. -The perception of it is a natural gift, but it may be much cultivated and -improved by reading the works of the great masters of English, especially -of the best poets—the most excellent of all in this wonderful melody of -words being Longfellow and Tennyson. Perusal of their works will show you -what you should strive to attain in this respect, even though it may not -enable you fully to accomplish the object of your endeavor. Aim at the -sun and you will shoot high. - - -ERRORS TO BE AVOIDED. - -The faculty for writing varies in various persons. Some write easily, -some laboriously; words flow from some pens without effort, others -produce them slowly; composition seems to come naturally to a few, -and a few never can learn it, toil after it as they may. But whatever -the natural power, of this be certain, that _good_ writing cannot be -accomplished without study and painstaking practice. Facility is far from -being a proof of excellence. Many of the finest works in our language -were written slowly and painfully; the words changed again and again, and -the structure of the sentences carefully cast and recast. - -There is a fatal facility that runs “in one weak, washy, everlasting -flood,” that is more hopeless than any slowness or slovenliness. If -you find your pen galloping over the paper, take it as a warning of a -fault to be shunned; stay your hand, pause, reflect, read what you have -written; see what are the thoughts you have set down, and resolutely try -to condense them. There is no more wearisome process than to write the -same thing over again; nevertheless it is a most efficient teaching. Your -endeavor should be to say the same things, but to say them in a different -form; to condense your thoughts, and express them in fewer words. - -Compare this second effort with the first, and you will at once measure -your improvement. You cannot now do better than repeat this lesson -twice; rewrite, still bearing steadily in mind your object, which is, to -say what you desire to utter in words the most apt and in the briefest -form consistent with intelligibility and grace. Having done this, -take your last copy and strike out pitilessly every superfluous word, -substitute a vigorous or expressive word for a weak one, sacrifice the -adjectives without remorse, and, when this work is done, rewrite the -whole, as amended. - -And, if you would see what you have gained by this laborious but -effective process, compare the completed essay with the first draft of -it, and you will recognize the superiority of careful composition over -facile scribbling. You will be fortunate if you thus acquire a mastery -of condensation, and can succeed in putting the reins upon that fatal -facility of words, before it has grown into an unconquerable habit. - -Simplicity is the charm of writing, as of speech; therefore, cultivate -it with care. It is not the natural manner of expression, or, at least, -there grows with great rapidity in all of us a tendency to an ornamental -style of talking and writing. As soon as the child emerges from the -imperfect phraseology of his first letters to papa, he sets himself -earnestly to the task of trying to disguise what he has to say in some -other words than such as plainly express his meaning and nothing more. To -him it seems an object of ambition—a feat to be proud of—to go by the -most indirect paths, instead of the straight way, and it is a triumph to -give the person he addresses the task of interpreting his language, to -find the true meaning lying under the apparent meaning. - - -Come Right to the Point. - -Circumlocution is not the invention of refinement and civilization, but -the vice of the uncultivated; it prevails the most with the young in -years and in minds that never attain maturity. It is a characteristic of -the savage. You cannot too much school yourself to avoid this tendency, -if it has not already seized you, as is most probable, or to banish it, -if infected by it. - -If you have any doubt of your condition in this respect, your better -course will be to consult some judicious friend, conscious of the evil -and competent to criticism. Submit to him some of your compositions, -asking him to tell you candidly what are their faults, and especially -what are the circumlocutions in them, and how the same thought might have -been better, because more simply and plainly, expressed. Having studied -his corrections, rewrite the article, striving to avoid those faults. - -Submit this again to your friendly censor, and, if many faults are found -still to linger, apply yourself to the labor of repetition once more. -Repeat this process with new writings, until you produce them in a shape -that requires few blottings, and, having thus learned what to shun, you -may venture on self-reliance. - -But, even when parted from your friendly critic, you should continue to -be your own critic, revising every sentence, with resolute purpose to -strike out all superfluous words and to substitute an expressive word -for every fine word. You will hesitate to blot many a pet phrase, of -whose invention you felt proud at the moment of its birth; but, if it is -circumlocution, pass the pen through it ruthlessly, and by degrees you -will train yourself to the crowning victory of art—simplicity. - -When you are writing on any subject, address yourself to it directly. -Come to the point as speedily as possible, and do not walk round about -it, as if you were reluctant to grapple with it. There is so much to be -read nowadays that it is the duty of all who write to condense their -thoughts and words. This cannot always be done in speaking, where slow -minds must follow your faster lips, but it is always practicable in -writing, where the reader may move slowly, or repeat what he has not -understood on the first passing of the eye over the words. - - -Arranging Your Words. - -In constructing your sentences, marshal your words in the order of -thought—that is the natural, and therefore the most intelligible shape -for language to assume. In conversation we do this instinctively, but in -writing the rule is almost always set at defiance. The man who would tell -you a story in a plain, straightforward way would not write it without -falling into utter confusion and placing almost every word precisely -where it ought not to be. In learning to write, let this be your next -care. - -Probably it will demand much toil at first in rewriting for the sake -of redistributing your words; acquired habit of long standing will -unconsciously mould your sentences to the accustomed shape; but persevere -and you will certainly succeed at last, and your words will express your -thoughts precisely as you think them, and as you desire that they should -be impressed upon the minds of those to whom they are addressed. - -So with the sentences. Let each be complete in itself, embodying one -proposition. Shun that tangled skein in which some writers involve -themselves, to the perplexity of their readers and their own manifest -bewilderment. When you find a sentence falling into such a maze, halt -and retrace your steps. Cancel what you have done, and reflect what you -design to say. Set clearly before your mind the ideas that you had begun -to mingle; disentangle them, range them in orderly array, and express -them in distinct sentences, where each will stand separate, but in its -right relationship to all the rest. - -This exercise will improve, not only your skill in the art of writing, -but also in the art of thinking, for those involved sentences are almost -always the result of confused thoughts; the resolve to write clearly -will compel you to think clearly, and you will be surprised to discover -how often thoughts, which had appeared to you definite in contemplation, -are found, when you come to set them upon paper, to be most incomplete -and shadowy. Knowing the fault, you can then put your wits to work and -furnish the remedy. - - -EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION. - - -SIMPLE SENTENCES. - - -SUBJECT AND PREDICATE. - -The sentence ‘John writes’ consists of two parts:— - - (1) The name of the person of whom we are speaking,—_John_ - -and - - (2) What we say about John,—_writes_. - -Similarly the sentence ‘Fire burns’ consists of two parts:— - - (1) The name of the thing of which we are speaking,—_fire_. - - (2) What we say about fire,—_burns_. - -Every sentence has two such parts. - -The name of the person or thing spoken about is called the =Subject=. - -What is said about the Subject is called the =Predicate=. - - -Exercise 1. - -_Point out the Subjects and the Predicates._ - - William sings. Birds fly. Sheep bleat. Henry is reading. Rain is - falling. Rain has fallen. Stars are shining. Stars were shining. - Cattle are grazing. Soldiers are watching. Soldiers watched. - Soldiers were watched. School is closed. Donkeys bray. Donkeys - were braying. I am writing. We are reading. - - EXAMPLES.—William sings: “William” is the subject; “sings” is the - predicate. Henry is reading: “Henry” is the subject; “is reading” - is the predicate. In like manner you should go through the list - and point out the subjects and verbs. - - -Exercise 2. - -_Place Predicates (Verbs) after the following Subjects_:— - - Baby. Babies. Lightning. Flowers. Soldiers. Lions. Bees. Gas. The - sun. The wind. The eagle. Eagles. The ship. Ships. The master. - The scholars. The cat. Cats. Bakers. A butcher. The moon. The - stars. Carpenters. The carpenter. The mower. Porters. Ploughmen. - - EXAMPLES.—“Baby” smiles. “Babies” cry. “Lightning” strikes. - Supply verbs for all the subjects. - - -Exercise 3. - -_Place Subjects before the following Predicates_:— - - Mew. Chatter. Grunt. Ran. Hum. Fly. Howl. Is walking. Plays. - Played. Fell. Whistled. Shrieked. Sings. Sing. Sang. Sleeps. - Slept. Bark. Barks. Cried. Bloom. Laughed. Soar. Swim. Swam. Was - swimming. Dawns. Dawned. Gallops. Roar. - - EXAMPLES.—Cats “mew.” Monkeys “chatter.” Pigs “grunt.” Go on and - write subjects for all the verbs. - - -SUBJECT, PREDICATE, AND OBJECT. - -The Predicate always is, or contains, a Verb. In many sentences the -Predicate is a Verb alone. When it is a Verb in the Active Voice, it has -an =Object=, thus:— - - _Subject._ _Predicate._ _Object._ - Parents love children. - Children obey parents. - Boys write essays. - Haste makes waste. - - -Exercise 4. - -_Pick out the Subjects, Predicates, and Objects._ - - Soldiers fight battles. Tom missed Fred. Mary is minding baby. - Job showed patience. Abraham had faith. Romulus founded Rome. - Titus captured Jerusalem. Arthur loves father. Walter threw a - stone. Tom broke a window. The servant swept the room. Masons - build houses. The girl is milking the cow. The dog bit the - beggar. Artists paint pictures. I am expecting a letter. We have - won prizes. - - EXAMPLES.—The word “soldiers” is the subject; “fight” is the - predicate; “battles” is the object. “Tom” is the subject; - “missed” is the predicate; “Fred” is the object. You do not need - to be confined to the sentences here given; write others of your - own, and name the subjects, verbs and objects. - - -Exercise 5. - -You will readily understand what is required to complete the sentences -in Exercises 5, 6 and 7. A poet _writes_ poems. The smith _strikes_ the -iron, etc. - -_Supply Predicates._ - - A poet ... poems. The smith ... the iron. Horses ... carts. Cows - ... grass. Cats ... milk. The sexton ... the bell. The horse ... - the groom. Grocers ... sugar. The hounds ... the fox. Birds ... - nests. The gardener ... the flowers. Miss Wilson ... a ballad. - Horses ... hay. The dog ... the thief. The banker ... a purse. - Tailors ... coats. Brewers ... beer. The girl ... a rose. - - -Exercise 6. - -_Supply Objects._ - - The servant broke.... The cook made.... The hunter killed.... - Farmers till.... Soldiers fight.... Tom missed.... Mary is - minding.... Romulus founded.... Titus captured.... Cæsar - invaded.... The gardener sowed.... Somebody stole.... Artists - paint.... The sailor lost.... Children learn.... Authors - write.... Farmers grow.... Birds build.... I admire.... We - like.... I hurt.... - - -Exercise 7. - -_Supply Subjects._ - - ... dusted the room. ... is drawing a load. ... loves me. ... - met Tom. ... caught the thief. ... grow flowers. ... bit the - beggar. ... won the prize. ... has lost the dog. ... has killed - the cat. ... felled a tree. ... are singing songs. ... is making - a pudding. ... is expecting a letter. ... gives light. ... makes - shoes. ... sold a book. ... like him. ... likes him. - - -ENLARGED SUBJECT. - -Subjects may be enlarged by =Adjuncts=. Thus the sentence “Boys work” -may, by additions to the subject, become - - _The_ boys work. - - _These_ boys work. - - _Good_ boys work. - - _My_ boys work. - - _The good_ boys _of the village_ work. - - _The good_ boys _of the village, wishing to please their master_, - work. - - -Exercise 8. - -_Point out the Subject and its Adjuncts._ - - Tom’s brother has arrived. The careless boy will be punished. - The laws of the land have been broken. The sweet flowers are - blooming. The poor slave is crying. The boat, struck by a great - wave, sank. The little child, tired of play, is sleeping. A short - letter telling the good news has been sent. - - -Exercise 9. - -_Add Adjuncts to each Subject._ - - Birds fly. Sheep bleat. Stars are shining. Cattle are grazing. - Soldiers are watching. Donkeys bray. Lightning is flashing. The - sun is shining. The scholars are studying. The ploughman is - whistling. Monkeys chatter. Pigs grunt. The lark is soaring. - Lions roar. - - -ENLARGED OBJECTS. - -Objects, like Subjects, may be enlarged by Adjuncts. Thus the sentence -“Boys learn lessons” may, by additions to the Object, become - - Boys learn _the_ lessons. - - Boys learn _their_ lessons. - - Boys learn _home_ lessons. - - Boys learn _difficult_ lessons. - - Boys learn lessons _about Verbs_. - - Boys learn _the_ lessons _set by Mr. Edwards_. - - Boys learn _the difficult home_ lessons _about Verbs set by Mr. - Edwards_. - - -Exercise 10. - -_Point out the Object and its Adjuncts._ - - The servant dusted every room. Fred loves his sweet little - sister. We have rented a house at Barmouth. We saw our neighbor’s - new Shetland pony. I am reading a book written by my father. The - policeman caught the man accused of theft. The gardener is hoeing - the potatoes planted by him in the early spring. - - -Exercise 11. - -_Add Adjuncts to each Object._ - - The soldiers fought battles. Mary is minding baby. Walter threw a - stone. Tom broke a window. The servant swept the room. The girl - is milking the cow. The dog bit the beggar. The artist painted - pictures. I am expecting a letter. We have won prizes. The fire - destroyed houses. The general gained a victory. The engineer - made a railway. The children drowned the kittens. We have bought - books. He teaches geography. - - -ENLARGED PREDICATE. - -Predicates, like Subjects and Objects, may be enlarged by Adjuncts. Thus -the sentence “Boys work” may, by additions to the Predicate, become - - Boys work _diligently_. - - Boys work _now_. - - Boys work _in school_. - - Boys work _to please their teacher_. - - Boys work _diligently now in school to please their teacher_. - - -Exercise 12. - -_Pick out Predicate and its Adjuncts._ - - Tom’s brother will come to-morrow. The careless girl was looking - off her book. The laws of the land were often broken by the rude - mountaineers. Pretty flowers grow in my garden all through the - spring. The poor slave was crying bitterly over the loss of his - child. The corn is waving in the sun. The great bell was tolling - slowly for the death of the President. The trees are bowing - before the strong wind. I am going to Montreal with my father - next week. - - -Exercise 13. - -_Add Adjuncts to each Predicate in Exercises 8, 9, 10 and 11._ - - -VERBS OF INCOMPLETE PREDICATION. - -Some Verbs do not convey a complete idea, and therefore cannot be -Predicates by themselves. Such Verbs are called =Verbs of Incomplete -Predication=, and the words added to complete the Predicate are called -the =Complement=. - - -_Examples of Verbs of Incomplete Predication._ - - The words, “London is,” do not contain a complete idea. Add the - words, “a great city,” and you have a complete sentence. “William - was,” needs a complement, and you can finish the sentence by - writing, “Duke of Normandy.” - - -Exercise 14. - -_Point out the Verbs of Incomplete Predication and the Complements._ - - Thou art the man. I am he. It is good. He is here. The house is - to be sold. The horse is in the stable. The gun was behind the - door. Jackson is a very good gardener. Those buds will be pretty - flowers. Old King Cole was a merry old soul. I’m the chief of - Ulva’s isle. William became King of England. The girl seems to be - very happy. The general was made Emperor of Rome. - -_Supply Complements._ - - London is.... Paris is.... Jerusalem was.... The boy will - be.... He has become.... We are.... I am.... He was.... Richard - became.... The prisoners are.... The man was.... Those birds - are.... Grass is.... Homer was.... The child was.... The sun - is.... The stars are.... The sheep were.... Charleston is.... - Havana was.... - - -PRACTICE IN SIMPLE SENTENCES. - -A sentence when written should always begin with a capital letter, and -nearly always end with a full stop. - - A sentence which is a question ends with a note of interrogation - (?), and one which is an exclamation ends with a note of - admiration or exclamation (!). - - -Exercise 15. - -_Make sentences about_ - - Fire. The sun. The moon. The sea. Bread. Butter. Cheese. Wool. - Cotton. Linen. Boots. Hats. A coat. The table. The window. The - desk. Pens. Ink. Paper. Pencils. Lead. Iron. Tin. Copper. Gold. - Silver. A knife. The clock. Books. Coal. The servant. A chair. - Breakfast. Dinner. Supper. The apple. The pear. Oranges. Lemons. - Water. Milk. Coffee. Tea. Cocoa. Maps. Pictures. - - -Exercise 16. - -_Make sentences introducing the following pairs of words_: - - Fire, grate. Sun, earth. Moon, night. Bread, flour. Pen, steel. - Wool, sheep. Cotton, America. Boots, leather. Ink, black. Paper, - rags. Walk, fields. Pair, gloves. Learning, to paint. Brother, - arm. Wheel, cart. London, Thames. Bristol, Avon. Dublin, Ireland. - Paris, France. Columbus, America. Shakespeare, poet. Threw, - window. Useful, metal. Carpet, new. Wall, bricklayer. Road, - rough. Lock, cupboard. Jug, full. Hawaii, island. Pencils, made. - Drew, map. - - -Exercise 17. - -_Write complete sentences in answer to the following questions_:— - - EXAMPLE. _Question._ What is your name? - _Answer._ My name is John Smith. - - If you said simply “John Smith” your answer would not be a - complete sentence. - - What is your name? When were you born? How old are you? Where - do you live? How long have you lived there? What school do you - attend? Of what games are you fond? During what part of the year - is football played? And lawn-tennis? Are you learning Latin? And - French? And German? Can you swim? And row? And ride? And play the - piano? Do you like the sea? Have you ever been on the sea? Have - you read “Robinson Crusoe?” What is the first meal of the day? - And the second? And the third? Where does the sun rise? And set? - How many days are there in a week? And in a year? And in leap - year? How often does leap year come? - - -Exercise 18. - -_Make three sentences about each of the following_:— - - The place where you live. France. India. Australia. America. A - horse. A cow. A dog. A sheep. A lion. A tiger. Spring. Summer. - Autumn. Winter. The sun. The moon. Stars. Holidays. Boys’ games. - Girls’ games. A railway. A steam-engine. The sea. A ship. - Flowers. Fruits. A garden. Wool. Cotton. Leather. Silk. Water. - Milk. Rice. Wheat. Books. Tea. Coffee. Sugar. Cocoa. Paper. - Houses. Bricks. Stone. A field. Guns. A watch. A farm. Knives. - Bees. Shellfish. Fresh-water fish. Coal. Glass. Gas. The United - States. New York. The Mississippi. Canada. Indians. Chicago. St. - Louis. Oakland. Philadelphia. Bicycle. Golf. - - -Exercise 19. - -_Combine each of the following facts into a sentence and write it out_: - - EXAMPLE: Take the first name below, thus:—“Joseph Addison, the - essayist, was born at Milston in Wiltshire, in the year 1672.” - Pursue the same plan with all the other sets of facts here - furnished. - - _Name._ _What he was._ _Where born._ _When born._ - - Joseph Addison Essayist Milston, 1672 - Wiltshire - William Blake Poet and painter London 1757 - John Bunyan Author of the “Pilgrim’s Elstow, 1628 - Progress” Bedfordshire - Lord Byron Great English poet London 1788 - Geoffrey Chaucer Great English poet London About 1344 - (probably) - George Washington First President of the Virginia 1732 - United States - Justin S. Morrill United States Senator Vermont 1810 - William McKinley President of the United Ohio 1844 - States - - _Name._ _What he was._ _Where he died._ _When he died._ - - Matthew Arnold Poet and essayist Liverpool 1888 - Daniel Defoe Author of “Robinson London 1731 - Crusoe” - Henry Fielding Novelist Lisbon 1754 - Henry Hallam Historian Penshurst 1859 - William Greatest English Stratford-on-Avon 1616 - Shakespeare poet - William H. Great English Hawarden 1898 - Gladstone statesman - Henry W. American poet Cambridge 1882 - Longfellow - Abraham Lincoln President of the Washington 1865 - United States - - _Battle._ _Date._ _Between._ _Victor._ - - Senlac, near Hastings 1066 English and Normans Normans - Bannockburn 1314 English and Scotch Scotch - Cressy 1346 English and French English - Waterloo 1815 English and French English - Marston Moor 1644 Royalists and Parliamentarians - Parliamentarians - Bull Run 1861 Unionists and Confederates - Confederates - Manila 1898 Americans and Spaniards Americans - -These facts should be combined into sentences in various ways, thus: - -_The Normans defeated the English at Senlac, near Hastings, in the year -1066._ - -_The English were defeated by the Normans at Senlac, near Hastings, in -the year 1066._ - -_In the year 1066, at Senlac, near Hastings, the Normans beat the -English, etc. etc._ - - _Event._ _Place._ _Date._ _Person._ - - Printing introduced 1476 William Caxton - into England - Discovery of America 1492 Christopher Columbus - Defeat of the Spanish English Channel 1588 Howard, Drake and - Armada others - Gunpowder Plot Westminster 1605 Guy Fawkes and others - Conquest of England 1066 William, Duke of - Normandy - Surrender of British Yorktown 1781 Lord Cornwallis - Destruction of Spanish Santiago 1898 Admiral Schley - fleet - - -SENTENCES COMBINED. - -A number of simple sentences may sometimes be combined so as to form one. - - EXAMPLE:—The girl was little. She lost her doll. The doll was - pretty. It was new. She lost it yesterday. She lost it in the - afternoon. - - These sentences may be combined in one, thus:—The little girl - lost her pretty new doll yesterday afternoon. - -The combined sentence tells us as much as the separate sentences, and -tells it in a shorter, clearer, and more pleasing way. - - -Exercise 20. - -_Combine the following sets of sentences_:— - - 1. The man is tall. He struck his head. He was entering a - carriage. The carriage was low. - - 2. Tom had a slate. It was new. He broke it. He broke it this - morning. - - 3. The cow is black. She is grazing in a meadow. The meadow is - beside the river. - - 4. The apples are ripe. They grow in an orchard. The orchard is - Mr. Brown’s. - - 5. The corn is green. It is waving. The breeze causes it to wave. - The breeze is gentle. - - 6. The father is kind. He bought some clothes. The clothes were - new. He bought them for the children. The children were good. - - 7. The boy was careless. He made blots. The blots were big. They - were made on his book. The book was clean. - - 8. The bucket was old. It was made of oak. It fell. It fell into - the well. The well was deep. - - 9. Polly Flinders was little. She sat. She sat among the cinders. - She was warming her toes. Her toes were pretty. They were little. - - 10. Tom Tucker is little. He is singing. He is singing for his - supper. - - 11. There were three wise men. They lived at Gotham. They went to - sea. They went in a bowl. They had a rough trip. - - 12. The man came. He was the man in the moon. He came down soon. - He came too soon. - - 13. I saw ships. There were three. They came sailing. They sailed - by. I saw them on Christmas day. I saw them in the morning. - - 14. Cole was a king. He was old. He was a merry soul. - - 15. A great battle began. It was between the English and the - Scotch. It began next morning. It began at break of day. It was - at Bannockburn. - -Sentences are often combined by means of Conjunctions or other connecting -words. - -Sentences are combined, by means of the Conjunction _and_. - - EXAMPLES:—1. The boy is good. The boy is clever. - - 2. William is going to school. John is going to school. - - 3. I admire my teacher. I love my teacher. - -These may be combined into single sentences, as follows:— - - 1. The boy is good and clever. - - 2. William and John are going to school. - - 3. I admire and love my teacher. - -Note the use of the comma when more than two words or sets of words are -joined by _and_:— - - I met Fred, Will and George. - - Faith, Hope and Charity are sometimes called the Christian Graces. - - I bought a pound of tea, two pounds of coffee, ten pounds of - sugar and a peck of flour. - -The comma is used in the same way with _or_. - - -Exercise 21. - -_Combine the following set of sentences by means of the Conjunction -=and=_:— - - 1. Jack went up the hill. Jill went up the hill. - - 2. The lion beat the unicorn. The lion drove the unicorn out of - town. - - 3. Edward is honest. Edward is truthful. - - 4. The child is tired. The child is sleepy. - - 5. Tom will pay us a visit. Ethel will pay us a visit. Their - parents will pay us a visit. - - 6. The grocer sells tea. He sells coffee. He sells sugar. - - 7. Maud deserves the prize. She will get it. - - 8. Coal is a mineral. Iron is a mineral. Copper is a mineral. - Lead is a mineral. - - 9. The boy worked hard. He advanced rapidly. - - 10. Little drops of water, little grains of sand make the mighty - ocean. Little drops of water, little grains of sand make the - pleasant land. - -Sentences are combined by means of the Conjunction _or_, thus:— - - 1. The boy is lazy. The boy is stupid. - - 2. I want a pen. I want a pencil. - - 3. The horse is lost. The horse is stolen. - -These sentences may be combined as follows:— - - 1. The boy is lazy or stupid. - - 2. I want a pen or a pencil. - - 3. The horse is lost or stolen. - -Remember to put in the commas when more than two words or sets of words -are joined by _or_, thus:— - - We could have tea, coffee or cocoa. - - The beggar asked for a piece of bread, a glass of milk or a few - pennies. - - -Exercise 22. - -_Combine the following sets of sentences by means of the Conjunction -=or=_:— - - 1. The child was tired. The child was sleepy. - - 2. My father will meet me at the station. My mother will meet me - at the station. - - 3. Will you have tea? Will you have coffee? - - 4. The colonel must be present. One of the other officers must be - present. - - 5. The cup was broken by the servant. The cup was broken by the - dog. The cup was broken by the cat. - - 6. I must find the book. I must buy another. - - 7. The horse is in the stable. The horse is in the barnyard. The - horse is in the meadow. - - 8. The prize will be gained by Brown. The prize will be gained by - Smith. The prize will be gained by Jones. - -Sentences may be combined by _either_ ... _or_, and _neither_ ... _nor_, -thus:— - - James was at school this morning. His sister was at school this - morning. - -These sentences may be combined thus:— - - Either James or his sister was at school this morning. - - Neither James nor his sister was at school this morning. - - -Exercise 23. - -_Combine the following sets of sentences:—(a) By =either= ... =or=. (b) -By =neither= ... =nor=._ - - 1. The man can read. The man can write. - - 2. He is deaf. He is stupid. - - 3. That shot will strike the horse. That shot will strike the - rider. - - 4. The king was weak in mind. The king was weak in body. - - 5. The king was loved. The queen was loved. - - 6. The cow is for sale. The calf is for sale. - -Sentences may be combined by _both_ ... _and_, thus:— - - The man is tired. The horse is tired. - -These sentences may be combined in the following:— - - Both the man and the horse are tired. - - -Exercise 24. - -_Combine, by means of =both= ... =and=, the sets of sentences given in -Exercise 23._ - -Sentences may be combined by means of Conjunctions of Cause, Consequence -or Condition, such as _if_, _though_, _although_, _because_, thus:— - - 1. You are tired. You may rest. - - 2. The boy was not bright. He was good. - - 3. He is liked. He is good tempered. - -Combine these sentences as follows:— - - 1. If you are tired you may rest. - - 2. Though the boy was not bright he was good. - - 3. He is liked because he is good tempered. - - -Exercise 25. - -_Combine the following sets of sentences_:— - -(a) _By means of =if=._ - - 1. You will get the prize. You deserve it. - - 2. He might have succeeded. He had tried. - - 3. You are truthful. You will be believed. - - 4. Send for me. You want me. - - 5. You do not sow. You cannot expect to reap. - - 6. You are waking. Call me early. - - 7. I will come with you. You wish it. - - 8. We had known you were in town. We should have called on you. - -(b) _By means of =though= or =although=._ - - 9. The man was contented. He was poor. - - 10. The little girl has travelled much. She is young. - - 11. The story is true. You do not believe it. - - 12. He spoke the truth. He was not believed. - - 13. It was rather cold. The day was pleasant. - - 14. He is often told of his faults. He does not mend them. - -(c) _By means of =because=; also by means of =as= and =since=._ - - 16. I came. You called me. - - 17. I will stay. You wish it. - - 18. The dog could not enter. The hole was too small. - - 19. You are tired. You may rest. - - 20. Freely we serve. We freely love. - - 21. The hireling fleeth. He is a hireling. - - 22. We love him. He first loved us. - -Sentences may be combined by means of Conjunctive Adverbs (such as -_where_ with its compounds, also _when_, _whence_, _why_), and of -Conjunctions of Time (such as _after_, _before_ _while_, _ere_, _till_, -_until_, _since_). - - -Exercise 26. - -_Combine, by means of one of the words given in the last paragraph, the -following sets of sentences_: - - 1. This is the place. My brother works. - - 2. Mary went. The lamb was sure to go. - - 3. The boy was reading. His master came up. - - 4. The moon rose. The sun had set. - - 5. It is now three months. We heard from our cousin. - - 6. Do not go out. The storm has abated. - - 7. The man arrived. We were speaking to him. - - 8. I remember the house. I was born. - - 9. I know a bank. The wild thyme blows. - - 10. There is the field. The money was found. - - 11. The workman did not hear. He was called. - - 12. He goes out riding. He can find time. - -_Supply the omitted clauses_: - - The tree is still lying where.... Wherever ... was my poor dog - Tray. William came after.... My brother cannot stay till.... - The merchant has been here since.... Go where.... Smooth runs - the water where.... She stayed till.... The boy has worked hard - since.... We shall be pleased to see you whenever.... The train - had gone before.... The little girl was tired after.... Make hay - while.... - -Sentences may be combined by means of Relative Pronouns, thus: - - 1. That is the boy. The boy broke the window. - - 2. That is the man. The man’s window was broken. - - 3. Mary is the girl. You want Mary. - - 4. This is the house. Jack built the house. - - 5. The knife was lost. The knife cost fifty cents. - -Combine as follows: - - 1. That is the boy who broke the window. - - 2. That is the man whose window was broken. - - 3. Mary is the girl whom you want. - - 4. This is the house that Jack built. - - 5. The knife which was lost cost fifty cents. - - -Exercise 27. - -_Combine, as in the examples just given, the following pairs of -sentences_: - - 1. The boy is crying. The boy is called Tom. - - 2. The man was hurt. The man is better now. - - 3. The grocer has sent for the police. The grocer’s goods were - stolen. - - 4. The child is very naughty. The father punished the child. - - 5. My uncle gave me the book. The book is on the table. - - 6. The horse goes well. I bought the horse. - - 7. The lady sings beautifully. You see the lady. - - 8. They did not hear the preacher. They went to hear the preacher. - - 9. The gentleman is very kind to the poor. You see the - gentleman’s house. - - 10. I have just bought an overcoat. The overcoat is waterproof. - - 11. The tree was a chestnut. The wind blew the tree down. - - 12. Tom had just been given the dollar. He lost it. - - 13. The boy drove away the birds. The birds were eating the corn. - - 14. The girl is very clever. You met her brother. - - 15. The dog fetched the birds. Its master had shot them. - - 16. Where is the book? You borrowed it. - - 17. The cow has been found. It was lost. - - -PUNCTUATION. - -If the proper stops are left out, the meaning of a sentence may be -doubtful. Take, for example, the toast at a public dinner: - - Woman without her man is a brute. - - This might mean that woman without man is a brute. Punctuate the - sentence correctly by the right use of the comma, and you will - see that the meaning is quite different. Thus: Woman, without - her, man is a brute. - -The misplacing of the stops may make nonsense of a sentence. Take the -sentence: - - Cæsar entered, on his head his helmet, on his feet sandals, in - his hand his trusty sword, in his eye an angry glare. - - This may become: Cæsar entered on his head, his helmet on his - feet, sandals in his hand, his trusty sword in his eye, an angry - glare. - - The barber’s sign also had two meanings according to its - punctuation: - - 1. What do you think? - I shave you for nothing and give you a drink. - - 2. What! Do you think - I shave you for nothing and give you a drink? - - -THE FULL STOP. - -A =Full Stop= is placed at the end of every sentence. - - -Exercise 28. - -_Insert full stops where wanted. Place a capital letter after each._ - - The old man was sitting under a tree the house was burned the - roses were scattered by the wind the carpet was beaten this - morning the mower was bitten by a snake that book is liked - England was conquered by William the corn was ground by the - miller the father was called by a little girl the cheeses were - eaten by mice that fish is caught with a hook the flowers were - gathered by Ellen that carving is much admired the lady was - nearly stunned snow had newly fallen the sun had just risen the - moon was almost setting Amelia is always reading Nelly had often - driven the horse the week has quickly gone the bells were merrily - ringing. - - EXAMPLES:—The old man was sitting under a tree. The house was - burned. The roses were scattered by the wind, etc. - -_Write the following, insert stops where wanted, and make good sense of -it._ - - The celebrated Rabelais was once staying at a remote country inn - he wished to go to Paris but had no money to pay his traveling - expenses he therefore hit upon a plan of traveling at the expense - of the government out of brickdust he made up three little - parcels on the first he wrote “For the king” on the second - “For the king’s son” on the third “For the king’s brother” the - landlord seeing these on the table where they had been purposely - left sent word to the king’s ministers they ordered a messenger - to fetch the traitor when he reached Paris he was recognized he - proved that he was no traitor and his trick was discovered. - - EXAMPLE:—The celebrated Rabelais was once staying at a remote - country inn. He wished to go to Paris, but had no money to - pay his traveling expenses. He, therefore, hit upon a plan of - traveling, etc. - - -Exercise 29. - -_Correct the punctuation._ - - A farmer had several sons. Who used to quarrel with one another. - He tried to cure them of this bad habit. By pointing out how - foolish and wicked it was. But he found. That he did no good. By - talking to them. So one day he laid a bundle of sticks before - them. And he bade them break it. The eldest put out all his - strength. But in vain. The other sons tried in vain. But they all - failed. Then the father. Untying the bundle. Gave his sons the - separate sticks to break. And they broke them easily. “Remember,” - he said, “the lesson. Which this bundle teaches. While you help - each other. None can harm you. When you quarrel. You are easily - hurt.” - - -THE NOTE OF INTERROGATION. - -Every direct question is followed by a =Note of Interrogation=; as, “How -do you do?” “When did you see your father?” “I suppose, sir, you are a -doctor?” - -Sometimes a question forms part of a larger sentence, as, - - They put this question to the committee, “Will you grant us a - hearing?” in a manner that proved their earnestness. - -Except in such cases, a note of interrogation is always followed by a -capital letter. - -_Carefully observe the full stops and notes of interrogation in the -following_: - - A Paris fortune-teller was arrested and brought before a - magistrate. He said to her, “You know how to read the future?” “I - do, sir.” “Then you know what sentence I mean to pass on you?” - “Certainly.” “Well, what will happen to you?” “Nothing.” “You are - sure of it?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because if you had meant to punish me - you would not be cruel enough to mock me.” - - -Exercise 30. - -_Insert full stops and notes of interrogation._ - - Is the gardener pruning the trees has the baker been here is - the teacher liked were those roses cut to-day had the gentleman - lost his hat was the thief caught is the water boiling have the - girls learned their poetry has the window been broken was the - ship wrecked has the crew been saved was Susan knitting will Mr. - Robinson sing has Frank started - - A boy was going away without his mother’s leave she called after - him “Where are you going, sir” “To the village” “What for” “To - buy ten cents worth of nails” “And what do you want ten cents - worth of nails for” “For a nickel” - - -THE COMMA. - -The =Comma= is the most frequently used of all stops. - -As a general rule, it may be stated that when, in reading, a slight pause -is made, a comma should be inserted in writing; thus:— - - The Spaniards were no match for the Roosevelt fighters, however, - and, as had been the case at La Quasina, the Western cowboys and - Eastern “dandies” hammered the enemy from their path. Straight - ahead they advanced, until by noon they were well along toward - San Juan, the capture of which was their immediate object. - Fighting like demons, they held their ground tenaciously, now - pressing forward a few feet, then falling back, under the - enemy’s fire, to the position they held a few moments before. - - Without books God is silent, justice dormant, natural science at - a stand, philosophy lame, letters dumb and all things involved in - Cimmerian darkness. - -When a Noun or Pronoun in Apposition is very closely connected with the -preceding word, no comma is needed, as, - - William the Conqueror. - - My cousin Fred. - - Cromwell the Protector. - -When the connection is not so close, or when the words in apposition are -qualified, the phrase should have commas before and after, as, - - William, the Norman conqueror of England, lived a stormy life. - - My cousin, the bold and gallant Fred, fell in battle. - - Cromwell, the great Protector, died in 1658. - - -Exercise 31. - -_Insert the necessary commas._ - - Napoleon the fallen emperor was sent to St. Helena. I live in - Washington the capital of the United States. The children love - their uncle Mr. Holmes. That coat was made by Brown the village - tailor. It was the lark the herald of the morn. Tom the piper’s - son stole a pig. Frank the jockey’s leg is broken. Rome the city - of the emperors became the city of the popes. He still feels - ambition the last infirmity of noble minds. Julius Cæsar a great - Roman general invaded Britain. - - EXAMPLES:—Napoleon, the fallen emperor, was sent to St. Helena. - I live in Washington, the capital, etc. The children love their - uncle, Mr. Holmes, etc. - -A Nominative of Address is marked off by commas, as, - - Are you, sir, waiting for anyone? - -Should the Nominative of Address have any qualifying words joined to it, -the whole phrase is marked off by commas, as, - - How now, my man of mettle, what is it you want? - - -Exercise 32. - -_Insert the necessary commas._ - - O Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo? In truth fair Montague I am too - fond. O grave where is thy victory? I pray you sire to let me - have the honor. Exult ye proud patricians. Put on thy strength O - Zion. My name dear saint is hateful to myself. I am sorry friend - that my vessel is already chosen. O night and darkness ye are - wondrous strong. Good morrow sweet Hal. Now my good sweet honey - lord ride with us to-morrow. Come my masters let us share. For - mine own part my lord I could be well content to be there. - - EXAMPLES:—O Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo? In truth, fair - Montague, I am too fond. I pray you, sire, to let me have the - honor, etc. - -An Adverbial phrase or clause let into a sentence should be marked off by -commas, as, - - His story was, in several ways, improbable. - - The letter was written, strange to say, on club paper. - - A time there was, ere England’s griefs began, - When every rood of ground maintained its man. - - They sat, as sets the morning star, which goes - Not down behind the darkened west. - - -Exercise 33. - -_Supply commas where necessary._ - - You will hear in the course of the meeting a full account of - the business. The story is however true. The wounded man is - according to the latest news doing well. He arrived in spite - of difficulties at his journey’s end. He explains with perfect - simplicity vast designs affecting all the governments of Europe. - In France indeed such things are done. I will when I see you tell - you a secret. I had till you told me heard nothing of the matter. - There where a few torn shrubs the place disclose the village - preacher’s modest mansion rose. You may if you call again see - him. You cannot unless you try harder hope to succeed. - - EXAMPLES:—You will hear, in the course of the meeting, a full - account, etc. The story is, however, true. You cannot, unless you - try harder, hope to succeed, etc. - -Words, phrases, or clauses of the same kind, coming after one another, -must be separated by commas, except when joined by Conjunctions, as, - - Let Rufus weep, rejoice, stand still or walk.... - Let him eat, drink, ask questions or dispute. - - Her lower weeds were all o’er coarsely patched - With diff’rent colored rags, black, red, white, yellow. - - On I walked, my face flushed, my feet sore, my clothes dusty and - my stomach as empty as my purse. - - -Exercise 34. - -_Supply commas where necessary._ - - I met Fred Will and George. Faith hope and charity are the - Christian graces. The grocer sold four pounds of cheese two - pounds of bacon and seven pounds of sugar. Little drops of water - little grains of sand make the mighty ocean and the pleasant - land. We could have tea coffee cocoa lemonade or ginger beer. The - beggar asked for a piece of bread a glass of milk or a few pence. - The prize will be won by Smith Brown or Jones. The first second - third and fourth boys in the class will be promoted. - - EXAMPLES:—I met Fred, Will and George. Faith, hope and charity - are, etc. The first, second, third and fourth boys, etc. - -A participial phrase is generally marked off by commas; as, - - The general, seeing his soldiers turn, galloped up to them. - - The baby lying asleep, the children were very quiet. - - -Exercise 35. - -_Insert commas where necessary._ - - James leaving the country William was made king. The storm having - abated the ships ventured to sail. Henry returning victorious - the people went forth to meet him. My friend Sir Roger being a - good churchman has beautified the inside of his church. The woman - being in great trouble was weeping. Fearing the storm we returned. - - EXAMPLES:—James leaving the country, William was made king. - Fearing the storm, we returned, etc. - - -Exercise 36. - -_Insert commas where necessary in the following sentences_:— - - On their bridal trip they took a palace car went down the - Cumberland Valley stopped awhile at a watering place and wondered - at the divorce cases recorded in the newspapers. - - In those distant days as in all other times and places where the - mental atmosphere is changing and men are inhaling the stimulus - of new ideas folly often mistook itself for wisdom ignorance gave - itself airs of knowledge and selfishness turning its eyes upward - called itself religion—_George Eliot._ - - When I was running about this town a very poor fellow I was a - great arguer for the advantages of poverty but I was at the same - time very sorry to be poor.—_Johnson._ - - Sail on Three Bells forever - In grateful memory sail! - Ring on Three Bells of rescue - Above the wave and gale! - - As thine in night and tempest - I hear the Master’s cry - And tossing through the darkness - The lights of God draw nigh.—_Whittier._ - - -THE SEMI-COLON. - -It may be generally stated that a =Semi-colon= is used in a complex -sentence when a comma would not be a sufficient division. - -Co-ordinate clauses or sentences, especially if not joined by -Conjunctions, are generally separated by semi-colons. - - -_Examples of the use of semi-colons._ - - The first in loftiness of mind surpassed; - The next in majesty; in both the last.—_Dryden._ - - Many a man lives a burden to the earth; but a good book is the - precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up - on purpose to a life beyond life.—_Milton._ - - All nature is but art unknown to thee; - All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; - All discord, harmony, not understood; - All partial evil universal good.—_Pope._ - - -Exercise 37. - -_Supply semi-colons where necessary._ - - Of the great men by whom Milton had been distinguished at his - entrance into life some had been taken away from the evil to come - some had carried into foreign climates their unconquerable hatred - of oppression some were pining in dungeons and some had poured - forth their blood on scaffolds. - - Then palaces shall rise the joyful son - Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun - Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield - And the same hand that sowed shall reap the field.—_Pope._ - - EXAMPLES:—Of the great men by whom Milton had been distinguished - at his entrance into life, some had been taken away from the - evil to come; some had carried into foreign climates their - unconquerable hatred of oppression; some were pining in - dungeons, and some had poured forth their blood on scaffolds. - - Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son - Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun; - Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield; - And the same hand that sowed shall reap the field.—_Pope._ - - -THE NOTE OF ADMIRATION OR EXCLAMATION. - -The =Note of Admiration= or =Exclamation= is used - - 1. After Interjections; as, - - Alas! he is already dead. - - 2. After a phrase in the nature of an address or exclamation; as, - - Vital spark of heavenly flame! - Quit, oh quit this mortal frame; - Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying, - Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!—_Pope._ - - 3. As a mark of surprise; as, - - Two and two are five! - - Prepare the way, a god, a god appears! - “A god! a god!” the vocal hills reply. - - -Exercise 38. - -_Insert notes of exclamation where necessary._ - - Alas he is already dead. Alas poor Yorick. Tush never tell - me that. Well-a-day it is but too true. Tut, tut that is all - nonsense. Hey come here. O for a falconer’s voice. Hurrah our - side has won. Bravo that was well done. Hush the baby is asleep. - Ah the cowards. Oh what beautiful flowers. Heigh-ho I am tired of - waiting. - - Hush hush mee-ow mee-ow - We smell a rat close by. - - Hurrah, hurrah a single field hath turned the chance of war - Hurrah, hurrah for Ivry and Henry of Navarre - - Ho maidens of Vienna ho matrons of Lucerne, - Weep, weep for those who never will return. - - EXAMPLES:—Alas! poor Yorick. Tut, tut! that is all nonsense. Bravo! - that was well done, etc. - - Ho! maidens of Vienna, ho! matrons of Lucerne, - Weep, weep! for those who never will return. - - -QUOTATION MARKS. - -A =Quotation= is said to be =direct= when the exact words are given; it -is said to be =indirect= when the substance is given, but not the exact -words; thus:— - -_Direct quotations._ - - 1. Mr. Brown said, “I am going for a walk.” - - 2. Mrs. Evans writes, “I hope to see you soon.” - - 3. He asked me, “What is your name?” - -_Indirect quotations._ - - 1. Mr. Brown said he was going for a walk. - - 2. Mrs. Evans writes that she hopes to see us soon. - - 3. He asked me what my name was. - - -Exercise 39. - -_Turn the direct quotations into indirect._ - - Johnson said, “I am a very fair judge.” “I doubt the story,” - observed Mrs. Beckett. “That was not quite what I had in my - mind,” answered the widow. “I am very tired,” added Mr. Brown. - “That is false,” we all shouted. “You must be a born fool,” - shouted the old man to me. “Our host is an inferior person,” he - remarked. “Are you better?” inquired she. Some one asked, “Do you - mean to stay till to-morrow?” “Little kitten,” I say, “just an - hour you may stay.” “I’ll have that mouse,” said the bigger cat. - Bun replied, “You are doubtless very big.” - - EXAMPLES:—Johnson said he was a very fair judge. Mrs. Beckett - observed that she doubted the story. Some one asked if you mean - to stay, etc. Bun replied that he was doubtless very big, etc. - -A direct quotation always begins with a capital letter, and is placed -within inverted commas, thus:— - - But his little daughter whispered, - As she shook his icy hand, - “Isn’t God upon the ocean, - Just the same as on the land?” - - The man said, “Where are you going?” - -The titles of books are generally placed within inverted commas, thus:— - - Defoe wrote “Robinson Crusoe.” - - Thackeray is the author of “Vanity Fair,” “Pendennis,” “Esmond,” - “The Newcomes,” and other novels. - - -Exercise 40. - -_Place all direct quotations within inverted commas._ - - Oh Charley, this is too absurd ejaculated Mrs. Beckett. Why, Mr. - Paton must be going mad exclaimed Mrs. Beckett. Oh dear! dear! I - can indeed gasped the widow. The butler announced Major and Mrs. - Wellington de Boots. You will give my love to your mother when - you write said Mary warmly. He smiled as though he were thinking - I have it not to give. The elder replied I was, as usual, - unfortunate. How naughty he is said his mother. Do you understand - the language of flowers? inquired Uncle Ralph. Why, that is - lightning exclaimed the knight. Juan replied Not while this arm - is free. He thought The boy will be here soon. Tom broke in with - You do not know whom I mean. He will soon be back continued Mr. - Brooke. Remember the proverb Small strokes fell great oaks. - Provoking scoundrel muttered the antiquary. Out with those boats - and let us haste away cried one. Hearts of oak! our captains - cried. - - Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, - But spare your country’s flag she said. - - Who touches a hair of yon gray head - Dies like a dog. March on he said. - - He woke to hear his sentries shriek - To arms! They come! The Greek! The Greek! - - Out spake the victor then, - As he hailed them o’er the wave, - Ye are brothers! ye are men! - And we conquer but to save. - - EXAMPLES:—“Oh! Charley, this is too absurd,” ejaculated Mrs. - Beckett. “Why, Mr. Paton must be going mad,” exclaimed Mrs. - Beckett. “Hearts of oak!” our captains cried. - - “Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, - But spare your country’s flag,” she said. - - He woke to hear his sentries shriek, - “To arms! They come! The Greek! The Greek!” - -The student should write out all of the above sentences and place the -quotation marks where they belong. You have enough examples to guide you. - -Sometimes, in the course of a quotation, words are inserted which form no -part of the quotation; thus, - - “Out with those boats and let us haste away,” - Cried one, “ere yet yon sea the bark devours.” - -In such cases every separate part of the quotation is marked off by -inverted commas. A capital letter is placed only at the beginning of the -quotation, or after a full stop. - - -Exercise 41. - -_Place all direct quotations within inverted commas._ - - I cannot tell you that replied the young man; it would not be - fair to others. It was not answered the other; your house has - always seemed like home. But, surely, argued the widow it must be - a comfort to feel that. In the meantime said Edgar I will write - to you. A common rose, said Uncle Ralph, like common sense and - common honesty, is not so very common. Poor faithful old doggie! - murmured Mrs. Currie, he thought Tacks was a burglar. Capital - house dog! murmured the colonel; I shall never forget how he made - poor Heavisides run. Cloudy, sir, said the colonel, cloudy; rain - before morning, I think. I don’t see the dog I began; I suppose - you found him all right, the other evening. Oh, uncle, pleaded - Lilian; don’t talk like that. - - Little kitten, I say, - Just an hour you may stay. - - Agreed, said Ching, but let us try it soon: - Suppose we say to-morrow afternoon. - They’re there, said Chang, if I see anything - As clear as day-light. - - May Heaven look down, the old man cries - Upon my son and on his ship. - - Nay, Solomon replied, - The wise and strong should seek - The welfare of the weak. - - Oh king! she said; henceforth - The secret of thy worth - And wisdom well I know. - - EXAMPLES:—“I cannot tell you that,” replied the young man; “it - would not be fair to others.” “It was not,” answered the other; - “your house has always seemed like home.” - - “Little kitten,” I say, - “Just an hour you may stay.” - - “May Heaven look down,” the old man cries, - “Upon my son and on his ship.” - - -When double inverted commas are used for an ordinary quotation, a -quotation within a quotation is marked by single inverted commas; thus, - - Miriam sang, “The enemy said, ‘I will pursue, I will overtake, I - will divide the spoil.’” - - -Exercise 42. - -_Place all direct quotations within inverted commas._ - - Mr. Brocklehurst said When I asked him which he would rather - have, a gingerbread nut to eat or a verse of a Psalm to learn he - says Oh the verse of a Psalm: angels sing Psalms. He continued, - On her return she exclaimed Oh, dear Papa, how quiet and plain - all the girls at Lowood look. I shall remember I said how you - thrust me back though I cried out Have mercy! Have mercy, Aunt - Reed. The father said Remember the proverb Keep not evil men - company lest you increase the number. But said the lecturer you - must note the words of Shakespeare - - Spirits are not finely touched - But to fine issues. - - The teacher asked in what play do the words All the world’s a - stage occur? My sister writes in her last letter Will you please - get me a copy of the song Tell me, my heart. In a poem on Dr. - South preaching before Charles II. we read - - The doctor stopped, began to call, - Pray wake the Earl of Lauderdale. - - EXAMPLES:—He continued, “On her return she exclaimed, ‘Oh! dear - Papa, how quiet and plain all girls at Lowood look.’” “But,” said - the lecturer, “you must note the words of Shakespeare, - - ‘Spirits are not finely touched - But to fine issues.’” - - -A =colon= (:) is used to separate parts of a sentence that are complete -in themselves and nearly independent, often taking the place of a -conjunction, thus:— - - Labor is the first great law: labor is good for man. - -A =period= (.) brings the sentence to a full stop, thus:— - - He rode down the valley, over the hill, and finally coming to a - farmhouse, there he stopped. - - -Exercise 43. - -You now come to a very important part of these exercises. You are to -turn to practical account what you have learned concerning Punctuation. -Write the lines that follow, and make good sense by dividing them into -sentences and placing the punctuation marks where they belong. Take time -for this and do it thoroughly. - -The following Example will aid you in carrying out your instructions. The -sentences are first printed without punctuation. I then construct the -sentences and give them punctuation marks: - - The smoke from the Spanish fleet rose above the headlands of - Santiago Harbor are they coming out I shouted to Fowler aye sir - there they come he cried instantly we took in the situation and - being ready for battle stood to our guns did you ask if it was - a hot chase well our captains gunners and marines can answer - that what thunder of guns our victory was complete the President - cabled congratulations. - - Divided into sentences and punctuated, you have the following: - The smoke from the Spanish fleet rose above the headlands of - Santiago Harbor. “Are they coming out?” I shouted to Fowler. - “Aye, sir, there they come,” he cried. Instantly we took in the - situation, and, being ready for battle, stood to our guns. Did - you ask if it was a hot chase? Well, our captains, gunners and - marines can answer that. What thunder of guns! Our victory was - complete; the President cabled congratulations. - -_Insert the necessary stops and capital letters._ - - Mr. Rich had much money and little politeness he thought it - beneath him to be civil to ordinary people one wet day he was - driving in his carriage along a turnpike road when he came to the - toll gate he called out what’s to pay five cents if you please - sir said the keeper Mr. Rich instead of handing the money rudely - flung a quarter on the muddy ground and cried there take your - change out of that the keeper stooped for the quarter and picked - it up then placing twenty cents exactly on the same spot he - coolly walked back into his cottage. - - The statement is beyond doubt true. They set out and in a few - hours arrived at their father’s. We live in an old beautiful and - interesting town. Sir I believe you. He is guilty of the vice of - cowards falsehood. The horse tired with the long gallop could - go no further. Yes I am coming. Nay you are wrong. Philosophers - assert that nature is unlimited in her operations that she has - inexhaustible treasures in reserve that knowledge will always - be progressive and that all future generations will continue to - make discoveries of which we have not the least idea. Is this the - gray-haired wanderer mildly said the voice which we so lately - overheard Hark ’tis the twanging horn. O what a fall was there - my countrymen Oh why has worth so short a date Such inquiry - according to him was out of their province. The conflict was - terrible it was the combat of despair against grief and rage. - - -EXERCISES IN EASY NARRATIVES. - -In the preceding pages you have been advised to practice the writing of -compositions by reading the productions of authors, and then writing -from memory what you have read. This may not be easy at first. You will, -however, find it less difficult as you proceed. You could not become -an expert typewriter or pianist without faithful practice, yet we have -expert typewriters and pianists. - -It is so with learning to express your thoughts in writing. What is hard -at first becomes “second nature” afterward. I have prepared some helpful -rules and examples to aid you. - -=When writing a Story which you have read or heard, observe the following -directions=:— - -1. Before beginning to write, think over the whole story, to make sure -that you remember all the points, and the order in which they come. - - Neglect of this direction may cause you to omit something or to - put something in the wrong place. - -2. Before beginning to write each sentence, arrange the whole of it in -your mind. - - If you neglect this direction you may find that the second part - of a sentence goes badly with the first, or that you cannot - finish at all a sentence such as you have begun. Here is an - example:— - - I am desired to inform the Board of Aldermen that Mr. Alderman - Gill died last night _by order of Mrs. Gill_. - - The words printed in italics could not have been in the mind of - the writer when he began, or he would have placed them after - _desired_, or (better still) he would have said, “I am desired by - Mrs. Gill, etc.” - -3. Make short sentences. - - Beware of using _and_ and _so_ too much. Avoid such a sentence as - the following: - - Once upon a time there was a fox and he went into a vineyard and - there he saw many bunches of beautiful ripe grapes hanging on - high and he tried to reach them and he could not jump high enough - and so he turned to go and said “It does not matter; the grapes - are sour.” - - Such a sentence ought to be divided into several; thus:— - - A fox once went into a vineyard. There he saw many bunches of - beautiful ripe grapes hanging on high. He tried to reach them, - but found that he could not jump high enough. As he turned to go - he said, “It does not matter; the grapes are sour.” - - The following sentence has several faults besides its length:— - - He [Swinton] did with a sort of eloquence that moved the whole - House lay out all his own errors and the ill spirit he was in - when he committed the things that were charged on him with so - tender a sense that he seemed as one indifferent what they - should do with him, and without so much as moving for mercy or - even for a delay he did so effectually prevail on them that they - recommended him to the king as a fit object of his mercy.—BURNET: - _History of his Own Time_. - - It is amended somewhat by division into shorter sentences, thus:— - - With a sort of eloquence that moved the whole House, he did lay - out all his own errors and the ill spirit that he was in when - he committed the things that were charged on him. He spoke with - so tender a sense that he seemed as one indifferent what they - should do with him. Without so much as moving for mercy or even - for a delay, he did so effectually prevail on them that they - recommended him to the king as a fit object for mercy. - -4. Use no word of which you do not know the exact meaning. - - Neglect of this rule led some one to write: - - At the dedication of the Gettysburg Monument, President Lincoln - gave the _ovation_. - -5. Do not use long words if you can find short ones. - - The barber who advertised himself as “a first-class tonsorial - artist and facial operator,” meant only that he could cut hair - and shave well. - -6. Arrange the different parts of each sentence so that they convey the -meaning which you intend. - - The following sentence is badly arranged:— - - He tells stories which Mountain would be shocked to hear after - dinner.—_Thackeray_: _The Virginians_. - - Mountain would be shocked to hear them at any time. To convey the - author’s meaning the sentence should be:— - - After dinner he tells stories which Mountain would be shocked to - hear. - -7. When you have written your story, always read it over, and correct all -the mistakes which you can find. - - -SHORT STORIES TO BE READ CAREFULLY, AND THEN WRITTEN FROM MEMORY. - - -_The Fox and the Goat._ - -A fox that had fallen into a well tried in vain to get out again. -By-and-by a goat came to the place to quench her thirst. Seeing the -fox below she asked if the water was good. “Yes,” answered the cunning -creature, “it is so good that I cannot leave off drinking.” Thereupon the -goat, without a moment’s thought, jumped in. The fox at once scrambled -on her back and got out. Then, looking down at the poor fool, he said -coolly, “If you had half as much brains as beard, you would look before -you leap.” - - -_The Vain Jackdaw._ - -A vain jackdaw found some peacocks’ feathers and stuck them amongst -his own. Then he left his old companions and boldly went amongst the -peacocks. They knew him at once, in spite of his disguise; so they -stripped off his borrowed plumes, pecked him well, and sent him about his -business. He went back to the daws as if nothing had happened, but they -would not allow him to mix with them. If he was too good for them before, -they were too good for him now. Thus the silly bird, by trying to appear -better than he was, lost his old friends without making any new ones. - - -_The Ant and the Grasshopper._ - -One frosty day a grasshopper, half dead with cold and hunger, knocked at -the door of an ant, and begged for something to eat. “What were you doing -in the summer?” asked the ant. “Oh, I was singing all the time.” “Then,” -said the ant, “if you could sing all the summer you may dance all the -winter.” - - -_The Wolf and the Lamb._ - -A wolf, coming to a brook to drink, saw a lamb standing in the stream, -some distance down. He made up his mind to kill her, and at once set -about finding an excuse. “Villain,” he said, “how dare you dirty the -water which I am drinking?” The lamb answered meekly, “Sir, it is -impossible for me to dirty the water which you are drinking, because the -stream runs from you to me, not from me to you.” “Be that as it may,” -replied the wolf, “you called me bad names a year ago.” “Sir,” pleaded -the lamb, “you are mistaken; a year ago I was not born.” “Then,” said the -hungry beast, “if it was not you it was your father, and that is as bad. -It is of no use trying to argue me out of my supper.” Thereupon he fell -upon the poor creature and ate her up. - - -_What the Bear Said._ - -As two friends were traveling through a wood, a bear rushed out upon -them. One of the men without a thought to his companion, climbed up into -a tree, and hid among the branches. The other, knowing that alone he had -no chance, threw himself on the ground, and pretended to be dead; for he -had heard that bears will not touch a dead body. The creature came and -sniffed him from head to foot, but, thinking him to be lifeless, went -away without harming him. Then the man in the tree got down, and, hoping -to pass his cowardice off with a joke, he said, “I noticed that the bear -had his mouth very close to your ear; what did he whisper to you?” “Oh,” -answered the other, “he only told me never to keep company with those who -in time of danger leave their friends in the lurch.” - - -_Bad Company._ - -A farmer who had just sown his fields placed a net to catch the cranes -that came to steal his corn. After some time he went to look at the net, -and in it he found several cranes and one stork. “Oh, sir, please spare -me,” said the stork; “I am not a crane, I am an innocent stork, kind -to my parents, and——” The farmer would hear no more. “All that may be -very true,” he said, “but it is no business of mine. I found you amongst -thieves, and you must suffer with them.” - - -_Mercury and the Woodmen._ - -A woodman was working beside a deep river when his axe slipped, and fell -into the water. As the axe was his living, he was very sorry to lose it, -and sat on the bank to weep. Mercury, hearing his cries, appeared to him, -and, finding what was the matter, dived, and brought up a golden axe. -“Is this the one which you lost?” asked the god. “No,” said the woodman. -Then the god dived a second time, and brought up a silver axe, and asked -if that was the one. The woodman again answered “No.” So Mercury dived a -third time, and then he brought up the axe which had been lost. “That is -mine,” cried the woodman joyfully. The god gave it to him, and presented -him with the other two as a reward for his truth and honesty. - -One of the woodman’s neighbors, hearing what had happened, determined to -see if he could not have the same good luck. He went to the bank of the -river, began to fell a tree, purposely let his axe slip into the water, -and then pretended to cry. Mercury appeared as before, dived, and brought -up a golden axe. The man, in his eagerness to grasp the prize, forgot to -act as his neighbor had done; so when the god asked, “Is that yours?” he -answered “Yes.” To punish him for his lying and dishonesty, the god would -neither give him the golden axe nor find his own. - - -_Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Siddons._ - -Dr. Johnson always spoke scornfully of actors and actresses, but he -treated the famous actress, Mrs. Siddons, with great politeness. She -called on him, and his servant could not readily find a chair for her. -“You see, madam,” said the doctor, “wherever you go no seats can be got.” - - -_Clever Children._ - -An ignorant Englishman once visited Paris. After his return he was -talking to some of his friends about the wonders he had seen. “I was most -surprised,” he said, “with the cleverness of the children. Boys and girls -of seven or eight spoke French quite as easily as the children in this -country speak English.” - - -_One Good Turn Deserves Another._ - -A Cambridge student sent to another student to borrow a book. “I never -lend my books out,” was the answer, “but if the gentleman chooses to come -to my rooms he may use them there.” A few days after the book owner sent -to the other student to borrow a carpet sweeper. “I never lend my carpet -sweeper,” replied he, “but if the gentleman chooses to come to my rooms -he may use it there.” - - -_Learning Rewarded._ - -A rich farmer sent his son to a famous university. The young man was -rather foolish, and brought home more folly than learning. One night, -when there were two fowls for supper, he said, “I can prove these two -fowls to be three.” “Let us hear,” answered the old man. “This,” said the -scholar, pointing to the first, “is one; this,” pointing to the second, -“is two; and two and one make three.” “Since you have made it out so -well,” replied the father, “your mother shall have the first fowl, I will -have the second, and you may keep the third for your great learning.” - - -_Daring a Dutchman._ - -A Dutch vessel and an English vessel were lying near each other. One of -the Dutch sailors wished to show his activity, so he ran up the mast, and -stood upon his head on the top of it. One of the English sailors (who did -not like to be beaten by a Dutchman) also tried to stand upon his head on -the top of the mast. He, however, fell. The rigging broke his fall and he -alighted on the deck unhurt. “There, you lubber,” he cried, “do that if -you dare.” - - -_The Miserly Planter._ - -A very miserly planter formerly lived in the island of Jamaica. He often -gave his poor slaves too little food. They complained, and he answered -that he could not help himself, because the provision ships had been -taken by pirates. This lying excuse satisfied them once, twice, thrice, -and again, but in the end long fasting made them impatient. Then they -went to their master and said to him, “Is it not strange that the pirates -have so often taken the ships bringing food, but have never taken the -ships bringing pickaxes and hoes?” - - -_A Precious Turnip._ - -Before Louis the Eleventh became king he used to visit a peasant whose -garden produced excellent fruit. After his accession, the peasant brought -him as a present a very large turnip which had grown in his garden. The -king, remembering the pleasant hours that he had spent under the old -man’s roof, gave him a thousand crowns. The lord of the village, hearing -of this, thought that if one who gave a paltry turnip received so large -a reward, one who gave a really valuable present would receive a still -larger reward. He, therefore, offered a splendid horse. The king accepted -it and, calling for the big turnip, said, “This cost me a thousand -crowns; I give it to you in return for your horse.” - - -_The Dangers of a Bed._ - -A carpenter asked a sailor, “Where did your father die?” The sailor -answered, “My father, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather were all -drowned at sea.” “Then,” said the carpenter, “are you not afraid of going -to sea, lest you should be drowned too?” Instead of replying, the sailor -asked, “Where did your father die?” “In his bed.” “And your grandfather?” -“In his bed.” “And your great-grandfather?” “In his bed also.” “Then,” -said the sailor, “why should I be more afraid of going to sea than you -are of going to bed?” - - -_How to treat Enemies._ - -A Scotch minister had in his parish a man who sometimes used to get -drunk. One day the minister, reproving him for his bad habit, said, “You -love whisky too much, Donald; you know very well that it is your worst -enemy.” “But,” answered the man slily, “have you not often told us that -we ought to love our enemies?” “True, Donald, but I never told you that -you ought to swallow them.” - - -_The Secret of Success._ - -During the long struggle between England and France, two ignorant old -ladies were discussing the war as they went to church. One said, “Is it -not wonderful that the English always beat the French?” “Not at all,” -answered the other; “don’t you know that the English always say their -prayers before going into battle?” “But,” replied the first, “can’t the -French say their prayers as well?” “Tut, tut,” said the second; “poor -jabbering bodies, who can understand them?” - - -_The Preacher for Prisoners._ - -When David Dewar was a member of the Prison Board the question of -appointing a chaplain for the jail came up. The favorite candidate of -the other members of the Board was an unsuccessful clergyman. David, -when asked to vote for him, said, “I have no objection; I hear that he -has already preached a church empty, and if he will only preach the jail -empty too, he is just the man for our money.” - - -_The Squire and his Servant._ - -A Scotch squire was one day riding out with his man. Opposite a hole in -a steep bank the master stopped and said, “John, I saw a badger go in -there.” “Did you?” said John; “will you hold my horse, sir?” “Certainly,” -answered the squire, and away rushed John for a spade. He got one and dug -furiously for half an hour, the squire looking on with an amused look. At -last John exclaimed, “I can’t find him, sir.” “I should be surprised if -you could,” said the squire, “for it is ten years since I saw him go in.” - - -_Proper Payment._ - -A boy went into a baker’s shop and bought a five-cent loaf. It seemed to -him rather small, so he said that he did not believe it to be of full -weight. “Never mind,” answered the baker, “you will have the less to -carry.” “True,” replied the lad, and throwing four cents on the counter -he left the shop. The baker called after him, “Hi! this is not enough -money.” “Never mind,” said the boy, “you will have the less to count.” - - -_The Corporal’s Watch._ - -A corporal in the life-guards of Frederick the Great was a brave but -rather vain fellow. He could not afford a watch, but managed to buy a -chain, and this he wore with a bullet at the end. The king, hearing of -this, thought he would have a little fun at the soldier’s expense, so he -said to him, “It is six o’clock by my watch; what time is it by yours?” -The man drew the bullet from his pocket and answered, “My watch does not -mark the hour, but it tells me every moment that it is my duty to face -death for your Majesty.” “Here, my friend,” said Frederick, offering him -his own costly watch, “take this, that you may be able to tell the hour -also.” - - -_Three Toasts._ - -When the Earl of Stair was ambassador in Holland he was once at a banquet -with the French and Austrian ambassadors. The Frenchman proposed the -health of his master, calling him, “The Sun.” The Austrian then proposed -the health of his mistress, calling her “The Moon.” The Earl of Stair was -equal to the occasion, for when his turn came he proposed the health of -his sovereign as “Joshua, who made the sun and moon to stand still.” - - -_Going to Sleep in Church._ - -A Scotch clergyman had a youth in his congregation who was underwitted, -and was commonly spoken of as being half daft. One Sunday the clergyman -observed that all his hearers were asleep except this youth. After the -service the minister congratulated him upon being awake, when he naively -replied, “Maybe if I hadn’t been half daft I would have been asleep too.” - - -_Striking Back._ - -A little girl complained to her brother that a boy had struck her. “Why -did you not strike back?” he asked. “O,” said the innocent creature, “I -did that before he hit me.” - - -OUTLINES TO BE TURNED INTO NARRATIVES. - -The following is an outline of one of Æsop’s fables:— - - 1. Donkey carrying salt—passing through stream—falls—loses load. - - 2. Next day loaded with salt—lies down in stream. - - 3. Master resolves to teach lesson—third journey load of sponge. - - 4. Donkey lies down—load heavier. - -This outline may be filled in thus:— - - A donkey laden with salt happened to fall while passing through a - stream. _The water melted the salt_, and the donkey _on getting - up was delighted_ to find himself with nothing to carry. Next day - he had to pass again, laden with salt, through the same stream. - _Remembering how the water had yesterday rid him of his burden_, - he lay down purposely, and was again rid of it. _But clever as he - was his master was cleverer_, and resolved to teach him a lesson. - On the third journey he therefore placed on the creature’s back - several bags filled with sponges. The donkey lay down as before, - but on getting up he found that his load, instead of being much - lighter, was much heavier. - -In the fable, as thus told, there are several points (printed in italics) -which are not in the outline. Such little details help to make the story -more real. - - -_The Snake’s Ingratitude._ - - 1. Cold winter’s day—snake half dead. - - 2. Peasant pities it—places in bosom—takes home—lays before fire. - - 3. Snake revives—attacks children—peasant kills it. - -This outline may be filled in as follows:— - - On a cold winter’s day a peasant discovered a snake that was half - dead. He pitied the half-frozen creature, placed it in his bosom, - and upon taking it home, laid it before the fire. The snake soon - revived, and, true to its nature, attacked the children of the - household, when it was promptly killed by the peasant. - - -_The Lion and the Mouse._ - - 1. Lion sleeping—mouse happens to wake him. - - 2. Lion going to kill mouse—mouse begs for mercy—mercy granted. - - 3. Lion caught in a net—roars—mouse hears him—nibbles net. - - -_The Frog and the Ox._ - - 1. Ox feeding in marshy meadow—treads among young frogs—kills - many. - - 2. One that escapes tells mother—“Such a big beast!” - - 3. Vain mother asks, “So big?”—“Much bigger.” - - 4. Mother puffs out—“So big?”—“Much bigger.” - - 5. This several times—at last mother bursts. - - -_The Hare and the Tortoise._ - - 1. Hare jeers at tortoise for slowness. - - 2. Tortoise proposes race—hare accepts. - - 3. Tortoise starts—hare says, “Will take a nap first.” - - 4. When hare wakes tortoise has passed post. - - 5. “Slow and steady wins the race.” - - -_Dividing the Spoils._ - - 1. Lion, donkey and fox hunting—much spoil. - - 2. Lion asks donkey to divide—divides into three equal parts. - - 3. Lion angry—kills donkey—asks fox to divide. - - 4. Fox makes very great heap for lion and very little one for - himself. - - 5. “Who taught you to divide so well?”—“The dead donkey.” - - -_The Wind and the Sun._ - - 1. Wind and sun dispute which is stronger. - - 2. Agree to try on passing traveler—which can soonest make him - take off cloak. - - 3. Wind begins—blows furiously—traveler holds cloak the tighter. - - 4. Sun shines—traveler too warm—throws off cloak. - - 5. Kindness better than force. - - -_The Bundle of Sticks._ - - 1. Quarrelsome brothers—father speaks in vain. - - 2. Asks sons to break bundle of sticks—each tries and fails. - - 3. Asks them to undo bundle and break separate sticks—easy. - - 4. Brothers united, like bundle—quarrelsome, like separate sticks. - - 5. “Union is strength.” - - -_The Goose with the Golden Eggs._ - - 1. Man has goose—lays golden egg daily. - - 2. Man greedy—thinks inside must be full of gold—kills - goose—finds her like all other geese. - - -_The Frogs asking for a King._ - - 1. Frogs ask Jupiter for a king—he laughs at their folly—throws - them a log. - - 2. The splash frightens them—finding log still they venture to - look at it—at last jump on it and despise it. - - 3. Ask for another king—Jupiter annoyed—sends them a stork. - - 4. Stork eats many—the rest ask Jupiter to take stork away—he - says “No.” “Let well alone.” - - -_The Battle of the Birds and Beasts._ - - 1. Bat is a beast, but flies like a bird. - - 2. Battle between birds and beasts—bat keeps aloof. - - 3. Beasts appear to be winning—bat joins them. - - 4. Birds rally and win—bat found among victors. - - 5. Peace made—birds and beasts condemn bat—bat never since dared - show face in daylight. - - -_The Hart and the Vine._ - - 1. Hart fleeing from hunters—hides among leaves of vine—hunters - pass without seeing him. - - 2. He begins to eat leaves—a hunter hears noise—shoots hart. - - 3. Hart lies wounded—reproaches itself for committing so great a - folly. - - 4. “Vine protected me; I injured it; deserved my fate.” - - -_The Lion and the Bulls._ - - 1. Three bulls feeding together in a meadow. - - 2. Lion wished to eat them—afraid of the three. - - 3. Lion tells each that the others have been slandering. - - 4. Bulls quarrel—lion kills each separately. - - -_Saved by the Life-boat._ - - 1. Vessel goes to sea—overtaken by storm. - - 2. Storm increases—ship driven on the rocks. - - 3. Officers and crew in distress—clinging to the rigging—making - signals. - - 4. Seen by the Life Guard on shore. - - 5. Boat hurries to the rescue—heroic seamen. - - 6. Men on board brought ashore—benumbed—famishing. - - 7. Revived—grateful to rescuers. - - -_Story of a Tramp._ - - 1. Early home—restless youth—runs away. - - 2. Goes to seek his fortune—falls in with vicious companions. - - 3. Roams from place to place—becomes an idle beggar. - - 4. Young man in a police court charged with burglary—sentenced to - state prison. - - 5. First mistake was leaving home—next, companionship—then, theft. - - 6. Value of home attachments—industry—honesty. - - 7. Beware of the first wrong step—not easy to remedy our mistakes. - - -STORIES IN VERSE TO BE TURNED INTO PROSE. - -The following poem, by Charles Kingsley, tells a touching little story:— - - Three fishers went sailing away to the west, - Away to the west as the sun went down; - Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, - And the children stood watching them out of the town. - For men must work, and women must weep, - And there’s little to earn, and many to keep, - Though the harbor bar be moaning. - - Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, - And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; - They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, - And the night-rack came rolling up, ragged and brown! - But men must work, and women must weep, - Though storms be sudden and waters deep, - And the harbor bar be moaning. - - Three corpses lay out on the shining sands, - In the morning gleam, as the tide went down, - And the women are weeping and wringing their hands - For those who will never come home to the town. - For men must work, and women must weep, - And the sooner it’s over the sooner to sleep, - And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. - -Here is the same story, told in prose:— - - One afternoon in a western port, three fishermen might be seen - walking slowly down towards the beach. Heavy masses of clouds - were moving rapidly overhead; the setting sun had tinged the - sky an angry crimson, and the waves broke with a moaning noise - over the bar at the mouth of the harbor. The fishermen knew that - a storm was threatening, but still they were going to sea, for - their families were large and their earnings had of late been - small. Yet they were sad at heart, and as they sailed away they - thought of the dear wives left behind, and of the dear children - watching them out of the town. - - The women were so anxious that they could not rest at home, - so they went up to the lighthouse to trim the lamps and peer - out into the darkness. The storm came on even sooner than was - expected. A huge billow caught the fishermen’s boat and sank it, - and the tide carried their dead bodies to the shore. - - By morning the storm had passed, and the rising sun shone on the - wet sand and on three poor women wringing their hands over the - corpses of their husbands. - -Note that in this prose rendering there is no attempt to preserve the -poetry. Attention has been paid to the story only, and that has been told -in the simplest manner. I here append a cluster of poems to be turned -into prose. - - -THE SANDS OF DEE. - - “O Mary, go and call the cattle home, - And call the cattle home, - And call the cattle home, - Across the sands of Dee!” - The western wind was wild and dark with foam, - And all alone went she. - - The creeping tide came up along the sand, - And o’er and o’er the sand, - And round and round the sand, - As far as eye could see; - The blinding mist came up and hid the land, - And never home came she. - - Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair,— - A tress of golden hair, - Of drownèd maiden’s hair, - Above the nets at sea? - Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, - Among the stakes of Dee! - - They rowed her in across the rolling foam, - The cruel, crawling foam, - The cruel, hungry foam, - To her grave beside the sea; - But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home - Across the sands of Dee.—_Charles Kingsley._ - - -THE WAY TO WIN. - - There’s always a river to cross, - Always an effort to make, - If there’s anything good to win, - Any rich prize to take. - Yonder’s the fruit we crave, - Yonder the charming scene; - But deep and wide, with a troubled tide, - Is the river that lies between. - - -PRESS ON. - - Press on! there’s no such word as fail; - Press nobly on! the goal is near; - Ascend the mountain! breast the gale! - Look upward, onward—never fear! - - _Press on!_ if once, and twice thy feet - Slip back and stumble, harder try; - From him who never dreads to meet - Danger and death, they’re sure to fly. - - To coward ranks the bullet speeds; - While on _their_ breasts who never quail, - Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds, - Bright courage, like a coat of mail. - - _Press on!_ if fortune play thee false - To-day, to-morrow she’ll be true; - Whom now she sinks, she now exalts, - Taking old gifts and granting new. - - The wisdom of the present hour - Makes up for follies past and gone; - To weakness strength succeeds, and power - From frailty springs:—_Press on! PRESS ON!_—_Park Benjamin._ - - -THE DYING WARRIOR. - - A wounded chieftain, lying - By the Danube’s leafy side, - Thus faintly said, in dying, - “Oh! bear, thou foaming tide, - This gift to my lady bride.” - - ’Twas then, in life’s last quiver, - He flung the scarf he wore - Into the foaming river, - Which, ah, too quickly, bore - That pledge of one no more! - - With fond impatience burning, - The chieftain’s lady stood, - To watch her love returning - In triumph down the flood, - From that day’s field of blood. - - But, field, alas! ill-fated, - The lady saw, instead - Of the bark whose speed she waited, - Her hero’s scarf, all red - With the drops his heart had shed. - - One shriek—and all was over— - Her life-pulse ceased to beat; - The gloomy waves now cover - That bridal flower so sweet, - And the scarf is her winding-sheet.—_Thomas Moore._ - - -THE BOY THAT LAUGHS. - - I know a funny little boy, - The happiest ever born; - His face is like a beam of joy, - Although his clothes are torn. - - I saw him tumble on his nose, - And waited for a groan; - But how he laughed! Do you suppose - He struck his funny bone? - - There’s sunshine in each word he speaks; - His laugh is something grand; - Its ripples overrun his cheeks - Like waves on snowy sand. - - He laughs the moment he awakes, - And till the day is done, - The school-room for a joke he takes, - His lessons are but fun. - - No matter how the day may go, - You cannot make him cry. - He’s worth a dozen boys I know, - Who pout and mope and sigh. - - -THE CAT’S BATH. - - As pussy sat washing her face by the gate, - A nice little dog came to have a good chat; - And after some talk about matters of state, - Said, with a low bow, “My dear Mrs. Cat, - I really do hope you’ll not think I am rude; - I am curious, I know, and that you may say— - Perhaps you’ll be angry; but no, you’re too good— - Pray why do you wash in that very odd way? - - “Now I every day rush away to the lake, - And in the clear water I dive and I swim; - I dry my wet fur with a run and a shake, - And am fresh as a rose and neat as a pin. - But you any day in the sun may be seen, - Just rubbing yourself with your red little tongue; - I admire the grace with which it is done— - But really, now, are you sure you get yourself clean?” - - The cat, who sat swelling with rage and surprise - At this, could no longer her fury contain, - For she had always supposed herself rather precise, - And of her sleek neatness had been somewhat vain; - So she flew at poor doggy and boxed both his ears, - Scratched his nose and his eyes, and spit in his face, - And sent him off yelping; from which it appears - Those who ask prying questions may meet with disgrace. - - -THE BEGGAR MAN. - - Around the fire, one wintry night, - The farmer’s rosy children sat; - The fagot lent its blazing light, - And jokes went round, and careless chat; - - When, hark! a gentle hand they hear - Low tapping at the bolted door; - And thus, to gain their willing ear, - A feeble voice was heard implore:— - - “Cold blows the blast across the moor, - The sleet drives hissing in the wind; - Yon toilsome mountain lies before, - A dreary, treeless waste behind. - - “My eyes are weak and dim with age, - No road, no path can I descry; - And these poor rags ill stand the rage - Of such a keen, inclement sky. - - “So faint I am, these tottering feet - No more my palsied frame can bear; - My freezing heart forgets to beat, - And drifting snows my tomb prepare. - - “Open your hospitable door, - And shield me from the biting blast: - Cold, cold it blows across the moor, - The weary moor that I have passed!” - - With hasty steps the farmer ran, - And close beside the fire they place - The poor half-frozen beggar man, - With shaking limbs and pale-blue face. - - The little children flocking came, - And chafed his frozen hands in theirs; - And busily the good old dame - A comfortable mess prepares. - - Their kindness cheered his drooping soul; - And slowly down his wrinkled cheek - The big round tear was seen to roll, - Which told the thanks he could not speak. - - The children then began to sigh, - And all their merry chat was o’er; - And yet they felt, they knew not why, - More glad than they had done before.—_Aiken._ - - -THE SHOWER-BATH. - - Quoth Dermot (a lodger at Mrs. O’Flynn’s), - “How queerly my shower-bath feels! - It shocks like a posse of needles and pins, - Or a shoal of electrical eels.” - - Quoth Murphy, “Then mend it, and I’ll tell you how - It’s all your own fault, my good fellow: - I used to be bothered as you are, but now - I’m wiser—I take my umbrella.”—_James Smith._ - - -QUEEN MARY’S RETURN TO SCOTLAND. - - After a youth by woes o’ercast, - After a thousand sorrows past, - The lovely Mary once again - Set foot upon her native plain; - Knelt on the pier with modest grace, - And turned to heaven her beauteous face. - ’Twas then the caps in air were blended, - A thousand thousand shouts ascended, - Shivered the breeze around the throng, - Gray barrier cliffs the peals prolong; - And every tongue gave thanks to heaven, - That Mary to their hopes was given. - - Her comely form and graceful mien - Bespoke the lady and the queen; - The woes of one so fair and young - Moved every heart and every tongue. - Driven from her home, a helpless child, - To brave the winds and billows wild; - An exile bred in realms afar, - Amid commotions, broils, and war. - In one short year, her hopes all crossed - A parent, husband, kingdom, lost! - And all ere eighteen years had shed - Their honors o’er her royal head. - For such a queen, the Stuart’s heir,— - A queen so courteous, young, and fair,— - Who would not every foe defy? - Who would not stand—who would not die? - - Light on her airy steed she sprung, - Around with golden tassels hung; - No chieftain there rode half so free, - Or half so light and gracefully. - How sweet to see her ringlets pale - Wide waving in the southland gale, - Which through the broomwood blossoms flew, - To fan her cheeks of rosy hue! - Whene’er it heaved her bosom’s screen, - What beauties in her form were seen! - And when her courser’s mane it swung, - A thousand silver bells were rung. - A sight so fair, on Scottish plain, - A Scot shall never see again!—_Hogg._ - - -THE EAGLE AND SERPENT. - - In the air do I behold indeed - An eagle and a serpent wreathed in fight, - And now, relaxing its impetuous flight, - Before th’ aerial rock on which I stood, - The eagle hovering wheeled to left and right, - And hung with lingering wings over the flood, - And startled with its yells the wide air’s solitude. - - A shaft of light upon its wings descended, - And every golden feather gleamed therein, - Feather and scale inextricably blended: - The serpent’s mailed and many-colored skin - Shone through the plumes, its coils were twined within, - With many a swoln and knotted fold; and high - And far the neck receding lithe and thin, - Sustained a crested head, which warily - Shifted, and glanced before the eagle’s steadfast eye. - - Around, around, in ceaseless circles wheeling, - With clang of wings and scream the eagle sailed - Incessantly; sometimes on high concealing - Its lessening orbs, sometimes as if it failed, - Drooped through the air, and still it shrieked and wailed, - And, casting back its eager head, with beak - And talon unremittingly assailed - The wreathèd serpent, who did ever seek - Upon his enemy’s heart a mortal wound to wreak.—_Shelley._ - - -ASK AND HAVE. - - “Oh, ’tis time I should talk to your mother, - Sweet Mary,” says I; - “Oh, don’t talk to my mother,” says Mary, - Beginning to cry: - “For my mother says men are deceivers, - And never, I know, will consent; - She says girls in a hurry who marry, - At leisure repent.” - - “Then, suppose I would talk to your father, - Sweet Mary,” says I; - “Oh, don’t talk to my father,” says Mary, - Beginning to cry: - “For my father, he loves me so dearly, - He’ll never consent I should go— - If you talk to my father,” says Mary, - “He’ll surely say ‘No.’” - - “Then how shall I get you, my jewel? - Sweet Mary,” says I; - “If your father and mother’s so cruel, - Most surely I’ll die!” - “Oh, never say die, dear,” says Mary; - “A way now to save you I see; - Since my parents are both so contrary— - You’d better ask _me_.”—_Lover._ - - -WHAT WAS HIS CREED? - - He left a load of anthracite - In front of a poor widow’s door - When the deep snow, frozen and white, - Wrapped street and square, mountain and moor— - That was his deed: - He did it well; - “What was his creed?” - I cannot tell. - - Blessed “in his basket and his store,” - In sitting down and rising up; - When more he got he gave the more, - Withholding not the crust and cup; - He took the lead - In each good task; - “What was his creed?” - I did not ask. - - His charity was like the snow, - Soft, white, and silken in its fall; - Not like the noisy winds that blow - From shivering trees the leaves; a pall - For flower and weed, - Dropping below; - “What was his creed?” - The poor may know. - - He had great faith in loaves of bread - For hungry people, young and old; - And hope inspired, kind words he said, - To those he sheltered from the cold, - For he must feed - As well as pray; - “What was his creed?” - I cannot say. - - -THE OLD REAPER. - - Mid the brown-haired and the black-haired men, - With ruddy faces aglow, - The old man stood in the harvest field, - With a head as white as snow. - “Let me cut a sheaf, my boys,” he said, - “Before it is time to go.” - - They put the sickle within his hand: - He bowed to the windy wheat; - Pleasantly fell the golden ears, - With the corn flowers at his feet. - He lifted a handful, thoughtfully; - It was ripe and full and sweet. - - “Many and many a sheaf,” he said, - “I have cut in the years gone past; - And many and many a sheaf these arms - On the harvest wains have cast. - But, children dear, I am weary now, - And I think this is—the last. - - “Let me rest awhile beneath the tree; - For I like to watch you go, - With sickles bright, through the ripe, full wheat, - And to feel the fresh wind blow.” - And they spread their working coats for him - ’Mong the grasses sweet and low. - - When the sun grew high they came again, - For a drink and their bread and meat; - And in the shadow he sleeping lay, - With sunshine on his feet. - Like a child at night, outspent with play, - He lay in slumber sweet. - - -THE GALLANT SAIL-BOAT. - - The boat, impatient of delay, - With spreading, white wings flew away, - Pushed its bold venture more and more. - Left far behind the fading shore, - And glided on, swan-like and free, - A thing of life, sylph of the sea. - The speed grew swift, each eager sail - Swelled as it caught the gentle gale, - And so, with canvas all unfurled, - Around the prow the waters curled, - And wreaths of spray, formed one by one, - Made rainbows in the shining sun. - - The lively breeze then stiffer grew, - The sail-boat leaped and darted through - Each billow as it struck her breast, - Or, mounting upward, skimmed the crest, - Plunged down into the hollow graves, - Made by the fast advancing waves, - Then rose again with graceful bound, - Wet with the white-caps splashing round, - And in her frolicsome advance, - Moved like a maiden in the dance. - Careening low upon her side, - No bird that cuts the air could glide - More deftly than she gaily flew, - Light-hearted, o’er the waters blue. - - And just as gay were those on board, - Their youthful spirits in accord. - As well-tuned strings wake with a thrill, - Touched by the harpist’s facile skill, - So these young hearts were in attune, - And carolled like the birds of June. - The pleasure-seekers, side by side, - Rode with the wind, rode with the tide, - While sparkling jest and blithesome song, - And bursts of laughter loud and long, - Spontaneous mirth and shouts of glee, - Went floating o’er the ruffled sea.—_Davenport._ - - -WOOING. - - A little bird once met another bird, - And whistled to her, “Will you be my mate?” - With fluttering wings she twittered, “How absurd! - Oh, what a silly pate!” - - And off into a distant tree she flew, - To find concealment in the shady cover; - And passed the hours in slily peeping through - At her rejected lover. - - The jilted bird, with drooping heart and wing, - Poured forth his grief all day in plaintiff songs; - Telling in sadness to the ear of spring - The story of his wrongs. - - But little thought he, while each nook and dell - With the wild music of his plaint was thrilling, - That scornful breast with sighs began to swell— - Half-pitying and half-willing. - - Next month I walked the same sequestered way, - When close together on a twig I spied them; - And in a nest half-hid with leaves there lay - Four little birds beside them. - - Coy maid, this moral in your ear I drop: - When lover’s hopes within their hearts you prison, - Fly out of sight and hearing; do not stop - To look behind and listen.—_Soule._ - - -MISS LAUGH AND MISS FRET. - - Cries little Miss Fret, - In a very great pet: - “I hate this warm weather; it’s horrid to tan. - It scorches my nose, - And blisters my toes, - And wherever I go, I must carry a fan.” - - Chirps little Miss Laugh: - “Why, I couldn’t tell half - The fun I am having this bright summer day. - I sing through the hours, - I cull pretty flowers, - And ride like a queen on the sweet smelling hay.” - - -MONTEREY. - - We were not many, we who stood - Before the iron sleet that day; - Yet many a gallant spirit would - Give half his years if but he could - Have with us been at Monterey. - - Now here, now there, the shot it hailed - In deadly drifts of fiery spray, - Yet not a single soldier quailed - When wounded comrades round him wailed - Their dying shout at Monterey. - - And on, still on, our column kept - Through walls of flame its wavering way; - Where fell the dead, the living stepped, - Still charging on the guns which swept - The slippery streets of Monterey. - - The foe himself recoiled aghast, - When, striking where he strongest lay, - We swooped his flanking batteries past, - And braving full their murderous blast, - Stormed home the towers of Monterey. - - Our banners on those turrets wave, - And there our evening bugles play, - Where orange-boughs above their grave, - Keep green the memory of the brave - Who fought and fell at Monterey. - - We are not many, we who pressed - Beside the brave who fell that day; - But who of us has not confessed - He’d rather share their warrior rest - Than not have been at Monterey?—_Hoffman._ - - -A WOMAN’S WATCH. - - Oh, I am a woman’s watch, am I, - But I would that I were not; - For if you knew, you would not deny - That mine is a sorry lot. - She will let me rest for a great long while, - Then all of a sudden seek - To twist me up so tight that I’ll - Keep going for a week. - - She leaves me open when she will, - Till I’m sick of dirt and things; - Of pins and hair I have got my fill, - And of buttons, hooks and strings. - There’s a four-leaf clover in me, too, - And a piece of a photograph; - I’m stuffed completely through and through - With toothpicks, cloves and chaff. - - My hands are twisted to and fro, - I’m thumped and jarred, alack! - And then, if I fail to straightway go, - I’m pounded front and back. - With her hat-pin all my wheels she’ll pry - Till she breaks them every one, - And then she’ll say: “I don’t see why - This mean old thing won’t run!” - - -LOVE LIGHTENS LABOR. - - A good wife rose from her bed one morn, - And thought, with a nervous dread, - Of the piles of clothes to be washed, and more - Than a dozen mouths to be fed, - “There’s the meals to be got for the men in the field, - And the children to fix away - To school, and the milk to be skimmed and churned; - And all to be done this day.” - - It had rained in the night, and all the wood - Was wet as it could be; - There were puddings and pies to bake, besides - A loaf of cake for tea. - And the day was hot, and her aching head - Throbbed wearily as she said. - “If maidens but knew what good wives know, - They would not be in haste to wed!” - - “Jennie, what do you think I told Ben Brown?” - Called the farmer from the well; - And a flush crept up to his bronzed brow, - And his eyes half-blushingly fell: - “It was this,” he said, and coming near - He smiled, and stooping down, - Kissed her cheek—“’twas this, that you were the best - And the dearest wife in town!” - - The farmer went back to the field, and the wife, - In a smiling, absent way, - Sang snatches of tender little songs - She’d not sung for many a day. - And the pain in her head was gone, and the clothes - Were white as the foam of the sea; - Her bread was light, and her butter was sweet, - And as golden as it could be. - - “Just think,” the children all called in a breath, - “Tom Wood has run off to sea! - He wouldn’t, I know, if he’d only had - As happy a home as we.” - The night came down, and the good wife smiled - To herself, as she softly said: - “’Tis so sweet to labor for those we love— - It’s not strange that maids will wed!” - - -ABOU BEN ADHEM. - - Abou Ben Adhem—may his tribe increase! - Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, - And saw, within the moonlight in his room, - Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, - - An angel, writing in a book of gold. - Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, - And to the Presence in the room he said, - “What writest thou?” The vision raised its head, - And, with a look made all of sweet accord, - Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.” - - “And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,” - Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, - But cheerily still; and said, “I pray thee, then, - Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.” - - The angel wrote and vanished. The next night - It came again with a great wakening light, - And showed the names whom love of God had blessed; - And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.—_Leigh Hunt._ - - -ESSAYS TO BE WRITTEN FROM OUTLINES. - -It is considered best by most experienced writers to prepare a plan of -the composition, of whatever character it may be. In this way you are -able to properly arrange your thoughts, and are less likely to omit -something which ought to be treated. - -There are authors who map out in their minds a general plan without -committing it formally to paper. The disadvantage of this method is that -something is liable to be forgotten, or inserted in the wrong place. Many -authors compose a whole book with nothing more in mind than the general -outline: others draw out what lawyers would call a “brief,” from which -they build up their production step by step. - -To aid you in learning how to write compositions, I have inserted here -the outlines of essays from which the complete productions are to be -written. Many of these subjects will compel you to consult books in order -that you may obtain the information you require, yet this will only be a -benefit to you, and will amply repay all the time and labor you expend. - -You do not need to confine yourself to the thoughts suggested in these -outlines. Think for yourself; do not always go on crutches. Introduce new -matter and express whatever is suggested to your mind, that will make -your production complete and interesting. - -The following is an outline of a brief and simple essay on “The Cat.” - - 1. Where found. - - 2. Why kept. - - 3. Fitted to be a beast of prey:—(_a_) Teeth; (_b_) Claws; (_c_) - Pads. - - 4. Fitted for night prowling:—(_a_) Fur; (_b_) Eyes. - - 5. Fitted to be a pet. - - 6. Habits. - -The outline may be filled in thus:— - - A cat is found in nearly every house. Sometimes it is kept as a - pet only, and sometimes it is kept only to catch mice, but most - people keep one for both purposes. The cat is fitted by nature to - be a beast of prey; hence its claws and teeth are sharp and long, - and under its feet are pads, which enable it to walk without - making a noise. The cat is also fitted for prowling at night. - Its thick fur keeps it from feeling cold, and its wonderful eyes - enable it to see almost in the dark. Cats make good pets because - they are pretty, clean and gentle. They like to lie on something - soft and warm. When stroked they purr. Kittens are very playful. - - -_Dog._ - - 1. Found nearly all over world; friend to man. - - 2. Uses:—Hunting, guarding, minding sheep, etc. - - 3. Description: Teeth for tearing, legs for running, coat for - warmth; differences between cat and dog. - - 4. Habits. - - -_Kinds of Dogs._ - - 1. Name various kinds. - - 2. Showing how structure of each kind fits it for its work; as - - (_a_) Greyhound—shape, legs, chest for swiftness. - - (_b_) Bloodhound—broad head, large nose for smell. - - (_c_) Bulldog—size of head, strength of jaw and of body. - - (_d_) Newfoundland—thick, oily coat, webbed feet etc., etc. - - -_Hay._ - - 1. Grass allowed to grow from early spring. - - 2. Ripe in June or July. - - 3. Cut with a scythe or machine. - - 4. Spread out to dry in sun—turned over—raked into “cocks”—carted. - - -_Grain._ - - 1. Different kinds:—wheat, barley, oats. - - 2. Sown in spring (wheat sometimes late in autumn). - - 3. Ground prepared by ploughing, harrowing. - - 4. Sowing (describe). - - 5. Weeding. - - 6. Harvesting:—cut with sickle, scythe or machine—bound—carted. - - -_Flour._ - - 1. Wheat threshed to get grain and chaff from ear. - - 2. Winnowed to separate chaff from grain. - - 3. Ground in mill (wind, steam). - - 4. Skin (bran) separated from flour. - - -_Bread._ - - 1. Generally made from flour. - - 2. Flour mixed with water, a little salt and yeast, into - sponge—yeast to make it “rise.” - - 3. Made into loaves. - - 4. Baked in oven. - - -_Butter._ - - 1. Made from cream. - - 2. Milk placed in shallow pans—cream rises—skimmed. - - 3. Cream begins to turn sour—churned. - - 4. Describe churn. - - 5. Churning divides cream into butter and buttermilk. - - 6. Butter run off—butter washed. - - 7. Beaten, often salted, moulded. - - -_Lion._ - - 1. Cat kind—teeth, claws, sheath pad. - - 2. About four feet high, tawny yellow, tufted tail, mane of male. - - 3. Lion like cat steals up to prey. - - 4. Brave. - - 5. Cubs playful. - - -_Tiger._ - - 1. Compare tiger and lion:— - - (_a_) Lion in Africa and Asia, tiger in Asia. - - (_b_) Tiger as strong, more fierce and cunning. - - (_c_) Tiger golden fur with black stripes, no mane, tail not - tufted. - - (_d_) Tiger, like lion, lies in wait. - - 2. Man-eating tigers. - - 3. Hunted, often on elephants. - - -_Elephant._ - - 1. Largest land animal, eight to ten feet high. - - 2. Very heavy body, thick skin, little hair, legs thick. - - 3. Head large, tusks sixty to seventy pounds each. - - 4. Short neck; why? - - 5. Trunk; why needed?—describe. - - 6. Clever, obedient, faithful. - - -_Stories of Elephants._ - - Tell a story showing cleverness of elephant. - - -_Owl._ - - 1. Night bird; therefore eyes large, hearing sharp, feathers - thick. - - 2. Downy feathers make flight silent. - - 3. Beak and claws. - - 4. Food. - - 5. Haunts. - - -_Swallow._ - - 1. Made for speed; feathers firm and close, wings large, tail - long and pointed, legs short. - - 2. Lives on insects; large, wide mouth. - - 3. Bird of passage; comes in spring, leaves in autumn. - - 4. Kind:— - - (_a_) Chimney martin or swallow—builds often under eaves. - - (_b_) Sand martin: smallest, builds in sandy banks or cliffs. - - -_Cuckoo._ - - 1. Named from cry. - - 2. Bird of passage— - - In April - Come he will; ... - In July - He prepares to fly; - In August - Go he must. - - 3. Description:—size of magpie or small pigeon; color:—blue gray - above; white, with slaty bars below; wings black, with white at - tips. - - 4. Lays eggs in nest of other birds—often a hedge-sparrow. - - -_Tea._ - - 1. From China, Assam, Ceylon. - - 2. Evergreen shrub, glossy leaves, white flower. - - 3. Three crops a year, first and best in spring. - - 4. Leaves gathered, placed in shallow baskets, dried first in - sun, then over charcoal; rolled between hands. - - 5. Two kinds, green and black. - - -_Coffee._ - - 1. Arabia, Brazil, East and West Indies, Ceylon. - - 2. Evergreen tree, eight to twelve feet high. - - 3. Tree bears a dark red berry, size of cherry, and containing - two hard seeds (the coffee “bean”) each in a skin. - - 4. Berries gathered, dried, passed under rollers to remove skin. - - 5. Roasted in a closed iron vessel over slow fire. - - 6. Ground. - - -_Coal._ - - 1. How formed:—Places where forests, woods, etc., growing, - sank—covered with water bringing soil—rose again—vegetable - remains hardened into coal. - - 2. Hence found in layers. - - 3. Mining:—shaft, galleries. - - 4. Dangers:—fall of roof; flooding; explosions of “fire-damp;” - afterwards “choke-damp.” - - 5. Safety lamp. - - -_Iron._ - - 1. Iron ore found in many places, worked on coal fields; why? - - 2. To drive away sulphur roasted in kiln, or with layers of coal - on ground. - - 3. Mixed with coal and lime and placed in blast furnace. - - 4. Earthy matters unite with lime to form “slag.” - - 5. Melted iron falls to bottom—run off “cast iron.” - - 6. Carbon added to iron to make steel. - - -_Spring._ - - 1. What months? - - 2. Welcome season after short, cold days of winter. - - 3. Trees and flowers—blossom. - - 4. Sowing. - - 5. Pleasant walks in the country. - - -_Christmas._ - - 1. When? - - 2. Most general holiday. - - 3. Why kept—“peace and goodwill.” - - 4. How kept:—business stopped; cards; presents; meetings of - friends; Christmas fare; trees. - - -_Your School._ - - 1. Name. - - 2. Situation. - - 3. History. - - 4. Subjects taught. - - 5. Games. - - 6. How you may do credit to it. - - -_Any Town._ - - 1. Name. - - 2. Situation. - - 3. Population. - - 4. Chief industry. - - 5. Chief buildings. - - 6. History. - - -_Linen._ - - 1. Made from flax-plant about four feet high, blue flower. - - 2. Ripe flax pulled up, dried. - - 3. Seed (linseed) removed by pulling stalks through a kind of - comb. - - 4. Stalks consist of two parts, woody and fibrous. - - 5. Steeped in water to make separation of two easier. - - 6. Beaten to break woody part. - - 7. Combed to remove it. - - 8. Spun, bleached, woven. - - 9. Uses. - - -_Blind Man’s Buff._ - - 1. One of the players has handkerchief tied over eyes. - - 2. Tries to catch any of the others. - - 3. If he catches any one he must say who it is. - - 4. If he succeeds, player caught takes his place. - - 5. The fun of the game. - - -_Base Ball._ - - 1. Describe bases (number, positions, etc.). - - 2. Describe bat and ball. - - 3. How many players? - - 4. Pitcher, catcher, basemen, fielders. - - 5. How “runs” are made. - - 6. How a player is “out.” - - 7. How one side is out. - - 8. Which “team” wins? - - -_The Blacksmith’s Shop._ - - 1. Describe the blacksmith. - - 2. His work. - - 3. Fire, bellows. - - 4. Anvil, hammers, tongs, water-trough. - - 5. “The children coming home from school....” - - -_The Carpenter’s Shop._ - - 1. Work. - - 2. Bench, planes, chisels, hammers, mallets, axe, adze, gimlets, - saws, rule. - - 3. Compare blacksmith and carpenter. - - -_Soldier._ - - 1. Appearance. - - 2. Work. - - 3. Where he lives in peace and in war. - - 4. Recruits, drill, reviews, band. - - 5. Battle. - - 6. Qualities of a soldier. - - -_A Farm Laborer._ - - 1. Work varies with season. - - 2. In spring work connected with sowing. - - 3. Summer—weeding, haymaking. - - 4. Autumn—harvesting; sometimes ploughing. - - 5. Winter—looking after stock. - - -_A Visit to Washington._ - - 1. On what river situated? - - 2. Founded when? When captured by the British? - - 3. Streets and avenues. - - 4. Capitol building, dome, Senate chamber, Chamber of the House - of Representatives. - - 5. White House. - - 6. Buildings of Government Departments. - - 7. Smithsonian Institute. - - 8. Washington’s monument. - - -_Cleanliness._ - - 1. Of person. - - (_a_) Describe pores. Waste of body passes through them like - smoke up a chimney; therefore must be kept open. - - (_b_) Diseases arise if waste cannot pass off. - - (_c_) Dirty person disagreeable. - - 2. Of clothes. - - Clean person impossible in dirty clothes. - - 3. Of houses. - - (_a_) Dust passes into lungs. - - (_b_) Dirty houses—bad smells. - - (_c_) Plague (formerly common) due to dirt. - - -_Lying._ - - 1. What it is—willful attempt to deceive. - - 2. Words may be true and yet a lie because meant to deceive. - - 3. There may be lies without words. - - 4. Why wrong. - - 5. Consequence to liar—not believed even when speaking truth. - - 6. Fable of boy that cried “Wolf.” - - -_Cruelty to Animals._ - - 1. Animals can feel. - - 2. How would you like cruel treatment? - - 3. “Do unto others....” - - 4. Animals grateful for kindness. - - 5. Any story to show this. - - -_Thrift._ - - 1. “Penny saved, penny earned.” - - 2. Name some things on which children spend money needlessly. - - 3. Advantages of saving:—“Take care of the pennies and the - dollars will take care of themselves;” savings can be turned to - account; provision for a “rainy day.” - - 4. Aids to thrift:—Savings banks, building societies, etc. - - -_Make Hay while the Sun Shines._ - - 1. Meaning of proverb. Hay is grass dried in the sun; if not - “made” on first opportunity, it may be spoiled by rain. - - 2. Proverb teaches us to miss no opportunity. - - 3. Reasons:—Do not know what may happen by to-morrow; chance - perhaps lost forever; “The mill cannot grind with the water that - is past.” - - 4. Story to show danger of putting off. - - -_A Rolling Stone Gathers no Moss._ - - 1. Meaning of the proverb—persevere. - - 2. Illustrations:— - - (_a_) If you do not finish a study begun, _all_ the time spent on - it is wasted. - - (_b_) Three removes are as bad as a fire. - - (_c_) By staying in the same place you make friends and a - position. - - -“_Virtue is its Own Reward._” - - 1. Virtue often gains for a man honor, wealth, friends. - - 2. But though it brought no such rewards it should be sought. - - 3. For the approval of one’s own conscience is more important - than the approval of any one else. - - -Easy Subjects for Compositions. - -Rabbit. Fox. Pig. Mouse. Bear. Camel. Monkey. Sheep. Goat. Cow. Hen. -Duck. Robin. Lark. Canary. Ostrich. Eagle. Pigeon. Gull. Sparrow. Whale. -Seal. Bee. Spider. Fly. Butterfly. Shark. Herring. Mackerel. Crab. Cod. -Frog. Crocodile. Turtle. Adder. Cocoa. Sugar. Sago. Cork. India rubber. -Potato. Turnip. Salt. Lead. Tin. Copper. Gold. Knife. Glass. Paper. Soap. -Pins. Needles. Candles. Cotton. Silk. Woollen cloth. Autumn. Winter. Any -game with marbles. Making and flying kites. Boating. Swimming. Fishing. -Football. Skating. Lawn tennis. Punctuality. Industry. Perseverance. -Obedience. Bad language. Good manners. Good habits. Temperance. Honesty. -The “Golden Rule.” How to make yourself useful at home. - -Describe:—(_a_) A house. (_b_) A street. (_c_) A church. (_d_) Any -village. (_e_) Any town. (_f_) A farm. (_g_) A mill. (_h_) The sea-side. -(_i_) Common spring flowers. (_j_) The most beautiful place you have -seen. (_k_) A snow-storm. (_l_) A thunder-storm. - -Describe the life and work of:—(_a_) A mason. (_b_) A gardener. (_c_) -A teacher. (_d_) A doctor. (_e_) A sailor. (_f_) A policeman. (_g_) -A postman. (_h_) A tailor. (_i_) A baker. (_j_) A shepherd. (_k_) A -fisherman. (_l_) An errand-boy. (_m_) A painter. - -Describe a visit to:—(_a_) The seaside. (_b_) Chicago or some other large -town. (_c_) The Zoological Gardens or a menagerie. (_d_) A circus. (_e_) -A school exhibition. (_f_) A department store. (_g_) A country dairy. -(_h_) A picture gallery. - -Tell a story about:—(_a_) A dog. (_b_) A cat. (_c_) A horse. (_d_) A -monkey. (_e_) A parrot. (_f_) An elephant. (_g_) A hen. - -Tell any stories you know illustrating the following sayings:— - - (_a_) “Look before you leap.” - - (_b_) “Liars are not believed even when they speak the truth.” - - (_c_) “People are judged by the company they keep.” - - (_d_) “Penny wise and pound foolish.” - - (_e_) “Count not your chickens before they are hatched.” - - (_f_) “A friend in need is a friend indeed.” - - (_g_) “Union is strength.” - -Explain and illustrate the following proverbs:— - - (_a_) “A stitch in time saves nine.” - - (_b_) “A prudent man foreseeth the evil; fools pass on and are - punished.” - - (_c_) “The more haste the less speed.” - - (_d_) “Strike the iron while it is hot.” - - (_e_) “Touch pitch and be defiled.” - - (_f_) “Rome was not built in a day.” - - (_g_) “No gains without pains.” - - (_h_) “Nothing venture nothing win.” - - -USE OF ILLUSTRATIONS. - -An apt illustration is always a help to a writer or speaker. The mind -of the reader or hearer is interested in tracing the comparison, and -receives a stronger impression than it does when the thought is stated -simply by itself. - -Many of the most famous orators have been very gifted in employing -similes to express their meaning. You should cultivate the habit of using -illustrations. Although there is sometimes danger in employing them, yet -where carefully and rightly used they not only ornament the composition, -but render its thoughts and ideas more striking, more impressive and more -easily remembered. - -=A Simile= is a comparison explicitly stated; as, - - Now does he feel his title - Hang loose upon him like a giant’s robe - Upon a dwarfish thief. - - How far that little candle throws his beams! - So shines a good deed in a naughty world. - - An evil soul producing holy witness - Is like a goodly apple rotten at the heart. - - The course of a great statesman resembles that of navigable - rivers, avoiding immovable obstacles with noble bends of - concession, seeking the broad levels of opinion on which men - soonest settle and longest dwell, following and marking the most - imperceptible slopes of national tendency, yet always aiming at - direct advances, always recruited from sources nearer heaven, - and sometimes bursting open paths of progress and fruitful human - commerce through what seem the eternal barriers of both. - -=A Metaphor= is a condensed Simile. The comparison is implied, but not -expressed at length; thus:— - - But look, the morn in russet mantle clad - Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill. - - The simile implied here is, “The morning like to a person clad in - russet mantle walks,” etc. - - Stand, therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and - having on the breastplate of righteousness ... above all taking - the shield of faith wherewith ye may be able to quench all the - fiery darts of the wicked. - -Similes and Metaphors are employed - -1. To aid the understanding. - - We comprehend the unknown best by comparison with the known. - -2. To intensify the feelings; as - - Offence’s gilded hand may shove by justice. - - What a piece of work is man; how noble in reason! how infinite in - faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action - how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of - the world! the paragon of animals! - -3. To give point and force to what we wish to express. - - Our conduct towards the Indians has been that of a man who - subscribes to hospitals, weeps at charity sermons, carries out - broth and blankets to beggars, and then comes home and beats his - wife and children. - - Howe’er it be, it seems to me - ’Tis only noble to be good. - Kind hearts are more than coronets, - And simple faith than Norman blood.—_Tennyson._ - - Every one must admit the beauty and force of the great poet’s - comparison of kind hearts to coronets, and simple faith to Norman - blood, implying that each object mentioned surpasses the one with - which it is compared. - -The following rules should be observed in the conduct of Metaphors:— - - 1. Do not use metaphors, except when needed to make a sentence - clearer or stronger. Needless metaphors are a blemish instead of - an ornament. - - 2. Do not pursue a simile or metaphor too far. The further it is - pursued the less likely is the comparison to hold. - - 3. Metaphors should avoid mean or disagreeable details. - - 4. Metaphors should not be forced. Some metaphors are so - far-fetched that (as Mr. Lowell says) one could wish their - authors no worse fate than to be obliged to carry them back - whence they came. - - 5. Do not mix literal and metaphorical language. In the sentence - - I was walking on the barren hills of sin and sorrow near Welshpool, - - “the barren hills of sin and sorrow” is metaphorical, and “near - Welshpool” is literal. - - -_Examples of Apt Illustrations._ - - But I am constant as the northern star, - Of whose true-fix’d and resting quality - There is no fellow in the firmament.—_Shakespeare._ - - I had rather be a dog and bay the moon, - Than such a Roman.—_Shakespeare._ - - There is a tide in the affairs of men - Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; - Omitted, all the voyage of their life - Is bound in shallows and in miseries.—_Shakespeare._ - - Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve.—_Milton._ - - Now morn, her rosy steps in eastern clime - Advancing, sow’d the earth with orient pearl.—_Milton._ - - So may’st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop - Into thy mother’s lap.—_Milton._ - - Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing - herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible - locks.—_Milton._ - - There is a reaper whose name is death, - And with his sickle keen - He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, - And the flowers that grow between.—_Longfellow._ - - And the night shall be filled with music, - And the cares that infest the day - Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, - And as silently steal away.—_Longfellow._ - - But what am I? - An infant crying in the night: - An infant crying for the light, - And with no language but a cry.—_Tennyson._ - - But Memory blushes at the sneer, - And Honor turns with frown defiant, - And Freedom, leaning on her spear, - Laughs louder than the laughing giant.—_Holmes._ - - There comes Emerson first, whose rich words, every one, - Are like gold nails in temples to hang trophies on.—_Lowell._ - - In winter, when the dismal rain - Came down in slanting lines, - And wind, that grand old harper, smote - His thunder-harp of pines.—_Mulock._ - - Men not only want a competency, but they want a ten-story - competency; then they want religion as a lightning rod to - ward off the bolts of divine judgment.—_Beecher._ - - As the river is swollen by the melting snows of spring and - runs with greater force and volume, so, when he is aroused, - his thoughts and words pour forth impetuously, and he exhibits - the strength and majesty of the most commanding eloquence. - - -_Examples of Faulty Illustrations._ - -Peace has poured oil on the troubled waters, and they blossom like the -rose. - -She has come down among us in her floating robes, bearing the -olive-branch in her beak. - -The American eagle broods over his nest in the rocky fastnesses, and his -young shall lie down with the lamb. - -We have gone through the floods, and have turned their hot ploughshares -into pruning-hooks. - -May we be as lucky in the future, preserving forever our Goddess of -Liberty one and inseparable. - -CORRECTIONS.—Peace may pour oil on troubled waters, but waters never -blossom. - -Anything that wears floating robes is not furnished with a beak. - -The young of eagles are not in the habit of lying down with lambs. - -Floods do not have hot ploughshares. - -Why should anyone wish to preserve the Goddess of Liberty inseparable, as -it would be an unheard-of experience for a Goddess to be divided? - - -HOW TO COMPOSE AND WRITE LETTERS. - -To be a good letter writer is an accomplishment as desirable as it is -rare. Few persons possess the faculty of writing an interesting letter, -politely and gracefully expressed. Unless you are an exception to the -general rule you become stiff and formal when you attempt to express your -thoughts to a friend, or make known your wants to a man of business. The -epistle is labored, unnatural and lacking in that ease which is the charm -of conversation. - -“I now take my pen in hand,” etc. Do get rid of all old, set forms of -expression. Imagine the person to whom you are writing as placed right -before you, and talk to him with your pen as you would with your tongue. - -There can be but one opinion concerning the general value of -correspondence. How often people complain that they do not get letters -from their friends. Neglect can be shown in no way more effectively than -by failing to answer a letter when it ought to be written. - -In writing a letter, care should be taken that the different parts are -properly arranged. - -First comes the =Address of the Writer=. - - This is written at the top of the paper, towards the right side. - If the address consists of several parts, each part is given a - separate line; thus— - - LIVONIA, - LIVINGSTON CO., - NEW YORK. - - -After the address comes the =Date of Writing=. - -Next comes the =Form of Address=. - - This is always placed towards the left of the page, and varies - according to the relations between the sender and the receiver - of the letter. Writing to an intimate friend, one may say, “My - dear Tom,” or (a little less familiarly) “My dear Brown.” Writing - to a friend who is also a superior in age or position, one would - say, “My dear Mr. Brown.” “Dear Sir” is formal, but claims some - small degree of acquaintance or regard. “Sir” is purely formal. - Similarly we may have, “My dear Annie,” “My dear Mrs. Brown,” - “Dear Madam,” and “Madam.” In writing to Miss Jones, a stranger, - you may not wish to say, “Dear Miss.” It would be better in this - instance to address her as “Miss Jones.” - -After the form of address comes the =Letter=. - - A friendly letter should be easy and pleasant in style—it should - be, in fact, a talk on paper. In a business letter, on the other - hand, the style is brief and concise. The first aim of the writer - is to make himself understood, the next to be brief. - -After the letter comes the =Subscription=, as, - - Sincerely yours, - ALEXANDER ARGYLE. - - Or, - - Respectfully yours, - NEW ENGLAND COAL CO. - - Or in more formal style, - - I am, dear sir, - Your obedient servant, - THOMAS LANCASTER. - - The subscription is arranged like the address, but begins further - to the left. The form of subscription varies with the form of - address. - -A business letter ends with the =Address of the Person to whom it is -Sent=. - - This is written in the left corner. A friendly letter generally - ends with the subscription. - - -EXAMPLES OF LETTERS. - -_Application for a Situation._ - - 345 Lancaster Street, - 15th February, 189-. - - SIR: - - Seeing by your advertisement in this morning’s “Standard” that - you are in need of an office boy, I beg leave to apply for the - position. I have been for six years a pupil in the Commercial - School, Old Bridge Street. My teacher permits me to refer you to - him for an account of my conduct and abilities. I have therefore - only to add that if I am fortunate enough to enter your employ, - it shall be my aim to serve you diligently and faithfully. - - I am, sir, - Your obedient servant, - THOMAS WATSON. - - J. W. CHAMBERS, ESQ., - 97 Dearborn Street. - - -_Letters of Invitation._ - - NEWARK, September 11. - - MY DEAR JOE: - - Myself, and a half dozen other good fellows, are going to devote - a few hours on Tuesday evening to the enjoyment of refreshments, - chit-chat, and so on. I hope you will make one, as we have not - enjoyed the “feast of reason and flow of soul” in each other’s - company for some time past. - - Believe me, dear Joe, - Yours ever, - HARRY. - - - MADISON SQUARE, November 12. - - DEAR MR. ROBINSON: - - My old friend Richard Roy is coming to take a chop with me on - Saturday, the 15th, and I hope you will come and join us at six - o’clock. I know you are not partial to large parties, so trust - you will think us two sufficient company. - - Yours ever truly, - - - WASHINGTON, July 3. - - HON. J. B. GRANGER, - MY DEAR SIR: - - We are endeavoring to get up a small excursion to visit Mount - Vernon on the 10th of this month. Will you do us the favor of - making one of our number? Mrs. ⸺ and my family desire their - compliments, and request me to mention that they have taken upon - themselves the task of providing the “creature comforts” for - that occasion, and trust that their exertions will meet with - unanimous approval. Should you have no previous engagement for - that day, and feel disposed to join our party, a carriage will be - at your door by 10 o’clock on Thursday morning; and believe me to - be, - - My dear sir, yours most sincerely, - - HON. J. B. GRANGER. - - P. S.—The favor of an early answer will oblige. - - WASHINGTON, July 3. - - MR. E. B. ALLEN, - MY DEAR SIR: - - Replying to your kind invitation of this morning, I beg leave - to say it would afford me great pleasure to join your excursion - to Mount Vernon on the 10th inst. I will await your carriage at - 10 o’clock on Thursday morning. Thanking you for your welcome - invitation, - - I am, my dear sir, very truly yours, - J. B. GRANGER. - - MR. E. B. ALLEN. - - -_Notes of Invitation._ - - Mr. and Mrs. Thompson request the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. - James’s company, on Wednesday evening next, at eight o’clock, to - join a social party. An immediate answer will much oblige. - - Fifth Avenue, January 9th. - - Mr. and Mrs. James will be most happy to avail themselves of Mr. - and Mrs. Thompson’s kind invitation to join their social party as - requested. - - West Street, January 10th. - - Mr. and Mrs. James greatly regret their inability to accept - Mr. and Mrs. Thompson’s kind invitation to join their social - party. Nothing would have afforded them more pleasure than to be - present, but family affliction prevents them. - - West Street, January 10th. - - MY DEAR BERTHA,—A few friends will be here on Wednesday evening - next, to take a social cup of tea, and chat about mankind in - particular. Give us the pleasure of your company. - - S. BUCKMAN. - - Prince Street, Saturday morning. - - MY DEAR SOPHIE,—It affords me great pleasure to inform you that I - shall join your party on Wednesday evening next. - - BERTHA MERWIN. - - Spring Street, Saturday afternoon. - -_Letters of Congratulation._ - - LOUISVILLE, KY., February 10. - - MY DEAR HOWARD: - - The news of your good fortune gives me great satisfaction. No one - can possess true friendship without rejoicing in the prosperity - of a friend. To one who has always been manly, true and noble, - and who has labored persistently toward a particular end, success - must be extremely gratifying. - - It will ever be my delight to hear that you are prospering in - your undertakings, and if in any way I can serve you, you can - rely upon my best endeavors. With every good wish for yourself - and Mrs. Kerr, - - Ever faithfully yours, - - - ST. LOUIS, MO., June 15, 189-. - - DEAR OLD FRIEND: - - The happy announcement that a son and heir has been born to - you, gives me extreme satisfaction. I always thought you would - distinguish yourself in some way, and would do something whereby - your name might descend to posterity. And now, my worthy chum, it - seems you have done it. Blessings on you! - - Very sincerely yours, - - -_Love Letters._ - - MY DEAREST HARRIET: - - I cannot express the happiness I feel in finding that my letter - to your respected parents has been crowned with success, - and I flatter myself, notwithstanding your temporizing with - my feelings, in thus reserving your avowal of a reciprocal - attachment, that you, my dear girl, will not be unsusceptible to - its value, but condescend to acknowledge an equal happiness with - myself at its contents. In token of the confidence with which - your dear letter has inspired me, I beg leave to present you - with a trifle, the acceptance of which will be highly flattering - to him whose image it portrays; and permit me the fond pleasure - of indulging a belief that you will esteem the trifle, in - affectionate remembrance of the original. - - In obedience to your father’s command, I shall wait upon him at - the appointed time; till then, my beloved Harriet, adieu. - - Ever your devoted admirer, - - - DEAR SIR: - - I make no doubt of the truth of your assertions, relative to - yourself, character, and connections; but as I think I am too - young to enter into such a serious engagement, I request I may - hear no more of your passion for the present; in every other - respect, - - I am, Sir, - Yours very sincerely, - - -OUTLINES TO BE EXPANDED INTO LETTERS. - - -_Inviting a Friend to Tea._ - - 1. Can you come to tea—day—hour. - - 2. My birthday—several friends coming. - - 3. Tea in orchard—then cricket in field. - - 4. Hope mother will let you come—be home by nine. - - -_Accepting Invitation._ - - 1. Thanks for invitation—happy to accept. - - 2. Glad to meet ⸺. - - 3. Look forward to pleasant evening. - - -_Declining Invitation._ - - 1. Thanks for invitation—should have been glad to come. - - 2. Sorry to lose chance of meeting ⸺. - - 3. Father some time ago arranged to take me and my brother to ⸺. - - 4. Hope you will have pleasant evening and many happy returns. - - -_From a Town Child to a Country Child._ - - 1. Town crowded—noisy—dirty—glad to get into country. - - 2. Shall never forget visit to the country last summer. - - 3. No streets—few houses—beautiful views—quiet—sweet air. - - 4. Fine weather—many enjoyable walks. - - 5. Returned to town almost envying a country life. - - -_Answer from Country Child to Town Child._ - - 1. You almost envying country life—I almost envying town life. - - 2. Country has the advantages you describe, but you saw it in - summer. - - 3. Difficult to get about in bad weather—especially in winter - when much bad weather. - - 4. Dull—no libraries, exhibitions, meetings, concerts, etc. - - 5. Town may have all the disadvantages named, but always - plenty to see, opportunities for study, friendly intercourse, - entertainments. - - 6. Traveling easy. - - - - -SPECIMENS OF ELEGANT COMPOSITION FROM WORLD-RENOWNED AUTHORS. - - -Do not consider yourself too ambitious when you make an earnest effort -to express your thoughts so well that your productions will compare -favorably with those of the best writers. You should have specimens -of the best composition before you. The following pages contain such, -and you will readily see how the most famous authors construct their -sentences, what apt words they choose, and how easily, yet forcibly, they -express their ideas. - -Do not be disheartened if you fail to come up to the standard here placed -before you. It is related of the great painter, Correggio, that he was -once almost ready to fling away his brush, exclaiming, “I can never -paint like Raphael.” But he persevered, and at length the great painter -whom he admired so much said, “If I were not Raphael, I would wish to be -Correggio.” You should take the best writers for your models and set your -standard high. Be a severe critic of yourself, and do your very best. - - -GETTING THE RIGHT START. - -BY J. G. HOLLAND. - -In clear expression of thought and use of plain, forcible English, the -works of Doctor Holland are superior to those of most authors. He does -not employ large, overgrown words, but such as are easily understood. -This is one secret of the popularity of his writings. Dr. Holland was -born at Belchertown, Mass., in 1819, and died October 12, 1881. He was -associate editor of the “Springfield Republican,” and in 1870 became -editor of “Scribner’s Magazine.” Both as a writer of prose and poetry he -is held in high esteem by all lovers of elevated thought and pure diction. - - Society demands that a young man shall be somebody, not only, - but that he shall prove his right to the title; and it has a - right to demand this. Society will not take this matter upon - trust—at least, not for a long time, for it has been cheated too - frequently. Society is not very particular what a man does, so - that it proves him to be a man: then it will bow to him, and make - room for him. - - I know a young man who made a place for himself by writing an - article for the North American Review: nobody read the article, - so far as I know, but the fact that he wrote such an article, - that it was very long, and that it was published, did the - business for him. Everybody, however, cannot write articles for - the North American Review—at least I hope everybody will not, - for it is a publication which makes me a quarterly visit; but - everybody, who is somebody, can do something. There is a wide - range of effort between holding a skein of silk for a lady and - saving her from drowning—between collecting voters on election - day and teaching a Sunday-school class. - - A man must enter society of his own free will, as an active - element or a valuable component, before he can receive the - recognition that every true man longs for. I take it that this is - right. A man who is willing to enter society as a beneficiary is - mean, and does not deserve recognition. - - There is no surer sign of an unmanly and cowardly spirit than a - vague desire for help, a wish to depend, to lean upon somebody, - and enjoy the fruits of the industry of others. There are - multitudes of young men, I suppose, who indulge in dreams of help - from some quarter, coming in at a convenient moment, to enable - them to secure the success in life which they covet. - - The vision haunts them of some benevolent old gentleman with a - pocket full of money, a trunk full of mortgages and stocks, and - a mind remarkably appreciative of merit and genius, who will, - perhaps, give or lend them anywhere from ten to twenty thousand - dollars, with which they will commence and go on swimmingly. - Perhaps he will take a different turn, and educate them. Or, - perhaps, with an eye to the sacred profession, they desire to - become the beneficiaries of some benevolent society, or some - gentle circle of female devotees. - - To me, one of the most disgusting sights in the world is that - of a young man with healthy blood, broad shoulders, presentable - calves, and a hundred and fifty pounds, more or less, of good - bone and muscle, standing with his hands in his pockets, longing - for help. I admit that there are positions in which the most - independent spirit may accept of assistance—may, in fact, as a - choice of evils, desire it; but for a man who is able to help - himself, to desire the help of others in the accomplishment of - his plans of life, is positive proof that he has received a most - unfortunate training, or that there is a leaven of meanness in - his composition that should make him shudder. - - Do not misunderstand me: I would not inculcate that pride of - personal independence which repels in its sensitiveness the - well-meant good offices and benefactions of friends, or that - resorts to desperate shifts rather than incur an obligation. - What I condemn in a young man is the love of dependence; the - willingness to be under obligation for that which his own efforts - may win. - - Let this be understood, then, at starting; that the patient - conquest of difficulties which rise in the regular and legitimate - channels of business and enterprise, is not only essential in - securing the success which you seek, but it is essential to that - preparation of your mind which is requisite for the enjoyment of - your successes, and for retaining them when gained. It is the - general rule of Providence, the world over, and in all time, that - unearned success is a curse. It is the rule of Providence, that - the process of earning success shall be the preparation for its - conservation and enjoyment. - - So, day by day, and week by week; so, month after month, and - year after year, work on, and in that process gain strength and - symmetry, and nerve and knowledge, that when success, patiently - and bravely worked for, shall come, it may find you prepared to - receive it and keep it. - - The development which you will get in this brave and patient - labor, will prove itself, in the end, the most valuable of your - successes. It will help to make a man of you. It will give you - power and self-reliance. It will give you not only self-respect, - but the respect of your fellows and the public. - - Never allow yourself to be seduced from this course. You - will hear of young men who have made fortunes in some wild - speculations. Pity them; for they will almost certainly lose - their easily won success. Do not be in a hurry for anything. Are - you in love with some dear girl, whom you would make your wife? - Give Angelina Matilda to understand that she must wait; and if - Angelina Matilda is really the good girl you take her to be, she - will be sensible enough to tell you to choose your time. - - You cannot build well without first laying a good foundation; and - for you to enter upon a business which you have not patiently - and thoroughly learned, and to marry before you have won a - character, or even the reasonable prospect of a competence, is - ultimately to bring your house down about the ears of Angelina - Matilda, and such pretty children as she may give you. If, at - the age of thirty years, you find yourself established in a - business which pays you with certainty a living income, you are - to remember that God has blessed you beyond the majority of men. - - -DINAH THE METHODIST. - -BY GEORGE ELIOT. - -The works of Marian Evans Cross created unusual interest when first -published in England. Her “Adam Bede,” “The Mill on the Floss” and “Silas -Marner,” immediately placed her in the highest rank of the writers of -fiction. For some time her identity was concealed, yet there were critics -who suspected that “George Eliot” was the assumed name of a female -author. Her writings are characterized by a keen insight into character, -intellectual vigor and sympathy with the advanced thought of the day. She -was born in 1819, and died in 1880. The selection from “Adam Bede,” here -given, is an excellent specimen from one of her well-known works. - - Several of the men followed Ben’s lead, and the traveler pushed - his horse on to the Green, as Dinah walked rather quickly, and in - advance of her companions, toward the cart under the maple tree. - While she was near Seth’s tall figure she looked short, but when - she had mounted the cart, and was away from all comparison, she - seemed above the middle height of woman, though in reality she - did not exceed it—an effect which was due to the slimness of her - figure, and the simple line of her black stuff dress. - - The stranger was struck with surprise as he saw her approach and - mount the cart—surprise, not so much for the feminine delicacy of - her appearance, as at the total absence of self-consciousness in - her demeanor. He had made up his mind to see her advance with a - measured step, and a demure solemnity of countenance; he had felt - sure that her face would be mantled with a smile of conscious - saintship, or else charged with denunciatory bitterness. He knew - but two types of Methodist—the ecstatic and the bilious. - - But Dinah walked as simply as if she were going to market, and - seemed as unconscious of her outward appearance as a little boy; - there was no blush, no tremulousness, which said, “I know you - think me a pretty woman, too young to preach;” no casting up or - down of the eyelids, no compression of the lips, no attitude of - the arms, that said, “But you must think of me as a saint.” - - She held no book in her ungloved hands, but let them hang down - lightly crossed before her, as she stood and turned her grey eyes - on the people. There was no keenness in her eyes; they seemed - rather to be shedding love than making observations; they had the - liquid look which tells that the mind is full of what it has to - give out, rather than impressed by external objects. - - The eyebrows, of the same color as the hair, were perfectly - horizontal and firmly pencilled; the eyelashes, though no darker, - were long and abundant; nothing was left blurred or unfinished. - - It was one of those faces that make one think of white flowers - with light touches of color on their pure petals. The eyes had - no peculiar beauty, beyond that of expression; they looked so - simple, so candid, so gravely loving, that no accusing scowl, no - light sneer, could help melting away before their glance. - - Joshua Rann gave a long cough, as if he were clearing his throat - in order to come to a new understanding with himself; Chad - Cranage lifted up his leather skull-cap and scratched his head; - and Wiry Ben wondered how Seth had the pluck to think of courting - her. - - “A sweet woman,” the stranger said to himself, “but surely Nature - never meant her for a preacher.” - - -GODFREY AND DUNSTAN. - -BY GEORGE ELIOT. - -An excellent example of dialogue in fiction. - - Some one opened the door at the other end of the room, and Nancy - felt that it was her husband. She turned from the window with - gladness in her eyes, for the wife’s chief dread was stilled. - - “Dear, I’m so thankful you’re come,” she said, going towards him. - “I began to get”— - - She paused abruptly, for Godfrey was laying down his hat with - trembling hands, and turned towards her with a pale face and a - strange, unanswering glance, as if he saw her indeed, but saw her - as part of a scene invisible to herself. She laid her hand on his - arm, not daring to speak again; but he left the touch unnoticed, - and threw himself into his chair. - - Jane was already at the door with the hissing urn. “Tell her to - keep away, will you?” said Godfrey; and when the door was closed - again he exerted himself to speak more distinctly. - - “Sit down, Nancy—there,” he said, pointing to a chair opposite - him. “I came back as soon as I could to hinder anybody’s telling - you but me. I’ve had a great shock—but I care most about the - shock it’ll be to you.” - - “It isn’t father and Priscilla?” said Nancy, with quivering lips, - clasping her hands together tightly on her lap. - - “No, it’s nobody living,” said Godfrey, unequal to the - considerate skill with which he would have wished to make his - revelation. “It’s Dunstan—my brother Dunstan, that we lost - sight of sixteen years ago. We’ve found him,—found his body—his - skeleton.” - - The deep dread Godfrey’s look had created in Nancy made her feel - these words a relief. She sat in comparative calmness to hear - what else he had to tell. He went on: - - “The stone pit has gone dry suddenly,—from the draining, I - suppose; and there he lies—has lain for sixteen years, wedged - between two great stones. There’s his watch and seals, and - there’s my gold-handled hunting whip, with my name on. He took it - away, without my knowing, the day he went hunting on Wildfire, - the last time he was seen.” - - Godfrey paused! it was not so easy to say what came next. “Do you - think he drowned himself?” said Nancy, almost wondering that her - husband should be so deeply shaken by what had happened all those - years ago to an unloved brother, of whom worse things had been - augured. - - “No, he fell in,” said Godfrey, in a low but distinct voice, as - if he felt some deep meaning in the fact. Presently he added: - “Dunstan was the man that robbed Silas Marner.” - - The blood rushed to Nancy’s face and neck at this surprise and - shame, for she had been bred up to regard even a distant kinship - with crime as a dishonor. - - “O Godfrey!” she said, with compassion in her tone, for she had - immediately reflected that the dishonor must be felt more keenly - by her husband. - - “There was money in the pit,” he continued, “all the weaver’s - money. Everything’s been gathered up, and they have taken the - skeleton to the Rainbow. But I came back to tell you. There was - no hindering it; you must know.” - - He was silent, looking on the ground for two long minutes. Nancy - would have said some words of comfort under this disgrace, but - she refrained, from an instinctive sense that there was something - behind,—that Godfrey had something else to tell her. Presently he - lifted his eyes to her face, and kept them fixed on her, as he - said: - - “Everything comes to light, Nancy, sooner or later. When God - Almighty wills it, our secrets are found out. I’ve lived with - a secret on my mind, but I’ll keep it from you no longer. I - wouldn’t have you know it by somebody else, and not by me—I - wouldn’t have you find it out after I’m dead. I’ll tell you now. - It’s been ‘I will’ and ‘I won’t’ with me all my life; I’ll make - sure of myself now.” - - Nancy’s utmost dread had returned. The eyes of the husband and - wife met with an awe in them, as at a crisis which suspended - affection. - - “Nancy,” said Godfrey slowly, “when I married you, I hid - something from you,—something I ought to have told you. That - woman Marner found dead in the snow—Eppie’s mother—that wretched - woman—was my wife; Eppie is my child.” - - He paused, dreading the effects of his confession. But Nancy sat - quite still, only that her eyes dropped and ceased to meet his. - She was pale and quiet as a meditative statue, clasping her hands - on her lap. - - “You’ll never think the same of me again,” said Godfrey after a - little while, with some tremor in his voice. She was silent. - - “I oughtn’t to have left the child unowned; I oughtn’t to have - kept it from you. But I couldn’t bear to give you up, Nancy. I - was led away into marrying her; I suffered for it.” - - Still Nancy was silent, looking down; and he almost expected that - she would presently get up and say she would go to her father’s. - How could she have any mercy for faults that seemed so black to - her, with her simple, severe notions? - - But at last she lifted up her eyes to his again and spoke. There - was no indignation in her voice; only deep regret. - - “Godfrey, if you had told me this six years ago, we could have - done some of our duty by the child. Do you think I’d have refused - to take her in, if I’d known she was yours?” - - At that moment Godfrey felt all the bitterness of an error that - was not simply futile, but had defeated its own end. He had not - measured this wife with whom he had lived so long. But she spoke - again, with more agitation. - - “And—oh, Godfrey—if we’d had her from the first, if you’d taken - to her as you ought, she’d have loved me for her mother—and you’d - been happier with me; I could better have bore my little baby - dying, and our life might have been more like what we used to - think it ’ud be.” - - The tears fell, and Nancy ceased to speak. - - “But you wouldn’t have married me then, Nancy, if I’d told you,” - said Godfrey, urged, in the bitterness of his self-reproach, to - prove to himself that his conduct had not been utter folly. “You - may think you would now, but you wouldn’t then. With your pride - and your father’s, you’d have hated having anything to do with me - after the talk there’d been.” - - “I can’t say what I should have done about that, Godfrey. I - should never have married anybody else. But I wasn’t worth doing - wrong for; nothing is in this world. Nothing is so good as it - seems beforehand; not even our marrying wasn’t, you see.” There - was a faint, sad smile on Nancy’s face as she said the last words. - - “I’m a worse man than you thought I was, Nancy,” said Godfrey - rather tremulously. “Can you forgive me ever?” - - “The wrong to me is but little, Godfrey. You’ve made it up to me; - you’ve been good to me for fifteen years. It’s another you did - the wrong to; and I doubt it can never be all made up for.” - - “But we can take Eppie now,” said Godfrey. “I won’t mind the - world knowing at last. I’ll be plain and open for the rest o’ my - life.” - - “It’ll be different coming to us, now she’s grown up,” said - Nancy, shaking her head sadly. “But it’s your duty to acknowledge - her and provide for her; and I’ll do my part by her, and pray to - God Almighty to make her love me.” - - “Then we’ll go together to Silas Marner’s this very night, as - soon as everything’s quiet at the Stone Pits.” - - -RIP VAN WINKLE. - -BY WASHINGTON IRVING. - -This charming author, who is a master of pure style, beautiful sentiment -and pleasing humor, has been called the father of American literature. -If this be not strictly true, it is a matter of record that no American -authors before his time achieved any remarkable success. Mr. Irving was -born in 1783, and died in 1859. He was particularly happy in portraying -the quaint character and customs of the old Dutch settlers in our -country. He published a number of volumes, including “The Sketch Book,” -“Tales of a Traveler,” “Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus,” etc. -One of Irving’s best known and most delightful short productions is “Rip -Van Winkle,” from which the following extract is taken. The easy-going, -inoffensive character of Rip is delightfully pictured. - - The great error in Rip’s composition was an insuperable aversion - to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be from the want - of assiduity or perseverance; for he would sit on a wet rock, - with a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar’s lance, and fish all - day without a murmur, even though he should not be encouraged by - a single nibble. - - He would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours - together, trudging through woods and swamps, and up hill and down - dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild pigeons. He would never - refuse to assist a neighbor even in the roughest toil, and was a - foremost man at all country frolics for husking Indian corn, or - building stone fences. - - The women of the village, too, used to employ him to run their - errands, and to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging - husbands would not do for them;—in a word, Rip was ready to - attend to anybody’s business but his own; but as to doing family - duty and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible. - - In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm; it was - the most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole country; - everything about it went wrong, and would go wrong in spite of - him. His fences were continually falling to pieces; his cow would - either go astray, or get among the cabbages; weeds were sure to - grow quicker in his fields than anywhere else; the rain always - made a point of setting in just as he had some outdoor work to - do; so that, though his patrimonial estate had dwindled away - under his management, acre by acre, until there was little more - left than a mere patch of Indian corn, and potatoes, yet it was - the worst conditioned farm in the neighborhood. - - His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged - to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own likeness, - promised to inherit the habits, with the old clothes, of his - father. He was generally seen trooping like a colt at his - mother’s heels, equipped in a pair of his father’s cast-off - trousers, which he had much ado to hold up with one hand, as a - fine lady does her train in bad weather. - - Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of - foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat - white bread or brown, whichever can be got with least thought - or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny than work for a - pound. If left to himself, he would have whistled life away in - perfect contentment; but his wife kept continually dinning in his - ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he was - bringing on his family. - - Morning, noon and night her tongue was incessantly going, and - everything he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of - household eloquence. Rip had but one way of replying to all - lectures of the kind, and that by frequent use had grown into a - habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up his - eyes, but said nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh - volley from his wife, so that he was fain to draw off his forces - and take to the outside of the house—the only side which, in - truth, belongs to a henpecked husband. - - Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair, and his only - alternative to escape from the labor of the farm, and the clamor - of his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the - woods. Here he would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a - tree, and share the contents of his wallet with his dog Wolf, - with whom he sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in persecution. - - “Poor Wolf,” he would say, “thy mistress leads thee a dog’s life - of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live thou shalt never - want a friend to stand by thee.” Wolf would wag his tail, look - wistfully in his master’s face, and if dogs can feel pity, I - verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart. - - -THE PURITANS OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. - -BY LORD MACAULAY. - -Distinguished as a descriptive poet by his fine “Lays of Ancient Rome,” -and yet more distinguished as a master of English prose by his “Essays” -and his noble “History of England,” Thomas Babington Macaulay stands -prominent as the most learned and eloquent of the essayists and critics -of the nineteenth century. He was the son of Zachary Macaulay, known as -the warm friend and co-laborer of Wilberforce and Clarkson, and was born -at Rothley Temple, Leicestershire, October 25, 1800, and died in 1859. In -1818 he entered Trinity College, Cambridge, where he took his degree in -1822. Here he gave proof of his great intellectual powers, obtaining a -scholarship, and twice gaining the Chancellor’s medal for a poem called -“Pompeii.” To crown his triumphs, he secured a “Craven Scholarship,”—the -highest distinction in classics which the university confers. - -Lord Macaulay’s glowing description of the Puritans has been pronounced -the finest writing of its kind to be found in our language. It is the -product of pre-eminent literary ability, and the highest genius. - - We would first speak of the Puritans of the sixteenth century, - the most remarkable body of men, perhaps, which the world has - ever produced. - - Those who roused the people to resistance—who directed their - measures through a long series of eventful years—who formed, - out of the most unpromising materials, the finest army that - Europe had ever seen—who trampled down king, church, and - aristocracy—who, in the short intervals of domestic sedition and - rebellion, made the name of England terrible to every nation on - the face of the earth—were no vulgar fanatics. - - Most of their absurdities were mere external badges, like the - signs of freemasonry or the dresses of friars. We regret that - these badges were not more attractive; we regret that a body, - to whose courage and talents mankind has owed inestimable - obligations, had not the lofty elegance which distinguished some - of the adherents of Charles I., or the easy good breeding for - which the court of Charles II. was celebrated. But, if we must - make our choice, we shall, like Bassanio in the play, turn from - the specious caskets which contain only the Death’s head and the - Fool’s head, and fix our choice on the plain leaden chest which - conceals the treasure. - - The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a peculiar - character from the daily contemplation of superior beings and - eternal interests. Not content with acknowledging, in general - terms, an overruling Providence, they habitually ascribed every - event to the will of the Great Being, for whose power nothing was - too minute. To know him, to serve him, to enjoy him, was with - them the great end of existence. - - They rejected with contempt the ceremonious homage which other - sects substituted for the pure worship of the soul. Instead of - catching occasional glimpses of the Deity through an obscuring - veil, they aspired to gaze full on the intolerable brightness, - and to commune with him face to face. Hence originated their - contempt for terrestrial distinctions. - - The difference between the greatest and meanest of mankind seemed - to vanish when compared with the boundless interval which - separated the whole race from Him on whom their own eyes were - constantly fixed. - - They recognized no title to superiority but his favor; and, - confident of that favor, they despised all the accomplishments - and all the dignities of the world. If they were unacquainted - with the works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply read - in the oracles of God; if their names were not found in the - registers of heralds, they felt assured that they were recorded - in the Book of Life; if their steps were not accompanied by a - splendid train of menials, legions of ministering angels had - charge over them. Their palaces were houses not made with hands; - their diadems, crowns of glory which should never fade away. - - On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests, they - looked down with contempt; for they esteemed themselves rich - in a more precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime - language—nobles by the right of an earlier creation, and priests - by the imposition of a mightier hand. The very meanest of them - was a being to whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance - belonged—on whose slightest actions the spirits of light and - darkness looked with anxious interest—who had been destined, - before heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity which - should continue when heaven and earth should have passed away. - - Events which short-sighted politicians ascribed to earthly causes - had been ordained on his account. For his sake empires had - risen and flourished and decayed; for his sake the Almighty had - proclaimed his will by the pen of the evangelist and the harp - of the prophet. He had been rescued by no common deliverer from - the grasp of no common foe; he had been ransomed by the sweat of - no vulgar agony, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice. It was - for him that the sun had been darkened, that the rocks had been - rent, that the dead had arisen, that all nature had shuddered at - the sufferings of her expiring God! - - -ON BEING IN TIME. - -BY C. H. SPURGEON. - -When we examine Mr. Spurgeon’s writings we are able to discover one -great secret of his power. As no preacher of modern times was more -successful, in like manner no other had such a vigorous command of plain -English in the pulpit. The great majority of his words are short and -simple, reminding one of the terse writings of the old Puritan authors. -Mr. Spurgeon was born in 1834 and died in 1893. No other writer has -published so many sermons and volumes of miscellaneous writings, and no -other author of similar works has been so widely read. He was the marvel -of his generation. - - He who begins a little late in the morning will have to drive - fast, will be constantly in a fever, and will scarcely overtake - his business at night; whereas he who rises in proper time can - enjoy the luxury of pursuing his calling with regularity, ending - his work in fit season, and gaining a little portion of leisure. - - Late in the morning may mean puffing and blowing all the day - long, whereas an early hour will make the pace an easy one. This - is worth a man’s considering. Much evil comes of hurry, and hurry - is the child of unpunctuality. - - We once knew a brother whom we named “the late Mr. S⸺,” because - he never came in time. A certain tart gentleman, who had been - irritated by this brother’s unpunctuality, said that the sooner - that name was literally true the better for the temper of those - who had to wait for him. Many a man would much rather be fined - than be kept waiting. If a man _must_ injure me, let him rather - plunder me of my cash than of my time. - - To keep a busy man waiting is an act of impudent robbery, and - is also a constructive insult. It may not be so intended, but - certainly if a man has proper respect for his friend, he will - know the value of his time, and will not cause him to waste - it. There is a cool contempt in unpunctuality, for it as good - as says: “Let the fellow wait; who is he that I should keep my - appointment with him?” - - In this world, matters are so linked together that you cannot - disarrange one without throwing others out of gear; if one - business is put out of time, another is delayed by the same - means. The other day we were traveling to the Riviera, and the - train after leaving Paris was detained for an hour and a half. - This was bad enough, but the result was worse, for when we - reached Marseilles the connecting train had gone, and we were not - only detained for a considerable time, but were forced to proceed - by a slow train, and so reached our destination six hours later - than we ought to have done. All the subsequent delay was caused - through the first stoppage. - - A merchant once said to us: “A. B. is a good fellow in many - respects, but he is so frightfully slow that we cannot retain - him in our office, because, as all the clerks work into each - other’s hands, his delays are multiplied enormously, and cause - intolerable inconvenience. He is a hindrance to the whole system, - and he had better go where he can work alone.” - - The worst of it is that we cannot send unpunctual people where - they can work alone. To whom or whither should they go? We cannot - rig out a hermitage for each one, or that would be a great - deliverance. If they prepared their own dinners, it would not - matter that they dropped in after every dish had become cold. If - they preached sermons to themselves, and had no other audience, - it would not signify that they began consistently seven minutes - behind the published hour. If they were their own scholars, and - taught themselves, it would be of no consequence if the pupil sat - waiting for his teacher for twenty minutes. - - As it is, we in this world cannot get away from the unpunctual, - nor get them away from us, and therefore we are obliged to put up - with them; but we should like them to know that they are a gross - nuisance, and a frequent cause of sin, through irritating the - tempers of those who cannot afford to squander time as they do. - - If this should meet the eye of any gentleman who has almost - forgotten the meaning of the word “punctuality,” we earnestly - advise him to try and be henceforth five minutes _too soon_ for - every appointment, and then perhaps he will gradually subside - into the little great virtue which we here recommend. - - Could not some good genius get up a Punctuality Association, - every member to wear a chronometer set to correct time, and to - keep appointments by the minute-hand? Pledges should be issued, - to be signed by all sluggish persons who can summon up sufficient - resolution totally to abstain from being behind time in church or - chapel, or on committee, or at dinner, or in coming home from the - office in the evening. Ladies eligible as members upon signing a - special pledge to keep nobody waiting while they run upstairs to - pop on their bonnets. How much of sinful temper would be spared, - and how much of time saved, we cannot venture to guess. Try it. - - -JOHN PLOUGHMAN’S TALK ON HOME. - -BY C. H. SPURGEON. - -The famous London minister wrote a book entitled, “John Ploughman’s -Talk.” His object was to express plain and homely truths in a quaint, -humorous way, and thus gain the attention of common people whose reading -is confined mostly to murder and divorce cases in newspapers. The -enjoyment of the public in reading Mr. Spurgeon’s pithy sayings was -evinced by the enormous sale of the book. The extract here given is a -fair specimen of its unique style. - - That word _home_ always sounds like poetry to me. It rings like - a peal of bells at a wedding, only more soft and sweet, and it - chimes deeper into the ears of my heart. It does not matter - whether it means thatched cottage or manor-house, home is home, - be it ever so homely, and there’s no place on earth like it. - Green grow the houseleek on the roof forever, and let the moss - flourish on the thatch. - - Sweetly the sparrows chirrup and the swallows twitter around the - chosen spot which is my joy and my rest. Every bird loves its - own nest; the owl thinks the old ruins the fairest spot under - the moon, and the fox is of opinion that his hole in the hill - is remarkably cozy. When my master’s nag knows that his head is - towards home he wants no whip, but thinks it best to put on all - steam; and I am always of the same mind, for the way home, to - me, is the best bit of road in the country. I like to see the - smoke out of my own chimney better than the fire on another man’s - hearth; there’s something so beautiful in the way in which it - curls up among the trees. - - Cold potatoes on my own table taste better than roast meat at my - neighbor’s, and the honeysuckle at my own door is the sweetest I - ever smell. When you are out, friends do their best, but still it - is not home. “Make yourself at home,” they say, because everybody - knows that to feel at home is to feel at ease. - - “East and west, - Home is best.” - - Why, at home you are at home, and what more do you want? Nobody - grudges you, whatever your appetite may be; and you don’t get - put into a damp bed. Safe in his own castle, like a king in his - palace, a man feels himself somebody, and is not afraid of being - thought proud for thinking so. Every cock may crow on his own - dunghill; and a dog is a lion when he is at home. No need to - guard every word because some enemy is on the watch, no keeping - the heart under lock and key; but as soon as the door is shut it - is liberty hall, and none to peep and pry. - - It is a singular fact, and perhaps some of you will doubt - it—but that is your unbelieving nature—our little ones are real - beauties, always a pound or two plumper than others of their age; - and yet it don’t tire you half so much to nurse them as it does - other people’s babies. Why, bless you, my wife would be tired - out in half the time, if her neighbor had asked her to see to a - strange youngster, but her own children don’t seem to tire her at - all. Now my belief is that it all comes of their having been born - at home. - - Just so it is with everything else: our lane is the most - beautiful for twenty miles round, because our home is in it; and - my garden is a perfect paradise, for no other particular reason - than this very good one, that it belongs to the old house at home. - - Husbands should try to make home happy and holy. It is an ill - bird that fouls its own nest, a bad man who makes his home - wretched. Our house ought to be a little church, with holiness - to the Lord over the door; but it ought never to be a prison, - where there is plenty of rule and order, but little love and no - pleasure. - - Married life is not all sugar, but grace in the heart will keep - away most of the sours. Godliness and love can make a man, like - a bird in a hedge, sing among thorns and briars, and set others - a-singing too. It should be the husband’s pleasure to please his - wife, and the wife’s care to care for her husband. He is kind to - himself who is kind to his wife. I am afraid some men live by the - rule of self, and when that is the case home happiness is a mere - sham. When husbands and wives are well yoked, how light their - load becomes! - - It is not every couple that is a pair, and the more’s the pity. - In a true home all the strife is which can do the most to make - the family happy. A home should be a Bethel, not a Babel. The - husband should be the house-band, binding all together like a - corner-stone, but not crushing everything like a millstone. - - Nothing is improved by anger, unless it be the arch of a cat’s - back. A man with his back up is spoiling his figure. People look - none the handsomer for being red in the face. It takes a great - deal out of a man to get into a towering rage; it is almost - as unhealthy as having a fit, and time has been when men have - actually choked themselves with passion, and died on the spot. - Whatever wrong I suffer, it cannot do me half so much hurt as - being angry about it; for passion shortens life and poisons peace. - - When once we give way to temper, temper will get right of way, - and come in easier every time. He that will be in a pet for any - little thing, will soon be out at elbows about nothing at all. A - thunder-storm curdles the milk, and so does a passion sour the - heart and spoil the character. - - -LITTLE PEARL AND HER MOTHER. - -BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. - -Hawthorne is justly regarded as one of the masters of English prose, -although the shadowed side of his life predominated and often gave a -somewhat gloomy tinge to his writings. Yet through the morbid drapery -by which he surrounds himself the light of his superb genius shines -brilliantly. His style is a model of clearness, choice words and elevated -sentiment. The extract given below is from “The Scarlet Letter,” one of -his best works of fiction, and, in fact, one of the best that enriches -our American literature. He possessed great originality, a rare power -of analyzing character, a delicate and exquisite humor and marvelous -felicity in the use of language. Mr. Hawthorne was born at Salem, -Massachusetts, in 1804, and died in 1864. - - So the mother and little Pearl were admitted into the hall of - entrance. With many variations, suggested by the nature of his - building-materials, diversity of climate, and a different mode of - social life, Governor Bellingham had planned his new habitation - after the residences of gentlemen of fair estate in his native - land. - - Here, then, was a wide and reasonably lofty hall, extending - through the whole depth of the house, and forming a medium of - general communication, more or less directly, with all the other - apartments. At one extremity, this spacious room was lighted - by the windows of the two towers, which formed a small recess - on either side of the portal. At the other end, though partly - muffled by a curtain, it was more powerfully illuminated by one - of those embowed hall-windows which we read of in old books, and - which was provided with a deep and cushioned seat. - - Here, on the cushion, lay a folio tome, probably of the - Chronicles of England, or other such substantial literature; - even as, in our own days, we scatter gilded volumes on the - centre-table, to be turned over by the casual guest. The - furniture of the hall consisted of some ponderous chairs, the - backs of which were elaborately carved with wreaths of oaken - flowers; and likewise a table in the same taste; the whole - being of Elizabethan age, or perhaps earlier, and heirlooms, - transferred hither from the governor’s paternal home. - - On the table—in token that the sentiment of old English - hospitality had not been left behind—stood a large pewter - tankard, at the bottom of which, had Hester or Pearl peeped into - it, they might have seen the frothy remnant of a recent draught - of ale. - - On the wall hung a row of portraits, representing the forefathers - of the Bellingham lineage, some with armor on their breasts, - and others with stately ruffs and robes of peace. All were - characterized by the sternness and severity which old portraits - so invariably put on; as if they were the ghosts, rather than the - pictures, of departed worthies, and were gazing with harsh and - intolerant criticism at the pursuits and enjoyments of living men. - - At about the center of the oaken panels that lined the hall was - suspended a suit of mail, not, like the pictures, an ancestral - relic, but of the most modern date; for it had been manufactured - by a skillful armorer in London the same year in which Governor - Bellingham came over to New England. There was a steel headpiece, - a cuirass, a gorget and greaves, with a pair of gauntlets and - a sword hanging beneath; all, and especially the helmet and - breastplate, so highly burnished as to glow with white radiance - and scatter an illumination everywhere about upon the floor. - - This bright panoply was not meant for mere idle show, but had - been worn by the governor on many a solemn muster and training - field, and had glittered, moreover, at the head of a regiment - in the Pequod war. For, though bred a lawyer, and accustomed - to speak of Bacon, Coke, Noye and Finch as his professional - associates, the exigencies of this new country had transformed - Governor Bellingham into a soldier, as well as a statesman and - ruler. - - Little Pearl—who was as greatly pleased with the gleaming - armor as she had been with the glittering frontispiece of the - house—spent some time looking into the polished mirror of the - breastplate. - - “Mother,” cried she, “I see you here. Look! Look!” - - Hester looked, by way of humoring the child; and she saw that, - owing to the peculiar effect of this convex mirror, the scarlet - letter was represented in exaggerated and gigantic proportions, - so as to be greatly the most prominent feature of her appearance. - In truth, she seemed absolutely hidden behind it. - - Pearl pointed upward, also, at a similar picture in the - headpiece, smiling at her mother with the elfish intelligence - that was so familiar an expression on her small physiognomy. That - look of naughty merriment was likewise reflected in the mirror, - with so much breadth and intensity of effect, that it made Hester - Prynne feel as if it could not be the image of her own child, but - of an imp who was seeking to mold itself into Pearl’s shape. - - -THE BABY IN THE BATH-TUB. - -BY GRACE GREENWOOD. - -The following selection is an excellent example of sprightly and -vivacious writing, a kind of composition that is always entertaining -to the reader. Under the assumed name of Grace Greenwood, Mrs. Sarah -J. Lippincott was for many years a well-known and popular contributor -to various periodicals. She also published several volumes, including -works of fiction and stories of travel. She wrote poems that possessed -much merit, thus exhibiting a wide range of talent. Her fine thoughts -were expressed in a style of great ease, simplicity and beauty. Mrs. -Lippincott was born in Onondaga County, New York, in 1825, and died in -1898. - - “Annie! Sophie! come up quick, and see baby in her bath-tub!” - cries a charming little maiden, running down the wide stairway - of an old country house, and half-way up the long hall, all in - a fluttering cloud of pink lawn, her soft dimpled cheeks tinged - with the same lovely morning hue. - - In an instant there is a stir and gush of light laughter in - the drawing-room, and presently, with a movement a little more - majestic and elder-sisterly, Annie and Sophie float noiselessly - through the hall and up the soft-carpeted ascent, as though borne - on their respective clouds of blue and white drapery, and take - their way to the nursery, where a novel entertainment awaits - them. It is the first morning of the eldest married sister’s - first visit home, with her first baby; and the first baby, having - slept late after its journey, is about to take its first bath in - the old house. - - “Well, I declare, if here isn’t mother, forgetting her dairy, and - Cousin Nellie, too, who must have left poor Ned all to himself in - the garden, lonely and disconsolate, and I am torn from my books, - and Sophie from her flowers, and all for the sake of seeing a - nine-months-old baby kicking about in a bath-tub! What simpletons - we are!” - - Thus Miss Annie, the _proude ladye_ of the family; handsome, - haughty, with perilous proclivities toward grand socialistic - theories, transcendentalism, and general strong-mindedness; - pledged by many a saucy vow to a life of single dignity and - freedom, given to studies artistic, æsthetic, philosophic, and - ethical; a student of Plato, an absorber of Emerson, an exalter - of her sex, a contemner of its natural enemies. - - “Simpletons, are we?” cries pretty Elinor Lee, aunt of the baby - on the other side, and “Cousin Nellie” by love’s courtesy, - now kneeling close by the bath-tub, and receiving on her - sunny braids a liberal baptism from the pure, plashing hands - of babyhood,—“simpletons, indeed! Did I not once see thee, O - Pallas-Athene, standing rapt before a copy of the ‘Crouching - Venus?’ - - “And this is a sight a thousand times more beautiful; for here - we have color, action, life, and such grace as the divinest - sculptors of Greece were never able to entrance in marble. Just - look at these white, dimpled shoulders, every dimple holding a - tiny, sparkling drop,—these rosy, plashing feet and hands,—this - laughing, roguish face,—these eyes, bright and blue and deep as - lakes of fairy land,—these ears, like dainty sea shells,—these - locks of gold, dripping diamonds,—and tell me what cherub of - Titian, what Cupid of Greuze, was ever half so lovely? I say, - too, that Raphael himself would have jumped at the chance of - painting Louise, as she sits there, towel in hand, in all the - serene pride and chastened dignity of young maternity—of painting - her as _Madonna_.” - - -CANDACE’S OPINIONS. - -BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. - -Mrs. Stowe is particularly happy in portraying negro character. It -requires for this a great appreciation of humor, and her writings abound -in this, while her imagination and fine command of language make many of -her writings brilliant and even poetical. - -Mrs. Stowe is the most celebrated American authoress. Her “Uncle Tom’s -Cabin” has been more widely read than any other work of fiction ever -published. While in this work her conspicuous genius appears to fine -advantage, she has nevertheless written other works, some of them -describing New England life and character, which are masterpieces. She -was born at Litchfield, Conn., on the 14th of June, 1812, and died at -Hartford July 1st, 1896. - - “I intend,” said Mr. Marvyn, “to make the same offer to your - husband, when he returns from work to-night.” - - “Laus, Mass’r—why, Cato, he’ll do jes’ as I do—dere a’n’t no kind - o’ need o’ askin’ him. Course he will.” - - A smile passed round the circle, because between Candace and her - husband there existed one of those whimsical contrasts which one - sometimes sees in married life. Cato was a small-built, thin, - softly-spoken negro, addicted to a gentle chronic cough; and, - though a faithful and skillful servant, seemed, in relation to - his better half, much like a hill of potatoes under a spreading - apple-tree. Candace held to him with a vehement and patronizing - fondness, so devoid of conjugal reverence as to excite the - comments of her friends. - - “You must remember, Candace,” said a good deacon to her one day, - when she was ordering him about at a catechizing, “you ought to - give honor to your husband; the wife is the weaker vessel.” - - “_I_ de weaker vessel?” said Candace, looking down from the tower - of her ample corpulence on the small, quiet man whom she had - been fledging with the ample folds of a worsted comforter, out of - which his little head and shining bead-eyes looked, much like a - blackbird in a nest—“_I_ de weaker vassel! Umph!” - - A whole woman’s rights convention could not have expressed more - in a day than was given in that single look and word. Candace - considered a husband as a thing to be taken care of—a rather - inconsequent and somewhat troublesome species of pet, to be - humored, nursed, fed, clothed, and guided in the way that he was - to go—an animal that was always losing off buttons, catching - colds, wearing his best coat every day, and getting on his Sunday - hat in a surreptitious manner for week-day occasions; but she - often condescended to express it as her opinion that he was a - blessing, and that she didn’t know what she’d do if it wasn’t for - Cato. - - She sometimes was heard expressing herself very energetically in - disapprobation of the conduct of one of her sable friends, named - Jinny Stiles, who, after being presented with her own freedom, - worked several years to buy that of her husband, but became - afterwards so disgusted with her acquisition, that she declared - she would “neber buy anoder nigger.” - - “Now, Jinny don’t know what she’s talkin’ about,” she would say. - “S’pose he does cough and keep her awake nights, and take a - little too much sometimes, a’n’t he better’n no husband at all? A - body wouldn’t seem to hab nuffin to lib for, ef dey hadn’t an old - man to look arter. Men is nate’lly foolish about some tings—but - dey’s good deal better’n nuffin.” - - And Candace, after this condescending remark, would lift with one - hand a brass kettle in which poor Cato might have been drowned, - and fly across the kitchen with it as if it were a feather. - - -MIDSUMMER IN THE VALLEY OF THE RHINE. - -BY GEORGE MEREDITH. - -An example of beautiful description. - - An oppressive slumber hung about the forest-branches. In the - dells and on the heights was the same dead heat. Here where the - brook tinkled it was no cool-lipped sound, but metallic, and - without the spirit of water. Yonder in a space of moonlight on - lush grass, the beams were as white fire to sight and feeling. - No haze spread around. The valleys were clear, defined to the - shadows of their verges; the distances sharply distinct, and with - the colors of day but slightly softened. - - Richard beheld a roe moving across a slope of sward far out of - rifle-mark. The breathless silence was significant, yet the moon - shone in a broad blue heaven. Tongue out of mouth trotted the - little dog after him; couched panting when he stopped an instant; - rose weariedly when he started afresh. Now and then a large white - night-moth flitted through the dusk of the forest. - - On a barren corner of the wooded highland looking inland stood - gray topless ruins set in nettles and rank grass-blades. Richard - mechanically sat down on the crumbling flints to rest, and - listened to the panting of the dog. Sprinkled at his feet were - emerald lights: hundreds of glow-worms studded the dark dry - ground. - - He sat and eyed them, thinking not at all. His energies were - expended in action. He sat as a part of the ruins, and the - moon turned his shadow westward from the south. Overhead, as - she declined, long ripples of silver cloud were imperceptibly - stealing toward her. They were the van of a tempest. He did not - observe them, or the leaves beginning to chatter. When he again - pursued his course with his face to the Rhine, a huge mountain - appeared to rise sheer over him, and he had it in his mind to - scale it. He got no nearer to the base of it for all his vigorous - outstepping. The ground began to dip; he lost sight of the sky. - Then heavy thunder-drops struck his cheek, the leaves were - singing, the earth breathed, it was black before him and behind. - All at once the thunder spoke. The mountain he had marked was - bursting over him. - - Up started the whole forest in violent fire. He saw the country - at the foot of the hills to the bounding Rhine gleam, quiver, - extinguished. Then there were pauses; and the lightning seemed as - the eye of heaven, and the thunder as the tongue of heaven, each - alternately addressing him; filling him with awful rapture. - - -THE POWER OF NATURAL BEAUTY. - -BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON. - -“The Sage of Concord,” as Mr. Emerson was called, expresses the estimate -the American public placed upon his writings. His profound thought and -originality are unquestioned. To these grand qualities he added a poetic -imagination which diffused a fine glow over all his productions. - -Mr. Emerson was born in Boston in 1803, graduated from Harvard College -in 1821, and entered the ministry of the Unitarian Church, from which, -however, he shortly resigned, and soon devoted himself to literary -pursuits. His works have a high reputation among scholars and speculative -thinkers. His style is singularly terse and at times almost abrupt, but -his thoughts are masterly and striking. He died in 1882. - - Beauty is the mark God sets upon virtue. Every natural action is - graceful. Every heroic act is also decent, and causes the place - and the bystanders to shine. We are taught by great actions that - the universe is the property of every individual in it. - - Every rational creature has all nature for his dowry and estate. - It is his if he will. He may divest himself of it; he may creep - into a corner, and abdicate his kingdom, as most men do; but he - is entitled to the world by his constitution. In proportion to - the energy of his thought and will, he takes up the world into - himself. “All those things for which men plough, build, or sail, - obey virtue;” said an ancient historian. “The winds and waves,” - said Gibbon, “are always on the side of the ablest navigators.” - So are the sun and moon and all the stars of heaven. - - When a noble act is done—perchance in a scene of great natural - beauty; when Leonides and his three hundred martyrs consume one - day in dying, and the sun and moon come each and look at them - once in the steep defile of Thermopylæ; when Arnold Winkelreid, - in the high Alps, under the shadow of the avalanche, gathers in - his side a sheaf of Austrian spears to break the line for his - comrades; are not these heroes entitled to add the beauty of the - scene to the beauty of the deed? When the bark of Columbus nears - the shore of America;—before it the beach lined with savages, - fleeing out of all their huts of cane; the sea behind; and - the purple mountains of the Indian Archipelago around, can we - separate the man from the living picture? Does not the New World - clothe his form with her palm groves and savannahs as fit drapery? - - Ever does natural beauty steal in like air, and envelop great - actions. When Sir Harry Vane was dragged up the Tower-hill - sitting on a sled, to suffer death, as the champion of the - English laws, one of the multitude cried out to him, “You never - sate on so glorious a seat.” Charles II., to intimidate the - citizens of London, caused the patriot Lord Russel to be drawn in - an open coach through the principal streets of the city, on his - way to the scaffold. “But,” to use the simple narrative of his - biographer, “the multitude imagined they saw liberty and virtue - sitting by his side.” - - In private places, among sordid objects, an act of truth or - heroism seems at once to draw to itself the sky as its temple, - the sun as its candle. Nature stretcheth out her arms to embrace - man, only let his thoughts be of equal greatness. Willingly does - she follow his steps with the rose and the violet, and bend her - lines of grandeur and grace to the decoration of her darling - child. Only let his thoughts be of equal scope, and the frame - will suit the picture. A virtuous man is in unison with her - works, and makes the central figure of the visible sphere. - - The noonday darkness of the American forest, the deep, echoing, - aboriginal woods, where the living columns of the oak and fir - tower up from the ruins of the trees of the last millennium; - where, from year to year, the eagle and the crow see no intruder; - the pines, bearded with savage moss, yet touched with grace - by the violets at their feet; the broad, cold lowland, which - forms its coat of vapor with the stillness of subterranean - crystallization; and where the traveler, amid the repulsive - plants that are native in the swamp, thinks with pleasing terror - of the distant town; this beauty—haggard and desert beauty, which - the sun and the moon, the snow and the rain repaint and vary, - has never been recorded by art, yet is not indifferent to any - passenger. - - All men are poets at heart. They serve nature for bread, but her - loveliness overcomes them sometimes. What mean these journeys to - Niagara; these pilgrims to the White Hills? Men believe in the - adaptations of utility always. In the mountains they may believe - in the adaptations of the eye. - - Undoubtedly the changes of geology have a relation to the - prosperous sprouting of the corn and peas in my kitchen garden; - but not less is there a relation of beauty between my soul and - the dim crags of Agiocochook up there in the clouds. Every - man, when this is told, hearkens with joy, and yet his own - conversation with nature is still unsung. - - - - -SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS. - - -To aid you in writing compositions a lengthy list of subjects is here -furnished. These, you will see, are adapted to persons of various ages -and capacities. Many of them are comparatively simple and require no -profound thought, while others are deep enough to tax all your powers of -reason. - -Do not choose a subject that is too abstruse and difficult. Plain -narration and description should go before profound argument. Yet do not -be satisfied with a simple theme if you are capable of writing upon one -that demands more study and thought. When you have chosen your subject, -you should be guided by the practical hints and directions contained in -the first pages of this volume, which you should faithfully study. - -Many of the subjects here presented will require a good deal of reading -and research before you can write upon them intelligently. This is true -especially of the historical and biographical subjects. If you find -history to be a fascinating study, as it is to most persons, you will -become so filled and enamored with your theme, that you can write upon it -easily. - -Never consider it too much trouble to prepare yourself thoroughly to -write your compositions. If you would have nuggets of gold you must -dig for them. Success is worth all it costs, however much that may be. -Remember Bulwer Lytton’s saying, “The pen is mightier than the sword.” - - -HISTORICAL SUBJECTS. - - The Landing of the Pilgrims. - Captain John Smith and Pocahontas. - The French and Indian War. - The Siege of Quebec. - King Philip’s War. - Washington at Valley Forge. - The Surrender of Lord Cornwallis. - The Discovery of the Mississippi River. - Sir Walter Raleigh in Virginia. - The Pequod War. - Witchcraft at Salem, Massachusetts. - The Old Charter Oak at Hartford. - Destruction of Tea in Boston Harbor. - The Battles of Lexington and Concord. - The Famous Ride of Paul Revere. - The Siege of Boston. - The Battle of Long Island. - The Battle of the Brandywine. - The Murder of Miss McCrea. - The Battle of Monmouth. - The Surrender of Burgoyne’s Army. - The Siege of Savannah. - Washington Crossing the Delaware. - The Massacre of Wyoming. - The Treason of Benedict Arnold. - The Execution of Major André. - The Duel Between Hamilton and Burr. - The Battle of Monterey. - The Battle of Chapultepec. - The Siege of Vicksburg. - General Sherman’s March to the Sea. - Jackson’s Victories in Virginia. - The Death of “Stonewall Jackson.” - The Story of Cuban Insurrections. - The Great Naval Battle at Manila. - The Great Naval Battle at Santiago. - The Exploits of the “Rough Riders” at San Juan. - The Execution of John Brown. - The Massacre at Fort Dearborn. - The Discovery of Gold in California. - The Opening of the Pacific Railroad. - The Discovery of Gold in Alaska. - The Massacre of General Custer. - The Indian Wars in the Northwest. - The World’s Fair at Chicago. - The Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia. - The Story of the Old Liberty Bell at Philadelphia. - The Great Flood at Johnstown, Pa. - The Destruction of the Battleship Maine. - The Invention of Printing. - Magna Charta, the Charter of Rights. - Constantinople Taken by the French. - The Moors Driven Out of Spain. - The Reformation in England. - The Invasion of Peru by Pizarro. - The Battle of Trafalgar. - The Spanish Armada. - The Battle of Balaklava. - The Gunpowder Plot (1605). - The Atrocities of the Paris Commune. - The Execution of Charles I. - The Bursting of the South Sea Bubble. - The Battle of Waterloo. - The Dismemberment of Poland. - The Great Mutiny in India. - The French Revolution. - The Martyrdom of Joan of Arc. - The Crusades. - The Siege of Troy. - The Great Plague in London. - The Battle of the Boyne. - The Imprisonment of James I. of Scotland. - The Story of Mary, Queen of Scots. - - -BIOGRAPHICAL SUBJECTS. - - Miles Standish. - Cotton Mather. - Benjamin Franklin. - John Jay. - Samuel Adams. - Fisher Ames. - George Washington. - William Penn. - Marquis de Lafayette. - Count Pulaski. - General Israel Putnam. - General Anthony Wayne. - General Ethan Allen. - Thomas Jefferson. - Andrew Jackson. - Martha Washington. - Commodore Perry. - Commodore Decatur. - Daniel Webster. - Henry Clay. - Patrick Henry. - John Hancock. - General Winfield Scott. - Zachary Taylor. - The Indian Chief Tecumseh. - William Henry Harrison. - John C. Fremont. - Abraham Lincoln. - Robert E. Lee. - Ulysses S. Grant. - James A. Garfield. - General William T. Sherman. - Mary Lyon. - Frances E. Willard. - Susan B. Anthony. - Clara Barton. - Henry W. Longfellow. - William Cullen Bryant. - The Cary Sisters. - Washington Irving. - James Fenimore Cooper. - Francis Scott Key. - John Howard Payne. - Daniel Boone. - David Crockett. - General Sam Houston. - Lord Nelson. - The Duke of Wellington. - Napoleon Bonaparte. - The Duke of Marlborough. - Robert Bruce. - Robert Burns. - John Bright. - William E. Gladstone. - Alfred Tennyson. - Daniel O’Connell. - Robert Emmet. - Florence Nightingale. - John Knox. - Julius Cæsar. - Demosthenes. - Cicero. - Hannibal. - Alexander the Great. - Socrates. - Xantippe. - Queen Elizabeth. - Oliver Cromwell. - William Pitt. - Frederick the Great. - Captain Kidd. - Ferdinand de Soto. - Hernando Cortez. - Sir John Franklin. - Elisha Kent Kane. - Cyrus W. Field. - Professor Samuel B. F. Morse. - Alexander T. Stewart. - Peter Cooper. - John Jacob Astor. - William H. Vanderbilt. - - -SUBJECTS FOR NARRATION AND DESCRIPTION. - - A New England Thanksgiving. - The Puritan Sabbath. - The Deserted Farm. - The Dangers of Frontier Life. - Natural Resources of the United States. - Social Customs of the Last Century. - A Spanish Bull Fight. - The Falls of Niagara. - The Hudson River. - Mount Washington. - A Western Prairie. - The Cotton Fields of the South. - The Orange Groves of Florida. - “The Father of Waters.” - The Rapid Growth of Western Cities. - A Ranch in the South-West. - The Cowboys of the Plains. - The Great Trees of California. - The Geysers of the Yellowstone Park. - The Instinct in Animals. - Some Recent Invention. - Some Public Institutions. - The Physical Characteristics of your State. - A Country Farm. - Your Home Enjoyments. - Fresh Air and its Uses. - Town and Country Schools. - Some Out Door School Games. - The Beauties of Summer. - The Remarkable Instinct of Birds. - An Arctic Expedition. - A Railway Station. - A Picture Gallery. - Electric Lights. - Winds and Clouds. - The Pastime of Fishing. - The Pastime of Skating. - Agricultural Implements. - Habits of Domestic Animals. - A Flower Garden. - Singing Birds. - Migration of Birds. - The American Eagle. - The Uses of Cats and Dogs. - The Game of Foot Ball. - The Game of Base Ball. - Your Favorite Book. - The County in which your School is Situated. - School Life: its Joys and Difficulties. - Castles in the Air. - The Pleasures of Christmas. - Leaning Tower of Pisa. - The Vatican at Rome. - St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. - The Capitol at Washington. - The White House at Washington. - The Suspension Bridge between New York and Brooklyn. - Bunker Hill Monument. - Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. - Independence Hall in Philadelphia. - An Ocean Steamship. - An American Battleship. - Coal Mines of Pennsylvania. - A Seaside Watering Place. - A Country Picnic. - A Clam Bake by the Sea-shore. - A Sleigh Ride. - A Century Run on Bicycles. - Your Favorite Walk. - The Value of Sunshine. - A Thunder Storm. - A Summer Vacation. - - -POPULAR PROVERBS. - - More Haste, Less Speed. - Necessity is the Mother of Invention. - What Can’t be Cured must be Endured. - Well Begun is Half Done. - All that Glitters is not Gold. - Evil Communications Corrupt Good Manners. - Honesty is the Best Policy. - A Stitch in Time Saves Nine. - Prevention is Better than Cure. - A Rolling Stone Gathers no Moss. - Make Hay while the Sun Shines. - Birds of a Feather Flock Together. - Knowledge is Power. - Take Care of the Pennies and the Dollars will take Care of Themselves. - A Bird in the Hand is Worth Two in the Bush. - The Longest Way Around is the Shortest Way Home. - The Proof of the Pudding is in the Eating. - If you would Shoot High you must Aim High. - Marry in Haste and Repent at Leisure. - People who Live in Glass Houses should not Throw Stones. - Be Sure you are Right, then Go Ahead. - It is an Ill Wind that Blows Good to no One. - Every Crow Thinks her own Little Crows the Blackest. - You Cannot Make a Silk Purse out of a Sow’s Ear. - The Least Said, the Soonest Mended. - Speech is Silver, Silence is Golden. - Manners Make the Man. - - -SUBJECTS TO BE EXPOUNDED. - - Benefits of Industry. - Evils of Idleness. - Summer Sports in the Country. - Winter Amusements in Cities. - Shop Windows at Christmas Time. - Habits of Economy. - Advantages of Travel. - Temptations of Riches. - Dangers of Trades Unions. - Benefits of Application. - Advantages of Muscular Exercise. - Physical and Moral Perils of Muscular Exercise. - Effects of Machinery upon Manual Labor. - Pleasures of Literature. - Sources of National Wealth. - Benefits of Self-Control. - Modern Methods of Benevolence. - Responsibilities of Scholars. - Causes of Commercial Decline. - Advantages of a National Bankrupt Law. - Peculiarities of the New England Poets. - The Character of Wilkins Micawber. - Claims of the Indians to Government Protection. - Evils of Immigration. - Characteristics of the English Novel. - Incentives to Literary Exertion. - Reforms Suggested in “Oliver Twist.” - American Tendencies to Extravagance. - Uses of Gold. - Uses of Public Libraries. - Infirmities of Genius. - Excellencies of the Puritan Character. - Miseries of Authorship. - Blessings of Liberty. - Pleasures in Contemplating Nature. - Dangers that Threaten our Republic. - Advantages of Method. - Distinctions in Society. - Rewards of Literary Labor. - Struggles for Civil Freedom. - Advantages of Competition. - Uses of Adversity. - Advantages of Self-Reliance. - Evils of Prejudice. - The Colonial Period of Our History. - Uses of Art. - Self-Made Men. - Dickens’ Caricatures of English Schools. - Irving’s Portraitures of the Dutch Settlers. - Injuries of Stimulants. - Evils of Centralization. - Advantages of Modern Inventions. - Uses of Coal. - Sources of Corruption in Civil Offices. - Elements of Success in Life. - Dangers of the French Republic. - Changes of Fashion. - Social Dangers from Anarchists. - Longfellow’s “Hiawatha.” - Longfellow’s “Evangeline.” - Oliver Wendell Holmes’s Humor. - Character of Eugene Field’s Poetry. - Characteristics of American Humor. - Hardships of the New England Settlers. - Persecution of the Jews. - Causes of Nihilism in Russia. - English Ideas of America. - Methods of Reform in the Civil Service. - Benefits of Mechanical Exhibitions. - Strikes and Arbitrations. - Time: its Use and Abuse. - Employers and Men: their Rights and Relations. - The Study of Modern Languages. - The Study of Ancient Languages. - Industry and Energy. - The Duty of Cleanliness. - Punctuality. - Courage. - Fortitude. - Cruelty to Animals. - The Law of Supply and Demand. - “Right before Might.” - The Telescope and Microscope. - Manhood Suffrage. - “The New Woman.” - Uses and Abuses of Money. - The Cultivation of Music. - Amusements for Young People. - The Great Discoverers of Queen Elizabeth’s Reign. - Pleasures of the Imagination. - Natural History as a Study. - Your Favorite Female Character. - The Cultivation of Memory. - Mental Discipline from the Study of Mathematics. - Knowledge the Best Kind of Wealth. - The Position and Prospects of the United States. - The Influence of Scenery on Character. - Sketch of the Plot of Any One of Shakespeare’s Plays. - How to Best Help the Poor. - Influence of Works of Fiction. - Description of Any One of Sir Walter Scott’s Poems and Novels. - Changes Caused by the Invention of the Typewriter. - The Saloon in Modern Politics. - The Evils of Great Trusts. - Utility of Shorthand. - Great Poets of England. - Dante’s Inferno. - The Alhambra. - The Catacombs of Rome. - The Style of John Bunyan. - The Consolations of Age. - The Dangers Arising from Great Trusts. - The Coast Guard Service. - The Wrongs of Ireland. - Plot of any one of Bret Harte’s Novels. - The Lives of the Poor in Large Cities. - On Making Music a Profession. - The Novel Entitled “Lorna Doone.” - The Duty of Cheerfulness. - Cervantes, the Soldier and the Writer. - Our American Humorists. - Martin Luther’s Moral Courage. - Truth the Standard of Excellence. - The Evils of Prejudice. - The Power of Ridicule. - The Power of Early Impressions. - The Exiles of Siberia. - Politics as a Profession. - - -SUBJECTS FOR ARGUMENT. - - Should a Polygamist be Admitted to Congress? - Should Eight Hours Constitute a Day’s Labor? - Should Political Spoils Belong to the Victors? - Is a National Debt a Benefit? - Is Poverty an Incentive to Crime? - Should the United States Maintain a Large Standing Army? - Should Office Holders be Assessed for Party Expenses? - Is Drunkenness any Excuse for Murder? - Would Harmony in Human Beliefs be Desirable? - Should There be a Uniform Divorce Law in All Our States? - Can a Country be Free Without Free Trade? - Should Church Property be Exempt from Taxation? - Should Capital Punishment be Abolished? - Do Luxuries Become Necessities? - Should a Man Vote Who Cannot Read? - Was Thackeray a Cynic? - Should Public School Money be Given to Religious Sects? - Should Writers Adopt Phonetic Spelling? - Is a Man of Business Benefited by a Classical Education? - Is Literature Indicative of National Progress? - Is Electricity Destined to Become the Greatest Motive Power? - Should the Inventor Monopolize His Invention? - Should Cremation Supersede Burial? - Was the Execution of André Unjust? - Is Crime in Our Country on the Increase? - Does the Press in Our Country have too much Freedom? - - -SUBJECTS FOR COMPARISON. - - Falsehood and Truth. - Practice and Habit. - Wit and Humor. - Extravagance and Thrift. - Confusion and Order. - The Democrats and Whigs. - Natural and Acquired Ability. - The Comparative Value of Iron and Gold. - Foreign and Domestic Commerce. - The Cavalier and the Puritan. - Waterloo and Sedan. - The Stage Coach and the Locomotive. - The Uses and Abuses of Fashion. - Capital and Labor. - Genius and Talent. - Romance and Reality. - “The Pen is Mightier than the Sword.” - Notoriety and Reputation. - Resolution and Action. - Working and Dreaming. - Leo X and Martin Luther. - The Statesmanship of Hamilton and Jefferson. - War and Arbitration. - Helen and Andromache. - “When the Law Ends, Tyranny Begins.” - “Deep Versed in Books, and Shallow in Himself.” - The Victories of Peace and of War. - Hypocrisy and Sincerity. - Solitude and Society. - Affection and Naturalness. - Brusque People and Fawning People. - - -MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS. - - Looking on the Bright Side. - The Character of Busybodies. - Benevolence and Greed. - Character of the Pilgrims. - Painting and Sculpture. - The Head and the Heart. - Party Spirit and Good Government. - The Responsibility of Our Country to Mankind. - The Obligation of Treaties. - Great Men the Glory of their Country. - Ancient and Modern Eloquence. - Conscience and the Will. - The Heroism of the Indian. - Religion and Pleasure. - Spiritual Freedom. - The Present Age. - The Humorousness of Love Matches. - The Influence of Woman. - The Mission of Reformers. - The True Aristocracy. - The Expansion of the Republic. - The Bible and the Iliad. - The Huguenots in Carolina. - Puritan Intolerance. - The Compensations of Calamity. - Stateliness and Courtesy. - Truth and Tenderness. - Loungers in Corner Groceries. - A Defense of Enthusiasm. - The Ancient Mound Builders. - The Power of Words. - The Advantages of Playing Golf. - College Athletics. - The Physique of Americans. - The Influence of Climate on Physical Characteristics. - “Home is Where the Heart is.” - Coral Treasures of the Sea. - Sublimity of the Ocean. - The Beauty of Sea Waves. - The Power of Maternal Love. - The Beauty of Heroic Deeds. - The Ravages of War. - Children and Flowers. - Earning Capital. - The Sacredness of Work. - “The Boy is the Father of the Man.” - The Last Hours of Socrates. - The Discoveries of Astronomy. - Luck and Labor. - The Achievements of Earnestness. - The Ideal Citizen. - - -SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS. - -We use words to express ideas and thoughts. The best words are those -which best express the thought or idea. All writers are frequently at a -loss for the exact word or phrase that will express their meaning the -most forcibly, and are compelled to ransack and search their vocabulary -in order to get out of the difficulty. - -The number of words used by the majority of persons is very small, and -they are therefore in constant danger of the fault of repetition. We do -not like to hear a speaker use the same word too frequently. To do so -detracts seriously from the force and beauty of his address. While there -are instances in which a repetition of a word is called for, and to make -use of another would weaken the sentence and fail to fully give the -meaning of the writer or speaker, it is nevertheless true that constant -repetitions are not only a blemish, but a fault that should be corrected. - -For the purpose of avoiding too much repetition in writing and speaking -it is necessary to have a Dictionary of words of similar meaning. A -Synonym is one of two or more words of similar significance which may -often be used interchangeably. An Antonym is a word of opposite meaning. -In the following list the Synonyms are first given; then follow, in -parenthesis, the Antonyms, or words of opposite meaning. - -All persons who would acquire an elegant style in literary composition, -correspondence or ordinary conversation, will find this comprehensive -Dictionary of Synonyms and Antonyms of great value. Jewels of thought -should be set in appropriate language. - -In this table the letter _a_ means adjective; _v_ means verb; _n_ means -noun or substantive. - - ABANDON—forsake, desert, renounce, relinquish. (Keep, cherish.) - - ABANDONED—deserted, forsaken, profligate, wicked, reprobate, - dissolute, flagitious, corrupt, depraved, vicious. (Respected, - esteemed, cherished, virtuous.) - - ABASEMENT—degradation, fall, degeneracy, humiliation, abjectness, - debasement, servility. (Elevation, promotion, honor.) - - ABASH—disconcert, discompose, confound, confuse, shame, bewilder. - (Embolden.) - - ABBREVIATE—shorten, curtail, contract, abridge, condense, reduce, - compress. (Lengthen, extend, enlarge, expand.) - - ABDICATE—renounce, resign, relinquish. (Usurp.) - - ABET—incite, stimulate, whet, encourage, back up, second, - countenance, assist. (Dampen, discourage, dispirit, depress, - repress, oppose.) - - ABETTOR—instigator, prompter, assistant, coadjutor, accomplice, - accessory, _particeps criminis_. (Extinguisher.) - - ABHOR—loathe, abominate, (Love, admire.) - - ABILITY—power, skill, gumption, efficiency, mastery, - qualification, faculty, expertness. (Incompetence, inefficiency, - inability.) - - ABJECT—despised, despicable, vile, grovelling, mean, base, - worthless, servile. (Supreme, august, commanding, noble.) - - ABJURE—forswear, disclaim, unsay, recant, revoke, deny, disown. - (Attest, affirm.) - - ABLE—competent, qualified, skilled, efficient, capable, clever, - adroit, adept, strong, telling, masterly. (Incompetent, weak, - unskilful, unqualified.) - - ABODE—dwelling, residence, domicile, home, quarters, habitation, - lodging, settlement. (Transition, shifting, wandering, - pilgrimage, peregrination.) - - ABOLISH—efface, extinguish, annihilate, nullify, destroy, undo, - quash, annul, cancel, abrogate, quench, suppress, vitiate, - revoke. (Introduce, establish, enforce, restore.) - - ABOMINABLE—detestable, hateful, odious, execrable. (Choice, - excellent, attractive, select.) - - ABORTIVE—ineffectual, futile, inoperative, defective, inadequate. - (Efficient, productive, complete.) - - ABOUT—around, near to, nearly, approximately, contiguous. (Remote - from, distant.) - - ABSCOND—take oneself off, “vamoose,” disappear, decamp, run away. - (Thrust oneself into notice.) - - ABSENT—not present, wanting, absentminded, abstracted, - inattentive, listless, dreamy, visionary. (Present, collected, - composed, vigilant, observant.) - - ABSOLUTE—certain, unconditioned, unconditional, unlimited, - unrestricted, transcendent, authoritative, paramount, imperative, - arbitrary, despotic. (Conditional, limited, hampered, fettered.) - - ABSORB—suck up, imbibe, engross, drain away, consume. (Reserve, - save, spare, husband, economize, hoard up.) - - ABSURD—unreasonable, nonsensical, foolish, vain, impracticable. - (Reasonable, prudent, veracious.) - - ABUSE, _v._—pervert, deprave, traduce, debase, disparage, - slander, calumniate, rail at, reproach, depreciate. (Improve, - develop, cultivate, promote, bless, magnify, appreciate.) - - ABUSE, _n._—perversion, ill-usage, depravation, debasement, - slander, reproach. (Cultivation, use, promotion, development, - appreciation, praise.) - - ACCEDE—join, assent, acquiesce in, comply, agree, concur, - coincide, approve. (Dissent, object, decline, refuse.) - - ACCELERATE—hasten, hurry, speed, expedite, quicken, precipitate, - facilitate. (Retard, delay, procrastinate, arrest, stop, impede, - suspend.) - - ACCEPT—take, receive, assume, acknowledge, endorse. (Refuse, - repudiate, protest, disown.) - - ACCEPTABLE—pleasant, grateful, welcome. (Repugnant, displeasing.) - - ACCIDENT—casualty, contingency, hap, mishap, chance, mischance, - misadventure. (Law, order.) - - ACCOMMODATE—adjust, adapt, fit, conform, reconcile, suit, oblige, - furnish, convenience. (Cross, thwart, counteract, plot against, - checkmate, defeat, inconvenience.) - - ACCOMPLICE—confederate, ally, associate, accessory, _particeps - criminis_. (Adversary, rival, spy, opponent, enemy.) - - ACCOMPLISH—complete, perform, finish, fulfil, execute, perfect, - consummate, achieve, effect, carry out. (Fail, miscarry, undo, - wreck, frustrate.) - - ACCOMPLISHMENT—success, fulfilment, completion, performance, - execution, achievement, consummation, attainment. (Failure, - miscarriage, wreck, ruin.) - - ACCORD—harmonize, agree, allow, grant, concede. (Jar, clash with, - deny, disallow.) - - ACCOST—address, confront, speak to, greet, salute. (Evade, fight - shy of.) - - ACCOUNT, _v._—compute, estimate, reckon up, take stock of. (Leave - unexplained, unsolved.) - - ACCOUNT, _n._—reckoning, relation, charge, bill. (Riddle, - mystery, puzzle, unknown quantity.) - - ACCOUNTABLE—answerable, responsible, amenable. (Exempt, free, - irresponsible.) - - ACCUMULATE—heap up, save, collect. (Scatter, dissipate, diffuse, - spend, squander.) - - ACCUMULATION—heap, amount, glut. (Dissipation, dissemination, - distribution, diminution.) - - ACCURATE—definite, precise, correct, exact. (Inaccurate, wrong, - erroneous, blundering, careless.) - - ACHIEVE—complete, gain, win. - - ACHIEVEMENT—feat, exploit, distinguished performance, - acquirement. (Abortion, frustration, failure, shortcoming, - defect.) - - ACKNOWLEDGE—avow, confess, own, recognize, admit, grant, concede. - (Repudiate, disclaim, disallow, disown, deny.) - - ACQUAINT—make known, apprise, inform, communicate, intimate, - notify. (Leave ignorant, keep secret, conceal.) - - ACQUAINTANCE—knowledge, familiarity, fellowship, companionship. - (Ignorance, stranger.) - - ACQUIESCE—yield, concur, agree, assent. (Protest, object, - dissent, secede, oppose.) - - ACQUIT—set free, release, discharge, clear, absolve, exculpate, - exonerate, liberate, deliver. (Accuse, impeach, charge, blame, - convict.) - - ACT, _v._—do, perform, commit, operate, work, practice, behave, - personate, play, enact. (Neglect, cease, desist, rest, wait, lie - idle, refrain.) - - ACTION—working, agency, operation, business, gesture, engagement, - fight, deed, battle, feat. (Inaction, repose, rest, idleness, - ease, indolence, inertia, passiveness, quiescence, dormancy.) - - ACTIVE—energetic, busy, stirring, alive, brisk, operative, - lively, agile, nimble, diligent, sprightly, alert, quick, supple, - prompt, industrious. (Passive, inert, dead, extinct, dull, - torpid, sluggish, indolent, lazy, dormant, quiescent, asleep.) - - ACTUAL—real, positive, existing, certain. (False, imaginary, - theoretical, illusive, fictitious.) - - ACUTE—sharp, pointed, penetrating, piercing, keen, poignant, - pungent, intense, violent, shrill, sensitive, sharp-witted, - shrewd, discriminating, clever, cunning. (Obtuse, blunt, bluff, - dull, flat, callous, stupid, apathetic.) - - ADAPT—fit, suit, adjust, conform, regulate. (Misfit, discommode, - dislocate.) - - ADDICTED—committed to, devoted, prone, given up to, inclined, - habituated. (Uncommitted, free, uncompromised, neutral.) - - ADDITION—annexation, accession, supplement, adjunct, affix, - appendage, accessory, increment, increase, complement, _plus_, - more. (Subtraction, deduction, retrenchment, curtailment, - deprivation, _minus_, less, loss, impoverishment.) - - ADDRESS—speech, salutation, accost, appeal; also skill, - dexterity, adroitness; also direction, name; also residence. - (Response, answer, reply, rejoinder; also awkwardness, - maladroitness, clumsiness, slovenliness.) - - ADHESION—sticking, adherence, adoption, attachment, espousal. - (Repulsion, revulsion, antipathy, aversion, hostility, - incompatibility, dislike.) - - ADJACENT—next, near, nigh, at hand, alongside, close by, - adjoining, contiguous, bordering, neighboring, proximate. - (Remote, foreign, distant, aloof, far, apart, asunder.) - - ADJOURN—put off, postpone, defer, delay, keep in abeyance, - prorogue, suspend, procrastinate, retard, waive, remand, reserve. - (Conclude, clinch, accelerate, precipitate.) - - ADJUNCT—appendage, affix, annex, annexation, appendix, adhesion, - appurtenance. (Curtailment, retrenchment, lop, mutilation, - reduction, clipping, docking, filching.) - - ADJUST—make exact, set right, fit, adapt, dovetail, arrange, - harmonize, settle, regulate. (Confound, confuse, muddle, - disorder, perplex, embarrass, entangle, clash, jar, jumble, - disarrange, unsettle.) - - ADMIRABLE—wonderful, excellent, choice, noble, grand, estimable, - lovely, ideal, surpassing, extraordinary, eminent. (Detestable, - vile, mean, contemptible, despicable, worthless, wretched, - villainous, pitiful.) - - ADMIT—allow, permit, suffer, receive, usher, grant, acknowledge, - confess, concede, accept. (Deny, refuse, shut out, forbid, - disown, disclaim.) - - ADVANTAGEOUS—profitable, serviceable, useful, beneficial, - helpful, of value. (Disadvantageous, detrimental, prejudicial, - injurious, hurtful, harmful, deleterious, obnoxious, pernicious.) - - AFFECTION—bent, inclination, partiality, attraction, impulse, - love, desire, passion, fascination; also suffering, disease, - morbidness. (Repulsion, revulsion, antipathy, dislike, recoil, - aversion, estrangement, indifference, coldness, alienation; also - wholeness, soundness, healthiness.) - - AFFECTIONATE—loving, kind, fond, doting, tender, amiable, - cordial, hearty, good-hearted. (Cold, unloving, unkind, - heartless, selfish, crabbed, sour, malign, malicious, malevolent, - misanthropic, cynical, ill-natured, cruel, hating.) - - AGREEABLE—pleasant, acceptable, grateful, refreshing, genial, - pleasing, palatable, sweet, charming, delectable. (Disagreeable, - displeasing, unpleasant, ungrateful, harsh, repellent, painful, - noxious, plaguy, irritating, annoying, mortifying.) - - ALTERNATING—reciprocal, correlative, interchangeable, by turns, - _vice versa_. (Monotonous, unchanging, continual.) - - AMBASSADOR—messenger, envoy, emissary, legate, nuncio, - diplomatist, diplomate, representative, vicegerent, - plenipotentiary, minister, agent. (Principal, government, - sovereign, power.) - - AMEND—improve, correct, better, meliorate, rectify, prune, - repair, revise, remedy, reform. (Injure, impair, damage, harm, - hurt, mar, mangle, blemish, deteriorate, ruin, spoil.) - - ANGER—resentment, animosity, wrath, indignation, pique, umbrage, - huff, displeasure, dungeon, irritation, irascibility, choler, - ire, hate. (Kindness, benignity, _bonhomie_, good nature.) - - APPROPRIATE—assimilate, assume, possess oneself of, take, grab, - clutch, collar, snap up, capture, steal. (Relinquish, give up, - surrender, yield, resign, forego, renounce, abandon, discard, - dismiss.) - - ARGUE—reason, discuss, debate, dispute, contend. (Obscure, - darken, mystify, mislead, misrepresent, evade, sophisticate.) - - ARISE—rise, ascend, mount, climb, soar, spring, emanate, proceed, - issue. (Descend, fall, gravitate, drop, slide, settle, decline, - sink, dismount, alight.) - - ARTFUL—cunning, crafty, skilful, wily, designing, politic, - astute, knowing, tricky. (Artless, naïve, natural, simple, - plain, ingenuous, frank, sincere, open, candid, guileless, - straightforward, direct.) - - ARTIFICE—contrivance, stratagem, trick, design, plot, - machination, chicanery, knavery, jugglery, guile, jobbery. - (Artlessness, candor, openness, simplicity, innocence, - ingenuousness.) - - ASSOCIATION—partnership, fellowship, solidarity, league, - alliance, combination, coalition, federation, junto, cabal. - (Opposition, antagonism, conflict, counteraction, resistance, - hinderance, counterplot, detachment, individualism.) - - ATTACK—assault, charge, onset, onslaught, incursion, inroad, - bombardment, cannonade. (Defence, protection, guard, ward, - resistance, stand, repulse, rebuff, retreat.) - - AUDACITY—boldness, defiance, prowess, intrepidity, mettle, game, - pluck, fortitude, rashness, temerity, presumption, foolhardiness, - courage, hardihood. (Cowardice, pusillanimity, timidity, - meekness, poltroonery, fear, caution, calculation, discretion, - prudence.) - - AUSTERE—severe, harsh, rigid, stern, rigorous, uncompromising, - inflexible, obdurate, exacting, straight-laced, unrelenting. - (Lax, loose, slack, remiss, weak, pliant, lenient, mild, - indulgent, easy-going, forbearing, forgiving.) - - AVARICIOUS—tight-fisted, griping, churlish, parsimonious, stingy, - penurious, miserly, niggardly, close, illiberal, ungenerous, - covetous, greedy, rapacious. (Prodigal, thriftless, improvident, - extravagant, lavish, dissipated, freehanded.) - - AVERSION—antipathy, revulsion, repulsion, dislike, recoil, - estrangement, alienation, repugnance, disgust, nausea. - (Predilection, fancy, fascination, allurement, attraction, - magnet.) - - AWE—dread, fear, reverence, prostration, admiration, - bewilderment. (Familiarity, indifference, heedlessness, - unconcern, contempt, mockery.) - - AXIOM—maxim, aphorism, apophthegm, adage, motto, _dictum_, - theorem, truism, proverb, saw. (Absurdity, paradox.) - - - BABBLE—splash, gurgle, bubble, purl, ripple, prattle, clack, - gabble, clash, jabber, twaddle, prate, chatter, blab. (Silence, - hush.) - - BAD—depraved, defiled, distorted, corrupt, evil, wicked, wrong, - sinful, morbid, foul, peccant, noxious, pernicious, diseased, - imperfect, tainted, touched. (Good, whole, sound, healthy, - beneficial, salutary, prime, perfect, entire, untouched, - unblemished, intact, choice, worthy.) - - BAFFLE—thwart, checkmate, defeat, disconcert, confound, block, - outwit, traverse, contravene, frustrate, balk, foil. (Aid, - assist, succor, further, forward, expedite, sustain, second, - reinforce.) - - BASE—crude, undeveloped, low, villainous, mean, deteriorated, - misbegotten, ill-contrived, ill-constituted. (Noble, exalted, - lofty, sublime, excellent, elect, choice, aristocratic, - exquisite, capital.) - - BEAR—carry, hold, sustain, support, suffer, endure, beget, - generate, produce, breed, hatch. (Lean, depend, hang, yield, - sterile, unproductive.) - - BEASTLY—bestial, animal, brutal, sensual, gross, carnal, - lewd. (Human, humane, virtuous, moral, ethical, intellectual, - thoughtful, spiritual.) - - BEAT—strike, smite, thrash, thwack, thump, pummel, drub, leather, - baste, belabor, birch, scourge, defeat, surpass, rout, overthrow. - (Protect, defend, soothe.) - - BEAUTIFUL—fair, complete, symmetrical, handsome. (Ugly, - repulsive, foul.) - - BECOMING—suiting, accordant, fit, seemly. (Discrepant, improper, - in bad form.) - - BEG—beseech, crave, entreat. (Offer, proffer.) - - BEHAVIOR—carriage, deportment, conduct. - - BENEFICENT—bountiful, generous, liberal. (Sordid, mercenary.) - - BENEFIT—good, advantage, service. (Loss, detriment, injury.) - - BENEVOLENCE—well-wishing, charity. (Malevolence, malice, hate.) - - BLAME—censure, reproach. (Approve, honor.) - - BLEMISH—flaw, stain, spot, imperfection, defect. (Ornament, - decoration, embellishment, adornment, finery, gilding.) - - BLIND—dimsighted, ignorant, uninformed. (Sharp-sighted, - enlightened.) - - BLOT—efface, cancel, expunge, erase. (Record.) - - BOLD—brave, daring, fearless, intrepid, courageous. (Cowardly, - timid, shy, chicken-hearted.) - - BORDER—margin, boundary, frontier, confine, fringe, hem, - selvedge, valance. (Inclosure, interior, inside.) - - BOUND—circumscribe, limit, restrict, confine, enclose; _also_ - leap, jump, hop, spring, vault, skip. (Enlarge, clear, deliver; - _also_ plunge, dip, sink.) - - BRAVE—dare, defy. (Cave in, show the white feather.) - - BREAK—bruise, crush, pound, squeeze, crack, snap, splinter. - (Bind, hold together, knit, rivet.) - - BREEZE—blow, zephyr. (Stillness, hush, calm.) - - BRIGHT—shining, lustrous, radiant. (Dull, dim.) - - BRITTLE—frangible, fragile, frail. (Tough.) - - BURIAL—interment, sepulture, obsequies. (Exhumation, - disinterment.) - - BUSINESS—occupation, employment, pursuit, vocation, calling, - profession, craft, trade. (Leisure, vacation, play.) - - BUSTLE—stir, fuss, ado, flurry. (Quiet, stillness.) - - - CALAMITY—misfortune, disaster, catastrophe. (Good luck, - prosperity.) - - CALM—still, motionless, placid, serene, composed. (Stormy, - unsettled, restless, agitated, distracted.) - - CAPABLE—competent, able, efficient. (Unqualified.) - - CAPTIOUS—censorious, cantankerous. (Conciliatory, bland.) - - CARE—solicitude, concern. (Negligence, carelessness, - _nonchalance_.) - - CARESS—fondle, love, pet. (Spurn, disdain.) - - CARNAGE—butchery, gore, massacre, slaughter. - - CAUSE—origin, source, ground, reason, motive. - - CENSURE—reprehend, chide. (Approve.) - - CERTAIN—sure, infallible. (Doubtful, dubious.) - - CESSATION—discontinuance, stoppage, rest, halt. (Perseverance, - persistence, continuance.) - - CHANCE—accident, luck. (Intention, purpose.) - - ’CHANGE—exchange, _bourse_, mart, emporium. - - CHANGEABLE—mutable, variable, fickle. (Steadfast, firm.) - - CHARACTER—constitution, nature, disposition. - - CHARM—fascination, enchantment, witchery, attraction. (Nuisance, - mortification, bore, plague.) - - CHASTITY—purity, virtue. (Concupiscence.) - - CHEAP—inexpensive, worthless. (Dear, costly.) - - CHEERFUL—blithe, lightsome, brisk, sprightly. (Melancholy, - sombre, morose, gloomy, sad.) - - CHIEF—sachem, head, ruler. (Vassal, henchman.) - - CIRCUMSTANCE—situation, predicament. - - CLASS—division, category, department, order, kind, sort, genus, - species, variety. - - CLEVER—adroit, dexterous, expert, deft, ready, smart. (Awkward, - dull, shiftless, clumsy.) - - CLOTHED—dressed, arrayed, apparelled. (Disrobed, stripped.) - - COARSE—crude, unrefined. (Refined, cultivated.) - - COAX—cajole, wheedle, fawn, lure, induce, entice. (Dissuade, - indispose, warn, admonish.) - - COLD—frigid, chill, inclement. (Hot, glowing.) - - COLOR—hue, tint, tinge, tincture, dye, shade, stain. (Pallor, - paleness, wanness, blankness, achromatism, discoloration.) - - COMBINATION—coalescence, fusion, faction, coalition, league. - (Dissolution, rupture, schism.) - - COMMAND—empire, rule. (Anarchy, license.) - - COMMODITY—goods, effects, merchandise, stock. - - COMMON—general, ordinary, mean, base. (Rare, exceptional, unique.) - - COMPASSION—pity, commiseration, sympathy. (Cruelty, severity.) - - COMPEL—force, coerce, oblige, necessitate, make, constrain. (Let - alone, tolerate.) - - COMPENSATION—amends, atonement, requital. (Withholding.) - - COMPENDIUM—abstract, epitome, digest. (Amplification, expansion.) - - COMPLAIN—lament, murmur, regret, repine, deplore. (Rejoice, - exult, boast, brag, chuckle.) - - COMPLY—consent, yield, acquiesce. (Refuse, deny, decline.) - - COMPOUND, _a._—composite, complex, blended. (Simple, elementary.) - - COMPREHEND—comprise, contain, embrace, include, enclose, grasp. - (Exclude, reject, mistake, eliminate, loss.) - - CONCEAL—hide, secrete, cover, screen, shroud, veil, disguise. - (Publish, report, divulge.) - - CONCEIVE—grasp, apprehend, devise, invent. (Ignorant of.) - - CONCLUSION—result, finding. (Undetermined.) - - CONDEMN—convict, find guilty, sentence, doom. (Acquit.) - - CONDUCT, _v._—direct, manage, govern. (Follow, obey, submit.) - - CONFIRM—corroborate, ratify, endorse, support, uphold. (Weaken, - enfeeble, reduce.) - - CONFLICT—contend, contest, wrestle, tussle, clash, wrangle. - (Harmonize, agree, fraternize, concur.) - - CONFUTE—refute, disprove. (Demonstrate.) - - CONQUER—defeat, vanquish, overcome. (Fail, be beaten, lose.) - - CONSEQUENCE—effect, derivation, result, event, issue. (Cause, - origin, source, antecedent.) - - CONSIDER—reflect, deliberate. (Forget, ignore.) - - CONSISTENT—accordant, concordant, compatible, consonant, - congruous, reconcilable, harmonious. (Discordant, discrepant.) - - CONSOLE—relieve, soothe, comfort. (Embitter.) - - CONSTANCY—continuance, tenacity, stability. (Irresolution, - fickleness.) - - CONTAMINATE—Pollute, stain, taint, tarnish, blur, smudge, defile. - (Cleanse, purify, purge.) - - CONTEMN—despise, disdain, scorn. (Esteem, appreciate, admire.) - - CONTEMPLATE—survey, scan, observe, intend. (Disregard.) - - CONTEMPTIBLE—despicable, paltry, shabby, beggarly, worthless, - vile, cheap, trashy. (Estimable.) - - CONTEND—fight, wrangle, vie. (Be at peace.) - - CONTINUAL—perpetual, endless, ceaseless. (Momentary, transient.) - - CONTINUE—remain, persist, endure. (Desist, stay.) - - CONTRADICT—deny, gainsay, oppose. (Affirm, assert, declare.) - - CORRECT—mend, rectify. (Impair, muddle.) - - COST—expense, charge, price, value. - - COVETOUSNESS—avarice, cupidity, extortion. (Generosity, - liberality.) - - COWARDICE—poltroonery, faint-heartedness. (Courage, boldness, - intrepidity.) - - CRIME—offence, trespass, misdemeanor, felony, transgression. - (Innocence, guiltlessness.) - - CRIMINAL—culprit, felon, convict. (Paragon.) - - CROOKED—twisted, distorted, bent, awry, wry, askew, deformed. - (Straight, upright.) - - CRUEL—brutal, ferocious, barbarous, blood-thirsty, fiendish. - (Kind, benignant, benevolent.) - - CULTIVATION—tillage, culture. (Waste.) - - CURSORY—fugitive, hurried, perfunctory. (Permanent, thorough.) - - CUSTOM—habit, wont, usage, fashion, practice. - - - DANGER—peril, hazard, jeopardy. (Safety.) - - DARK—obscure, sombrous, opaque, unintelligible. (Light, luminous, - shining, clear, lucid.) - - DEADLY—mortal, fatal, destructive, lethal. - - DEAR—costly, precious, high-priced, beloved, darling, pet, - favorite. (Cheap, disliked, despised.) - - DEATH—decease, demise, dissolution. (Birth, life.) - - DECAY, _n._—decline, consumption, atrophy. (Development, growth.) - - DECEIVE—cheat, defraud, cozen, overreach, gull, dupe, swindle, - victimize. (Truthfulness.) - - DECEIT, _n._—imposition, fraud, deception. (Veracity, honesty.) - - DECIDE—determine, resolve, conclude, settle, adjudicate, - arbitrate, terminate. (Hesitate, dilly-dally, shuffle.) - - DECIPHER—interpret, explain, construe, unravel. (Mistake, - confound.) - - DECISION—determination, conclusion, firmness. (Wavering, - hesitancy.) - - DECLAMATION—harangue, oration, recitation, tirade, speech. - - DECLARATION—affirmation, assertion. (Denial.) - - DECREASE—diminish, lessen, reduce, wane, decline. (Increase, - grow, enlarge.) - - DEDICATE—consecrate, devote, offer, apportion. - - DEED—act, transaction, exploit, document. - - DEEM—judge, estimate, consider, esteem, suppose. - - DEEP—profound, abtruse, hidden, extraordinarily wise. (Shallow, - superficial.) - - DEFACE—mar, spoil, injure, disfigure. (Beautify.) - - DEFAULT—shortcoming, deficiency, defect, imperfection. - (Sufficiency, satisfaction.) - - DEFENCE—fortification, bulwark, vindication, justification, - apology. - - DEFEND—shield, vindicate. (Assault, accuse.) - - DEFICIENT—incomplete, lacking. (Entire, perfect, whole.) - - DEFILE—soil, smutch, besmear, begrime. - - DEFINE—limit, bound. (Enlarge, expand.) - - DEFRAY—pay, settle, liquidate, satisfy, clear. - - DEGREE—grade, extent, measure, ratio, standard. - - DELIBERATE, _a._—circumspect, wary, cautious. (Heedless, - thoughtless.) - - DELICACY—nicety, dainty, tit-bit, taste, refinement, modesty. - (Grossness, coarseness, vulgarity, indecorum.) - - DELICATE—dainty, refined. (Coarse, beastly.) - - DELICIOUS—savory, palatable, luscious, charming, delightful. - (Offensive, nasty, odious, shocking, nauseous.) - - DELIGHT—gratification, felicity. (Mortification, vexation.) - - DELIVER—transfer, consign, utter, liberate, declare. (Keep, - retain, restrain, check, bridle.) - - DEMONSTRATE—prove, show, manifest. (Mystify, obscure.) - - DEPART—quit, vacate, retire, withdraw, remove. - - DEPRIVE—strip, bereave, despoil. (Invest, equip.) - - DEPUTE—commission, delegate, accredit, entrust. - - DERISION—ridicule, scoffing, mockery, raillery, chaff, - _badinage_. (Awe, dread, reverence.) - - DERIVATION—origin, source, spring, emanation, etymology. - - DESCRIBE—delineate, portray, style, specify, characterize. - - DESECRATE—profane, blaspheme, revile. (Consecrate, sanctify.) - - DESERVE—merit, be entitled to, earn, justify. - - DESIGN, _n._—delineation, illustration, sketch, plan, drawing, - portraiture, draught, projection, scheme, proposal, outline. - - DESIRABLE—eligible, suitable, acceptable. (Unfit, objectionable.) - - DESIRE, _n._—wish, longing, hankering, appetite. - - DESOLATE, _a._—lonely, solitary, bereaved, forlorn, forsaken, - deserted, bleak, dreary. (Befriended, social, festive.) - - DESPERATE—frenzied, frantic, furious. (Calm, composed, moderate.) - - DESTINY—fatality, doom, predestination, decree, fate. (Casualty, - accident, contingency, chance.) - - DESTRUCTIVE—mischievous, disastrous, deleterious. (Creative, - beneficial.) - - DESUETUDE—disuse, discontinuance. (Use, habit, practice.) - - DESULTORY—immethodical, disconnected, rambling, discontinuous, - interrupted, fitful, intermittent. (Continuous, consecutive, - constant.) - - DETAIL, _n._—particular, item, count, specialty, individuality. - - DETAIL, _v._—particularize, enumerate, specify. (Generalize.) - - DETER—discourage, dissuade. (Encourage, incite.) - - DETRIMENT—damage, loss. (Benefit, improvement, betterment.) - - DEVELOP—unfold, expand, increase. (Extirpate.) - - DEVOID—wanting, destitute, bereft, denuded, bare, emptied, void. - (Provided, supplied, furnished.) - - DEVOTED—destined, consecrated, sworn to. - - DICTATE—enjoin, order, prescribe, mark out. - - DICTATORIAL—authoritative, imperative, overbearing, imperious, - arbitrary, domineering. - - DIE—expire, perish, depart this life, cease. - - DIET—food, victuals, nourishment, aliment, board, sustenance, - fare, viands, meal, repast, _menu_. - - DIFFER—vary, diverge, disagree, bicker, nag, split. (Accord, - harmonize.) - - DIFFERENT—various, diverse, unlike. (Identical.) - - DIFFICULT—hard, tough, laborious, arduous, formidable. (Easy, - facile, manageable, pliant.) - - DIFFUSE—discursive, digressive, diluted. (Condensed, concise, - terse.) - - DIGNIFY—elevate, exalt, ennoble, honor, advance, promote. - (Degrade, disgrace, demean, vulgarize.) - - DILATE—widen, extend, enlarge, expand, descant, expatiate. - (Contract, narrow, compress, reduce.) - - DILATORY—slow, tardy, slow-paced, procrastinating, lagging, - dawdling. (Prompt, peremptory, quick, instant.) - - DILIGENCE—zeal, ardor, assiduity. (Indolence.) - - DIMINISH—lessen, reduce, curtail, retrench, bate, abate, shorten, - contract. (Increase, augment, aggrandize, enlarge.) - - DISABILITY—incapacity, unfitness. (Power.) - - DISCERN—descry, perceive, distinguish, espy, scan, recognize, - understand, discriminate. (Ignore.) - - DISCIPLINE—order, training, drill, schooling. (Laxity, disorder, - confusion, anarchy.) - - DISCOVER—detect, find, unveil, reveal, open, expose, publish, - disclose. (Cover, conceal, hide.) - - DISCREDITABLE—disreputable, reprehensible, blameworthy, shameful, - scandalous, flagrant. (Exemplary, laudable, commendable.) - - DISCREET—prudent, politic, cautious, wary, guarded, judicious. - (Reckless, heedless, rash, unadvised, foolhardy, precipitate.) - - DISCREPANCY—disagreement, discordance, incongruity, disparity, - unfitness, clash, jar. (Concord, unison, harmony, congruity.) - - DISCRIMINATION—distinction, differentiation, discernment, - appreciation, acuteness, judgment, tact, nicety. (Confusion.) - - DISEASE—illness, sickness, ailment, indisposition, complaint, - malady, disorder. (Health, sanity, soundness, robustness.) - - DISGRACE, _n._—stigma, reproach, brand, dishonor, shame, scandal, - odium, infamy. (Honor.) - - DISGUST—distaste, loathing, nausea, aversion, revulsion, - abhorrence. (Predilection, partiality, inclination, bias.) - - DISHONEST—fraudulent, unfair, tricky, unjust. (Straightforward, - open, sincere, honest, fair, right, just, impartial.) - - DISMAY, _v._—alarm, startle, scare, frighten, affright, terrify, - astound, appal, daunt. (Assure, cheer.) - - DISMAY, _n._—terror, dread, fear, fright. (Courage.) - - DISMISS—send off, discharge, disband. (Instal, retain, keep.) - - DISPEL—scatter, disperse, dissipate, drive off, chase. (Collect, - rally, summon, gather.) - - DISPLAY, _v._—exhibit, show, parade. (Conceal.) - - DISPOSE—arrange, place, order, marshal, rank, group, assort, - distribute, co-ordinate, collocate. (Derange, embroil, jumble, - muddle, huddle.) - - DISPUTE, _v._—discuss, debate, wrangle, controvert, contend. - (Homologate, acquiesce in, assent to.) - - DISPUTE, _n._—argument, controversy, contention, polemic. - (Homologation, acquiescence.) - - DISTINCT—separate, detached. (Joined, involved.) - - DISTINGUISH—perceive, separate. (Confound.) - - DISTINGUISHED—famous, noted, marked, eminent, celebrated, - illustrious. (Obscure, mean.) - - DISTRACT—divert, disconcert, perplex, bewilder, fluster, dazzle. - (Observe, study, note, mark.) - - DISTRIBUTE—disperse, disseminate, dispense, retail, apportion, - consign, dole out. (Accumulate.) - - DISTURB—derange, displace, unsettle, trouble, vex, worry, annoy. - (Compose, pacify, quiet, soothe.) - - DIVIDE—disjoin, part, separate, sunder, sever, cleave, split, - rend, partition, distribute. (Constitute, unite.) - - DIVINE, _a._—God-like, holy, heavenly. (Devilish.) - - DIVINE, _n._—clergyman, churchman, priest, pastor, shepherd, - parson, minister. (Layman.) - - DO—effect, make, accomplish, transact, act. - - DOCILE—teachable, willing. (Refractory, stubborn, obstinate.) - - DOCTRINE—teaching, lore, tenet, dogma, articles of faith, creed. - (Ignorance, superstition.) - - DOLEFUL—woeful, dismal. (Joyous, merry.) - - DOOM, _n._—sentence, fate, lot, destiny, decree. - - DOUBT—uncertainty, skepticism, hesitation. (Certainty, faith.) - - DRAW—pull, attract, inhale, sketch, delineate. - - DREAD, _n._—fear, horror, alarm, terror, dismay, apprehension. - (Confidence, fearlessness.) - - DREADFUL—fearful, alarming, formidable, portentous, direful, - terrible, horrid, awful. (Mild, winsome, gentle.) - - DRESS, _n._—clothing, raiment, attire, apparel, clothes, - _trousseau_. (Nudity, nakedness.) - - DRIFT—tendency, direction, course, bearing, tenor. - - DROLL—funny, laughable, grotesque, farcical, odd. (Dull, serious, - solemn, grave.) - - DRY, _a._—arid, parched, bald, flat, dull. (Aqueous, green, - fresh, juicy, interesting.) - - DUE—owing, indebted, just, fair, proper. - - DULL—heavy, sad, commonplace, gloomy, stupid. (Bright, gay, - brilliant.) - - DUNCE—blockhead, ignoramus, simpleton, donkey, ninny, dolt, - booby, goose, dullard, numskull, dunderpate, clodhopper. (Sage, - genius, man of talent, wit.) - - DURABLE—abiding, lasting. (Evanescent.) - - DWELL—stay, abide, sojourn, remain, tarry, stop. (Shift, wander, - remove, tramp.) - - DWINDLE—pine, waste, shrink, shrivel, diminish. - - - EAGER—keen, desirous, craving, ardent, impatient, intent, - impetuous. (Loth, reluctant.) - - EARN—gain, win, acquire. (Lose, miss, forfeit.) - - EARNEST, _a._—serious, resolved. (Trifling, giddy, irresolute, - fickle.) - - EARNEST, _n._—pledge, gage, deposit, caution. - - EASE, _n._—content, rest, satisfaction, comfort, repose. (Worry, - bother, friction, agitation, turmoil.) - - EASE, _v._—calm, console, appease, assuage, allay, mitigate. - (Worry, fret, alarm, gall, harass.) - - EASY—light, comfortable, unconstrained. (Hard, difficult, - embarrassed, constrained.) - - ECCENTRIC—wandering, irregular, peculiar, odd, unwonted, - extraordinary, queer, nondescript. (Orderly, customary.) - - ECONOMICAL—frugal, thrifty, provident. (Squandering, wasteful.) - - EDGE—verge, brink, brim, rim, skirt, hem. - - EFFECT, _v._—produce, bring about, execute. - - EFFECTIVE—efficient, operative, powerful, efficacious, competent. - (Impotent, incapable, incompetent, inefficient.) - - EFFICACY—efficiency, virtue, competence, agency, instrumentality. - - ELIMINATE—expel, weed, thin, decimate, exclude, bar, reject, - repudiate, winnow, eject, cast out. (Include, comprehend, - incorporate, embrace.) - - ELOQUENCE—oratory, rhetoric, declamation, facundity, - grandiloquence, fluency. (Mumbling, stammering.) - - ELUCIDATE—clear up, unfold, simplify, explain, decipher, unravel, - disentangle. (Darken, obscure.) - - ELUDE—escape, avoid, shun, slip, disappear, shirk. - - EMBARRASS—perplex, entangle, involve, impede. (Relieve, unravel.) - - EMBELLISH—adorn, decorate, beautify. (Tarnish, disfigure.) - - EMBOLDEN—animate, encourage, cheer, instigate, impel, urge, - stimulate. (Discourage, dispirit, dampen, depress.) - - EMINENT—exalted, lofty, prominent, renowned, distinguished, - famous, glorious, illustrious. (Base, obscure, low, unknown.) - - EMIT—send out, despatch, spirt, publish, promulgate, edit. - (Reserve, conceal, hide.) - - EMOTION—feeling, sensation, pathos, nerve, ardor, agitation, - excitement. (Apathy, frigidity, phlegm, _nonchalance_.) - - EMPLOY—occupy, engage, utilize, exercise, turn to account, - exploit, make use of. - - ENCOMPASS—encircle, surround, gird, beset. - - ENCOUNTER, _v._—meet, run against, clash. - - ENCOUNTER, _n._—attack, conflict, assault, onset, engagement. - - END, _n._—object, aim, result, purpose, conclusion, upshot, - termination. (Beginning, motive.) - - ENDEAVOR, _v._—attempt, try, essay, strive. - - ENDURANCE—stay, stability, stamina, fortitude. - - ENDURE—sustain, bear, brook, undergo. - - ENEMY—foe, antagonist, adversary, opponent. (Friend, ally.) - - ENERGETIC—active, vigorous, sinewy, nervous, forcible. (Lazy, - languid, inert, flabby, flaccid, slack, effete.) - - ENGAGE—occupy, busy, entice, captivate. - - ENGROSS—monopolize, absorb, take up. - - ENGULF—swallow up, drown, submerge, bury. - - ENJOIN—order, command, decree, ordain, direct, appoint, - prescribe, bind, impose, stipulate. - - ENJOYMENT—pleasure, relish, zest. (Privation, grief, misery.) - - ENLARGE—expand, widen, augment, broaden, increase, extend. - (Diminish, narrow, straighten.) - - ENLIGHTEN—illumine, instruct. (Darken, befog, mystify.) - - ENLIVEN—cheer, animate, exhilarate, brighten, incite, inspire. - (Sadden, deaden, mortify.) - - ENMITY—hostility, hatred, antipathy, aversion, detestation. - (Love, fondness, predilection.) - - ENORMOUS—huge, immense, vast, stupendous, monstrous, gigantic, - colossal, elephantine. (Tiny, little, minute, puny, petty, - diminutive, infinitesimal, dwarfish.) - - ENOUGH—sufficient, adequate. (Short, scrimp, insufficient.) - - ENRAGED—infuriated, wrathful, wroth, rabid, mad, raging. - (Pacified, calmed, lulled, assuaged.) - - ENRAPTURE—captivate, fascinate, enchant, bewitch, ravish, - transport, entrance. (Irritate, gall, shock, repel.) - - ENROLL—enlist, register, enter, record. - - ENTERPRISE—undertaking, endeavor, adventure, pursuit. - - ENTHUSIASM—ardor, zeal, glow, unction, fervor. (Coolness, - indifference, apathy, _nonchalance_.) - - ENTHUSIAST—visionary, fanatic, devotee, zealot. - - EQUAL—even, level, co-ordinate, balanced, alike, equable, - equitable. (Unequal, disproportionate.) - - ERADICATE—root out, extirpate. (Cherish.) - - ERRONEOUS—fallacious, inaccurate, incorrect, untrue, false, - inexact. (Accurate, just, right.) - - ERROR—mistake, blunder, slip, delusion, fallacy, deception. - (Truth, fact, verity, gospel, veracity.) - - ESPECIALLY—chiefly, particularly, peculiarly. - - ESSAY—endeavor, experiment, trial, attempt, venture, - dissertation, treatise, disquisition, tract. - - ESTABLISH—settle, fix, set, plant, pitch, lay down, confirm, - authenticate, substantiate, verify. - - ESTEEM, _n._—value, appreciation, honor, regard. (Contempt, - depreciation, disparagement.) - - ESTIMATE, _v._—value, assess, rate, appraise, gauge. - - ETERNAL—everlasting, perpetual, endless, immortal, infinite. - (Finite, transitory, temporary.) - - EVADE—avoid, shun, elude, dodge, parry. - - EVEN—plain, flat, level, smooth. (Uneven, rough, indented, - protuberant.) - - EVENT—occurrence, incident, affair, transaction, contingency. - - EVIL—ill, harm, mischief, disaster, bane, calamity, catastrophe. - (Good, benefit, advantage, boon.) - - EXACT, _a._—precise, literal, particular, correct. - - EXAMINATION—investigation, inquiry, search, research, scrutiny, - exploration, test, sitting, trial. - - EXCEED—excel, outdo, transcend, surpass. - - EXCEPTIONAL—uncommon, unusual, rare, extraordinary. (General, - ordinary, regular, normal.) - - EXCITE—urge, rouse, stir, awaken. (Assuage, calm, still, - tranquilize.) - - EXCURSION—tour, trip, expedition, ramble. - - EXEMPT—free, absolved, cleared, discharged. (Implicated, - included, bound, obliged.) - - EXERCISE, _n._—operation, practice, office, action, performance. - (Stagnation, rest, stoppage.) - - EXHAUSTIVE—complete, thorough, out-and-out. - - EXIGENCY—predicament, emergency, crisis, push, pass, turning - point, conjecture. - - EXPRESS, _v._—utter, tell, declare, signify. - - EXTRAVAGANT—excessive, prodigal, profuse, wasteful, lavish, - thriftless. (Penurious, stingy.) - - - FABLE—parable, tale, myth, romance. (Truth, fact, history, event, - deed.) - - FACE—aspect, visage, countenance. - - FACETIOUS—pleasant, jocular. (Serious.) - - FACTOR—manager, agent, officer. - - FAIL—fall short, be deficient. (Accomplish.) - - FAINT—feeble, languid. (Forcible.) - - FAIR—clear. (Stormy.) - - FAIR—equitable, honest, reasonable. (Unfair.) - - FAITH—creed. (Unbelief, infidelity.) - - FAITHFUL—true, loyal, constant. (Faithless.) - - FAITHLESS—perfidious, treacherous. (Faithful.) - - FALL—drop, droop, sink, tumble. (Rise.) - - FAME—renown, reputation. - - FAMOUS—celebrated, renowned. (Obscure.) - - FANCIFUL—capricious, fantastical, whimsical. - - FANCY—imagination. - - FAST—rapid, quick, fleet, expeditious. (Slow.) - - FATIGUE—weariness, lassitude. (Vigor.) - - FEAR—timidity, timorousness. (Bravery.) - - FEELING—sensation, sense. - - FEELING—sensibility. (Insensibility.) - - FEROCIOUS—fierce, savage, wild. (Mild.) - - FERTILE—fruitful, prolific, plenteous. (Sterile.) - - FICTION—falsehood, fabrication. (Fact.) - - FIGURE—allegory, emblem, metaphor, symbol, picture, type. - - FIND—descry, discover, espy. (Lose, overlook.) - - FINE, _a._—delicate, nice. (Coarse.) - - FINE, _n._—forfeit, forfeiture, mulct, penalty. - - FIRE—glow, heat, warmth. - - FIRM—constant, solid, steadfast, fixed. (Weak.) - - FIRST—foremost, chief, earliest. (Last.) - - FIT—accommodate, adapt, adjust, suit. - - FIX—determine, establish, settle, limit. - - FLAME—blaze, flare, flash, glare. - - FLAT—level, even. - - FLEXIBLE—pliant, pliable, ductile. (Inflexible.) - - FLOURISH—prosper, thrive. (Decay.) - - FLUCTUATING—wavering, hesitating, oscillating, vacillating, - change. (Firm, steadfast, decided.) - - FLUENT—flowing, glib, voluble, unembarrassed, ready. (Hesitating.) - - FOLKS—persons, people, individuals. - - FOLLOW—succeed, ensue, imitate, copy, pursue. - - FOLLOWER—partisan, disciple, adherent, retainer, pursuer, - successor. - - FOLLY—silliness, foolishness, imbecility, weakness. (Wisdom.) - - FOND—enamored, attached, affectionate. (Distant.) - - FONDNESS—affection, attachment, kindness, love. (Aversion.) - - FOOLHARDY—venturesome, incautious, hasty, adventurous, rash. - (Cautious.) - - FOOLISH—simple, silly, irrational, brainless, imbecile, crazy, - absurd, preposterous, ridiculous, nonsensical. (Wise, discreet.) - - FOP—dandy, dude, beau, coxcomb, puppy, jackanapes. (Gentleman.) - - FORBEAR—abstain, refrain, withhold. - - FORCE, _n._—strength, vigor, dint, might, energy, power, - violence, army, host. - - FORCE, _v._—compel. (Persuade.) - - FORECAST—forethought, foresight, premeditation, prognostication. - - FOREGO—quit, relinquish, let go, waive. - - FOREGOING—antecedent, anterior, preceding, previous, prior, - former. - - FORERUNNER—herald, harbinger, precursor. - - FORESIGHT—forethought, forecast, premeditation. - - FORGE—coin, invent, frame, feign, fabricate. - - FORGIVE—pardon, remit, absolve, acquit, excuse. - - FORLORN—forsaken, abandoned, deserted, desolate, lone, lonesome. - - FORM, _n._—ceremony, solemnity, observance, rite, figure, shape, - conformation, fashion, appearance, representation, semblance. - - FORM, _v._—make, create, produce, constitute, arrange, fashion, - mould, shape. - - FORMAL—ceremonious, precise, exact, stiff, methodical, affected. - (Informal, natural.) - - FORMER—antecedent, anterior, previous, prior, preceding, - foregoing. - - FORSAKEN—abandoned, forlorn, deserted, desolate, lone, lonesome. - - FORTHWITH—immediately, directly, instantly, instantaneously. - (Anon.) - - FORTITUDE—endurance, resolution, fearlessness, dauntlessness. - (Weakness.) - - FORTUNATE—lucky, happy, auspicious, successful, prosperous. - (Unfortunate.) - - FORTUNE—chance, fate, luck, doom, possession, destiny, property, - riches. - - FOSTER—cherish, nurse, tend, harbor. (Neglect.) - - FOUL—impure, nasty, filthy, dirty, unclean, defiled. (Pure, - clean.) - - FRACTIOUS—cross, captious, petulant, splenetic, touchy, testy, - peevish, fretful. (Tractable.) - - FRAGILE—brittle, frail, delicate, feeble. (Strong.) - - FRAGMENTS—pieces, scraps, leavings, remnants, chips, remains. - - FRAILTY—weakness, failing, foible, imperfection, fault, blemish. - (Strength.) - - FRAME, _v._—construct, invent, coin, fabricate, feign, forge, - mold, make, compose. - - FRANCHISE—right, exemption, immunity, privilege, freedom, - suffrage. - - FRANK—artless, candid, sincere, free, easy, open, familiar, - ingenious, plain. (Tricky, insincere.) - - FRANTIC—distracted, furious, raving, frenzied, mad. (Quiet, - subdued.) - - FRAUD—deceit, deception, duplicity, guile, cheat, imposition. - (Honesty.) - - FREAK—fancy, humor, vagary, whim, caprice, crochet. (Purpose, - resolution.) - - FREE, _a._—liberal, generous, bountiful, bounteous, munificent, - frank, artless, candid, familiar, open, independent, unconfined, - unreserved, unrestricted, exempt, clear, loose, easy, careless. - (Slavish, stingy, artful, costly.) - - FREE, _v._—release, set free, deliver, rescue, liberate, - enfranchise, affranchise, emancipate, exempt. (Enslave, bind.) - - FREEDOM—liberty, independence, unrestraint, familiarity, - franchise, exemption. (Slavery.) - - FREQUENT—often, common, general. (Rare.) - - FRET—gall, chafe, agitate, irritate, vex. - - FRIENDLY—amicable, social, sociable. (Distant, reserved, cool.) - - FRIGHTFUL—fearful, dreadful, dire, direful, awful, terrific, - horrible, horrid. - - FRIVOLOUS—trifling, trivial, petty. (Serious.) - - FRUGAL—provident, economical, saving. (Wasteful, extravagant.) - - FRUITFUL—fertile, prolific, productive, abundant, plentiful, - plenteous. (Barren, sterile.) - - FRUITLESS—vain, useless, idle, bootless, unavailing, without - avail. - - FRUSTRATE—defeat, foil, balk, disappoint. - - FULFILL—accomplish, effect, complete. - - FULLY—completely, abundantly, perfectly. - - FULSOME—coarse, gross, sickening, offensive, rank. (Moderate.) - - FURIOUS—violent, boisterous, vehement, dashing, sweeping, - rolling, impetuous, frantic, distracted, stormy, angry, raging, - fierce. (Calm.) - - FUTILE—trifling, trivial, frivolous. (Effective.) - - - GAIN, _n._—profit, emolument, advantage, benefit, winnings, - earnings. (Loss.) - - GAIN, _v._—get, acquire, obtain, attain, procure, earn, win, - achieve, reap, realize, reach. (Lose.) - - GALLANT—brave, bold, courageous, gay, showy, fine, intrepid, - fearless, heroic. - - GALLING—chafing, irritating. (Soothing.) - - GAME—play, pastime, diversion, amusement. - - GANG—band, horde, company, troop, crew. - - GAP—breach, chasm, hollow, cavity, cleft, crevice, rift, chink. - - GARNISH—embellish, adorn, beautify, decorate. - - GATHER—pick, cull, assemble, muster, infer, collect. (Scatter.) - - GAUDY—showy, flashy, tawdry, gay, glittering, bespangled. - (Sombre.) - - GAUNT—emaciated, scraggy, skinny, meagre, lank, attenuated, - spare, lean, thin. (Well-fed.) - - GAY—cheerful, merry, lively, jolly, sprightly, blithe. (Solemn.) - - GENERATE—form, make, beget, produce. - - GENERATION—formation, race, breed, stock, kind, age, era. - - GENEROUS—beneficent, noble, honorable, bountiful, liberal, free. - (Niggardly.) - - GENIAL—cordial, hearty, festive. (Distant, cold.) - - GENIUS—intellect, invention, talent, taste, nature, character, - adept. - - GENTEEL—refined, polished, fashionable, polite, well-bred. - (Boorish.) - - GENTLE—placid, mild, bland, meek, tame, docile. (Rough, uncouth.) - - GENUINE—real, true, unaffected. (False.) - - GESTURE—attitude, action, posture. - - GET—obtain, earn, gain, attain, procure, achieve. - - GHASTLY—pallid, wan, hideous, grim, shocking. - - GHOST—spectre, sprite, apparition, phantom. - - GIBE—scoff, sneer, flout, jeer, mock, taunt, deride. - - GIDDY—unsteady, thoughtless. (Steady.) - - GIFT—donation, benefaction, grant, alms, gratuity, boon, present, - faculty, talent. (Purchase.) - - GIGANTIC—colossal, huge, enormous, prodigious, vast, immense. - (Diminutive.) - - GIVE—grant, bestow, confer, yield, impart. - - GLAD—pleased, cheerful, joyful, gladsome, cheering, gratified. - (Sad.) - - GLEAM—glimmer, glance, glitter, shine, flash. - - GLEE—gayety, merriment, mirth, joviality, joy, hilarity. (Sorrow.) - - GLIDE—slip, slide, run, roll on. - - GLIMMER, _v._—gleam, flicker, glitter. - - GLIMPSE—glance, look, glint. - - GLITTER—gleam, shine, glisten, glister, radiate. - - GLOOM—cloud, darkness, dimness, blackness, dullness, sadness. - (Light, brightness, joy.) - - GLOOMY—lowering, lurid, dim, dusky, sad, glum. (Bright, clear.) - - GLORIFY—magnify, celebrate, adore, exalt. - - GLORIOUS—famous, renowned, distinguished, exalted, noble. - (Infamous.) - - GLORY—honor, fame, renown, splendor, grandeur. (Infamy.) - - GLUT—gorge, stuff, cram, cloy, satiate, block up. - - GO—depart, proceed, move, budge, stir. - - GOD—Creator, Lord, Almighty, Jehovah, Omnipotence, Providence. - - GODLY—righteous, devout, holy, pious, religious. - - GOOD—benefit, weal, advantage, profit. (Evil.) - - GOOD, _a._—virtuous, righteous, upright, just, true. (Wicked, - bad.) - - GORGE—glut, fill, cram, stuff, satiate. - - GORGEOUS—superb, grand, magnificent, splendid. (Plain, simple.) - - GOVERN—rule, direct, manage, command. - - GOVERNMENT—rule, state, control, sway. - - GRACEFUL—becoming, comely, elegant, beautiful. (Awkward.) - - GRACIOUS—merciful, kindly, beneficent. - - GRADUAL—slow, progressive. (Sudden.) - - GRAND—majestic, stately, dignified, lofty, elevated, exalted, - splendid, gorgeous, superb, magnificent, sublime, pompous. - (Shabby.) - - GRANT—bestow, impart, give, yield, cede, allow, confer, invest. - - GRANT—gift, boon, donation. - - GRAPHIC—forcible, telling, picturesque, pictorial. - - GRASP—catch, seize, gripe, clasp, grapple. - - GRATEFUL—agreeable, pleasing, welcome, thankful. (Harsh.) - - GRATIFICATION—enjoyment, pleasure, delight, reward. - (Disappointment.) - - GRAVE, _a._—serious, sedate, solemn, sober, pressing, heavy. - (Giddy.) - - GRAVE, _n._—tomb, sepulchre, vault. - - GREAT—big, huge, large, majestic, vast, grand, noble, august. - (Small.) - - GREEDINESS—avidity, eagerness. (Generosity.) - - GRIEF—affliction, sorrow, trial, tribulation. (Joy.) - - GRIEVE—mourn, lament, sorrow, pain, wound, hurt, bewail. - (Rejoice.) - - GRIEVOUS—painful, afflicting, heavy, unhappy. - - GRIND—crush, oppress, grate, harass, afflict. - - GRISLY—terrible, hideous, grim, ghastly, dreadful. (Pleasing.) - - GROSS—coarse, outrageous, unseemly, shameful, indelicate. - (Delicate.) - - GROUP—assembly, cluster, collection, clump, order. - - GROVEL—crawl, cringe, fawn, sneak. - - GROW—increase, vegetate, expand, advance. (Decay, diminution.) - - GROWL—grumble, snarl, murmur, complain. - - GRUDGE—malice, rancor, spite, pique, hatred. - - GRUFF—rough, rugged, blunt, rude, harsh, surly, bearish. - (Pleasant.) - - GUILE—deceit, fraud. (Candor.) - - GUILTLESS—harmless, innocent. - - GUILTY—culpable, sinful, criminal. - - - HABIT—custom, practice. - - HAIL—accost, address, greet, salute, welcome. - - HAPPINESS—beatitude, blessedness, bliss, felicity. (Unhappiness.) - - HARBOR—haven, port. - - HARD—firm, solid. (Soft.) - - HARD—arduous, difficult. (Easy.) - - HARM—injury, hurt, wrong, infliction. (Benefit.) - - HARMLESS—safe, innocuous, innocent. (Hurtful.) - - HARSH—rough, rigorous, severe, gruff. (Gentle.) - - HASTEN—accelerate, dispatch, expedite. (Delay.) - - HASTY—hurried, ill-advised. (Deliberate.) - - HATEFUL—odious, detestable. (Lovable.) - - HATRED—enmity, ill-will, rancor. (Friendship.) - - HAUGHTINESS—arrogance, pride. (Modesty.) - - HAUGHTY—arrogant, disdainful, supercilious. - - HAZARD—risk, venture. - - HEALTHY—salubrious, salutary. (Unhealthy.) - - HEAP—accumulate, amass, pile. - - HEARTY—cordial, sincere, warm. (Insincere.) - - HEAVY—burdensome, ponderous. (Light.) - - HEED—care, attention. - - HEIGHTEN—enhance, exalt, elevate, raise. - - HEINOUS—atrocious, flagrant. (Venial.) - - HELP—aid, assist, relieve, succor. (Hinder.) - - HERETIC—sectary, sectarian, schismatic, dissenter, non-conformist. - - HESITATE—falter, stammer, stutter. - - HIDEOUS—grim, ghastly, grisly. (Beautiful.) - - HIGH—lofty, tall, elevated. (Deep.) - - HINDER—impede, obstruct, prevent. (Help.) - - HINT—allude, refer, suggest, intimate, insinuate. - - HOLD—detain, keep, retain. - - HOLINESS—sanctity, piety, sacredness. - - HOLY—devout, pious, religious. - - HOMELY—plain, ugly, coarse. (Beautiful.) - - HONESTY—integrity, probity, uprightness. (Dishonesty.) - - HONOR, _v._—respect, reverence. (Dishonor.) - - HOPE—confidence, expectation, trust. - - HOPELESS—desperate. - - HOT—ardent, burning, fiery. (Cold.) - - HOWEVER—nevertheless, notwithstanding, yet. - - HUMBLE—modest, submissive, plain, unostentatious, simple. - (Haughty.) - - HUMBLE—degrade, humiliate, mortify. (Exalt.) - - HUMOR—mood, temper. - - HUNT—seek, chase. - - HURTFUL—noxious, pernicious. (Beneficial.) - - HUSBANDRY—cultivation, tillage. - - HYPOCRITE—dissembler, imposter, canter. - - HYPOTHESIS—theory, supposition. - - - IDEA—thought, imagination. - - IDEAL—imaginary, fancied. (Actual.) - - IDLE—indolent, lazy. (Industrious.) - - IGNOMINIOUS—shameful, scandalous, infamous. (Honorable.) - - IGNOMINY—shame, disgrace, obloquy, reproach. - - IGNORANT—unlearned, illiterate, uninformed, uneducated. - (Knowing.) - - ILL, _n._—evil, wickedness, misfortune, mischief, harm. (Good.) - - ILL, _a._—sick, indisposed, diseased. (Well.) - - ILL-TEMPERED—crabbed, sour, acrimonious, surly. (Good-natured.) - - ILL-WILL—enmity, antipathy. (Good-will.) - - ILLEGAL—unlawful, illicit, contraband, illegitimate. (Legal.) - - ILLIMITABLE—boundless, immeasurable, infinite. - - ILLITERATE—unlettered, unlearned, untaught, uninstructed. - (Learned, educated.) - - ILLUSION—fallacy, deception, phantasm. - - ILLUSORY—imaginary, chimerical. (Real.) - - ILLUSTRATE—explain, elucidate, clear. - - ILLUSTRIOUS—celebrated, noble, eminent, famous, renowned. - (Obscure.) - - IMAGE—likeness, picture, representation, effigy. - - IMAGINARY—ideal, fanciful, illusory. (Real.) - - IMAGINE—conceive, fancy, apprehend, think. - - IMBECILITY—silliness, senility, dotage. - - IMITATE—copy, ape, mimic, mock, counterfeit. - - IMMACULATE—unspotted, spotless, unsullied, stainless. (Soiled.) - - IMMEDIATE—pressing, instant, next, proximate. - - IMMEDIATELY—instantly, forthwith, directly. - - IMMENSE—vast, enormous, huge, prodigious. - - IMMUNITY—privilege, prerogative, exemption. - - IMPAIR—injure, diminish, decrease. - - IMPART—reveal, divulge, disclose, discover, afford. - - IMPARTIAL—just, equitable, unbiased. (Partial.) - - IMPASSIONED—glowing, burning, fiery, intense. - - IMPEACH—accuse, charge, arraign, censure. - - IMPEDE—hinder, retard, obstruct. (Help.) - - IMPEDIMENT—obstruction, hindrance, obstacle, barrier. (Aid.) - - IMPEL—animate, induce, incite, instigate, embolden. (Retard.) - - IMPENDING—imminent, threatening. - - IMPERATIVE—commanding, authoritative. - - IMPERFECTION—fault, blemish, defect, vice. - - IMPERIL—endanger, hazard, jeopardize. - - IMPERIOUS—commanding, dictatorial, imperative, authoritative, - lordly, overbearing, domineering. - - IMPERTINENT—intrusive, meddling, officious, rude, saucy, - impudent, insolent. - - IMPETUOUS—violent, boisterous, furious, vehement. (Calm.) - - IMPIOUS—profane, irreligious. (Reverent.) - - IMPLICATE—involve, entangle, embarrass. - - IMPLY—involve, comprise, infold, import, denote. - - IMPORTANCE—signification, significance, avail, consequence, - weight, gravity, moment. - - IMPOSING—impressive, striking, majestic, august, noble, grand. - (Insignificant.) - - IMPOTENCE—weakness, incapacity, infirmity, frailty, feebleness. - (Power.) - - IMPOTENT—weak, feeble, helpless, enfeebled, nerveless, infirm. - (Strong.) - - IMPRESSIVE—stirring, forcible, exciting, moving. - - IMPRISON—incarcerated, shut up, immure, confine. (Liberate.) - - IMPRISONMENT—captivity, durance. - - IMPROVE—amend, better, mend, reform, rectify, ameliorate, apply, - use, employ. (Deteriorate.) - - IMPROVIDENT—careless, incautious, imprudent, prodigal, wasteful, - reckless, rash. (Thrifty.) - - IMPUDENCE—assurance, impertinence, confidence, insolence, - rudeness. - - IMPUDENT—saucy, brazen, bold, impertinent, forward, rude, - insolent, immodest, shameless. - - IMPULSE—incentive, incitement, instigation. - - IMPULSIVE—rash, hasty, forcible. (Deliberate.) - - IMPUTATION—blame, censure, reproach, charge. - - INADVERTENCY—error, oversight, blunder, inattention, - carelessness, negligence. - - INCENTIVE—motive, inducement, impulse. - - INCITE—instigate, excite, provoke, stimulate, urge, encourage, - impel. - - INCLINATION—leaning, slope, disposition, bent, tendency, bias, - affection, attachment, wish, liking, desire. (Aversion.) - - INCLINE, _v._—slope, lean, slant, tend, bend, turn, bias, dispose. - - INCLOSE—surround, shut in, fence in, cover, wrap. - - INCLUDE—comprehend, comprise, contain, take in, embrace. - - INCOMMODE—annoy, plague, molest, disturb, inconvenience, trouble. - (Accommodate.) - - INCOMPETENT—incapable, unable, inadequate. - - INCREASE, _v._—extend, enlarge, augment, dilate, expand, amplify, - raise, enhance, aggravate, magnify, grow. (Diminish.) - - INCREASE, _n._—augmentation, accession, addition, enlargement, - extension. (Decrease.) - - INCUMBENT—obligatory. - - INDEFINITE—vague, uncertain, unsettled, loose, lax. (Definite.) - - INDICATE—point out, show, mark. - - INDIFFERENCE—apathy, carelessness, listlessness, insensibility. - (Application, assiduity.) - - INDIGENCE—want, neediness, penury, poverty, destitution, - privation. (Affluence.) - - INDIGNATION—anger, wrath, ire, resentment. - - INDIGNITY—insult, affront, outrage, opprobrium, obloquy, - reproach, ignominy. (Honor.) - - INDISCRIMINATE—promiscuous, chance, indistinct, confused. - (Select, chosen.) - - INDISPENSABLE—essential, necessary, requisite, expedient. - (Unnecessary, supernumerary.) - - INDISPUTABLE—undeniable, undoubted, incontestable, indubitable, - unquestionable, infallible. - - INDORSE—ratify, confirm, superscribe. - - INDULGE—foster, cherish, fondle. (Deny.) - - INEFFECTUAL—vain, useless, unavailing, fruitless, abortive, - inoperative. (Effective.) - - INEQUALITY—disparity, disproportion, dissimilarity, unevenness. - (Equality.) - - INEVITABLE—unavoidable, not to be avoided. - - INFAMOUS—scandalous, shameful, ignominious, opprobrious, - disgraceful. (Honorable.) - - INFERENCE—deduction, corollary, conclusion. - - INFERNAL—diabolical, fiendish, devilish, hellish. - - INFEST—annoy, plague, harass, disturb. - - INFIRM—weak, feeble, enfeebled. (Robust.) - - INFLAME—anger, irritate, enrage, chafe, incense, nettle, - aggravate, embitter, exasperate. (Allay.) - - INFLUENCE, _v._—bias, sway, prejudice, preposess. - - INFLUENCE, _n._—credit, favor, reputation, weight, character, - authority, sway, ascendancy. - - INFRINGE—invade, intrude, contravene, break, transgress, violate. - - INGENUOUS—artless, candid, generous, sincere, open, frank, plain. - (Crafty.) - - INHUMAN—cruel, brutal, savage, barbarous, ruthless, merciless, - ferocious. (Humane.) - - INIQUITY—injustice, wrong, grievance. - - INJURE—damage, hurt, deteriorate, wrong, spoil, aggrieve, harm, - mar, sully. (Benefit.) - - INJURIOUS—hurtful, baneful, pernicious, deleterious, noxious, - prejudicial, wrongful. (Beneficial.) - - INJUSTICE—wrong, iniquity, grievance. (Right.) - - INNOCENT—guiltless, sinless, harmless, inoffensive, innoxious. - (Guilty.) - - INNOCUOUS—harmless, safe, innocent. (Hurtful.) - - INORDINATE—intemperate, irregular, disorderly, excessive, - immoderate. (Moderate.) - - INQUIRY—investigation, examination, research, scrutiny, - disquisition, question, interrogation. - - INQUISITIVE—prying, peeping, curious, peering. - - INSANE—deranged, delirious, demented. (Sane.) - - INSANITY—madness, mental aberration, lunacy, delirium. (Sanity.) - - INSINUATE—hint, intimate, suggest, infuse, introduce, ingratiate. - - INSIPID—dull, flat, mawkish, tasteless, inanimate, vapid, - lifeless. (Bright, sparkling.) - - INSOLENT—rude, saucy, impertinent, abusive, pert, scurrilous, - opprobrious, insulting, offensive. - - INSPIRE—animate, exhilarate, enliven, breathe, cheer, inhale. - - INSTABILITY—mutability, fickleness, mutableness, wavering. - (Stability, firmness.) - - INSTIGATE—stir up, persuade, animate, stimulate, incite, urge, - encourage. - - INSTIL—implant, inculcate, infuse, insinuate. - - INSTRUCT—inform, teach, educate, enlighten. - - INSTRUMENTAL—conducive, assistant, helping. - - INSUFFICIENCY—incompetency, incapability, inadequacy, deficiency, - lack. - - INSULT—affront, outrage, indignity. (Honor.) - - INSULTING—insolent, impertinent, abusive, rude. - - INTEGRITY—uprightness, honesty, completeness, probity, entirety, - entireness, purity. (Dishonesty.) - - INTELLECT—understanding, sense, brains, mind, intelligence, - ability, talent, genius. (Body.) - - INTELLECTUAL—mental, metaphysical. (Brutal.) - - INTELLIGIBLE—clear, obvious, plain. (Abstruse.) - - INTEMPERATE—immoderate, excessive, drunken, nimious, inordinate. - (Temperate.) - - INTENSE—ardent, earnest, glowing, fervid, burning, vehement. - - INTENT—design, purpose, intention, drift, view, aim, purport, - meaning. - - INTERCOURSE—commerce, connection, intimacy. - - INTERDICT—forbid, prohibit, inhibit, proscribe, debar, restrain - from. (Allow.) - - INTERFERE—meddle, intermeddle, interpose. - - INTERMINABLE—endless, interminate, infinite, unlimited, - illimitable, boundless. (Brief.) - - INTERPOSE—intercede, arbitrate, mediate, interfere, meddle. - - INTERPRET—explain, expound, elucidate, unfold. - - INTIMATE—hint, suggest, insinuate, express, tell, signify, impart. - - INTIMIDATE—dishearten, alarm, frighten, scare, appal, daunt, cow, - browbeat. (Encourage.) - - INTOLERABLE—insufferable, unbearable, insupportable, unendurable. - - INTREPID—bold, brave, daring, fearless, dauntless, undaunted, - courageous, valorous, valiant, heroic, gallant, chivalrous, - doughty. (Cowardly, faint-hearted.) - - INTRIGUE—plot, cabal, conspiracy, combination, artifice, ruse, - _amour_. - - INTRINSIC—real, true, genuine, sterling, native, natural. - (Extrinsic.) - - INVALIDATE—quash, cancel, overthrow, vacate, nullify, annul. - - INVASION—incursion, irruption, inroad, aggression, raid, fray. - - INVECTIVE—abuse, reproach, railing, censure, sarcasm, satire. - - INVENT—devise, contrive, frame, find out, discover. - - INVESTIGATION—examination, search, inquiry, research, scrutiny. - - INVETERATE—confirmed, chronic, malignant. (Inchoate.) - - INVIDIOUS—envious, hateful, odious, malignant. - - INVIGORATE—brace, harden, nerve, strengthen, fortify. (Enervate.) - - INVINCIBLE—unconquerable, impregnable, insurmountable. - - INVISIBLE—unseen, imperceptible, impalpable. - - INVITE—ask, call, bid, request, allure, attract. - - INVOKE—invocate, call upon, appeal, refer, implore, beseech. - - INVOLVE—implicate, entangle, compromise. - - IRKSOME—wearisome, tiresome, tedious, annoying. (Pleasant.) - - IRONY—sarcasm, satire, ridicule, raillery. - - IRRATIONAL—foolish, silly, imbecile, brutish, absurd, ridiculous. - (Rational.) - - IRREGULAR—eccentric, anomalous, inordinate, intemperate. - (Regular.) - - IRRELIGIOUS—profane, godless, impious, sacrilegious, desecrating. - - IRREPROACHABLE—blameless, spotless. - - IRRESISTIBLE—resistless, irrepressible. - - IRRESOLUTE—wavering, undetermined, undecided, vacillating. - (Determined.) - - IRRITABLE—excitable, irascible, susceptible, sensitive. (Calm.) - - IRRITATE—aggravate, worry, embitter, madden. - - ISSUE, _v._—emerge, rise, proceed, flow, spring. - - ISSUE, _n._—end, upshot, effect, result, offspring. - - - JADE—harass, weary, tire, worry. - - JANGLE—wrangle, conflict, disagree. - - JARRING—conflicting, discordant, inconsonant. - - JAUNT—ramble, excursion, trip. - - JEALOUSY—suspicion, envy. - - JEOPARD—hazard, peril, endanger. - - JEST—joke, sport, divert, make game of. - - JOURNEY—travel, tour, passage. - - JOY—gladness, mirth, delight. (Grief.) - - JUDGE—justice, referee, arbitrator. - - JOYFUL—glad, rejoicing, exultant. (Mournful.) - - JUDGMENT—discernment, discrimination. - - JUSTICE—equity, right. Justice is right as established by law; - equity according to the circumstances of each particular case. - (Injustice.) - - JUSTNESS—accuracy, correctness, precision. - - - KEEP—preserve, save. (Abandon.) - - KILL—assassinate, murder, slay. - - KINDRED—affinity, consanguinity, relationship. - - KNOWLEDGE—erudition, learning. (Ignorance.) - - - LABOR—toil, work, effort, drudgery. (Idleness.) - - LACK—need, deficiency, scarcity, insufficiency. (Plenty.) - - LAMENT—mourn, grieve, weep. (Rejoice.) - - LANGUAGE—dialect, idiom, speech, tongue. - - LASCIVIOUS—loose, unchaste, lustful, lewd, lecherous. (Chaste.) - - LAST—final, latest, ultimate. (First.) - - LAUDABLE—commendable. (Blamable.) - - LAUGHABLE—comical, droll, ludicrous. (Serious.) - - LAWFUL—legal, legitimate, licit. (Illegal.) - - LEAD—conduct, guide. (Follow.) - - LEAN—meager. (Fat.) - - LEARNED—erudite, scholarly. (Ignorant.) - - LEAVE, _v._—quit, relinquish. - - LEAVE, _n._—liberty, permission. (Prohibition.) - - LIFE—existence, animation, spirit. (Death.) - - LIFELESS—dead, inanimate. - - LIFT—erect, elevate, exalt, raise. (Lower.) - - LIGHT—clear, bright. (Dark.) - - LIGHTNESS—flightiness, giddiness, levity, volatility. - (Seriousness.) - - LIKENESS—resemblance, similarity. (Unlikeness.) - - LINGER—lag, loiter, tarry, saunter. (Hasten.) - - LITTLE—diminutive, small. (Great.) - - LIVELIHOOD—living, maintenance, subsistence. - - LIVELY—jocund, merry, sportive, sprightly, vivacious. (Slow, - languid, sluggish.) - - LONG—extended, extensive. (Short.) - - LOOK—appear, seem, aspect, glance, peep. - - LOSE—miss, forfeit. (Gain.) - - LOSS—detriment, damage, deprivation. (Gain.) - - LOUD—clamorous, high-sounding, noisy. (Low, quiet.) - - LOVE—affection. (Hatred.) - - LOW—abject, mean. (Noble.) - - LUNACY—derangement, insanity, mania, madness. (Sanity.) - - LUSTER—brightness, brilliancy, splendor. - - LUXURIANT—exuberant. (Sparse.) - - - MACHINATION—plot, intrigue, cabal, conspiracy. (Artlessness.) - - MAD—crazy, delirious, insane, rabid, violent, frantic. (Sane, - rational, quiet.) - - MADNESS—insanity, fury, rage, frenzy. - - MAGISTERIAL—august, dignified, majestic, pompous, stately. - - MAKE—form, create, produce. (Destroy.) - - MALEDICTION—anathema, curse, imprecation. - - MALEVOLENT—malicious, virulent, malignant. (Benevolent.) - - MALICE—spite, rancor, ill-feeling, grudge, animosity, ill-will. - (Benignity.) - - MALICIOUS—see malevolent. - - MANACLE, _v._—shackle, fetter, chain. (Free.) - - MANAGE—contrive, concert, direct. - - MANAGEMENT—direction, superintendence, care. - - MANGLE—tear, lacerate, mutilate, cripple, maim. - - MANIA—madness, insanity, lunacy. - - MANIFEST, _v._—reveal, prove, evince, exhibit, display, show. - - MANIFEST, _a._—clear, plain, evident, open, apparent, visible. - (Hidden, occult.) - - MANIFOLD—several, sundry, various, divers. - - MANLY—masculine, vigorous, courageous, brave, heroic. - (Effeminate.) - - MANNER—habit, custom, way, air, look. - - MANNERS—morals, habits, behavior, carriage. - - MAR—spoil, ruin, disfigure. (Improve.) - - MARCH—tramp, tread, walk, step, space. - - MARGIN—edge, rim, border, brink, verge. - - MARK, _n._—sign, note, symptom, token, indication, trace, - vestige, track, badge, brand. - - MARK, _v._—impress, print, stamp, engrave, note. - - MARRIAGE—wedding, nuptials, matrimony. - - MARTIAL—military, warlike, soldierlike. - - MARVEL—wonderful, miracle, prodigy. - - MARVELOUS—wondrous, wonderful, miraculous. - - MASSIVE—bulky, heavy, weighty, ponderous, solid, substantial. - (Flimsy.) - - MASTERY—dominion, rule, sway, ascendancy. - - MATCHLESS—unrivaled, unequaled, unparalleled, peerless, - incomparable, inimitable, surpassing. (Common, ordinary.) - - MATERIAL, _a._—corporeal, bodily, physical, temporal, momentous. - (Spiritual, immaterial.) - - MAXIM—adage, apothegm, proverb, saying, byword, saw. - - MEAGER—poor, lank, emaciated, barren, dry, uninteresting. (Rich.) - - MEAN, _a._—stingy, niggardly, low, abject, vile, ignoble, - degraded, contemptible, vulgar, despicable. (Generous.) - - MEAN, _v._—design, purpose, intend, contemplate, signify, denote, - indicate. - - MEANING—signification, import, acceptation, sense, purport. - - MEDIUM—organ, channel, instrument, means. - - MEDLEY—mixture, variety, diversity, miscellany. - - MEEK—unassuming, mild, gentle. (Proud.) - - MELANCHOLY—low-spirited, dispirited, dreamy, sad. (Jolly, - buoyant.) - - MELLOW—ripe, mature, soft. (Immature.) - - MELODIOUS—tuneful, musical, silver, dulcet, sweet. (Discordant.) - - MEMORABLE—signal, distinguished, marked. - - MEMORIAL—monument, memento. - - MEMORY—remembrance, recollection. - - MENACE, _n._—threat. - - MEND—repair, amend, correct, better, ameliorate, improve, rectify. - - MENTION—tell, name, communicate, impart, divulge, reveal, - disclose, inform, acquaint. - - MERCIFUL—compassionate, lenient, clement, tender, gracious, kind. - (Cruel.) - - MERCILESS—hard-hearted, cruel, unmerciful, pitiless, remorseless, - unrelenting. (Kind.) - - MERRIMENT—mirth, joviality, jollity. (Sorrow.) - - MERRY—cheerful, mirthful, joyous, gay, lively, sprightly, - hilarious, blithe, blithesome, jovial, sportive, jolly. (Sad.) - - METAPHORICAL—figurative, allegorical. - - METHOD—way, manner, mode, process, order, rule, regularity, - system. - - MIEN—air, look, manner, aspect, appearance. - - MIGRATORY—roving, strolling, wandering, vagrant. (Settled, - sedate, permanent.) - - MIMIC—imitate, ape, mock. - - MINDFUL—observant, attentive. (Heedless.) - - MISCELLANEOUS—promiscuous, indiscriminate. - - MISCHIEF—injury, harm, damage, hurt. (Benefit.) - - MISCREANT—caitiff, villain, ruffian. - - MISERABLE—unhappy, wretched, distressed, afflicted. (Happy.) - - MISERLY—stingy, niggardly, avaricious, griping. - - MISERY—wretchedness, woe, destitution, penury, privation, - beggary. (Happiness.) - - MISFORTUNE—calamity, disaster, mishap, catastrophe. (Good luck.) - - MISS—omit, lose, fall, miscarry. - - MITIGATE—alleviate, relieve, abate. (Aggravate.) - - MODERATE—temperate, abstemious, sober, abstinent. (Immoderate.) - - MODEST—chaste, virtuous, bashful. (Immodest.) - - MOIST—wet, damp, dank, humid. (Dry.) - - MONOTONOUS—unvaried, tiresome. (Varied.) - - MONSTROUS—shocking, dreadful, horrible, huge. - - MONUMENT—memorial, record, remembrancer. - - MOOD—humor, disposition, vein, temper. - - MORBID—sick, ailing, sickly, diseased, corrupted. (Normal, sound.) - - MOROSE—gloomy, sullen, surly, fretful, crabbed, crusty. (Joyous.) - - MORTAL—deadly, fatal, human. - - MOTION—proposition, proposal, movement. - - MOTIONLESS—still, stationary, torpid, stagnant. (Active, moving.) - - MOUNT—arise, rise, ascend, soar, tower, climb. - - MOURNFUL—sad, sorrowful, lugubrious, grievous, doleful, heavy. - (Happy.) - - MOVE—actuate, impel, induce, prompt, instigate, persuade, stir, - agitate, propel, push. - - MULTITUDE—crowd, throng, host, mob, swarm. - - MURDER, _v._—kill, assassinate, slay, massacre. - - MUSE, _v._—meditate, contemplate, think, reflect, cogitate, - ponder. - - MUSIC—harmony, melody, symphony. - - MUSICAL—tuneful, melodious, harmonious, sweet. - - MUSTY—stale, sour, fetid. (Fresh, sweet.) - - MUTE—dumb, silent, speechless. - - MUTILATE—maim, cripple, disable, disfigure. - - MUTINOUS—insurgent, seditious, tumultuous, turbulent, riotous. - (Obedient, orderly.) - - MUTUAL—reciprocal, interchanged, correlative. (Sole, solitary.) - - MYSTERIOUS—dark, obscure, hidden, secret, dim, mystic, - enigmatical, unaccountable. (Open, clear.) - - MYSTIFY—confuse, perplex. (Clear, explain.) - - - NAKED—nude, bare, uncovered, unclothed, rough, rude, simple. - (Covered, clad.) - - NAME, _v._—denominate, entitle, style, designate, term, call, - christen. - - NAME, _n._—appellation, designation, denomination, title, - cognomen, reputation, character, fame, credit, repute. - - NARRATE—tell, relate, detail, recount, describe, enumerate, - rehearse, recite. - - NASTY—filthy, foul, dirty, unclean, impure, gross, indecent, vile. - - NATION—people, community, realm, state. - - NATIVE—indigenous, inborn, vernacular. - - NATURAL—original, regular, normal, bastard. (Unnatural, forced.) - - NEAR—nigh, neighboring, close, adjacent, contiguous, intimate. - (Distant.) - - NECESSARY—needful, expedient, essential, indispensable, - requisite. (Useless.) - - NECESSITATE—compel, force, oblige. - - NECESSITY—need, occasion, exigency, emergency, urgency, requisite. - - NEED, _n._—necessity, distress, poverty, indigence, want, penury. - - NEED, _v._—require, want, lack. - - NEGLECT, _v._—disregard, slight, omit, overlook. - - NEGLECT, _n._—omission, failure, default, slight, negligence, - remissness, carelessness. - - NEIGHBORHOOD—environs, vicinity, nearness, adjacency, proximity. - - NERVOUS—timid, timorous, shaky. - - NEW—fresh, recent, novel. (Old.) - - NEWS—tidings, intelligence, information. - - NICE—exact, accurate, good, particular, precise, fine, delicate. - (Careless, coarse, unpleasant.) - - NIMBLE—active, brisk, lively, alert, quick, agile, prompt. - (Awkward.) - - NOBILITY—aristocracy, greatness, grandeur. - - NOBLE—exalted, elevated, illustrious, great, grand, lofty. (Low.) - - NOISE—cry, outcry, clamor, row, din, uproar, tumult. (Silence.) - - NONSENSICAL—irrational, absurd, silly, foolish. (Sensible.) - - NOTABLE—plain, evident, remarkable, striking, signal, rare. - (Obscure.) - - NOTE, _n._—token, symbol, mark, sign, indication, remark, comment. - - NOTED—distinguished, remarkable, eminent, renowned. (Obscure.) - - NOTICE, _n._—advice, notification, intelligence. - - NOTICE, _v._—mark, note, observe, attend to, heed. - - NOTIFY, _v._—publish, acquaint, apprise, inform. - - NOTION—conception, idea, belief, opinion. - - NOTORIOUS—conspicuous, open, obvious, ill-famed. (Unknown.) - - NOURISH—nurture, cherish, foster, supply. (Starve, famish.) - - NOURISHMENT—food, diet, sustenance, nutrition. - - NOVEL—modern, new, fresh, recent, unused, rare, strange. (Old.) - - NOXIOUS—hurtful, deadly poisonous, deleterious, baneful. - (Beneficial.) - - NULLIFY—annul, vacate, invalidate, quash, cancel, repeal. - (Affirm.) - - NUTRITION—food, diet, nutriment, nourishment. - - - OBDURATE—hard, callous, hardened, unfeeling, insensible. - (Yielding, tractable.) - - OBEDIENT—compliant, submissive, dutiful, respectful. (Obstinate.) - - OBESE—corpulent, fat, adipose. (Attenuated.) - - OBEY, _v._—conform, comply, submit. (Rebel.) - - OBJECT, _n._—aim, end, purpose, design, mark. - - OBJECT, _v._—oppose, except to, contravene, impeach, deprecate. - (Assent.) - - OBNOXIOUS—offensive. (Agreeable.) - - OBSCURE—undistinguished, unknown. (Distinguished.) - - OBSTINATE—contumacious, headstrong, stubborn, obdurate. - (Yielding.) - - OCCASION—opportunity. - - OFFENCE—affront, misdeed, misdemeanor, transgression, trespass. - - OFFENSIVE—insolent, abusive. (Inoffensive.) - - OFFICE—charge, function, place. - - OFFSPRING—issue, progeny, children, posterity. - - OLD—aged, superannuated, ancient, antique, antiquated, obsolete, - old-fashioned. (Young, new.) - - OMEN—presage, prognostic. - - OPAQUE—dark. (Bright, transparent.) - - OPEN—candid, unreserved, clear, fair. (Hidden.) - - OPINION—notion, view, judgment, sentiment. - - OPINIONATED—conceited, egotistical. (Modest.) - - OPPOSE—resist, withstand, thwart. (Give way.) - - OPTION—choice. - - ORDER—method, system, regularity. (Disorder.) - - ORIGIN—cause, occasion, beginning. (End.) - - OUTLIVE—survive. - - OUTWARD—external, outside, exterior. (Inner.) - - OVER—above. (Under.) - - OVERBALANCE—outweigh, preponderate. - - OVERBEAR—bear down, overwhelm, overpower. - - OVERBEARING—haughty, arrogant. (Gentle.) - - OVERFLOW—inundation, deluge. - - OVERRULE—supersede, suppress. - - OVERSPREAD—overrun, ravage. - - OVERTURN—invert, overthrow, reverse, subvert. (Establish, - fortify.) - - OVERWHELM—crush, defeat, vanquish. - - - PAIN—suffering, qualm, pang, agony, anguish. (Pleasure.) - - PALLID—pale, wan. (Florid.) - - PART—division, portion, share, fraction. (Whole.) - - PARTICULAR—exact, distinct, singular, strange, odd. (General.) - - PATIENT—passive, submissive. (Obdurate.) - - PEACE—calm, quiet, tranquility. (War, trouble, riot, turbulence.) - - PEACEABLE—pacific, peaceful, quiet. (Troublesome, riotous.) - - PENETRATE—bore, pierce, perforate. - - PENETRATION—acuteness, sagacity. (Dullness.) - - PEOPLE—nation, persons, folks. - - PERCEIVE—note, observe, discern, distinguish. - - PERCEPTION—conception, notion, idea. - - PERIL—danger, pitfall, snare. (Safety.) - - PERMIT—allow, tolerate. (Forbid.) - - PERSUADE—allure, entice, prevail upon. - - PHYSICAL—corporeal, bodily, material. (Mental.) - - PICTURE—engraving, print, representation, illustration, image. - - PITEOUS—doleful, woeful, rueful. (Joyful.) - - PITILESS—see merciless. - - PITY—compassion, sympathy. (Cruelty.) - - PLACE, _n._—spot, site, position, post, situation. - - PLACE, _v._—order, dispose. - - PLAIN—open, manifest, evident. (Secret.) - - PLAY—game, sport, amusement. (Work.) - - PLEASE—gratify, pacify. (Displease.) - - PLEASURE—charm, delight, joy. (Pain.) - - PLENTIFUL—abundant, ample, copious, plenteous. (Scarce.) - - POISE—balance, equilibrium, evenness. - - POSITIVE—absolute, peremptory, decided, certain. (Negative, - undecided.) - - POSSESSOR—owner, proprietor. - - POSSIBLE—practical, practicable. (Impossible.) - - POVERTY—penury, indigence, need. (Wealth.) - - POWER—authority, force, strength, dominion. - - POWERFUL—mighty, potent. (Weak.) - - PRAISE—commend, extol, laud. (Blame.) - - PRAYER—entreaty, petition, request, suit. - - PRETENCE, _n._—pretext, subterfuge. - - PREVAILING—predominant, prevalent, general. (Isolated, sporadic.) - - PREVENT—obviate, preclude. - - PREVIOUS—antecedent, introductory, preparatory, preliminary. - (Subsequent.) - - PRIDE—vanity, conceit. (Humility.) - - PRINCIPALLY—chiefly, essentially, mainly. - - PRINCIPLE—ground, reason, motive, impulse, maxim, rule, - rectitude, integrity. - - PRIVILEGE—immunity, advantage, favor, claim, prerogative, - exemption, right. - - PROBITY—rectitude, uprightness, honesty, integrity, sincerity, - soundness. (Dishonesty.) - - PROBLEMATICAL—uncertain, doubtful, dubious, questionable, - disputable, suspicious. (Certain.) - - PRODIGIOUS—huge, enormous, vast, amazing, astonishing, - astounding, surprising, remarkable, wonderful. (Insignificant.) - - PROFESSION—business, trade, occupation, office, vocation, - employment, engagement, avowal. - - PROFFER—volunteer, offer, propose, tender. - - PROFLIGATE—abandoned, dissolute, depraved, vicious, degenerate, - corrupt. (Virtuous.) - - PROFOUND—deep, fathomless, penetrating, recondite, solemn, - abstruse. (Shallow.) - - PROFUSE—extravagant, prodigal, lavish, copious, improvident, - excessive, plentiful. (Succinct.) - - PROLIFIC—productive, generative, fertile, fruitful, teeming. - (Barren.) - - PROLIX—diffuse, long, prolonged, tedious, wordy, tiresome, - verbose, prosaic. (Concise, brief.) - - PROMINENT—eminent, conspicuous, marked, important, leading. - (Obscure.) - - PROMISCUOUS—mixed, unarranged, mingled, indiscriminate. (Select.) - - PROMPT—See punctual. - - PROP, _v._—maintain, sustain, support, stay. - - PROPAGATE—spread, circulate, diffuse, disseminate, extend, breed, - increase. (Suppress.) - - PROPER—legitimate, right, just, fair, equitable, honest, - suitable, fit, adapted, meet, becoming, befitting, decent, - pertinent. (Wrong.) - - PROSPER—flourish, succeed, grow rich, thrive, advance. (Fail.) - - PROSPERITY—well-being, weal, welfare, happiness, good luck. - (Poverty.) - - PROXY—agent, representative, substitute, deputy. - - PRUDENCE—carefulness, judgment, discretion, wisdom. - (Indiscretion.) - - PRURIENT—itching, craving, hankering, longing. - - PUERILE—youthful, juvenile, boyish, childish, infantile, - trifling, weak, silly. (Mature.) - - PUNCTILIOUS—nice, particular, formal, precise. (Negligent.) - - PUNCTUAL—exact, precise, nice, particular prompt, timely. - (Dilatory.) - - PUTREFY—rot, decompose, corrupt, decay. - - PUZZLE, _v._—perplex, confound, embarrass, pose, bewilder, - confuse, mystify. (Enlighten.) - - - QUACK—imposter, pretender, charlatan, empiric, mountebank. - (Savant.) - - QUAINT—artful, curious, far-fetched, fanciful, odd. - - QUALIFIED—competent, fitted. (Incompetent.) - - QUALITY—attribute, rank, distinction. - - QUERULOUS—doubting, complaining, fretting, repining. (Patient.) - - QUESTION—query, inquiry, interrogatory. - - QUIBBLE—cavil, evade, equivocate, shuffle. - - QUICK—lively, ready, prompt, alert, nimble, agile, active, brisk, - expeditious, adroit, fleet, rapid, impetuous, swift, sweeping, - dashing, clever. (Slow.) - - QUOTE—note, repeat, cite, adduce. - - - RABID—mad, furious, raging, frantic. (Rational.) - - RACE—course, match, pursuit, career, family, clan, house, - ancestry, lineage, pedigree. - - RACK—agonize, wring, torture, excruciate, harass, distress. - (Soothe.) - - RACY—spicy, pungent, smart, spirited, vivacious, lively. (Dull, - insipid.) - - RADIANCE—splendor, brightness, brilliance, brilliancy, lustre, - glare. (Dullness.) - - RADICAL—organic, innate, fundamental, original, constitutional, - inherent, complete, entire. (Superficial. In a political sense, - uncompromising; antonym, moderate.) - - RANCID—fetid, rank, stinking, sour, tainted, foul. (Fresh, sweet.) - - RANCOR—malignity, hatred, hostility, antipathy, animosity, - enmity, ill-will, spite. (Forgiveness.) - - RANK—order, degree, dignity, consideration. - - RANSACK—rummage, pillage, overhaul, explore. - - RANSOM—emancipate, free, unfetter. - - RANT—bombast, fustian, cant. - - RAPACIOUS—ravenous, voracious, greedy, grasping. (Generous.) - - RAPT—ecstatic, transported, ravished, entranced, charmed. - (Distracted.) - - RAPTURE—ecstacy, transport, bliss. (Dejection.) - - RARE—scarce, singular, uncommon, unique. - - RASCAL—scoundrel, rogue, knave, vagabond. - - RASH—hasty, precipitate, foolhardy, adventurous, heedless, - reckless, careless. (Deliberate.) - - RATE—value, compute, appraise, estimate, abuse. - - RATIFY—confirm, establish, substantiate, sanction (Protest, - oppose.) - - RATIONAL—reasonable, sagacious, judicious, wise, sensible, sound. - (Unreasonable.) - - RAVAGE—overrun, overspread, desolate, despoil. - - RAVISH—enrapture, enchant, charm, delight. - - RAZE—demolish, destroy, overthrow, dismantle, ruin. (Build up.) - - REACH—touch, stretch, attain, gain, arrive at. - - READY—prepared, ripe, apt, prompt, adroit, handy. (Slow, - dilatory.) - - REAL—actual, literal, practical, positive, certain, genuine, - true. (Unreal.) - - REALIZE—accomplish, achieve, effect, gain, get, acquire, - comprehend. - - REAP—gain, get, acquire, obtain. - - REASON, _n._—motive, design, end, proof, cause, ground, purpose. - - REASON, _v._—deduce, draw from, trace, conclude. - - REASONABLE—rational, wise, honest, fair, right, just. - (Unreasonable.) - - REBELLION—insurrection, revolt. - - RECANT—recall, abjure, retract, revoke. - - RECEDE—retire, retreat, withdraw, ebb. - - RECEIVE—accept, take, admit, entertain. - - RECEPTION—receiving, levee, receipt, admission. - - RECESS—retreat, depth, niche, vacation. - - RECREATION—sport, pastime, play, amusement, game, fun. - - REDEEM—ransom, recover, rescue, deliver, save. - - REDRESS—remedy, repair, remission, abatement. - - REDUCE—abate, lessen, decrease, lower, shorten. - - REFINED—polite, courtly, polished, cultured, purified, genteel. - (Boorish.) - - REFLECT—consider, cogitate, think, muse, censure. - - REFORM—amend, correct, better, restore, improve. (Corrupt.) - - REFORMATION—improvement, reform, amendment. (Corruption.) - - REFUGE—asylum, protection, harbor, shelter. - - REFUSE, _v._—deny, reject, repudiate, decline, withhold. (Accept.) - - REFUSE, _n._—dregs, dross, scum, rubbish, leavings. - - REFUTE—disprove, falsify, negative. (Affirm.) - - REGARD, _v._—mind, heed, notice, behold, respect, view, consider. - - REGRET, _n._—grief, sorrow, lamentation, remorse. - - REGULAR—orderly, uniform, customary, ordinary, stated. - (Irregular.) - - REGULATE—methodize, arrange, adjust, organize, govern, rule. - (Disorder.) - - REIMBURSE—refund, repay, satisfy, indemnify. - - RELEVANT—fit, proper, suitable, appropriate, apt, pertinent. - (Irrelevant.) - - RELIANCE—trust, hope, dependence, confidence. (Suspicion.) - - RELIEF—succor, aid, help, redress, alleviation. - - RELINQUISH—give up, forsake, resign, surrender, quit, leave, - forego. (Retain.) - - REMEDY—help, relief, redress, cure, specific. - - REMORSELESS—pitiless, relentless, cruel, ruthless, merciless, - barbarous. (Merciful, humane.) - - REMOTE—distant, far, secluded, indirect. (Near.) - - REPRODUCE—propagate, imitate, represent, copy. - - REPUDIATE—disown, discard, disavow, renounce, disclaim. - (Acknowledge.) - - REPUGNANT—antagonistic, distasteful. (Agreeable.) - - REPULSIVE—forbidding, odious, ugly, disagreeable, revolting. - (Attractive.) - - RESPITE—reprieve, interval, stop, pause. - - REVENGE—vengeance, retaliation, requital, retribution. - (Forgiveness.) - - REVENUE—produce, income, fruits, proceeds. - - REVERENCE, _n._—honor, respect, awe, veneration, deference, - worship, homage. (Execration.) - - REVISE—review, reconsider. - - REVIVE—refresh, renew, renovate, animate, resuscitate, vivify, - cheer, comfort. - - RICH—wealthy, affluent, opulent, copious, ample, abundant, - exuberant, plentiful, fertile, gorgeous, superb, fruitful. (Poor.) - - RIVAL, _n._—antagonist, opponent, competitor. - - ROAD—way, highway, route, course, path, pathway, anchorage. - - ROAM—ramble, rove, wander, stray, stroll. - - ROBUST—strong, lusty, vigorous, sinewy, stalwart, stout, sturdy, - able-bodied. (Puny.) - - ROUT, _v._—discomfit, beat, defeat, overthrow. - - ROUTE—road, course, march, way, journey, path. - - RUDE—rugged, rough, uncouth, unpolished, harsh, gruff, - impertinent, saucy, flippant, impudent, insolent, saucy, - churlish. (Polite, polished.) - - RULE—sway, method, system, law, maxim, guide, precept, formula, - regulation, government, test, standard. - - RUMOR—hearsay, talk, fame, report, bruit. - - RUTHLESS—cruel, savage, barbarous, inhuman, merciless, - remorseless, relentless. (Considerate.) - - - SACRED—holy, hallowed, divine, consecrated, dedicated, devoted. - (Profane.) - - SAFE—secure, harmless, trustworthy. (Perilous.) - - SANCTION—confirm, countenance, encourage, support, ratify, - authorize. (Disapprove.) - - SANE—sober, lucid, sound, rational. (Crazy.) - - SAUCY—impertinent, rude, impudent, insolent, flippant, forward. - (Modest.) - - SCANDALIZE—shock, disgust, offend, calumniate, vilify, revile, - malign, traduce, defame, slander. - - SCANTY—bare, pinched, insufficient, slender, meager. (Ample.) - - SCATTER—strew, spread, disseminate, disperse, dissipate, dispel. - (Collect.) - - SECRET—clandestine, concealed, hidden, sly, underhand, latent, - private. (Open.) - - SEDUCE—allure, attract, decoy, entice, abduct, inveigle, deprave. - - SENSE—discernment, appreciation, view, opinion, feeling, - perception, sensibility, susceptibility, significance, thought, - judgment, signification, meaning, import, purport, wisdom. - - SENSIBLE—wise, intelligent, reasonable, sober, sound, conscious, - aware. (Foolish.) - - SETTLE—arrange, adjust, regulate, conclude. - - SEVERAL—sundry, divers, various, many. - - SEVERE—harsh, stern, stringent, unmitigated, unyielding, rough. - (Lenient.) - - SHAKE—tremble, shudder, shiver, quake, quiver. - - SHALLOW—superficial, flimsy, slight. (Deep, thorough.) - - SHAME—disgrace, dishonor. (Honor.) - - SHAMEFUL—degrading, scandalous, disgraceful, outrageous. - (Honorable.) - - SHAMELESS—immodest, impudent, indecent, indelicate, brazen. - - SHAPE—form, fashion, mold, model. - - SHARE—portion, lot, division, quantity, quota. - - SHARP—acute, keen. (Dull.) - - SHINE—glare, glitter, radiate, sparkle. - - SHORT—brief, concise, succinct, summary. (Long.) - - SHOW, _n._—exhibition, sight, spectacle. - - SICK—diseased, sickly, unhealthy. (Healthy.) - - SICKNESS—illness, indisposition, disease, disorder. (Health.) - - SIGNIFICANT, _a._—expressive, material, important. - (Insignificant.) - - SIGNIFICATION—import, meaning, sense. - - SILENCE—speechlessness, dumbness. (Noise.) - - SILENT—dumb, mute, speechless. (Talkative.) - - SIMILE—comparison, similitude. - - SIMPLE—single, uncompounded, artless, plain. (Complex, compound.) - - SIMULATE—dissimulate, dissemble, pretend. - - SINCERE—candid, hearty, honest, pure, genuine, real. (Insincere.) - - SITUATION—condition, plight, predicament, state. - - SIZE—bulk, greatness, magnitude, dimension. - - SLAVERY—servitude, enthrallment, thralldom. (Freedom.) - - SLEEP—doze, drowse, nap, slumber. - - SLEEPY—somnolent. (Wakeful.) - - SLOW—dilatory, tardy. (Fast.) - - SMELL—fragrance, odor, perfume, scent. - - SMOOTH—even, level, mild. (Rough.) - - SOAK—drench, imbrue, steep. - - SOCIAL—sociable, friendly, communicative. (Unsocial.) - - SOFT—gentle, meek, mild. (Hard.) - - SOLICIT—importune, urge. - - SOLITARY—sole, only, single. - - SORRY—grieved, poor, paltry, insignificant. (Glad, respectable.) - - SOUL—mind, spirit. (Soul is opposed to body, mind to matter.) - - SOUND, _a._—healthy, sane. (Unsound.) - - SOUND, _n._—tone, noise, silence. - - SPACE—room. - - SPARSE—scanty, thin. (Luxuriant.) - - SPEAK—converse, talk, confer, say, tell. - - SPECIAL—particular, specific. (General.) - - SPEND—expend, exhaust, consume, waste, dissipate. (Save.) - - SPORADIC—isolated, rare. (General, prevalent.) - - SPREAD—disperse, diffuse, expand, disseminate. - - SPRING—fountain, source. - - STAFF—prop, support, stay. - - STAGGER—reel, totter. - - STAIN—soil, discolor, spot, sully, tarnish. - - STATE—commonwealth, realm. - - STERILE—barren, unfruitful. (Fertile.) - - STIFLE—choke, suffocate, smother. - - STORMY—rough, boisterous, tempestuous. (Calm.) - - STRAIGHT—direct, right. (Crooked.) - - STRAIT, _a._—narrow, confined. - - STRANGER—alien, foreigner. (Friend.) - - STRENGTHEN—fortify, invigorate. (Weaken.) - - STRONG—robust, sturdy, powerful. (Weak.) - - STUPID—dull, foolish, obtuse, witless. (Clever.) - - SUBJECT—exposed to, liable, obnoxious. (Exempt.) - - SUBJECT—inferior, subordinate. (Superior to, above.) - - SUBSEQUENT—succeeding, following. (Previous.) - - SUBSTANTIAL—solid, durable. (Unsubstantial.) - - SUIT—accord, agree. (Disagree.) - - SUPERFICIAL—flimsy, shallow, untrustworthy. (Thorough.) - - SUPERFLUOUS—unnecessary. (Necessary.) - - SURROUND—encircle, encompass, environ. - - SUSTAIN—maintain, support. - - SYMMETRY—proportion. - - SYMPATHY—commiseration, compassion. - - SYSTEM—method, plan, order. - - SYSTEMATIC—orderly, regular, methodical. (Chaotic.) - - - TAKE—accept, receive. (Give.) - - TALKATIVE—garrulous, loquacious, communicative. (Silent.) - - TASTE—flavor, relish, savor. (Tastelessness.) - - TAX—custom, duty, impost, excise, toll. - - TAX—assessment, rate. - - TEASE—taunt, tantalize, torment, vex. - - TEMPORARY, _a._—fleeting, transient, transitory. (Permanent.) - - TENACIOUS—pertinacious, retentive. - - TENDENCY—aim, drift, scope. - - TENET—position, view, conviction, belief. - - TERM—boundary, limit, period, time. - - TERRITORY—dominion. - - THANKFUL—grateful, obliged. (Thankless.) - - THANKLESS—ungracious, profitless, ungrateful, unthankful. - - THAW—melt, dissolve, liquefy. (Freeze.) - - THEATRICAL—dramatic, showy, ceremonious. - - THEFT—robbery, depredation, spoliation. - - THEME—subject, topic, text, essay. - - THEORY—speculation, scheme, plea, hypothesis, conjecture. - - THEREFORE—accordingly, consequently, hence. - - THICK—dense, close, compact, solid, coagulated, muddy, turbid, - misty, vaporous. (Thin.) - - THIN—slim, slender, slight, flimsy, lean, scraggy, attenuated. - - THINK—cogitate, consider, reflect, ponder, muse, contemplate, - meditate, conceive, fancy, imagine, apprehend, hold, esteem, - reckon, consider, deem, regard, believe, opine. - - THOROUGH—accurate, correct, trustworthy, complete, reliable. - (Superficial.) - - THOUGHT—idea, conception, imagination, fancy, conceit, notion, - supposition, care, provision, consideration, opinion, view, - sentiment, reflection, deliberation. - - THOUGHTFUL—considerate, careful, cautious, heedful, - contemplative, reflective, provident, pensive, dreamy. - (Thoughtless.) - - THOUGHTLESS—inconsiderate, rash, precipitate, improvident, - heedless. - - TIE, _v._—bind, restrain, restrict, oblige, secure, join, unite. - (Loose.) - - TIME—duration, season, period, era, age, date, span, spell. - - TOLERATE—allow, admit, receive, suffer, permit, let, endure, - abide. (Oppose.) - - TOP—summit, apex, head, crown, surface. (Base, bottom.) - - TORRID—burning, hot, parching, scorching. - - TORTUOUS—twisted, winding, crooked, indirect. - - TORTURE—torment, anguish, agony. - - TOUCHING—tender, affecting, moving, pathetic. - - TRACTABLE—docile, manageable, amenable. - - TRADE—traffic, commerce, dealing, occupation, employment, office. - - TRADITIONAL—oral, uncertain, transmitted. - - TRAFFIC—trade, exchange, commerce. - - TRAMMEL, _n._—fetter, shatter, clog, bond, impediment, chain, - hindrance. - - TRANQUIL—still, unruffled, peaceful, hushed, quiet. (Noisy, - boisterous.) - - TRANSACTION—negotiation, occurrence, proceeding, affair. - - TRAVEL—trip, peregrination, excursion, journey, tour, voyage. - - TREACHEROUS—traitorous, disloyal, treasonable, faithless, - false-hearted. (Trustworthy, faithful.) - - TRITE—stale, old, ordinary, commonplace, hackneyed. (Novel.) - - TRIUMPH—achievement, ovation, victory, jubilation, conquest. - (Failure, defeat.) - - TRIVIAL—trifling, petty, small, frivolous, unimportant, - insignificant. (Important.) - - TRUE—genuine, actual, sincere, unaffected, true-hearted, honest, - upright, veritable, real, veracious, authentic, exact, accurate, - correct. - - TUMULTUOUS—turbulent, riotous, disorderly, disturbed, confused, - unruly. (Orderly.) - - TURBID—foul, thick, muddy, impure, unsettled. - - TYPE—emblem, symbol, figure, sign, kind, letter. - - TYRO—novice, beginner, learner. - - - UGLY—unsightly, plain, homely, ill-favored, hideous. (Beautiful.) - - UMBRAGE—offense, dissatisfaction, resentment. - - UMPIRE—referee, arbitrator, judge, arbiter. - - UNANIMITY—accord, agreement, unity, concord. (Discord.) - - UNBRIDLED—wanton, licentious, dissolute, loose. - - UNCERTAIN—doubtful, dubious, questionable, fitful, equivocal, - ambiguous, indistinct, fluctuating. - - UNCIVIL—rude, discourteous, disrespectful, disobliging. (Civil.) - - UNCLEAN—dirty, foul, filthy, sullied. (Clean.) - - UNCOMMON—rare, strange, scarce, singular, choice. (Common, - ordinary.) - - UNCONCERNED—careless, indifferent, apathetic. (Anxious.) - - UNCOUTH—strange, odd, clumsy. (Graceful.) - - UNCOVER—reveal, strip, expose, lay bare. (Hide.) - - UNDER—below, underneath, beneath, subordinate, lower, inferior. - (Above.) - - UNDERSTANDING—knowledge, intellect, intelligence, faculty, - comprehension, mind, reason. - - UNDO—annul, frustrate, untie, unfasten, destroy. - - UNEASY—restless, disturbed, unquiet, awkward, stiff. (Quiet.) - - UNEQUAL—uneven, not alike, irregular. (Even.) - - UNEQUALED—matchless, unique, novel, new. - - UNFIT, _a._—improper, unsuitable, inconsistent, untimely, - incompetent. (Fit.) - - UNFIT, _v._—disable, incapacitate, disqualify. (Fit.) - - UNFORTUNATE—calamitous, ill-fated, unlucky, wretched, unhappy, - miserable. (Fortunate.) - - UNGAINLY—clumsy, awkward, lumbering, uncouth. (Pretty.) - - UNHAPPY—miserable, wretched, distressed, painful, afflicted, - disastrous, drear, dismal. (Happy.) - - UNIFORM—regular, symmetrical, equal, even, alike, unvaried. - (Irregular.) - - UNINTERRUPTED—continuous, perpetual, unceasing, incessant, - endless. (Intermittent.) - - UNION—junction, combination, alliance, confederacy, league, - coalition, agreement. (Disunion.) - - UNIQUE—unequal, uncommon, rare, choice, matchless. (Common, - ordinary.) - - UNITE—join, conjoin, combine, concert, add, attach. (Separate, - disrupt, sunder.) - - UNIVERSAL—general, all, entire, total, catholic. (Sectional.) - - UNLIMITED—absolute, undefined, boundless, infinite. (Limited.) - - UNREASONABLE—foolish, silly, absurd, preposterous, ridiculous. - - UNRIVALED—unequaled, unique, unexampled, incomparable, matchless. - (Mediocre.) - - UNRULY—ungovernable, unmanageable, refractory. (Tractable, - docile.) - - UNUSUAL—rare, unwonted, singular, uncommon, remarkable, strange. - (Common.) - - UPHOLD—maintain, defend, sustain, support, vindicate. (Desert, - abandon.) - - UPRIGHT—vertical, perpendicular, erect, just, equitable, fair, - pure, honorable. (Prone.) - - UPRIGHTNESS—honesty, integrity, fairness, goodness, probity, - virtue, honor. (Dishonesty.) - - URGE—incite, impel, push, drive, instigate, stimulate, press, - induce, solicit. - - URGENT—pressing, imperative, immediate, serious, wanted. - (Unimportant.) - - USAGE—custom, fashion, practice, prescription. - - USE, _n._—usage, practice, habit, custom, avail, advantage, - utility, benefit, application. (Disuse.) - - USUAL—ordinary, common, accustomed, habitual, wonted, customary, - general. (Unusual.) - - UTMOST—farthest, remotest, uttermost, greatest. - - UTTER, _a._—extreme, excessive, sheer, mere, pure. - - UTTER, _v._—speak, articulate, pronounce, express. - - UTTERLY—totally, completely, wholly, altogether. - - - VACANT—empty, unfilled, unoccupied, thoughtless, unthinking. - (Occupied.) - - VAGRANT, _n._—wanderer, beggar, tramp, rogue. - - VAGUE—unsettled, undetermined, pointless, uncertain, indefinite. - (Definite.) - - VAIN—useless, fruitless, empty, worthless, inflated, proud, - conceited, unreal. (Effectual, humble.) - - VALIANT—brave, bold, valorous, courageous, gallant. (Cowardly.) - - VALID—weighty, strong, powerful, sound, binding, efficient. - (Invalid.) - - VALOR—courage, gallantry, boldness, bravery, heroism. (Cowardice.) - - VALUE, _v._—appraise, assess, reckon, appreciate, estimate, - prize, esteem, treasure. (Despise.) - - VARIABLE—changeable, unsteady, inconstant, shifting, wavering, - fickle, restless. (Constant.) - - VARIETY—difference, diversity, change, diversification, mixture, - medley, miscellany. (Sameness, monotony.) - - VAST—spacious, boundless, mighty, enormous, immense, colossal, - gigantic, prodigious. (Confined.) - - VAUNT—boast, brag, puff, hawk, advertise, parade. - - VENERABLE—grave, sage, wise, old, reverend. - - VENIAL—pardonable, excusable, justifiable. (Serious, grave.) - - VENOM—poison, virus, spite, malice, malignity. - - VENTURE, _n._—speculation, chance, peril, stake. - - VERACITY—truth, truthfulness, credibility, accuracy. (Falsehood.) - - VERBAL—oral, spoken, literal, parole, unwritten. - - VERDICT—judgment, finding, decision, answer. - - VEXATION—chagrin, mortification. (Pleasure.) - - VIBRATE—oscillate, swing, sway, wave, thrill. - - VICE—vileness, corruption, depravity, pollution, immorality, - wickedness, guilt, iniquity. (Virtue.) - - VICIOUS—corrupt, depraved, debased, bad, unruly, contrary, - demoralized, profligate, faulty. (Gentle, virtuous.) - - VICTIM—sacrifice, food, prey, sufferer, dupe, gull. - - VICTUALS—viands, bread, meat, provisions, fare, food, repast. - - VIOLENT—boisterous, furious, impetuous, vehement. (Gentle.) - - VIRTUOUS—upright, honest, moral. (Profligate.) - - VISION—apparition, ghost, phantom, specter. - - VOLUPTUARY—epicure, sensualist. - - VOUCH—affirm, asserverate, assure, aver. - - - WAIT—await, expect, look for, wait for. - - WAKEFUL—vigilant, watchful. (Sleepy.) - - WANDER—range, ramble, roam, rove, stroll. - - WANT—lack, need. (Abundance.) - - WARY—circumspect, cautious. (Foolhardy.) - - WASH—clean, rinse, wet, moisten, stain, tint. - - WASTE, _v._—squander, dissipate, lavish, destroy, decay, dwindle, - wither. - - WAY—method, plan, system, means, manner, mode, form, fashion, - course, process, road, route, track, path, habit, practice. - - WEAKEN—debilitate, enfeeble, enervate, invalidate. (Strengthen.) - - WEARY—harass, jade, tire, fatigue. (Refresh.) - - WEIGHT—gravity, heaviness, burden, load. (Lightness.) - - WELL-BEING—happiness, prosperity, welfare. - - WHOLE—entire, complete, total, integral. (Part.) - - WICKED—iniquitous, nefarious. (Virtuous.) - - WILL—wish, desire. - - WILLINGLY—spontaneously, voluntarily. (Unwillingly.) - - WIN—get, obtain, gain, procure, effect, realize, accomplish, - achieve. (Lose.) - - WINNING—attractive, charming, fascinating, bewitching, - enchanting, dazzling. (Repulsive.) - - WISDOM—prudence, foresight, far-sightedness, sagacity. - (Foolishness.) - - WONDER, _v._—admire, amaze, astonish, surprise. - - WONDER, _n._—marvel, miracle, prodigy. - - WRONG—injustice, injury. (Right.) - - - YAWN—gape, open wide. - - YEARN—hanker after, long for, desire, crave. - - YELL—bellow, cry out, scream. - - YELLOW—golden, saffron-like. - - YELP—bark, sharp cry, howl. - - YET—besides, nevertheless, notwithstanding, however, still, - ultimately, at last, so far, thus far. - - YIELD—bear, give, afford, impart, communicate, confer, bestow, - abdicate, resign, cede, surrender. - - YIELDING—supple, pliant, bending, compliant, submissive, - unresisting. (Obstinate.) - - YOKE, _v._—couple, link, connect. - - YORE—long ago, long since. - - YOUTH—boy, lad, minority, adolescence. - - YOUTHFUL—juvenile, puerile. (Old.) - - - ZEAL—energy, fervor, ardor, earnestness, enthusiasm, eagerness. - (Indifference.) - - ZEALOUS—warm, ardent, fervent, enthusiastic, anxious. - (Indifferent, careless.) - - ZEST—relish, gusto, flavor. (Disgust.) - - -NOMS DE PLUME OF AUTHORS - - ASSUMED NAME REAL NAME - A Country Parson Archbishop Whately - Agate Whitelaw Reid - A. K. H. B. Rev. A. K. H. Boyd - A. L. O. E. Miss Charlotte Tucker - Alfred Crowquill A. H. Forrester - Americus Dr. Francis Lieber - Amy Lothrop Miss Anna B. Warner - American Girl Abroad Miss Trafton - Artemus Ward Charles F. Browne - Asa Trenchard Henry Watterson - Aunt Kitty Maria J. Macintosh - Aunt Mary Mary A. Lathbury - Barnacle A. C. Barnes - Barry Cornwall Bryan Waller Proctor - Benauly Benjamin, Austin, and Lyman Abbott - Besieged Resident Henry Labouchere - Bibliophile Samuel Austin Allibone - Bill Arp Charles H. Smith - Blythe White, Jr. Solon Robinson - Bookworm Thomas F. Donnelly - Boston Bard Robert S. Coffin - Boz Charles Dickens - Brick Pomeroy Mark M. Pomeroy - Burleigh Rev. Matthew Hale Smith - Burlington Robert Saunders - Carl Benson Charles A. Bristed - Chartist Parson Rev. Charles Kingsley - Chinese Philosopher Oliver Goldsmith - Christopher Crowfield Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe - Chrystal Croftangry Sir Walter Scott - Claribel Mrs. Caroline Barnard - Country Parson A. K. H. Boyd - Cousin Alice Mrs. Alice B. Haven - Cousin Kate Catherine D. Bell - Currer Bell Charlotte Bronte (Mrs. Nichols) - Danbury Newsman J. M. Bailey - Diedrich Knickerbocker Washington Irving - Dolores Miss Dickson - Dow, Jr. Elbridge G. Page - Dr. Syntax William Combe - Dunn Browne Rev. Samuel Fiske - E. D. E. N. Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth - Edmund Kirke James Roberts Gilmore - Eleanor Kirke Mrs. Nolly Ames - Elia Charles Lamb - Eli Perkins Matthew D. Landon - Elizabeth Wetherell Susan Warner - Ella Rodman Mrs. Eliza Rodman - Ellis Bell Emily J. Bronte - English Opium-Eater Thomas DeQuincy - Ettrick Shepherd James Hogg - Eugene Pomeroy Thomas F. Donnelly - Falconbridge Jonathan F. Kelly - Fanny Fern Wife of James Parton and sister of - N. P. Willis - Fanny Fielding Mary J. S. Upsher - Fanny Forester Emily C. Judson - Fat Contributor A. M. Griswold - Father Prout Francis Mahoney - Florence Percy Mrs. Elizabeth Akers Allen - Frank Forrester Henry W. Herbert - Gail Hamilton Miss Mary Abigail Dodge of Hamilton - Gath, also Laertes George Alfred Townsend - Geoffrey Crayon Washington Irving - George Eliot Mrs. Marian Lewes Cross - George Fitz Boodle William M. Thackeray - George Forest Rev. J. G. Wood - George Sand Mme. Amantine Lucille Aurore Dudevant - Grace Greenwood Mrs. Sara J. Lippincott - Grace Wharton A. T. Thompson - Hans Breitmann Charles Godfrey Leland - Hans Yokel A. Oakey Hall - Harriet Myrtle Mrs. Lydia F. F. Miller - Harry Hazell Justin Jones - Harry Lorrequer Charles Lever - Hesba Stretton Miss Hannah Smith - Hibernicus De Witt Clinton - Historicus Wm. G. Vernon Harcourt - Hosea Bigelow James Russell Lowell - Howadji George William Curtis - Howard Mordecai Manuel Noah - Howard Glyndon Laura C. Redden - Hyperion Josiah Quincy - Ianthe Emma C. Embury - Ik Marvel Donald G. Mitchell - Irenæus Rev. S. Irenæus Prime, D.D. - Isabel William Gilmore Simms - Janus Dr. Dollinger - Jaques J. Hain Friswell - Jay Charlton J. C. Goldsmith - Jedediah Cleishbotham Sir Walter Scott - Jennie June Mrs. Jennie C. Croly - John Chalkhill Izaak Walton - John Darby J. C. Garretson - John Paul C. H. Webb - John Phœnix, Gentleman George H. Derby - Josh Billings Henry W. Shaw - Joshua Coffin H. W. Longfellow - Kate Campbell Jane Elizabeth Lincoln - Kirwan Rev. Nicholas Murray - K. N. Pepper James M. Morris - Laicus Rev. Lyman Abbott - Launcelot Wagstaffe, Jr. Charles Mackay - Lemuel Gulliver Jonathan Swift - Louise Muhlbach Clara Mundt - Major Jack Downing Seba Smith - Marion Harland Mary V. Terhune - Mark Twain Samuel L. Clemens - Max Adler Charles H. Clark - Minnie Myrtle Miss Anna C. Johnson - Mintwood Miss Mary A. E. Wager - M. Quad Charles B. Lewis - Mrs. Partington B. P. Shillaber - M. T. Jug Joseph Howard - Ned Buntline Edward Z. C. Judson - Nym Crinkle A. C. Wheeler - Old Bachelor George William Curtis - Old Cabinet R. Watson Gilder - Old Humphrey George Mogridge - Old’Un Francis Alexander Durivage - Oliver Optic William Taylor Adams - Olivia Emily Edson Grigg - Ollapod Willis G. Clark - Orpheus C. Kerr Robert H. Newell - Ouida Louisa De La Ramé - Owen Meredith Lord Lytton - Parson Brownlow Wm. Gunnaway Brownlow - Patty Lee Alice Cary - Paul Creyton J. T. Trowbridge - Pen Holder Rev. Edward Eggleston - Pequot Charles W. March - Perdita Mrs. Mary Robinson - Perley Benj. Perley Poore - Peter Parley S. G. Goodrich - Peter Pindar Dr. John Wolcot - Petroleum V. Nasby D. R. Locke - Phœnix Sir Henry Martin - Poor Richard Benjamin Franklin - Porte Crayon David H. Strother - Private Miles O’Reilly Charles G. Halpine - Robinson Crusoe Daniel Defoe - Runnymede Lord Beaconsfield - Rustic Bard Robert Dinsmore - Sam Slick Thomas C. Halliburton - Saxe Holm Miss Rush Ellis - Shirley Dare Mrs. Susan D. Waters - Sophie May Mrs. Eckerson - Sophie Sparkle Jennie E. Hicks - Sparrowgrass F. S. Cozzens - Straws, Jr. Kate Field - Susan Coolidge Miss Woolsey - Teufelsdrœckh Thomas Carlyle - Teutha William Jerdan - The Black Dwarf Thomas J. Wooler - The Celt Thomas Davis - The Druid Henry H. Dixon - The Governor Henry Morford - The Traveller Isaac Stary - Theodore Taylor J. C. Hotten - Thomas Ingoldsby Rev. R. H. Barham - Thomas Little Thomas Moore - Thomas Rowley Thomas Chatterton - Timon Fieldmouse William B. Rands - Timothy Tickler Robert Syme - Timothy Titcomb Dr. J. G. Holland - Tom Brown Thomas Hughes - Tom Folio Joseph E. Babson - Tom Hawkins Theodore W. A. Buckley - Trinculo John A. Cockerill - Tristram Merton Thomas B. Macaulay - Two Brothers A. and C. Tennyson - Ubique Parker Gilmore - Una Mary A. Ford - Uncle Hardy William Senior - Uncle John Elisha Noyce - Uncle Philip Rev. Dr. F. L. Hawks - Uncle Toby Rev. Tobias H. Miller - Veteran Observer E. D. Mansfield - Vigilant John Corlett - Vivian George H. Lewes - Vivian Joyeux W. M. Praed - Walter Maynard William Beale - Warhawk William Palmer - Warrington W. P. Robinson - Warwick F. O. Otterson - Waters William H. Russell - What’s His Name E. C. Massey - Wilibald, Alexis William Hæring - Wizard John Corlett - - - - -PART II. - -READINGS AND RECITATIONS FROM THE MOST CELEBRATED AUTHORS - -COMPRISING - -THRILLING BATTLE SCENES AND VICTORIES; BEAUTIFUL DESCRIPTIONS; -SOUL-STIRRING DEEDS OF HEROISM; WITTY AND HUMOROUS SELECTIONS; PATHETIC -PIECES; FAMOUS ORATIONS; RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN; READINGS WITH -ACCOMPANIMENTS OF MUSIC; DRILLS; LESSON TALKS, ETC. - - -HOW TO READ AND RECITE. - -Good readers and reciters are extremely rare, and it is because -sufficient time and study are not devoted to the art of elocution. -Not one educated man in ten can read a paragraph in a newspaper so -effectively that to listen to him is a pleasure, and not a pain. - -Many persons are unable so to express the words as to convey their -meaning. They pervert the sense of the sentence by emphasizing in the -wrong place, or deprive it of all sense by a monotonous gabble, giving no -emphasis to any words they utter. They neglect the “stops,” as they are -called; they make harsh music with their voices; they hiss, or croak, or -splutter, or mutter—everything but speak the words set down for them as -they would have talked them to you in conversation. - -Why should this be? Why should correct reading be rare, pleasant reading -rarer still, and good reading found only in one person in ten thousand? -Let me urge you with all earnestness to become an accomplished reader -and reciter. This is something to be coveted, and it is worth your while -to acquire it, though it cost you much time and labor. Attend to the -rules here furnished. - - -Cultivation of the Voice. - -Accustom yourself to reading and reciting aloud. Some of our greatest -orators have made it a practice to do this in the open air, throwing out -the voice with full volume, calling with prolonged vowel sounds to some -object in the distance, and thus strengthening the throat and lungs. -Every day you should practice breathings; by which I mean that you should -take in a full breath, expand the lungs to their full capacity, and then -emit the breath slowly, and again suddenly with explosive force. A good, -flexible voice is the first thing to be considered. - - -Distinct Enunciation. - -When you hear a person read or speak you are always pleased if the full -quantity is given to each syllable of every word. Only in this way can -the correct meaning of the sentence be conveyed. People who are partially -deaf will tell you that they are not always able to hear those who speak -the loudest, but those who speak the most distinctly. Do not recite -to persons who are nearest to you, but rather glance at those who are -farthest away, and measure the amount of volume required to make them -hear. - - -Emphasis. - -Some word or words in every sentence are more important, and require -greater emphasis than others. You must get at the exact meaning of the -sentence, and be governed by this. The finest effects can be produced by -making words emphatic where the meaning demands it. Look well to this. - - -Pauses. - -Avoid a sing-song, monotonous style of delivery. Break the flow where it -is required; you will always notice how skillfully a trained elocutionist -observes the proper pauses. Have such command of yourself that you do not -need to hurry on with your recitation at the same pace from beginning to -end. The pause enables the hearer to take in the meaning of the words, -and is therefore always to be observed. - - -Gestures. - -Speak with your whole body, not merely with your tongue and lips. It is -permissible to even stamp with your foot when the sense calls for it. -Speak with your eyes, with your facial expression, with your fingers, -with your clenched fist, with your arm, with the pose of your body, with -all the varying attitudes needful to express what you have to say with -the greatest effect. - -Stand, as a rule, with one foot slightly in advance of the other, the -weight of the body resting upon the foot farther back. Do not be tied to -one position; hold yourself at liberty to change your position and move -about. Do not hold your elbows close to your body, as if your arms were -strapped to your sides. Make the gesture in point of time slightly in -advance of the word or words it is to illustrate. - - -The Magnetic Speaker. - -It has always been said that the poet is born, but the orator is made. -This is not wholly correct, for the more magnetism you were born with, -the better speaker you will become. Still, the indefinable thing called -magnetism is something that can be cultivated; at least you can learn -how to show it, and permit it to exert its wonderful influence over your -hearers. - -Put yourself into your recitations in such a way that the thoughts -and sentiments you express shall, for the time being, be your own. -Every nerve and muscle of your body, every thought and emotion of -your mind, in short, your whole being should be enlisted. You should -become transformed, taking on the character required by the reading or -recitation, and making it your own. - -Persons who can thus lose themselves in what they are saying, and throw -into their recitations all the force and magnetism of which they are -capable, are sure to meet with success. - - -Self-Command. - -Young persons naturally feel embarrassed when they face an audience. -Some of our greatest orators have known what this is, and were compelled -to labor hard to overcome it. Practice alone will give you confidence, -unless you possess it already, and this is true of only a few young -persons. - -Do your utmost to control yourself. Let your will come into play; strong -will, governing every emotion of the mind and movement of the body, is -absolutely essential. Do not be brazen, but self-confident. - - -TYPICAL GESTURES TO BE USED IN READING AND RECITING. - -[Illustration: Fig. 1.—Malediction. - -Traitors! I would call down the wrath of Heaven on them.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 2.—Designating. - -Scorn points his slow, unmoving finger.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 3.—Silence. - - There was silence deep as death, - And the boldest held his breath.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 4.—Repulsion. - - Back to thy punishment, false fugitive, - And to thy speed add wings!] - -[Illustration: Fig. 5.—Declaring. - -I speak the truth, and dare to speak it.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 6.—Announcing. - -We proclaim the liberty that God gave when He gave us life.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 7.—Discerning. - -A sail, ho! A dim speck on the horizon.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 8.—Invocation. - -Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!] - -[Illustration: Fig. 9.—Presenting or Receiving. - -Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 10.—Horror. - - Methought I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no more! - Macbeth, does murder sleep?”] - -[Illustration: Fig. 11.—Exaltation. - -Washington is in the clear upper sky.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 12—Secrecy. - -Be mute, be secret as the grave.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 13.—Wonderment. - -While the dance was the merriest, the door opened and there stood the -parson!] - -[Illustration: Fig. 14.—Indecision. - -Shall I take back my promise? ’Twill but expose me to contempt.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 15.—Grief. - -O, that by weeping I could heal my sorrow!] - -[Illustration: Fig. 16.—Gladness. - - No pen, no tongue can summon power - To tell the transports of that hour.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 17.—Signalling. - -There stood Count Wagstaff, beckoning.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 18.—Tender Rejection. - -It has come at last; I must say, No.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 19.—Protecting—Soothing. - - Boy! Harold! safely rest, - Enjoy the honey-dew of slumber.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 20.—Anguish. - - My cup with agony is filled, - From nettles sharp as death distilled.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 21.—Awe—Appeal. - -Spirits of the just made perfect, from your empyrean heights look down!] - -[Illustration: Fig. 22.—Meditation. - -A lonely man, wending his slow way along and lost in deepest thought.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 23.—Defiance. - -Defy the devil; consider he is the enemy of mankind.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 24.—Denying—Rejecting. - -Yes, if this were my last breath I would deny these infamous charges.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 25.—Dispersion. - -Spain’s proud Armada was scattered to the winds.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 26.—Remorse. - -A thoughtless, wicked deed; it stings sharper than a serpent’s tooth.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 27.—Accusation. - -And Nathan said to David, Thou art the man.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 28.—Revealing. - - The way she kept it was, of course, - To tell it all and make it worse.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 29.—Correct Positions of the Hands. - -1. Simple affirmation. 2. Emphatic declaration. 3. Apathy or prostration. -4. Energetic appeal. 5. Negation or denial. 6. Violent repulsion. 7. -Indexing or cautioning. 8. Determination or anger. 9. Supplication. -10. Gentle entreaty. 11. Carelessness. 12. Argumentation. 13. Earnest -entreaty. 14. Resignation.] - - - - -RECITATIONS WITH LESSON TALKS. - -SHOWING BY EXAMPLES HOW TO READ AND RECITE. - - -THE SONG OF OUR SOLDIERS AT SANTIAGO. - -When the destruction of Admiral Cervera’s fleet became known before -Santiago, the American soldiers cheered wildly, and, with one accord, -through miles of trenches, began singing “The Star Spangled Banner.” You -should preface the recitation with the foregoing statement. - - Singing “The Star Spangled Banner” - In the very jaws of death! - Singing our glorious anthem, - Some with their latest breath! - The strains of that solemn music - Through the spirit will ever roll, - Thrilling with martial ardor - The depths of each patriot soul. - - 2. Hearing the hum of the bullets! - Eager to charge the foe! - Biding the call to battle, - Where crimson heart streams flow! - Thinking of home and dear ones, - Of mother, of child, of wife, - They sang “The Star Spangled Banner” - On that field of deadly strife. - - 3. They sang with the voices of heroes, - In the face of the Spanish guns, - As they leaned on their loaded rifles, - With the courage that never runs, - They sang to our glorious emblem, - Upraised on that war-worn sod, - As the saints in the old arena - Sang a song of praise to God. - - DAVID GRAHAM ADEE. - - -LESSON TALK. - -This selection is inspiring. It is brimful of the glow of patriotism. -To deliver it, therefore, in a dull, listless, indifferent manner would -suppress the natural sentiment of the piece and rob it of the effect it -would otherwise produce. Be _alive_; not wooden and nerveless. If you -were standing in a crowd and a brass band should come along and strike up -the “Star Spangled Banner,” you would instantly see the change that would -come over the assembled throng. Every heart would be moved, every face -would be filled with expression, every nerve would seem to tingle. - -When you are to deliver a selection of this kind, come before your -audience with your body straightened to its full height, your shoulders -thrown back, and your head erect. For the time being you are a patriot, -and are saying some grand things about the Stars and Stripes and about -our brave heroes who have carried “Old Glory” to victory on so many -battlefields. - -Your manner must indicate that you appreciate their heroism, that you are -ready to extol it, and that you expect your hearers to share the emotions -of your own breast. You should know what tones of voice your are to -employ in expressing most effectively the sentiments of the piece, what -gestures should be used and what words are to be emphasized. - -1. Taking now the first verse, you should let the tones of your voice -out full and clear on the first line, lowering your voice on the second -line; then letting your voice ring out again on the third line, and -again subduing it on the fourth. Here is a fine opportunity for contrast -between strong tones and tones subdued and suggestive of death. It would -not be amiss to give the words “their latest breath” in a whisper. -Prolong the sound on the word “roll.” The word “thrilling” should be -expressed with energetic impulse, and the voice lowered, yet round and -full, on the last line. - -2. With hands elevated as high as the shoulders and palms turned outward, -expressive of wonder and almost alarm, deliver the first line of the -second verse. Suddenly change to confidence and courage in the next three -lines. Express nothing here that could suggest timidity, but rather the -opposite. - - “Thinking of home and dear ones, - Of mother, of child, of wife,” - -should be spoken in a thoughtful mood, with head dropped on breast; -then lift it as you speak the two lines that follow, the last of which -refers to the field of battle and should be designated, as in Figure 2 of -Typical Gestures, found in the preceding pages. - -3. At the beginning of verse three, elevate your voice and prolong the -tones. The words “never runs” are emphatic; put stress on them. On the -fifth and sixth lines of this verse use the gesture for Exaltation, -Figure 11 of Typical Gestures—arm lifted as high as the head and palm -opened upward, giving the arm at the same time a circular motion. The -last two lines should be delivered with hands clasped, palm to palm, in -front of the breast, and eyes turned upward. - - -THE VICTOR OF MARENGO. - -Napoleon was sitting in his tent; before him lay a map of Italy. He took -four pins and stuck them up; measured, moved the pins, and measured -again. “Now,” said he, “that is right; I will capture him there!” “Who, -sir?” said an officer. “Milas, the old fox of Austria. He will retire -from Genoa, pass Turin, and fall back on Alexandria. I shall cross the -Po, meet him on the plains of Laconia, and conquer him there,” and the -finger of the child of destiny pointed to Marengo. - -2. Two months later the memorable campaign of 1800 began. The 20th of -May saw Napoleon on the heights of St. Bernard. The 22d, Lannes, with -the army of Genoa, held Padua. So far, all had been well with Napoleon. -He had compelled the Austrians to take the position he desired; reduced -the army from one hundred and twenty thousand to forty thousand men; -dispatched Murat to the right, and June 14th moved forward to consummate -his masterly plan. - -3. But God threatened to overthrow his scheme! A little rain had fallen -in the Alps, and the Po could not be crossed in time. The battle was -begun. Milas, pushed to the wall, resolved to cut his way out; and -Napoleon reached the field to see Lannes beaten—Champeaux dead—Desaix -still charging old Milas, with his Austrian phalanx at Marengo, till the -consular guard gave way, and the well-planned victory was a terrible -defeat. Just as the day was lost, Desaix, the boy General, sweeping -across the field at the head of his cavalry, halted on the eminence where -stood Napoleon. - -4. There was in the corps a drummer-boy, a gamin whom Desaix had picked -up in the streets of Paris. He had followed the victorious eagle of -France in the campaigns of Egypt and Germany. As the columns halted, -Napoleon shouted to him: “Beat a retreat!” The boy did not stir. “Gamin, -beat a retreat!” The boy stopped, grasped his drum-sticks, and said: -“Sir, I do not know how to beat a retreat; Desaix never taught me that; -but I can beat a charge,—Oh! I can beat a charge that will make the dead -fall into line. I beat that charge at the Pyramid: I beat that charge at -Mount Tabor: I beat it again at the bridge of Lodi. May I beat it here?” - -5. Napoleon turned to Desaix, and said: “We are beaten; what shall we -do?” “Do? Beat them! It is only three o’clock, and there is time enough -to win a victory yet. Up! the charge! beat the old charge of Mount Tabor -and Lodi!” A moment later the corps, following the sword-gleam of Desaix, -and keeping step with the furious roll of the gamin’s drum, swept down on -the host of Austrians. They drove the first line back on the second—both -on the third, and there they died. Desaix fell at the first volley, but -the line never faltered, and as the smoke cleared away the gamin was seen -in front of his line marching right on, and still beating the furious -charge. - -6. Over the dead and wounded, over breastworks and fallen foe, over -cannon belching forth their fire of death, he led the way to victory, -and the fifteen days in Italy were ended. To-day men point to Marengo in -wonder. They admire the power and foresight that so skillfully handled -the battle but they forget that a General only thirty years of age made a -victory of a defeat. They forget that a gamin of Paris put to shame “the -child of destiny.” - - -LESSON TALK. - -A story or a narrative like this should be read in a more easy, -conversational manner than is demanded for selections more tragic or -oratorical. Yet a great variety of expression can be introduced into this -piece, and without it, the reading will be tame. - -1. In the first part of this verse spread your hands forward, then -outward with the palms downward, to indicate the map of Italy which is -lying before the great general. In a tone of triumph, accompanied with -firmness and decision, Napoleon says, “I will capture him there.” Use the -gesture for defiance, Figure 23, in Typical Gestures. Your body must be -immediately relaxed as you ask the question, “Who, sir?” Let the answer -be given with utterance somewhat rapid, still indicating firmness and -decision. - -2. This verse is easy narrative and should be recited as you would tell -it to a friend in conversation. The words “masterly plan” in the last -line are emphatic. - -3. In the first line of this verse use the gesture shown in Figure 24 -of Typical Gestures, indicating that Napoleon’s scheme was rejected by -God and brought to nought. The style of narrative here is very concise -and the sentences should follow one another in quick succession. “Milas, -pushed to the wall,” should be expressed by Figure 4 of Typical Gestures. -When you come to the words “the well-planned victory was a terrible -defeat,” stretch forth your right arm as in Figure 6 of Typical Gestures, -dropping it to your side heavily on the last word. Point to the boy -general sweeping across the field and to the eminence where Napoleon -stood. Champeaux is pronounced _Shon-po_; Desaix is pronounced _De-say_. - -4. Here you drop again into easy narrative until you come to the words, -“Beat a retreat!” These are to be shouted as if you were the officer on -the battlefield giving the command. Put intense expression into the boy’s -appeal, as he states that he does not know how to beat a retreat, and -pleads to be permitted to beat a charge. There is opportunity here for -grand effect as you deliver these lines. - -5 and 6. Use the gesture for Defiance on the words, “Up! the charge!” You -are ordering an advance, resolved to win the victory. The remainder of -this verse and the following is narrative and demands quite a different -rendering from the words of command in other parts of the selection. -If you recite it in such a way as to express the full meaning it will -captivate your hearers. - - -THE WEDDING FEE. - - 1. One morning, fifty years ago— - When apple-trees were white with snow - Of fragrant blossoms, and the air - Was spellbound with the perfume rare— - Upon a farm horse, large and lean, - And lazy with its double load, - A sun-brown youth and maid were seen - Jogging along the winding road - - 2. Blue were the arches of the skies, - But bluer were that maiden’s eyes! - The dewdrops on the grass were bright, - But brighter was the loving light - That sparkled ’neath each long-fringed lid, - Where those bright eyes of blue were hid; - Adown the shoulders, brown and bare, - Rolled the soft waves of golden hair. - - 3. So on they ride, until among - The new born leaves with dew-drops hung, - The parsonage, arrayed in white, - Peers out—a more than welcome sight. - Then with a cloud upon his face, - “What shall we do?” he turned to say, - “Should he refuse to take his pay - From what is in the pillow case?” - - 4. And glancing down his eyes surveyed - The pillow case before him laid, - Whose contents reaching to its hem, - Might purchase endless joys for them. - The maiden answers: “Let us wait; - To borrow trouble where’s the need?” - Then at the parson’s squeaking gate - Halted the more than willing steed. - - 5. Down from his horse the bridegroom sprung; - The latchless gate behind him swung. - The knocker of that startled door, - Struck as it never was before, - Brought the whole household, pale with fright, - And there with blushes on his cheek, - So bashful he could hardly speak, - The parson met their wondering sight. - - 6. The groom goes in, his errand tells, - And as the parson nods, he leans - Far out across the window-sill and yells— - “Come in. He says he’ll take the beans!” - Oh! how she jumped! With one glad bound - She and the bean-bag reached the ground. - - 7. Then, clasping with each dimpled arm - The precious products of the farm, - She bears it through the open door, - And down upon the parlor floor - Dumps the best beans vines ever bore. - - 8. Ah! happy were their songs that day, - When man and wife they rode away; - But happier this chorus still - Which echoed through those woodland scenes: - “God bless the priest of Whittensville! - God bless the man who took the beans.” - - -LESSON TALK. - -The quiet humor of this piece stands in strong contrast to selections of -a tragic character, and if it is recited in an easy pleasant way, it is -sure to be appreciated by all who hear it. Adapt your voice and manner, -therefore, to the style of narrative. - -1. With the right hand extended designate the farm horse, large and -lean. Drawl out the word lazy in the next line, and continue this slow -utterance to the end of the verse. - -2. The sentiment changes in the next verse and requires more animation. -In the first line make the gesture shown in Figure 21 of Typical -Gestures, in the beginning of Part II. of this volume. Become more -animated as you describe the maiden’s eyes and the soft waves of her -golden hair. - -3. The young couple reach the parsonage and your manner should suggest -theirs; they have come on very important business. Express the -embarrassment of the young man as he asks the question: “What shall we -do?” etc. Give a half look of surprise as you refer to the contents of -the pillow-case. - -4. In a half tone of rebuke the maiden answers, “Let us wait,” saying -encouragingly that there is no need to borrow trouble. She evidently -believes the parson will be quite willing to take the fee. - -5. Let your utterance become more rapid as you picture the bridegroom -springing from the horse. With uplifted, clenched hand knock on the door, -and then portray the half fright of the parson as he answers the knock. - -6. Here is an opportunity for a genuine touch of humor. Cry out as the -young man would to the maiden by the gate, “Come in; he says he’ll take -the beans!” She jumps to the ground. Make the gesture of Figure 16 in -Typical Gestures. - -7. Act out the effort of carrying the pillow-case through the open door -and throwing it upon the parlor floor. Do not let your facial expression -be too serious. You should know how to smile without looking silly. - -8. Here again in the first line make the gesture in Figure 16, and with -elevated pitch and joyous expression picture the young couple as they -ride away. With fervent tones and uplifted hands recite the last two -lines of the piece. A good recital for a parlor entertainment. - - -THE STATUE IN CLAY. - - 1. “Make me a statue,” said the King, - “Of marble white as snow; - It must be pure enough to stand - Before my throne, at my right hand; - The niche is waiting. Go!” - - 2. The sculptor heard the King’s command - And went upon his way; - He had no marble, but he meant, - With willing mind and high intent, - To mould his thoughts in clay. - - 3. Day after day he wrought in clay, - But knew not what he wrought; - He sought the help of heart and brain, - But could not make the riddle plain; - It lay beyond his thought. - - 4. To-day the statue seemed to grow, - To-morrow it stood still, - The third day all went well again; - Thus year by year, in joy and pain, - He served his master’s will. - - 5. At last his life-long work was done; - It was a fateful day; - He took the statue to the King, - And trembled like a guilty thing, - Because it was but clay. - - 6. “Where is my statue?” asked the King, - “Here, Lord,” the Sculptor said: - “But I commanded marble.” “True, - I had not that, what could I do - But mould in clay instead?” - - 7. “Thou shalt not unrewarded go - Since thou hast done thy best, - Thy statue shall acceptance win, - It shall be as it should have been, - For I will do the rest.” - - 8. He touched the statue, and it changed. - The clay falls off, and lo! - The marble shape before him stands, - The perfect work of heavenly hands, - An angel, pure as snow. - - -LESSON TALK. - -The beautiful lesson taught in this selection is apparent to every one. -In reciting it you have, therefore, the advantage of presenting a reading -that commends itself to all hearers, the sentiment of which is admirable. -The piece will speak for itself, and there is a vast difference between a -reading of this description and one that has nothing specially to commend -it. - -And here let me say something concerning your choice of recitations. -First of all, they should be adapted to your range of capacity. It is -simply grotesque for one to whom only tragedy is natural to attempt to -recite humorous pieces. On the other hand, it is a great mistake for one -who is expert in nothing but humorous selections to attempt to recite -tragedy. - -The error with many readers lies in attempting to do that for which -they are not naturally fitted. The selections in this volume are so -diversified that you ought to be able to find what is especially suited -to your ability. - -Nothing is inserted here simply because it is good poetry or good prose. -There are thousands of readings and recitations, so called, that do not -afford the elocutionist any opportunity to display his powers. They are -a dull monotony from beginning to end. They fill the pages of the book, -but nobody wants them. Every recitation in this volume has been chosen -because it has some special merit and is adapted to call out the powers -of the reader. - -1. Taking now the recitation before us you have in the first verse -the King’s command, which you should deliver in a tone of authority, -extending the right hand on the fourth line. - -And this affords me an opportunity to say that your gestures should -never be thrust forward or sideways in an angular manner, but with -something approaching a curve. Do not make gestures as though you were a -prize-fighter and were thrusting at an imaginary foe. Remember that the -line of beauty is always the curve. - -2. This verse is narrative and requires a different expression from the -one preceding it. Extend your right hand on the second line in which it -is stated that the sculptor went upon his way, curving your arm outward -and then letting it fall gently by your side. - -3. In this verse the sculptor is in perplexity. He is trying to study -out the riddle, and to express this you should use Figure 22 of Typical -Gestures. - -4 and 5. These verses are also narrative, the only thing to be noted -being the trembling timidity of the sculptor in the last part of the 5th -verse. This should be indicated by the tones of your voice and general -manner. - -6. This is dialogue, and while the inflexions required are those of -ordinary conversation, do not let your manner be too tame. - -7. Make the announcement contained in this verse with evident -satisfaction. The last line is emphatic and should be spoken with full -volume. - -8. Make a pause after the word statue in the first line and recite the -remainder of this line in a tone of surprise. In the second line make -the gesture in Figure 13 of Typical Gestures. Let your facial expression -indicate satisfaction. - - -THE PUZZLED BOY. - - 1. “Well—whose boy am I, any way? - I fell down cellar yesterday, - And gave my head an awful bump - (If you had only seen the lump!) - And Mamma called me when I cried, - And hugged me close up to her side, - And said: ‘I’ll kiss and make it well, - Mamma’s own boy; how hard he fell.’ - - 2. “When Papa took me out to play - Where all the men were making hay, - He put me on old Dobbin’s back; - And when they gave the whip a crack, - And off he threw me, Papa said, - (When I got up and rubbed my head, - And shut my lips, and winked my eyes) - ‘Papa’s brave boy. He never cries!’ - - 3. “And when I go to Grandma’s—well, - You’d be surprised if I could tell - Of all the pies and ginger-cakes - And doughnuts that she always makes, - And all the jam and tarts and such, - And _never_ says, ‘Don’t take too much; - Because,’ she says, ‘he must enjoy - His visit, for he’s Grandma’s boy!’ - - 4. “And Grandpa says: ‘I’ll give him soon - A little pony for his own, - He’ll learn to ride it well, I know, - Because he’s Grandpa’s boy. Ho! ho!’ - And plenty other people say; - ‘Well, how are you, my boy, to-day?’ - Now, can you tell me, if you try, - How many little boys _am I_?” - - -LESSON TALK. - -This selection is in a lighter vein than the others that have gone -before. It is adapted to a boy eight or ten years old. While the humor is -not of a boisterous character, the piece is very pleasing when recited -by a boy who knows how to take in the situation and can put on a look of -natural surprise. - -Recitations by little people are always interesting to older persons. The -young should be taught to recite in public. While this need not make them -bold, it does give them confidence, which is very desirable for them to -have. - -Moreover, it helps them to become graceful in manner if they are properly -trained, and takes away the awkwardness which makes many young persons -appear to a disadvantage. Added to all this the cultivation of the memory -derived from learning recitations, and learning them so thoroughly that -they cannot be forgotten through any temporary embarrassment, and you -will readily see that the noble art of elocution is an essential part of -every young person’s education. - -The selection before us is not a difficult one to recite. In the first -verse emphasis should be placed on the word “am,” and the question should -be asked in a tone of surprise. Put your hand to your head in speaking of -that “awful bump.” - -In the next verse lift your right hand with a sudden motion and use any -gesture with which you can best indicate the cracking of the whip. When -you come to the words “off he threw me,” use the gesture in Figure 24 of -Typical Gestures. Emphasize the word “he” in the last line. - -In verse three open your eyes in half wonder and put on an expressive -smile as you speak of grandma’s pies, cakes, doughnuts, tarts, etc. Make -it plain that you enjoy your visit to grandma’s. - -With elevated voice and accents of delight refer to the gift of the -little pony in the last verse. Speak the first “ho!” rather quickly; then -prolong the sound on the second “ho!” In the last line the words “am I?” -are emphatic. You are puzzled to know how many little boys you are. Pause -a moment and look as if expecting an answer. - - - - -RECITATIONS WITH MUSIC. - - -Nothing renders a recitation more acceptable to any audience than -snatches of music, some of the words being sung, if the reader has a -voice for singing. The change from reciting to singing should be made -easily, and you should be fully confident that you can carry through -the part to be expressed by the notes of music, and sing the words -effectively. - -This will require practice, but will repay you for the time spent in -preparation. Selections for song and recital combined are here presented, -which cannot fail to captivate your audience if they are skillfully -rendered. - - -TWICKENHAM FERRY. - -The words to be sung, or that should receive the prolonged sound -indicated by the notes, are printed in italics. Remember you are calling -to some one in the distance. - -[Music] - - 1. - - “_O-hoi ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Who’s for the ferry?_ - The briars in bud, the sun is going down, - And I’ll row ye so quick and I’ll row ye so steady, - And ’tis but a penny to Twickenham Town.” - - The ferryman’s slim and the ferryman’s young, - And he’s just a soft twang in the turn of his tongue, - And he’s fresh as a pippin and brown as a berry, - And ’tis but a penny to Twickenham Town. - _O-hoi ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho._ - - 2. - - “_O-hoi ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, I’m for the ferry_, - The briars in bud, the sun going down, - And it’s late as it is, and I haven’t a penny, - And how shall I get me to Twickenham Town?” - She’d a rose in her bonnet, and oh! she look’d sweet - As the little pink flower that grows in the wheat, - With her cheeks like a rose and her lips like a cherry, - “And sure and you’re welcome to Twickenham Town.” - _O-hoi ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho._ - - 3. - - _O-hoi ye-ho, Ho, you’re too late for the ferry_, - The briars in bud, the sun going down, - And he’s not rowing quick and he’s not rowing steady, - You’d think ’twas a journey to Twickenham Town. - “_O hoi, and O ho_,” you may call as you will, - The moon is a rising on Peterham Hill, - And with love like a rose in the stern of the wherry, - There’s danger in crossing to Twickenham Town. - _O-hoi ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho._ - -[Music] - - -GRANDMOTHER’S CHAIR. - -The words to be sung are printed in italics. - -[Music] - - My grandmother she, at the age of eighty-three, - One day in May was taken ill and died; - And after she was dead, the will of course was read, - By a lawyer as we all stood by his side. - Five hundred dollars to my brother did she leave, - The same unto my sister, I declare; - But when it came to me, the lawyer said, “I see - She has left to you her old arm chair.” - - _And how they tittered, how they chaffed,_ - _How my brother and sister laughed,_ - _When they heard the lawyer declare_ - _Granny had only left to me her old arm chair._ - - I thought it hardly fair, still I said I did not care, - And in the evening took the chair away; - The neighbors they me chaffed, my brother at me laughed, - And said it will be useful, John, some day: - When you settle down in life, find some girl to be your wife, - You’ll find it very handy, I declare; - On a cold and frosty night, when the fire is burning bright, - You can then sit in your old arm chair. - - What my brother said was true, for in a year or two, - Strange to say, I settled down in married life; - I first a girl did court, and then the ring I bought, - Took her to the church, and when she was my wife, - The girl and I were just as happy as could be, - For when my work was over, I declare, - I ne’er abroad would roam, but each night would stay at home, - And be seated in my old arm chair. - - One night the chair fell down; when I picked it up I found - The seat had fallen out upon the floor; - And there to my surprise I saw before my eyes, - Ten thousand dollars tucked away, or more. - When my brother heard of this, the fellow, I confess, - Went nearly mad with rage, and tore his hair; - But I only laughed at him, then said unto him, “Jem, - Don’t you wish you had the old arm chair?” - - JOHN READ. - -[_Repeat words with music._] - - -PUT YOUR SHOULDER TO THE WHEEL. - -The words to be sung are in italics. - -[Music] - - Some people you’ve met in your time, no doubt, - Who never look happy or gay; - I’ll tell you the way to get jolly and stout, - If you’ll listen awhile to my lay. - I’ve come here to tell you a bit of my mind, - And please with the same, if I can; - Advice is my song, you will certainly find, - And a motto for every man. - - _So we will sing, and banish melancholy;_ - _Trouble may come, we’ll do the best we can_ - _To drive care away, for grieving is a folly;_ - _Put your shoulder to the wheel is a motto for ev’ry man._ - - We cannot all fight in this battle of life, - The weak must go to the wall; - So do to each other the thing that is right, - For there’s room in this world for us all. - “Credit refuse,” if you’ve money to pay, - You’ll find it the wiser plan; - And “a dollar laid by for a rainy day,” - Is a motto for every man. - - A coward gives in at the first repulse; - A brave man struggles again, - With a resolute eye and a bounding pulse, - To battle his way amongst men; - For he knows he has only one chance in his time - To better himself, if he can; - “So make your hay while the sun doth shine,” - That’s a motto for every man. - - HARRY CLIFTON. - -[_Repeat the part to be sung._] - - -A BRIGHTER DAY IS COMING. - -The words in italics are to be sung. - -[Music] - - “Tired,” ah, yes, so tired, dear, the day has been very long, - But shadowy gloaming draweth near, ’tis time for the even song. - I’m ready to go to rest at last, ready to say, “Good night;” - The sunset glory darkens fast, to-morrow will bring me light. - - _Sing once again, “Abide with me” that sweetest evening hymn,_ - _And now “Good night,” I cannot see, the light has grown so dim._ - _“Tired” ah, yes, so tired, dear, I shall soundly sleep to-night,_ - _With never a dream, and never a fear, to wake in the morning’s light._ - - It has seemed so long since morning tide, and I have been left so lone, - Young, smiling faces thronged my side when the early sunlight shone, - But they grew tired long ago, and I saw them sink to rest, - With folded hands and brows of snow, on the green earth’s mother breast. - - HELEN BURNSIDE. - -[_Repeat the words with music._] - - -KATY’S LOVE LETTER. - -Sing the words printed in italics. - -[Music] - - Och, girls dear, did you ever hear, I wrote my love a letter. - And although he cannot read, sure I thought ’twas all the better; - For why should he be puzzled with hard spelling in the matter, - When the meaning was so plain that I love him faithfully? - - _I love him faithfully,_ - _And he knows it, oh, he knows it, without one word from me._ - - I wrote it, and I folded it, and put a seal upon it; - ’Twas a seal almost as big as the crown of my best bonnet; - For I would not have the Postmaster make his remarks upon it, - As I said inside the letter that I loved him faithfully, - - _I love him faithfully,_ - _And he knows it, oh, he knows it! without one word from me._ - - My heart was full, but when I wrote, I dared not put the half in, - The neighbors know I love him, and they’re mighty fond of chaffing; - And I dared not write his name outside, for fear they would be laughing, - So I wrote, “From little Kate to one whom she loves faithfully.” - - _I love him faithfully,_ - _And he knows it, oh, he knows it! without one word from me._ - - Now, girls, would you believe it, that Postman, so consaited, - No answer will he bring me, so long as I have waited; - But maybe there isn’t one for the raison that I stated, - That my love can neither read nor write, but he loves me faithfully. - - _He loves me faithfully,_ - _And I know where’er my love is, that he is true to me._ - - LADY DUFFERIN. - - -DOST THOU LOVE ME, SISTER RUTH? - -A COMIC DUET. - -The persons who present this recital should appear in Quaker costume and -stand near each other, face to face. It can be made very amusing. The -change from reciting to singing adds greatly to the effect. Sing the -words in italics, and make appropriate gestures. - -[Music] - - 1. SIMON.—Dost thou love me, Sister Ruth? - Say, say, say! - - RUTH.—As I fain would speak the truth, - Yea, yea, yea. - - SIMON.—_Long my heart hath yearned for thee,_ - _Pretty Sister Ruth;_ - - RUTH.—_That has been the case with me,_ - _Dear engaging youth._ - - 2. SIMON.—Wilt thou promise to be mine, - Maiden fair? - - RUTH.—Take my hand, my heart is thine, - There, there, there. [_Salutes her._] - - SIMON.—_Let us thus the bargain seal._ - _O, dear me, heigh-ho!_ - - RUTH.—_Lauk! how very odd I feel!_ - _O, dear me, heigh-ho!_ - - 3. SIMON.—Love like ours can never cloy, - Humph! humph! humph! - - RUTH.—While no jealous fears annoy, - Humph! humph! humph! - - SIMON.—_O, how blessed we both should be,_ - _Hey down, ho down, hey!_ - - RUTH.—_I could almost dance with glee,_ - _Hey down, ho down, hey!_ - - JOHN PARRY. - - -TWO LITTLE ROGUES. - -[Music] - - Says Sammy to Dick, - “Come, hurry! come quick! - And we’ll do, and we’ll do, and - we’ll do! - Our mammy’s away, - She’s gone for to stay, - And we’ll make a great hullabaloo! - _Ri too! ri loo! loo! loo! loo! loo!_ - _We’ll make a great hullabaloo!_” - - Says Dick to Sam, - “All weddy I am - To do, and to do, and to do, - But how doesth it go? - I so ’ittle to know, - That, what be a hullabawoo? - _Ri too! ri loo! woo! woo! woo! woo!_ - _Thay, what be a hullabawoo?_” - - “Oh, slammings and bangings, - And whingings and whangings; - And very bad mischief we’ll do! - We’ll clatter and shout, - And knock things about, - And that’s what’s a hullabaloo! - _Ri too! ri loo! loo! loo! loo! loo!_ - _And that’s what’s a hullabaloo!_ - - “Slide down the front stairs! - Tip over the chairs! - Now into the pantry break through! - Pull down all the tin-ware, - And pretty things in there! - All aboard for a hullabaloo! - _Ri too! ri loo! loo! loo! loo! loo!_ - _All aboard for a hullabaloo!_ - - “Now roll up the table, - Far up as you are able, - Chairs, sofa, big easy-chair too! - Put the lamps and the vases - In funny old places. - How’s this for a hullabaloo? - _Ri too! ri loo! loo! loo! loo! loo!_ - _How’s this for a hullabaloo?_ - - “Let the dishes and pans - Be the womans and mans; - Everybody keep still in their pew; - Mammy’s gown I’ll get next, - And preach you a text. - Dick! hush with your hullabaloo! - _Ri too! ri loo! loo! loo! loo! loo!_ - _Dicky! hush with your hullabaloo!_” - - As the preacher in gown - Climbed up and looked down, - His queer congregation to view, - Said Dicky to Sammy, - “Oh, dere comes our mammy! - She’ll ’pank for dis hullubawoo! - _Ri too! ri loo! woo! woo! woo! woo!_ - _She’ll ’pank for dis hullabawoo!_ - - “O mammy! O mammy!” - Cried Dicky and Sammy, - “We’ll never again, certain true!” - But with firm step she trod - To take down the rod— - Oh, then came a hullabaloo! - _Bo hoo! bo hoo! woo! woo! woo! woo!_ - _Oh, then came a hullabaloo!_ - - MRS. A. M. DIAZ. - - -ARKANSAW PETE’S ADVENTURE; - -ARKANSAW PETE, a frontier-backwoodsman, who sings the solo. CHORUS, three -lively city gentlemen. - -[Music] - -[Music] - - 1. Now ladies and gents, who here I see, - Snap-poo! - I pray you listen unto me, - Snap-poo! - And I’ll relate what came to pass - when I lived down in Ar-kan-sas, - Snap-poo! Snap-Peter! - Fi-lan-thi-go-shee-ter! - Snap-poo! - - 2. While riding home one Saturday night, - Snap-poo! - I passed Miss Smith’s and thought I’d light, - Snap-poo! - So I hitch’d my hoss and in did go, - Just for to spend an hour or so. - - CHORUS (_marching up and down, and snapping fingers at PETE_). - - Snap-poo! Snap-Peter! - Fi-lan-thi-go-shee-ter! - Snap-poo! (_Repeat chorus._) - - 3. When to the door I had safely got, - Snap-poo! - She came and pok’d her sweet head out, - Snap-poo! - Said she right out, “Why, Mister Pete! - Oh, do walk in and have a seat!” - - (CHORUS.) - - 4. With easy step and a jolly heart, - Snap-poo! - I bounded in just like a dart, - Snap-poo! - And, oh, you may bet, I felt all hunk - When into a chair by her I sunk. - - (CHORUS.) - - 5. Our chairs got closer as we two rock’d, - Snap-poo! - My throat swell’d up till I most chok’d, - Snap-poo! - At length they struck, and came to a stop— - Now, now, thinks I,’s the time to “pop!” - - (CHORUS.) - - 6. I tried to look in her love-lit eyes, - Snap-poo! - They were clear and blue as summer skies, - Snap-poo! - Not a word could I speak—alas! poor Pete! - Though she look’d good enough to eat. - - (CHORUS.) - - 7. I look’d at her, and she look’d at me, - Snap-poo! - I heard my heart say pee-dee-dee, - Snap-poo! - I twisted my chair, and cross’d my feet— - I’d never seen anything half so sweet. - - (CHORUS.) - - 8. My tongue grew thick, and my eyes stuck out, - Snap-poo! - My hands flew nervously about, - Snap-poo! - And, before I could their motion check, - They grabb’d that gal right ’round the neck! - - (CHORUS.) - - 9. She haul’d away with her pretty fist, - Snap-poo! - She gave my jaw an awful twist, - Snap-poo! - It seem’d an hour before I spoke— - I thought by gum, my head was broke! - - (CHORUS.) - - 10. The racket we made brought her ma-ma, - Snap-poo! - Who straightway call’d her great pa-pa, - Snap-poo! - He kicked me out—and, you bet, I fled - That gal won’t do, thinks I, to wed! - - (CHORUS.) - - - - -PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. - - -THE BEAT OF THE DRUM AT DAYBREAK. - -Speak the words in italics with full, earnest tones of command. Then -change easily to a manner suited to animated description. An excellent -selection for one who can make these changes effectively. - - The morning is cheery, my boys, arouse! - The dew shines bright on the chestnut boughs, - And the sleepy mist on the river lies, - Though the east is flushing with crimson dyes. - _Awake! awake! awake!_ - O’er field and wood and brake, - With glories newly born, - Comes on the blushing morn. - _Awake! awake!_ - - You have dreamed of your homes and your friends all night; - You have basked in your sweethearts’ smiles so bright: - Come, part with them all for a while again— - Be lovers in dreams; when awake, be men. - - _Turn out! turn out! turn out!_ - You have dreamed full long I know, - _Turn out! turn out! turn out!_ - The east is all aglow. - _Turn out! turn out!_ - - From every valley and hill there come - The clamoring voices of fife and drum; - And out on the fresh, cool morning air - The soldiers are swarming everywhere. - _Fall in! fall in! fall in!_ - Every man in his place. - _Fall in! fall in! fall in!_ - Each with a cheerful face. - _Fall in! fall in!_ - - MICHAEL O’CONNOR. - - -THE CAVALRY CHARGE. - -Admirably suited to rapid utterance, vivid description and full tones on -an elevated key. Hurrah in the last lines as you would if you saw the -enemy routed on the field of battle. - - With bray of the trumpet - And roll of the drum, - And keen ring of bugles, - The cavalry come, - Sharp clank the steel scabbards, - The bridle-chains ring, - And foam from red nostrils - The wild chargers fling. - - Tramp! tramp! o’er the green sward - That quivers below, - Scarce held by the curb-bit, - The fierce horses go! - And the grim-visaged colonel, - With ear-rending shout, - Peals forth to the squadrons, - The order—“Trot out.” - - One hand on the sabre, - And one on the rein, - The troopers move forward - In line on the plain. - As rings the word “Gallop!” - The steel scabbards clank, - And each rowel is pressed - To a horse’s hot flank: - And swift is their rush - As the wild torrent’s flow, - When it pours from the crag - On the valley below. - - “Charge!” thunders the leader. - Like shaft from the bow - Each mad horse is hurled - On the wavering foe. - A thousand bright sabres - Are gleaming in air; - A thousand dark horses - Are dashed on the square. - - Resistless and reckless - Of aught may betide, - Like demons, not mortals, - The wild troopers ride. - Cut right! and cut left! - For the parry who needs? - The bayonets shiver - Like wind-shattered reeds! - - Vain—vain the red volley - That bursts from the square— - The random-shot bullets - Are wasted in air. - Triumphant, remorseless, - Unerring as death,— - No sabre that’s stainless - Returns to its sheath. - - The wounds that are dealt - By that murderous steel - Will never yield case - For the surgeons to heal - Hurrah! they are broken— - Hurrah! boys, they fly— - None linger save those - Who but linger to die. - - -THE GREAT NAVAL BATTLE OF SANTIAGO. - -Hold your body erect, but not awkwardly stiff, let every nerve be -tense, your voice full and round, and let your manner indicate that you -have a grand story to relate, as you recite Admiral Schley’s thrilling -description of the great naval battle at Santiago. You are depicting the -scene as though you were there and yourself won the brilliant victory. - - One hour before the Spaniards appeared my quartermaster on the - Brooklyn reported to me that Cervera’s fleet was coaling up. This - was just what I expected, and we prepared everything for a hot - reception. Away over the hills great clouds of smoke could be - faintly seen rising up to the sky. A little later and the smoke - began to move towards the mouth of the harbor. The black cloud - wound in and out along the narrow channel, and every eye on board - the vessels in our fleet strained with expectation. - - The sailor boys were silent for a full hour and the grim old - vessels lay back like tigers waiting to pounce upon their prey. - Suddenly the whole Spanish fleet shot out of the mouth of the - channel. It was the grandest spectacle I ever witnessed. The - flames were pouring out of the funnels, and as it left the - channel the fleet opened fire with every gun on board. Their - guns were worked as rapidly as possible, and shells were raining - around like hail. - - It was a grand charge. My first impression was that of a lot - of maddened bulls, goaded to desperation, dashing at their - tormentors. The storm of projectiles and shells was the hottest - imaginable. I wondered where they all came from. Just as the - vessels swung around the Brooklyn opened up with three shells, - and almost simultaneously the rest of the fleet fired. Our volley - was a terrible shock to the Spaniards, and so surprised them that - they must have been badly rattled. - - When our fleet swung around and gave chase, we not only had to - face the fire from the vessels, but were bothered by a cross-fire - from the forts on either side, which opened on our fleet as soon - as the Spaniards shot out of the harbor. The engagement lasted - three hours, but I hardly knew what time was. I remember crashing - holes through the Spanish Admiral’s flagship, the Maria Teresa, - and giving chase to the Colon. - - I was on the bridge of the Brooklyn during the whole engagement, - and at times the smoke was so dense that I could not see three - yards ahead of me. The shells from the enemy’s fleet were - whistling around and bursting everywhere, except where they could - do some damage. I seemed to be the only thing on the vessel not - protected by heavy armor, and oh! how I would have liked to get - behind some of that armor! - - I don’t know how I kept my head, but I do know that I surprised - myself by seeing and knowing all that was going on, and I could - hear my voice giving orders to do just what my head thought was - right, while my heart was trying to get beneath the shelter of - the armored deck. How do I account for such a victory with so - little loss? That would mean how do I account for the rain of - Spanish shell not doing more execution? They fought nobly and - desperately, but they were not a match for our Yankee officers - and sailors. - - I was proud of the boys in our fleet during that engagement. - They knew just what their guns could do, and not one shot was - wasted. Their conduct was wonderful. It was inspiring. It was - magnificent. Men who can stand behind big guns and face a black - storm of shells and projectiles as coolly as though nothing was - occurring; men who could laugh because a shell had missed hitting - them; men who could bet one another on shots and lay odds in the - midst of the horrible crashing; men who could not realize that - they were in danger—such men are wonders, and we have a whole - navy of wonders. - - ADMIRAL W. S. SCHLEY. - - -HOBSON’S DARING DEED. - -Let your tones of voice be strong and bold, not boisterous, and give to -the most spirited lines full force. You are depicting a daring deed, and -it must not be done in a weak, timid, hesitating way, but with strong -utterance and emphasis. The sinking of the steam collier Merrimac was a -famous exploit. - - Thunder peal and roar and rattle of the ships in line of battle, - Rumbling noise of steel volcanoes hurling metal from the shore, - Drowned the sound of quiet speaking and the creaking, creaking, creaking - Of the steering-gear that turned her toward the narrow harbor door. - - On the hulk was calm and quiet, deeper for the shoreward riot; - Dumb they watched the fountain streaming; mute they heard the waters - hiss, - Till one laughed and murmured, “Surely it was worth while rising early - For a fireworks exhibition of such character as this.” - - Down the channel the propeller drove her as they tried to shell her - From the dizzy heights of Morro and Socapa parapet; - She was torn and she was battered, and her upper works were shattered - By the bursting of the missiles that in air above her met. - - Parallels of belching cannon marked the winding course she ran on, - And they flashed through morning darkness like a giant’s flaming teeth; - Waters steaming, boiling, churning; rows of muzzles at each turning; - Mines like geysers spouting after and before her and beneath. - - Not a man was there who faltered; not a theory was altered - Of the detailed plan agreed on—not a doubt was there expressed; - This was not a time for changing, deviating, re-arranging; - Let the great God help the wounded, and their courage save the rest. - - And they won. But greater glory than the winning is the story - Of the foeman’s friendly greeting of that valiant captive band; - Speech of his they understood not, talk to him in words they could not; - But their courage spoke a language that all men might understand. - - -GENERAL WHEELER AT SANTIAGO. - -“Fighting Joe,” as he was familiarly called, was one of the most -conspicuous and heroic figures in the battles fought around Santiago. -Recite this tribute to the hero with feeling, and show by looks, tone -and gestures that you appreciate the patriotism and valor of the famous -commander of cavalry. - - Into the thick of the fight he went, pallid and sick and wan, - Borne in an ambulance to the front, a ghostly wisp of a man; - But the fighting soul of a fighting man, approved in the long ago, - Went to the front in that ambulance, and the body of Fighting Joe. - - Out from the front they were coming back, smitten of Spanish shells— - Wounded boys from the Vermont Hills and the Alabama dells; - “Put them into this ambulance; I’ll ride to the front,” he said, - And he climbed to the saddle and rode right on, that little old - ex-Confed. - - From end to end of the long blue ranks rose up the ringing cheers, - And many a powder-blackened face was furrowed with sudden tears, - As with flashing eyes and gleaming sword, and hair and beard of snow, - Into the hell of shot and shell rode little old Fighting Joe! - - Sick with fever and racked with pain, he could not stay away, - For he heard the song of the yester-years in the deep-mouthed cannon’s - bay— - He heard in the calling song of the guns there was work for him to do, - Where his country’s best blood splashed and flowed ’round the old Red, - White and Blue. - - Fevered body and hero heart! This Union’s heart to you - Beats out in love and reverence—and to each dear boy in blue - Who stood or fell ’mid the shot and shell, and cheered in the face of the - foe, - As, wan and white, to the heart of the fight rode little old Fighting - Joe! - - JAMES LINDSAY GORDON. - - -THE FLAG GOES BY. - - Hats off! - Along the street there comes - A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, - A flash of color beneath the sky: - Hats off! - The flag is passing by! - - Blue and crimson and white it shines - Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines, - Hats off! - The colors before us fly! - But more than the flag is passing by, - - Sea-fights and land-fights grim and great - Fought to make and to save the state; - Cheers of victory on dying lips; - Weary marches and sinking ships; - Days of plenty and years of peace - March of a strong land’s swift increase; - Equal justice, right and law, - Stately honor and reverend awe; - - Sign of a nation great and strong, - To ward her people from foreign wrong; - Pride and glory and honor, all - Live in the colors to stand or fall. - Hats off! - - -IN MANILA BAY. - -A graphic description of the great naval battle of Manila and Admiral -Dewey’s overwhelming victory. Unless this recital is delivered in an -animated, exultant manner, and with great oratorical force, the grand -power of the description will be weakened, if not entirely lost. Put your -whole soul into it. - - On the broad Manila Bay - The Spanish cruisers lay, - In the shelter of their forts upon the shore; - And they dared their foes to sail - Through the crashing iron hail - Which the guns from decks and battlements would pour. - - All the harbor ways were missed, - And along the channel blind - Slept the wild torpedoes, dreaming dreams of wrath. - Yea! the fiery hates of hell - Lay beneath the ocean’s swell, - Like a thousand demons ambushed in the path. - - Breasting fierce Pacific gales, - Lo! a little squadron sails, - And the Stars and Stripes are floating from its spars. - It is friendless and alone, - Aids and allies it has none, - But a dauntless chorus sings its dauntless tars: - - “We’re ten thousand miles from home; - Ocean’s wastes and wave and foam - Shut us from the land we love so far away. - We have ne’er a friendly port - For retreat as last resort, - But we’ll beard the ships of Spain in their own bay. - - “They have mines beneath the sea, - They have forts upon their lee, - They have everything to aid them in the fray; - But we’ll brave their hidden mines, - And we’ll face their blazing lines; - Yes! We’ll beard the ships of Spain in their own bay. - - “If we’re worsted in the fight, - We shall perish in the right— - No hand will wipe the dews of death away. - The wounded none will tend, - For we’ve not a single friend; - But we’ll beard the ships of Spain in their own bay. - - “No ironclads we sail, - Only cruisers light and frail, - With no armor plates to turn the shells away. - All the battleships now steer - In another hemisphere, - But we’ll beard the ships of Spain in their own bay. - - “Ho! Remember now the Maine! - Up! And smite the ships of Spain! - Let them not forget for years this first of May! - Though hell blaze up from beneath, - Forward through the cannon’s breath, - When Dewey leads into Manila Bay.” - - There, half-way round the world, - Swift and straight the shots were hurled, - And a handful of bold sailors won the day. - Never since earth was begun - Has a braver deed been done - Than when Dewey sailed into Manila Bay. - - God made for him a path - Through the mad torpedoes’ wrath, - From their slumbers never wakened into play. - When dawn smote the east with gold, - Spaniards started to behold - Dewey and his gallant fleet within their bay. - - Then from forts and warships first - Iron maledictions burst, - And the guns with tongues of flame began to pray; - Like demons out of hell - The batteries roar and yell, - While Dewey answers back across the bay. - - O Gods! it was a sight, - Till the smoke, as black as night, - Hid the fire-belching ships from light of day. - When it lifted from the tide, - Smitten low was Spanish pride, - And Dewey was the master of their bay. - - Where the awful conflict roared, - And red blood in torrents poured, - There the Stars and Stripes are waving high to-day. - Dewey! Hero strong and grand! - Shout his name through every land! - For he sunk the ships of Spain in their own bay. - - CHARLES WADSWORTH, JR. - - -MY SOLDIER BOY. - - When night comes on, when morning breaks, they rise, - Those earnest prayers by faithful lips oft said, - And pierce the blue which shrouds the inner skies: - “God guard my boy; God grant he is not dead!” - “My soldier boy—where is he camped to-night?” - “God guard him waking, sleeping or in fight!” - - Far, far away where tropic suns cast down - Their scorching rays, where sultry damp airs rise - And haunting breath of sickness holds its own, - A homesick boy, sore wounded, suffering lies. - “Mother! Mother!” is his ceaseless cry. - “Come, mother, come, and see me ere I die!” - - Where is war’s glory? Ask the trumpet’s blare, - The marching columns run to bitter strife; - Ask of the raw recruit who knows as yet - Naught of its horrors, naught of its loss of life; - Ask not the mother; weeping for her son, - She knows the heart-aches following victories won. - - -THE YANKEES IN BATTLE. - - For courage and dash there is no parallel in history to this - action of the Spanish Admiral. He came, as he knew, to absolute - destruction. There was one single hope. That was that the Spanish - ship Cristobal Colon would steam faster than the American ship - Brooklyn. The spectacle of two torpedo-boat destroyers, paper - shells at best, deliberately steaming out in broad daylight in - the face of the fire of battleships can only be described in one - way. It was Spanish, and it was ordered by the Spanish General - Blanco. The same may be said of the entire movement. - - In contrast to the Spanish fashion was the cool, deliberate - Yankee work. The American squadron was without sentiment - apparently. The ships went at their Spanish opponents and - literally tore them to pieces. Admiral Cervera was taken aboard - the Iowa from the Gloucester, which had rescued him, and he - was received with a full Admiral’s guard. The crew of the Iowa - crowded aft over the turrets, half naked and black with powder, - as Cervera stepped over the side bareheaded. The crew cheered - vociferously. The Admiral submitted to the fortunes of war with a - grace that proclaimed him a thoroughbred. - - The officers of the Spanish ship Vizcaya said they simply could - not hold their crews at the guns on account of the rapid fire - poured upon them. The decks were flooded with water from the - fire hose, and the blood from the wounded made this a dark red. - Fragments of bodies floated in this along the gun deck. Every - instant the crack of exploding shells told of new havoc. - - The torpedo boat Ericsson was sent by the flagship to the help - of the Iowa in the rescue of the Vizcaya’s crew. Her men saw a - terrible sight. The flames, leaping out from the huge shot holes - in the Vizcaya’s sides, licked up the decks, sizzling the flesh - of the wounded who were lying there shrieking for help. Between - the frequent explosions there came awful cries and groans from - the men pinned in below. This carnage was chiefly due to the - rapidity of the American fire. - - From two 6-pounders 400 shells were fired in fifty minutes. Up in - the tops the marines banged away with 1-pounders, too excited to - step back to duck as the shells whistled over them. One gunner - of a secondary battery under a 12-inch gun was blinded by smoke - and saltpetre from the turret, and his crew were driven off, but - sticking a wet handkerchief over his face, with holes cut for his - eyes, he stuck to his gun. - - Finally, as the 6-pounders were so close to the 8-inch turret as - to make it impossible to stay there with safety, the men were - ordered away before the big gun was fired, but they refused to - leave. When the 3-inch gun was fired, the concussion blew two - men of the smaller gun’s crew ten feet from their guns and threw - them to the deck as deaf as posts. Back they went again, however, - and were again blown away, and finally had to be dragged away - from their stations. Such bravery and such dogged determination - under the heavy fire were of frequent occurrence on all the ships - engaged. - - CAPTAIN R. D. EVANS. - - -THE BANNER BETSEY MADE. - -The first American flag, including the thirteen stars and stripes, was -made by Mrs. Betsey Ross, a Quaker lady of Philadelphia. Recite these -lines in an easy, conversational manner, yet with animation. In this and -similar recitations never let your voice sink down into your throat, as -if you were just ready to faint away. Your delivery should never be dull, -least of all in patriotic pieces. - - We have nicknamed it “Old Glory” - As it floats upon the breeze, - Rich in legend, song and story - On the land and on the seas; - Far above the shining river, - Over mountain, glen and glade - With a fame that lives forever - Streams the banner Betsey made. - - Once it went from her, its maker, - To the glory of the wars, - Once the modest little Quaker - Deftly studded it with stars; - And her fingers, swiftly flying - Through the sunshine and the shade, - Welded colors bright, undying, - In the banner Betsey made. - - When at last her needle rested - And her cherished work was done - Went the banner, love invested, - To the camps of Washington; - And the glorious continentals - In the morning light arrayed - Stood in ragged regimentals - ’Neath the banner Betsey made. - - How they cheered it and its maker, - They the gallant sons of Mars, - How they blessed the little Quaker - And her flag of stripes and stars; - ’Neath its folds, the foemen scorning, - Glinted bayonets and blade, - And the breezes of the morning - Kissed the banner Betsey made. - - Years have passed, but still in glory - With a pride we love to see, - Laureled with a nation’s glory - Waves the emblem of the free; - From the rugged pines of Northland - To the deep’ning everglade, - In the sunny heart of Southland - Floats the banner Betsey made. - - A protector all have found it - And beneath it stands no slave, - Freemen brave have died around it - On the land and on the wave; - In the foremost front of battle - Borne by heroes not afraid, - ’Mid the musket’s rapid rattle, - Soared the banner Betsey made. - - Now she sleeps whose fingers flying - With a heart to freedom true - Mingled colors bright, undying— - Fashioned stars and field of blue; - It will lack for no defenders - When the nation’s foes invade, - For our country rose to splendor - ’Neath the banner Betsey made. - - T. C. HARBAUGH. - - -OUR FLAG. - - Now can the world once more the glory see - Of this our flag, emblem of liberty. - Now can the tyrant quake with direst fear - As o’er his land our banners shall appear. - - No selfish aim shall lead our flag astray, - No base desire shall point our banner’s way; - Each star has told a tale of noble deed, - Each stripe shall mean from strife a nation free. - - Our glorious past when first with thirteen stars - On field of blue with white and bright red bars, - Our flag led on in battle’s fierce array, - And freed the land from mighty Britain’s sway. - - And since this time when first it was unfurled, - Our flag has proved the noblest in the world. - From Cuba’s shore out to Manila Bay - Its mighty folds protecting fly to-day. - - Beneath this flag with patriotic pride - For freedom’s cause great men have gladly died - Our noblest sons beneath its folds so free - In conflict died for Cuba’s liberty. - - Float on, dear flag, our nation’s greatest joy, - Thy starry folds no despot shall destroy; - Stretch out thy arms till war forever cease, - And all the world is universal peace. - - CHAS. F. ALSOP. - - -THAT STARRY FLAG OF OURS. - - Unfurl the starry banner, - Till with loving eyes we view - The stars and stripes we honor - And the folds of azure blue - - ’Tis the pride of all our nation - And the emblem of its powers— - The gem of all creation - Is that starry flag of ours. - - Then raise aloft “Old Glory,” - And its colors bright surround, - In battle fierce and gory, - Or in peace with honor bound. - - Let it float from spire and steeple, - And from house-tops, masts and towers, - For the banner of the people - Is that starry flag of ours. - - Now, behold it, bright and peerless, - In the light of freedom’s sky; - See its colors floating, fearless - As the eagle soaring high. - - And amid the cannon’s rattle - And the bullets’ deadly showers, - Ten million men will battle - For that starry flag of ours. - - -THE NEGRO SOLDIER. - -In reciting this piece give stress and emphasis to the words, “the Tenth -at La Quasina.” You are praising the valor of this regiment, and should -not do it in a doubtful or hesitating manner. - - We used to think the negro didn’t count for very much— - Light-fingered in the melon patch, and chicken yard, and such; - Much mixed in point of morals and absurd in point of dress, - The butt of droll cartoonists and the target of the press; - But we’ve got to reconstruct our views on color, more or less, - Now we know about the Tenth at La Quasina! - - When a rain of shot was falling, with a song upon his lips, - In the horror where such gallant lives went out in death’s eclipse, - Face to face with Spanish bullets, on the slope of San Juan, - The negro soldier showed himself another type of man; - Read the story of his courage, coldly, carelessly, who can— - The story of the Tenth at La Quasina! - - We have heaped the Cuban soil above their bodies, black and white— - The strangely sorted comrades of that grand and glorious fight— - And many a fair-skinned volunteer goes whole and sound to-day - For the succor of the colored troops, the battle records say, - And the feud is done forever, of the blue coat and the gray— - All honor to the Tenth at La Quasina! - - B. M. CHANNING. - - -DEEDS OF VALOR AT SANTIAGO. - -To be delivered with full, ringing tones. You are an exultant patriot, -picturing the glorious deeds of our American army. This selection affords -opportunity for very effective gestures. - - Who cries that the days of daring are those that are faded far, - That never a light burns planet-bright to be hailed as the hero’s star? - Let the deeds of the dead be laureled, the brave of the elder years, - But a song, we say, for the men of to-day who have proved themselves - their peers! - - High in the vault of the tropic sky is the garish eye of the sun, - And down with its crown of guns a-frown looks the hill-top to be won; - There is the trench where the Spaniard lurks, his hold and his - hiding-place, - And he who would cross the space between must meet death face to face. - - The black mouths belch and thunder, and the shrapnel shrieks and flies; - Where are the fain and the fearless, the lads with the dauntless eyes? - Will the moment find them wanting! Nay, but with valor stirred! - Like the leashed hound on the coursing-ground they wait but the - warning word. - - “Charge!” and the line moves forward, moves with a shout and a swing, - While sharper far than the cactus-thorn is the spiteful bullet’s sting. - Now they are out in the open, and now they are breasting the slope, - While into the eyes of death they gaze as into the eyes of hope. - - Never they wait nor waver, but on they clamber and on, - With “Up with the flag of the stripes and stars, and down with the flag - of the Don!” - What should they bear through the shot-rent air but rout to the ranks - of Spain, - For the blood that throbs in their hearts is the blood of the boys of - Anthony Wayne! - - See, they have taken the trenches! Where are the foemen? Gone! - And now “Old Glory” waves in the breeze from the heights of San Juan! - And so, while the dead are laureled, the brave of the elder years, - A song, we say, for the men of to-day who have proved themselves their - peers! - - CLINTON SCOLLARD. - - -A RACE FOR DEAR LIFE. - - The battleships Brooklyn, Oregon and Texas pushed ahead after the - Spanish ships Colon and Almirante Oquendo, which were now running - the race of their lives along the coast. When Admiral Cervera’s - flagship, the Almirante Oquendo, suddenly headed in shore, she - had the Brooklyn and Oregon abeam and the Texas astern. The - Brooklyn and Oregon pushed on after the Cristobal Colon, which - was making fine time, and which looked as if she might escape, - leaving the Texas to finish the Almirante Oquendo. This work did - not take long. The Spanish ship was already burning. Just as - the Texas got abeam of her she was shaken by a loud and mighty - explosion. - - The crew of the Texas started to cheer. “Don’t cheer, because the - poor devils are dying!” called Captain Philip, and the Texas left - the Almirante Oquendo to her fate to join in the chase of the - Cristobal Colon. - - That ship, in desperation, was ploughing the waters at a rate - that caused the fast Brooklyn trouble. The Oregon made great - speed for a battleship, and the Texas made the effort of her - life. Never since her trial trip had she made such time. The - Brooklyn might have proved a match to the Cristobal Colon in - speed, but was not supposed to be her match in strength. - - It would never do to allow even one of the Spanish ships to get - away. Straight into the west the strongest chase of modern times - took place. The Brooklyn headed the pursuers. She stood well out - from the shore in order to try to cut off the Cristobal Colon at - a point jutting out into the sea far ahead. The Oregon kept a - middle course about a mile from the cruiser. The Desperate Don - ran close along the shore, and now and then he threw a shell of - defiance. The old Texas kept well up in the chase under forced - draught for over two hours. - - The fleet Spaniard led the Americans a merry chase, but she had - no chance. The Brooklyn gradually forged ahead, so that the - escape of the Cristobal Colon was cut off. The Oregon was abeam - of the Colon then, and the gallant Don gave it up. He headed for - the shore, and five minutes later down came the Spanish flag. - None of our ships were then within a mile of her, but her escape - was cut off. The Texas, Oregon and Brooklyn closed in on her, and - stopped their engines a few hundred yards away. - - With the capture of the Cristobal Colon the battle was ended, - and there was great rejoicing on all our ships. Meantime the New - York, with Admiral Sampson on board, and the Vixen were coming up - on the run. Commodore Schley signalled to Admiral Sampson: “We - have won a great victory.” - - -PATRIOTISM OF AMERICAN WOMEN. - - The maid who binds her warrior’s sash - With smile that well her pain dissembles, - The while beneath her drooping lash - One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, - Though heaven alone records the tear, - And fame shall never know her story, - Her heart has shed a drop as dear - As e’er bedewed the field of glory! - - The wife who girds her husband’s sword, - Mid little ones who weep or wonder, - And bravely speaks the cheering word, - What though her heart be rent asunder, - Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear - The bolts of death around him rattle, - Hath shed as sacred blood as e’er - Was poured upon the field of battle! - - The mother who conceals her grief - While to her breast her son she presses, - Then breathes a few brave words and brief, - Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, - With no one but her secret God - To know the pain that weighs upon her - Sheds holy blood as e’er the sod - Received on Freedom’s field of honor! - - THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. - - -OUR COUNTRY’S CALL. - -There is a strain of gladness, a tone of rejoicing in this selection, -which requires a spirited delivery and full volume of voice. Patriotic -emotions should always be expressed in an exultant, joyous manner by -voice, attitude and gestures. - - The clouds grew dark as the people paused, - A people of peace and toil, - And there came a cry from all the sky: - “Come, children of mart and soil, - Your mother needs you—hear her voice; - Though she has not a son to spare, - She has spoken the word that ye all have heard, - Come, answer ye everywhere!” - - They need no urging to stir them on. - They yearn for no battle cry; - At the word that their country calls for men - They throw down hammer and scythe and pen, - And are ready to serve and die! - From the North, from the South, from East, from West, - Hear the thrill of the rumbling drum! - - Under one flag they march along, - With their voices swelling a single song, - Here they come, they come, they come! - List! the North men cheer the men from the South - And the South returns the cheer; - There is no question of East or West, - For hearts are a-tune in every breast, - ’Tis a nation answering here. - - It is elbow to elbow and knee to knee, - One land for each and for all, - And the veterans’ eyes see their children rise - To answer their country’s call. - They have not forgotten—God grant not so! - (Ah, we know of the graves on the hill.) - But these eager feet make the old hearts beat, - And the old eyes dim and fill! - - The Past sweeps out, and the Present comes— - A Present that all have wrought! - And the sons of these sires, at the same campfires, - Cheer one flag where their fathers fought! - Yes, we know of the graves on the Southern hills - That are filled with the Blue and the Gray. - - We know how they fought and how they died, - We honor them both there side by side, - And they’re brothers again to-day. - Brothers again—thank God on high! - (Here’s a hand-clasp all around.) - The sons of one race now take their place - On one common and holy ground. - - RICHARD BARRY. - - -THE STORY OF SEVENTY-SIX. - - What heroes from the woodland sprung, - When, through the fresh awakened land, - The thrilling cry of freedom rung, - And to the work of warfare strung - The yeoman’s iron hand! - - Hills flung the cry to hills around, - And ocean-mart replied to mart, - And streams, whose springs were yet unfound, - Pealed far away the startling sound - Into the forest’s heart. - - Then marched the brave from rocky steep, - From mountain river swift and cold; - The borders of the stormy deep, - The vales where gathered waters sleep, - Sent up the strong and bold— - - As if the very earth again - Grew quick with God’s creating breath, - And, from the sods of grove and glen, - Rose ranks of lion-hearted men - To battle to the death. - - The wife, whose babe first smiled that day, - The fair fond bride of yestereve, - And aged sire and matron gray, - Saw the loved warriors haste away, - And deemed it sin to grieve. - - Already had the strife begun; - Already blood on Concord’s plain - Along the springing grass had run, - And blood had flowed at Lexington, - Like brooks of April rain. - - That death-stain on the vernal sward - Hallowed to freedom all the shore; - In fragments fell the yoke abhorred— - The footstep of a foreign lord - Profaned the soil no more. - - W. C. BRYANT. - - -THE ROLL CALL. - -Speak the names of persons in this recitation, exactly as you would if -you were the orderly calling the roll, or the private in the ranks who is -answering. The general character of the selection is pathetic; recite it -with subdued and tender force. - - “Corporal Green!” the orderly cried; - “Here!” was the answer, loud and clear, - From the lips of a soldier who stood near, - And “Here!” was the word the next replied. - - “Cyrus Drew!”—then a silence fell— - This time no answer followed the call; - Only his rear man had seen him fall, - Killed or wounded he could not tell. - - There they stood in the falling light, - These men of battle, with grave, dark looks, - As plain to be read as open books, - While slowly gathered the shades of night. - - The fern on the hill-side was splashed with blood, - And down in the corn where the poppies grew, - Were redder stains than the poppies knew; - And crimson dyed was the river’s flood. - - For the foe had crossed from the other side, - That day in the face of a murderous fire, - That swept them down in its terrible ire; - And their life-blood went to color the tide. - - “Herbert Kline!” At the call, there came - Two stalwart soldiers into the line, - Bearing between them this Herbert Kline, - Wounded and bleeding to answer his name. - - “Ezra Kerr!”—and a voice answered “Here!” - “Hiram Kerr!”—but no man replied. - They were brothers, these two, the sad wind sighed, - And a shudder crept through the cornfield near. - - “Ephraim Deane!”—then a soldier spoke; - “Deane carried our Regiment’s colors,” he said; - “Where our Ensign was shot, I left him dead, - Just after the enemy wavered and broke. - - “Close to the roadside his body lies. - I paused a moment and gave him a drink. - He murmured his mother’s name I think, - And death came with it and closed his eyes.” - - ’Twas a victory; yes, but it cost us dear— - For that company’s roll, when called at night, - Of A HUNDRED men who went into the fight - The number was few that answered “Here!” - - -THE BATTLE-FIELD. - -This striking poem is an American classic. Two lines alone, if there were -no others, are enough to give it immortal fame: - - “Truth crushed to earth, shall rise again; - The eternal years of God are hers.” - - Once this soft turf, this rivulet’s sands, - Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, - And fiery hearts and armed hands - Encountered in the battle cloud. - - Ah! never shall the land forget - How gushed the life-blood of her brave, - Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, - Upon the soil they sought to save. - - Now all is calm, and fresh, and still, - Alone the chirp of flitting bird, - And talk of children on the hill, - And bell of wandering kine are heard. - - Soon rested those who fought; but thou - Who mightiest in the harder strife - For truths which men receive not now, - Thy warfare only ends with life. - - A friendless warfare! lingering long - Through weary day and weary year. - A wild and many-weaponed throng - Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. - - Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, - And blench not at thy chosen lot. - The timid good may stand aloof, - The sage may front—yet faint thou not. - - Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, - The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; - For with thy side shall dwell, at last, - The victory of endurance born. - - Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; - The eternal years of God are hers; - But Error, wounded, writes with pain, - And dies among his worshippers. - - Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, - When they who helped thee flee in fear, - Die full of hope and manly trust, - Like those who fell in battle here. - - Another hand thy sword shall wield, - Another hand the standard wave, - Till from the trumpet’s mouth is pealed - The blast of triumph o’er thy grave. - - W. C. BRYANT. - - -THE SINKING OF THE MERRIMAC. - -The sinking of the ship Merrimac at the mouth of Santiago harbor, by -Lieutenant Hobson, was one of the most daring exploits on record. It is -here told in his own words. Although this selection is simple narrative, -you should recite it in a spirited manner, with strong tones of voice, -and show by your demeanor and expression that you are relating an event -worthy of admiration. - -The figures printed in the text refer you to the corresponding numbers -in “Typical Gestures,” near the beginning of Part II. of this volume. -Use other gestures that are appropriate, not in a stiff awkward way, but -gracefully, making them appear, not forced, but natural. - - I did not miss the entrance to the harbor, I turned east until I - got my bearings and then made[6] for it, straight in. Then came - the firing. It was grand,[11] flashing out first from one side of - the harbor and then from the other, from those big guns[2] on the - hills, the Spanish ship Vizcaya, lying inside the harbor, joining - in. - - Troops from Santiago had rushed down when the news of the - Merrimac’s coming was telegraphed and soon lined the foot of - the cliff, firing wildly across and killing each other with the - cross fire. The Merrimac’s steering gear broke as she got to - Estrella Point. Only three of the torpedoes on her side exploded - when I touched the button. A huge submarine mine caught her full - amidships, hurling the water high in the air and tearing[25] a - great rent in the Merrimac’s side. - - Her stern ran upon Estrella Point. Chiefly owing to the work done - by the mine she began to sink slowly. At that time she was across - the channel, but before she settled the tide drifted her around. - We were all aft, lying on the deck. Shells[13] and bullets - whistled around. Six-inch shells from the Vizcaya came tearing - into the Merrimac, crashing into wood and iron and passing clear - through while the plunging shots from the fort broke through her - decks. - - “Not a man[3] must move,” I said, and it was only owing to the - splendid discipline of the men that we all were not killed, as - the shells rained over us and minutes became hours of suspense. - The men’s mouths grew parched, but we must lie there till - daylight, I told them. Now and again one or the other of the men - lying with his face glued to the deck and wondering whether the - next shell would not come our way would say: “Hadn’t[3] we better - drop off now, sir?” but I said: “Wait[12] till daylight.” - - It would have been impossible to get the catamaran or raft - anywhere but to the shore, where the soldiers stood shooting, and - I hoped that by daylight we might be recognized and saved. The - grand old Merrimac kept sinking. I wanted to go forward and see - the damage done there, where nearly all the fire was directed, - but one man said that if I rose it would draw all the fire on - the rest. So I lay motionless. It was splendid[11] the way these - men behaved. The fire[6] of the soldiers, the batteries and the - Vizcaya was awful. - - When the water came up on the Merrimac’s decks the raft floated - amid the wreckage, but she was still made fast to the boom, and - we caught hold[23] of the edge and clung on, our heads only being - above water. One man thought we were safer right[6] there; it was - quite light; the firing had ceased, except that on the launch - which followed to rescue us, and I feared[20] Ensign Powell and - his men had been killed. - - A Spanish launch[2] came toward the Merrimac. We agreed to - capture her and run. Just as she came close the Spaniards saw us, - and a half-dozen marines jumped up and pointed[2] their rifles - at our heads. “Is there any officer in that boat to receive a - surrender of prisoners of war?” I shouted. An old man leaned out - under the awning and held out[6] his hand. It was the Spanish - Admiral Cervera. - - -THE STARS AND STRIPES. - -The following glowing tributes to our American Flag afford excellent -selections for any patriotic occasion. They make suitable recitations for -children at celebrations on the Fourth of July, Washington’s birthday, -etc. - - -NOTHING BUT FLAGS. - - Nothing but flags! but simple flags! - Tattered and torn, and hanging in rags; - And we walk beneath them with careless tread, - Nor think of the hosts of the mighty dead - Who have marched beneath them in days gone by - With a burning cheek and a kindling eye, - And have bathed their folds with their young life’s tide, - And dying blessed them, and blessing died. - - -OUR BANNER. - - Hail to our banner brave - All o’er the land and wave - To-day unfurled. - No folds to us so fair - Thrown on the summer air; - None with thee compare - In all the world. - - W. P. TILDEN. - - -STAINED BY THE BLOOD OF HEROES. - - Around the globe, through every clime, - Where commerce wafts or man hath trod, - It floats aloft, unstained with crime, - But hallowed by heroic blood. - - -THE TATTERED ENSIGN. - - We seek not strife, but when our outraged laws - Cry for protection in so just a cause, - Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! - Long has it waved on high, - And many an eye has danced to see - That banner in the sky. - Nail to the mast her holy flag, - Set every threadbare sail, - And give her to the God of storms, - The lightning and the gale! - - OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. - - -THE FLAG OF OUR UNION. - - The union of lakes, the union of lands, - The union of States none can sever; - The union of hearts, the union of hands, - And the flag of our Union forever. - - GEORGE P. MORRIS. - - -FLAG OF THE FREE. - - When freedom from her mountain height - Unfurled her standard to the air, - She tore the azure robe of night - And set the stars of glory there. - - She mingled with its gorgeous dyes - The milky baldric of the skies, - And striped its pure, celestial white - With streakings of the morning light. - - Flag of the free hearts’ hope and home! - By angel hands to valor given! - Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, - And all thy hues were born in heaven. - - Forever float that standard sheet, - Where breathes the foe, but falls before us, - With freedom’s soil beneath our feet, - And freedom’s banner streaming o’er us. - - JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. - - -STAND BY THE FLAG. - - Stand by the flag! on land and ocean billow; - By it your fathers stood, unmoved and true; - Living, defended; dying, from their pillow, - With their last blessing, passed it on to you. - The lines that divide us are written in water, - The love that unite us is cut deep as rock. - - Thus by friendship’s ties united, - We will change the bloody past - Into golden links of union, - Blending all in love at last. - Thus beneath the one broad banner, - Flag of the true, the brave, the free, - We will build anew the Union, - Fortress of our Liberty. - - -FREEDOM’S STANDARD. - - God bless our star-gemmed banner; - Shake its folds out to the breeze; - From church, from fort, from house-top, - Over the city, on the seas; - - The die is cast, the storm at last - Has broken in its might; - Unfurl the starry banner, - And may God defend the right. - - Then bless our banner, God of hosts! - Watch o’er each starry fold; - ’Tis Freedom’s standard, tried and proved - On many a field of old; - - And Thou, who long has blessed us, - Now bless us yet again, - And crown our cause with victory, - And keep our flag from stain. - - -RODNEY’S RIDE. - -On the third day of July, 1776, Cæsar Rodney rode on horseback from St. -James’s Neck, below Dover, Delaware, to Philadelphia, in a driving rain -storm, for the purpose of voting for the Declaration of Independence. - -This is an excellent reading for quick changes of voice and manner. To -render it well will prove that you have genuine dramatic ability. You -should study this selection carefully and practice it until you are the -complete master of it. It requires a great deal of life and spirit, with -changes of voice from the low tone to the loud call. For the most part -your utterance should be rapid, yet distinct. - - In that soft mid-land where the breezes bear - The North and South on the genial air, - Through the county of Kent, on affairs of State, - Rode Cæsar Rodney, the delegate. - - Burly and big, and bold and bluff, - In his three-cornered hat and coat of snuff, - A foe to King George and the English State, - Was Cæsar Rodney, the delegate. - - Into Dover village he rode apace, - And his kinsfolk knew from his anxious face, - It was matter grave that brought him there, - To the counties three upon the Delaware. - - “Money and men we must have,” he said, - “Or the Congress fails and our cause is dead, - Give us both and the King shall not work his will, - We are men, since the blood of Bunker Hill.” - - Comes a rider swift on a panting bay; - “Ho, Rodney, ho! you must save the day, - For the Congress halts at a deed so great, - And your vote alone may decide its fate.” - - Answered Rodney then: “I will ride with speed; - It is Liberty’s stress; it is Freedom’s need.” - “When stands it?” “To-night.” “Not a moment to spare, - But ride like the wind from the Delaware.” - - “Ho, saddle the black! I’ve but half a day, - And the Congress sits eighty miles away— - But I’ll be in time, if God grants me grace, - To shake my fist in King George’s face.” - - He is up; he is off! and the black horse flies - On the northward road ere the “God-speed” dies, - It is gallop and spur, as the leagues they clear, - And the clustering mile-stones move a-rear. - - It is two of the clock; and the fleet hoofs fling - The Fieldsboro’ dust with a clang and a cling, - It is three; and he gallops with slack rein where - The road winds down to the Delaware. - - Four; and he spurs into New Castle town, - From his panting steed he gets him down— - “A fresh one quick! and not a moment’s wait!” - And off speeds Rodney, the delegate. - - It is five; and the beams of the western sun - Tinge the spires of Wilmington, gold and dun; - Six; and the dust of Chester street - Flies back in a cloud from his courser’s feet. - - It is seven; the horse-boat, broad of beam, - At the Schuylkill ferry crawls over the stream— - And at seven fifteen by the Rittenhouse clock, - He flings his rein to the tavern jock. - - The Congress is met; the debate’s begun, - And Liberty lags for the vote of one— - When into the hall, not a moment late, - Walks Cæsar Rodney, the delegate. - - Not a moment late! and that half day’s ride - Forwards the world with a mighty stride; - For the act was passed; ere the midnight stroke - O’er the Quaker City its echoes woke. - - At Tyranny’s feet was the gauntlet flung; - “We are free!” all the bells through the colonies rung, - And the sons of the free may recall with pride, - The day of Delegate Rodney’s ride. - - -A SPOOL OF THREAD. - -The last battle of the Civil War was at Brazos, Texas, May 13, 1865, -resulting in the surrender of the Texan army. Recite this in a -conversational tone, as you would tell any story. - - Well, yes, I’ve lived in Texas, since the spring of ’61; - And I’ll relate the story, though I fear, sir, when ’tis done, - ’Twill be little worth your hearing, it was such a simple thing, - Unheralded in verses that the grander poets sing. - - There had come a guest unbidden, at the opening of the year, - To find a lodgment in our hearts, and the tenant’s name was fear; - For secession’s drawing mandate was a call for men and arms, - And each recurring eventide but brought us fresh alarms. - - They had notified the General that he must yield to fate, - And all the muniments of war surrender to the State, - But he sent from San Antonio an order to the sea - To convey on board the steamer all the fort’s artillery. - - Right royal was his purpose, but the foe divined his plan, - And the wily Texans set a guard to intercept the man - Detailed to bear the message; they placed their watch with care - That neither scout nor citizen should pass it unaware. - - Well, this was rather awkward, sir, as doubtless you will say, - But the Major who was chief of staff resolved to have his way, - Despite the watchful provost guard; so he asked his wife to send, - With a little box of knick-knacks, a letter to her friend; - And the missive held one sentence I remember to this day: - “The thread is for your neighbor, Mr. French, across the way.” - - He dispatched a youthful courier. Of course, as you will know, - The Texans searched him thoroughly and ordered him to show - The contents of the letter. They read it o’er and o’er, - But failed to find the message they had hindered once before. - - So it reached the English lady, and she wondered at the word, - But gave the thread to Major French, explaining that she heard - He wished a spool of cotton. And great was his surprise - At such a trifle sent, unasked, through leagues of hostile spies. - - “There’s some hidden purpose, doubtless, in the curious gift,” he said. - Then he tore away the label, and inside the spool of thread - Was Major Nichols’ order, bidding him convey to sea - All the arms and ammunition from Fort Duncan’s battery. - “Down to Brazon speed your horses,” thus the Major’s letter ran, - “Shift equipments and munitions, and embark them if you can.” - - Yes, the transfer was effected, for the ships lay close at hand, - Ere the Texans guessed their purpose they had vanished from the land. - Do I know it for a fact, sir? ’Tis no story that I’ve read— - I was but a boy in war time, and I carried him the thread. - - SOPHIE E. EASTMAN. - - -THE YOUNG PATRIOT, ABRAHAM LINCOLN. - - One Fourth of July, when Abraham Lincoln was a boy, he heard - an oration by old ’Squire Godfrey. As in the olden days, the - ’Squire’s oration was full of Washington; inspiring in the heart - of young Lincoln an enthusiasm that sent him home burning with a - desire to know more of the great man who heretofore had seemed - more of a dream than a reality. Learning that a man some six - miles up the creek owned a copy of Washington’s life, Abraham did - not rest that night until he had footed the whole distance and - begged the loan of the book. - - “Sartin, sartin,” said the owner. “The book is fairly well worn, - but no leaves are missin’, and a lad keen enough to read as to - walk six miles to get a book, ought to be encouraged.” - - It was a much-worn copy of Weem’s “Life of Washington,” and - Abe, thanking the stranger for his kindness, walked back under - the stars, stopping every little while to catch a glimpse of - the features of the “Father of his Country” as shown in the - frontispiece. - - After reaching home, tired as he was, he could not close his - eyes until, by the light of a pine knot, he had found out all - that was recorded regarding the boyhood of the man who had so - suddenly sprung into prominence in his mind. In that busy harvest - season he had no time to read or study during the day, but every - night, long after the other members of the family were sleeping - peacefully, Abe lay, stretched upon the floor with his book on - the hearth, reading, reading, reading, the pine knot in the - fireplace furnishing all the light he needed, the fire within - burning with such intense heat as to kindle a blaze that grew - and increased until it placed him in the highest seat of his - countrymen. - - What a marvelous insight into the human heart did Abraham Lincoln - get between the covers of that wonderful book. The little cabin - grew to be a paradise as he learned from the printed pages the - story of one great man’s life. The barefooted boy in buckskin - breeches, so shrunken that they reached only halfway between the - knee and ankle, actually asked himself whether there might not be - some place—great and honorable, awaiting him in the future. - - Before this treasured “Life of Washington” was returned to its - owner, it met with such a mishap as almost to ruin it. The book, - which was lying on a board upheld by two pegs, was soaked by the - rain that dashed between the logs one night, when a storm beat - with unusual force against the north end of the cabin. Abraham - was heartbroken over the catastrophe, and sadly carried the book - back to its owner, offering to work to pay for the damage done. - The man consented, and the borrower worked for three days at - seventy-five cents a day, and thus himself became the possessor - of the old, faded, stained book—a book that had more to do with - shaping his life, perhaps, than any one other thing. - - Abe had not expected to take the book back with him, but merely - to pay for the damage done, and was surprised when the man handed - it to him when starting. He was very grateful, however, and when - he gave expression to his feelings the old man said, patting him - on the shoulder: “You have earned it, my boy, and are welcome to - it. It’s a mighty fine thing to have a head for books, just as - fine to have a heart for honesty, and if you keep agoin’ as you - have started, maybe some day you’ll git to be President yourself. - President Abraham Lincoln! That would sound fust rate, fust rate, - now, wouldn’t it, sonny?” - - “It’s not a very handsome name, to be sure,” Abe replied, looking - as though he thought such an event possible, away off, in the - future. “No, it’s not a very very handsome name, but I guess - it’s about as handsome as its owner,” he added, glancing at the - reflection of his homely features in the little old-fashioned, - cracked mirror hanging opposite where he sat. - - “Handsome is that handsome does,” said the old farmer, nodding - his gray head in an approving style. “Yes, indeedy; handsome - deeds make handsome men. We hain’t a nation of royal idiots, with - one generation of kings passin’ away to make room for another. - No, sir-ee. In this free country of ourn, the rich and poor - stand equal chances, and a boy without money is just as likely - to work up to the Presidential chair as the one who inherits - from his parents lands and stocks and money and influence. It’s - brains that counts in this land of liberty, and Abraham Lincoln - has just as much right to sit in the highest seat in the land as - Washington’s son himself, if he had had a son, which he hadn’t.” - - Who knows but the future War President of this great Republic - received his first aspirations from this kindly neighbor’s words? - - -COLUMBIA. - - Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise; - The queen of the world, and the child of the skies; - Thy genius commands thee; with rapture behold, - While ages on ages thy splendors unfold. - Thy reign is the last and the noblest of time, - Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime; - Let the crimes of the east ne’er encrimson thy name, - Be freedom, and science, and virtue, thy fame. - - To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire, - Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire; - Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend, - And triumph pursue them, and glory attend. - A world is thy realm—for a world be thy laws— - Enlarged as thine empire, and just as thy cause; - On freedom’s broad basis thy empire shall rise, - Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies. - - Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display, - The nations admire, and the ocean obey; - Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, - And the east and the south yield their spices and gold. - As the day-spring, unbounded, thy splendor shall flow, - And earth’s little kingdoms before thee shall bow, - While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurled, - Hush the tumult of war, and give peace to the world. - - Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o’erspread, - From war’s dread confusion, I pensively strayed, - The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired; - The winds ceased to murmur; the thunder expired; - Perfumes, as of Eden, flowed sweetly along, - And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung, - “Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise; - The queen of the world, and the child of the skies.” - - JOEL BARLOW. - - -CAPTAIN MOLLY AT MONMOUTH. - -One of the famous battles of the Revolution was that of Monmouth, New -Jersey, which was fought on the 28th of June, 1778. General Washington -was in command on the American side, and General Sir Henry Clinton was -commander-in-chief of the British forces. The British troops met with -a decisive defeat. The wife of an Irish gunner on the American side -who went by the name of Molly had followed her husband to the battle. -During the engagement he was shot down. With the most undaunted heroism -Molly rushed forward and took his place at the gun and remained there -throughout the thickest of the fight. In reciting this graphic account of -her courageous deed you should show great spirit and animation, pointing -her out as she takes her husband’s place, and in glowing manner describe -her patriotism. - - On the bloody field of Monmouth flashed the guns of Greene and Wayne; - Fiercely roared the tide of battle; thick the sward was heaped with - slain. - Foremost, facing death and danger, Hessian horse and grenadier, - In the vanguard, fiercely fighting, stood an Irish cannoneer. - - Loudly roared his iron cannon, mingling ever in the strife, - And beside him, firm and daring, stood his faithful Irish wife; - Of her bold contempt of danger, Greene and Lee’s brigade could tell, - Every one knew “Captain Molly,” and the army loved her well. - - Surged the roar of battle round them; swiftly flew the iron hail; - Forward dashed a thousand bayonets that lone battery to assail; - From the foeman’s foremost columns swept a furious fusilade, - Mowing down the massed battalions in the ranks of Greene’s brigade. - - Faster and faster worked the gunner, soiled with powder, blood and dust; - English bayonets shone before him, shot and shell around him burst; - Still he fought with reckless daring, stood and manned her long and well, - Till at last the gallant fellow dead beside his cannon fell. - - With a bitter cry of sorrow, and a dark and angry frown, - Looked that band of gallant patriots at their gunner stricken down. - “Fall back, comrades! It is folly thus to strive against the foe.” - “Not so!” cried Irish Molly, “we can strike another blow!” - - Quickly leaped she to the cannon in her fallen husband’s place, - Sponged and rammed it fast and steady, fired it in the foeman’s face. - Flashed another ringing volley, roared another from the gun; - “Boys, hurrah!” cried gallant Molly, “for the flag of Washington!” - - Greene’s brigade, though shorn and shattered, slain and bleeding half - their men, - When they heard that Irish slogan, turned and charged the foe again; - Knox and Wayne and Morgan rally, to the front they forward wheel, - And before their rushing onset Clinton’s English columns reel. - - Still the cannon’s voice in anger rolled and rattled o’er the plain, - Till they lay in swarms around it mingled heaps of Hessian slain. - “Forward! charge them with the bayonet!” ’twas the voice of Washington; - And there burst a fiery greeting from the Irishwoman’s gun. - - Monckton falls; against his columns leap the troops of Wayne and Lee, - And before their reeking bayonets Clinton’s red battalions flee; - Morgan’s rifles, fiercely flashing, thin the foe’s retreating ranks, - And behind them, onward dashing, Ogden hovers on their flanks. - - Fast they fly, those boasting Britons, who in all their glory came, - With their brutal Hessian hirelings to wipe out our country’s name. - Proudly floats the starry banner; Monmouth’s glorious field is won; - And, in triumph, Irish Molly stands besides her smoking gun. - - WILLIAM COLLINS. - - -DOUGLAS TO THE POPULACE OF STIRLING. - - Hear, gentle friends! ere yet, for me, - Ye break the bands of fealty. - My life, my honor, and my cause, - I tender free to Scotland’s laws. - Are these so weak as must require - The aid of your misguided ire? - Or, if I suffer causeless wrong, - Is then my selfish rage so strong, - My sense of public weal so low, - That, for mean vengeance on a foe, - Those cords of love I should unbind - Which knit my country and my kind? - Oh no! believe, in yonder tower - It will not soothe my captive hour, - To know those spears our foes should dread - For me in kindred gore are red; - To know, in fruitless brawl begun, - For me, that mother wails her son; - For me that widow’s mate expires, - For me, that orphans weep their sires, - That patriots mourn insulted laws, - And curse the Douglas for the cause. - O let your patience ward such ill, - And keep your right to love me still. - - SIR WALTER SCOTT. - - -OUR COUNTRY. - - Our country!—’tis a glorious land! - With broad arms stretched from shore to shore, - The proud Pacific chafes her strand, - She hears the dark Atlantic roar; - And, nurtured on her ample breast, - How many a goodly prospect lies - In Nature’s wildest grandeur drest, - Enamelled with her loveliest dyes. - - Rich prairies, decked with flowers of gold, - Like sunlit oceans roll afar; - Broad lakes her azure heavens behold, - Reflecting clear each trembling star, - And mighty rivers, mountain-born, - Go sweeping onward dark and deep, - Through forests where the bounding fawn - Beneath their sheltering branches leap. - - And, cradled mid her clustering hills, - Sweet vales in dreamlike beauty hide, - Where love the air with music fills; - And calm content and peace abide; - For plenty here her fulness pours - In rich profusion o’er the land, - And sent to seize her generous stores, - There prowls no tyrant’s hireling band. - - Great God! we thank thee for this home— - This bounteous birthland of the free; - Where wanderers from afar may come, - And breathe the air of liberty!— - Still may her flowers untrampled spring, - Her harvests wave, her cities rise; - And yet, till Time shall fold his wing, - Remain Earth’s loveliest paradise! - - W. G. PEABODIE. - - -M’ILRATH OF MALATE. - -Acting Sergeant J. A. McIlrath, Battery H, Third Artillery, Regulars; -enlisted from New York; fifteen years’ service. The heroism of our brave -Regulars in the War with Spain was the theme of universal admiration. -Throw plenty of life and fire into this reading, and avoid a sing-song -tone. - - Yes, yes, my boy, there’s no mistake, - You put the contract through! - You lads with Shafter, I’ll allow, - Were heroes, tried and true; - - But don’t forget the men who fought - About Manila Bay, - And don’t forget brave McIlrath - Who died at Malaté. - - The night was black, save where the forks - Of tropic lightning ran, - When, with a long deep thunder-roar, - The typhoon storm began. - - Then, suddenly above the din, - We heard the steady bay - Of volleys from the trenches where - The Pennsylvanians lay. - - The Tenth, we thought, could hold their own - Against the feigned attack, - And, if the Spaniards dared advance, - Would pay them doubly back. - - But soon we marked the volleys sink - Into a scattered fire— - And, now we heard the Spanish gun - Boom nigher yet and nigher! - - Then, like a ghost, a courier - Seemed past our picket tossed - With wild hair streaming in his face— - “We’re lost—we’re lost—we’re lost.” - - “Front, front—in God’s name—front!” he cried: - “Our ammunition’s gone!” - He turned a face of dazed dismay— - And through the night sped on! - - “Men, follow me!” cried McIlrath, - Our acting Sergeant then; - And when he gave the word he knew - He gave the word to men! - - Twenty there—not one man more— - But down the sunken road - We dragged the guns of Battery H, - Nor even stopped to load! - - Sudden, from the darkness poured - A storm of Mauser hail— - But not a man there thought to pause, - Nor any man to quail! - - Ahead, the Pennsylvanians’ guns - In scattered firing broke; - The Spanish trenches, red with flame, - In fiercer volleys spoke! - - Down with a rush our twenty came— - The open field we passed— - And in among the hard-pressed Tenth - We set our feet at last! - - Up, with a leap, sprang McIlrath, - Mud-spattered, worn and wet, - And, in an instant, there he stood - High on the parapet! - - “Steady, boys! we’ve got ’em now— - Only a minute late! - It’s all right, lads—we’ve got ’em whipped. - Just give ’em volleys straight!” - - Then, up and down the parapet - With head erect he went, - As cool as when he sat with us - Beside our evening tent! - - Not one of us, close sheltered there - Down in the trench’s pen, - But felt that he would rather die - Than shame or grieve him then! - - The fire, so close to being quenched - In panic and defeat, - Leaped forth, by rapid volleys sped, - In one long deadly sheet! - - A cheer went up along the line - As breaks the thunder-call— - But, as it rose, great God! we saw - Our gallant Sergeant fall! - - He sank into our outstretched arms - Dead—but immortal grown; - And Glory brightened where he fell, - And valor claimed her own! - - JOHN JEROME ROONEY. - - -AFTER THE BATTLE. - -If you should read or recite this tragic selection in a dull monotone, -as most persons read poetry, the effect would be ludicrous. The brave -captain is dying. With gasping utterance, signs of weakness and appealing -looks, his words should be delivered. Some of the sentences should be -whispered. Do not attempt to recite this piece until you have mastered it -and can render it with telling effect. It demands the trained powers of a -competent elocutionist. - - “Brave captain! canst thou speak? - What is it thou dost see? - A wondrous glory lingers on thy face, - The night is past; I’ve watched the night with thee. - Knowest thou the place?” - - “_The place?_ ’Tis San Juan, comrade. - Is the battle over? - The victory—the victory—is it won? - My wound is mortal; I know I cannot recover— - The battle for me is done! - - “I never thought it would come to this! - Does it rain? - The musketry! Give me a drink; ah, that is glorious! - Now if it were not for this pain—this pain— - Didst thou say victorious? - - “It would not be strange, would it, if I do wander? - A man can’t remember with a bullet in his brain. - I wish when at home I had been a little fonder— - Shall I ever be well again? - - “It can make no difference whether I go from here or there. - Thou’lt write to father and tell him when I am dead?— - The eye that sees the sparrow fall numbers every hair - Even of this poor head. - - “Tarry awhile, comrade, the battle can wait for thee; - I will try to keep thee but a few brief moments longer; - Thou’lt say good-bye to the friends at home for me?— - If only I were a little stronger! - - “I must not think of it. Thou art sorry for me? - The glory—is it the glory?—makes me blind; - Strange, for the light, comrade, the light I cannot see— - Thou hast been very kind! - - “I do not think I have done so very much evil— - I did not mean it. ‘I lay me down to sleep, - I pray the Lord my soul’—just a little rude and uncivil— - Comrade, why dost thou weep? - - “Oh! if human pity is so gentle and tender— - Good-night, good friends! ‘I lay me down to sleep!’— - Who from a Heavenly Father’s love needs a defender? - ‘My soul to keep!’ - - “‘If I should die before I wake’—comrade, tell mother, - Remember—‘I pray the Lord my soul to take!’ - My musket thou’lt carry back to my little brother - For my dear sake! - - “Attention, company! Reverse arms! Very well, men; my thanks. - Where am I? Do I wander, comrade,—wander again?— - Parade is over. Company E, break ranks! break ranks! - I know it is the pain. - - “Give me thy strong hand; fain would I cling, comrade to thee; - I feel a chill air blown from a far-off shore; - My sight revives; Death stands and looks at me. - What waits he for? - - “Keep back my ebbing pulse till I be bolder grown; - I would know something of the Silent Land; - It’s hard to struggle to the front alone— - Comrade, thy hand. - - “The _reveille_ calls! be strong, my soul, and peaceful; - The Eternal City bursts upon my sight! - The ringing air with ravishing melody is full— - I’ve won the fight! - - “Nay, comrade, let me go; hold not my hand so steadfast; - I am commissioned—under marching orders— - I know the Future—let the Past be past— - _I cross the borders_.” - - -THE GREAT NAVAL BATTLE OF MANILA. - - With the United States Flag Flying at all their mastheads, our - ships moved to the attack in line ahead, with a speed of eight - knots, first passing in front of Manila, where the action was - begun by three batteries mounting guns powerful enough to send - a shell over us at a distance of five miles. The Concord’s guns - boomed out a reply to these batteries with two shots. No more - were fired, because Admiral Dewey could not engage with these - batteries without sending death and destruction into the crowded - city. - - As we neared Cavite two very powerful submarine mines were - exploded ahead of the flagship. The Spaniards had misjudged our - position. Immense volumes of water were thrown high in air by - these destroyers, but no harm was done to our ships. - - Admiral Dewey had fought with Farragut at New Orleans and Mobile - Bay, where he had his first experience with torpedoes. Not - knowing how many more mines there might be ahead, he still kept - on without faltering. No other mines exploded, however, and it is - believed that the Spaniards had only these two in place. - - Only a few minutes later the shore battery at Cavite Point sent - over the flagship a shot that nearly hit the battery in Manila, - but soon the guns got a better range, and the shells began to - strike near us, or burst close aboard from both the batteries and - the Spanish vessels. The heat was intense. Men stripped off all - clothing except their trousers. - - As the Admiral’s flagship, the Olympia, drew nearer all was as - silent on board as if the ship had been empty, except for the - whirr of blowers and the throb of the engines. Suddenly a shell - burst directly over us. From the boatswain’s mate at the after - 5-inch gun came a hoarse cry. “Remember the Maine!” arose from - the throats of five hundred men at the guns. This watchword was - caught up in turrets and fire-rooms, wherever seaman or fireman - stood at his post. - - “Remember the Maine!” had rung out for defiance and revenge. Its - utterance seemed unpremeditated, but was evidently in every man’s - mind, and, now that the moment had come to make adequate reply to - the murder of the Maine’s crew, every man shouted what was in his - heart. - - The Olympia was now ready to begin the fight. “You may fire - when ready, Captain Gridley,” said the Admiral, and at nineteen - minutes of six o’clock, at a distance of 5,500 yards, the - starboard 8-inch gun in the forward turret roared forth a - compliment to the Spanish forts. Presently similar guns from the - Baltimore and the Boston sent 250-pound shells hurtling toward - the Spanish ships Castilla and the Reina Christina for accuracy. - The Spaniards seemed encouraged to fire faster, knowing exactly - our distance, while we had to guess theirs. Their ship and shore - guns were making things hot for us. - - The piercing scream of shot was varied often by the bursting of - time fuse shells, fragments of which would lash the water like - shrapnel or cut our hull and rigging. One large shell that was - coming straight at the Olympia’s forward bridge fortunately fell - within less than one hundred feet away. One fragment cut the - rigging exactly over the heads of some of the officers. Another - struck the bridge gratings in line with it. A third passed just - under Dewey and gouged a hole in the deck. Incidents like these - were plentiful. - - “Capture and destroy Spanish squadron,” were Dewey’s orders. - Never were instructions more effectually carried out. Within - seven hours after arriving on the scene of action nothing - remained to be done. The Admiral closed the day by anchoring - off the city of Manila and sending word to the Governor General - that if a shot was fired from the city at the fleet he would lay - Manila in ashes. - - What was Dewey’s achievement? He steamed into Manila Bay at the - dead hour of the night, through the narrower of the two channels, - and as soon as there was daylight enough to grope his way about - he put his ships in line of battle and brought on an engagement, - the greatest in many respects in ancient or modern warfare. The - results are known the world over—every ship in the Spanish fleet - destroyed, the harbor Dewey’s own, his own ships safe from the - shore batteries, owing to the strategic position he occupied, and - Manila his whenever he cared to take it. - - Henceforth, so long as ships sail and flags wave, high on the - scroll that bears the names of the world’s greatest naval heroes - will be written that of George Dewey. - - -THE SINKING OF THE SHIPS. - -This is an excellent selection for any one who can put dramatic force -into its recital. Picture to your imagination the “Sinking of the -Ships,” and then describe it to your hearers as though the actual scene -were before you. You have command in these words, “Now, sailors, stand -by,” etc.; rapid utterance in these words, “And the Oregon flew,” etc.; -subdued tenderness in the words, “Giving mercy to all,” etc. In short, -the whole piece affords an excellent opportunity for intense dramatic -description. - - Dark, dark is the night; not a star in the sky, - And the Maine rides serenely; what danger is nigh? - Our nation’s at peace with the Kingdom of Spain, - So calmly they rest in the battleship Maine. - But, hark to that roar! See, the water is red! - And the sailor sleeps now with the slime for his bed. - Havana then shook, like the leaves of the trees, - When the tornado rides on the breast of the breeze; - Then people sprang up from their beds in the gloom, - As they’ll spring from their graves at the thunder of doom; - And they rushed through the streets, in their terror and fear, - Crying out as they ran, “Have the rebels come here?” - - “Oh, see how the flame lights the shores of the bay, - Like the red rising sun at the coming of day; - ’Tis a ship in a blaze! ’Tis the battleship Maine! - What means this to us and the Kingdom of Spain? - The eagle will come at that loud sounding roar, - And our flag will fly free over Cuba no more.” - - Dark, dark is the night on the face of the deep, - In the forts all is still; are the soldiers asleep? - Oh, see how that ship glides along through the night; - ’Tis the ghost of the Maine—she has come to the fight; - A flash, and a roar, and a cry of despair; - The eagle has come, for brave Dewey is there. - - Oh, Spaniards, come out, for the daylight has fled, - And look on those ships—look with terror and dread; - The eagle has come, and he swoops to his prey; - Oh, fly, Spaniards, fly, to that creek in the bay! - The eagle has come—“Remember the Maine!” - And the water is red with the blood of the slain. - - They rest for a time—now they sail in again! - Oh, woe, doom and woe, to the kingdom of Spain. - Their ships are ablaze, they are battered and rent, - By the death-dealing shells which our sailors have sent. - Not a man have we lost; yet the battle is o’er, - And their ships ride the bay of Manila no more. - - Dark, silent and dark, on the face of the deep, - A ship glides in there; are the Spaniards asleep? - The channel is mined! Oh, rash sailors beware! - Or that death dealing fiend will spring up from his lair; - He will tear you, and rend you, with wild fiendish roar, - And cast you afar on the bay and the shore! - - They laugh at the danger; what care they for death? - ’Tis only a shock and the ceasing of breath; - Their souls to their Maker, their forms to the wave, - What nation has sons like the home of the brave? - That ship they would steer to the pit of despair, - If duty cried “Onward!” and glory were there. - - The shore is ablaze, but the channel they gain; - A word of command, and the rattle of chain; - A flash—and the Merrimac’s sunk in the bay, - And the Spaniard must leave in the light of the day. - Santiago and Hobson remembered shall be, - While waves the proud flag of the brave and the free. - - The Spaniards sail out—what a glorious sight! - Now, sailors, stand by and prepare for the fight; - O, Glo’ster, in there, pelt the Dons as they fly, - Make us glorious news for the Fourth of July! - And Wainwright remembered the Maine with a roar, - And that shell-battered hulk is a terror no more. - - Then Schley and the Brooklyn were right in the way, - But Sampson had gone to see Shafter, they say; - And the Oregon flew like a fury from hell, - Spreading wreckage and death with the might of her shell; - Then Evans stood out, like a chivalrous knight, - Giving mercy to all at the end of the fight. - - The Colon still flies, but a shell cleaves the air, - Its number is fatal—a cry of despair— - She turns to the shore, she bursts into flame, - And down comes the flag of the kingdom of Spain; - Men float all around, the battle is done, - And their ships are all sunk for the sinking of one. - Not ours is the hand that would strike in the night, - With the fiendish intention to mangle and slay; - We strike at obstruction to freedom and right, - And strike when we strike in the light of the day. - - W. B. COLLISON. - - -PERRY’S CELEBRATED VICTORY ON LAKE ERIE. - - Perry’s famous battle on Lake Erie raised the spirits of the - Americans. The British had six ships, with sixty-three guns. The - Americans had nine ships, with fifty-four guns, and the American - ships were much smaller than the English. At this time Perry, the - American commander, was but twenty-six years of age. His flagship - was the Lawrence. The ship’s watchword was the last charge of the - Chesapeake’s dying Commander—“Don’t give up the ship.” The battle - was witnessed by thousands of people on shore. - - At first the advantage seemed to be with the English. Perry’s - flagship was riddled by English shots, her guns were dismounted - and the battle seemed lost. At the supreme crisis Perry embarked - in a small boat with some of his officers, and under the fire of - many cannon passed to the Niagara, another ship of the fleet, of - which he took command. - - After he had left the Lawrence she hauled down her flag and - surrendered, but the other American ships carried on the battle - with such fierce impetuosity that the English battle-ship in - turn surrendered, the Lawrence was retaken and all the English - ships yielded with the exception of one, which took flight. The - Americans pursued her, took her and came back with the entire - British squadron. In the Capitol at Washington is a historical - picture showing this famous victory. - - In Perry’s great battle on Lake Erie was shown the true stuff - of which American sailors are made. Perry was young, bold and - dashing, but withal, he had the coolness and intrepidity of the - veteran. History records few braver acts than his passage in an - open boat from one ship to another under the galling fire of the - enemy. - - The grand achievements of the American navy are brilliant - chapters in our country’s history. When the time comes for daring - deeds, our gallant tars are equal to the occasion. Coolness - in battle, splendid discipline, perfect marksmanship and a - patriotism that glories in the victory of the Stars and Stripes, - combine to place the officers and men of our navy in the front - rank of the world’s greatest heroes. - - -THE CAPTURE OF QUEBEC. - - General Wolfe, the English commander, saw that he must take - Quebec by his own efforts or not at all. He attempted several - diversions above the city in the hope of drawing Montcalm, the - French commander, from his intrenchments into the open field, - but Montcalm merely sent De Bougainville with fifteen hundred - men to watch the shore above Quebec and prevent a landing. Wolfe - fell into a fever, caused by his anxiety, and his despatches to - his government created the gravest uneasiness in England for the - success of his enterprise. - - Though ill, Wolfe examined the river with eagle eyes to detect - some place at which a landing could be attempted. His energy was - rewarded by his discovery of the cove which now bears his name. - From the shore at the head of this cove a steep and difficult - pathway, along which two men could scarcely march abreast, wound - up to the summit of the heights and was guarded by a small force - of Canadians. - - Wolfe at once resolved to effect a landing here and ascend the - heights by this path. The greatest secrecy was necessary to the - success of the undertaking, and in order to deceive the French as - to his real design, Captain Cook, afterwards famous as a great - navigator, was sent to take soundings and place buoys opposite - Montcalm’s camp, as if that were to be the real point of attack. - The morning of the thirteenth of September was chosen for the - movement, and the day and night of the twelfth were spent in - preparations for it. - - At one o’clock on the morning of the thirteenth a force of about - five thousand men under Wolfe, with Monckton and Murray, set off - in boats from the fleet, which had ascended the river several - days before, and dropped down to the point designated for the - landing. Each officer was thoroughly informed of the duties - required of him, and each shared the resolution of the gallant - young commander, to conquer or to die. As the boats floated - down the stream, in the clear, cool starlight, Wolfe spoke to - his officers of the poet Gray, and of his “Elegy in a Country - Churchyard.” “I would prefer,” said he, “being the author of that - poem to the glory of beating the French to-morrow.” Then in a - musing voice he repeated the lines: - - “The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, - And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave, - Await alike the inexorable hour; - The paths of glory lead but to the grave.” - - In a short while the landing-place was reached, and the fleet, - following silently, took position to cover the landing if - necessary. Wolfe and his immediate command leaped ashore and - secured the pathway. The light infantry, who were carried by the - tide a little below the path, climbed up the side of the heights, - sustaining themselves by clinging to the roots and shrubs which - lined the precipitous face of the hill. They reached the summit - and drove off the picket-guard after a light skirmish. The rest - of the troops ascended in safety by the pathway. Having gained - the heights, Wolfe moved forward rapidly to clear the forest, and - by daybreak his army was drawn up on the Heights of Abraham, in - the rear of the city. - - Montcalm was speedily informed of the presence of the English. - “It can be but a small party come to burn a few houses and - retire,” he answered incredulously. A brief examination satisfied - him of his danger, and he exclaimed in amazement: “Then they have - at last got to the weak side of this miserable garrison. We must - give battle and crush them before mid-day.” - - He at once despatched a messenger for De Bougainville, who was - fifteen miles up the river, and marched from his camp opposite - the city to the Heights of Abraham to drive the English from - them. The opposing forces were about equal in numbers, though the - English troops were superior to their adversaries in discipline, - steadiness and determination. - - The battle began about ten o’clock and was stubbornly contested. - It was at length decided in favor of the English. Wolfe though - wounded several times, continued to direct his army until, as he - was leading them to a final charge, he received a musket ball - in the breast. He tottered and called to an officer near him: - “Support me; let not my brave fellows see me drop.” He was borne - tenderly to the rear, and water was brought him to quench his - thirst. - - At this moment the officer upon whom he was leaning cried out: - “They run! they run!” “Who run?” asked the dying hero, eagerly. - “The French,” said the officer, “give way everywhere.” “What,” - said Wolfe, summoning up his remaining strength, “do they run - already? Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton; bid him march - Webb’s regiment with all speed to Charles River to cut off the - fugitives.” Then a smile of contentment overspreading his pale - features, he murmured: “Now, God be praised, I die happy,” and - expired. He had done his whole duty, and with his life had - purchased an empire for his country. - - JAMES D. MCCABE. - - -LITTLE JEAN. - -_At the battle of the Pyramids, July 21st, A.D. 1798._ - - Burning sands, and isles of palm, and the Mamelukes’ fierce array, - Under the solemn Pyramids, Napoleon saw that day; - “Comrades,” he cried, “from those old heights, Fame watches the deeds - you do, - The eyes of forty centuries are fixed this day on you!” - - They answered him with ringing shouts, they were eager for the fray, - Napoleon held their central square, in front was bold Desaix; - They gave one glance to the Pyramids, one glance to the rich Cairo, - And then they poured a rain of fire upon their charging foe. - - Only a little drummer boy, from the column of Dufarge, - Tottered to where the “Forty-third” stood waiting for their “charge,” - Bleeding—but beating still his call—he said, with tear-dimmed eye: - “I’m but a baby, Forty-third, so teach me how to die!” - - Then Regnier gnawed his long gray beard, and Joubert turned away, - The lad had been the pet of all, they knew not what to say; - “I will not shame you, ‘Forty-third,’ though I am but a child!” - Then Regnier stooped and kissed his face, and shouted loud and wild: - - “Forward! Why are we waiting here? Shall Mamelukes stop our way? - Come, little Jean, and beat the ‘charge,’ and ours shall be the day; - And we will show thee how to die, good boy! good boy! Be brave! - It is not every ‘nine years’ old’ can fill a soldier’s grave!” - - It was as though a spirit spoke, the men to battle flew; - Yet each in passing, cried aloud: “My little Jean, Adieu!” - “Adieu, brave Forty-third, Adieu!” Then proudly beat his drum— - “You’ve showed me how a soldier dies—and little Jean will come!” - - They found him ’mid the slain next day, amid the brave who fell, - Said Regnier, proudly, “My brave Jean, thou learned thy lesson well!” - They hung the medal round his neck, and crossed his childish hands, - And dug for him a little grave in Egypt’s lonely sands. - But, still, the corps his memory keep, and name with flashing eye, - The hero whom the “Forty-third,” in Egypt, taught to die. - - LILLIE E. BARR. - - -THE DEFEAT OF GENERAL BRADDOCK. - - Washington, who, at this time, was a subordinate officer, was - well convinced that the French and Indians were informed of the - movements of the army and would seek to interfere with it before - its arrival at Fort Duquesne, which was only ten miles distant, - and urged Braddock to throw in advance the Virginia Rangers, - three hundred strong, as they were experienced Indian fighters. - - Braddock angrily rebuked his aide, and as if to make the rebuke - more pointed, ordered the Virginia troops and other provincials - to take position in the rear of the regulars. - - In the meantime the French at Fort Duquesne had been informed - by their scouts of Braddock’s movements, and had resolved to - ambuscade him on his march. Early on the morning of the ninth - a force of about two hundred and thirty French and Canadians - and six hundred and thirty-seven Indians, under De Beaujeu, - the commandant at Fort Duquesne, was despatched with orders - to occupy a designated spot and attack the enemy upon their - approach. Before reaching it, about two o’clock in the afternoon, - they encountered the advanced force of the English army, under - Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas Gage, and at once attacked them with - spirit. - - The English army at this moment was moving along a narrow road, - about twelve feet in width, with scarcely a scout thrown out in - advance or upon the flanks. The engineer who was locating the - road was the first to discover the enemy, and called out: “French - and Indians!” Instantly a heavy fire was opened upon Gage’s - force, and his indecision allowed the French and Indians to seize - a commanding ridge, from which they maintained their attack with - spirit. - - The regulars were quickly thrown into confusion by the heavy - fire and the fierce yells of the Indians, who could nowhere be - seen, and their losses were so severe and sudden that they became - panic-stricken. - - The only semblance of resistance maintained by the English was - by the Virginia Rangers, whom Braddock had insulted at the - beginning of the day’s march. Immediately upon the commencement - of the battle, they had adopted the tactics of the Indians, and - had thrown themselves behind trees, from which shelter they were - rapidly picking off the Indians. Washington entreated Braddock - to follow the example of the Virginians, but he refused, and - stubbornly endeavored to form them in platoons under the fatal - fire that was being poured upon them by their hidden assailants. - Thus through his obstinacy many useful lives were lost. - - The officers did not share the panic of the men, but behaved - with the greatest gallantry. They were the especial marks of the - Indian sharpshooters, and many of them were killed or wounded. - Two of Braddock’s aides were seriously wounded, and their duties - devolved upon Washington in addition to his own. He passed - repeatedly over the field, carrying the orders of the commander - and encouraging the men. When sent to bring up the artillery, he - found it surrounded by Indians, its commander, Sir Peter Halket, - killed, and the men standing helpless from fear. - - Springing from his horse, he appealed to the men to save the - guns, pointed a field-piece and discharged it at the savages and - entreated the gunners to rally. He could accomplish nothing by - either his words or example. The men deserted the guns and fled. - In a letter to his brother, Washington wrote: “I had four bullets - through my coat, two horses shot under me, yet escaped unhurt, - though death was levelling my companions on every side around me.” - - JAMES D. MCCABE. - - - - -DESCRIPTIVE AND DRAMATIC RECITATIONS - - -QUICK! MAN THE LIFE-BOAT! - -This selection demands great vivacity and intense dramatic expression. -Each reference to the life-boat requires rapid utterance, elevated pitch -and strong tones of command. Point to the life-boat; you are to see it, -and make your audience see it. They will see it in imagination if you do; -that is, if you speak and act as if you stood on the shore and actually -saw the life-boat hurrying to the rescue. - - Quick! man the life-boat! See yon bark - That drives before the blast? - There’s a rock ahead, the fog is dark, - And the storm comes thick and fast. - Can human power, in such an hour, - Avert the doom that’s o’er her? - Her mainmast’s gone, but she still drives on - To the fatal reef before. - The life-boat! Man the life-boat! - - Quick! man the life-boat! hark! the gun - Booms through the vapory air; - And see! the signal flags are on, - And speak the ship’s despair. - That forked flash, that pealing crash, - Seemed from the wave to sweep her: - She’s on the rock, with a terrible shock— - And the wail comes louder and deeper, - The life-boat! Man the life-boat! - - Quick! man the life-boat! See—the crew - Gaze on their watery grave: - Already, some, a gallant few, - Are battling with the wave; - And one there stands, and wrings his hand - As thoughts of home come o’er him; - For his wife and child, through the tempest wild, - He sees on the heights before him. - The life-boat! Man the life-boat! - - Speed, speed the life-boat! Off she goes! - And, as they pulled the oar, - From shore and ship a cheer arose, - That startled ship and shore. - Life-saving ark! yon fated bark - Has human lives within her; - And dearer than gold is the wealth untold, - Thou’lt save if thou canst win her. - On, life-boat! Speed thee, life-boat! - - Hurrah! the life-boat dashes on, - Though darkly the reef may frown; - The rock is there—the ship is gone - Full twenty fathoms down. - But cheered by hope, the seamen cope - With the billows single-handed; - They are all in the boat!—hurrah! they’re afloat; - And now they are safely landed - By the life-boat! Cheer the life-boat! - - -BEAUTIFUL HANDS. - - As I remember the first fair touch - Of those beautiful hands that I love so much, - I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled - Kissing the glove that I found unfilled— - When I met your gaze and the queenly bow - As you said to me laughingly, “Keep it now!” - And dazed and alone in a dream I stand - Kissing the ghost of your beautiful hand. - - When first I loved in the long ago, - And held your hand as I told you so— - Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss, - And said, “I could die for a hand like this!” - Little I dreamed love’s fullness yet - Had I to ripen when eyes were wet, - And prayers were vain in their wild demands - For one warm touch of your beautiful hands. - - Beautiful hands! O, beautiful hands! - Could you reach out of the alien lands - Where you are lingering, and give me to-night - Only a touch—were it ever so light— - My heart were soothed, and my weary brain - Would lull itself into rest again; - For there is no solace the world commands - Like the caress of your beautiful hands. - - JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. - - -THE BURNING SHIP. - -The general character of this selection is intensely dramatic. It is a -most excellent piece for any one who has the ability and training to -do it full justice. The emotions of agony, horror and exultation are -here, and should be made prominent. Let the cry of “Fire!” ring out in -startling tones, and let your whole manner correspond with the danger and -the excitement of the scene. The rate throughout should be rapid. - -The figures in the text refer you to the corresponding numbers of Typical -Gestures, at the beginning of Part II of this volume. Insert other -gestures of your own. - - The storm o’er the ocean flew furious and fast, - And the waves rose in foam at the voice of the blast, - And heavily[2] labored the gale-beaten ship, - Like a stout-hearted swimmer, the spray at his lip; - And dark[21] was the sky o’er the mariner’s path, - Save when the wild lightning illumined in wrath, - A young mother knelt in the cabin below, - And pressing her babe to her bosom of snow, - She prayed to her God,[20] ’mid the hurricane wild, - “O Father, have mercy, look down on my child!” - - It passed—the fierce whirlwind careered on its way, - And the ship like an arrow[25] divided the spray; - Her sails glimmered white in the beams of the moon, - And the wind up aloft seemed to whistle a tune—to whistle a tune. - - There was joy[16] in the ship as she furrowed the foam, - For fond hearts within her were dreaming of home. - The young mother pressed her fond babe to her breast, - And the husband sat cheerily down by her side, - And looked with delight on the face of his bride. - - “Oh,[16] happy,” said he, “when our roaming is o’er, - We’ll dwell in our cottage that stands by the shore. - Already in fancy its roof I descry, - And the smoke of its hearth curling up to the sky; - Its garden so green, and its vine-covered wall; - The kind friends[9] awaiting to welcome us all, - And the children that sport by the old oaken tree.” - - Ah gently the ship glided over the sea! - Hark![13] what was that? Hark! Hark to the shout! - “Fire!”[10] Then a tramp and a rout, and a tumult of voices - uprose on the air;— - And the mother knelt[8] down, and the half-spoken prayer, - That she offered to God in her agony wild, - Was, “Father, have mercy, look down on my child!” - She flew to her husband,[1] she clung to his side, - Oh there was her refuge whate’er might betide. - - “Fire!”[10] “Fire!” It was raging above and below— - And the cheeks of the sailors grew pale at the sight, - And their eyes glistened wild in the glare of the light, - ’Twas vain o’er the ravage the waters to drip; - The pitiless flame was the lord of the ship, - - And the smoke in thick wreaths mounted higher and higher. - “O God,[20] it is fearful to perish by fire.” - Alone with destruction, alone on the sea, - “Great Father of mercy, our hope is in thee.” - - Sad at heart and resigned, yet undaunted and brave, - They lowered the boat,[2] a mere speck on the wave. - First entered the mother, enfolding her child: - It knew she caressed it, looked[16] upward and smiled. - - Cold, cold was the night as they drifted away, - And mistily dawned o’er the pathway the day— - And they prayed for the light, and at noontide about, - The sun[16] o’er the waters shone joyously out. - - “Ho! a sail![7] Ho! a sail!” cried the man at the lee, - “Ho! a sail!”[7] and they turned their glad eyes o’er the sea. - “They see us, they see us,[21] the signal is waved! - They bear down upon us, they bear down upon us: Huzza! we are saved.” - - -THE UNKNOWN SPEAKER. - - It is the Fourth day of July, 1776. - - In the old State House in the city of Philadelphia are gathered - half a hundred men to strike from their limbs the shackles of - British despotism. There is silence in the hall—every face is - turned toward the door where the committee of three, who have - been out all night penning a parchment, are soon to enter. The - door opens, the committee appears. The tall man with the sharp - features, the bold brow, and the sand-hued hair, holding the - parchment in his hand, is a Virginia farmer, Thomas Jefferson. - That stout-built man with stern look and flashing eye, is - a Boston man, one John Adams. And that calm-faced man with - hair drooping in thick curls to his shoulders, that is the - Philadelphia printer, Benjamin Franklin. - - The three advance to the table. - - The parchment is laid there. - - Shall it be signed or not? A fierce debate ensues, Jefferson - speaks a few bold words. Adams pours out his whole soul. The - deep-toned voice of Lee is heard, swelling in syllables of - thunder like music. But still there is doubt, and one pale-faced - man whispers something about axes, scaffolds and a gibbet. - - “Gibbet?” echoed a fierce, bold voice through the hall. “Gibbet? - They may stretch our necks on all the gibbets in the land; they - may turn every rock into a scaffold; every tree into a gallows; - every home into a grave, and yet the words of that parchment - there can never die! They may pour our blood on a thousand - scaffolds, and yet from every drop that dyes the axe a new - champion of freedom will spring into birth. The British King may - blot out the stars of God from the sky, but he cannot blot out - His words written on that parchment there. The works of God may - perish. His words never! - - “The words of this declaration will live in the world long - after our bones are dust. To the mechanic in his workshop they - will speak hope; to the slave in the mines, freedom; but to the - coward-kings, these words will speak in tones of warning they - cannot choose but hear. - - “They will be terrible as the flaming syllables on Belshazzar’s - wall! They will speak in language startling as the trump of the - Archangel, saying: ‘You have trampled on mankind long enough! - At last the voice of human woe has pierced the ear of God, and - called His judgment down! You have waded to thrones through - rivers of blood; you have trampled on the necks of millions of - fellow-beings. Now kings, now purple hangmen, for _you_ come the - days of axes and gibbets and scaffolds.’ - - “Such is the message of that declaration to mankind, to the - kings of earth. And shall we falter now? And shall we start back - appalled when our feet touch the very threshold of Freedom? - - “Sign that parchment! Sign, if the next moment the gibbet’s rope - is about your neck! Sign, if the next minute this hall rings with - the clash of the falling axes! Sign by all your hopes in life or - death as men, as husbands, as fathers, brothers, sign your names - to the parchment, or be accursed forever! - - “Sign, and not only for yourselves, but for all ages, for that - parchment will be the textbook of freedom—the Bible of the rights - of men forever. Nay, do not start and whisper with surprise! It - is truth, your own hearts witness it; God proclaims it. Look at - this strange history of a band of exiles and outcasts, suddenly - transformed into a people—a handful of men weak in arms—but - mighty in God-like faith; nay, look at your recent achievements, - your Bunker Hill, your Lexington, and then tell me, if you can, - that God has not given America to be free! - - “It is not given to our poor human intellect to climb to the - skies, and to pierce the councils of the Almighty One. But - methinks I stand among the awful clouds which veil the brightness - of Jehovah’s throne. - - “Methinks I see the recording angel come trembling up to that - throne to speak his dread message. ‘Father, the old world is - baptized in blood. Father, look with one glance of thine eternal - eye, and behold evermore that terrible sight, man trodden - beneath the oppressor’s feet, nations lost in blood, murder - and superstition walking hand in hand over the graves of their - victims, and not a single voice to whisper hope to man!’ - - “He stands there, the angel, trembling with the record of human - guilt. But hark! The voice of Jehovah speaks out from the awful - cloud: ‘Let there be light again! Tell my people, the poor and - oppressed, to go out from the old world, from oppression and - blood, and build my altar in the new!’ - - “As I live, my friends, I believe that to be His voice! Yes, - were my soul trembling on the verge of eternity, were this hand - freezing in death, were this voice choking in the last struggle, - I would still with the last impulse of that soul, with the last - wave of that hand, with the last gasp of that voice, implore you - to remember this truth—God has given America to be free! Yes, - as I sank into the gloomy shadows of the grave, with my last - faint whisper I would beg you to sign that parchment for the - sake of the millions whose very breath is now hushed in intense - expectation as they look up to you for the awful words, ‘You are - free!’” - - The unknown speaker fell exhausted in his seat; but the work was - done. - - A wild murmur runs through the hall. “Sign!” There is no doubt - now. Look how they rush forward! Stout-hearted John Hancock has - scarcely time to sign his bold name before the pen is grasped - by another—another and another. Look how the names blaze on the - parchment! Adams and Lee, Jefferson and Carroll, Franklin and - Sherman. - - And now the parchment is signed. - - Now, old man in the steeple, now bare your arm and let the bell - speak! Hark to the music of that bell! Is there not a poetry - in that sound, a poetry more sublime than that of Shakespeare - and Milton? Is there not a music in that sound that reminds you - of those sublime tones which broke from angel lips when the - news of the child Jesus burst on the hill-tops of Bethlehem? - For the tones of that bell now come pealing, pealing, pealing, - “Independence now and Independence forever.” - - -CHILD LOST. - -It used to be a custom to have a man go through the town ringing a -bell and “crying” any thing was lost. You should imitate the crier, at -the same time swinging your hand as if ringing a bell. This selection -requires a great variety in the manner, pitch of the voice and gestures -of the reader. - - “Nine,” by the Cathedral clock! - Chill the air with rising damps; - Drearily from block to block - In the gloom the bellman tramps— - “Child lost! Child lost! - Blue eyes, curly hair, - Pink dress—child lost!” - - Something in the doleful strain - Makes the dullest listener start; - And a sympathetic pain - Shoot to every feeling heart. - Anxious fathers homeward haste, - Musing with paternal pride - Of their daughters, happy-faced, - Silken-haired and sparkling-eyed. - Many a tender mother sees - Younglings playing round her chair, - Thinking, “If ’twere one of these, - How could I the anguish bear?” - - “Ten,” the old Cathedral sounds; - Dark and gloomy are the streets; - Still the bellman goes his rounds, - Still his doleful cry repeats— - “Oh, yes! oh, yes! - Child lost! Blue eyes, - Curly hair, pink dress— - Child lost! Child lost!” - - “Can’t my little one be found? - Are there any tidings, friend?” - Cries the mother, “Is she drowned? - Is she stolen? God forfend! - Search the commons, search the parks, - Search the doorway and the halls, - Search the alleys, foul and dark, - Search the empty market stalls. - Here is gold and silver—see! - Take it all and welcome, man; - Only bring my child to me, - Let me have my child again.” - - Hark! the old Cathedral bell - Peals “eleven,” and it sounds - To the mother like a knell; - Still the bellman goes his rounds. - “Child lost! Child lost! - Blue eyes, curly hair, - Pink dress—child lost!” - - Half aroused from dreams of peace, - Many hear the lonesome call, - Then into their beds of ease - Into deeper slumber fall; - But the anxious mother cries, - “Oh, my darling’s curly hair! - Oh, her sweetly-smiling eyes! - Have you sought her everywhere? - Long and agonizing dread - Chills my heart and drives me wild— - What if Minnie should be dead? - God, in mercy, find my child!” - - “Twelve” by the Cathedral clock; - Dimly shine the midnight lamps; - Drearily from block to block, - In the rain the bellman tramps. - “Child lost! Child lost! - Blue eyes, curly hair, - Pink dress—child lost!” - - -THE CAPTAIN AND THE FIREMAN. - - Spin us a yarn of the sea, old man, - About some captain bold, - Who steered his ship and made her slip - When the sea and the thunder rolled; - Some tale that will stir the blood, you know, - Like the pirate tales of old. - - “It was the old ‘tramp’ Malabar, - With coal for Singapore; - ‘The captain stood upon the bridge’ - And loud the wind did roar, - And far upon the starboard bow - We saw the stormy shore. - - “The night came down as black as pitch; - More loud the wind did blow; - The waves made wreck around the deck - And washed us to and fro; - But half the crew, though wild it blew, - Were sleeping down below. - - “‘The captain stood upon the bridge,’ - And I was at the wheel; - The waves were piling all around, - Which made the old ‘tank’ reel, - When—smash! there came an awful crash - That shook the ribs of steel. - - “‘We’ve struck a wreck!’ ‘Stand by the pumps!’ - Her plates were gaping wide; - And out her blood streamed in the flood, - The wreck had bruised her side; - Her coal poured out—her inky blood— - And stained the foaming tide. - - “‘The captain stood upon the bridge,’ - The firemen down below; - He saw and knew what he could do, - While they but heard the blow. - The bravest man is he that stands - Against an unseen foe. - - “‘All hands on deck!’ was now the cry, - ‘For we are sinking fast; - Our boats were stove by that last wave— - This night will be our last; - There’s not a plank on board the tank, - She’s steel, from keel to mast.’ - - “‘The captain stood upon the bridge;’ - All hands were now on deck; - The waves went down, the sun came up, - We saw the drifting wreck, - And there, upon the starboard bow, - The land—a distant speck. - - “‘Who’ll go below and fire her up?” - The captain loud did roar. - ‘We’re dumping coal with every roll, - But, see! the storm is o’er; - And I will stand upon the bridge, - And guide her to the shore.’ - - “‘I’ll go for one,’ said old ‘Tramp Jim,’ - ‘And shovel in the coal. - I’ll go,’ said Jim, all black and grim, - ‘Though death be down that hole; - I’ve heard a man who dies for men - Is sure to save his soul. - - “‘So turn the steam into that mill, - And let it spin around, - And I will feed the old thing coal - Till you be hard aground; - I’ll go alone, there’s none to moan, - If old ‘Tramp Jim’ be drowned!’ - - “He went below and fired her up, - The steam began to roar; - ‘The captain stood upon the bridge’ - And steered her for the shore; - The ship was sinking by the bow, - Her race was nearly o’er. - - “The water rose around poor Jim, - Down in the fire-room there. - ‘I’ll shovel in the coal,’ he gasped, - ‘’Till the water wets me hair— - The Lord must take me as I am, - I have no time for prayer.’ - - “‘The captain stood upon the bridge.’ - (Oh, hang that phrase, I say! - ‘The firemen bravely stood below,’ - Suits more this time of day,) - Old Jim kept shovelling in the coal, - Though it was time to pray. - - “And every soul was saved, my lads, - Why do I speak it low? - The Lord took Jim, all black and grim, - And made him white as snow. - Some say, ‘the captain on the bridge,’ - But I say, ‘Jim below!’” - - W. B. COLLISON. - - -THE FACE ON THE FLOOR. - -This is one of many recitations in this volume that have proved their -popularity by actual test. “The Face on the Floor,” when well recited, -holds the hearers spell-bound. - - ’Twas a balmy summer evening, and a goodly crowd was there - That well nigh filled Joe’s barroom on the corner of the square, - And as songs and witty stories came through the open door; - A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor. - - “Where did it come from?” some one said; - “The wind has blown it in.” - “What does it want?” another cried, “Some whiskey, beer or gin?” - “Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach’s equal to the work, - I wouldn’t touch him with a fork, he’s as filthy as a Turk.” - - This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace, - In fact, he smiled as if he thought he’d struck the proper place; - “Come, boys, I know there’s kindly hearts among so good a crowd; - To be in such good company would make a deacon proud. - - “Give me a drink! That’s what I want, I’m out of funds, you know, - When I had cash to treat the gang, this hand was never slow; - What? You laugh as if you thought this pocket never held a sou; - I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any one of you. - - “There, thanks, that braced me nicely, God bless you, one and all, - Next time I pass this good saloon I’ll make another call; - Give you a song? No, I can’t do that, my singing days are past, - My voice is cracked, my throat’s worn out and my lungs are going fast. - - “Say, give me another whiskey and I’ll tell you what I’ll do— - I’ll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too; - That I was ever a decent man, not one of you would think, - But I was, some four or five years back, say, give us another drink. - - “Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame— - Such little drinks to a bum like me are miserably tame; - Five fingers—there, that’s the scheme—and corking whiskey, too, - Well, boys, here’s luck, and landlord, my best regards to you. - - “You’ve treated me pretty kindly and I’d like to tell you how - I came to be the dirty sot you see before you now; - As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle, frame and health, - And, but for a blunder, ought to have made considerable wealth. - - “I was a painter—not one that daubed on bricks and wood. - But an artist, and, for my age, was rated pretty good; - I worked hard at my canvas, and was bidding fair to rise; - For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes. - - “I made a picture, perhaps you’ve seen, ’tis called the Chase of Fame; - It brought me fifteen hundred pounds, and added to my name; - And then, I met a woman—now comes the funny part— - With eyes that petrified my brain, and sunk into my heart. - - “Why don’t you laugh? ’Tis funny that the vagabond you see - Could ever love a woman and expect her love for me; - But ’twas so, and for a month or two her smile was freely given; - And when her loving lips touched mine, it carried me to heaven. - - “Boys, did you ever see a girl for whom your soul you’d give, - With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live, - With eyes that would beat the Kohinoor and a wealth of chestnut hair? - If so, ’twas she, for there never was another half so fair. - - “I was working on a portrait one afternoon in May, - Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine who lived across the way, - And Madeline admired it, and much to my surprise, - Said that she’d like to know the man that had such dreamy eyes. - - “It didn’t take long to know him, and before the month had flown; - My friend had stole my darling, and I was left alone; - And ere a year of misery had passed above my head, - The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished and was dead. - - “That’s why I took to drink, boys. Why, I never saw you smile, - I thought you’d be amused and laughing all the while; - Why, what’s the matter, friend? There’s a teardrop in your eye, - Come, laugh like me, ’tis only babes and women that should cry. - - “Say, boys, if you’ll give me another whiskey, I’ll be glad, - And I’ll draw right here, the picture of the face that drove me mad; - Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the base-ball score— - And you shall see the lovely Madeline upon the bar-room floor.” - - Another drink, and with chalk in hand, the vagabond began - To sketch a face that well might buy the soul of any man, - Then, as he placed another lock upon the shapely head, - With a fearful shriek he leaped and fell across the picture—_dead_. - - H. ANTOINE D’ARCY. - - -THE ENGINEER’S STORY. - - Han’som, stranger? Yes, she’s purty an’ ez peart ez she can be. - Clever? Wy! she ain’t no chicken, but she’s good enough fur me. - What’s her name? ’Tis kind o’ common, yit I ain’t ashamed to tell, - She’s ole “Fiddler” Filkin’s daughter, an’ her dad he calls her “Nell.” - - I wuz drivin’ on the “Central” jist about a year ago - On the run from Winnemucca up to Reno in Washoe. - There’s no end o’ skeery places. ’Taint a road fur one who dreams, - With its curves an’ awful tres’les over rocks an’ mountain streams. - - ’Twuz an afternoon in August, we hed got behind an hour - An’ wuz tearin’ up the mountain like a summer thunder-shower, - Round the bends an’ by the hedges ’bout ez fast ez we could go, - With the mountain-peaks above us an’ the river down below. - - Ez we come nigh to a tres’le ’cros’t a holler, deep an’ wild, - Suddenly I saw a baby, ’twuz the stationkeeper’s child, - Toddlin’ right along the timbers with a bold and fearless tread - Right afore the locomotive, not a hundred rods ahead. - - I jist jumped an’ grabbed the throttle an’ I fa’rly held my breath, - Fur I felt I couldn’t stop her till the child wuz crushed to death, - When a woman sprang afore me like a sudden streak o’ light, - Caught the boy and twixt the timbers in a second sank from sight. - - I jist whis’l’d all the brakes on. An’ we worked with might an’ main - Till the fire flew from the drivers, but we couldn’t stop the train, - An’ it rumbled on above her. How she screamed ez we rolled by - An’ the river roared below us—I shall hear her till I die! - - Then we stop’t; the sun was shinin’; I ran back along the ridge - An’ I found her—dead? No! livin’! She wuz hangin’ to the bridge - Wher she drop’t down thro’ the cross-ties with one arm about a sill - An’ the other round the baby, who wuz yellin’ fur to kill! - - So we saved ’em. She wuz gritty. She’s ez peart ez she kin be— - Now we’re married; she’s no chicken, but she’s good enough fur me, - An’ ef eny ask who owns her, wy! I ain’t ashamed to tell— - She’s my wife. Ther’ ain’t none better than ole Filkin’s daughter “Nell.” - - EUGENE J. HALL. - - -JIM. - - He was jes’ a plain, ever’-day, all-round kind of a jour., - Consumpted lookin’—but la! - The jokeyest, wittyest, story-tellin’, song-singin’, laughin’est, - jolliest - Feller you ever saw! - Worked at jes’ coarse work, but you kin bet he was fine enough in his - talk, - And his feelin’s, too! - Lordy! ef he was on’y back on his bench again to-day, a carryin’ on - Like he ust to do! - - Any shop-mate’ll tell you they never was on top o’dirt - A better feller’n Jim! - You want a favor, and couldn’t git it anywheres else— - You could git it o’ him! - Most free-heartedest man thataway in the world, I guess! - Give ever’ nickel he’s worth— - And, ef you’d a-wanted it, and named it to him, and it was his, - He’d a-give you the earth! - - Allus a-reachin’ out, Jim was and a-helpin’ some - Poor feller onto his feet— - He’d a-never a-keered how hungry he was his se’f. - So’s the feller got somepin to eat! - Didn’t make no difference at all to him how he was dressed, - He used to say to me: - “You tog out a tramp purty comfortable in winter-time, - And he’ll git along!” says he. - - Jim didn’t have, nor never could git ahead, so overly much - O’ this world’s goods at a time— - ’Fore now I’ve saw him, more’n onc’t lend a dollar and ha’f to - Turn ’round and borry a dime! - Mebby laugh and joke about hisse’f fer awhile—then jerk his coat, - And kind o’ square his chin, - Tie his apern, and squat hisse’f on his old shoe bench - And go peggin’ agin. - - Patientest feller, too, I reckon, at every jes’ naturally - Coughed hisse’f to death! - Long enough after his voice was lost he’d laugh and say, - He could git ever’thing but his breath— - “You fellers,” he’d sort o’ twinkle his eyes and say, - “Is pilin’ onto me - A mighty big debt for that air little weak-chested ghost o’ mine to pack - Through all eternity!” - - Now there was a man ’at jes’ ’peared like to me, - ’At ortn’t a-never died! - “But death hain’t a-showin’ no favors,” the old boss said, - “On’y to Jim,” and cried: - And Wigger, ’at put up the best sewed work in the shop, - Er the whole blamed neighborhood, - He says, “When God made Jim, I bet you He didn’t do anything else - that day, - But jes’ set around and feel good.” - - JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. - - -QUEEN VASHTI’S LAMENT. - - Is this all the love that he bore me, my husband, to publish my face - To the nobles of Media and Persia, whose hearts are besotted and base? - Did he think me a slave, me, Vashti, the Beautiful, me, Queen of queens, - To summon me thus for a show to the midst of his bacchanal scenes? - - I stand like an image of brass, I, Vashti, in sight of such men! - No, sooner, a thousand times sooner, the mouth of the lioness’ den, - When she’s fiercest with hunger and love for the hungry young lions that - tear - Her teats with sharp, innocent teeth, I would enter, far rather than - here! - - Did he love me, or is he, too, though the King, but a brute like the - rest! - I have seen him in wine, and I fancied ’twas then that he loved me the - best; - Though I think I would rather have one sweet, passionate word from the - heart - Than a year of caresses that may with the wine that creates them depart. - - But ever before, in his wine, toward me he showed honor and grace; - He was King, I was Queen, and those nobles, he made them remember their - place. - But now all is changed; I am vile, they are honored, they push me aside, - A butt for Memucan and Shethar and Meres, gone mad in their pride! - - Shall I faint, shall I pine, shall I sicken and die for the loss of his - love? - Not I; I am queen of myself, though the stars fall from heaven above. - The stars! ha! the torment is there, for my light is put out by a star, - That has dazzled the eyes of the King and his court and his captains - of war. - - He was lonely, they say, and he looked, as he sat like a ghost at his - wine, - On the couch by his side, where, of yore his Beautiful used to recline. - But the King is a slave to his pride, to his oath and the laws of the - Medes, - And he cannot call Vashti again though his poor heart is wounded and - bleeds. - - So they sought through the land for a wife, while the King thought of - me all the while— - I can see him, this moment, with eyes that are lost for the loss of - a smile, - Gazing dreamily on while each maiden is temptingly passed in review, - While the love in his heart is awake with the thought of a face that - he knew! - - Then she came when his heart was grown weary with loving the dream of - the past! - She is fair—I could curse her for that, if I thought that this passion - would last! - But e’en if it last, all the love is for me, and, through good and - through ill, - The King shall remember his Vashti, shall think of his Beautiful still. - - Oh! the day is a weary burden, the night is a restless strife,— - I am sick to the very heart of my soul, with this life—this death - in life! - Oh! that the glorious, changeless sun would draw me up in his might, - And quench my dreariness in the flood of his everlasting light! - - What is it? Oft as I lie awake and my pillow is wet with tears, - There comes—it came to me just now—a flash, then disappears; - A flash of thought that makes this life a re-enacted scene, - That makes me dream what was, will be, and what is now, has been. - - And I, when age on age has rolled, shall sit on the royal throne, - And the King shall love his Vashti, his Beautiful, his own, - And for the joy of what has been and what again will be, - I’ll try to bear this awful weight of lonely misery! - - The star! Queen Esther! blazing light that burns into my soul! - The star! the star! Oh! flickering light of life beyond control! - O King! remember Vashti, thy Beautiful, thy own, - Who loved thee and shall love thee still, when Esther’s light has flown! - - JOHN READE. - - -THE SKELETON’S STORY. - -It will require all the dramatic power of which you are capable to recite -this selection and do it full justice. Be wide-awake, quick in tone and -gesture, shouting at one time, whispering at another, speaking with your -whole body. The emotions of fear and horror are especially prominent. - - It is two miles ahead to the foot-hills—two miles of parched turf - and rocky space. To the right—the left—behind, is the rolling - prairie. This broad valley strikes the Sierra Nevadas and stops - as if a wall had been built across it. - - Ride closer! What is this on the grass? A skull here—a rib - there—bones scattered about as the wild beasts left them after - the horrible feast. The clean-picked skull grins and stares—every - bone and scattered lock of hair has its story of a tragedy. And - what besides these relics? More bones—not scattered, but lying in - heaps—a vertebra with ribs attached—a fleshless skull bleaching - under the summer sun. Wolves! Yes. Count the heaps of bones and - you will find nearly a score. Open boats are picked up at sea - with neither life nor sign to betray their secret. Skeletons are - found upon the prairie, but they tell a plain story to those who - halt beside them. Let us listen: - - Away off to the right you can see treetops. Away off to the left - you can see the same sight. The skeleton is in line between the - two points. He left one grove to ride to the other. To ride! - Certainly; a mile away is the skeleton of a horse or mule. The - beast fell and was left there. - - It is months since that ride, and the trail has been obliterated. - Were it otherwise, and you took it up from the spot where the - skeleton horse now lies, you would find the last three or four - miles made at a tremendous pace. - - “Step! step! step!” - - What is it? Darkness has gathered over mountain and prairie - as the hunter jogs along over the broken ground. Overhead the - countless stars look down upon him—around him is the pall of - night. There was a patter of footsteps on the dry grass. He halts - and peers around him, but the darkness is too deep for him to - discover any cause for alarm. - - “Patter! patter! patter!” - - There it is again! It is not fifty yards from where he last - halted. The steps are too light for those of an Indian. - - “Wolves!” whispers the hunter, as a howl suddenly breaks upon his - ear. - - Wolves! The gaunt, grizzly wolves of the foot-hills—thin and poor - and hungry and savage—the legs tireless—the mouth full of teeth - which can crack the shoulder-bone of a buffalo. He can see their - dark forms flitting from point to point—the patter of their feet - upon the parched grass proves that he is surrounded. - - Now the race begins. A line of wolves spread out to the right and - left, and gallops after—tongues out—eyes flashing—great flakes of - foam flying back to blotch stone and grass and leave a trail to - be followed by the cowardly coyotes. - - Men ride thus only when life is the stake. A horse puts forth - such speed only when terror follows close behind and causes every - nerve to tighten like a wire drawn until the scratch of a finger - makes it chord with a wail of despair. The line is there—aye! it - is gaining! Inch by inch it creeps up, and the red eye takes on a - more savage gleam as the hunter cries out to his horse and opens - fire from his revolvers. A wolf falls on the right—a second on - the left. Does the wind cease blowing because it meets a forest! - The fall of one man in a mad mob increases the determination of - the rest. - - With a cry so full of the despair that wells up from the heart of - the strong man when he gives up his struggle for life that the - hunter almost believes a companion rides beside him, the horse - staggers—recovers—plunges forward—falls to the earth. It was a - glorious struggle; but he has lost. - - There is a confused heap of snarling, fighting, maddened beasts, - and the line rushes forward again. Saddle, bridle, and blanket - are in shreds—the horse a skeleton. And now the chase is after - the hunter. He has half a mile the start, and as he runs the - veins stand out, the muscles tighten, and he wonders at his own - speed. Behind him are the gaunt bodies and the tireless legs. - Closer, closer, and now he is going to face fate like a brave man - should. He has halted. In an instant a circle is formed about - him—a circle of red eyes, foaming mouths, and yellow fangs which - are to meet in his flesh. - - There is an interval—a breathing spell. He looks up at the - stars—out upon the night. It is his last hour, but there is no - quaking—no crying out to the night to send him aid. As the wolves - rest, a flash blinds their eyes—a second—a third—and a fourth, - and they give before the man they had looked upon as their - certain prey. But it is only for a moment. He sees them gathering - for the rush, and firing his remaining bullets among them he - seizes his long rifle by the barrel and braces to meet the shock. - Even a savage would have admired the heroic fight he made for - life. He sounds the war-cry and whirls his weapon around him, and - wolf after wolf falls disabled. He feels a strange exultation - over the desperate combat, and as the pack give way before his - mighty blows a gleam of hope springs up in his heart. - - It is only for a moment; then the circle narrows. Each disabled - beast is replaced by three which hunger for blood. There is a - rush—a swirl—and the cry of despair is drowned in the chorus of - snarls as the pack fight over the feast. - - The gray of morning—the sunlight of noonday—the stars of evening - will look down upon grinning skull and whitening bones, and the - wolf will return to crunch them again. Men will not bury them. - They will look down upon them as we look, and ride away with - a feeling that ’tis but another dark secret of the wonderful - prairie. - - -THE LADY AND THE EARL. - -The figures in the text of this piece indicate the gestures to be made, -as shown in Typical Gestures, at the beginning of Part II. of this volume. - - I saw her in the festive halls, in scenes of pride and[16] glee, - ’Mongst many beautiful and fair, but none so fair as she; - Hers was the most attractive[2] form that mingled in the scene, - And all who saw her said she moved a goddess and a queen. - - The diamond blazed in her dark hair and bound her polished brow, - And precious gems were clasped around her swan-like neck of snow; - And Indian looms had lent their stores to form her sumptuous dress, - And art with nature joined to grace her passing loveliness. - - I looked upon her and I said, who[6] is so blessed as she? - A creature she all light and life, all beauty and all glee; - Sure,[5] sweet content blooms on her cheek and on her brow a pearl, - And she was[1] young and innocent, the Lady of the Earl. - - But as I looked more carefully, I saw that radiant smile - Was but assumed in mockery, the unthinking to beguile. - Thus have I seen a summer rose in all its beauty bloom, - When it has[24] shed its sweetness o’er a cold and lonely tomb. - - She struck the harp, and when they praised her skill she turned aside, - A rebel tear of conscious woe[20] and memory to hide; - But when she raised her head she looked so[13] lovely, so serene, - To gaze in her proud eyes you’d think a tear had seldom been. - - The humblest maid in rural life can[5] boast a happier fate - Than she, the beautiful and good, in all her rank and state; - For she was sacrificed,[20] alas! to cold and selfish pride - When her young lips had breathed the vow to be a soldier’s bride. - - Of late I viewed her move along,[2] the idol of the crowd; - A few short months elapsed, and then,[12] I kissed her in her shroud! - And o’er her splendid monument I saw the hatchment wave, - But there was one proud heart[5] which did more honor to her grave. - - A warrior dropped his plumed head upon her place of rest, - And with his feverish lips the name of Ephilinda pressed; - Then breathed a prayer, and checked the groan of parting pain, - And as he left the tomb he said,[11] “Yet we shall meet again.” - - -MY VESPER SONG. - - Filled with weariness and pain, - Scarcely strong enough to pray, - In this twilight hour I sit, - Sit and sing my doubts away. - O’er my broken purposes, - Ere the coming shadows roll, - Let me build a bridge of song: - “Jesus, lover of my soul.” - - “Let me to Thy bosom fly!” - How the words my thoughts repeat: - To Thy bosom, Lord, I come, - Though unfit to kiss Thy feet. - Once I gathered sheaves for Thee, - Dreaming I could hold them fast: - Now I can but faintly sing, - “Oh! receive my soul at last.” - - I am weary of my fears, - Like a child when night comes on: - In the shadow, Lord, I sing, - “Leave, oh, leave me not alone.” - Through the tears I still must shed, - Through the evil yet to be, - Though I falter while I sing, - “Still support and comfort me.” - - “All my trust on Thee is stayed;” - Does the rhythm of the song - Softly falling on my heart, - Make its pulses firm and strong? - Or is this Thy perfect peace, - Now descending while I sing, - That my soul may sleep to-night - “’Neath the shadow of Thy wing? - - “Thou of life the fountain art;” - If I slumber on Thy breast, - If I sing myself to sleep, - Sleep and death alike are rest. - Not impatiently I sing, - Though I lift my hands and cry - “Jesus, lover of my soul, - Let me to Thy bosom fly.” - - -THE VOLUNTEER ORGANIST. - -With distinct enunciation give the dialect in this piece, and assume the -character of a countryman who is telling this story. Guard against being -vulgar or too commonplace. - - The gret big church wuz crowded full uv broadcloth an’ of silk, - An’ satins rich as cream thet grows on our ol’ brindle’s milk; - Shined boots, biled shirts, stiff dickeys, an’ stove-pipe hats were - there, - An’ dudes ’ith trouserloons so tight they couldn’t kneel down in prayer. - - The elder in his poolpit high said, as he slowly riz: - “Our organist is kep’ to hum, laid up ’ith roomatiz, - An’ as we hev no substitoot, as brother Moore ain’t here, - Will some ’un in the congregation be so kind ’s to volunteer?” - - An’ then a red-nosed, blear-eyed tramp, of low-toned, rowdy style, - Give an interductory hiccup, an’ then swaggered up the aisle. - Then thro’ that holy atmosphere there crep’ a sense er sin, - An’ thro’ thet air of sanctity the odor uv ol’ gin. - - Then Deacon Purington he yelled, his teeth all set on edge: - “This man perfanes the house er God! W’y, this is sacrilege!” - The tramp didn’ hear a word he said, but slouched ’ith stumblin’ feet, - An’ stalked an’ swaggered up the steps, an’ gained the organ seat. - - He then went pawin’ thro’ the keys, an’ soon there rose a strain - Thet seemed to jest bulge out the heart, an’ ’lectrify the brain; - An’ then he slapped down on the thing ’ith hands an’ head an’ knees, - He slam-dashed his hull body down kerflop upon the keys. - - The organ roared, the music flood went sweepin’ high an’ dry, - It swelled into the rafters, an’ bulged out into the sky; - The ol’ church shook and staggered, an’ seemed to reel an’ sway, - An’ the elder shouted “Glory!” an’ I yelled out “Hooray!” - - An’ then he tried a tender strain thet melted in our ears, - Thet brought up blessed memories and drenched ’em down ’ith tears; - An’ we dreamed uv ol’ time kitchens, ’ith Tabby on the mat, - Tu home an’ luv an’ baby days, an’ mother, an’ all that! - - An’ then he struck a streak uv hope—a song from souls forgiven— - Thet burst from prison bars uv sin, an’ stormed the gates uv heaven; - The morning stars together sung—no soul wuz left alone— - We felt the universe wuz safe, an’ God was on His throne! - - An’ then a wail of deep despair an’ darkness come again, - An’ long, black crape hung on the doors uv all the homes uv men; - No luv, no light, no joy, no hope, no songs of glad delight, - An’ then—the tramp, he swaggered down an’ reeled out into the night! - - But we knew he’d tol’ his story, tho’ he never spoke a word, - An’ it was the saddest story thet our ears had ever heard; - He hed tol’ his own life history, an’ no eye was dry thet day, - W’en the elder rose an’ simply said: “My brethren, let us pray.” - - S. W. FOSS. - - -COMIN’ THRO’ THE RYE. - - If a body meet a body - Comin’ thro’ the rye, - If a body kiss a body, - Need a body cry? - Ev’ry lassie has her laddie, - Nane they say ha’e I, - Yet all the lads they smile at me - When comin’ thro’ the rye. - - If a body meet a body, - Comin’ frae the town; - If a body meet a body, - Need a body frown? - Ev’ry lassie has her laddie, - Nane they say ha’e I, - Yet all the lads they smile at me - When comin’ thro’ the rye. - - Amang the train there is a swain, - I dearly love mysel’, - But what’s his name, or where’s his hame - I dinna choose to tell. - Ev’ry lassie has her laddie, - Nane they say ha’e I, - Yet all the lads they smile at me - When comin’ thro’ the rye. - - ROBERT BURNS. - - -JOAN OF ARC. - - Twas in the days of chivalry, when steel-clad warriors swore - To bear their ladies’ favors amidst the battle’s roar, - To right the wrongs of injured maids, the lance in rest to lay, - And nobly fall in honor’s cause or triumph in the fray. - But not to-day a lance is couched, no waving plume is there, - No war-horse sniffs the trumpet’s breath, no banner woos the air; - No crowding chiefs the tilt-yard throng to quench the thirst of fame, - Though chiefs are met, intent to leave their names eternal shame! - - A still and solemn silence reigned, deep darkness veiled the skies, - And Nature, shuddering, shook to see the impious sacrifice! - Full in the centre of the lists a dreadful pile is reared, - Awaiting one whose noble soul death’s terrors never feared, - Gaul’s young Minerva, who had led her countrymen to fame, - And foremost in the battle rent that conquered country’s chain; - Who, when the sun of fame had set that on its armies shone, - Its broken ranks in order set, inspired and led them on; - The low-born maid that, clad in steel, restored a fallen king, - Who taught the vanquished o’er their foes triumphal songs to sing; - Whose banner in the battle’s front the badge of conquest streamed, - And built again a tottering throne, a forfeit crown redeemed! - - But when her glorious deeds were done, Fate sent a darker day, - The blaze of brightness faded in murkiest clouds away; - And France stood looking idly on, nor dared to strike a blow, - Her guardian angel’s life to save, but gave it to the foe! - Ungrateful France her saviour’s fate beheld with careless smile, - While Superstition, hiding hate and vengeance, fired the pile! - - What holy horror of her crime is looked by yonder priest, - Like that grim bird that hovers nigh, and scents the funeral feast! - Is this the maiden’s triumph, won in battle’s dreadful scenes, - Whose banner so triumphant flew before thy walls, Orleans! - - Hark to the trumpet’s solemn sound! Low roll the muffled drums - As slowly through the silent throng the sad procession comes; - Wrapp’d in the garments of the grave, the corselet laid aside, - Still with Bellona’s step she treads, through all her woes descried. - - As beautiful her features now as when inspired she spoke - Those oracles that slumbering France to life and action woke: - The majesty yet haunts her looks, that late so dreadful beamed - In war, when o’er her burnished arms the long rich tresses streamed, - She gazes on the ghastly pile, tho’ pale as marble stone; - ’Twas not with fear, for from her lips escaped no sigh nor groan; - But she, her country’s saviour, thus to render up her breath— - That was a pang far worse than all the bitterness of death! - - ’Twas done; the blazing pile is fired, the flames have wrapped her round; - The owlet shrieked, and circling flew with dull, foreboding sound; - Fate shuddered at the ghastly sight, and smiled a ghostly smile; - And fame and honor spread their wings above the funeral pile. - But, phœnix-like, her spirit rose from out the burning flame, - More beautiful and bright by far than in her days of fame. - Peace to her spirit! Let us give her memory to renown, - Nor on her faults or failings dwell, but draw the curtain down. - - CLARE S. MCKINLEY. - - -THE VULTURE OF THE ALPS. - -This selection is narrative, yet it is narrative intensely dramatic. -Imagine the feelings of a parent who sees the “youngest of his babes” -torn away from his embrace by a vulture and carried away in mid-air. Let -your tones, attitudes and gestures all be strong. Picture the flight of a -mountain eagle with uplifted arm, and depict with an expression of agony -the grief of the parent. - - I’ve been among the mighty Alps, and wandered through their vales, - And heard the honest mountaineers relate their dismal tales, - As round the cottage blazing hearth, when their daily work was o’er, - They spake of those who disappeared, and ne’er were heard of more. - - And there I from a shepherd heard a narrative of fear, - A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers might not hear: - The tears were standing in his eyes, his voice was tremulous. - But, wiping all those tears away he told his story thus:— - - “It is among these barren cliffs the ravenous vulture dwells, - Who never fattens on the prey which from afar he smells; - But, patient, watching hour on hour upon a lofty rock, - He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock. - - “One cloudless Sabbath summer morn, the sun was rising high, - When from my children on the green, I heard a fearful cry, - As if some awful deed were done, a shriek of grief and pain, - A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne’er may hear again. - - “I hurried out to learn the cause; but, overwhelmed with fright, - The children never ceased to shriek, and from my frenzied sight - I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care, - But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing through the air. - - “Oh! what an awful spectacle to meet a father’s eye! - His infant made a vulture’s prey, with terror to descry! - And know, with agonizing breast, and with a maniac rave, - That earthly power could not avail, that innocent to save! - - “My infant stretched his little hands imploringly to me, - And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly to get free, - At intervals, I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked and screamed: - Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he seemed. - - “The vulture flapped his sail-like wings, though heavily he flew, - A mote upon the sun’s broad face he seemed unto my view: - But once I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight; - ’Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite. - - “All search was vain, and years had passed; that child was ne’er forgot, - When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot, - From whence, upon a rugged crag the chamois never reached, - He saw an infant’s fleshless bones the elements had bleached! - - “I clambered up that rugged cliff; I could not stay away; - I knew they were my infant’s bones thus hastening to decay; - A tattered garment yet remained, though torn to many a shred, - The crimson cap he wore that morn was still upon the head.” - - That dreary spot is pointed out to travelers passing by, - Who often stand, and, musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh. - And as I journeyed, the next morn, along my sunny way, - The precipice was shown to me, whereon the infant lay. - - -THE OLD-FASHIONED GIRL. - - There’s an old-fashioned girl in an old-fashioned street, - Dressed in old-fashioned clothes from her head to her feet, - And she spends all her time in the old-fashioned way, - Of caring for poor people’s children all day. - - She never has been to cotillion or ball, - And she knows not the styles of the spring or the fall. - Two hundred a year will suffice for her needs, - And an old-fashioned Bible is all that she reads. - - And she has an old-fashioned heart that is true - To a fellow who died in an old coat of blue, - With its buttons all brass—who is waiting above - For the woman who loved him with old-fashioned love. - - TOM HALL. - - -NATHAN HALE, THE MARTYR SPY. - -After the disastrous defeat of the Americans on Long Island, Washington -desired information respecting the British position and movements. -Captain Nathan Hale, but twenty-one years old, volunteered to procure the -information. He was taken and hanged as a spy the day after his capture, -September 22, 1776. His patriotic devotion, and the brutal treatment he -received at the hands of his captors, have suggested the following. Put -your whole soul into this piece, especially Hale’s last speech. It rises -to the sublime. - - ’Twas in the year that gave the nation birth; - A time when men esteemed the common good - As greater weal than private gain. A battle fierce - And obstinate had laid a thousand patriots low, - And filled the people’s hearts with gloom. - - Pursued like hunted deer, - The crippled army fled; and, yet, amid - Disaster and defeat, the Nation’s chosen chief - Resolved his losses to retrieve. But not - With armies disciplined and trained by years - Of martial service, could he, this Fabian chief, - Now hope to check the hosts of Howe’s victorious legions— - These had he not. - - In stratagem the shrewder general - Ofttimes o’ercomes his strong antagonist. - To Washington a knowledge of the plans, - Position, strength of England’s force, - Must compensate for lack of numbers. - - He casts about for one who’d take his life - In hand. Lo! he stands before the chief. In face, - A boy—in form, a man on whom the eye could rest - In search of God’s perfected handiwork. - In culture, grace and speech, reflecting all - A mother’s love could lavish on an only son. - - The chieftain’s keen discerning eye - Appraised the youth at his full worth, and saw - In him those blending qualities that make - The hero and the sage. He fain would save - For nobler deeds a man whose presence marked - A spirit born to lead. - - “Young man,” he said with kindly air, - “Your country and commander feel grateful that - Such talents are offered in this darkening hour. - Have you in reaching this resolve considered well - Your fitness, courage, strength—the act, the risk, - You undertake?” - The young man said: “The hour demands a duty rare— - Perhaps a sacrifice. If God and training in - The schools have given me capacities - This duty to perform, the danger of the enterprise - Should not deter me from the act - Whose issue makes our country free. In times - Like these a Nation’s life sometimes upon - A single life depends. If mine be deemed - A fitting sacrifice, God grant a quick - Deliverance” - - “Enough, go then, at once,” the great - Commander said. “May Heaven’s guardian angels give - You safe return. Adieu.” - - Disguised with care, the hopeful captain crossed - The bay, and moved through British camp - Without discovery by troops or refugees. - The enemy’s full strength, in men, in stores, - Munitions, guns—all military accoutrements - Were noted with exact precision; while - With graphic sketch, each trench and parapet, - Casemated battery, magazine and every point - Strategic, was drawn with artist’s skill. - - The task complete, the spy with heart - Elate, now sought an exit through the lines. - Well might he feel a soldier’s pride. An hour hence - A waiting steed would bear him to his friends. - His plans he’d lay before his honored chief; - His single hand might turn the tide of war, - His country yet be free. - - “Halt!” a British musket leveled at - His head dimmed all the visions of his soul. - A dash—an aimless shot; the spy bore down - Upon the picket with a blow that else - Had freed him from his clutch, but for a score - Of troopers stationed near. In vain the struggle fierce - And desperate—in vain demands to be released. - A tory relative, for safety quartered in - The British camp, would prove his truckling loyalty - With kinsman’s blood, a word—a look— - A motion of the head, and he who’d dared - So much in freedom’s name was free no more. - - Before Lord Howe the captive youth - Was led. “Base dog!” the haughty general said, - “Ignoble son of loyal sires! you’ve played the spy - Quite well I ween. The cunning skill wherewith - You wrought these plans and charts might well adorn - An honest man; but in a rebel’s hands they’re vile - And mischievous. If ought may palliate - A traitor’s act, attempted in his sovereign’s camp, - I bid you speak ere I pronounce your sentence.” - - With tone and mien that hushed - The buzzing noise of idle lackeys in the hall, - The patriot thus replied: “You know my name— - My rank;—my treach’rous kinsman made - My purpose plain. I’ve nothing further of myself - To tell beyond the charge of traitor to deny. - The brand of spy I do accept without reproach; - But never since I’ve known the base ingratitude - Of king to loyal subjects of his realm - Has British rule been aught to me than barbarous - Despotism which God and man abhor, and none - But dastards fear to overthrow. - For tyrant loyalty your lordship represents - I never breathed a loyal breath; and he - Who calls me traitor seeks a pretext for a crime - His trembling soul might well condemn.” - - “I’ll hear no more such prating cant,” - Said Howe, “your crime’s enough to hang a dozen men. - Before to-morrow’s sun goes down you’ll swing - ’Twixt earth and heaven, that your countrymen - May know a British camp is dangerous ground - For prowling spies. Away!” - - Securely bound upon a cart, amid - A speechless crowd, he stands beneath a strong - Projecting limb, to which a rope with noose attached, - Portends a tragic scene. He casts his eyes - Upon the surging multitude. Clearly now - His tones ring out as victors shout in triumph: - - “Men, I do not die in vain, - My humble death upon this tree will light anew - The Torch of liberty. A hundred hands to one - Before will strike for country, home and God, - And fill our ranks with men of faith in His - Eternal plan to make this people free. - A million prayers go up this day to free - The land from blighting curse of tyrant’s rule. - Oppression’s wrongs have reached Jehovah’s throne; - The God of vengeance smites the foe! This land,— - This glorious land,—is free—is free! - - “My friends, farewell! In dying thus - I feel but one regret; it is the one poor life - I have to give in Freedom’s cause.” - - I. H. BROWN. - - -THE FUTURE. - - When Earth’s last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and - dried, - When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died, - We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it—lie down for an æon or two, - Till the Master of all Good Workmen shall set us to work anew! - - And those that were good shall be happy; they shall sit in a golden - chair; - They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets’ hair; - They shall find real saints to draw from—Magdalene, Peter and Paul; - They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all! - - And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame! - And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame; - But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star, - Shall draw the Thing as he sees it for the God of Things as They Are! - - RUDYARD KIPLING. - - -THE POWER OF HABIT. - -Adapted to the development of transition in pitch, and a very spirited -utterance. When you are able to deliver this as Mr. Gough did, you may -consider yourself a graduate in the art of elocution. - - I remember once riding from Buffalo to the Niagara Falls. I said - to a gentleman, “What river is that, sir?” - - “That,” said he, “is Niagara River.” - - “Well, it is a beautiful stream,” said I; “bright and fair and - glassy. How far off are the rapids?” - - “Only a mile or two,” was the reply. - - “Is it _possible_ that only a mile from us we shall find the - water in the turbulence which it must show near the Falls?” - - “You will find it so, sir.” And so I found it; and the first - sight of Niagara I shall never forget. - - Now, launch your bark on that Niagara River; it is bright, - smooth, beautiful and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow; the - silver wake you leave behind adds to your enjoyment. Down the - stream you glide, oars, sails, and helm in proper trim, and you - set out on your pleasure excursion. - - Suddenly some one cries out from the bank, “Young men, ahoy!” - - “What is it?” - - “The rapids are below you!” - - “Ha! ha! we have heard of the rapids; but we are not such fools - as to get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with the - helm, and steer to the shore; we will set the mast in the socket, - hoist the sail, and speed to the land. Then on, boys; don’t be - alarmed, there is no danger.” - - “Young men, ahoy there!” - - “What is it?” - - “The rapids are below you!” - - “Ha! ha! we will laugh and quaff; all things delight us. What - care we for the future? No man ever saw it. Sufficient for the - day is the evil thereof. We will enjoy life while we may, will - catch pleasure as it flies. This is enjoyment; time enough to - steer out of danger when we are sailing swiftly with the current.” - - “Young men, ahoy!” - - “What is it?” - - “Beware! beware! The rapids are below you!” - - “Now you see the water foaming all around. See how fast you pass - that point! Up with the helm! Now turn! Pull hard! Quick! quick! - quick! pull for your lives! pull till the blood starts from your - nostrils, and the veins stand like whip cords upon your brow! Set - the mast in the socket! hoist the sail! Ah! ah! it is too late! - Shrieking, blaspheming, over they go.” - - Thousands go over the rapids of intemperance every year, through - the power of habit, crying all the while, “When I find out that - it is injuring me, I will give it up!” - - JOHN B. GOUGH. - - -DIED ON DUTY. - -The following lines were written by a comrade, on the death of Engineer -Billy Ruffin, who lost his life by an accident that occurred on the -Illinois Central Railroad, in Mississippi. - - Bill Ruffin to some wouldn’t rank very high, being only an engineer; - But he opened the throttle with a steady grip, and didn’t know nothin’ - like fear; - For doin’ his duty and doin’ it right, he was known all along the line, - And with him in the box of 258, you might figger “you’d be thar on time.” - - Bill was comin’ down the run, one Monday night, a pullin’ of No. 3, - Just jogging along at a 30 gait, and a darker night you never see. - They had struck the trestle twenty rod north of old Tallahatchie bridge, - Where the water backs up under the track, with here and there a ridge. - - Bill had come down that run a hundred times, and supposed that all was - right; - But the devil’s own had been at work, and loosened a rail that night; - When, gods of mercy! what a shock and crash! then all so quiet and still. - And old 258 lay dead in the pond, and the train piled up on the fill. - - The crew showed up one by one, looking all white and chill, - Anxious to see if all were on deck, but whar on airth wuz Bill? - But it wasn’t long before they knew, for there in the pond was the tank, - Stickin’ clus to her engine pard, and holdin’ Bill down by the shank. - - When the boys saw what orter be done, they went to work with a vim, - But willin’ hands doin’ all they would, couldn’t rize tons offen him; - Bill stood thar, brave man that he was, as the hours went slowly by, - Seemin’ to feel, if the rest wur scared, he was perfectly willin’ to die. - - Just before daylight looked over the trees, they brought poor Bill to - the fire, - And done the best they could for him in a place that was all mud and - mire; - But they done no good, ’twant no use; he had seen his last of wrecks; - And thar by the fire that lit up his brave face, poor Bill passed in - his checks. - - When they raised old 258 again, the story she did tell - Was that the hero in her cab had done his duty well; - They found her lever thrown hard, her throttle open wide, - Her air applied so close and hard that every wheel must slide. - - Thar’s a wife and two kids down the line, whose sole dependence wuz - Bill, - Who little thought when he came home he’d be brought cold and still; - But tell them, tho’ Bill was rough by natur’ and somewhat so by name, - That thar’s a better land for men like him, and he died clear grit - just the same. - - -MY FRIEND THE CRICKET AND I. - - My friend the Cricket and I - Once sat by the fireside talking; - “This life,” I said, “is such weary work;” - Chirped Cricket, “You’re always croaking.” - “It’s rowing against baith wind an’ tide, - And a’ for the smallest earning.” - “Ah! weel,” the merry Cricket replied, - “But the tide will soon be turning.” - - “And then,” I answered, “dark clouds may rise, - And winds with the waters flowing.” - “Weel! keep a bit sunshine in your heart, - It’s a wonderfu’ help in rowing.” - “But many a boat goes down at sea:” - “O! friend, but you’re unco trying, - Pray how many more come into port, - With a’ their colors flying? - - “Would ye idly drift with changing tides, - Till lost in a sea of sorrow?” - “Ah! no, good Cricket, I’ll take the oars - And cheerfully row to-morrow.” - “I would! I would! Yes, I would!” he chirped, - While I watched the bright fire burning, - “I would! I would! Yes, I’d try again, - For the tide must have a turning.” - - So all the night long through the drowsy hours - I heard, like a cheerful humming— - “I would! I would! Yes, I’d try again, - Ye never ken what is coming.” - So I tried again:—now the wind sets fair, - And the tide is shoreward turning, - And Cricket and I chirp pleasantly - While the fire is brightly burning. - - LILLIE E. BARR. - - -THE SNOW STORM. - - A farmer came from the village plain, - But he lost the traveled way; - And for hours he trod with might and main - A path for his horse and sleigh; - But colder still the cold winds blew, - And deeper still the deep drifts grew, - And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, - At last in her struggles, floundered down, - Where a log in a hollow lay. - - In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort, - She plunged in the drifting snow, - While her master urged, till his breath grew short, - With a word and a gentle blow. - But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight; - His hands were numb and had lost their might; - So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh, - And strove to shelter himself till day, - With his coat and the buffalo. - - He has given the last faint jerk of the rein, - To rouse up his dying steed; - And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain - For help in his master’s need. - For a while he strives with a wistful cry - To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, - And wags his tail if the rude winds flap - The skirt of the buffalo over his lap, - And whines when he takes no heed. - - The wind goes down and the storm is o’er, - ’Tis the hour of midnight, past; - The old trees writhe and bend no more - In the whirl of the rushing blast. - The silent moon with her peaceful light - Looks down on the hills with snow all white, - And the giant shadow of Camel’s Hump, - The blasted pine and the ghostly stump - Afar on the plain are cast. - - But cold and dead by the hidden log - Are they who came from the town: - The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog, - And his beautiful Morgan brown— - In the wide snow-desert, far and grand, - With his cap on his head and the reins in his hand— - The dog with his nose on his master’s feet, - And the mare half seen through the crusted sleet - Where she lay when she floundered down. - - -PARRHASIUS AND THE CAPTIVE. - -This is a picture of inordinate ambition. It should be represented by -a voice of cold indifference to human suffering. The flame of selfish -passion is wild and frenzied. - - Parrhasius stood, gazing forgetfully - Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay, - Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus— - The vulture at his vitals, and the links - Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh; - And as the painter’s mind felt through the dim, - Rapt mystery, and pluck’d the shadows forth - With its far-reaching fancy, and with form - And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye - Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl - Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip, - Were like the winged god’s, breathing from his flight. - - “Bring me the captive now! - My hand feels skillful, and the shadows lift - From my waked spirit airily and swift, - And I could paint the bow - Upon the bended heavens—around me play - Colors of such divinity to-day. - - “Ha! bind him on his back! - Look!—as Prometheus in my picture here! - Quick—or he faints!—stand with the cordial near! - Now—bend him to the rack! - Press down the poisoned links into his flesh! - And tear agape that healing wound afresh! - - “So—let him writhe! How long - Will he live thus? Quick, my good pencil, now! - What a fine agony works upon his brow! - Ha! gray-haired, and so strong! - How fearfully he stifles that short moan! - Gods! if I could but paint a dying groan! - - “‘Pity’ thee! So I do! - I pity the dumb victim at the altar— - But does the robed priest for his _pity_ falter? - I’d rack thee, though I knew - A thousand lives were perishing in thine— - What were ten thousand to a fame like mine? - - “‘Hereafter!’ Ay—_hereafter_! - A whip to keep a coward to his track! - What gave Death ever from his kingdom back - To check the skeptic’s laughter? - Come from the grave to-morrow with that story - And I may take some softer path to glory. - - “No, no, old man! we die - Even as the flowers, and we shall breathe away - Our life upon the chance wind, even as they! - Strain well thy fainting eye— - For when that bloodshot quivering is o’er, - The light of heaven will never reach thee more. - - “Yet there’s a deathless _name_! - A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn, - And like a steadfast planet mount and burn— - And though its crown of flame - Consumed my brain to ashes as it shone, - By all the fiery stars! I’d bind it on! - - “Ay—though it bid me rifle - My heart’s last fount for its insatiate thirst— - Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first— - Though it should bid me stifle - The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, - And taunt its mother till my brain went wild— - - “All—I would do it all— - Sooner than die, lie a dull worm, to rot— - Thrust foully into earth to be forgot! - O heavens!—but I appall - Your heart, old man! forgive——ha! on your lives - Let him not faint!—rack him till he revives! - - “Vain—vain—give o’er! His eye - Glazes apace. He does not feel you now— - Stand back! I’ll paint the death dew on his brow! - Gods! if he do not die - But for _one_ moment—one—till I eclipse - Conception with the scorn of those cold lips! - - “Shivering! Hark! he mutters - Brokenly now—that was a difficult breath— - Another? Wilt thou never come, O Death! - Look! how his temple flutters! - Is his heart still? Aha! lift up his head! - He shudders—gasps—Jove help him!—so—he’s dead.” - - How like a mounting devil in the heart - Rules the unreined _ambition_! Let it once - But play the monarch, and its haughty brow - Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought - And unthrones peace forever. Putting on - The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns - The heart to ashes, and with not a spring - Left in the bosom for the spirit’s lip, - We look upon our splendor and forget - The thirst of which we perish! - - N. P. WILLIS. - - -THE NINETY-THIRD OFF CAPE VERD. - -The figures refer you to the Typical Gestures at the beginning of Part -II. of this volume. Use other gestures of your own. A good recital for -animated description. - - It is night upon the ocean - Near old Afric’s shore; - Loud the wind wails o’er the water, - Loud the waters roar. - - Dark o’erhead[21] the storm-clouds gather, - Huge waves mountains form, - As a stout[2] old ship comes struggling - On against the storm. - - Hark![3] e’en now across the billows - On the wind there floats, - Sharp and shrill, the boatswain’s whistle - Sounding,[5] “Man the boats!” - - At the sound, from cabin doorways, - Rushing out headlong, - Pours a weeping,[10] shrieking, shuddering, - Terror-stricken throng. - - Men, and women with their children, - Weak and pale from fright, - Praying,[20] cursing, hurry onward - Out into the night. - - But the lightning’s[21] frequent flashes - By their ghastly sheen, - Further forward in the vessel, - Show another scene. - - From the crowd of trembling women, - And of trembling men, - See![2] a soldier presses forward, - Takes his place, and then— - - “Fall in!”[5] Then comes the roll-call. - Every man is at his post, - Although now they hear the breakers - Roaring on the coast. - - “Present arms!”[5] And till the life-boats - With their precious freight - Have been lowered safely downward - Thus they stand and wait. - - And then, as the staunch old vessel - Slowly sinks at last, - Louder than the ocean’s roaring, - Louder than the blast, - - O’er the wildly raging water, - Echoing far and near, - Hear[11] the soldiers’ dying volley, - Hear their dying cheer. - - -A FELON’S CELL. - -An intensely dramatic reading, requiring rapid changes of voice and -gesture. - - I’m going to a felon’s cell, - To stay there till I die; - They say my hands are stained with blood, - But they who say it—lie. - The court declared I murdered one - I would have died to save; - I know who did the awful deed, - I saw, but could not save. - - I saw the knife gleam in his hand, - I heard the victim’s shriek; - My feet seem chained, I tried to run, - But terror made me weak. - Reeling, at length I reached the spot - Too late—a quivering sigh— - The pale moon only watched with me - To see a sweet girl die. - - The reeking blade lay at my feet, - The murderer had fled; - I stooped to raise the prostrate form, - To lift the sunny head - Of her I loved, from out the pool - Her own sweet blood had made; - That knife was fairly in my way, - I raised the murderous blade. - - Unmindful of all else, beside - That lovely, bleeding corse, - Unheeding the approaching steps - Of traveler and horse, - I raised the knife; it caught the gleam - Of the full moon’s bright glare, - One instant, and the next strong arms - Pinioned mine firmly there. - - They led me forth, mute with a woe - Too deep for word or sign; - The knife within my hand the court - Identified as mine. - My name was graven on the hilt,— - The letters told a lie; - They doomed me to a felon’s cell - To stay there till I die. - - And yet, I did not do the deed; - The moon, if she could speak, - Would lift this anguish from my brow, - This shame from off my cheek. - I was not born with gold or lands - Nor was I born a slave, - My hands are free from blood,—and yet - I’ll fill a felon’s grave. - - And I, who last year played at ball - Upon the village green, - A stripling, on whose lips the sign - Of manhood scarce is seen, - Whose greatest crime (if crime it be) - Was loving her too well, - Must leave this beautiful, glad world - For a dark prison cell. - - I had just begun to learn to live - Since I laid by my books, - And I had grown so strangely fond - Of forest, spring, and brook, - I read a lesson in each drop - That trickled through the grass, - And found a sermon in the flow - Of wavelets, as they pass. - - Dear woodland haunts! I leave your shade; - No more at noon’s high hour - I’ll list the sound of insect life, - Or scent the sweet wild flower. - Dear mossy banks, by murmuring streams, - ’Tis hard to say good-bye! - To leave you for a felon’s cell, - Where I must stay and die. - - Farewell all joy and happiness! - Farewell all earthly bliss! - All human ties must severed be,— - Aye, even a mother’s kiss - Must fail me now; in this my need - O God! to Thee I cry! - Oh! take me now, ere yet I find - A grave wherein to lie. - - Mother, you here! Mother, the boy - You call your poet child - Is innocent! His hands are clean, - His heart is undefiled. - Oh! tell me, mother, am I weak - To shrink at thought of pain? - To shudder at the sound of bolt, - Grow cold at clank of chain? - Oh! tell me, is it weakness now - To weep upon your breast,— - That faithful pillow, where so oft - You’ve soothed me to my rest! - - Hark! ’tis an officer’s firm tread, - O God! Mother, good-bye! - They’ve come to bear me to my cell - Where I must stay and die. - They’re coming now, I will be strong, - No, no, it cannot be. - My giddy brain whirls round in pain, - Your face I cannot see. - But I remember when a child - I shrank at thought of pain, - But, oh, it is a fearful thing - To have this aching brain. - - Pardon! heard I the sound aright? - Mine comes from yonder sky; - Hold me! don’t let them take me forth - To suffer till I die! - Pardon! pardon! came the sound, - And horsemen galloped fast, - But ’twas too late; the dying man - Was soon to breathe his last. - The crime’s confessed, the guilt made known - Quick, lead the guiltless forth. - “Then I am free! mother, your hand, - Now whisper your good-bye, - I’m going where there are no cells - To suffer in and die!” - - -THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. - -This soul-stirring account of the historic battle where thrones and -empires were staked, is from the pen of the great French author whose -famous descriptions are unsurpassed by those of any other writer. In -reciting this piece every nerve must be tense, and soul and body must be -animated by the imaginary sight of the contending armies. Your utterance -should be somewhat rapid, the tones of your voice round and full, the -words of command given as a general would give them on the field of -battle, and you must picture to your hearers the thrilling scene in such -a way that it may appear to be almost a reality. Otherwise, this very -graphic description will fall flat, and the verdict of your audience will -be that you were not equal to the occasion. - - The sky had been overcast all day. All at once, at this very - moment—it was eight o’clock at night—the clouds in the horizon - broke, and through the elms of the Nivelles road streamed the - sinister red light of the setting sun. - - Arrangements were speedily made for the final effort. Each - battalion was commanded by a general. When the tall caps of - the Grenadiers of the Guard with their large eagle plates - appeared, symmetrical, drawn up in line, calm in the smoke of - that conflict, the enemy felt respect for France. They thought - they saw twenty victories entering upon the field of battle with - wings extended, and those who were conquerors thinking themselves - conquered recoiled; but Wellington cried: “Up, Guards, and at - them!” - - The red regiment of English Guards, lying behind the hedges, rose - up; a shower of grape riddled the tricolored flag. All hurled - themselves forward, and the final carnage began. The Imperial - Guard felt the army slipping away around them in the gloom and - the vast overthrow of the rout. There were no weak souls or - cowards there. The privates of that band were as heroic as their - general. Not a man flinched from the suicide. - - The army fell back rapidly from all sides at once. A disbanding - army is a thaw. The whole bends, cracks, snaps, floats, rolls, - falls, crashes, hurries, plunges. Ney borrows a horse, leaps upon - him, and, without hat, cravat, or sword, plants himself in the - Brussels road, arresting at once the English and the French. He - endeavors to hold the army; he calls them back, he reproaches - them, he grapples with the rout. He is swept away. The soldiers - flee from him, crying, “Long live Ney!” Durutte’s two regiments - come and go, frightened and tossed between the sabres of the - Uhlans and the fire of the brigades of Kempt. Rout is the worst - of all conflicts; friends slay each other in their flight; - squadrons and battalions are crushed and dispersed against each - other, enormous foam of the battle. - - Napoleon gallops among the fugitives, harangues them, urges, - threatens, entreats. The mouths which in the morning were crying - “Long live the Emperor,” are now agape. He is hardly recognized. - The Prussian cavalry, just come up, spring forward, fling - themselves upon the enemy, sabre, cut, hack, kill, exterminate. - Teams rush off; the guns are left to the care of themselves; the - soldiers of the train unhitch the caissons and take the horses to - escape; wagons upset, with their four wheels in the air, block up - the road, and are accessories of massacre. - - They crush and they crowd; they trample upon the living and the - dead. Arms are broken. A multitude fills roads, paths bridges, - plains, hills, valleys, woods, choked up by this flight of forty - thousand men. Cries despair; knapsacks and muskets cast into the - rye; passages forced at the point of the sword; no more comrades, - no more officers, no more generals; an inexpressible dismay. - Lions become kids. Such was this flight. - - A few squares of the Guard, immovable in the flow of the rout as - rocks in running water, held out until night. Night approaching - and death also, they awaited this double shadow, and yielded - unfaltering to its embrace. At every discharge the square grew - less, but returned the fire. It replied to grape by bullets, - narrowing in its four walls continually. Afar off, the fugitives, - stopping for a moment out of breath, heard in the darkness this - dismal thunder decreasing. - - When this legion was reduced to a handful, when their flag was - reduced to a shred, when their muskets, exhausted of ammunition, - were reduced to nothing but clubs, when the pile of corpses was - larger than the group of the living, there spread among the - conquerors a sort of sacred terror about these sublime martyrs, - and the English artillery, stopping to take breath, was silent. - It was a kind of respite. These combatants had about them a swarm - of spectres, the outlines of men on horseback, the black profile - of the cannons, the white sky seen through the wheels and - gun-carriages. The colossal death’s head, which heroes always see - in the smoke of the battle, was advancing upon them and glaring - at them. - - They could hear in the gloom of the twilight the loading of the - pieces. The lighted matches, like tigers’ eyes in the night, made - a circle about their heads. All the linstocks of the English - batteries approached the guns, when, touched by their heroism, - holding the death-moment suspended over these men, an English - general cried to them: - - “Brave Frenchmen, surrender!” - - The word “Never!” fierce and desperate came rolling back. - - To this word the English general replied, “Fire!” - - The batteries flamed, the hill trembled; from all those brazen - throats went forth a final vomiting of grape, terrific. A vast - smoke, dusky white in the light of the rising moon, rolled out, - and when the smoke was dissipated, there was nothing left. That - formidable remnant was annihilated—the Guard was dead! The four - walls of the living redoubt had fallen. Hardly could a quivering - be distinguished here and there among the corpses; and thus the - French legions expired. - - VICTOR HUGO. - - -A PIN. - - Oh, I know a certain woman who is reckoned with the good, - But she fills me with more terror than a raging lion could. - The little chills run up and down my spine whene’er we meet, - Though she seems a gentle creature, and she’s very trim and neat. - - And she has a thousand virtues, and not one acknowledged sin, - But she is the sort of person you could liken to a pin. - And she pricks you, and she sticks you in a way that can’t be said— - When you ask for what has hurt you, why you cannot find the head. - - But she fills you with discomfort and exasperating pain— - If anybody asks you why, you really can’t explain. - A pin is such a tiny thing—of that there is no doubt— - Yet when it’s sticking in your flesh, you’re wretched till it’s out. - - She is wonderfully observing—when she meets a pretty girl - She is always sure to tell her if her “bang” is out of curl. - And she is so sympathetic to her friend, who’s much admired, - She is often heard remarking: “Dear, you look so worn and tired!” - - And she is a careful critic; for on yesterday she eyed - The new dress I was airing with a woman’s natural pride, - And she said: “Oh, how becoming!” and then softly added to it, - “It is really a misfortune that the basque is such a fit.” - - Then she said: “If you had heard me yestereve, - I’m sure, my friend, - You would say I am a champion who knows how to defend.” - And she left me with the feeling—most unpleasant, I aver— - That the whole world would despise me if it had not been for her. - - Whenever I encounter her, in such a nameless way, - She gives me the impression I am at my worst that day. - And the hat that was imported (and that cost me half a sonnet), - With just one glance from her round eye, becomes a Bowery bonnet. - - She is always bright and smiling, sharp and shining for a thrust— - Use does not seem to blunt her point, nor does she gather rust— - Oh! I wish some hapless specimen of mankind would begin - To tidy up the world for me, by picking up this pin. - - ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. - - -A RELENTING MOB. - -Translated from the French of Victor Hugo. - - The mob was fierce and furious. They cried: - “Kill him!” the while they pressed from every side - Around a man, haughty, unmoved and brave, - Too pitiless himself to pity crave. - - “Down with the wretch!” on all sides rose the cry. - The captive found it natural to die, - The game is lost—he’s on the weaker side, - Life, too, is lost, and so must fate decide. - - From out his home they dragged him to the street, - With fiercely clenching hands and hurrying feet, - And shouts of “Death to him!” The crimson stain - Of recent carnage on his garb showed plain. - - This man was one of those who blindly slay - At a king’s bidding. He’d shoot men all day, - Killing he knew not whom, scarce knew why, - Now marching forth impassible to die, - Incapable of mercy or of fear, - Letting his powder-blackened hands appear. - - A woman clutched his collar with a frown, - “He’s a policeman—he has shot us down!” - “That’s true,” the man said. “Kill him!” - “Shoot him!” “Kill!” - “No, at the Arsenal”—“The Bastile!”— - “Where you will,” - The captive answered. And with fiercest breath, - Loading their guns his captors still cried - “Death!” - “We’ll shoot him like a wolf!” “A wolf am I? - Then you’re the dogs,” he calmly made reply. - - “Hark, he insults us!” And from every side - Clenched fists were shaken, angry voices cried, - Ferocious threats were muttered, deep and low. - With gall upon his lips, gloom on his brow, - And in his eyes a gleam of baffled hate, - He went, pursued by howlings, to his fate. - Treading with wearied and supreme disdain - ’Midst the forms of dead men he perchance had slain. - Dread is that human storm, an angry crowd: - He braved its wrath with head erect and proud. - He was not taken, but walled in with foes, - He hated them with hate the vanquished knows, - He would have shot them all had he the power. - - “Kill him—he’s fired upon us for an hour!” - “Down with the murderer—down with the spy!” - And suddenly a small voice made reply, - “No—no, he is my father!” And a ray - Like a sunbeam seemed to light the day. - A child appeared, a boy with golden hair, - His arms upraised in menace or in prayer. - - All shouted, “Shoot the bandit, fell the spy!” - The little fellow clasped him with a cry - Of “Papa, papa, they’ll not hurt you now!” - The light baptismal shone upon his brow. - - From out the captive’s home had come the child. - Meanwhile the shrieks of “Kill him—Death!” rose wild. - The cannon to the tocsin’s voice replied, - Sinister men thronged close on every side, - And in the street ferocious shouts increased - Of “Slay each spy—each minister—each priest— - We’ll kill them all!” The little boy replied: - “I tell you this is papa.” One girl cried - “A pretty fellow—see his curly head!” - “How old are you, my boy?” another said. - “Do not kill papa!” only he replies. - - A soulful lustre lights his streaming eyes, - Some glances from his gaze are turned away, - And the rude hands less fiercely grasp their prey. - Then one of the most pitiless says, “Go— - Get you back home, boy.” “Where—why?” “Don’t you know? - Go to your mother.” Then the father said, - “He has no mother.” “What—his mother’s dead? - Then you are all he has.” “That matters not,” - The captive answers, losing not a jot - Of his composure as he closely pressed - The little hands to warm them in his breast. - And says, “Our neighbor, Catherine you know, - Go to her.” “You’ll come too?” “Not yet.” “No, no. - Then I’ll not leave you.” “Why?” “These men, I fear, - Will hurt you, papa, when I am not here.” - - The father to the chieftain of the band - Says softly, “Loose your grasp and take my hand, - I’ll tell the child to-morrow we shall meet, - Then you can shoot me in the nearest street, - Or farther off, just as you like.” “’Tis well!” - The words from those rough lips reluctant fell. - And, half unclasped, the hands less fierce appear. - The father says, “You see, we’re all friends here, - I’m going with these gentlemen to walk; - Go home. Be good. I have no time to talk.” - The little fellow, reassured and gay, - Kisses his father and then runs away. - - “Now he is gone and we are at our ease, - And you can kill me where and how you please,” - The father says, “Where is it I must go?” - Then through the crowd a long thrill seems to flow, - The lips, so late with cruel wrath afoam, - Relentingly and roughly cry, “Go home!” - - LUCY H. HOOPER. - - -THE BLACK HORSE AND HIS RIDER. - -Slow utterance, rapid utterance, loud tones, subdued tones, quick changes -and intense dramatic force are all required in this reading. Lose -yourself in your recitation. Never be self-conscious. - - It was the 7th of October, 1777. Horatio Gates stood before his - tent gazing steadfastly upon the two armies now arrayed in order - of battle. It was a clear, bracing day, mellow with the richness - of Autumn. The sky was cloudless; the foliage of the wood scarce - tinged with purple and gold; the buckwheat in yonder fields - frostened into snowy ripeness. But the tread of legions shook the - ground; from every bush shot the glimmer of the rifle barrel; on - every hillside blazed the sharpened bayonet. Gates was sad and - thoughtful, as he watched the evolutions of the two armies. - - But all at once, a smoke arose, a thunder shook the ground, and - a chorus of shouts and groans yelled along the darkened air. The - play of death had begun. The two flags, this of the stars, that - of the red cross, tossed amid the smoke of battle, while the sky - was clouded with leaden folds, and the earth throbbed with the - pulsations of a mighty heart. Suddenly, Gates and his officers - were startled. Along the height on which they stood, came a - rider, upon a black horse, rushing toward the distant battle. - - There was something in the appearance of this horse and his - rider, that struck them with surprise. Look! he draws his sword, - the sharp blade quivers through the air—he points to the distant - battle, and lo! he is gone; gone through those clouds, while his - shout echoes over the plains. Wherever the fight is the thickest, - there through intervals of cannon smoke, you may see riding - madly forward that strange soldier, mounted on his steed black - as death. Look at him, as with face red with British blood he - waves his sword and shouts to his legions. Now you may see him - fighting in that cannon’s glare, and the next moment he is away - off yonder, leading the forlorn hope up that steep cliff. - - Is it not a magnificent sight, to see that strange soldier and - that noble black horse dashing like a meteor, down the long - columns of battle? Let us look for a moment into those dense - war-clouds. Over this thick hedge bursts a band of American - militia-men, their rude farmer coats stained with blood, while - scattering their arms by the way, they flee before that company - of redcoat hirelings, who come rushing forward, their solid front - of bayonets gleaming in the battle light. - - In this moment of their flight, a horse comes crashing over the - plains. The unknown rider reins his steed back on his haunches, - right in the path of a broad-shouldered militia-man. “Now, - cowards! advance another step and I’ll strike you to the heart!” - shouts the unknown, extending a pistol in either hand. “What! are - you Americans, men, and fly before British soldiers? Back again, - and face them once more, or I myself will ride you down.” - - This appeal was not without its effect. The militia-man turns; - his comrades, as if by one impulse, follow his example. In one - line, but thirty men in all, they confront thirty sharp bayonets. - The British advance. - - “Now upon the rebels, charge!” shouts the red-coat officer. They - spring forward at the same bound. Look! their bayonets almost - touch the muzzles of their rifles. At this moment the voice - of the unknown rider was heard: “Now let them have it! Fire!” - A sound is heard, a smoke is seen, twenty Britons are down, - some writhing in death, some crawling along the soil, and some - speechless as stone. The remaining ten start back. “Club your - rifles and charge them home!” shouts the unknown. - - That black horse springs forward, followed by the militia-men. - Then a confused conflict—a cry for quarter, and a vision of - twenty farmers grouped around the rider of the black horse, - greeting him with cheers. Thus it was all the day long. Wherever - that black horse and his rider went, there followed victory. At - last, toward the setting of the sun, the crisis of the conflict - came. That fortress yonder, on Bemiss’ Heights, must be won, or - the American cause is lost! That cliff is too steep—that death is - too certain. The officers cannot persuade the men to advance. The - Americans have lost the field. Even Morgan, that iron man among - iron men, leans on his rifle and despairs of the field. - - But look yonder! In this moment when all is dismay and horror, - here crashing on, comes the black horse and his rider. That - rider bends upon his steed, his frenzied face covered with sweat - and dust and blood; he lays his hand upon that brave rifleman’s - shoulder, and as though living fire had been poured into his - veins, he seized his rifle and started toward the rock. And now - look! now hold your breath, as that black steed crashes up that - steep cliff. That steed quivers! he totters! he falls! No! No! - Still on, still up the cliff, still on toward the fortress. - - The rider turns his face and shouts, “Come on, men of Quebec! - come on!” That call is needless. Already the bold riflemen are on - the rock. Now British cannon pour your fires, and lay your dead - in tens and twenties on the rock. Now, red-coat hirelings, shout - your battle-cry if you can! For look! there, in the gate of the - fortress, as the smoke clears away, stands the Black Horse and - his rider. That steed falls dead, pierced by an hundred balls; - but his rider, as the British cry for quarter, lifts up his voice - and shouts afar to Horatio Gates waiting yonder in his tent, - “Saratoga is won!” - - As that cry goes up to heaven, he falls with his leg shattered by - a cannon ball. Who was the rider of the black horse? Do you not - guess his name? Then bend down and gaze on that shattered limb, - and you will see that it bears the marks of a former wound. That - wound was received in the storming of Quebec. That rider of the - Black Horse was Benedict Arnold. - - CHARLES SHEPPARD. - - -THE UNFINISHED LETTER. - - “NEAR DEADWOOD. - - “DEAR JENNY— - - “We reached here this morning, - Tom Baker, Ned Leonard and I, - So you see that, in spite of your warning, - The end of our journey is nigh. - - “The redskins—’tis scarce worth a mention, - Don’t worry about me, I pray— - Have shown us no little attention— - Confound them?—along on our way. - - “Poor Ned’s got a ball in the shoulder— - Another one just grazed my side— - But pshaw! ere we’re half a day older - We’ll be at the end of our ride. - - “We’ve camped here for breakfast. Tom’s splitting - Some kindling wood, off of the pines, - And astride a dead cedar I’m sitting - To hastily pen you these lines. - - “A courier from Deadwood—we met him - Just now with a mail for the States, - (Ah, Jenny! I’ll never forget him)— - For this most obligingly waits. - - “He says, too, the miners are earning - Ten dollars a day, every man. - Halloa! here comes Tom—he’s returning, - And running as fast as he can. - - “It’s nothing, I guess; he is only - At one of his practical—” Bang! - And sharp through that solitude lonely - The crack of Sioux rifle shots rang. - - And as the dire volley came blended - With echo from canyon and pass, - The letter to Jenny was ended— - Its writer lay dead on the grass. - - -LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. - - Day by day the Organ-builder in his lonely chamber wrought; - Day by day the soft air trembled to the music of his thought; - - Till at last the work was ended; and no organ-voice so grand - Ever yet had soared responsive to the master’s magic hand. - - Ay, so rarely was it builded that whenever groom and bride, - Who, in God’s sight were well-pleasing, in the church stood side by side, - - Without touch or breath the organ of itself began to play, - And the very airs of heaven through the soft gloom seemed to stray. - - He was young, the Organ-builder, and o’er all the land his fame - Ran with fleet and eager footsteps, like a swiftly rushing flame. - - All the maidens heard the story; all the maidens blushed and smiled, - By his youth and wondrous beauty and his great renown beguiled. - - So he sought and won the fairest, and the wedding-day was set: - Happy day—the brightest jewel in the glad year’s coronet! - - But when they the portal entered, he forgot his lovely bride— - Forgot his love, forgot his God, and his heart swelled high with pride. - - “Ah!” thought he; “how great a master am I! When the organ plays, - How the vast cathedral-arches will re-echo with my praise!” - - Up the aisle the gay procession moved. The altar shone afar, - With every candle gleaming through soft shadows like a star. - - But he listened, listened, listened, with no thought of love or prayer, - For the swelling notes of triumph from his organ standing there. - - All was silent. Nothing heard he save the priest’s low monotone, - And the bride’s robe trailing softly o’er the floor of fretted stone. - - Then his lips grew white with anger. Surely God was pleased with him - Who had built the wondrous organ for His temple vast and dim! - - Whose the fault, then? Hers—the maiden standing meekly at his side! - Flamed his jealous rage, maintaining she was false to him—his bride. - - Vain were all her protestations, vain her innocence and truth; - On that very night he left her to her anguish and her ruth. - - For he wandered to a country wherein no man knew his name; - For ten weary years he dwelt there, nursing still his wrath and shame. - - Then his haughty heart grew softer, and he thought by night and day - Of the bride he had deserted, till he hardly dared to pray; - - Thought of her, a spotless maiden, fair and beautiful and good; - Thought of his relentless anger, that had cursed her womanhood; - - Till his yearning grief and penitence at last were all complete, - And he longed, with bitter longing, just to fall down at her feet. - - Ah! how throbbed his heart when, after many a weary day and night, - Rose his native towers before him, with the sunset glow alight! - - Through the gates into the city on he pressed with eager tread; - There he met a long procession—mourners following the dead. - - “Now why weep ye so, good people? and whom bury ye to-day? - Why do yonder sorrowing maidens scatter flowers along the way? - - “Has some saint gone up to heaven?” “Yes,” they answered, weeping sore; - “For the Organ-builder’s saintly wife our eyes shall see no more; - - “And because her days were given to the service of God’s poor, - From His church we mean to bury her. See! yonder is the door.” - - No one knew him; no one wondered when he cried out, white with pain; - No one questioned when, with pallid lips, he poured his tears like rain. - - “’Tis some one whom she has comforted, who mourns with us,” they said, - As he made his way unchallenged, and bore the coffin’s head; - - Bore it through the open portal, bore it up the echoing aisle, - Let it down before the altar, where the lights burned clear the while; - - When, oh, hark! the wondrous organ of itself began to play - Strains of rare, unearthly sweetness never heard until that day! - - All the vaulted arches rang with the music sweet and clear! - All the air was filled with glory, as of angels hovering near; - - And ere yet the strain was ended, he who bore the coffin’s head, - With the smile of one forgiven, gently sank beside it—dead. - - They who raised the body knew him, and they laid him by his bride; - Down the aisle and o’er the threshold they were carried, side by side; - - While the organ played a dirge that no man ever heard before, - And then softly sank to silence—silence kept for evermore. - - JULIA C. R. DORR. - - -CAUGHT IN THE QUICKSAND. - - It sometimes happens that a man, traveler or fisherman, - walking on the beach at low tide, far from the bank, suddenly - notices that for several minutes he has been walking with some - difficulty. The strand beneath his feet is like pitch; his soles - stick in it; it is sand no longer; it is glue. - - The beach is perfectly dry, but at every step he takes, as soon - as he lift his foot, the print which it leaves fills with water. - The eye, however, has noticed no change; the immense strand - is smooth and tranquil; all the sand has the same appearance; - nothing distinguishes the surface which is solid from that which - is no longer so; the joyous little crowd of sandflies continue to - leap tumultuously over the wayfarer’s feet. The man pursues his - way, goes forward, inclines to the land, endeavors to get nearer - the upland. - - He is not anxious. Anxious about what? Only he feels, somehow, - as if the weight of his feet increases with every step he takes. - Suddenly he sinks in. - - He sinks in two or three inches. Decidedly he is not on the right - road; he stops to take his bearings; now he looks at his feet. - They have disappeared. The sand covers them. He draws them out - of the sand; he will retrace his steps. He turns back, he sinks - in deeper. The sand comes up to his ankles; he pulls himself out - and throws himself to the left; the sand half leg deep. He throws - himself to the right; the sand comes up to his shins. - - Then he recognizes with unspeakable terror that he is caught in - the quicksand, and that he has beneath him the terrible medium in - which man can no more walk than the fish can swim. He throws off - his load, if he has one, lightens himself as a ship in distress; - it is already too late; the sand is above his knees. He calls, he - waves his hat or his handkerchief; the sand gains on him more and - more. If the beach is deserted, if the land is too far off, if - there is no help in sight, it is all over. - - He is condemned to that appalling burial, long, infallible, - implacable and impossible to slacken or to hasten, which endures - for hours, which seizes you erect, free and in full health, and - which draws you by the feet; which, at every effort that you - attempt, at every shout you utter, drags you a little deeper, - sinking you slowly into the earth while you look upon the - horizon, the sails of the ships upon the sea, the birds flying - and singing, the sunshine and the sky. The victim attempts to - sit down, to lie down, to creep; every movement he makes inters - him; he straightens up, he sinks in; he feels that he is being - swallowed. He howls, implores, cries to the clouds, despairs. - - Behold him waist deep in the sand. The sand reaches his breast; - he is now only a bust. He raises his arms, utters furious groans, - clutches the beach with his nails, would hold by that straw, - leans upon his elbows, to pull himself out of this soft sheath; - sobs frenziedly; the sand rises; the sand reaches his shoulders; - the sand reaches his neck; the face alone is visible now. - - The mouth cries, the sand fills it—silence. The eyes still - gaze—the sand shuts them; night. Now the forehead decreases, - a little hair flutters above the sand; a hand come to the - surface of the beach, moves, and shakes, disappears. It is the - earth-drowning man. The earth filled with the ocean becomes a - trap. It presents itself like a plain, and opens like a wave. - - VICTOR HUGO. - - -THE LITTLE QUAKER SINNER. - - A little Quaker maiden, with dimpled cheek and chin, - Before an ancient mirror stood, and viewed her from within - She wore a gown of sober gray, a cap demure and prim, - With only simple fold and hem, yet dainty, neat and trim. - Her bonnet, too, was gray and stiff; its only line of grace - Was in the lace, so soft and white, shirred round her rosy face. - - Quoth she: “Oh, how I hate this hat! I hate this gown and cape! - I do wish all my clothes were not of such outlandish shape! - The children passing by to school have ribbons on their hair; - The little girl next door wears blue; oh, dear, if I could dare, - I know what I should like to do!”—(The words were whispered low, - Lest such tremendous heresy should reach her aunts below.) - - Calmly reading in the parlor sat the good aunts Faith and Peace, - Little dreaming how rebellious throbbed the heart of their young niece. - All their prudent, humble teaching willfully she cast aside, - And, her mind now fully conquered by vanity and pride, - She, with trembling heart and fingers, on a hassock sat her down, - And this little Quaker sinner sewed a tuck into her gown! - - “Little Patience, art thou ready? Fifth day meeting time has come, - Mercy Jones and Goodman Elder with his wife have left their home.” - ’Twas Aunt Faith’s sweet voice that called her, and the naughty little - maid— - Gliding down the dark old stairway—hoped their notice to evade, - Keeping shyly in their shadow as they went out at the door, - Ah! never little Quakeress a guiltier conscience bore! - - Dear Aunt Faith walked looking upward; all her thoughts were pure and - holy; - And Aunt Peace walked gazing downward, with a humble mind and lowly. - But “tuck—tuck!” chirped the sparrows, at the little maiden’s side; - And, in passing Farmer Watson’s, where the barn-door opened wide, - Every sound that issued from it, every grunt and every cluck, - Was to her affrighted fancy like “a tuck!” “a tuck!” “a tuck!” - - In meeting, Goodman Elder spoke of pride and vanity, - While all the Friends seemed looking round that dreadful tuck to see. - How it swelled in its proportions, till it seemed to fill the air, - And the heart of little Patience grew heavier with her care. - O, the glad relief to her, when, prayers and exhortations ended, - Behind her two good aunties her homeward way she wended! - - The pomps and vanities of life she’d seized with eager arms, - And deeply she had tasted of the world’s alluring charms— - Yea, to the dregs had drained them, and only this to find: - All was vanity of spirit and vexation of the mind. - So, repentant, saddened, humbled on her hassock she sat down, - And this little Quaker sinner ripped the tuck out of her gown! - - LUCY L. MONTGOMERY. - - -THE TELL-TALE HEART. - -The emotions of horror and dismay are vividly brought out in this -selection, which is characteristic of some of the writings of Edgar A. -Poe. He had a morbid fancy for the weird, the gruesome and startling, all -of which appear in this ghastly description from his pen. The piece is -an excellent one of its kind. It requires the ability of a tragedian to -properly deliver it. - - With a loud yell I threw open the lantern and leaped into the - room. He shrieked once—once only. In an instant I dragged him to - the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gayly - to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat - on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would - not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man - was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. I placed my - hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no - pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more. - - If you still think me mad, you will think so no longer when I - describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the - body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. - First of all I dismembered the corpse. - - I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber and - deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards - so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye—not even his—could - have detected anything wrong. - - When I had made an end of these labors it was four o’clock—still - dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a - knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light - heart—for what had I now to fear? Then entered three men who - introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the - police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbor during the night; - suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been - lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been - deputed to search the premises. - - I smiled—for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. - The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I - mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over - the house. I bade them search—search well. I led them at length - to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. - In the enthusiasm of my confidence I brought chairs into the - room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I - myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own - seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the - victim. - - The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was - singularly at ease. But ere long I felt myself getting pale and - wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my - ears; but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became - more distinct; it continued and gained definitiveness—until at - length I found that the noise was not within my ears. - - No doubt I now grew very pale; but I talked more fluently and - with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased—and what could I - do. It was a low, dull, quick sound—much such a sound as a watch - makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath—and yet the - officers heard it not. I talked more quickly—more vehemently; but - the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, - in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise - steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the - floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by - the observations of the men—but the noise steadily increased. O - God! what could I do? I foamed—I raved—I swore! I swung the chair - upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, - but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew - louder—louder—louder. And still the men chatted pleasantly and - smiled. Was it possible they heard not? - - They heard!—they suspected!—they knew!—they were making a mockery - of my horror! this I thought, and this I think. But anything was - better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this - derision! I can bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt - that I must scream or die!—and now—again!—hark! louder! louder! - louder! louder! - - “Villains!” I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the deed—tear - up the planks! here! here! it is the beating of his hideous - heart!” - - EDGAR ALLAN POE. - - -THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL. - -A CHRISTMAS STORY. - - It was terribly cold; it snowed and was already almost dark and - evening coming on—the last evening of the year. In the cold and - gloom a little girl, bareheaded and barefooted, was walking - through the streets. When she left her own house she certainly - had slippers on, slippers, but of what use were they? They were - very big slippers, and her mother had used them until then. So - big were they the little maid lost them as she slipped across the - road, where two carriages were rattling by terribly fast. One - slipper was not to be found again, and a boy had seized the other - and ran away with it. So now the little girl went with naked - feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old - apron she carried a number of matches and a bundle of them in - her hand. No one had bought anything of her all day, and no one - had given her a farthing. - - Shivering with cold and hunger she crept along, a picture of - misery, poor little girl! The snowflakes covered her long, fair - hair, which fell in pretty curls over her neck, but she did not - think of that now. In all the windows lights were shining and - there was a glorious smell of roast goose, for it was Christmas - Eve. Yes, she thought of that! - - In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected beyond - the other, she sat down, cowering. She had drawn up her little - feet, but she was still colder, and she did not dare go home, for - she had sold no matches, and did not therefore have a farthing - of money. From her father she would certainly receive a beating, - and, besides, it was cold at home, for they had nothing over them - but a roof, through which the wind whistled, though the largest - rents had been stopped with straw and rags. - - Her hands were almost benumbed with the cold. Ah! a match might - do her good if she could only draw one from the bundle and rub - it against the wall and warm her hands at it. She draws one out. - R-r-atch! How it sputtered and burned! It was a warm, bright - flame, like a candle, when she held her hands over it; it was a - wonderful little light! It really seemed to the child as if she - sat before a great polished stove with bright brass feet and a - brass cover. How the fire burned! How comfortable it was! but the - little flame went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the - remains of the burnt match in her hand. - - A second one was rubbed against the wall. It burned up, and when - the light fell upon the wall it became transparent, like a thin - veil, and she could see through it into the room. On the table - a snow-white cloth was spread; upon it stood a shining dinner - service; the roast goose smoked gloriously, stuffed with apples - and dried plums. And what was still more splendid to behold, the - goose hopped down from the dish and waddled along the floor, with - a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. - - Then the match went out, and only the thick, damp, cold wall was - before her. She lighted another match. Then she was sitting under - a beautiful Christmas tree; it was greater and more ornamented - than the one she had seen through the glass door at the rich - merchant’s. Thousands of candles burned upon its green branches - and lighted up the pictures in the room. The girl stretched forth - her hand toward them; then the match went out. The Christmas - lights mounted higher. She saw them now as stars in the sky; one - of them fell down, forming a long line of fire. - - “Now some one is dying,” thought the little girl, for her old - grandmother, the only person who had loved her and who was now - dead, had told her that when a star fell down a soul mounted up - to God. - - She rubbed another match against the wall; it became bright - again, and in the brightness the old grandmother stood clear and - shining, mild and lovely. - - “Grandmother!” cried the child, “oh! take me with you! I know you - will go when the match is burned out. You will vanish like the - warm fire, the warm food, and the great, glorious Christmas tree!” - - And she hastily rubbed the whole bundle of matches, for she - wished to hold her grandmother fast. And the matches burned with - such a glow that it became brighter than in the middle of the - day; grandmother had never been so large or so beautiful. She - took the child in her arms and both flew in brightness and joy - above the earth, very, very high; and up there was neither cold - nor hunger nor care—they were with God. - - But in the corner, leaning against the wall, sat the poor girl - with red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to death. “She wanted - to warm herself,” the people said. No one imagined what a - beautiful thing she had seen and in what glory she had gone in - with her grandmother on that Christmas night. - - HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. - - -THE MONK’S VISION. - - I read a legend of a monk who painted, - In an old convent cell in days bygone, - Pictures of martyrs and of virgins sainted, - And the sweet Christ-face with the crown of thorn. - - Poor daubs not fit to be a chapel’s treasure— - Full many a taunting word upon them fell; - But the good abbot let him, for his pleasure, - Adorn with them his solitary cell. - - One night the poor monk mused: “Could I but render - Honor to Christ as other painters do— - Were but my skill as great as is the tender - Love that inspires me when His cross I view! - - “But no; ’tis vain I toil and strive in sorrow; - What man so scorns, still less can He admire; - My life’s work is all valueless; to-morrow - I’ll cast my ill-wrought pictures in the fire.” - - He raised his eyes within his cell—O wonder! - There stood a visitor; thorn-crowned was He, - And a sweet voice the silence rent asunder: - “I scorn no work that’s done for love of me.” - - And round the walls the paintings shone resplendent - With lights and colors to this world unknown, - A perfect beauty, and a hue transcendent, - That never yet on mortal canvas shone. - - There is a meaning in this strange old story; - Let none dare judge his brother’s worth or need; - The pure intent gives to the act its glory, - The noblest purpose makes the grandest deed. - - -THE BOAT RACE - - The Algonquins rowed up and down a few times before the - spectators. They appeared in perfect training, mettlesome - as colts, steady as draught horses, deep breathed as oxen, - disciplined to work together as symmetrically as a single sculler - pulls his pair of oars. - - Five minutes passed, and all eyes were strained to the south, - looking for the Atalanta. A clumb of trees hid the edge of the - lake along which the Corinna’s boat was stealing toward the - starting point. Presently the long shell swept into view, with - its blooming rowers. How steadily the Atalanta came on! No - rocking, no splashing, no apparent strain; the bow oar turning - to look ahead every now and then, and watching her course, which - seemed to be straight as an arrow, the beat of the strokes as - true and regular as the pulse of the healthiest rower among them - all. - - If the sight of the other boat and its crew of young men was - beautiful, how lovely was the look of this: eight young girls—all - in the flush of youth, all in vigorous health; every muscle - taught its duty; each rower alert not to be a tenth of a second - out of time, or let her oar dally with the water so as to lose an - ounce of its propelling virtue; every eye kindling with the hope - of victory. Each of the boats was cheered as it came in sight, - but the cheers for the Atalanta were naturally the loudest, as - the gallantry of one sex and the clear, high voices of the other - gave it his and vigor. - - “Take your places!” shouted the umpire, five minutes before the - half-hour. The two boats felt their way slowly and cautiously to - their positions. After a little backing and filling they got into - line, and sat motionless, the bodies of the rowers bent forward, - their arms outstretched, their oars in the water, waiting for the - word. “Go!” shouted the umpire. Away sprang the Atalanta, and - far behind her leaped the Algonquin, her oars bending like long - Indian bows as their blades flashed through the water. - - “A stern chase is a long chase,” especially when one craft is - a great distance behind the other. It looked as if it would be - impossible for the rear boat to overcome the odds against it. Of - course, the Algonquin kept gaining, but could it possibly gain - enough? As the boats got farther and farther away, it became - difficult to determine what change there was in the interval - between them. - - But when they came to rounding the stake it was easier to guess - at the amount of space which had been gained. Something like half - the distance—four lengths as nearly as could be estimated—had - been made up in rowing the first three-quarters of a mile. Could - the Algonquins do a little better than this in the second half of - the race-course they would be sure of winning. - - The boats had turned the stake and were coming in rapidly. Every - minute the University boat was getting nearer the other. - - “Go it, ’Quins!” shouted the students. - - “Pull away, ’Lantas!” screamed the girls, who were crowding down - to the edge of the water. - - Nearer, nearer—the rear boat is pressing the other more and - more closely—a few more strokes and they will be even. It looks - desperate for the Atalantas. The bow oar of the Algonquin - turns his head. He sees the little coxswain leaning forward - at every stroke, as if her trivial weight were of such mighty - consequence—but a few ounces might turn the scale of victory. As - he turned he got a glimpse of the stroke oar of the Atalanta; - what a flash of loveliness it was! Her face was like the reddest - of June roses, with the heat and the strain and passion of - expected triumph. - - The upper button of her close-fitting flannel suit had strangled - her as her bosom heaved with exertion, and it had given way - before the fierce clutch she made at it. The bow oar was a - staunch and steady rower, but he was human. The blade of his oar - lingered in the water; a little more and he would have caught a - crab, and perhaps lost the race by his momentary bewilderment. - - The boat, which seemed as if it had all the life and nervousness - of a three-year-old colt, felt the slight check, and all her - men bent more vigorously to their oars. The Atalanta saw the - movement, and made a spurt to keep their lead and gain upon it if - they could. It was no use. The strong arms of the young men were - too much for the young maidens; only a few lengths remained to - be rowed, and they would certainly pass the Atalanta before she - could reach the line. - - The little coxswain saw that it was all up with the girls’ crew - if she could not save them by some strategic device. As she - stooped she lifted the handkerchief at her feet and took from it - a flaming bouquet. “Look!” she cried, and flung it just forward - of the track of the Algonquin. - - The captain of the University boat turned his head, and there was - the lovely vision which had, a moment before, bewitched him. The - owner of all that loveliness must, he thought, have flung the - bouquet. It was a challenge; how could he be such a coward as to - decline accepting it? He was sure he could win the race now, - and he would sweep past the line in triumph with the great bunch - of flowers at the stern of his boat, proud as Van Tromp in the - British Channel with the broom at his masthead. - - He turned the boat’s head a little by backing water, and came up - with the floating flowers, near enough to reach them. He stooped - and snatched them up, with the loss perhaps of a second, no more. - He felt sure of his victory. - - The bow of the Algonquin passes the stern of the Atalanta! - The bow of the Algonquin is on a level with the middle of the - Atalanta—three more lengths and the college crew will pass the - girls! - - “Hurrah for the ’Quins!” The Algonquin ranges up alongside of the - Atalanta! - - “Through with her!” shouts the captain of the Algonquin. - - “Now, girls!” shrieks the captain of the Atalanta. - - They near the line, every rower straining desperately, almost - madly. Crack goes the oar of the Atalanta’s captain, and up flash - its splintered fragments as the stem of her boat springs past the - line, eighteen inches at least ahead of the Algonquin. - - “Hooraw for the ’Lantas! Hooraw for the girls! Hooraw for the - Institoot!” shout a hundred voices. - - And there is loud laughing and cheering all round. - - The pretty little captain had not studied her classical - dictionary for nothing. “I have paid off an old ‘score,’” she - said. “Set down my damask roses against the golden apples of - Hippomenes!” It was that one second lost in snatching up the - bouquet which gave the race to the Atalantas! - - -PHILLIPS OF PELHAMVILLE. - - Short is the story I say, if you will - Hear it, of Phillips of Pelhamville: - - An engineer for many a day - Over miles and miles of the double way. - - He was out that day, running sharp, for he knew - He must shunt ahead for a train overdue, - - The South Express coming on behind - With the swing and rush of a mighty wind. - - No need to say in this verse of mine - How accidents happen along the line. - - A rail lying wide to the gauge ahead, - A signal clear when it should be red; - - An axle breaking, the tire of a wheel - Snapping off at a hidden flaw in the steel. - - Enough. There were wagons piled up in the air, - As if some giant had tossed them there. - - Rails broken and bent like a willow wand, - And sleepers torn up through the ballast and sand. - - The hiss of the steam was heard, as it rushed - Through the safety-valves; the engine crushed - - Deep into the slope, like a monster driven - To hide itself from the eye of heaven. - - But where was Phillips? From underneath - The tender wheels, with their grip of death, - - They drew him, scalded by steam, and burned - By the engine fires as it overturned. - - They laid him gently upon the slope, - Then knelt beside him with little of hope. - - Though dying, he was the only one - Of them all that knew what ought to be done; - - For his fading eye grew quick with a fear, - As if of some danger approaching near. - - And it sought—not the wreck of his train that lay - Over the six and the four feet away— - - But down the track, for there hung on his mind - The South Express coming up behind. - - And he half arose with a stifled groan, - While his voice had the same old ring in its tone: - - “Signal the South Express!” he said, - Then fell back in the arms of his fireman, dead. - - Short, as you see, is this story of mine, - And of one more hero of the line. - - For hero he was, though before his name - Goes forth no trumpet-blast of fame. - - Yet true to his duty, as steel to steel, - Was Phillips the driver of Pelhamville. - - ALEXANDER ANDERSON. - - -POOR LITTLE JIM. - - The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean, - But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean; - The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, - As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child: - A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim: - It was a collier’s wife and child, they called him little Jim. - - And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek, - As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was afraid to speak, - Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life; - For she had all a mother’s heart, had that poor collier’s wife. - With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer’s bed, - And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead. - - She gets her answer from the child: soft fall the words from him: - “Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim, - I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh! I am so dry, - Just moisten poor Jim’s lips again, and, mother, don’t you cry.” - With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip; - He smiled to thank her as he took each little, tiny sip; - - “Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him, - And, mother, now I’ll go to sleep.” Alas! poor little Jim! - She knew that he was dying; that the child she loved so dear - Had uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear: - The cottage door is opened, the collier’s step is heard, - The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word. - - He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead, - He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed; - His quivering lips gave token of the grief he’d fain conceal, - And see, his wife has joined him—the stricken couple kneel: - With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly ask of Him, - In heaven once more to meet again their own poor little Jim. - - - - -ORATIONS BY FAMOUS ORATORS. - - -An oration, strictly speaking, is an elaborate discourse delivered on -some special occasion, and in a somewhat formal and dignified manner. As -this class of recitations stands by itself and is quite different from -the other selections contained in this volume, I have grouped together -here a number of Famous Orations, all of which have given their authors -celebrity. These are well suited for public delivery by those who prefer -this kind of recitation and have the oratorical ability required for -reciting them. - - -TRUE MORAL COURAGE. - -BY HENRY CLAY. - -When reference is made to America’s greatest orators it is customary to -mention the name of Henry Clay among the very first. He was frequently -called “The Mill Boy of the Slashes,” from the fact that he was a poor -boy and was born in a district in Virginia called “the Slashes.” Mr. Clay -was tall and slender and had a voice of wonderful range and sympathy, was -remarkably easy and graceful in manner, and few orators who ever lived -possessed such persuasive power. - -The opening part of this fine selection should be delivered in a rather -quiet, slightly satirical tone; but in the later passages the speaker -should grow warm and enthusiastic, and voice and gesture should express a -full appreciation of the lofty sentiments he is uttering. - - There is a sort of courage, which, I frankly confess it, I do not - possess—a boldness to which I dare not aspire, a valor which I - cannot covet. I cannot lay myself down in the way of the welfare - and happiness of my country. That, I cannot—I have not the - courage to do. I cannot interpose the power with which I may be - invested—a power conferred, not for my personal benefit, nor for - my aggrandizement, but for my country’s good—to check her onward - march to greatness and glory. I have not courage enough. I am too - cowardly for that. - - I would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a threat, lie - down, and place my body across the path that leads my country - to prosperity and happiness. This is a sort of courage widely - different from that which a man may display in his private - conduct and personal relations. Personal or private courage - is totally distinct from that higher and nobler courage which - prompts the patriot to offer himself a voluntary sacrifice to his - country’s good. - - Apprehensions of the imputation of the want of firmness sometimes - impel us to perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is the - greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of the want of - courage. - - But pride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable and offensive in private - life, are vices which partake of the character of crimes in - the conduct of public affairs. The unfortunate victim of these - passions cannot see beyond the little, petty, contemptible circle - of his own personal interests. All his thoughts are withdrawn - from his country, and concentrated on his consistency, his - firmness, himself. - - The high, the exalted, the sublime emotions of a patriotism - which, soaring toward heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or - selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul-transporting thought - of the good and the glory of one’s country, are never felt in - his impenetrable bosom. That patriotism which, catching its - inspiration of the immortal God, and, leaving at an immeasurable - distance below all lesser, groveling, personal interests and - feelings, animates and prompts to deeds of self-sacrifice, of - valor, of devotion, and of death itself—that is public virtue; - that is the noblest, the sublimest of all public virtues! - - -THE STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. - -BY JOSIAH QUINCY. - -An American orator and patriot, born in Massachusetts in 1744, Mr. -Quincy, by his fervid and convincing eloquence, was one of the most -powerful champions of the popular cause of independence. - - Be not deceived, my countrymen. Believe not these venal - hirelings, when they would cajole you by their subtleties into - submission, or frighten you by their vaporings into compliance. - When they strive to flatter you by the terms “moderation and - prudence,” tell them that calmness and deliberation are to guide - the judgment; courage and intrepidity command the action. When - they endeavor to make us “perceive our inability to oppose our - mother country,” let us boldly answer—In defence of our civil - and religious rights, we dare oppose the world; with the God of - armies on our side, even the God who fought our fathers’ battles, - we fear not the hour of trial, though the hosts of our enemies - should cover the field like locusts. If this be enthusiasm, we - will live and die enthusiasts. - - Blandishments will not fascinate us, nor will threats of a - “halter” intimidate. For, under God, we are determined, that - wheresoever, whensoever, or howsoever we shall be called to make - our exit, we will die freemen. Well do we know that all the - regalia of this world can not dignify the death of a villain, nor - diminish the ignominy with which a slave shall quit existence. - - Neither can it taint the unblemished honor of a son of freedom - though he should make his departure on the already prepared - gibbet, or be dragged to the newly-erected scaffold for - execution. With the plaudits of his country, and what is more, - the plaudits of his conscience, he will go off the stage. The - history of his life, his children shall venerate. The virtues of - their sires shall excite their emulation. - - Is the debt we owe posterity paid? Answer me, thou coward, who - hidest thyself in the hour of trial! If there is no reward in - this life, no prize of glory in the next, capable of animating - thy dastard soul, think and tremble, thou miscreant! at the whips - and stripes thy master shall lash thee with on earth—and the - flames and scorpions thy second master shall torment thee with - hereafter! - - Oh my countrymen! what will our children say, when they read the - history of these times, should they find that we tamely gave way, - without one noble struggle for the most invaluable of earthly - blessings! As they drag the galling chain, will they not execrate - us? If we have any respect for things sacred, any regard to the - dearest treasure on earth; if we have one tender sentiment for - posterity; if we would not be despised by the world; let us, in - the most open, solemn manner, and with determined fortitude, - swear—we will die if we cannot live freemen. While we have - equity, justice, and God on our side, tyranny, spiritual or - temporal, shall never ride triumphant in a land inhabited by - Englishmen. - - -CENTENNIAL ORATION. - -BY HENRY ARMITT BROWN. - -From the oration delivered upon the occasion of the Centennial -Anniversary of the meeting of the first Colonial Congress in Carpenters’ -Hall, Philadelphia. This oration is the masterpiece of a young orator -who died when but little past the age of thirty, having already gained a -wide celebrity for scholarly attainments and commanding eloquence. It is -remarkable for boldness of thought and fervor of expression. - - The conditions of life are always changing, and the experience of - the fathers is rarely the experience of the sons. The temptations - which are trying us are not the temptations which beset their - footsteps, nor the dangers which threaten our pathway the dangers - which surrounded them. These men were few in number; we are - many. They were poor, but we are rich. They were weak, but we - are strong. What is it, countrymen, that we need to-day? Wealth? - Behold it in your hands. Power? God hath given it you. Liberty? - It is your birthright. Peace? It dwells amongst you. - - You have a Government founded in the hearts of men, built by the - people for the common good. You have a land flowing with milk and - honey; your homes are happy, your workshops busy, your barns are - full. The school, the railway, the telegraph, the printing press, - have welded you together into one. Descend those mines that - honeycomb the hills! Behold that commerce whitening every sea! - Stand by your gates and see that multitude pour through them from - the corners of the earth, grafting the qualities of older stocks - upon one stem; mingling the blood of many races in a common - stream, and swelling the rich volume of our English speech with - varied music from an hundred tongues. - - You have a long and glorious history, a past glittering with - heroic deeds, an ancestry full of lofty and imperishable - examples. You have passed through danger, endured privation, - been acquainted with sorrow, been tried by suffering. You have - journeyed in safety through the wilderness and crossed in - triumph the Red Sea of civil strife, and the foot of Him who - led you hath not faltered nor the light of His countenance been - turned away. - - It is a question for us now, not of the founding of a new - government, but of the preservation of one already old; not of - the formation of an independent power, but of the purification - of a nation’s life; not of the conquest of a foreign foe, but of - the subjection of ourselves. The capacity of man to rule himself - is to be proven in the days to come, not by the greatness of his - wealth; not by his valor in the field; not by the extent of his - dominion, nor by the splendor of his genius. - - The dangers of to-day come from within. The worship of self, the - love of power, the lust for gold, the weakening of faith, the - decay of public virtue, the lack of private worth—these are the - perils which threaten our future; these are the enemies we have - to fear; these are the traitors which infest the camp; and the - danger was far less when Catiline knocked with his army at the - gates of Rome, than when he sat smiling in the Senate House. We - see them daily face to face; in the walk of virtue; in the road - to wealth; in the path to honor; on the way to happiness. There - is no peace between them and our safety. Nor can we avoid them - and turn back. It is not enough to rest upon the past. No man or - nation can stand still. We must mount upward or go down. We must - grow worse or better. It is the Eternal Law—we cannot change it. - - My countrymen: this anniversary has gone by forever, and my - task is done. While I have spoken, the hour has passed from us; - the hand has moved upon the dial, and the old century is dead. - The American Union hath endured an hundred years! Here, on this - threshold of the future, the voice of humanity shall not plead to - us in vain. There shall be darkness in the days to come; danger - for our courage; temptation for our virtue; doubt for our faith; - suffering for our fortitude. A thousand shall fall before us, and - tens of thousands at our right hand. The years shall pass beneath - our feet, and century follow century in quick succession. The - generations of men shall come and go; the greatness of yesterday - shall be forgotten; to-day and the glories of this noon shall - vanish before to-morrow’s sun; but America shall not perish, but - endure while the spirit of our fathers animates their sons. - - -SPEECH OF SHREWSBURY BEFORE QUEEN ELIZABETH. - -BY FREDERIC VON SCHILLER. - - God whose most wondrous hand has four times protected you, and - who to-day gave the feeble arm of gray hairs strength to turn - aside the stroke of a madman, should inspire confidence. I will - not now speak in the name of justice: this is not the time. In - such a tumult, you cannot hear her still small voice. Consider - this only: you are fearful now of the living Mary; but I say it - is not the living you have to fear. _Tremble at the dead—the - beheaded._ She will rise from the grave a fiend of dissension. - She will awaken the spirit of revenge in your kingdom, and wean - the hearts of your subjects from you. At present she is an object - of dread to the British; but when she is no more, they will - revenge her. - - No longer will she then be regarded as the enemy of their faith; - her mournful fate will cause her to appear as the grand-daughter - of their king, the victim of man’s hatred, and woman’s jealousy. - Soon will you see the change appear! Drive through London after - the bloody deed has been done; show yourself to the people, who - now surround you with joyful acclamations: then will you see - another England, another people! No longer will you then walk - forth encircled by the radiance of heavenly justice which now - binds every heart to you. Dread the frightful name of tyrant - which will precede you through shuddering hearts, and resound - through every street where you pass. You have done the last - irrevocable deed. What head stands fast when this sacred one has - fallen? - - -THE PROSPECTS OF THE REPUBLIC. - -BY EDWARD EVERETT. - - This, then, is the theatre on which the intellect of America is - to appear, and such the motives to its exertion, such the mass - to be influenced by its energies, such the crowd to witness its - efforts, such the glory to crown its success. If I err in this - happy vision of my country’s fortunes, I thank God for an error - so animating. If this be false may I never know the truth. Never - may you, my friends, be under any other feeling than that a - great, a growing, an immeasurably expanding country is calling - upon you for your best services. - - The most powerful motives call on us for those efforts which - our common country demands of all her children. Most of us are - of that class who owe whatever of knowledge has shone into our - minds, to the free and popular institutions of our native land. - There are few of us, who may not be permitted to boast, that we - have been reared in an honest poverty or a frugal competence, and - owe everything to those means of education which are equally open - to all. - - We are summoned to new energy and zeal by the high nature of - the experiment we are appointed in Providence to make, and the - grandeur of the theatre on which it is to be performed. When the - Old World afforded no longer any hope, it pleased Heaven to open - this last refuge of humanity. The attempt has begun, and is going - on, far from foreign corruption, on the broadest scale, and under - the most benignant prospects; and it certainly rests with us to - solve the great problem in human society, to settle, and that - forever, that momentous question—whether mankind can be trusted - with a purely popular system? - - One might almost think, without extravagance, that the departed - wise and good of all places and times are looking down from - their happy seats to witness what shall now be done by us; - that they who lavished their treasures and their blood of old, - who labored and suffered, who spake and wrote, who fought and - perished, in the one great cause of freedom and truth, are now - hanging from their orbs on high, over the last solemn experiment - of humanity. - - As I have wandered over the spots, once the scene of their - labors, and mused among the prostrate columns of their senate - houses and forums, I have seemed almost to hear a voice from the - tombs of departed ages; from the sepulchers of the nations, which - died before the sight. They exhort us, they adjure us, to be - faithful to our trust. - - They implore us, by the long trials of struggling humanity, by - the blessed memory of the departed; by the dear faith, which - has been plighted by pure hands, to the holy cause of truth and - man; by the awful secrets of the prison houses, where the sons - of freedom have been immured; by the noble heads which have been - brought to the block; by the wrecks of time, by the eloquent - ruins of nations, they conjure us not to quench the light which - is rising on the world. Greece cries to us, by the convulsed lips - of her poisoned, dying Demosthenes; and Rome pleads with us, in - the mute persuasion of her mangled Tully. - - -THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CONQUER. - -BY EDWARD EVERETT. - -As a finished scholar and eloquent speaker, Mr. Everett gained the -highest distinction. His silvery tones and flowery periods held -multitudes spellbound. His orations were always prepared with the -greatest care, delivered from memory, and are models of elevated thought -and sentiment and brilliant diction. He was the finished orator, noted -for the classic beauty of his writings. - - Sir, in the efforts of the people—of the people struggling for - their rights—moving, not in organized, disciplined masses, but in - their spontaneous action, man for man, and heart for heart—there - is something glorious. They can then move forward without - orders, act together without combination, and brave the flaming - lines of battle without entrenchments to cover or walls to shield - them. - - No dissolute camp has worn off from the feelings of the youthful - soldier the freshness of that home, where his mother and his - sisters sit waiting, with tearful eyes and aching hearts, to - hear good news from the wars; no long service in the ranks of a - conqueror has turned the veteran’s heart into marble. Their valor - springs not from recklessness, from habit, from indifference to - the preservation of a life knit by no pledges to the life of - others; but in the strength and spirit of the cause alone, they - act, they contend, they bleed. In this they conquer. - - The people always conquer. They always _must_ conquer. Armies may - be defeated, kings may be overthrown, and new dynasties imposed, - by foreign arms, on an ignorant and slavish race, that cares not - in what language the covenant of their subjection runs, nor in - whose name the deed of their barter and sale is made out. - - But the people never invade; and, when they rise against the - invader, are never subdued. If they are driven from the plains, - they fly to the mountains. Steep rocks and everlasting hills are - their castles; the tangled, pathless thicket their palisado; and - nature, God, is their ally! Now he overwhelms the hosts of their - enemies beneath his drifting mountains of sand; now he buries - them beneath a falling atmosphere of polar snows; He lets loose - his tempest on their fleets; He puts a folly into their counsels, - a madness into the hearts of their leaders; He never gave, and - never will give, a final triumph over a virtuous and gallant - people, resolved to be free. - - “For Freedom’s battle once begun, - Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son - Though baffled oft, is ever won.” - - -TO THE SURVIVORS OF BUNKER HILL. - -BY DANIEL WEBSTER. - -One of the towering names in American statesmanship is that of Daniel -Webster, “the great defender of the Constitution.” Mr. Webster was -not more remarkable for intellectual power than he was for masterly -eloquence. His triumphs in Senatorial debate and on great public -occasions are historic. In person he was large and brawny, with a -swarthy complexion, massive head, and always conveyed the impression of -strength, and, at times, even of majesty. His orations are masterpieces -of patriotic fervor and scholarly culture. - - Venerable men: you have come down to us from a former generation. - Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives that you might - behold this joyous day. You are now where you stood fifty years - ago, this very hour, with your brothers and your neighbors, - shoulder to shoulder, in the strife of your country. Behold how - altered! The same heavens are indeed over your heads; the same - ocean rolls at your feet; but all else, how changed! You hear now - no roar of hostile cannon, you see no mixed volumes of smoke and - flame rising from burning Charlestown. - - The ground strewed with the dead and the dying; the impetuous - charge; the steady and successful repulse; the loud call to - repeated assault; the summoning of all that is manly to repeated - resistance; a thousand bosoms freely and fearlessly bared in an - instant to whatever of terror there may be in war and death;—all - these you have witnessed, but you witness them no more. All is - peace. The heights of yonder metropolis, its towers and roofs, - which you then saw filled with wives and children and countrymen - in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions for - the issue of the combat, have presented you to-day with the sight - of its whole happy population, come out to welcome and greet you - with a universal jubilee. - - Yonder proud ships, by a felicity of position appropriately lying - at the foot of this mount, and seeming fondly to cling around it, - are not means of annoyance to you, but your country’s own means - of distinction and defence. All is peace; and God has granted - you this sight of your country’s happiness, ere you slumber in - the grave for ever. He has allowed you to behold and partake the - reward of your patriotic toils; and he has allowed us, your sons - and countrymen, to meet you here, and in the name of the present - generation, in the name of your country, in the name of liberty, - to thank you! - - But, alas! you are not all here! Time and the sword have thinned - your ranks. Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Read, Pomeroy, - Bridge! our eyes seek for you in vain amidst this broken band. - You are gathered to your fathers, and live only to your country - in her grateful remembrance and your own bright example. But - let us not too much grieve that you have met the common fate of - men. You lived at least long enough to know that your work had - been nobly and successfully accomplished. You lived to see your - country’s independence established and to sheathe your swords - from war. On the light of liberty you saw arise the light of - Peace, like - - “another morn, - Risen on mid-noon;”— - - and the sky on which you closed your eyes was cloudless. - - -SOUTH CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS. - -BY DANIEL WEBSTER. - - The eulogium pronounced on the character of the State of South - Carolina by the honorable gentleman, for her revolutionary - and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not - acknowledge that the honorable member goes before me in regard - for whatever of distinguished talent, or distinguished character, - South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honor; I partake - in the pride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one - and all. The Laurenses, Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumters, - the Marions—Americans all—whose fame is no more to be hemmed in - by state lines, than their talents and patriotism were capable of - being circumscribed within the same narrow limits. - - In their day and generation, they served and honored the country, - the whole country, and their renown is of the treasures of - the whole country. Him whose honored name the gentleman bears - himself—does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his - patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes - had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts instead of - South Carolina? Sir, does he suppose it in his power to exhibit - a Carolina name so bright as to produce envy in my bosom? No, - sir—increased gratification and delight, rather. Sir, I thank - God, that if I am gifted with little of the spirit which is said - to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I - trust, of that other spirit which would drag angels down. - - When I shall be found, sir, in my place here in the Senate, or - elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it happened to - spring up beyond the limits of my own State and neighborhood; - when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage - due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sincere - devotion to liberty and the country; or if I see an uncommon - endowment of heaven—if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue - in any son of the South—and if, moved by local prejudice, or - gangrened by State jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe - of a hair, from his just character and just fame, may my tongue - cleave to the roof of my mouth! - - I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts—she needs none. - There she is—behold her and judge for yourselves. There is her - history—the world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is - secure. There is Boston and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker’s - Hill; and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, - fallen in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled - with the soil of every State, from New England to Georgia; and - there they will lie forever. - - -EULOGIUM ON SOUTH CAROLINA. - -BY ROBERT T. HAYNE. - -This distinguished American orator was born in the parish of Saint Paul, -South Carolina. His eminent ability soon secured for him a seat in the -United States Senate. The following is from one of his orations delivered -in the celebrated controversy between himself and Daniel Webster. It is -a glowing defense of his native state, and is memorable in the annals of -forensic eloquence. - - If there be one State in the Union, and I say it not in a - boastful spirit, that may challenge comparison with any other for - a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to the - Union, that State is South Carolina. From the very commencement - of the Revolution, up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, - however great, she has not cheerfully made, no service she - has ever hesitated to perform. She has adhered to you in your - prosperity; but in your adversity she has clung to you with more - than filial affection. - - No matter what was the condition of her domestic affairs, though - deprived of her resources, divided by parties, or surrounded by - difficulties, the call of the country has been to her as the - voice of God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound; every man - became reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were - all seen crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts to - the altar of their common country. - - What was the conduct of the South during the Revolution? I honor - New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle. But, great - as is the praise which belongs to her, I think at least equal - honor is due to the South. They espoused the quarrel of their - brethren with a generous zeal which did not suffer them to stop - to calculate their interest in the dispute. Favorites of the - mother country, possessed of neither ships nor seamen to create a - commercial rivalship, they might have found, in their situation, - a guarantee that their trade would be forever fostered and - protected by Great Britain. But trampling on all considerations, - either of interest or safety, they rushed into the conflict, - and, fighting for principle, perilled all in the sacred cause of - freedom. - - Never was there exhibited in the history of the world higher - examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic - endurance than by the Whigs of Carolina during the Revolution! - The whole State, from the mountains to the sea, was overrun by an - overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of industry perished - on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed by the foe. - - The “plains of Carolina” drank up the most precious blood of her - citizens. Black and smoking ruins marked the places which had - been the habitations of her children. Driven from their homes - into the gloomy and almost impenetrable swamps, even there the - spirit of liberty survived, and South Carolina, sustained by the - example of her Sumters and her Marions, proved, by her conduct, - that, though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her people - was invincible. - - -THE CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. - -BY WENDELL PHILLIPS. - -It has been said of Mr. Phillips that in his public addresses he was -“a gentleman talking,” so easy and graceful was his manner. “The -golden-mouthed Phillips” was also an appropriate title. Considered simply -as an orator, perhaps our country has never produced his superior. - - It matters very little what spot may have been the birthplace of - Washington. No people can claim, no country can appropriate him. - The boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, - and his residence creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, - and the disgrace of our policy, I almost bless the convulsion in - which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered, and the earth - rocked, yet, when the storm had passed, how pure was the climate - that it cleared; how bright, in the brow of the firmament, was - the planet which it revealed to us! - - In the production of Washington, it does really appear as if - Nature was endeavoring to improve upon herself, and that all the - virtues of the ancient world were but so many studies preparatory - to the patriot of the new. Individual instances, no doubt, there - were, splendid exemplifications of some singular qualification; - Cæsar was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal was patient; - but it was reserved for Washington to bind them all in one, and, - like the lovely masterpiece of the Grecian artist, to exhibit, in - one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the - perfection of every master. - - As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, - and supplied by discipline the absence of experience; as a - statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the most - comprehensive system of general advantage; and such was the - wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his counsels, that to - the soldier, and the statesman he almost added the character of - the sage! A conqueror, he was untainted with the crime of blood; - a revolutionist, he was free from any stain of treason; for - aggression commenced the contest, and his country called him to - the command. - - Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory returned - it. If he had paused here, history might have doubted what - station to assign him; whether at the head of her citizens or her - soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. But the last glorious act - crowns his career, and banishes all hesitation. - - Who, like Washington, after having emancipated a hemisphere, - resigned its crown, and preferred the retirement of domestic - life to the adoration of a land he might almost be said to have - created? - - “How shall we rank thee upon Glory’s page, - Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage? - All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, - Far less, than all thou hast forborne to be!” - - Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be accused of - partiality in his estimate of America. Happy, proud America! The - lightnings of heaven yielded to your philosophy! The temptations - of earth could not seduce your patriotism. - - -NATIONAL MONUMENT TO WASHINGTON. - -BY ROBERT C. WINTHROP. - -One of “Boston’s hundred orators” is the author of this eloquent oration, -which was delivered at the laying of the corner-stone of Washington’s -monument, that imposing shaft which is one of the greatest objects of -interest at our national capital. Scarcely any finer tribute was ever -paid to the Father of his Country. It should be delivered with full -volume of voice and sustained energy. - - Fellow-citizens, let us seize this occasion to renew to each - other our vows of allegiance and devotion to the American Union, - and let us recognize in our common title to the name and the - fame of Washington, and in our common veneration for his example - and his advice, the all-sufficient centripetal power, which - shall hold the thick clustering stars of our confederacy in one - glorious constellation forever! Let the column which we are about - to construct be at once a pledge and an emblem of perpetual union! - - Let the foundations be laid, let the superstructure be built up - and cemented, let each stone be raised and riveted in a spirit - of national brotherhood! And may the earliest ray of the rising - sun—till that sun shall set to rise no more—draw forth from - it daily, as from the fabled statue of antiquity, a strain of - national harmony, which shall strike a responsive chord in every - heart throughout the republic! - - Proceed, then, fellow-citizens, with the work for which you - have assembled. Lay the corner-stone of a monument which shall - adequately bespeak the gratitude of the whole American people to - the illustrious father of his country! Build it to the skies; you - can not outreach the loftiness of his principles! Found it upon - the massive and eternal rock; you can not make it more enduring - than his fame! Construct it of the peerless Parian marble; you - cannot make it purer than his life! Exhaust upon it the rules and - principles of ancient and of modern art; you cannot make it more - proportionate than his character. - - But let not your homage to his memory end here. Think not to - transfer to a tablet or a column the tribute which is due from - yourselves. Just honor to Washington can only be rendered by - observing his precepts and imitating his example. He has built - his own monument. We, and those who come after us, in successive - generations, are its appointed, its privileged guardians. - - The wide-spread republic is the future monument to Washington. - Maintain its independence. Uphold its constitution. Preserve - its union. Defend its liberty. Let it stand before the world in - all its original strength and beauty, securing peace, order, - equality, and freedom, to all within its boundaries, and shedding - light and hope and joy upon the pathway of human liberty - throughout the world—and Washington needs no other monument. - Other structures may testify our veneration for him; this, alone - can adequately illustrate his service to mankind. - - Nor does he need even this. The republic may perish; the wide - arch of our ranged Union may fall; star by star its glories - may expire; stone by stone its columns and its capitol may - moulder and crumble; all other names which adorn its annals - may be forgotten; but as long as human hearts shall anywhere - pant, or human tongues anywhere plead, for a true, rational, - constitutional liberty, those hearts shall enshrine the memory, - and those tongues prolong the fame, of George Washington. - - -THE NEW WOMAN. - -BY FRANCES E. WILLARD. - -Although it is not customary to include women among orators, an exception -must be made in the case of Miss Willard. Few men have ever possessed her -command over popular audiences. Her eloquence drew multitudes to listen -to her burning appeals in behalf of the reforms of the day, among whom -were always many who protested that they “never liked to hear a woman -talk in public.” - -Miss Willard’s remarkable gifts, her zeal and earnestness, and her -devotion to her cause, gave her a world-wide reputation. This extract -from one of her eloquent public addresses is bright in thought, wholesome -in sentiment, and is a model of effective speech. - - Let us be grateful that our horizon is widening. We women have - learned to reason from effect to cause. It is considered a fine - sign of a thinker to be able to reason from cause to effect. - But we, in fourteen years’ march, have learned to go from the - drunkard in the gutter, who was the object lesson we first saw, - back to the children, as you will hear to-night; back to the idea - of preventive, educational, evangelistic, social, and legal work - for temperance; back to the basis of the saloon itself. - - We have found that the liquor traffic is joined hand in hand with - the very sources of the National Government. And we have come to - the place where we want prohibition, first, last, and all the - time. While the brewer talks about his “vested interests,” I lend - my voice to the motherhood of the nation that has gone down into - the valley of unutterable pain and in the shadow of death, with - the dews of eternity upon the mother’s brow, given birth and - being to the sons who are the “vested interests” of America’s - homes. - - We offset the demand of the brewer and distiller, that you shall - protect their ill-gotten gains, with the thought of these most - sacred treasures, dear to the hearts that you, our brothers, - honor—dear to the hearts that you love best. I bring to you this - thought, to-night, that you shall vote to represent us, and - hasten the time when we can represent ourselves. - - I believe that we are going out into this work, being schooled - and inspired for greater things than we have dreamed, and - that the army of women will prove the grandest sisterhood the - world has ever known. As I have seen the love and kindness and - good-will of women who differed so widely from us politically and - religiously, and yet have found away down in the depths of their - hearts the utmost love and affection, I have said, what kind of a - world will this be when all women are as fond of each other as we - strong-minded women are? - - Home is the citadel of everything that is good and pure on earth; - nothing must enter there to defile, neither anything which - loveth or maketh a lie. And it shall be found that all society - needed to make it altogether homelike was the home-folks; that - all government needed to make it altogether pure from the fumes - of tobacco and the debasing effects of strong drink, was the - home-folks; that wherever you put a woman who has the atmosphere - or home about her, she brings in the good time of pleasant and - friendly relationship, and points with the finger of hope and - the eye of faith always to something better—always it is better - farther on. - - As I look around and see the heavy cloud of apathy under which - so many still are stifled, who take no interest in these things, - I just think they do not half mean the hard words that they - sometimes speak to us, or they wouldn’t if they knew; and, after - awhile, they will have the same views I have, spell them with a - capital V, and all be harmonious, like Barnum’s happy family, a - splendid menagerie of the whole human race—clear-eyed, kind and - victorious! - - -AN APPEAL FOR LIBERTY. - -BY JOSEPH STORY. - - I call upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors—by the - dear ashes which repose in this precious soil—by all you are, and - all you hope to be—resist every object of disunion, resist every - encroachment upon your liberties, resist every attempt to fetter - your consciences, or smother your public schools, or extinguish - your system of public instruction. - - I call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in woman, the - love of your offspring; teach them, as they climb your knees, or - lean on your bosoms, the blessings of liberty. Swear them at the - altar, as with their baptismal vows, to be true to their country, - and never to forget or forsake her. - - I call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you are; whose - inheritance you possess. Life can never be too short, which - brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. Death never comes too - soon, if necessary in defence of the liberties of your country. - - I call upon you, old men, for your counsels, and your prayers, - and your benedictions. May not your gray hairs go down in sorrow - to the grave, with the recollection that you have lived in vain. - May not your last sun sink in the west upon a nation of slaves. - - No; I read in the destiny of my country far better hopes, far - brighter visions. We, who are now assembled here, must soon be - gathered to the congregation of other days. The time of our - departure is at hand, to make way for our children upon the - theatre of life. May God speed them and theirs. May he who, at - the distance of another century, shall stand here to celebrate - this day, still look round upon a free, happy, and virtuous - people. May he have reason to exult as we do. May he, with all - the enthusiasm of truth as well as of poetry, exclaim, that here - is still his country. - - -THE TRUE SOURCE OF REFORM. - -BY EDWIN H. CHAPIN. - -As a pulpit orator and lecturer Mr. Chapin was widely known and popular. -His style was ornate and finished, and when to this was added his grand -voice and magnetic delivery, his audiences could not resist the charm of -his eloquence. His opinions placed him in the front ranks of reformers. - - The great element of reform is not born of human wisdom, it does - not draw its life from human organizations. I find it only in - Christianity. “Thy kingdom come!” There is a sublime and pregnant - burden in this prayer. It is the aspiration of every soul that - goes forth in the spirit of Reform. For what is the significance - of this prayer? It is a petition that all holy influences would - penetrate and subdue and dwell in the heart of man, until he - shall think, and speak, and do good, from the very necessity of - his being. - - So would the institutions of error and wrong crumble and pass - away. So would sin die out from the earth; and the human soul - living in harmony with the Divine will, this earth would become - like heaven. It is too late for the reformers to sneer at - Christianity—it is foolishness for them to reject it. In it are - enshrined our faith in human progress—our confidence in reform. - It is indissolubly connected with all that is hopeful, spiritual, - capable, in man. - - That men have misunderstood it, and perverted it, is true. But it - is also true that the noblest efforts for human melioration have - come out of it—have been based upon it. Is it not so? Come, ye - remembered ones, who sleep the sleep of the just—who took your - conduct from the line of Christian philosophy—come from your - tombs, and answer! - - Come, Howard, from the gloom of the prison and the taint of the - lazar-house, and show us what philanthropy can do when imbued - with the spirit of Jesus. Come, Eliot, from the thick forest - where the red man listens to the Word of Life;—Come, Penn, - from thy sweet counsel and weaponless victory—and show us what - Christian zeal and Christian love can accomplish with the rudest - barbarians or the fiercest hearts. Come, Raikes, from thy labors - with the ignorant and the poor, and show us with what an eye - this faith regards the lowest and least of our race; and how - diligently it labors, not for the body, not for the rank, but for - the plastic soul that is to course the ages of immortality. - - And ye, who are a great number—ye nameless ones—who have done - good in your narrow spheres, content to forego renown on earth, - and seeking your reward in the record on high—come and tell - us how kindly a spirit, how lofty a purpose, or how strong a - courage the religion ye professed can breathe into the poor, the - humble, and the weak. Go forth, then, Spirit of Christianity, to - thy great work of Reform. The past bears witness to thee in the - blood of thy martyrs, and the ashes of thy saints and heroes; the - present is hopeful because of thee; the future shall acknowledge - thy omnipotence. - - -APPEAL TO YOUNG MEN. - -BY LYMAN BEECHER. - -A rather small wiry man with strong face, compact fibre, quick motions, -great earnestness and pulpit ability of the highest order—this was Lyman -Beecher. He made himself especially prominent in the early days of the -temperance reformation. The selection here given is one of many similar -utterances and is full of force and fire. - - Could I call around me in one vast assembly the temperate young - men of our land, I would say,—Hopes of the nation, blessed be ye - of the Lord now in the dew of your youth. But look well to your - footsteps; for vipers, and scorpions, and adders surround your - way. - - Look at the generation who have just preceded you: the morning of - their life was cloudless, and it dawned as brightly as your own; - but behold them bitten, swollen, enfeebled, inflamed, debauched, - idle, poor, irreligious, and vicious, with halting step dragging - onward to meet an early grave! Their bright prospects are - clouded, and their sun is set never to rise. No house of their - own receives them, while from poorer to poorer tenements they - descend, and to harder and harder fare, as improvidence dries up - their resources. - - And now, who are those that wait on their footsteps with - muffled faces and sable garments? That is a father—and that is - a mother—whose gray hairs are coming with sorrow to the grave. - That is a sister, weeping over evils which she cannot arrest; and - there is the broken-hearted wife; and there are the children, - hapless innocents, for whom their father has provided the - inheritance only of dishonor, and nakedness and woe. - - And is this, beloved young men, the history of your course? In - this scene of desolation, do you behold the image of your future - selves? Is this the poverty and disease which, as an armed man, - shall take hold on you? And are your fathers, and mothers, and - sisters, and wives, and children, to succeed to those who now - move on in this mournful procession, weeping as they go? Yes: - bright as your morning now opens, and high as your hopes beat, - this is your noon, and your night, unless you shun those habits - of intemperance which have thus early made theirs a day of - clouds, and of thick darkness. If you frequent places of evening - resort for social drinking; if you set out with drinking, daily, - a little, temperately, prudently, it is yourselves which, as in a - glass, you behold. - - -THE PILGRIMS. - -BY CHAUNCEY M. DEPEW. - -Mr. Depew is considered one of the foremost of our American orators, and -it is enough to say he has risen to this distinction in a land noted -for the eloquence of its public men. He is an excellent extemporaneous -speaker, is graceful and easy in manner, fluent in utterance, and has a -touch of humor that renders him popular. His tribute to the Pilgrims is -worthy of a theme so inspiring. - - They were practical statesmen, these Pilgrims. They wasted no - time theorizing upon methods, but went straight at the mark. They - solved the Indian problem with shot-guns, and it was not General - Sherman, but Miles Standish, who originated the axiom that the - only good Indians are the dead ones. They were bound by neither - customs nor traditions, nor committals to this or that policy. - The only question with them was, Does it work? The success of - their Indian experiment led them to try similar methods with - witches, Quakers and Baptists. - - Their failure taught them the difference between mind and - matter. A dead savage was another wolf under ground, but one - of themselves persecuted or killed for conscience sake sowed - the seed of discontent and disbelief. The effort to wall in a - creed and wall out liberty was at once abandoned, and to-day - New England has more religions and not less religion, but less - bigotry, than any other community in the world. - - In an age when dynamite was unknown, the Pilgrim invented in - the cabin of the Mayflower the most powerful of explosives. The - declaration of the equality of all men before the law has rocked - thrones and consolidated classes. It separated the colonies from - Great Britain and created the United States. It pulverized the - chains of the slaves and gave manhood suffrage. It devolved upon - the individual the functions of government and made the people - the sole source of power. It substituted the cap of liberty for - the royal crown in France, and by a bloodless revolution has - added to the constellation of American republics, the star of - Brazil. - - But with the ever-varying conditions incident to free government, - the Puritan’s talent as a political mathematician will never - rust. Problems of the utmost importance press upon him for - solution. When, in the effort to regulate the liquor traffic, he - has advanced beyond the temper of the times and the sentiment of - the people in the attempt to enact or enforce prohibition, and - either been disastrously defeated or the flagrant evasions of the - statutes have brought the law into contempt, he does not despair, - but tries to find the error in his calculation. - - If gubernatorial objections block the way of high license he will - bombard the executive judgment and conscience by a proposition - to tax. The destruction of homes, the ruin of the young, the - increase of pauperism and crime, the added burdens upon the - taxpayers by the evils of intemperance, appeal with resistless - force to his training and traditions. As the power of the saloon - increases the difficulties of the task, he becomes more and more - certain that some time or other and in some way or other he will - do that sum too. - - -PATRIOTISM A REALITY. - -BY THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER. - -All Americans ought to feel kindly disposed toward this eloquent Irish -patriot, for he not only risked his life in the cause of Irish liberty, -but also in our own Civil War. This oration has a rugged strength -and blunt earnestness quite characteristic of the man. Let it not be -delivered in any feeble halting manner, but with all your nerve and -energy. - - Sir, the pursuit of liberty must cease to be a traffic. It must - resume among us its ancient glory—be with us an active heroism. - Once for all, sir, we must have an end of this money making in - the public forum. We must ennoble the strife for liberty; make - it a gallant sacrifice, not a vulgar game; rescue the cause of - Ireland from the profanation of those who beg, and from the - control of those who bribe! - - Ah! trust not those dull philosophers of the age, those wretched - sceptics, who, to rebuke our enthusiasm, our folly, would - persuade us that patriotism is but a delusion, a dream of - youth, a wild and glittering passion; that it has died out in - this nineteenth century; that it cannot exist with our advanced - civilization—with the steam-engine and free trade! - - False—false!—The virtue that gave to Paganism its dazzling - lustre, to Barbarism its redeeming trait, to Christianity - its heroic form, is not dead. It still lives, to preserve, - to console, to sanctify humanity. It has its altar in every - clime—its worship and festivities. On the heathered hills of - Scotland, the sword of Wallace is yet a bright tradition. The - genius of France, in the brilliant literature of the day, pays - its high homage to the piety and heroism of the young Maid of - Orleans. - - In her new senate hall, England bids her sculptor place among - the effigies of her greatest sons the images of Hampden and - of Russell. By the soft blue waters of Lake Lucerne stands the - chapel of William Tell. At Innsbruck, in the black aisle of the - old cathedral, the peasant of the Tyrol kneels before the statue - of Andrew Hofer. In the great American republic—in that capital - city which bears his name—rises the monument of the Father of his - country. - - Sir, shall we not join in this glorious homage, and here in this - island, consecrated by the blood of many a good and gallant man, - shall we not have the faith, the duties, the festivities, of - patriotism? You discard the weapons of these heroic men—do not - discard the virtues. Elevate the national character; confront - corruption wherever it appears; scourge it from the hustings; - scourge it from the public forum; and, whilst proceeding with the - noble task to which you have devoted your lives and fortunes, - let this thought enrapture and invigorate your hearts: That in - seeking the independence of your country, you have preserved her - virtue—preserved it at once from the seductions of a powerful - minister, and from the infidelity of bad citizens. - - -THE GLORY OF ATHENS. - -BY LORD MACAULAY. - -As a historian Macaulay has a world-wide reputation. As a poet he takes -high rank. As an orator his speeches are characterized by lofty thought, -felicitious language and the most elaborate style. I would call him a -graceful giant. The last paragraph of the following selection in which -he predicts the final decay of England, has created an endless amount -of comment and criticism. Concerning the beauty and grandeur of this -selection from his writings, there can be but one opinion. - - All the triumphs of truth and genius over prejudice and power, - in every country and in every age, have been the triumphs of - Athens. Whenever a few great minds have made a stand against - violence and fraud, in the cause of liberty and reason, there has - been her spirit in the midst of them; inspiring, encouraging, - and consoling. It stood by the lonely lamp of Erasmus; by the - restless bed of Pascal; in the tribune of Mirabeau; in the cell - of Galileo; on the scaffold of Sidney. - - But who shall estimate her influence on private happiness? Who - shall say how many thousands have been made wiser, happier, - and better, by those pursuits in which she has taught mankind - to engage; to how many the studies which took their rise from - her have been wealth in poverty; liberty in bondage; health in - sickness; society in solitude. Her power is indeed manifested at - the bar, in the senate; in the field of battle, in the schools of - philosophy. - - But these are not her glory. Surely it is no exaggeration - to say, that no external advantage is to be compared with - that purification of the intellectual eye, which gives us to - contemplate the infinite wealth of the mental world; all the - hoarded treasures of the primeval dynasties, all the shapeless - ore of the yet unexplored mines. - - This is the gift of Athens to man. Her freedom and her power - have for more than twenty centuries been annihilated. Her - people have degenerated into timid slaves; her language, into - a barbarous jargon. Her temples have been given up to the - successive depredations of Romans, Turks, and Scotchmen; but her - intellectual empire is imperishable. - - And, when those who have rivaled her greatness, shall have shared - her fate; when civilization and knowledge shall have fixed - their abode in distant continents; when the sceptre shall have - passed away from England; when, perhaps, travelers from distant - regions shall in vain labor to decipher on some mouldering - pedestal the name of our proudest chief; and shall see a single - naked fisherman wash his nets in the river of the ten thousand - masts; her influence and her glory will still survive, fresh in - eternal youth, exempt from mutability and decay, immortal as the - intellectual principle from which they derived their origin, and - over which they exercise their control. - - -THE IRISH CHURCH. - -BY WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE. - -No man in England, or in fact in the whole world, has gained so high -a distinction in modern times for statesmanship and eloquence as Mr. -Gladstone. Possessed of vast resources of brain and culture, a remarkable -command of language, an iron will and an enthusiasm in behalf of every -cause he espoused that was checked by no opposition, the “Grand Old Man,” -as he was called, was the most majestic and commanding figure in English -politics and literature for a generation. His oration on the Irish Church -is a good specimen of his impassioned oratory. - - If we are prudent men, I hope we shall endeavor as far as in us - lies to make some provision for a contingent, a doubtful, and - probably a dangerous future. If we be chivalrous men, I trust we - shall endeavor to wipe away all those stains which the civilized - world has for ages seen, or seemed to see, on the shield of - England in her treatment of Ireland. If we be compassionate - men, I hope we shall now, once for all, listen to the tale of - woe which comes from her, and the reality of which, if not - its justice, is testified by the continuous emigration of her - people—that we shall endeavor to— - - “Pluck from her memory a rooted sorrow, - And raze the written troubles from her brain.” - - But, above all, if we be just men, we shall go forward in the - name of truth and right, bearing this in mind—that, when the case - is proved and the hour is come, justice delayed is justice denied. - - There are many who think that to lay hands upon the national - Church Establishment of a country is a profane and unhallowed - act. I respect that feeling. I sympathize with it. I sympathize - with it while I think it my duty to overcome and repress it. But - if it be an error, it is an error entitled to respect. There is - something in the idea of a national establishment of religion, - of a solemn appropriation of a part of the Commonwealth for - conferring upon all who are ready to receive it what we know - to be an inestimable benefit; of saving that portion of the - inheritance from private selfishness, in order to extract from - it, if we can, pure and unmixed advantages of the highest order - for the population at large. - - There is something in this so attractive that it is an image that - must always command the homage of the many. It is somewhat like - the kingly ghost in Hamlet, of which one of the characters of - Shakespeare says:— - - “We do it wrong, being so majestical, - To offer it the show of violence; - For it is, as the air, invulnerable, - And our vain blows malicious mockery” - - But, sir, this is to view a religious establishment upon one - side, only upon what I may call the ethereal side. It has - likewise a side of earth; and here I cannot do better than quote - some lines written by the Archbishop of Dublin, at a time when - his genius was devoted to the muses. He said, in speaking of - mankind: - - “We who did our lineage high - Draw from beyond the starry sky, - Are yet upon the other side, - To earth and to its dust allied.” - - And so the Church Establishment, regarded in its theory and in - its aim, is beautiful and attractive. Yet what is it but an - appropriation of public property, an appropriation of the fruits - of labor and of skill to certain purposes, and unless these - purposes are fulfilled, that appropriation cannot be justified. - Therefore, Sir, I cannot but feel that we must set aside fears - which thrust themselves upon the imagination, and act upon the - sober dictates of our judgment. - - I think it has been shown that the cause for action is strong—not - for precipitate action, not for action beyond our powers, but for - such action as the opportunities of the times and the condition - of Parliament, if there be but a ready will, will amply and - easily admit of. If I am asked as to my expectations of the issue - of this struggle, I begin frankly by avowing that I, for one, - would not have entered into it unless I believed that the final - hour was about to sound. - - And I hope that the noble lord will forgive me if I say that - before Friday last I thought that the thread of the remaining - life of the Irish Established Church was short, but that since - Friday last, when at half-past four o’clock in the afternoon - the noble lord stood at that table, I have regarded it as being - shorter still. The issue is not in our hands. - - What we had and have to do is to consider well and deeply before - we take the first step in an engagement such as this; but having - entered into the controversy, there and then to acquit ourselves - like men, and to use every effort to remove what still remains of - the scandals and calamities in the relations which exist between - England and Ireland, and use our best efforts at least to fill up - with the cement of human concord the noble fabric of the British - empire. - - -APPEAL TO THE HUNGARIANS. - -BY LOUIS KOSSUTH. - -The eminent Hungarian orator and statesman, whose name for a whole -generation stood for liberty, visited our country in his early manhood -and received an ovation wherever he went. His progress was a triumphal -march. This was due not merely to the fact that he was exerting all his -energies to liberate his country, but his reception was a tribute to his -brilliant genius and overpowering eloquence. Kossuth was one of the most -remarkable orators of modern times. The following selection is a fine -illustration of his impassioned, burning eloquence. - - Our fatherland is in danger. Citizens of the fatherland! To arms! - To arms! If we believed the country could be saved by ordinary - means, we would not cry that it is in danger. If we stood at the - head of a cowardly, childish nation, which, in the hour of peril, - prefers defeat to defence, we would not sound the alarm-bell. - But because we know that the people of our land compose a manly - nation, determined to defend itself against oppression, we call - out in the loudest voice, “Our fatherland is in danger!” Because - we are sure that the nation is able to defend its hearths and - homes, we announce the peril in all its magnitude, and appeal to - our brethren, in the name of God and their country, to look the - danger boldly in the face. - - We will not smile and flatter. We say it plainly, that unless the - nation rise, to a man, prepared to shed the last drop of blood, - all our previous struggles will have been in vain. The noble - blood that has flowed like water, will have been wasted. Our - fatherland will be crushed to the earth. On the soil, where rest - the ashes of our ancestors, the Russian knout will be wielded - over a people reduced beneath the yoke of slavery. - - If we wish to shut our eyes to the danger, we shall thereby save - no one from its power. If we represent the matter as it is, we - make our country master of its own fate. If the breath of life is - in our people, they will save themselves and their fatherland. - But, if paralyzed by coward fear, they remain supine, all will be - lost. God will help no man who does not help himself. We tell you - that the Austrian Emperor sends the hordes of Russian barbarians - for your destruction. - - People of Hungary! Would you die under the destroying sword of - the barbarous Russians? If not, defend your own lives! Would - you see the Cossacks of the distant north trampling under foot - the dishonored bodies of your fathers, your wives, and your - children? If not, defend yourselves! Do you wish that your - fellow-countrymen should be dragged away to Siberia, or should - fight for tyrants in a foreign land, or writhe in slavery beneath - a Russian scourge? If not, defend yourselves! Would you see your - villages in flames, and your harvest-fields in ruins? Would you - die of hunger on the soil which you have cultivated with sweat - and blood? If not, defend yourselves! - - This strife is not a strife between two hostile camps, but a war - of tyranny against freedom, of barbarians against the collective - might of a free nation. Therefore must the whole people arise - with the army. If these millions sustain our army, we have - gained freedom and victory for universal Europe, as well as for - ourselves. Therefore, O strong, gigantic people, unite with the - army, and rush to the conflict. Ho! every freeman! To arms! To - arms! Thus alone is victory certain. - - -THE TYRANT VERRES DENOUNCED. - -BY CICERO. - -This oration is inserted here to furnish an example of the style of the -great Roman orator whose eloquence has been proverbial from his time -to the present. His patriotic utterances should stir the blood of the -reciter, and if they do this his hearers will share the inspiration. - - An opinion has long prevailed, fathers, that, in public - prosecutions, men of wealth, however clearly convicted, are - always safe. This opinion, so injurious to your order, so - detrimental to the state, it is now in your power to refute. A - man is on trial before you who is rich, and he hopes his riches - will compass his acquittal; but whose life and actions are his - sufficient condemnation in the eyes of all candid men. I speak of - Caius Verres, who, if he now receive not the sentence his crimes - deserve, it shall not be through the lack of a criminal or of a - prosecutor, but through the failure of the ministers of justice - to do their duty. - - Passing over the shameful irregularities of his youth, what - does the quæstorship of Verres exhibit but one continued scene - of villanies? The public treasure squandered, a consul stripped - and betrayed, an army deserted and reduced to want, a province - robbed, the civil and religious rights of a people trampled - on! But his prætorship in Sicily has crowned his career of - wickedness, and completed the lasting monument of his infamy. - His decisions have violated all law, all precedent, all right. - His extortions from the industrious poor have been beyond - computation. Our most faithful allies have been treated as - enemies. Roman citizens have, like slaves, been put to death with - tortures. Men the most worthy have been condemned and banished - without a hearing, while the most atrocious criminals have, with - money, purchased exemption from the punishment due to their guilt. - - I ask now, Verres, what have you to advance against these - charges? Art thou not the tyrant Prætor, who, at no greater - distance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, dared - to put to an infamous death, on the cross, that ill-fated and - innocent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus? And what was his - offence? He had declared his intention of appealing to the - justice of his country against your brutal persecutions! - - For this, when about to embark for home, he was seized, brought - before you, charged with being a spy, scourged and tortured. In - vain did he exclaim: “I am a Roman citizen! I have served under - Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panormus, and who will attest my - innocence!” Deaf to all remonstrance, remorseless, thirsting - for innocent blood, you ordered the savage punishment to be - inflicted! While the sacred words, “I am a Roman citizen,” were - on his lips—words which, in the remotest regions, are a passport - to protection—you ordered him to death—to a death upon the cross! - - O liberty! O sound once delightful to every Roman ear! O sacred - privilege of Roman citizenship! once sacred—now trampled on! Is - it come to this? Shall an inferior magistrate—a governor, who - holds his whole power of the Roman people—in a Roman province, - within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture, and put to an - infamous death, a Roman citizen? Shall neither the cries of - innocence expiring in agony, the tears of pitying spectators, the - majesty of the Roman commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice - of his country, restrain the merciless monster, who, in the - confidence of his riches, strikes at the very root of liberty, - and sets mankind at defiance? And shall this man escape? Fathers, - it must not be! It must not be unless you would undermine the - very foundations of social safety, strangle justice, and call - down anarchy, massacre, and ruin on the commonwealth. - - - - -HUMOROUS RECITATIONS. - - -A recitation that has a touch of humor, one that is quaint and droll, one -that has comical situations, or one that hits off any popular absurdity, -is sure to be well received by your audience. A school exhibition or -an evening’s entertainment without something of this kind would be -pronounced dull and dry. - -Some readers are especially adapted to recitals of this description. -They have an innate sense of the ludicrous and are able to convey it -by voice and manner. Those who are not favored with the very desirable -gift of humor should confine themselves to selections of a graver -character. The department of Wit and Humor here presented is large and -complete, containing a great variety of readings that cannot fail to be -enthusiastically received when properly rendered. - - -BILL’S IN TROUBLE! - - I’ve got a letter, parson, from my son away out West, - An’ my ol’ heart is heavy as an anvil in my breast, - To think the boy whose futur’ I had once so proudly planned - Should wander from the path o’ right an’ come to sich an end! - - Bill made a faithful promise to be keerful, an’ allowed - He’d build a reputation that’d make us mighty proud, - But it seems as how my counsel sort o’ faded from his mind, - An’ now the boy’s in trouble o’ the very wustest kind! - - His letters came so seldom that I somehow sort o’ knowed - That Billy was a-trampin’ on a mighty rocky road, - But never once imagined he would bow my head in shame, - An’ in the dust’d waller his ol’ daddy’s honored name. - - He writes from out in Denver, an’ the story’s mighty short; - I just can’t tell his mother; it’ll crush her poor ol’ heart! - An’ so I reckoned, parson, you might break the news to her— - Bill’s in the Legislatur, but he doesn’t say what fur. - - -“’SPACIALLY JIM.” - - I wus mighty good-lookin’ when I was young, - Peert an’ black-eyed an’ slim, - With fellers a courtin’ me Sunday nights, - ’Spacially Jim. - - The likeliest one of ’em all was he, - Chipper an’ han’som’ an’ trim, - But I tossed up my head an’ made fun o’ the crowd, - ’Spacially Jim! - - I said I hadn’t no ’pinion o’ men, - An’ I wouldn’t take stock in him! - But they kep’ up a-comin’ in spite o’ my talk, - ’Spacially Jim! - - I got so tired o’ havin’ ’em roun’ - (’Spacially Jim!) - I made up my mind I’d settle down - An’ take up with him. - - So we was married one Sunday in church, - ’Twas crowded full to the brim; - ’Twas the only way to get rid of ’em all, - ’Spacially Jim. - - -THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY. - -Be careful, in all dialect recitations, to enunciate as the piece -requires. A good part of the humor is brought out in the accent, and you -should study this until you are master of it. - - You promise now, you goot man dere, - Vot shtunds upon de floor, - To take dis woman for your vrow, - And luff her efermore; - You’ll feed her well on sauerkraut, - Beans, buttermilk and cheese, - And in all dings to lend your aid - Vot vill promote her ease? - - —Yah! - - Yes, and you, good voman, too— - Do you pledge your vord dis day - Dat you vill take dis husband here - And mit him alvays shtay? - Dat you vill bet and board mit him, - Vash, iron and mend his clothes; - Laugh when he schmiles, veep when he sighs - Und share his joys and voes? - - —Yah! - - Vel, den, mitin these sacred halls, - Mit joy and not mit grief, - I do bronounce you man and vife; - Von name, von home, von beef! - I publish now dese sacred bonts, - Dese matrimonial dies, - Pefore mine Got, mine vrow, minezelf - Und all dese gazing eyes. - - Und now, you pridegroom standing dere, - I’ll not let go yoz collar - Undil you dell me one ding more, - Dat ish: vere ish mine tollar? - - -BLASTED HOPES. - - We said good-bye! My lips to hers were pressed. - We looked into each other’s eyes and sighed; - I pressed the maiden fondly to my breast, - And went my way across the foamy tide. - - I stood upon the spot where Cæsar fell, - I mused beside the great Napoleon’s tomb; - I loitered where dark-visaged houris dwell, - And saw the fabled lotus land abloom. - - I heard Parisian revelers, and so - Forgot the maiden who had wept for me; - I saw my face reflected in the Po, - And saw Italian suns sink in the sea. - - Aweary of it all, at last, I turned - My face back to my glorious native land; - I thought of her again—my bosom burned— - And joyfully I left the ancient strand. - - At last, I held her little hand again, - But, oh, the seasons had kept rolling on, - I did not stroke her head or kiss her then— - Another had appeared while I was gone. - - I’d brought her trinkets from across the sea— - Ah, well! she shall not have them now, of course; - Alas! the only thing that’s left for me - Is to give her little boy a hobby horse! - - -TIM MURPHY MAKES A FEW REMARKS. - -A good specimen of the Irish brogue and wit. - - I saw Teddy Reagan the other day; he told me he had been dealing - in hogs. “Is business good?” says I. “Yis,” says he. “Talking - about hogs, Teddy, how do you find yourself?” sez I. I wint to - buy a clock the other day, to make a present to Mary Jane. “Will - you have a Frinch clock?” says the jeweler. “The deuce take - your Frinch clock,” sez I. “I want a clock that my sister can - understand when it strikes.” “I have a Dutch clock,” sez he, “an’ - you kin put that on the shtairs.” “It might run down if I put it - there,” sez I. “Well,” sez he, “here’s a Yankee clock, with a - lookin’-glass in the front, so that you can see yourself,” sez - he. “It’s too ugly,” sez I. “Thin I’ll take the lookin’-glass - out, an’ whin you look at it you’ll not find it so ugly,” sez he. - - I wint to Chatham Sthreet to buy a shirt, for the one I had on - was a thrifle soiled. The Jew who kept the sthore looked at my - bosom, an’ said: “So hellup me gracious! how long do you vear a - shirt?” “Twinty-eight inches,” sez I. “Have you any fine shirts?” - sez I. “Yis,” sez he. “Are they clane?” says I. “Yis,” sez he. - “Thin you had better put one on,” sez I. - - You may talk about bringin’ up childer in the way they should - go, but I believe in bringing them up by the hair of the head. - Talking about bringing up childer—I hear my childer’s prayers - every night. The other night I let thim up to bed without thim. - I skipped and sthood behind the door. I heard the big boy say: - “Give us this day our daily bread.” The little fellow said: - “Sthrike him for pie, Johnny.” I have one of the most economical - boys in the Citty of New York; he hasn’t spint one cint for the - last two years. I am expecting him down from Sing Sing prison - next week. - - Talking about boys, I have a nephew who, five years ago, couldn’t - write a word. Last week he wrote his name for $10,000; he’ll git - tin years in the pinatintiary. I can’t write, but I threw a brick - at a policeman and made my mark. - - They had a fight at Tim Owen’s wake last week. Mary Jane was - there. She says, barrin’ herself, there was only one whole nose - left in the party, an’ that belonged to the tay-kettle. - - -PASSING OF THE HORSE. - - I drove my old horse, Dobbin, full slowly toward the town, - One beautiful spring morning. The rising sun looked down - And saw us slowly jogging and drinking in the balm - Of honeyed breath of clover fields. We lissed, in Nature’s calm, - To chirping squirrel, and whistling bird, the robin and the wren; - The sound of life and love and peace came o’er the fields again. - ’Way back behind the wagon there came a tandem bike, - A pedaling ’long to beat the wind, I never saw the like. - They started by—the road was wide, old Dobbin feeling good, - The quiet calmness of the morn had livened up his mood, - And stretching out adown the road he chased these cyclers two, - And Dobbin in his younger days was distanced by but few. - We sped along about a mile, it was a merry chase, - But Dobbin gave it up at last, and, dropping from the race, - He looked at me, as if to say: “Old man, I’m in disgrace. - The horse is surely passing by, the bike has got his place” - And all that day, while in the town, old Dobbin’s spirits fell; - His stout old pride was broken sure; the reason I could tell. - But when that night we trotted back from town, below the hill - We met two weary cyclers who waved at us a bill - That had a big V on it, and said it would be mine - If I would let them ride with us and put their bike behind, - And so I whistled softly; and Dobbin winked at me, - “I guess the horse will stay, old man; he’s puncture proof—you see?” - - -A SCHOOL-DAY. - -Don’t overdo the whimpering and crying, but make the facial expressions -and imitate the sobbing of one in tears. Make use of a handkerchief to -render the imitation more effective. - - “Now, John,” the district teacher says - With frown that scarce can hide - The dimpling smiles around her mouth, - Where Cupid’s hosts abide, - “What have you done to Mary Ann, - That she is crying so? - Don’t say ’twas ‘nothing’—don’t, I say, - For, John, that can’t be so; - - “For Mary Ann would never cry - At nothing, I am sure; - And if you’ve wounded justice, John, - You know the only cure - Is punishment! So, come, stand up; - Transgression must abide - The pain attendant on the scheme - That makes it justified.” - - So John steps forth with sun-burnt face, - And hair all in a tumble, - His laughing eyes a contrast to - His drooping mouth so humble. - “Now, Mary, you must tell me all— - I see that John will not, - And if he’s been unkind or rude, - I’ll whip him on the spot.” - - “W—we were p—playin’ p—pris’ner’s b—base, - An’ h—he is s—such a t—tease, - An’ w—when I w—wasn’t l—lookin’, m—ma’am’ - H—he _k—kissed_ me—if you please.” - Upon the teacher’s face the smiles - Have triumphed o’er the frown, - A pleasant thought runs through her mind - The stick comes harmless down. - - But outraged law must be avenged! - Begone, ye smiles, begone! - Away, ye little dreams of love, - Come on, ye frowns, come on! - “I think I’ll have to whip you, John, - Such conduct breaks the rule; - No boy, except a naughty one, - Would kiss a girl—at school.” - - Again the teacher’s rod is raised, - A Nemesis she stands— - A premium were put on sin, - If punished by such hands! - As when the bee explores the rose - We see the petals tremble, - So trembled Mary’s rosebud lips— - Her heart would not dissemble. - - “I wouldn’t whip him _very_ hard”— - The stick stops in its fall— - “It wasn’t right to do it, but— - It didn’t hurt at all!” - “What made you cry, then, Mary Ann?” - The school’s noise makes a pause, - And out upon the listening air, - From Mary comes—“Because!” - - W. F. MCSPARRAN. - - -THE BICYCLE AND THE PUP. - - ’Tis a bicycle man, over his broken wheel, - That grieveth himself full sore, - For the joy of its newness his heart shall feel, - Alack and alas! no more. - - When the bright sun tippeth the hills with gold, - That rider upriseth gay, - And with hat all beribboned and heart that is bold, - Pursueth his jaunty way. - - He gazeth at folks in the lowly crowd - With a most superior air. - He thinketh ha! ha! and he smileth aloud - As he masheth the maiden fair. - - Oh, he masheth her much in his nice new clothes, - Nor seeth the cheerful pup, - Till he roots up the road with his proud, proud nose, - While the little wheel tilteth up. - - Oh, that youth on his knees—though he doth not pray— - Is a pitiful sight to see, - For his pants in their utterest part give way, - While merrily laugheth she. - - And that bicycle man in his heart doth feel - That the worst of unsanctified jokes - Is the small dog that sniffeth anon at his wheel, - But getteth mixed up in the spokes. - - -THE PUZZLED CENSUS TAKER. - -Before reciting this state to your audience that “nein” is the German for -“no.” - - “Got any boys?” the marshal said, - To a lady from over the Rhine; - And the lady shook her flaxen head. - And civilly answered “nein!” - - “Got any girls?” the marshal said, - To that lady from over the Rhine; - And again the lady shook her head, - And civilly answered “nein!” - - “But some are dead,” the marshal said - To the lady from over the Rhine; - And again the lady shook her head, - And civilly answered “nein!” - - “Husband, of course?” the marshal said - To the lady from over the Rhine; - And again she shook her flaxen head, - And civilly answered “nein!” - - “The duce you have!” the marshal said - To the lady from over the Rhine; - And again she shook her flaxen head, - And civilly answered “nein!” - - “Now what do you mean by shaking your head - And always answering “nein?” - “Ich kann nicht Englisch,” civilly said - The lady from over the Rhine. - - -IT MADE A DIFFERENCE. - - “Now, then,” said the short and fat and anxious-looking man as he - sat down in the street car and unfolded a map he had just bought - of a fakir. “I want to know how this old thing works. Let me - first find the Philippine Islands and Manila. Here I am, and here - is Ca-vitt.” - - “I beg your pardon, sir,” said the man on his left, “but that - name is pronounced Kah-vee-tay.” - - “Then why ain’t it spelled that way?” demanded the short and fat - man. “No wonder Dooye has been left there a whole month without - reinforcements when they mix up things that way.” - - “You mean Dewey,” corrected the man on his right. - - “I heard it called Dooye, sir.” - - “But it isn’t right.” - - “Then why don’t this map give it right? Is it the plan of our - map-makers to bamboozle the American patriot? Let us turn to - Cuba. Ah! here is that San Jew-an they are talking so much about.” - - “Will you allow me to say that the name is pronounced San Wan?” - softly observed the man on the left. - - “By whom, sir?” - - “By everybody.” - - “I deny it, sir!” exclaimed the fat man. “If J-u-a-n don’t spell - ‘Juan’ then I can’t read. If I am wrong then why don’t this map - set me right? Is it the idea to mix up the American patriot until - he can’t tell whether he’s in Cuba or the United States?” - - “Where is that Ci-en-fue-gos I’ve read about?” - - “Do you wish for the correct pronunciation of that name?” asked a - man on the other side of the car. - - “Haven’t I got it?” - - “Not exactly, sir.” - - “Then let her slide. The men who got out this map ought to be - indicted for swindling. Maybe I’m wrong in calling it Ma-tan-zas?” - - “It is hardly correct, sir.” - - “And I’m off on Por-to Ri-co?” - - “Just a little off.” - - “That settles it, sir—that settles it!” said the short man as - he folded up the map and tossed it away on the street. “I had a - grandfather in the Revolutionary War, a father in the war with - Mexico, and two brothers in the late Civil War, and I was going - to offer my services to Uncle Sam in this emergency; but it’s - off, sir—all off.” - - “But what difference does the pronunciation make?” protested the - man on the right. - - “All the difference in the world, sir. My wife is tongue-tied - and my only child has got a hare-lip, and if I should get killed - neither one of them would be able to ever make any one understand - whether I poured out my blood in a battle in Cuba or was run over - by an ice-wagon in front of my own house!” - - -BRIDGET O’FLANNAGAN ON CHRISTIAN SCIENCE AND COCKROACHES. - - Och, Mollie Moriarty, I’ve been havin’ the quare iksparyincis - since yiz hurrud from me, an’ if I’d known how it wud be whin I - lift ould Oireland, I’d nivir have sit fut intil this coonthry - befoor landin’. Me prisint misthriss that I had befoor the lasht - wan is a discoiple av a new koind av relijun called Christian - Soience. She’s been afthur takin’ a sooccission av coorsis av - coolchur (I belave that’s fwhat they call it), an’ she knows all - aboot this Christian Soience. - - I’ve hurrud her talkin’ wid the other ladies about moind an’ - matther, an’ as will as I can undherstand, Christian Soience - manes that iverything is all moind an’ no matther, or all matther - an’ nivir moind, an’ that ivery wan’s nobody, an’ iverything’s - nothing ilse. The misthriss ses there’s no disase nor trooble, - an’ no nade av physic; nivirthiliss, whin she dishcoovered - cockroaches intil the panthry, she sint me out wid the money to - buy an iksterminatin’ powdher. - - Thinks I to mesilf, “I’ll give thim roaches a dose av Christian - Soience, or fwhat the ladies call an ‘absint thratemint.’” So - I fixed the powers av me moind on the middlesoom craythers - an’ shpint the money till me own binifit. Afther a few days - the misthriss goes intil the panthry, an’ foinds thim roaches - roonin’ ’round as if they’d nivir been kilt at all. I throied - to iksplain, but wid the inconsishtency av her six she wouldn’t - listhin till a worrud, but ses I was addin’ impertinince to - desaving’. So I’m afther lookin’ fur a place, an’ if yiz know - av any lady widout notions that do be bewildherin’ to me moind, - address, - - MISS BRIDGET O’FLANNAGAN, - Post Office, Ameriky. - M. BOURCHIER. - - -CONVERSATIONAL - - “How’s your father?” Came the whisper, - Bashful Ned the silence breaking; - “Oh, he’s nicely,” Annie murmured, - Smilingly the question taking. - - Conversation flagged a moment, - Hopeless, Ned essayed another: - “Annie, I—I,” then a coughing, - And the question, “How’s your mother!” - - “Mother? Oh, she’s doing nicely!” - Fleeting fast was all forbearance, - When in low, despairing accents - Came the climax, “How’s your parents?” - - -WANTED, A MINISTER’S WIFE. - - Wanted, a perfect lady, - Delicate, gentle, refined, - With every beauty of person - And every endowment of mind; - Fitted by early culture - To move in a fashionable life. - Please notice our advertisement: - “Wanted, a minister’s wife.” - - Wanted, a thoroughbred worker, - Who well to her household looks - (Shall we see our money wasted - By extravagant, stupid cooks?) - Who cuts the daily expenses - With economy as sharp as a knife, - And washes and scrubs in the kitchen. - “Wanted, a minister’s wife.” - - A very domestic person. - To “callers” she must not be “out;” - It has such a bad appearance - For her to be gadding about. - Only to visit the parish - Every day of her life, - And attend the funerals and weddings. - “Wanted, a minister’s wife.” - - Conduct the ladies’ meeting, - The sewing-circle attend, - And when we work for the needy, - Her ready assistance to lend. - To clothe the destitute children - Where sorrow and want are rife; - To hunt up Sunday-school scholars. - “Wanted, a minister’s wife.” - - Careful to entertain strangers, - Traveling agents, and “such;” - Of this kind of “angel visits” - The leaders have had so much - As to prove a perfect nuisance, - And “hope these plagues of their life - Can soon be sent to their parson’s.” - “Wanted, a minister’s wife.” - - A perfect pattern of prudence - To all others, spending less, - But never disgracing the parish - By looking shabby in dress. - Playing the organ on Sunday - Would aid our laudable strife - To save the society’s money. - “Wanted, a minister’s wife.” - - -HOW A MARRIED MAN SEWS ON A BUTTON. - - It is bad enough to see a bachelor sew on a button, but he is - the embodiment of grace alongside a married man. Necessity has - compelled experience in the case of the former, but the latter - has depended upon some one else for this service, and fortunately - for the sake of society, it is rarely he is obliged to resort to - the needle himself. Sometimes the patient wife scalds her right - hand, or runs a sliver under the nail of the index finger of that - hand, and it is then the man clutches the needle around the neck, - and, forgetting to tie a knot on the thread, commences to put on - the button. - - It is always in the morning, and from five to twenty minutes - after this he is expected to be down street. He lays the button - on exactly the site of its predecessor, and pushes the needle - through one eye, and carefully draws the thread after, leaving - about three inches of it sticking up for leeway. He says to - himself, “Well, if women don’t have the easiest time I ever see.” - - Then he comes back the other way and gets the needle through the - cloth easy enough, and lays himself out to find the eye, but, - in spite of a great deal of patient jabbing, the needle point - persists in bucking against the solid parts of the button, and - finally, when he loses patience, his fingers catch the thread, - and that three inches he has left to hold the button slips - through the eye in a twinkling, and the button rolls leisurely - across the floor. He picks it up without a single remark, out of - respect for his children, and makes another attempt to fasten it. - - This time, when coming back with the needle, he keeps both the - thread and button from slipping, by covering them with his - thumb; and it is out of regard for that part of him that he - feels around for the eye in a very careful and judicious manner, - but eventually losing his philosophy as the search becomes more - and more hopeless, he falls to jabbing about in a loose and - savage manner, and it is just then the needle finds the opening - and comes up the button and part way through his thumb with a - celerity that no human ingenuity can guard against. Then he lays - down the things with a few familiar quotations, and presses the - injured hand between his knees, and then holds it under the other - arm, and finally jams it into his mouth, and all the while he - prances and calls upon heaven and earth to witness that there - has never been anything like it since the world was created, and - howls, and whistles, and moans and sobs. After a while he calms - down and puts on his pants and fastens them together with a - stick, and goes to his business a changed man. - - J. M. BAILEY. - - -THE DUTCHMAN’S SERENADE. - -You do not need any set tune for the words to be sung. It will be more -amusing to have none, but to extemporize as you go along. Stop singing -when you come to the words in parenthesis and speak them. To complete the -impersonation, you should have a violin. Do not recite German dialect -pieces too rapidly; the words should be pronounced very distinctly. - - Vake up, my schveet! Vake up, my lofe! - Der moon dot can’t been seen abofe. - Vake oud your eyes, und dough it’s late, - I’ll make you oud a serenate. - - Der shtreet dot’s kinder dampy vet, - Und dhere vas no goot blace to set; - My fiddle’s getting oud of dune, - So blease get vakey wery soon. - - O my lofe! my lofely lofe! - Am you avake ub dhere abofe, - Feeling sad und nice to hear - Schneider’s fiddle schrabin near? - - Vell, anyvay, obe loose your ear, - Und try to saw if you kin hear - From dem bedclose vat you’m among, - Der little song I’m going to sung: - - SING. - - O lady! vake! Get vake! - Und hear der tale I’ll tell; - O you vot’s schleebin’ sound ub dhere, - I like you pooty vell! - - SING. - - Your plack eyes dhem don’t shine - When you’m ashleep—so vake! - (Yes, hurry upp, and voke up quick, - For gootness gracious sake!) - - SING. - - My schveet imbatience, lofe, - I hope you vill excuse; - I’m singing schveetly (dhere, py Jinks! - Dhere goes a shtring proke loose!) - - SING. - - O putiful, schveet maid! - O vill she ever voke? - Der moon is mooning—(Jimminy! dhere - Anoder shtring vent proke!) - - I say, you schleeby, vake! - Vake oud! Vake loose! Vake ub! - Fire! Murder! Police! Vatch! - O cracious! do vake ub! - - Dot girl she schleebed—dot rain it rained - Und I looked shtoopid like a fool, - Vhen mit my fiddle I shneaked off - So vet und shlobby like a mool! - - -BIDDY’S TROUBLES. - -If this selection were recited in the costume of a housemaid, with apron, -sunbonnet and bare arms, the effect would be intensified. Place the hands -on the hips except when gesticulating. - - “It’s thru for me, Katy, that I never seed the like of this - people afore. It’s a time I’ve been having since coming to this - house, twelve months agone this week Thursday. Yer know, honey, - that my fourth coosin, Ann Macarthy, recommended me to Mrs. - Whaler, and told the lady that I knew about genteel housework - and the likes; while at the same time I had niver seed inter an - American lady’s kitchen. - - “So she engaged me, and my heart was jist ready to burst wid - grief for the story that Ann had told, for Mrs. Whaler was a - swate-spoken lady, and never looked cross-like in her life; that - I knew by her smooth, kind face. Well, jist the first thing she - told me to do, after I dressed the children, was to dress the - ducks for dinner. I stood looking at the lady for a couple of - minutes, before I could make out any maneing at all to her words. - - “Thin I went searching after clothes for the ducks; and such - a time as I had, to be sure. High and low I went till at last - my mistress axed me for what I was looking; and I told her the - clothes for the ducks, to be sure. Och, how she scramed and - laughed, till my face was as rid as the sun wid shame, and she - showed me in her kind swate way what her maneing was. Thin she - told me how to air the beds; and it was a day for me, indade, - when I could go up chamber alone and clare up the rooms. One day - Mrs. Whaler said to me: - - “‘Biddy, an’ ye may give the baby an airin’, if yees will.’ - - “What should I do—and it’s thru what I am saying this blessed - minute—but go upstairs wid the child, and shake it, and then - howld it out of the winder. Such a scraming and kicking as the - baby gave—but I hild on the harder. Everybody thin in the strate’ - looked at me; at last misthress came up to see what for was so - much noise. - - “‘I am thrying to air the baby,’ I said, ‘but it kicks and - scrames dridfully.’ - - “There was company down below; and whin Mrs. Whaler told them - what I had been after doing, I thought they would scare the folks - in the strate wid scraming. - - “And then I was told I must do up Mr. Whaler’s sharts one day - when my mistress was out shopping. She told me repeatedly to do - them up nice, for master was going away, so I takes the sharts - and did them all up in some paper that I was after bringing from - the ould country wid me, and tied some nice pink ribbon around - the bundle. - - “‘Where are the sharts, Biddy?’ axed Mrs. Whaler, when she comed - home. - - “‘I have been doing them up in a quair nice way,’ I said, - bringing her the bundle. - - “‘Will you iver be done wid your graneness!’ she axed me with a - loud scrame. - - “I can’t for the life of me be tellin’ what their talkin’ manes. - At home we call the likes of this fine work starching; and a deal - of it I have done, too. Och! and may the blessed Vargin pity me, - for I never’ll be cured of my graneness!” - - -THE INVENTOR’S WIFE. - - It’s easy to talk of the patience of Job. Humph! Job hed nothin’ to - try him! - Ef _he’d_ been married to ’Bijah Brown, folks wouldn’t have dared - come nigh him. - - Trials, indeed! Now I’ll tell you what—ef you want to be sick of your - life, - Jest come and change places with me a spell—for I’m an inventor’s wife. - - And sech inventions! I’m never sure, when I take up my coffee-pot, - That ’Bijah hain’t been “improvin’” it, and it mayn’t go off like a shot. - Why, didn’t he make me a cradle once, that would keep itself a-rockin’; - And didn’t it pitch the baby out, and wasn’t his head bruised shockin’? - - And there was his “Patent Peeler,” too—a wonderful thing, I’ll say; - But it hed one fault—it never stopped till the apple was peeled away. - As for locks, and clocks, and mowin’ machines, and reapers, and all sech - trash, - Why, ’Bijah’s invented heaps of em, but they don’t bring in no _cash_. - - Law! that don’t worry him—not at all; he’s the aggravatin’est man— - He’ll set in his little workship there, and whistle, and think, and plan. - Inventin’ a jew’s-harp to go by steam, or a new-fangled powder-horn, - While the children’s goin’ barefoot to school and the weeds is chokin’ - our corn. - - When I’ve been forced to chop the wood, and tend to the farm beside, - And look at ’Bijah a-settin there, I’ve jest dropped down and cried. - We lost the hull of our turnip crop while he was inventin’ a gun; - But I counted it one of my marcies when it bust before ’twas done. - - So he turned it into a “burglar alarm.” It ought to give thieves a - fright— - ’Twould scare an honest man out of his wits, ef he sot it off at night. - Sometimes I wonder ef ’Bijah’s crazy, he does such cur’ous things. - Hev I told you about his bedstead yit?—’Twas full of wheels and springs; - - It had a key to wind it up, and a clock face at the head; - All you did was to turn them hands, and at any hour you said, - That bed got up and shook itself, and bounced you on the floor, - And then shet up, jest like a box, so you couldn’t sleep any more. - - Wa’al ’Bijah he fixed it all complete, and he sot it at half-past five, - But he hadn’t more’n got into it when—dear me! sakes alive! - Them wheels began to whiz and whir! I heerd a fearful snap! - And there was that bedstead, with ’Bijah inside, shet up jest like - a trap! - - I screamed, of course, but ’twan’t no use; then I worked that hull - long night - A-tryin’ to open the pesky thing. At last I got in a fright; - I couldn’t hear his voice inside, and I thought he might be dyin; - So I took a crow-bar and smashed it in.—There was ’Bijah, peacefully - lyin’, - - Inventin’ a way to git out again. That was all very well to say, - But I don’t b’lieve he’d have found it out if I’d left him in all day. - Now, sence I’ve told you my story, do you wonder I’m tired of life? - Or think it strange I often wish I warn’t an inventor’s wife? - - MRS. E. T. CORBETT. - - -MISS EDITH HELPS THINGS ALONG. - - “My sister’ll be down in a minute, and says you’re to wait, if you - please; - And says I might stay till she came, if I’d promise her never to tease, - Nor speak till you spoke to me first. But that’s nonsense; for how would - you know - What she told me to say, if I didn’t? Don’t you really and truly think - so? - - “And then you’d feel strange here alone. And you wouldn’t know just - where to sit; - For that chair isn’t strong on its legs, and we never use it a bit: - We keep it to match with the sofa; but Jack says it would be like you - To flop yourself right down upon it, and knock out the very last screw. - - “Suppose you try! I won’t tell. You’re afraid to! Oh! you’re afraid - they would think it was mean! - Well, then, there’s the album: that’s pretty, if you’re sure that your - fingers are clean. - For sister says sometimes I daub it; but she only says that when she’s - cross. - There’s her picture. You know it? It’s like her; but she ain’t as - good-looking, of course. - - “This is ME. It’s the best of ’em all. Now, tell me, you’d never have - thought - That once I was little as that? It’s the only one that could be bought; - For that was the message to pa from the photograph-man where I sat— - That he wouldn’t print off any more till he first got his money for that. - - “What? Maybe you’re tired of waiting. Why, often she’s longer than this. - There’s all her back hair to do up, and all of her front curls to friz. - But it’s nice to be sitting here talking like grown people, just you - and me! - Do you think you’ll be coming here often? Oh, do! But don’t come like - Tom Lee— - - “Tom Lee, her last beau. Why, my goodness! he used to be here day and - night, - Till the folks thought he’d be her husband; and Jack says that gave him - a fright; - You won’t run away then, as he did? for you’re not a rich man, they say. - Pa says you’re poor as a church-mouse. Now, are you? and how poor are - they? - - “Ain’t you glad that you met me? Well, I am; for I know now your hair - isn’t red; - But what there is left of it’s mousy, and not what that naughty Jack - said. - But there! I must go; sister’s coming! But I wish I could wait, just - to see - If she ran up to you, and she kissed you in the way she used to kiss - Lee.” - - BRET HARTE. - - -THE MAN WHO HAS ALL DISEASES AT ONCE. - -Imitate the cough. Put your hands on different parts of your body in -describing your aches and pains. Wear a long dismal face. Bend forward -and limp as you change your position. - - Good Morning, Doctor; how do you do? I hain’t quite as well as - I have been; but I think I’m some better than I was. I don’t - think that last medicine that you gin me did me much good. I - had a terrible time with the earache last night; my wife got up - and drapt a few draps of walnut sap into it, and that relieved - it some; but I didn’t get a wink of sleep till nearly daylight. - For nearly a week, Doctor, I’ve had the worst kind of a narvous - headache; it has been so bad sometimes that I thought my head - would bust open. Oh, dear! I sometimes think that I’m the most - afflictedest human that ever lived. - - Since this cold weather sot in, that troublesome cough, that I - have had every winter for the last fifteen years, has began to - pester me agin. (_Coughs._) Doctor, do you think you can give me - any thing that will relieve this desprit pain I have in my side? - - Then I have a crick, at times, in the back of my neck, so that - I can’t turn my head without turning the hull of my body. - (_Coughs._) - - Oh, dear! What shall I do? I have consulted almost every doctor - in the country, but they don’t any of them seem to understand my - case. I have tried everything that I could think of; but I can’t - find anything that does me the least good. (_Coughs._) - - Oh, this cough—it will be the death of me yet! You know I had - my right hip put out last fall at the rising of Deacon Jones’ - saw-mill; it’s getting to be very troublesome just before we - have a change of weather. Then I’ve got the sciatica in my right - knee, and sometimes I’m so crippled up that I can hardly crawl - round in any fashion. - - What do you think that old white mare of ours did while I was - out plowing last week? Why, the weaked old critter, she kept - a backing and backing, ontil she backed me right up agin the - colter, and knock’d a piece of skin off my shin nearly so big. - (_Coughs._) - - But I had a worse misfortune than that the other day, Doctor. You - see it was washing-day—and my wife wanted me to go out and bring - in a little stove-wood—you know we lost our help lately, and my - wife has to wash and tend to everything about the house herself. - - I knew it wouldn’t be safe for me to go out—as it was raining at - the time—but I thought I’d risk it anyhow. So I went out, picked - up a few chunks of stove-wood, and was a coming up the steps into - the house, when my feet slipped from under me, and I fell down as - sudden as if I’d been shot. Some of the wood lit upon my face, - broke down the bridge of my nose, cut my upper lip, and knocked - out three of my front teeth. I suffered dreadfully on account of - it, as you may suppose, and my face ain’t well enough yet to make - me fit to be seen, ’specially by the women folks. (_Coughs._) - Oh, dear! but that ain’t all, Doctor; I’ve got fifteen corns on - my toes—and I’m afeard I’m going to have the “yaller janders.” - (_Coughs._) - - DR. VALENTINE. - - -THE SCHOOL-MA’AM’S COURTING. - - When Mary Ann Dollinger got the skule daown thar on Injun Bay - I was glad, fer I like ter see a gal makin’ her honest way. - I heerd some talk in the village abaout her flyin’ high, - Tew high fer busy farmer folks with chores ter dew ter fly. - But I paid no sorter attention ter all the talk ontel - She come in her reg’lar boardin’ raound ter visit with us a spell. - My Jake an’ her had been cronies ever since they could walk, - An’ it tuk me aback ter hear her kerrectin’ him in his talk. - - Jake ain’t no hand at grammar, though he hain’t his beat for work; - But I sez ter myself, “Look out, my gal, yer a-foolin’ with a Turk!” - Jake bore it wonderful patient, an’ said in a mournful way, - He p’sumed he was behindhand with the doin’s at Injun Bay. - I remember once he was askin’ for some o’ my Injun buns, - An’ she said he should allus say, “them air,” stid o’ “them is” the ones. - Wal, Mary Ann kep’ at him stiddy mornin’ an’ evenin’ long, - Tell he dassent open his mouth for fear o’ talkin’ wrong. - - One day I was pickin’ currants daown by the old quince tree, - When I heerd Jake’s voice a-sayin’: “Be ye willin’ ter marry me?” - An’ Mary Ann kerrectin’, “Air ye willin’, yeou sh’d say.” - Our Jake he put his foot daown in a plum, decided way, - “No wimmen-folks is a-goin’ ter be re-arrangin’ me. - Hereafter I says ‘craps,’ ‘them is,’ ‘I calk’late,’ an’ ‘I be.’ - Ef folks don’t like my talk they needn’t hark ter what I say; - But I ain’t a-goin’ to take no sass from folks from Injun Bay. - I ask you free an’ final: Be ye goin’ ter marry me?” - An’ Mary Ann sez, tremblin’, yet anxious-like, “I be.” - - FLORENCE E. PYATT. - - -THE DUTCHMAN’S SNAKE. - - Near the town of Reading, in Berks County, Pennsylvania, there - formerly lived a well-to-do Dutch farmer named Peter Van Riper. - His only son was a strapping lad of seventeen, also named Peter, - and upon old Peter and young Peter devolved the principal cares - of the old man’s farm, now and then assisted by an ancient - Dutchman named Jake Sweighoffer, who lived in the neighborhood, - and went out to work by the day. - - One warm day in haying time this trio were hard at work in a - meadow near the farm-house, when suddenly Peter the elder dropped - his scythe and called out: - - “Oh! mine gracious, Peter! Peter!” - - “What’s de matter, fader?” answered the son, straightening up and - looking at his sire. - - “Oh! mine Peter! Peter!” again cried the old man, “do come here, - right off! Der schnake pite mine leg!” - - If anything in particular could disturb the nerves of young - Peter, it was snakes; for he had once been chased by a black - one and frightened nearly out of his wits. At the word snake, - therefore, young Van Riper fell back, nimbly as a wire-drawer, - and called out in turn: “Where is der shnake, fader?” - - “Here, up mine preeches!—Oh! my! my! my!” - - “Vy don’t you kill him, fader?” exclaimed Peter, junior, keeping - at a safe distance from his suffering sire. - - “I can’t get at der little sinner, Peter; you come dake off my - drowsis, or he’ll kill me mit his pites.” - - But the fears of Peter, the younger, overcame his filial - affection, and lent strength to his legs, for he started off - like a scared two-year-old toward the old man Jake, to call him - to the assistance of his unhappy father. A few moments after, - the two came bounding toward the old man, and as they passed a - haycock where their garments had been laid when they began work, - Jake grabbed the vest which he supposed belonged to his employer. - During this time old Peter had managed to keep on his feet, - although he was quaking and trembling like an aspen leaf in a - June gale of wind. - - “Oh! come quick, Yacob!” exclaimed he, “he pite like sixty, here, - on mine leg.” - - Old Jake was not particularly sensitive to fear, but few people, - young or old, are free from alarm when a “pizenous” reptile is - about. He seized a small pitchfork, and, telling the unhappy Van - Riper to stand steady, promised to stun the reptile by a rap or - two, even if he didn’t kill it outright. The frightened old man - did not long hesitate between the risk of a broken leg or being - bitten to death by a snake, but promptly indicated the place - where Jake should strike. Whack went the pitchfork, and down - tumbled Peter, exclaiming, “Oh! my! my! my; I pleeve you’ve proke - mine leg! but den der shnake’s gone.” - - “Vere! vere’s he gone to?” says old Sweighoffer, looking sharply - about on the ground he stood upon. - - “Never mind der shnake now, Yacob,” says Van Riper, “come and - help me up, and I’ll go home.” - - “Here, I’ve got your shacket—put it on,” says Jacob, lifting up - the old man, and slipping his arms into the armholes of the vest. - - The moment old Peter made the effort to get the garment on his - shoulders, he grew livid in the face—his hair stood on end—he - shivered and shook—his teeth chattered, and his knees knocked an - accompaniment. “O Yacob!” exclaimed he, “help me to go home—I’m - dead! I’m dead!” - - “Vat’s dat you say? Ish dere nodder shnake in your preeches?” - inquired the intrepid Jacob. - - “Not dat—I don’t mean dat,” says the farmer, “but shust you look - on me—I’m shwelt all up, pigger as an ox! my shacket won’t go on - my pack. I’m dying mit de pizen. Oh! oh! oh! help me home quick.” - - The hired man came to the same conclusion; and with might and - main he hurried old Peter along toward the farm-house. Meantime - young Peter had run home, and so alarmed the women folks that - they were in a high state of excitement when they saw the - approach of the good old man and his assistant. - - Old man Peter was carried into the house, laid on a bed, and - began to lament his sad misfortune in a most grievous manner, - when the old lady, his frow, came forward and proposed to examine - the bitten leg. The unhappy man opened his eyes and feebly - pointed out the place of the bite. She carefully ripped up his - pantaloons, and out fell—a thistle-top! and at the same time a - considerable scratch was made visible. - - “Call dis a shnake? Bah!” says the old lady, holding up the - thistle. - - “Oh! but I’m pizened to death, Katreen!—see, I’m all pizen!—mine - shacket!—Oh! dear, mine shacket not come over mine pody!” - - “Haw! haw! you crazy fellow,” roars the frow, “dat’s not your - shacket—dat’s Peter’s shacket! ha! ha! ha!” - - “Vat! dat Peter’s shacket?” says old Peter, shaking off death’s - icy fetters at one surge, and jumping up: “Bosh! Jacob, vat an - old fool you must be to say I vas shnake-pite! Go ’pout your - pusiness, gals. Peter, give me mine pipe.” - - -NO KISS. - - “Kiss me, Will,” sang Marguerite, - To a pretty little tune, - Holding up her dainty mouth, - Sweet as roses born in June. - Will was ten years old that day, - And he pulled her golden curls - Teasingly, and answer made— - “I’m too old—I don’t kiss girls.” - - Ten years pass, and Marguerite - Smiles as Will kneels at her feet, - Gazing fondly in her eyes, - Praying, “Won’t you kiss me, sweet?” - ’Rite is seventeen to-day, - With her birthday ring she toys - For a moment, then replies: - “I’m too old—I don’t kiss boys.” - - -THE LISPING LOVER. - - Oh! thtay one moment, love implorth, - Ere yet we break thith happy thpell! - For to the thoul my thoul adorth - It ith tho hard to thay farewell. - - And yet how thad to be tho weak, - To think forever, night or day, - The thententheth my heart would thpeak - Thethe lipth can never truly thay. - - How mournful, too, while thuth I kneel, - With nervouthneth my blith to mar, - And dream each moment that I feel - The boot-toe of thy thtern papa. - - Or yet to fanthy that I hear - A thudden order to decamp, - Ath dithagreeably thevere - Ath—“Get out you infernal thcamp!” - - Yet recklethly I pauthe by thee, - To lithp my hopeth, my fearth, my careth, - Though any moment I may be - Turning a thomerthet down the thtairth! - - -LARRIE O’DEE. - - Now the widow McGee, - And Larrie O’Dee, - Had two little cottages out on the green, - With just room enough for two pig-pens between. - The widow was young and the widow was fair, - With the brightest of eyes and the brownest of hair; - And it frequently chanced, when she came in the morn - With the swill for her pig, Larrie came with the corn. - And some of the ears that he tossed from his hand, - In the pen of the widow were certain to land. - - One morning said he: - “Och! Misthress McGee, - It’s a waste, of good lumber, this runnin’ two rigs, - Wid a fancy petition betwane our two pigs!” - “Indade sur, it is!” answered Widow McGee, - With the sweetest of smiles upon Larrie O’Dee. - “And thin, it looks kind o’ hard-hearted and mane, - Kapin’ two friendly pigs so exsaidenly near - That whiniver one grunts the other can hear, - And yit kape a cruel petition betwane.” - - “Shwate Widow McGee,” - Answered Larrie O’Dee, - “If ye fale in your heart we are mane to the pigs, - Ain’t we mane to ourselves to be runnin’ two rigs? - Och! it made me heart ache whin I paped through the cracks - Of me shanty, lasht March, at yez shwingin’ yer axe; - An’ a bobbin’ yer head an’ a shtompin’ yer fate, - Wid yer purty white hands jisht as red as a bate, - A-sphlittin’ yer kindlin’-wood out in the shtorm, - When one little shtove it would kape us both warm!” - - “Now, piggy,” said she; - “Larrie’s courtin’ o’ me, - Wid his dilicate tinder allusions to you, - So now yez must tell me jisht what I must do; - For, if I’m to say yez, shtir the swill wid yer snout; - But if I’m to say no, ye must kape yer nose out. - Now Larrie, for shame! to be bribin’ a pig - By a-tossin’ a handful of corn in its shwig!” - “Me darlint, the piggy says yes,” answered he. - And that was the courtship of Larrie O’Dee. - - W. W. FINK. - - -HOW PADEREWSKI PLAYS THE PIANO. - - First a soft and gentle tinkle, - Gentle as the rain-drop’s sprinkle, - Then a stop, - Fingers drop. - Now begins a merry trill, - Like a cricket in a mill; - Now a short, uneasy motion, - Like a ripple on the ocean. - - See the fingers dance about, - Hear the notes come tripping out; - How they mingle in the tingle - Of the everlasting jingle, - Like to hailstones on a shingle, - Or the ding-dong, dangle-dingle - Of a sheep-bell! Double, single, - Now they come in wilder gushes, - Up and down the player rushes, - Quick as squirrels, sweet as thrushes. - - Now the keys begin to clatter - Like the music of a platter - When the maid is stirring batter. - O’er the music comes a change, - Every tone is wild and strange; - Listen to the lofty tumbling, - Hear the mumbling, fumbling, jumbling, - Like the rumbling and the grumbling - Of the thunder from its slumbering - Just awaking. Now it’s taking - To the quaking, like a fever-and-ague shaking; - Heads are aching, something’s breaking— - Goodness gracious! it is wondrous, - Rolling round, above, and under us, - Like old Vulcan’s stroke so thunderous. - - Now ’tis louder, but the powder - Will be all exploded soon; - For the only way to do, - When the music’s nearly through, - Is to muster all your muscle for a bang, - Striking twenty notes together with a clang: - Hit the treble with a twang, - Give the bass an awful whang, - And close the whole performance - With a slam—bang—whang! - - -THE FRECKLE-FACED GIRL. - - “Ma’s up stairs changing her dress,” said the freckled-faced - little girl, tying her doll’s bonnet strings and casting her - eye about for a tidy large enough to serve as a shawl for that - double-jointed young person. - - “Oh, your mother needn’t dress up for me,” replied the female - agent of the missionary society, taking a self-satisfied view of - herself in the mirror. “Run up and tell her to come down just as - she is in her everyday clothes, and not stand on ceremony.” - - “Oh, but she hasn’t got on her everyday clothes. Ma was all - dressed up in her new brown silk dress, ’cause she expected Miss - Dimmond to-day. Miss Dimmond always comes over here to show off - her nice things, and ma doesn’t mean to get left. When ma saw you - coming she said, ‘the dickens!’ and I guess she was mad about - something. Ma said if you saw her new dress, she’d have to hear - all about the poor heathen, who don’t have silk, and you’d ask - her for money to buy hymn books to send ’em. Say, do the nigger - ladies use hymn-book leaves to do their hair up on and make it - frizzy? Ma says she guesses that’s all the good the books do ’em, - if they ever get any books. I wish my doll was a heathen.” - - “Why, you wicked little girl! what do you want of a heathen - doll?” inquired the missionary lady, taking a mental inventory - of the new things in the parlor to get material for a homily on - worldly extravagance. - - “So folks would send her lots of nice things to wear, and feel - sorry to have her going about naked. Then she’d have her hair to - frizz, and I want a doll with truly hair and eyes that roll up - like Deacon Silderback’s when he says amen on Sunday. I ain’t a - wicked girl, either, ’cause Uncle Dick—you know Uncle Dick, he’s - been out West and swears awful and smokes in the house—he says - I’m a holy terror, and he hopes I’ll be an angel pretty soon. - Ma’ll be down in a minute, so you needn’t take your cloak off. - She said she’d box my ears if I asked you to. - - “Ma’s putting on that old dress she had last year, ’cause she - didn’t want you to think she was able to give much this time, - and she needed a muff worse than the queen of the cannon-ball - islands needed ’ligion. Uncle Dick says you oughter get to the - islands, ’cause you’d be safe there, and the natives would be - sorry they was such sinners anybody would send you to ’em. He - says he never seen a heathen hungry enough to eat you, ’less it - was a blind one, an’ you’d set a blind pagan’s teeth on edge so - he’d never hanker after any more missionary. Uncle Dick’s awful - funny, and makes ma and pa die laughing sometimes.” - - “Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved wretch, and ought to have - remained out West, where his style is appreciated. He sets a - horrid example for little girls like you.” - - “Oh, I think he’s nice. He showed me how to slide down the - banisters, and he’s teaching me to whistle when ma ain’t around. - That’s a pretty cloak you’ve got, ain’t it? Do you buy all your - clothes with missionary money? Ma says you do.” - - Just then the freckle-faced little girl’s ma came into the parlor - and kissed the missionary lady on the cheek and said she was - delighted to see her, and they proceeded to have a real sociable - chat. The little girl’s ma cannot understand why a person who - professes to be so charitable as the missionary agent does should - go right over to Miss Dimmond’s and say such ill-natured things - as she did, and she thinks the missionary is a double-faced - gossip. The little girl understands it better than her ma does. - - -WHEN GIRLS WORE CALICO. - - There was a time, betwixt the days - Of linsey woolsey, straight and prim, - And these when mode, with despot ways, - Leads woman captive at its whim, - Yet not a hundred years ago, - When girls wore simple calico. - - Within the barn, by lantern light, - Through many a reel, with flying feet, - The boys and maidens danced at night - To fiddled measures, shrilly sweet; - And merry revels were they, though - The girls were gowned in calico. - - Across the flooring rough and gray - The gold of scattered chaff was spread, - And long festoons of clover hay - That straggled from the loft o’erhead, - Swung scented fringes to and fro - O’er pretty girls in calico. - - They used to go a-Maying then, - The blossoms of the spring to seek - In sunny glade and sheltered glen, - Unweighed by fashion’s latest freak; - And Robin fell in love, I know, - With Phyllis in her calico. - - A tuck, a frill, a bias fold, - A hat curved over gipsy-wise, - And beads of coral and of gold, - And rosy cheeks and merry eyes, - Made lassies in that long ago - Look charming in their calico. - - The modern knight who loves a maid - Of gracious air and gentle grace, - And finds her oftentimes arrayed - In shining silk and priceless lace, - Would love her just as well, I know, - In pink and lilac calico. - - HATTIE WHITNEY. - - -A WINNING COMPANY. - - Ef gran’paw was a soldier now - He’d show ’em what to do; - You ought to come and lisen how - He talks to me and Sue. - - He tells us all about the days - He led his gallant men, - And all about the different ways - He won the battles then. - - An’ ev’ry night when paw comes in - An’ says the fight’s begun, - He tells what they could do to win - Er what they ought to done. - - An’ paw he laugh and looks at me - An’ says we’d surely win it - If gran’paw led a company - An’ Sue an’ me was in it. - - -THE BRAVEST SAILOR OF ALL. - -This graceful tribute to the martial spirit of the little tots should be -recited in a slightly bombastic style. The little one considers himself -quite a hero and should be described accordingly. - - I know a naval officer, the bravest fighting man; - He wears a jaunty sailor suit, his cap says “Puritan.” - And all day long he sails a ship between our land and Spain, - And he avenges, every hour, the martyrs of the “Maine.” - - His warship is six inches square, a wash-tub serves for ocean; - But never yet, on any coast, was seen such dire commotion. - With one skilled move his boat is sent from Cuba to midsea, - And just as quickly back it comes to set Havana free. - - He fights with Dewey; plants his flag upon each island’s shore, - Then off with Sampson’s fleet he goes to shed the Spanish gore. - He comes to guard New England’s coast, but ere his anchor falls, - He hurries off in frightful speed, to shell Manila’s walls. - - The Philippines so frequently have yielded to his power, - There’s very little left of them, I’m certain, at this hour; - And when at last he falls asleep, it is to wake again - And hasten into troubled seas and go and conquer Spain. - - ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. - - -HOW SHE WAS CONSOLED. - - Out in the field in the red o’ the rain - That crimsoned the breasts that the battle had slain, - He lay in the shadow—the captain—at rest, - With a lock of gold hair round a face on his breast. - - Out in the darkness, all pallid and dumb, - A woman waits long for the captain to come; - And she kisses his portrait. O, pitiful pain! - She shall kiss not the lips of the captain again! - - But a woman’s a woman, though loyal and brave, - Love fareth but ill in the gloom of a grave. - The captain lies mute ’neath the stars and the snow, - And the woman he loved—well, she’s married you know! - - -THAT HIRED GIRL. - - When she came to work for the family on Congress street, the lady - of the house sat down and told her that agents, picture-sellers, - peddlers, ragmen, and all that class of people must be met at the - front door and coldly repulsed, and Sarah said she’d repulse them - if she had to break every broomstick in town. - - And she did. She threw the door open wide, bluffed right up at - ’em, and when she got through talking, the cheekiest agent was - only too glad to leave. It got so after a while that peddlers - marked that house, and the door-bell never rang except for - company. - - The other day, as the girl of the house was wiping off the - spoons, the bell rang. She hastened to the door, expecting to see - a lady, but her eyes encountered a slim man, dressed in black and - wearing a white necktie. He was the new minister, and was going - around to get acquainted with the members of his flock, but Sarah - wasn’t expected to know this. - - “Ah—um—is—Mrs.—ah!” - - “Git!” exclaimed Sarah, pointing to the gate. - - “Beg pardon, but I would like to see—see—!” - - “Meander!” she shouted, looking around for a weapon; “we don’t - want any flour-sifters here!” - - “You’re mistaken,” he replied, smiling blandly. “I called to—” - - “Don’t want anything to keep moths away—fly!” exclaimed Sarah, - getting red in the face. - - “Is the lady in?” he inquired, trying to look over Sarah’s head. - - “Yes, the lady is in, and I’m in, and you are out!” she snapped; - “and now I don’t want to stand here talking to a fly-trap agent - any longer! Come lift your boots!” - - “I’m not an agent,” he said, trying to smile. “I’m the new—” - - “Yes, I know you—you are the new man with the patent flat-iron, - but we don’t want any, and you’d better go before I call the dog!” - - “Will you give the lady my card, and say that I called?” - - “No, I won’t; we are bored to death with cards and handbills and - circulars. Come, I can’t stand here all day.” - - “Didn’t know that I was a minister?” he asked, as he backed off. - - “No, nor I don’t know it now; you look like the man who sold the - woman next door a ten cent chromo for two dollars.” - - “But here is my card.” - - “I don’t care for cards, I tell you! If you leave that gate open, - I will have to fling a flower-pot at you!” - - “I will call again,” he said, as he went through the gate. - - “It won’t do any good!” she shouted after him; “we don’t want no - prepared food for infants—no piano music—no stuffed birds! I know - the policeman on this beat, and if you come around here again, - he’ll soon find out whether you are a confidence man or vagrant!” - - And she took unusual care to lock the door. - - -WHAT SAMBO SAYS. - - Now, in dese busy wukin’ days, dey’s changed de Scripter fashions, - An’ you needn’t look to mirakuls to furnish you wid rations; - Now, when you’s wantin’ loaves o’ bread, you got to go and fetch ’em, - An’ ef you’s wantin’ fishes, you mus’ dig your wums an’ ketch ’em; - For you kin put it down as sartin dat the time is long gone by, - When sassages an’ ’taters use to rain fum out de sky! - - I nebber likes de cullud man dat thinks too much o’ eatin’; - But frolics froo de wukin’ days, and snoozes at de meetin’; - Dat jines de Temp’ance ’Ciety, an’ keeps a gettin’ tight, - An’ pulls his water-millions in de middle ob de night! - - Dese milerterry nigger chaps, with muskets in deir han’s, - Perradin’ froo de city to de music ob de ban’s, - Had better drop deir guns, an’ go to marchin’ wid deir hoes - An’ git a honest libbin’ as dey chop de cotton-rows, - Or de State may put ’em arter while to drillin’ in de ditches, - Wid more’n a single stripe a-runnin’ ’cross deir breeches. - - Well, you think dat doin’ nuffin’ ’tall is mighty sort o’ nice, - But it busted up de renters in de lubly Paradise! - You see, dey bofe was human bein’s jes’ like me an’ you, - An’ dey couldn’t reggerlate deirselves wid not a thing to do; - Wid plenty wuk befo’ ’em, an’ a cotton crop to make, - Dey’d nebber thought o’ loafin’ roun’ an’ chattin’ wid de snake. - - -THE IRISH SLEIGH RIDE. - - O don’t go way until you hear - A story, though it may seem queer, - Of a family known both near and far - By the funny name of Ump Ha Ha. - - Mr. Ump Ha Ha, one day, - Thought he would like to take a sleigh - And ride upon the frozen snow; - And Mrs. Ump Ha Ha said she would go, - Taking all the family, of course, - Including, too, the family horse. - He was a mule, and a thin one, too; - You could see his ribs where the hay stuck through. - - They hitched him up to an old-time bob. - Then you ought to have seen the mob! - There were Patrick, Mary Ump Ha Ha, - Grace and Carrie Ump Ha Ha, - Mike and Freddie Ump Ha Ha, - Willie and Eddie Ump Ha Ha, - Tim and Juley Ump Ha Ha, - Rose and Peggy Ump Ha Ha, - Lizzie and Mayme Ump Ha Ha, - Big fat Jammie Ump Ha Ha. - - Fifteen people in one sleigh - Started out to spend the day. - The way they packed and jammed them in, - It made the family horse look thin. - As luck will have it, as it will, - They started from the top of a hill. - The hill was slippery; down they flew. - How fast they went they never knew. - The time they made it can’t be beat. - The old mule had no use for his feet; - He went like a bird or ships on sail; - He flew with his ears and steered with his tail. - It was a mile to the bottom and the bottom was mud, - And they went down with a sickening thud. - - Mary Ump Ha Ha was dazed, - Patrick Ump Ha Ha was crazed, - Little Willie bumped his nose, - Big fat Jammie she got froze. - Fourteen doctors came at once. - The old mule was buried in the ground. - Did you ever see a dead mule laying around? - It took four drays to get them home, - And when they found they broke no bones, - They all sat down and thanked their stars, - And then they laughed out, Ump Ha Ha. - - -JANE JONES. - - Jane Jones keeps a-whisperin’ to me all the time, - An’ says: “Why don’t you make it a rule - To study your lessons, an’ work hard an’ learn, - An’ never be absent from school? - Remember the story of Elihu Burritt, - How he clumb up to the top; - Got all the knowledge ’at he ever had - Down in the blacksmithin’ shop.” - Jane Jones she honestly said it was so; - Mebby he did—I dunno; - ’Course, what’s a-keepin’ me ’way from the top - Is not never havin’ no blacksmithin’ shop. - - She said ’at Ben Franklin was awfully poor, - But full o’ ambition and brains, - An’ studied philosophy all ’is hull life— - An’ see what he got for his pains. - He brought electricity out of the sky - With a kite an’ the lightnin’ an’ key, - So we’re owin’ him more’n any one else - For all the bright lights ’at we see. - Jane Jones she actually said it was so. - Mebby he did—I dunno; - ’Course, what’s allers been hinderin’ me - In not havin’ any kite, lightnin’ or key. - - Jane Jones said Columbus was out at the knees - When he first thought up his big scheme; - An’ all of the Spaniards an’ Italians, too, - They laughed an’ just said ’twas a dream; - But Queen Isabella she listened to him, - An’ pawned all her jewels o’ worth, - An’ bought ’im the “Santa Marier” ’n said: - “Go hunt up the rest of the earth.” - Jane Jones she honestly said it was so; - Mebby he did—I dunno; - ’Course, that may all be, but you must allow - They ain’t any land to discover just now. - - BEN KING. - - -DE OLE PLANTATION MULE. - - A werry funny feller is de ole plantation mule; - An’ nobody’ll play wid him unless he is a fool. - De bestest ting to do w’en you meditates about him, - Is to kinder sorter calkerlate you’ll get along widout him. - - W’en you try to ’proach dat mule from de front endwise, - He look as meek as Moses, but his looks is full ob lies; - He doesn’t move a muscle, he doesn’t even wink; - An’ you say his dispersition’s better’n people tink. - - He stan’ so still that you s’pose he is a monument of grace; - An’ you almos’ see a ’nevolent expression on his face; - But dat ’nevolent expression is de mask dat’s allers worn; - For ole Satan is behin’ it, jest as sure as you is born. - - Den you cosset him a little, an’ you pat his other end, - An’ you has a reverlation dat he ain’t so much your friend; - You has made a big mistake; but before de heart repents, - You is histed werry sudden to de odder side de fence. - - Well, you feel like you’d been standin’ on de locomotive track - An’ de engine come an’ hit you in de middle ob de back; - You don’ know wat has happened, you can scarcely cotch your breff; - But you tink you’ve made de ’quaintance ob a werry vi’lent deff. - - -ADAM NEVER WAS A BOY. - - Of all the men the world has seen - Since time his rounds began, - There’s one I pity every day— - Earth’s first and foremost man; - And then I think what fun he missed - By failing to enjoy - The wild delights of youth-time, for - He never was a boy. - - He never stubbed his naked toe - Against a root or stone; - He never with a pin-hook fished - Along the brook alone; - He never sought the bumblebee - Among the daisies coy, - Nor felt its business end, because - He never was a boy. - - He never hookey played, nor tied - The ever-ready pail, - Down in the alley all alone, - To trusting Fido’s tail. - And when he home from swimmin’ came, - His happiness to cloy, - No slipper interfered, because - He never was a boy. - - He might refer to splendid times - ’Mong Eden’s bowers, yet - He never acted Romeo - To a six year Juliet. - He never sent a valentine, - Intended to annoy - A good, but maiden aunt, because - He never was a boy. - - He never cut a kite string, no! - Nor hid an Easter egg; - He never ruined his pantaloons - A-playing mumble-peg; - He never from the attic stole, - A coon-hunt to enjoy, - To find “the old man” watching, for - He never was a boy. - - I pity him. Why should I not? - I even drop a tear; - He did not know how much he missed; - He never will, I fear. - And when the scenes of “other days” - My growing mind employ, - I think of him, earth’s only man - Who never was a boy. - - T. C. HARBAUGH. - - -A REMARKABLE CASE OF S’POSIN. - - A man hobbled into the Colonel’s office upon crutches. Proceeding - to a chair and making a cushion of some newspapers, he sat down - very gingerly, placed a bandaged leg upon another chair, and said: - - “Col. Coffin, my name is Briggs. I want to get your opinion about - a little point of law. Now, Colonel, s’posin’ you lived up the - pike here a half mile, next door to a man named Johnson. And - s’posin’ you and Johnson was to get into an argument about the - human intellect, and you was to say to Johnson that a splendid - illustration of the superiority of the human intellect was to be - found in the power of the human eye to restrain the ferocity of a - wild animal. And s’posin’ Johnson was to remark that that was all - bosh, because nobody _could_ hold a wild animal with the human - eye, and you should declare that you could hold the savagest - beast that was ever born if you could once fix your gaze on him. - - “Well, then, s’posin’ Johnson was to say he’d bet a hundred - dollars he could bring a tame animal that you couldn’t hold with - your eye, and you was to take him up on it, and Johnson was - to ask you to come down to his place to settle the bet. You’d - go, we’ll say, and Johnson’d wander round to the back of the - house and pretty soon come front again with a dog bigger’n any - four decent dogs ought to be. And then s’posin’ Johnson’d let - go of that dog and set him on you, and he’d come at you like a - sixteen-inch shell out of a howitzer, and you’d get scary about - it and try to hold the dog with your eye and couldn’t. - - “And s’posin’ you’d suddenly conclude that maybe your kind of - an eye wasn’t calculated to hold that kind of a dog, and you’d - conclude to run for a plum tree in order to have a chance to - collect your thoughts and to try to reflect what sort of an eye - would be best calculated to mollify that sort of a dog. You ketch - my idea, of course? - - “Very well, then; s’posin’ you’d take your eye off of that - dog—Johnson, mind you, all the time hissing him on and laughing, - and you’d turn and rush for the tree, and begin to swarm up as - fast as you could. Well, sir, s’posin’ just as you got three feet - from the ground Johnson’s dog would grab you by the leg and hold - on like a vise, shaking you until you nearly lost your hold. - - “And s’posin’ Johnson was to stand there and holloa, ‘Fix your - eye on him, Briggs! Why don’t you manifest the power of the - human intellect?’ and so on, howling out ironical remarks like - those; and s’posin’ he kept that dog on that leg until he made - you swear to pay the bet, and then at last had to pry the dog off - with a hot poker, bringing away at the same time some of your - flesh in the dog’s mouth, so that you had to be carried home on - a stretcher, and to hire several doctors to keep you from dying - with lock-jaw. - - “S’posin’ this, what I want to know is, couldn’t you sue Johnson - for damages and make him pay heavily for what that dog did? - That’s what I want to get at.” - - The Colonel thought for a moment, and then said: - - “Well, Mr. Briggs, I don’t think I could. If I agreed to - let Johnson set the dog at me, I should be a party to the - transaction, and I could not recover.” - - “Do you mean to say that the law won’t make that infernal - scoundrel Johnson suffer for letting his dog eat me up?” - - “I think not, if you state the case properly.” - - “It won’t, hey?” exclaimed Mr. Briggs, hysterically. “Oh, very - well, very well! I s’pose if that dog had chewed me all up it’d - ’ve been all the same to this constitutional republic. But hang - me if I don’t have satisfaction. I’ll kill Johnson, poison his - dog, and emigrate to some country where the rights of citizens - are protected!” - - Then Mr. Briggs got on his crutches and hobbled out. He is still - a citizen, and will vote at the next election. - - -MY PARROT. - -Let your face express contempt on the word “pshaw,” and make the gesture -in Figure 24 of Typical Gestures. Drawl out the word “yawned” in the -third verse and give a comical wink in the fourth verse. Prolong the -sound on “pshaw” in the last line. - - I had a parrot once, an ugly bird, - With the most wicked eye I ever saw, - Who, though it comprehended all it heard, - Would only say, “O pshaw!” - - I did my best to teach it goodly lore; - I talked to it of medicine and law; - It looked as if it knew it all before, - And simply said, “O pshaw!” - - I sat me down upon a dry-goods box - To stuff sound doctrine down its empty craw, - It would have none of matters orthodox, - But yawned and said, “O pshaw!” - - I talked to it of politics, finance; - I hoped to teach the bird to say “Hurrah!” - For my pet candidates when he’d a chance, - He winked and chirped, “O pshaw!” - - I am for prohibition, warp and woof, - But that bird stole hard cider through a straw, - And then he teetered off at my reproof - And thickly said, “O pshaw!” - - Enraged, I hurled a bootjack, missed my aim - And plugged a passing stranger in the jaw; - He wheeled to see from whence the missile came; - The demon laughed “O pshaw!” - - I gave the creature to an old-maid aunt, - And shook with parting grief its skinny claw. - “He’ll serve to cheer,” she said, “my lonely hearth, - For I’d not marry the best man on earth!” - “O pshaw!” sneered Poll, “O psha-a-w!” - - EMMA H. WEBB. - - -BAKIN AND GREENS. - - Yo’ may tell me ob pastries and fine oyster patties, - Of salads and crowkets an’ Boston baked beans, - But dar’s nuffin so temptin’ to dis nigger’s palate - As a big slice of bakin and plenty ob greens. - - Jes bile ’em right down, so dey’ll melt when yo’ eat ’em; - Hab a big streak ob fat an’ a small streak o’ lean; - Dar’s nuffin on earf yo’ kin fix up to beat ’em, - Fur de king ob all dishes am bakin and greens. - - Den take some co’hnmeal and sif’ it and pat it. - An’ put it in de ashes wid nuffin between; - Den blow off de ashes and set right down at it, - For dar’s nuffin like ashcake wid bakin and greens. - - ’Twill take de ole mammies to fix ’em up greasy, - Wid a lot ob good likker and dumplin’s between, - Take all yo’ fine eatin’, I won’t be uneasy, - If you’ll gimme dat bakin wid plenty ob greens. - - Rich folks in dar kerrage may frow de dust on me; - But how kin I envy dem men ob big means. - Dey may hab de dispepsey and do’ they may scorn me, - Dey can’t enjoy bakin wid a dish ob good greens. - - You may put me in rags, fill my cup up wid sorrow; - Let joy be a stranger, and trouble my dreams, - But I still will be smilin’, no pain kin I borrow, - Ef you lebe me dat bakin wid plenty of greens. - - -HUNTING A MOUSE. - - I was dozing comfortably in my easy-chair, and dreaming of the - good times which I hope are coming, when there fell upon my - ears a most startling scream. It was the voice of my Maria Ann - in agony. The voice came from the kitchen, and to the kitchen I - rushed. The idolized form of my Maria was perched on a chair, and - she was flourishing an iron spoon in all directions and shouting - “shoo,” in a general manner, at everything in the room. To my - anxious inquiries as to what was the matter, she screamed, “O - Joshua! a mouse, shoo—wha—shoo—a great—ya—shoo—horrid mouse, - and—she—ew—it ran right out of the cupboard—shoo—go way—O - Lord—Joshua—shoo—kill it, oh, my—shoo.” - - All that fuss, you see, about one little harmless mouse. Some - women are so afraid of mice. Maria is. I got the poker and set - myself to poke that mouse, and my wife jumped down and ran off - into another room. I found the mouse in a corner under the sink. - The first time I hit it I didn’t poke it any on account of - getting the poker all tangled up in a lot of dishes in the sink; - and I did not hit it any more because the mouse would not stay - still. It ran right toward me, and I naturally jumped, as anybody - would; but I am not afraid of mice, and when the horrid thing ran - up inside the leg of my pantaloons, I yelled to Maria because I - was afraid it would gnaw a hole in my garment. - - I did not lose my presence of mind for an instant. I caught the - mouse just as it was clambering over my knee, and by pressing - firmly on the outside of the cloth, I kept the animal a prisoner - on the inside. I kept jumping around with all my might to confuse - it, so that it would not think about biting, and I yelled so that - the mice would not hear its squeaks and come to its assistance. A - man can’t handle many mice at once to advantage. Besides, I’m not - so spry as I was before I had that spine in my back and had to - wear plasters. - - Maria was white as a sheet when she came into the kitchen and - asked what she should do—as though I could hold the mouse - and plan a campaign at the same time. I told her to think - of something, and she thought she would throw things at the - intruder; but as there was no earthly chance for her to hit the - mouse, while every shot took effect on me, I told her to stop, - after she had tried two flat-irons and the coal-scuttle. She - paused for breath; but I kept bobbing around. Somehow I felt no - inclination to sit down anywhere. “O Joshua,” she cried, “I wish - you had not killed the cat.” - - Then she got the tea-kettle and wanted to scald the mouse. I - objected to that process, except as a last resort. Then she got - some cheese to coax the mouse down, but I did not dare to let go, - for fear it would run up. Matters were getting desperate. I told - her to think of something else, and I kept jumping. Just as I was - ready to faint with exhaustion, I tripped over an iron, lost my - hold, and the mouse fell to the floor, very dead. I had no idea - a mouse could be squeezed to death so easy. - - That was not the end of the trouble, for before I had recovered - my breath a fireman broke in one of the front windows, and a - whole company followed him through, and they dragged hose around, - and mussed things all over the house, and then the foreman wanted - to thrash me because the house was not on fire, and I had hardly - got him pacified before a policeman came in and arrested me. Some - one had run down and told him I was drunk and was killing Maria. - It was all Maria and I could do, by combining our eloquence, to - prevent him from marching me off in disgrace, but we finally got - matters quieted and the house clear. - - Now when mice run out of the cupboard I go outdoors, and let - Maria “shoo” them back again. I can kill a mouse, but the fun - don’t pay for the trouble. - - JOSHUA JENKINS. - - -THE VILLAGE SEWING SOCIETY. - -This is a very amusing recitation when correctly rendered. The gossips -make the most disparaging remarks about their neighbors, but are very -pleasant to their faces. The words in parentheses should be spoken -‘aside’ in an undertone. A recital for one who can imitate different -female voices. - - “Mis’ Jones is late agin to-day: - I’d be ashamed now ef ’twas me. - Don’t tell it, but I’ve heerd folks say - She only comes to get her tea.” - - “Law me! she needn’t want it _here_, - The deacon’s folks ain’t much on eatin’: - They haven’t made a pie this year! - Of course, ’twon’t do to be repeatin’; - - “But old Mis’ Jenkins says it’s true - (You know she lives just ’cross the way, - And sees most everything they do.) - She says she saw ’em t’other day—” - - “Hush, here comes Hannah! How d’ye do? - Why, what a pretty dress you’ve got!” - (“Her old merino made up new: - _I_ know it by that faded spot.”) - - “Jest look! there’s Dr. Stebbins’ wife”— - “A bran-new dress and bunnit!—well— - They say she leads him _such_ a life! - But, there! I promised not to tell.” - - “What’s that, Mis’ Brown? ‘_All friends_,’ of course; - And you can see with your own eyes, - That _that_ gray mare’s the better horse, - Though gossipin’ I do dispise.” - - “Poor Mary Allen’s lost her beau”— - “It serves her right, conceited thing! - She’s flirted awfully, I know. - Say have you heard she kept his ring?” - - “Listen! the clock is striking six. - Thank goodness! then it’s time for tea.” - “Now ain’t that too much! Abby Mix - Has folded up her work! Just see!” - - “Why _can’t_ she wait until she’s told? - Yes, thank you, deacon, here we come.” - (“I hope the biscuits won’t be cold: - No coffee? Wish I was tu hum!”) - - “Do tell, Mis’ Ellis! _Did_ you make - This cheese? the best I ever saw. - Such jumbles too (no jelly cake): - I’m quite ashamed to take one more.” - - “Good-by: we’ve had a first-rate time, - And first-rate tea, I must declare. - Mis’ Ellis’ things are always prime. - (Well, next week’s meetin’ won’t be _there_!”) - - -SIGNS AND OMENS. - - An old gentleman, whose style was Germanized, was asked what he - thought of signs and omens. - - “Vell, I don’t dinks mooch of dem dings, und I don’t pelieve - averydings; but I dells you somedimes dere is somedings ash dose - dings. Now de oder night I sit and reads mine newspaper, und my - frau she speak und say— - - “‘Fritz, de dog ish howling!’ - - “Vell, I don’ dinks mooch of dem dings, und I goes on und reads - mine paper, und mine frau she says— - - “‘Fritz, dere is somedings pad is happen,—der dog ish howling!’ - - “Und den I gets hop mit mineself und look out troo de wines on - de porch, und de moon was shinin’, und mine leetle dog he shoomp - right up und down like averydings, und he park at de moon, dat - was shine so bright as never vas. Und ash I hauled mine het in de - winder, de old voman she say— - - “‘Mind, Fritz, I dells you dere ish someding pad ish happen. De - dog ish howling.’ - - “Vell, I goes to ped, und I shleeps, und all night long ven I - vakes up dere vas dat dog howling outside, und ven I dream I hear - dat howling vorsher ash never. Und in de morning I kits up und - kits mine breakfast, und mine frau she looks at me und say, werry - solemn— - - “‘Fritz, dere is somedings pad ish happen. De dog vas howl all - night.’ - - “Und shoost den de newspaper came in, und I opens him und by - shings, vot you dinks; dere vas a man’s vife cracked his skull in - Philadelphia!” - - -THE GHOST. - -Sing to the tune of Yankee Doodle the words designated. - - ’Tis about twenty years since Abel Law, - A short, round-favored, merry - Old soldier of the Revolutionary War, - Was wedded to - A most abominable shrew. - The temper, sir, of Shakespeare’s Catharine - Could no more be compared with hers, - Than mine - With Lucifer’s. - - Her eyes were like a weasel’s; she had a harsh - Face, like a cranberry marsh. - All spread - With spots of white and red; - Hair of the color of a wisp of straw, - And a disposition like a cross-cut saw. - The appellation of this lovely dame - Was Nancy; don’t forget the name. - - Her brother David was a tall, - Good-looking chap, and that was all; - One of your great, big nothings, as we say - Here in Rhode Island, picking up old jokes - And cracking them on other folks. - Well, David undertook one night to play - The Ghost, and frighten Abel, who, - He knew, - Would be returning from a journey through - A grove of forest wood - That stood - Below - The house some distance—half a mile, or so. - - With a long taper - Cap of white paper, - Just made to cover - A wig, nearly as large over - As a corn-basket, and a sheet - With both ends made to meet - Across his breast, - (The way in which ghosts are always dressed,) - He took - His station near - A huge oak-tree, - Whence he could overlook - The road and see - Whatever might appear. - - It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel - Had left the table - Of an inn, where he had made a halt, - With horse and wagon, - To taste a flagon, - Of malt - Liquor, and so forth, which, being done. - He went on, - Caring no more for twenty ghosts, - Than if they were so many posts. - - David was nearly tired of waiting; - His patience was abating; - At length, he heard the careless tones - Of his kinsman’s voice, - And then the noise - Of wagon-wheels among the stones. - Abel was quite elated, and was roaring - With all his might, and pouring - Out, in great confusion, - Scraps of old songs made in “the Revolution.” - - His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton - And jovially he went on, - Scaring the whip-po’-wills among the trees - With rhymes like these:—[_Sings._] - “See the Yankees - Leave the hill, - With baggernetts declining, - With lopped-down hats - And rusty guns, - And leather aprons shining.” - “See the Yankees—Whoa! Why, what is that?” - Said Abel, staring like a cat, - As, slowly on, the fearful figure strode - Into the middle of the road. - - “My conscience! what a suit of clothes! - Some crazy fellow, I suppose. - Hallo! friend, what’s your name? By the powers of gin, - That’s a strange dress to travel in.” - “Be silent, Abel; for I now have come - To read your doom; - Then hearken, while your fate I now declare. - I am a spirit”—“I suppose you are; - But you’ll not hurt me, and I’ll tell you why: - Here is a fact which you cannot deny;— - All spirits must be either good - Or bad—that’s understood— - And be you good or evil, I am sure - That I’m secure. - If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil— - And I don’t know but you may be the Devil— - If that’s the case, you’ll recollect, I fancy, - That I am married to your sister Nancy!” - - -A BIG MISTAKE. - - Recently our church had a new minister. He is a nice, good, - sociable gentleman; but coming from a distant State, of course he - was totally unacquainted with our people. Therefore it happened - that during his pastoral calls, he made several ludicrous - blunders. One as follows: The other evening he called upon Mrs. - Haddon. She had just lost her husband, and she naturally supposed - that his visit was relative to the sad occurrence. So, after a - few common-places had been exchanged, she was not surprised to - hear him remark: - - “It was a sad bereavement, was it not, Mrs. Haddon?” - - “Yes,” faltered the widow. - - “Totally unexpected?” - - “Oh, yes; I never dreamed of it.” - - “He died in the barn, I suppose.” - - “Oh, no; in the house.” - - “Ah, well, I suppose you must have thought a great deal of him?” - - “Of course, sir.” - - This was with vim. The minister looked rather surprised, crossed - his legs and renewed the conversation. - - “Blind staggers was the disease, I believe.” - - “No, sir,” snapped the widow. “Apoplexy.” - - “Indeed; you must have fed him too much.” - - “He was quite capable of feeding himself, sir.” - - “Very intelligent he must have been. Died hard?” - - “He did.” - - “You had to hit him on the head with an axe to put him out of his - misery, I am told.” - - Mrs. Haddon’s eyes snapped fire. - - “Whoever told you that did not speak the truth,” she haughtily - uttered. “James died naturally.” - - “Yes,” continued the minister, in a perplexed tone. “He kicked - the side of the barn down in his last agonies, didn’t he?” - - “No, sir; he did not.” - - “Well, I have been misinformed, I suppose. How old was he?” - - “Thirty-five.” - - “He did not do much active work. Perhaps you are better without - him, for you can easily supply his place with a better one.” - - “_Never!_ sir, will I find such a good one as he.” - - “Oh, yes you will; he had the heaves bad, you know.” - - “Nothing of the kind, sir.” - - “Why, I recollect I saw him one day, with you on his back, and I - distinctly recollect that he had the heaves, and walked as if he - had the spring-halt.” - - Mrs. H.’s eyes snapped fire, and she stared at the reverend - visitor as if she imagined he was crazy. - - “He could not have had the spring-halt, for he had a cork-leg,” - she replied. - - “A cork-leg—remarkable; but really, didn’t he have a dangerous - trick of suddenly stopping and kicking the wagon all to pieces?” - - “Never, sir; he was not mad.” - - “Probably not. But there were some good points about him.” - - “I should think so.” - - “The way in which he carried his ears, for example.” - - “Nobody ever noticed that particular merit,” said the widow, with - much asperity, “he was warm-hearted, generous and frank.” - - “Good qualities,” answered the minister. “How long did it take - him to go a mile?” - - “About fifteen minutes.” - - “Not much of a goer. Wasn’t his hair apt to fly?” - - “He didn’t have any hair, he was bald-headed.” - - “Quite a curiosity.” - - “No, sir; no more of a curiosity than you are.” - - The minister shifted uneasily, and got red in the face; but he - returned to the attack. - - “Did you use the whip much on him?” - - “Never, sir.” - - “Went right along without it, eh?” - - “Yes.” - - “He must have been a good sort of a _brute_!” - - The widow sat down and cried. - - “The idea of your coming here and insulting me,” she sobbed. “If - my husband had lived you would not have done it. Your remarks in - reference to the poor dead man have been a series of insults, and - I won’t stand it.” - - He colored, and looked dumfounded. - - “Ain’t you Mrs. Blinkers?” at last he stammered, “and has not - your gray horse just died?” - - “No! no!” she cried. “I never owned a horse, but my husband died - a week ago.” - - Ten minutes later that minister came out of that house with the - reddest face ever seen on mortal man. - - “And to think,” he groaned, as he strode home, “that I was - talking horse to that woman all the time—and she was talking - husband.” - - -THE DUEL. - -Imitate the “bow-wow” of the dog and the “me-ow” of the cat: at least, so -deliver the words as to convey the idea of the barking and the mewing. - - The gingham dog and the calico cat - Side by side on the table sat; - ’Twas half-past twelve, and what do you think, - Neither of them had slept a wink! - And the old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate - Seemed to know, as sure as fate, - There was going to be an awful spat. - - (I wasn’t there—I simply state - What was told to me by the Chinese plate.) - - The gingham dog went “bow-wow-wow!” - And the calico cat replied “me-ow?” - And the air was streaked for an hour or so - With fragments of gingham and calico. - While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place - Up with its hands before its face, - For it always dreaded a family row! - - (Now mind, I’m simply telling you - What the old Dutch clock declares is true.) - - The Chinese plate looked very blue - And wailed: “Oh, dear what shall we do?” - But the gingham dog and the calico cat - Wallowed this way and tumbled that, - And utilized every tooth and claw - In the awfulest way you ever saw— - And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew! - - (Don’t think that I exaggerate - I got my news from the Chinese plate.) - - Next morning where the two had sat - They found no trace of the dog or cat; - And some folks think unto this day - That burglars stole that pair away; - But the truth about that cat and pup - Is that they ate each other up— - Now, what do you think of that? - - (The old Dutch clock, it told me so, - And that is how I came to know.) - - EUGENE FIELD. - - -PLAYING JOKES ON A GUIDE. - - European guides know about enough English to tangle every thing - up so that a man can make neither head nor tail of it. They know - their story by heart—the history of every statue, painting, - cathedral, or other wonder they show you. They know it and tell - it as a parrot would; and if you interrupt, and throw them off - the track, they have to go back and begin over again. All their - lives long, they are employed in showing strange things to - foreigners and listening to their bursts of admiration. - - After we discovered this, we never went into ecstasies any more, - we never admired anything, we never showed any but impassible - faces and stupid indifference in the presence of the sublimest - wonders a guide had to display. We had found their weak point. We - made some of those people savage, at times, but we never lost our - serenity. - - The doctor asked the questions generally, because he can keep his - countenance, and look more like an inspired idiot, and throw more - imbecility into the tone of his voice than any man that lives. - It comes natural to him. - - The guides in Genoa are delighted to secure an American party, - because Americans so much wonder, and deal so much in sentiment - and emotion before any relic of Columbus. Our guide there - fidgeted about as if he had swallowed a spring mattress. He was - full of animation—full of impatience. He said: - - “Come wis me, genteelmen!—come! I show you ze letter writing - by Christopher Colombo!—write it himself!—write it wis his own - hand!—come!” - - He took us to the municipal palace. After much impressive - fumbling of keys and opening of locks, the stained and aged - document was spread before us. The guide’s eyes sparkled. He - danced about us and tapped the parchment with his finger. - - “What I tell you, genteelmen! Is it not so? See! handwriting - Christopher Colombo!—write it himself!” - - We looked indifferent, unconcerned. The doctor examined the - document very deliberately, during a painful pause. Then he said, - without any show of interest, - - “Ah—what—what did you say was the name of the party who wrote - this?” - - “Christopher Colombo! ze great Christopher Colombo!” - - Another deliberate examination. - - “Ah—did he write it himself, or—or how?” - - “He write it himself!—Christopher Colombo! he’s own handwriting, - write by himself!” - - Then the doctor laid the document down, and said, - - “Why, I have seen boys in America only fourteen years old that - could write better than that.” - - “But zis is ze great Christo—” - - “I don’t care who it is! It’s the worst writing I ever saw. Now - you mustn’t think you can impose on us because we are strangers. - We are not fools, by a good deal. If you have got any specimens - of penmanship of real merit, trot them out!—and if you haven’t, - drive on!” - - We drove on. The guide was considerably shaken up, but he made - one more venture. He had something which he thought would - overcome us. He said, - - “Ah, genteelmen, you come wis me! I show you beautiful, - oh, magnificent bust Christopher Colombo—splendid, grand, - magnificent!” - - He brought us before the beautiful bust—for it _was_ - beautiful—and sprang back and struck an attitude: - - “Ah, look, genteelmen!—beautiful, grand—bust Christopher - Colombo!—beautiful bust, beautiful pedestal!” - - The doctor put up his eye-glass—procured for such occasions: - - “Ah—what did you say this gentleman’s name was?” - - “Christopher Colombo! ze great Christopher Colombo!” - - “Christopher Colombo—the great Christopher Colombo. Well, what - did _he_ do?” - - “Discover America!—discover America, oh, ze devil!” - - “Discover America? No—that statement will hardly wash. We - are just from America ourselves. We heard nothing about it. - Christopher Colombo—pleasant name—is—is he dead?” - - “Oh, corpo di Baccho!—three hundred year!” - - “What did he die of?” - - “I do not know. I cannot tell.” - - “Small-pox, think?” - - “I do not know, genteelmen—I do not know _what_ he died of.” - - “Measles, likely?” - - “Maybe—maybe. I do _not_ know—I think he die of something.” - - “Parents living?” - - “Im-possible!” - - “Ah—which is the bust and which is the pedestal?” - - “Santa Maria!—_zis_ ze bust!—_zis_ ze pedestal!” - - “Ah, I see, I see—happy combination—very happy combination - indeed. Is—is this the first time this gentleman was ever on a - bust?” - - That joke was lost on the foreigner; guides cannot master the - subtleties of the American joke. - - We have made it interesting for this Roman guide. Yesterday we - spent three or four hours in the Vatican again, that wonderful - world of curiosities. We came very near expressing interest - sometimes, even admiration. It was hard to keep from it. We - succeeded, though. Nobody else ever did, in the Vatican museums. - The guide was bewildered, nonplussed. He walked his legs off, - nearly, hunting up extraordinary things, and exhausted all his - ingenuity on us, but it was a failure; we never showed any - interest in anything. He had reserved what he considered to be - his greatest wonder till the last—a royal Egyptian mummy, the - best preserved in the world, perhaps. He took us there. He felt - so sure, this time, that some of his old enthusiasm came back to - him: - - “See, genteelmen!—Mummy! Mummy!” - - The eye-glass came up as calmly, as deliberately as ever. - - “Ah—what did I understand you to say the gentleman’s name was?” - - “Name?—he got no name!—Mummy!—’Gyptian mummy!” - - “Yes, yes. Born here?” - - “No. _’Gyptian_ mummy.” - - “Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presume?” - - “No!—_not_ Frenchman, not Roman!—born in Egypta!” - - “Born in Egypta. Never heard of Egypta before. Foreign locality, - likely. Mummy—mummy. How calm he is, how self-possessed! Is—ah—is - he dead?” - - “Oh, _sacre bleu_! been dead three thousan’ year!” - - The doctor turned on him, savagely: - - “Here, now, what do you mean by such conduct as this? Playing - us for Chinamen because we are strangers and trying to learn! - Trying to impose your vile second-hand carcasses on _us_! Thunder - and lightning! I’ve a notion to—to—if you’ve got a nice _fresh_ - corpse, fetch him out!—or, by George, we’ll brain you!” - - MARK TWAIN. - - -A PARODY. - - The boy stood on the backyard fence, whence all but him had fled; - The flames that lit his father’s barn shone just above the shed. - One bunch of crackers in his hand, two others in his hat, - With piteous accents loud he cried, “I never thought of that!” - A bunch of crackers to the tail of one small dog he’d tied; - The dog in anguish sought the barn, and ’mid its ruins died. - - The sparks flew wide and red and hot, they lit upon that brat; - They fired the crackers in his hand, and e’en those in his hat. - Then came a burst of rattling sound—the boy! Where was he gone? - Ask of the winds that far around strewed bits of meat and bone, - And scraps of clothes, and balls, and tops, and nails, and hooks - and yarn— - The relics of that dreadful boy that burned his father’s barn. - - -MAN’S DEVOTION. - - Jake Boggles was a country youth, - Who paid his debts and told the truth. - - He labored hard, and seemed content - With life, no matter how it went, - - ’Till with a girl named Sally Skreels - He fell in love head over heels. - - Now Sally’s father wasn’t worth - A dollar or a foot of earth, - - And Jake’s paternal parent owed - Most every other man he knowed; - - But Jake, who had a valiant heart, - Vowed that he’d work and get a start, - - And with the help of Sally, dear, - He’d own a farm within a year. - - Now Sally, who was cold - And pretty—that is, pretty old, - - Pretended that for her dear Jacob - The heaviest cross she’d gladly take up; - - But, really, she cared no more - For Jake than for the shoes he wore. - - An old maid’s matrimonial chances - Grow very slim as time advances, - - And this explains why Sally Skreels - Proposed to share Jake’s bed and meals. - - They married. Time fled on apace— - Jake rented old Bill Scroggins’ place - - And went to work resolved to make - A fortune for his Sally’s sake. - - Poor soul, he toiled with all his might, - From early morn till late at night; - - But, ah! no kind, approving word - From Sally’s lips was ever heard. - - She lay around, chewed wax and sung - Love songs she’d learned when she was young; - - Read old love letters she had got - From boobies, long since gone to pot; - - Yawned o’er a scrap book filled with bosh - Collected by her Cousin Josh; - - Trimmed her old hat in various ways - With all the gew-gaws she could raise. - - In fact, she proved herself to be - A slip-shod lump of frivolity. - - Poor Jake, he worked and ate cold meals, - Wore socks with neither toes nor heels, - - Washed his own clothes when Sunday came - And sewed fresh buttons on the same. - - Got breakfast while his Sally slept, - Washed up the dishes, dusted, swept— - - There’s no use talking, Jacob strove - To prove how perfect was his love. - - One day Sal ate too many beans, - Grew sick and went to other scenes. - - From that day forth Jake seldom spoke, - Or smiled, or worked—his heart was broke. - - In the poor-house now he sits and grieves, - And wipes his eyes on his threadbare sleeves. - - MORAL.—I’ve told you this to let you see - What an all-fired fool a man can be. - - PARMENAS HILL. - - -AUNT POLLY’S “GEORGE WASHINGTON.” - - “George Washin’ton!” - - From down the hill the answer floated up, muffled by the distance. - - “Ma’m?” - - “Come heah, sah!” - - Aunt Polly folded her arms and leaned against the doorway and - waited for the appearance of her son and heir above the edge of - the hill on which her cabin stood. - - “George Washin’ton,” she said, “you sartainly is de laziest - nigger I eber see. How, long, sah, does you s’pose you was - a-comin’ up dat hill? You don’ no? I don’ nether; ’twas so long - I los’ all count. You’ll bring yore mudder’s gray har in sorrer - to de grabe yet, wid yore pokin’ and slowness, see if you don’. - Heah I is waitin’ and a’waitin’ on you for to go down to ole - Mass’ Cunningham’s wid dose tings. Take ’em to de young city man - boardin’ dar, and tell him dese is his clean close dat yore old - mudder washed, and dat dey comes to fifty cents. And if you let - de grass grow under yore feet, George Washin’ton, or spiles dese - close, or loses dat fifty cents, I’ll break yore bones, chile, - when you comes home. You heah dat?” - - George Washington rested his basket on his hip and jogged along. - Meditations as to what his mother might have for supper on the - strength of the fifty cents brightened his visage and accelerated - his steps. His fancy revelled in visions of white biscuit and - crisp bacon floating in its own grease. He was gravely weighing - the relative merits of spring chicken fried and more elderly - chicken stewed, when— - - There was only one muddy place on George Washington’s route to - town; that was down at the foot of the hill, by the railroad - track. Why should his feet slip from under him, and he go sliding - into the mud right there? It was too bad. It did not hurt him, - but those shirts and shining collars, alas! Some of them tumbled - out, and he lifted them up all spattered and soiled. - - He sat down and contemplated the situation with an expression - of speechless solemnity. He was afraid to go back, and he was - afraid to go on, but he would rather face the “city man” than his - mother; and with a sigh that nearly burst the twine string that - did duty as a suspender, he lifted the linen into its place and - trudged on. - - The young folks at “Mass’ Cunningham’s” sent him to the - boarder’s room, with many a jest on his slowness, and he shook in - his ragged clothes when the young man lifted the things from the - basket to put them away. - - He exclaimed in anger at their soiled appearance, and, of course, - immediately bundled them back into the basket. - - “Here, George,” he said, “take these back to your mother to wash, - and don’t you dare, you little vagabond! ever bring such looking - things to me again.” - - Slowly the namesake of our illustrious countryman climbed the - hill toward home; slowly he entered and set down his basket. - The rapidity with which he emerged from the door, about three - minutes later, might have led a stranger to believe that it was a - different boy. But it was not. It was the same George. - - The next afternoon came around, and George Washington again - departed on his errand. No thoughts of supper or good things ran - rife in his brain to-day. He attended strictly to business. His - mother, standing in the door-way, called after him: “Be keerful, - George Washin’ton, ’bout de train. I heer’d it at de upper - junction jess now. It’ll be long trectly.” - - George Washington nodded and disappeared. He crossed the muddy - place in safety, and breathed more freely. He was turning toward - town, when something on the railroad track caught his eye. There - lay the big rock that had been on the hill above ever since he - could remember; it was right in the track. He wondered how the - coming train would get over it. - - Across on the other side, the hill sloped down to a deep ravine. - What if the big rock pushed the train off! His heart gave a great - jump. He had heard them talk of an accident once, where many - people were killed. He thought of running to tell somebody, - but it was a good way to the next house, and just then he heard - the train faintly; it was too late for that. Just above, in the - direction that the train was coming, was a sharp curve. It could - not stop if it came tearing round that, and on the other side of - the bend was a very high trestle that made him sick to look at. - - The slow, dull boy stood and trembled. - - In a moment more he had set his basket carefully in the bush, and - ran around the curve. At the edge of the trestle he paused, and - then dropping on his hands and knees, crept as fast as he could - over the dizzy height to the other side. He staggered to his - feet, and ran on. - - When the train dashed in sight, the engineer spied a small object - on the track, pointing frantically behind him. The child ran away - from the track, but continued to wave and point and shout “Stop!” - - The train whistled and slackened. George Washington, hatless and - breathless, was jerked into the engine, where he gasped, “Big - rock on de track round de curve.” The train was moved slowly over - the trestle and stopped in the curve, and there, indeed, was the - rock that might have hurled them all down to death, but for that - ridiculous-looking little boy. - - Meanwhile in the cabin, Aunt Polly was restless, and concluded to - go down to the foot of the hill, and wait for George Washington. - Behold, then, as she appeared down the path, the sight that met - her gaze. - - “What’s dis boy bin a-doin’! I’se his mother. I is. What’s dis - mean?” - - On this identical train was the president of the road. - - “Why, auntie,” he said, “you have a boy to be proud of. He crept - over the high trestle and warned the train, and maybe saved all - our lives. He is a hero.” - - Aunt Polly was dazed. - - “A hearo,” she said; “dat’s a big t’ing for a little black - nigger. George Washin’ton, whar’s dat basket?” - - “In de bushes, mammy; I’se gwine for to get it.” - - The train was nearly ready to be off. The president called Aunt - Polly aside, and she came back with a beaming face, and five - ten-dollar bills clutched in her hands. - - Aunt Polly caught George in her arms. - - “Dey sed you was a hearo, George Washin’ton, but you is yore - mammy’s own boy, and you shall hab chicken for yore supper dis - berry night, and a whole poun’ cake to-morrow, yes, you shall!” - - And when George Washington returned the gentleman his washing, - he, like his namesake, was a hero. - - -MINE VAMILY. - - Dimpled scheeks, mit eyes off plue, - Mout’ like it was mois’d mit dew, - Und leedle teeth shust peekin’ droo— - Dot’s der baby. - - Curly hed und full of glee. - Drowsers all oudt at der knee— - He vas peen playin’ horss, you see— - Dot’s leedle Otto. - - Von hunderd seexty in der shade, - Der oder day ven she was veighed— - She beats me soon, I vas afraid— - Dot’s mine Gretchen. - - Bare-footed hed, und pooty stoudt, - Mit grooked legs dot vill bend oudt, - Fond off his beer und sauer-kraut— - Dot’s me himself. - - Von schmall young baby, full of fun, - Von leedle, pright-eyed, roguish son, - Von frau to greet vhen vork was done— - Dot’s mine vamily. - - YAWCOB STRAUSS. - - -AT THE GARDEN GATE. - - They lingered at the garden gate, - The moon was full above; - He took her darling hand in his, - The trembling little dove, - And pressed it to his fervent lips, - And softly told his love. - - About her waist he placed his arm, - He called her all his own; - His heart, he said, it ever beat - For her, and her alone; - And he was happier than a king - Upon a golden throne. - - “Come weal, come woe,” in ardent tone - This youth continued he, - “As is the needle to the pole, - So I will constant be; - No power on earth shall tear thee, love, - Away, I swear, from me!” - - From out the chamber window popped - A grizzly night-capped head; - A hoarse voice yelled: “You, Susan Jane, - Come in and go to bed!” - And that was all—it was enough; - The young man wildly fled. - - -THE MINISTER’S CALL. - - The Rev. Mr. Mulkittle having successfully organized a church - fair, was a very happy man. It had been hinted that the - congregation were a “little short” on raising the reverend - gentleman’s salary, hence the proceeds of the fair would more - than supply the deficiency. - - The good man, after retiring from a profitable afternoon’s work, - during which he had assured dyspeptics that potato salad would - not hurt them, seated himself by the library fire, when the - “youngest” entered. - - “Where have you been, pa?” - - “To the fair.” - - “What fair?” - - “Our church fair.” - - “Did they have it out to the fair grounds?” - - “No.” - - “Where then?” - - “Down town in our church.” - - “Did they have horses and cows?” - - “Oh, no! they didn’t show anything.” - - “Well, what did they do?” - - “Oh, they sold toys and something for people to eat.” - - “Did they sell it to the poor?” - - “They sold it to anybody who had money.” - - “Oh, papa! it was the feast of the passover, wasn’t it?” - - Mr. Mulkittle took up a newspaper and began to read. - - “Do you want me to be a preacher, pa?” - - “Yes, if the Lord calls you.” - - “Did the Lord call you?” - - “Yes.” - - “What did He say?” - - “Told me to go and preach the gospel to every living creature.” - - “Didn’t tell you to preach to niggers, did He?” - - “That’ll do now.” - - “You thought the Lord had called you again the other day, did - you?” - - “I don’t know what you are talking about,” said the minister. - - “Don’t you know the other day you told ma you had a call to go to - some place, and you would go if you could get two hundred dollars - more. Wouldn’t the Lord give you the two hundred dollars?” - - “Didn’t I tell you to hush, sir?” said the minister, throwing - down his paper and glaring at his son. - - “No, sir; you told me to behave myself.” - - “Well, see that you do.” - - “I wish you’d tell me—” - - “Tell you what?” - - “’Bout the call.” - - “Well, a church in another town wanted me to come there and - preach.” - - “Why didn’t you go?” - - “Couldn’t afford it. They didn’t pay enough money.” - - “Call wasn’t loud enough, was it?” - - “Well, hardly,” asserted Mr. Mulkittle, with a smile. “It wasn’t - loud enough to be very interesting.” - - “If it had been louder, would you went?” - - “I should have gone if they had offered me more money.” - - “It wasn’t the Lord that called you that time then, was it?” - - “I think not.” - - “How much money did the Lord offer you?” - - “Do you see that door?” - - “No sir; which door?” - - “That one.” - - “Yes, sir.” - - “Well, go out and shut it.” - - “I want to stay in here.” - - “You cannot.” - - “Why?” - - “Because you are too foolishly inquisitive.” - - “What’s foolish ’quisitive?” - - “Asking so many questions.” - - “How many must I ask?” - - “None.” - - “Then I couldn’t talk, could I?” - - “It would be better for you, if you couldn’t talk so much.” - - “How much must I talk?” - - “Here, I’ll give you ten cents now, if you’ll go away and hush.” - - “Call ain’t strong enough,” said the boy, shaking his head. - - “Well, here’s a quarter,” said the preacher, smiling. - - “Call is strong enough; I’ll go.” - - -LED BY A CALF. - - One day through the primeval wood - A calf walked home, as good as calves should, - But made a trail all bent askew, - A crooked trail, as all calves do. - Since then two hundred years have fled, - And, I infer, the calf is dead. - But still he left behind his trail, - And thereby hangs a mortal tale. - - The trail was taken up next day - By a lone dog that passed that way, - And then a wise bell-wether sheep - Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep, - And drew the flock behind him, too, - As good bell-wethers always do. - And from that day, o’er hill and glade, - Through those old woods a path was made. - - And many men wound in and out, - And dodged and turned and bent about, - And uttered words of righteous wrath, - Because ’twas such a crooked path; - But still they followed—do not laugh— - The first migration of that calf, - And through the winding woodway stalked - Because he wabbled when he walked. - - This forest path became a lane, - That bent and turned and turned again; - This crooked lane became a road, - Where many a poor horse, with his load, - Toiled on beneath the burning sun, - And traveled some three miles in one. - And thus a century and a half - They trod the footsteps of that calf. - - The years passed on in swiftness fleet, - The road became a village street. - And this, before men were aware, - A city’s crowded thoroughfare, - And soon the central street was this - Of a renowned metropolis. - - And men two centuries and a half - Trod in the footsteps of that calf; - Each day a hundred thousand rout - Followed the zigzag calf about; - And o’er his crooked journey went - The traffic of a continent. - A hundred thousand men were led - By one calf near three centuries dead. - - -TOM GOLDY’S LITTLE JOKE. - - Tom Goldy was a ladies’ man, - And popular among them, very— - The reason why? Because he was - A maker of confectionery. - - Tom’s peppermints and caramels - Were always fresh and handy; - And so he entertained his guests - With packages of candy. - - Tom gave a grand reception once— - It was a sweet occasion— - The ladies took his caramels - And needed no persuasion. - - And when he freely passed around - His most delicious fare, - To all the damsels there that night - He gave an equal share. - - But one, and she a gossip, too, - Was singled out for honor, - By having twice what others had - Of sweets bestowed upon her. - - “Twice what you gave us.” One and all - Against Tom laid this charge; - Tom slyly winked and said, “Why not? - Her mouth is twice as large.” - - -HOW HEZEKIAH STOLE THE SPOONS. - - In a quiet little Ohio village, many years ago, was a tavern - where the stages always changed, and the passengers expected to - get breakfast. The landlord of the said hotel was noted for his - tricks upon travelers, who were allowed to get fairly seated at - the table, when the driver would blow his horn (after taking his - “horn”), and sing out, “Stage ready, gentlemen!”—whereupon the - passengers were obliged to hurry out to take their seats, leaving - a scarcely tasted breakfast behind them, for which, however, - they had to pay over fifty cents! One day, when the stage was - approaching the house of this obliging landlord, a passenger - said that he had often heard of the landlord’s trick, and he was - afraid they would not be able to eat any breakfast. - - “What!—how? No breakfast!” exclaimed the rest. - - “Exactly so gents, and you may as well keep your seats and tin.” - - “Don’t they expect passengers to breakfast?” - - “Oh! yes! they expect you to it, but not to eat it. I am under - the impression that there is an understanding between the - landlord and the driver that for sundry and various drinks, etc., - the latter starts before you can scarcely commence eating.” - - “What on airth are you all talking about? Ef you calkelate I’m - going to pay four and ninepence for my breakfast, and not get the - valee on’t you’re mistaken,” said a voice from a back seat, the - owner of which was one Hezekiah Spaulding—though “tew hum” they - call him “Hez” for short. “I’m goin’ to get my breakfast here, - and not pay nary red cent till I do.” - - “Then you’ll be left.” - - “Not as you knows on, I guess I won’t.” - - “Well, we’ll see,” said the other, as the stage drove up to the - door and the landlord ready “to do the hospitable,” says— - - “Breakfast just ready, gents! Take a wash, gents? Here’s water, - basins, towels, and soap.” - - After performing the ablutions, they all proceeded to the - dining-room, and commenced a fierce onslaught upon the edibles, - though Hez took his time. Scarcely had they tasted their coffee - when they heard the unwelcome sound of the horn, and the driver - exclaim, “Stage ready!” Up rise eight grumbling passengers, pay - their fifty cents, and take their seats. - - “All on board, gents?” inquires the host. - - “One missing,” said they. - - Proceeding to the dining-room the host finds Hez very coolly - helping himself to an immense piece of steak, the size of a - horse’s hip. - - “You’ll be left, sir! Stage going to start.” - - “Wall, I hain’t got nothin’ agin it,” drawls out Hez. - - “Can’t wait, sir—better take your seat.” - - “I’ll be blowed ef I do, nother, till I’ve got my breakfast! I - paid for it, and I am goin’ to get the valee on’t it; and ef you - calkelate I hain’t you are mistaken.” - - So the stage did start, and left Hez, who continued his attack - upon the edibles. Biscuit, coffee, etc., disappeared before the - eyes of the astonished landlord. - - “Say, squire, them there cakes is ’bout eat—fetch on another - grist on ’em. You” (to the waiter), “’nother cup of that ere - coffee. Pass them eggs. Raise your own pork, squire? This is - ’mazin’ nice ham. Land ’bout here tolerable cheap, squire? - Hain’t much maple timber in these parts, hev ye? Dew right smart - trade, squire, I calkelate?” And thus Hez kept quizzing the - landlord until he had made a hearty meal. - - “Say, squire, now I’m ’bout to conclude paying my devowers to - this ere table, but just give us a bowl of bread and milk to top - off with; I’d be much obleeged tew ye.” - - So out go the landlord and waiter for the bowl, milk, and bread, - and set them before him. - - “Spoon, tew, ef you please.” - - But no spoon could be found. Landlord was sure he had plenty of - silver ones lying on the table when the stage stopped. - - “Say, dew ye? dew ye think them passengers is goin’ to pay ye for - a breakfuss and not git no compensashun?” - - “Ah! what? Do you think any of the passengers took them?” - - “Dew I think? No, I don’t think, but I’m sartin. Ef they are all - as green as yew bout here I’m going to locate immediately and tew - wonst.” - - The landlord rushes out to the stable, and starts a man off after - the stage, which had gone about three miles. The man overtakes - and says something to the driver in a low tone. He immediately - turns back, and on arriving at the hotel Hez comes out, takes his - seat, and says: - - “How are yew, gents? I’m glad to see yew.” - - “Can you point out the man you think has the spoons?” asked the - landlord. - - “P’int him out? Sartenly I ken. Say, squire, I paid yew four and - ninepence for a breakfuss, and I calkelate I got the valee on’t - it! You’ll find them spoons in the coffee-pot.” - - “Go ahead! All aboard, driver.” - - The landlord stared. - - -TWO KINDS OF POLLIWOGS. - - Wiggle, waggle, how they go, - Through the sunny waters, - Swimming high and swimming low, - Froggie’s sons and daughters. - - What a wondrous little tail - Each black polly carries, - Helm and oar at once, and sail, - That for wind ne’er tarries. - - Lazy little elves! at morn - Never in a hurry, - In the brook where they were born - Business did not worry. - - When the sun goes in they sink - To their muddy pillow. - There they lie and eat and drink - Of soft mud their fill, oh. - - When has passed the gloomy cloud, - And the storm is over, - Up they come, a jolly crowd, - From their oozy cover. - - Wiggle, waggle, how they go! - Knowing nothing better, - Yet they are destined to outgrow - Each his dusky fetter. - - Watch! they now are changing fast, - Some unduly cherish - The dark skin whose use is past, - So they sink and perish. - - Others, of their new-birth pain - Bitterly complaining, - Would forego their unknown gain, - Polliwogs remaining. - - There are other folk, to-day, - Who, with slight endeavor, - “Give it up,” and so they stay - Polliwogs forever. - - AUGUSTA MOORE. - - -THE BEST SEWING-MACHINE. - - “Got one? Don’t say so! Which did you get? - One of the kind to open and shut? - Own it or hire it? How much did you pay? - Does it go with a crank or a treadle? S-a-y. - I’m a single man, and somewhat green; - Tell me about your sewing-machine.” - - “Listen, my boy, and hear all about it: - I don’t know what I could do without it; - I’ve owned one now for more than a year, - And like it so well that I call it ‘my dear;’ - ’Tis the cleverest thing that ever was seen, - This wonderful family sewing-machine. - - “It’s none of your angular Wheeler things, - With steel-shod back and cast-iron wings; - Its work would bother a hundred of his, - And worth a thousand! Indeed it is; - And has a way—you need not stare— - Of combing and braiding its own back hair! - - “Mine is one of the kind to love, - And wears a shawl and a soft kid glove; - Has the merriest eyes and the daintiest foot, - And sports the charmingest gaiter-boot, - And a bonnet with feathers, and ribbons, and loops, - With any infinite number of hoops. - - “None of your patent machines for me, - Unless Dame Nature’s the patentee; - I like the sort that can laugh and talk, - And take my arm for an evening walk; - That will do whatever the owner may choose, - With the slightest perceptible turn of the screws; - - “One that can dance, and—possibly—flirt; - And make a pudding as well as a shirt; - One that can sing without dropping a stitch, - And play the housewife, lady, or witch; - Ready to give the sagest advice, - Or to do up your collars and things so nice. - - “What do you think of my machine? - A’n’t it the best that ever was seen? - ’Tisn’t a clumsy, mechanical toy, - But flesh and blood! Hear that, my boy? - With a turn for gossip and household affairs, - Which include, you know, the sewing of tears. - - “Tut, tut, don’t talk. I see it all— - You needn’t keep winking so hard at the wall: - I know what your fidgety fumblings mean; - You would like, yourself, a sewing-machine! - Well, get one, then—of the same design— - There are plenty left where I got mine!” - - -HOW THEY SAID GOOD-NIGHT. - - They have had a long evening together (three whole hours), but - it doesn’t seem more than five minutes to them. Still, the - inexorable clock is announcing the hour of eleven in the most - forcible and uncompromising manner. He knows that he ought to - go, because he must be at the store at seven in the morning; she - fully realizes that his immediate departure is necessary, for has - not her father threatened that he will come down and “give that - young Simpkins a piece of his mind if he don’t leave by eleven - o’clock in the future?” They both understand that the fatal hour - has come, yet how they hate to part! - - “Well, I suppose I _must_ be going,” he says, with a long, - regretful sigh. - - “Yes, I suppose you must,” she rejoins. - - Then they gaze into each other’s eyes; then she pillows her head - upon his bosom; then their lips meet, and he mentally swears that - if he can get his salary raised to eighteen dollars a week he - will make her Mrs. G. W. Simpkins without further agonizing delay. - - The clock looks on with a cynical expression on its face. It - is doing its duty, and if old man Smith comes down stairs and - destroys the peace of mind of this loving couple, it will not be - its fault. - - He asks her if she will not be happy when the time comes - that they will never, never have to part, and she murmurs an - affirmative response. Then follow more kissing and embracing. If - G. W. Simpkins were told now that he would ever come home to her - at 2 A.M. with fabulous tales of accidents by flood and field, - and on the Elevated Railroad, would he believe it? No; a smile - of incredulity and scorn would wreathe his lips, and he would - forthwith clasp her to his breast. - - He knows that other men do such things, but he is not that sort - of man. Beside, he will have the immense advantage over all - others of his sex in possessing the only absolutely perfect - specimen of femininity extant. He thinks that he will never be - happy anywhere away from her side, and he tells her so, and she - believes him. - - The clock does not announce the quarter-hour, because it is not - built that way, but, nevertheless, it is now 11.15. They do not - imagine that it is later than 11.02. He asks her if she ever - loved any one else, and she says “No;” and then he reminds her of - a certain Tom Johnson with whom she used to go to the theatre, at - which she becomes angry and says that he (G. W. Simpkins) is a - “real mean thing.” Then G. W. S. arises with an air of dignity, - and says that he is much obliged to her for her flattering - opinion; and she says that he is quite welcome. - - Just then a heavy foot-fall is heard upstairs. She glances at - the clock, and perceives to her dismay that it is 11.20. She had - expected to have a nice little quarrel, followed by the usual - reconciliation, but there is no time for that now. She throws her - arms around his neck, and whispers in great agitation that she - believes pa is coming. G. W. S. quakes inwardly, for her pa is - about four sizes larger than himself, and of a cruel, vindictive - nature. But he assumes an air of bravado, and darkly hints at the - extreme probability that the room in which they stand will be the - scene of a sanguinary conflict in the immediate future, should - any one venture to cross his path. Then she begs him to remember - that papa, notwithstanding his faults, is still her father. At - this he magnanimously promises to spare the old man. - - But the footstep is heard no more; papa does not appear. G. W. - S. puts on his overcoat. Then the couple stand by the door and - settle the Tom Johnson matter. She says she never cared for Tom - Johnson, and he says he knows it and that he (G. W. S., you - understand) is a brute, and that she is an angel, and that he - will never again refer to the aforesaid Tom Johnson. He will, - though, the very next time they meet, just as he has every time - they have met for the last two months. - - While they are talking the clock strikes the half hour, but they - don’t hear it. The Johnson business disposed of, they discuss - their future prospects, vow eternal fidelity, compare themselves - to all the famous lovers of history (to none of whom they bear - the slightest resemblance), make an appointment for Wednesday - evening (on which occasion G. W. S. will have the extreme - felicity of spending two-thirds of his week’s salary for theatre - tickets and a supper at the Brunswick), and indulge in the usual - osculation. - - Suddenly the clock begins to strike twelve, and at the same - moment a hoarse masculine cough is heard in the room overhead. - The fatal moment has really and truly arrived this time. One more - kiss, one more embrace, and they part—he to go home and oversleep - in the morning, and be docked fifty cents at the store; she to - receive the reproaches of an irate parent, who hasn’t been young - for such a long time himself that he has forgotten all about it. - - -JOSIAR’S COURTING. - - I never kin forgit the day - That we went out a walkin’ - And sot down on the river bank, - And kept on hours a-talkin’; - He twisted up my apron string, - An’ folded it together, - An’ said he thought for harvest-time - ’Twas cur’us kind o’ weather. - - The sun went down as we sot there— - Josiar seemed uneasy, - An’ mother, she began to call: - “Loweezy! Come, Loweezy!” - An’ then Josiar spoke right up, - As I wos just a startin’ - An’ said, “Loweezy, what’s the use - Of us two ever partin?” - - It kind o’ took me by surprise, - An’ yet I knew ’twas comin’— - I’d heard it all the summer long - In every wild bee’s hummin’; - I meant to hide my love from him, - But seems as if he knew it; - I’d studied out the way I’d act, - But la! I couldn’t do it. - - It darker grew as we sot there, - But Josiar seemed quite easy, - And mother had to call again, - “Loweezy! Come, Loweezy!” - - - - -PATHETIC RECITATIONS. - - -It is a common saying that the public speaker who can draw both smiles -and tears from his audience is the highest type of orator. The same is -true of the reciter. If you would awaken pathetic emotions in the hearts -of your hearers, you must have recitations suited to this purpose, tender -in sentiment and full of feeling. A charming collection of such pieces is -here furnished. - -Put yourself fully into the spirit of each selection. Do not deliver -a pathetic recitation in a cold, unfeeling manner. Look well to the -tones of your voice and facial expression. If you feel the words you -are uttering, the subtle influence cannot fail to move those who hear -you. You cannot put on an appearance of feeling; give reality to all the -emotions your words express. - - -PLAY SOFTLY, BOYS. - -Observe the Irish brogue in this selection. - - I’m thinkin’ av the goolden head - I nestled to my breast; - They’re telling me, “He’s betther off.” - And sayin’, “God knows best.” - But, oh, my heart is breakin’ - And the wild, wild waves at play - Where the goolden head is buried low, - Close to Manila Bay. - - I’m thinkin’ av the roguish eyes - Of tender Irish gray; - They’re tellin’ me, “He’s betther off,” - And, “I’ll thank God some day.” - But, oh, my heart is breakin’ - And the wild, wild waves at play, - And my baby’s eyes all closed in death - Close to Manila Bay. - - I’m thinkin’ av the little hands - That’s fastened ’round my heart; - They’re tellin’ me, “Have courage, - Sure, life’s to meet and part.” - But, oh, my heart is breakin’ - And the wild, wild waves at play, - And my baby’s hands so stiff and cold - Close to Manila Bay. - - I’m thinkin’ av the noble boy - That kissed my tears away; - They’re tellin’ me, “How brave he was, - And foremost in the fray!” - But, oh, my heart is breakin’ - And the wild, wild waves at play, - And my baby and my soldier dead— - Close to Manila Bay. - - Play softly, boys, I know you will, - Remembering he’s away— - My boy, who proudly marched with ye - On last St. Patrick’s Day. - Play softly, boys, I know ye will, - And the wild, wild waves at play, - And your comrade lying lonely, - Close to Manila Bay. - - Play softly, boys, I know ye will, - And hush this pain to rest— - And soothe the bitter agony - That’s tearin’ at my breast. - How can ye march at all, at all, - And the wild, wild waves at play, - And the boy who loved ye lying cold— - Close to Manila Bay? - - TERESA BEATRICE O’HARE. - - -IN THE BAGGAGE COACH AHEAD. - - On a dark stormy night, as the train rattled on, - All the passengers had gone to bed, - Except one young man with a babe on his arm, - Who sat there with a bowed-down head. - - The innocent one commenced crying just then, - As though its poor heart would break. - One angry man said, “Make that child stop its noise, - For you’re keeping all of us awake.” - - “Put it out,” said another; “don’t keep it in here, - We’ve paid for our berths and want rest.” - But never a word said the man with the child, - As he fondled it close to his breast. - - “Where is its mother? Go, take it to her—” - This a lady then softly said. - “I wish that I could,” was the man’s sad reply, - “But she’s dead in the coach ahead.” - - Every eye filled with tears when his story he told, - Of a wife who was faithful and true. - He told how he’s saved up his earnings for years - Just to build up a home for two. - - How, when Heaven had sent them this sweet little babe, - Their young happy lives were blessed. - In tears he broke down when he mentioned her name, - And in tears tried to tell them the rest. - - Every woman arose to assist with the child; - There were mothers and wives on that train, - And soon was the little one sleeping in peace, - With no thoughts of sorrow and pain. - - Next morn’ at a station he bade all good-bye. - “God bless you,” he softly said. - Each one had a story to tell in their home - Of the baggage coach ahead. - - While the train rolled onward a husband sat in tears, - Thinking of the happiness of just a few short years, - For baby’s face brings pictures of a cherished hope that’s dead; - But baby’s cries can’t wake her in the baggage coach ahead. - - -THE MISSING ONE. - -The deep pathos of these lines should be expressed by a trembling -utterance. Put tears in your voice, if you can do this difficult thing. -All the life and spirit are taken out of the old man as he thinks of the -regiment returning without his son, whose desolate grave is somewhere on -the Cuban shore. - - I don’t think I’ll go into town to see the boys come back; - My bein’ there would do no good in all that jam and pack; - There’ll be enough to welcome them—to cheer them when they come - A-marchin’ bravely to the time that’s beat upon the drum— - They’ll never miss me in the crowd—not one of ’em will care - If, when the cheers are ringin’ loud, I’m not among them there. - - I went to see them march away—I hollered with the rest, - And didn’t they look fine, that day, a-marchin’ four abreast, - With my boy James up near the front, as handsome as could be, - And wavin’ back a fond farewell to mother and to me! - I vow my old knees trimbled so, when they had all got by, - I had to jist set down upon the curbstone there and cry. - - And now they’re comin’ home again! The record that they won - Was sich as shows we still have men, when men’s work’s to be done! - There wasn’t one of ’em that flinched, each feller stood the test— - Wherever they were sent they sailed right in and done their best! - They didn’t go away to play—they knowed what was in store— - But there’s a grave somewhere to-day, down on the Cuban shore! - - I guess that I’ll not go to town to see the boys come in; - I don’t jist feel like mixin’ up in all that crush and din! - There’ll be enough to welcome them—to cheer them when they come - A-marchin’ bravely to the time that’s beat upon the drum, - And the boys’ll never notice—not a one of ’em will care, - For the soldier that would miss me ain’t a goin’ to be there! - - S. E. KISER. - - -IN MEMORIAM. - -It was a strange coincidence, and a fitting end for a noble old seaman -who had given his life to the service of his country, that Rear-Admiral -W. A. Kirkland, U. S. N., and once commandant at Mare Island, should -die the day peace was declared between our country and Spain. In strong -tones give the command, “Cease firing!” Point to “the red flames,” “the -gray smoke-shrouded hills,” “the weary troops,” “the armored squadron,” -etc. On the first two lines of the last verse use Figure 11 of Typical -Gestures. - - “Cease firing!” Lo, the bugles call— - “Cease!” and the red flame dies away. - The thunders sleep; along the gray - Smoke-shrouded hills the echoes fall. - - “Cease firing!” Close the columns fold - Their shattered wings; the weary troops - Now stand at ease; the ensign droops; - The heated chargers’ flanks turn cold. - - “Cease firing!” Down, with point reversed, - The reeking, crimson sabre drips; - Cool grow the fevered cannon’s lips— - Their wreathing vapors far dispersed. - - “Cease firing!” From the sponson’s rim - The mute, black muzzles frown across - The sea, where swelling surges toss - The armored squadrons, silent, grim. - - “Cease firing!” Look, white banners show - Along the groves where heroes sleep— - Above the graves where men lie deep— - In pure, soft flutterings of snow. - - “Cease firing!” Glorious and sweet - For country ’tis to die—and comes - The Peace—and bugles blow and drums - Are sounding out the Last Retreat. - - THOMAS R. GREGORY, U. S. N. - - -THE DYING NEWSBOY. - - In an attic bare and cheerless, Jim, the news-boy, dying lay, - On a rough but clean straw pallet, at the fading of the day; - Scant the furniture about him, but bright flowers were in the room, - Crimson phloxes, waxen lilies, roses laden with perfume. - - On a table by the bedside, open at a well-worn page, - Where the mother had been reading, lay a Bible stained by age. - Now he could not hear the verses; he was flighty, and she wept - With her arms around her youngest, who close to her side had crept. - - Blacking boots and selling papers, in all weathers day by day, - Brought upon poor Jim consumption, which was eating life away. - And this cry came with his anguish for each breath a struggle cost, - “’Ere’s the morning _Sun_ and _’Erald_—latest news of steamship lost. - - “Papers, mister? Morning papers?” Then the cry fell to a moan, - Which was changed a moment later to another frenzied tone: - “Black yer boots, sir? Just a nickel! Shine ’em like an evening star. - It grows late, Jack! Night is coming. Evening papers, here they are!” - - Soon a mission teacher entered, and approached the humble bed; - Then poor Jim’s mind cleared an instant, with his cool hand on his head. - “Teacher,” cried he, “I remember what you said the other day, - Ma’s been reading of the Saviour, and through Him I see my way. - - “He is with me! Jack, I charge you of our mother take good care - When Jim’s gone! Hark! boots or papers, which will I be over there? - Black yer boots, sir? Shine ’em right up! Papers! Read God’s book - instead, - Better’n papers that to die on! Jack——” one gasp, and Jim was dead! - - MRS. EMILY THORNTON. - - -“COALS OF FIRE.” - - The coffin was a plain one—no flowers on its top, no lining of - rose-white satin for the pale brow, no smooth ribbons about the - coarse shroud. The brown hair was laid decently back, but there - was no crimped cap, with its neat tie beneath the chin. “I want - to see my mother,” sobbed a poor child, as the city undertaker - screwed down the top. “You can’t: get out of the way, boy! Why - don’t somebody take the brat away?” “Only let me see her for one - minute,” cried the hapless orphan, clutching the side of the - charity box. And as he gazed into that rough face tears streamed - down the cheek on which no childish bloom every lingered. Oh, it - was pitiful to hear him cry, “Only once! let me see my mother - only once!” - - Brutally, the hard-hearted monster struck the boy away, so that - he reeled with the blow. For a moment the boy stood panting with - grief and rage, his blue eyes expanded, his lips sprang apart; a - fire glittered through his tears as he raised his puny arm, and - with a most unchildish accent screamed, “When I am a man I’ll - kill you for that!” A coffin and a heap of earth was between the - mother and the poor forsaken child; a monument stronger than - granite built in his boy-heart to the memory of a heartless deed. - - The court house was crowded to suffocation. “Does any one appear - as this man’s counsel?” asked the judge. There was silence when - he finished, until, with lips tightly pressed together, a look - of strange recognition blended with haughty reserve upon his - handsome features, a young man, a stranger, stepped forward to - plead for the erring and the friendless. The splendor of his - genius entranced, convinced. The man who could not find a friend - was acquitted. - - “May God bless you, sir! I cannot.” “I want no thanks,” replied - the stranger, with icy coldness. “I—I believe you are unknown - to me.” “Man, I will refresh your memory. Twenty years ago you - struck a broken-hearted boy away from his poor mother’s coffin; - I was that poor, miserable boy.” “Have you rescued me, then, - to take my life?” “No! I have a sweeter revenge: I have saved - the life of a man whose brutal deed has rankled in my breast for - twenty years. Go, and remember the tears of a friendless child.” - - -DIRGE OF THE DRUMS. - -The effect produced by this selection will depend very much upon the -manner in which you speak the constantly repeated word, “Dead!” It should -be spoken with subdued force, rather slowly, and in a low tone. Show -intense emotion, but not in a boisterous manner. - - Dead! Dead! Dead! - To the solemn beat of the last retreat - That falls like lead, - Bear the hero now to his honored rest - With the badge of courage upon his breast, - While the sun sinks down in the gleaming West— - Dead! Dead! Dead! - - Dead! Dead! Mourn the dead! - While the mournful notes of the bugles float - Across his bed, - And the guns shall toll on the vibrant air - The knell of the victor lying there— - ’Tis a fitting sound for a soldier’s prayer— - Dead! Dead! Dead! - - Dead! Dead! Dead! - To the muffled beat of the lone retreat - And speeding lead, - Lay the hero low to his well-earned rest, - In the land he loved, on her mother breast, - While the sunlight dies in the darkening West— - Dead! Dead! Dead! - - RALPH ALTON. - - -THE OLD DOG’S DEATH POSTPONED. - -Any one at all familiar with farm life knows that when the old dog -becomes blind, toothless and helpless it is the sad but humane duty -of the farmer to put an end to his sufferings; it is generally done -by taking him off to the woods and shooting him. Although the new dog -quickly wins his place in our affections, the old is not soon forgotten, -and more than one story begins: “You remember how old Fide.” Give strong -expression in the last verse to the old man’s sudden change of purpose. - - Come along old chap, yer time’s ’bout up, - We got another brindle pup; - I ’lows it’s tough an’ mighty hard, - But a toothless dog’s no good on guard, - So trot along right after me, - An’ I’ll put yeh out o’ your misery. - - Now, quit yer waggin’ that stumpy tail— - We ain’t a-goin’ fer rabbit er quail; - ’Sides, you couldn’t pint a bird no more, - Yer old an’ blind an’ stiff an’ sore, - An’ that’s why I loaded the gun to-day - Yer a-gittin’ cross an’ in the way. - - I been thinkin’ it over; ’taint no fun. - I don’t like to do it, but it’s got to be done; - Got sort of a notion, you know, too, - The kind of a job we’re goin’ to do, - Else why would yeh hang back that-a-way, - Yeh ain’t ez young ez yeh once wuz, hey! - - Frisky dog in them days, I note, - When yeh nailed the sneakthief by the throat; - Can’t do that now, an’ there ain’t no need - A-keepin’ a dog that don’t earn his feed. - So yeh got to make way for the brindle pup; - Come along, old chap, yer time’s ’bout up. - - We’ll travel along at an easy jog— - Course, you don’t know, bein’ only a dog; - But I can mind when you wuz sprier, - ’Wakin’ us up when the barn caught fire— - It don’t seem possible, yet I know - That wuz close onto fifteen years ago. - - My, but yer hair wuz long an’ thick - When yeh pulled little Sally out o’ the crick; - An’ it came in handy that night in the storm, - We coddled to keep each other warm. - Purty good dog, I’ll admit—but, say, - What’s the use o’ talkin’ yeh had yer day. - - I’m hopin’ the children won’t hear the crack, - Er what’ll I say when I get back? - They’d be askin’ questions, I know their talk, - An’ I’d have to lie ’bout a chicken hawk; - But the sound won’t carry beyond this hill, - All done in a minute—don’t bark, stand still. - - There, that’ll do; steady, quit lickin’ my hand, - What’s wrong with this gun, I can’t understand; - I’m jest ez shaky ez I can be— - Must be the agey’s the matter with me. - An’ that stitch in the back—what! gitten’ old too— - The—dinner—bell’s—ringin’—fer—me—an’ you. - - CHARLES E. BAER. - - -THE FALLEN HERO. - - He went to the war in the morning— - The roll of the drums could be heard. - But he paused at the gate with his mother - For a kiss and a comforting word. - He was full of the dreams and ambitions - That youth is so ready to weave, - And proud of the clank of his sabre - And the chevrons of gold on his sleeve. - - He came from the war in the evening— - The meadows were sprinkled with snow, - The drums and the bugles were silent, - And the steps of the soldier were slow. - He was wrapped in the flag of his country - When they laid him away in the mould, - With the glittering stars of a captain - Replacing the chevrons of gold. - - With the heroes who slept on the hillside - He lies with a flag at his head, - But, blind with the years of her weeping, - His mother yet mourns for her dead. - The soldiers who fall in the battle - May feel but a moment of pain, - But the women who wait in the homesteads - Must dwell with the ghosts of the slain. - - MINNA IRVING. - - -THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. - - He offered himself for the land he loved, - But what shall we say for her? - He gave to his country a soldier’s life; - ’Twas dearer by far to the soldier’s wife, - All honor to-day to her! - - He went to the war while his blood was hot, - But what shall we say of her? - He saw himself through the battle’s flame - A hero’s reward on the scroll of fame: - What honor is due to her? - - He offered himself, but his wife did more, - All honor to-day to her! - For dearer than life was the gift she gave - In giving the life she would die to save; - What honor is due to her? - - He gave up his life at his country’s call, - But what shall we say of her? - He offered himself as a sacrifice, - But she is the one who pays the price, - All honor we owe to her. - - ELLIOTT FLOWER. - - -“BREAK THE NEWS GENTLY.” - - There on the ground he lay, a fireman so brave, - He’d risked his life, he’d fallen, a little child to save; - Life’s stream was ebbing fast away, his comrades all stood by, - And listened to his dying words, while tears bedimmed each eye: - - “Break the news to mother gently, tell her how her brave son died, - Tell her that he did his duty, as in life he ever tried; - Treat her kindly, boys, a friend be to her when I’m dead and gone. - Break the news to mother gently, do not let her weep or mourn.” - - There in her home she rests, that mother old and gray, - She lost a son, but others—they took his place that day; - And nobly do they care for her and honor her gray head, - In mem’ry of their comrade and the last words that he said: - - “Break the news to mother gently, tell her how her brave son died, - Tell her that he did his duty, as in life he ever tried; - Treat her kindly, boys, a friend be to her when I’m dead and gone. - Break the news to mother gently, do not let her weep or mourn.” - - There on the wall it hangs, within the engine-room, - The picture of the bravest lad that ever faced his doom; - And, as they point it out and speak the virtues of the dead, - They tell about that awful night and the last words that he said: - - “Break the news to mother gently, tell her how her brave son died, - Tell her that he did his duty, as in life he ever tried; - Treat her kindly, boys, a friend be to her when I’m dead and gone. - Break the news to mother gently, do not let her weep or mourn.” - - -ON THE OTHER TRAIN. - - “There, Simmons, you blockhead! Why didn’t you trot that old - woman aboard her train? She’ll have to wait now until the 1.05 - A.M.” - - “You didn’t tell me.” - - “Yes, I did tell you. ’Twas only your confounded stupid - carelessness.” - - “She——” - - “_She!_ You fool! What else could you expect of her! Probably - she hasn’t any wit; besides, she isn’t bound on a very jolly - journey—got a pass up the road to the poor-house. I’ll go and - tell her, and if you forget her to-night, see if I don’t make - mince-meat of you!” and our worthy ticket-agent shook his fist - menacingly at his subordinate. - - “You’ve missed your train, marm,” he remarked, coming forward to - a queer-looking bundle in the corner. - - A trembling hand raised the faded black veil, and revealed the - sweetest old face I ever saw. - - “Never mind,” said a quivering voice. - - “’Tis only three o’clock now; you’ll have to wait until the night - train, which doesn’t go up until 1.05.” - - “Very well, sir; I can wait.” - - “Wouldn’t you like to go to some hotel? Simmons will show you the - way.” - - “No, thank you, sir. One place is as good as another to me. - Besides, I haven’t any money.” - - “Very well,” said the agent, turning away indifferently. “Simmons - will tell you when it’s time.” - - All the afternoon she sat there so quiet that I thought sometimes - she must be asleep, but when I looked more closely I could see - every once in a while a great tear rolling down her cheek, which - she would wipe away hastily with her cotton handkerchief. - - The depot was crowded and all was bustle and hurry until the 9.50 - train going east came due; then every passenger left except the - old lady. It is very rare indeed that any one takes the night - express, and almost always, after I have struck ten, the depot - becomes silent and empty. - - The ticket agent put on his great coat, and bidding Simmons keep - his wits about him for once in his life, departed for home. - - But he had no sooner gone than that functionary stretched himself - out upon the table, as usual, and began to snore vociferously. - Then it was I witnessed such a sight as I never had before and - never expect to again. - - The fire had gone down—it was a cold night, and the wind howled - dismally outside. The lamps grew dim and flared, casting weird - shadows upon the wall. By and by I heard a smothered sob from the - corner, then another. I looked in that direction. She had risen - from her seat, and oh! the look of agony on the poor, pinched - face. - - “I can’t believe it,” she sobbed, wringing her thin, white hands. - “Oh! I can’t believe it! My babies! my babies! how often have I - held them in my arms and kissed them; and how often they used to - say back to me, ‘Ise love you, mamma;’ and now, O God! they’ve - turned against me. Where am I going? To the poor-house! No! no! - no! I cannot! I will not! Oh, the disgrace!” - - And sinking upon her knees, she sobbed out in prayer: “O God! - spare me this and take me home! O God, spare me this disgrace; - spare me!” - - The wind rose higher, and swept through the crevices icy cold. - How it moaned and seemed to sob like something human that is - hurt. I began to shake, but the kneeling figure never stirred. - The thin shawl had dropped from her shoulders unheeded. Simmons - turned over and drew his heavy blanket more closely around him. - - Oh, how cold! Only one lamp remained, burning dimly; the other - two had gone out for want of oil. I could hardly see, it was so - dark. - - At last she became quieter, and ceased to moan. Then I grew - drowsy, and kind of lost the run of things after I had struck - twelve, when some one entered the depot with a bright light. I - started up. It was the brightest light I ever saw, and seemed to - fill the room full of glory. I could see ’twas a man. He walked - to the kneeling figure and touched her upon the shoulder. She - started up and turned her face wildly around. I heard him say: - - “’Tis train time, ma’am. Come!” - - A look of joy came over her face. - - “I’m ready,” she whispered. - - “Then give me your pass, ma’am.” - - She reached him a worn old book, which he took and from it read - aloud: - - “Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will - give you rest.” - - “That’s the pass over our road, ma’am. Are you ready?” - - The light died away and darkness fell in its place. My hand - touched the stroke of one. Simmons awoke with a start, and - snatched his lantern. The whistles sounded down brakes; the train - was due. He ran to the corner and shook the old woman. - - “Wake up, marm; ’tis train time.” - - But she never heeded. He gave one look at the white, set face, - and dropping his lantern, fled. - - The up-train halted, the conductor shouted “All aboard,” but no - one made a move that way. - - The next morning, when the ticket agent came, he found her frozen - to death. They whispered among themselves, and the coroner made - out the verdict “apoplexy,” and it was in some way hushed up. - - They laid her out in the depot, and advertised for her friends, - but no one came. So, after the second day they buried her. - - The last look on the sweet old face, lit up with a smile so - unearthly, I keep with me yet; and when I think of the occurrence - of that night, I know that she went out on the other train, that - never stopped at the poor-house. - - -SOME TWENTY YEARS AGO. - -It were well worth while to insert this wonderfully beautiful and -pathetic selection here to preserve it in enduring type, but it has the -additional merit of being a most excellent piece for recitation. The -author’s assumed name was “James Pipes, of Pipesville.” His real name you -may see below the lines. - - I’ve wandered to the village, Tom; I’ve sat beneath the tree - Upon the school house playground that sheltered you and me; - But none were there to greet me, Tom; and few were left to know, - Who played with us upon the green, some twenty years ago. - - The grass is just as green, Tom; bare-footed boys at play - Were sporting, just as we did then, with spirits just as gay. - But the “master” sleeps upon the hill, which coated o’er with snow, - Afforded us a sliding place, some twenty years ago. - - The old school house is altered now, the benches are replaced - By new ones, very like the same our penknives once defaced; - But the same old bricks are in the wall; the bell swings to and fro; - It’s music just the same, dear Tom, ’twas twenty years ago. - - The boys were playing some old game beneath that same old tree; - I have forgot the name just now—you’ve played the same with me - On that same spot; ’twas played with knives, by throwing so and so; - The loser had a task to do—these twenty years ago. - - The river’s running just as still; the willows on its side - Are larger than they were, Tom; the stream appears less wide; - But the grape-vine swing is ruined now, where once we played the beau, - And swung our sweethearts—pretty girls—just twenty years ago. - - The spring that bubbled ’neath the hill close by the spreading beach - Is very low—’twas then so high that we could scarcely reach; - And kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so, - To see how sadly I am changed, since twenty years ago. - - Near by that spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name; - Your sweetheart’s just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine the same; - Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark; ’twas dying sure but slow, - Just as she died, whose name you cut, some twenty years ago. - - My lids have long been dry, Tom, but tears came to my eyes; - I thought of her I loved so well, those early broken ties; - I visited the old church yard, and took some flowers to strow - Upon the graves of those we loved, some twenty years ago. - - Some are in the church-yard laid, some sleep beneath the sea; - But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me; - And when our time shall come, Tom, and we are called to go, - I hope they’ll lay us where we played, just twenty years ago. - - STEPHEN MARSELL. - - -ONLY A SOLDIER. - - Unarmed and unattended walks the Czar, - Through Moscow’s busy street one winter’s day. - The crowd uncover as his face they see— - “God greet the Czar!” they say. - - Along his path there moved a funeral, - Gray spectacle of poverty and woe, - A wretched sledge, dragged by one weary man, - Slowly across the snow. - - And on the sledge, blown by the winter wind, - Lay a poor coffin, very rude and bare, - And he who drew it bent before his load, - With dull and sullen air. - - The Emperor stopped and beckoned on the man; - “Who is’t thou bearest to the grave?” he said. - “Only a soldier, sire!” the short reply, - “Only a soldier, dead.” - - “Only a soldier!” musing, said the Czar; - “Only a Russian, who was poor and brave. - Move on. I follow. Such a one goes not - Unhonored to his grave.” - - He bent his head, and silent raised his cap; - The Czar of all the Russias, pacing slow, - Following the coffin, as again it went - Slowly across the snow. - - The passers of the street, all wondering, - Looked on that sight, then followed silently; - Peasant and prince, the artisan and clerk, - All in one company. - - Still, at they went the crowd grew ever more, - Till thousands stood around the friendless grave, - Led by that princely heart, who royal, true, - Honored the poor and brave. - - -THE PILGRIM FATHERS. - - The pilgrim fathers—where are they? - The waves that brought them o’er - Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray, - As they break along the shore; - Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day - When the Mayflower moored below, - When the sea around was black with storms, - And white the shore with snow. - - The pilgrim fathers are at rest: - When summer’s throned on high, - And the world’s warm breast is in verdure dressed. - Go stand on the hill where they lie: - The earliest ray of the golden day - On that hallowed spot is cast, - And the evening sun, as he leaves the world, - Looks kindly on that spot last. - - The land is holy where they fought, - And holy where they fell; - For by their blood that land was bought, - The land they loved so well, - Then glory to that valiant band, - The honored saviours of the land! - Oh! few and weak their numbers were— - A handful of brave men; - But to their God they gave their prayer, - And rushed to battle then. - The God of battles heard their cry, - And sent them the victory. - - They left the ploughshare in the mould, - Their flocks and herds without a fold, - The sickle in the unshorn grain, - The corn half garnered on the plain, - And mustered, in their simple dress, - For wrongs to seek a stern redress; - To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe - To perish, or o’ercome their foe. - - And where are ye, O fearless men, - And where are ye to-day? - I call: the hills reply again, - That ye have passed away; - That on old Bunker’s lonely height, - In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground, - The grass grows green, the harvest bright, - Above each soldier’s mound. - - The bugle’s wild and warlike blast - Shall muster them no more; - An army now might thunder past, - And they not heed its roar. - The starry flag, ’neath which they fought - In many a bloody fray, - From their old graves shall rouse them not, - For they have passed away. - - -MASTER JOHNNY’S NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR. - - It was Spring the first time that I saw her, for her papa and mamma - moved in - Next door just as skating was over and marbles about to begin, - For the fence in our back-yard was broken, and I saw, as I peeped - through the slat, - There were ‘Johnny Jump-ups’ all around her, and I knew it was Spring - just by that. - - “I never knew whether she saw me—for she didn’t say nothing to me, - But ‘Ma! here’s a slat in the fence broke, and the boy that is next - door can see.’ - But the next day I climbed on our wood-shed, as you know Mamma says - I’ve a right, - And she calls out, ‘Well, peekin is manners!’ and I answered her, - ‘Sass is perlite!’ - - “But I wasn’t a bit mad; no, Papa; and to prove it, the very next day, - When she ran past our fence, in the morning I happened to get in her way, - For you know I am ‘chunked’ and clumsy, as she says are all boys of my - size, - And she nearly upset me, she did, Pa, and laughed till tears came in - her eyes. - - “And then we were friends, from that moment, for I knew that she told - Kitty Sage— - And she wasn’t a girl that would flatter—‘that she thought I was tall - for my age,’ - And I gave her four apples that evening, and took her to ride on my sled, - And—‘What am I telling you this for?’ Why, Papa, my neighbor is _dead_! - - “You don’t hear one half I am saying—I really do think it’s too bad! - Why, you might have seen crape on her door-knob, and noticed to-day - I’ve been sad; - And they’ve got her a coffin of rosewood, and they say they have - dressed her in white, - And I’ve never once looked through the fence, Pa, since she died—at - eleven last night. - - “And Ma says its decent and proper, as I was her neighbor and friend, - That I should go there to the funeral, and she thinks that _you_ ought - to attend; - But I am so clumsy and awkward, I know I shall be in the way, - And suppose they should speak to me, Papa, I wouldn’t know just what - to say. - - “So I think I will get up quite early, I know I sleep late, but I know - I’ll be sure to wake up if our Bridget pulls the string that I’ll tie - to my toe, - And I’ll crawl through the fence and I’ll gather the ‘Johnny Jump-ups’ - as they grew - Round her feet the first day that I saw her, and, Papa, I’ll give them - to you. - - “For you’re a big man, and you know, Pa, can come and go just where - you choose, - And you’ll take the flowers into her and surely they’ll never refuse; - But, Papa, don’t _say_ they’re from Johnny; _they_ won’t understand, - don’t you see; - But just lay them down on her bosom, and, Papa, _she’ll_ know they’re - from me.” - - BRET HARTE. - - -STONEWALL JACKSON’S DEATH. - -Gen. Joseph Hooker, in command of the Army of the Potomac lying opposite -Fredericksburg, Md., crossed the Rappahannock River early in May, 1863, -and fought the severe battle of Chancellorsville, in which was killed the -famous Southern general, Thomas J. Jackson, commonly known as Stonewall -Jackson. He received this name at the first battle of Bull Run. Defeat -seemed imminent, and one of the Confederate generals exclaimed: “Here -stands Jackson like a stone wall, and here let us conquer or die!” Gen. -Jackson’s last words were: “Let us cross over the river, and lie down -under the trees.” - - The lightning flashed across the heaven, the distant thunder rolled, - And, swayed by gusts of angry winds, the far-off church bell tolled, - The billows crashed against the rocks that kiss the ocean’s foam, - And eager pilots trimmed their sails and turned their skiffs for home. - - As darkness fell upon the earth, and we were gathered round - Our blazing hearth, and listening to the storm’s terrific sound, - We all looked up to Uncle Tom, who sat beside the fire, - A-dreaming of the bygone days, and of disaster dire. - - For memory brought us back again to times of darkest woe, - When, strong in hand and light in heart, he fought the Northern foe. - He often spoke of ’46—the fight on Mexic’s plain— - How Buena Vista heights were reached while bullets fell like rain. - - How Shields had gained Chapultepec, how Santa Anna fled, - And how the Sisters labored even where the bullets sped; - And oft he spoke of later times, but always with a sigh, - When South and North rose up to fight _en masse_ for cause or die. - - And as beside the fire he sat and piped his meerschaum well, - We asked, to pass the time away, that he a tale should tell. - He paused a moment, then he laid his good old pipe aside, - And said, “I’ll tell you boys, to-night, how Stonewall Jackson died. - - “We were retreating from the foe, for Fredericksburg was lost, - And on our flank, still threatening, appeared the Union host; - Down by the Rappahannock, in our dismal tents we lay, - And the lightest heart was heavy with our grave defeat that day. - - “For ’tis better for a soldier like Montgomery to die, - Than live to see his comrades from a hated foeman fly; - But reverses often come upon defenders of the right, - And justice seldom conquers, boys, when nations go to fight. - - “With heavy hearts we laid us down, but, mind you, not to sleep, - Nor did we turn aside to sing, or turn aside to weep, - But as we pondered o’er our griefs, a sudden moan was heard, - Far louder than the willow’s moan, when by the wind ’tis stirred. - - “It woke the camp from reverie, it woke the camp to fear; - And louder, louder grew the wail, most dreadful then to hear. - And nearer came the weeping crowd, and something stiff and still - Was borne, we knew not what it was, but followed with a will. - - “At last within our Gen’ral’s tent the precious load was laid, - And then a pallid soldier turned unto us all, and said: - ‘We thought it hard, my comrades brave, to lose the field to-day; - But harder will our struggle be, to labor in the fray; - For he is gone, our gallant chief, who could our hopes restore, - And rout and ruin is our fate, since Stonewall is no more.’ - - “I cannot tell you how we felt, or how we acted then, - For words are weak to tell a tale when grief has mastered men; - But this I know, I pulled the cloth from off brave Jackson’s face, - And almost jumped with joy to see him gaze around the place. - - “But, boys, it was a fleeting dream, a vacant stare he cast; - He did not see the canvas shaken by the sudden blast; - He did not see us weeping as we staunched the flowing blood, - But again in battle fighting, he was where the foemen stood. - - “‘Order Gen’ral Hill to action!’ loud he cried, as he was wont; - And then he quickly added: ‘Bring the infantry to front!’ - As he saw the corps pass by him—as it were—in duty’s call, - Suddenly he shouted: ‘Drive them! charge upon them, one and all!’ - - “Then he turned aside, and, smiling, said with voice of one in ease: - ‘Let us cross the foaming river; let us rest beneath the trees.’ - Then we waited, boys, and watched him, but no other word he said; - For adown the foaming river had our leader’s spirit sped.” - - PAUL M. RUSSELL. - - -THE STORY OF NELL. - - You’re a kind woman, Nan! Ay, kind and true! - God will be good to faithful folk like you! - You knew my Ned? - A better, kinder lad never drew breath. - We loved each other true, and we were wed - In church, like some who took him to his death; - A lad as gentle as a lamb, but lost - His senses when he took a drop too much. - - Drink did it all—drink made him mad when crossed— - He was a poor man, and they’re hard on such - O Nan! that night! that night! - When I was sitting in this very chair, - Watching and waiting in the candle-light, - And heard his foot come creaking up the stair, - And turned and saw him standing yonder, white - And wild, with staring eyes and rumpled hair! - And when I caught his arm and called in fright, - He pushed me, swore, and to the door he passed - To lock and bar it fast. - - Then down he drops just like a lump of lead, - Holding his brow, shaking, and growing whiter, - And—Nan—just then the light seemed growing brighter, - And I could see the hands that held his head, - All red! all bloody red! - What could I do but scream? He groaned to hear, - Jumped to his feet, and gripped me by the wrist; - “Be still, or I shall kill thee, Nell!” he hissed. - - And I was still for fear. - “They’re after me—I’ve knifed a man!” he said, - “Be still!—the drink—drink did it!—he is dead!” - Then we grew still, dead still. I couldn’t weep; - All I could do was cling to Ned and hark, - And Ned was cold, cold, cold, as if asleep, - But breathing hard and deep. - - The candle flickered out—the room grew dark - And—Nan!—although my heart was true and tried— - When all grew cold and dim, - I shuddered—not for fear of them outside, - But just afraid to be alone with him. - “Ned! Ned!” I whispered—and he moaned and shook, - But did not heed or look! - “Ned! Ned! speak, lad! tell me it is not true!” - At that he raised his head and looked so wild; - Then, with a stare that froze my blood, he threw - His arms around me, crying like a child, - And held me close—and not a word was spoken, - While I clung tighter to his heart and pressed him, - And did not fear him, though my heart was broken, - But kissed his poor stained hands, and cried, and blessed him! - - Then, Nan, the dreadful daylight, coming cold - With sound of falling rain— - When I could see his face, and it looked old, - Like the pinched face of one that dies in pain; - Well, though we heard folk stirring in the sun, - We never thought to hide away or run, - Until we heard those voices in the street, - That hurrying of feet, - And Ned leaped up, and knew that they had come. - - “Run, Ned!” I cried, but he was deaf and dumb; - “Hide, Ned!” I screamed, and held him; “Hide thee, man!” - He stared with blood-shot eyes and hearkened, Nan! - And all the rest is like a dream—the sound - Of knocking at the door— - A rush of men—a struggle on the ground— - A mist—a tramp—a roar; - For when I got my senses back again, - The room was empty, and my head went round! - God help him? God _will_ help him! Ay, no fear! - It was the drink, not Ned—he meant no wrong - So kind! So good!—and I am useless here, - Now he is lost that loved me true and long. - - That night before he died, - I didn’t cry—my heart was hard and dried; - But when the clocks went “one,” I took my shawl - To cover up my face, and stole away, - And walked along the silent streets, where all - Looked cold and still and gray. - Some men and lads went by, - And turning round, I gazed, and watched ’em go, - Then felt that they were going to see him die, - And drew my shawl more tight, and followed slow. - More people passed me, a country cart with hay - Stopped close beside me, and two or three - Talked about _it_! I moaned, and crept away! - - Next came a hollow sound I knew full well, - For something gripped me round the heart—and then - There came the solemn tolling of a bell! - O God! O God! how could I sit close by, - And neither scream nor cry? - As if I had been stone, all hard and cold, - I listened, listened, listened, still and dumb, - While the folk murmured, and the death-bell tolled, - And the day brightened, and his time had come. - All else was silent but the knell - Of the slow bell! - And I could only wait, and wait, and wait, - And what I waited for I couldn’t tell— - At last there came a groaning deep and great— - St. Paul’s struck “eight”— - I screamed, and seemed to turn to fire and fell! - - God bless him, alive or dead! - He never meant no wrong, was kind and true. - They’re wrought their fill of spite upon his head - Why didn’t they be kind, and take me too? - And there’s the dear old things he used to wear, - And there’s a lock of hair. - And Ned, my Ned! is fast asleep, and cannot hear me call. - God bless you, Nan, for all you’ve done and said! - But don’t mind me, my heart is broke, that’s all! - - ROBERT BUCHANAN. - - -LITTLE NAN. - - The wide gates swung open, - The music softly sounded, - And loving hands were heaping the soldiers’ graves with flowers; - With pansies, pinks, and roses, - And pure, gold-hearted lilies, - The fairest, sweetest blossoms that grace the spring-time bowers. - - When down the walk came tripping - A wee, bare-headed girlie, - Her eyes were filled with wonder, her face was grave and sweet; - Her small brown hands were crowded - With dandelions yellow— - The gallant, merry blossoms that children love to greet. - - O, many smiled to see her, - That dimple-cheeked wee baby, - Pass by with quaint intentness, as on a mission bound; - And, pausing oft an instant, - Let fall from out her treasures - A yellow dandelion upon each flower-strewn mound. - - The music died in silence, - A robin ceased its singing; - And in the fragrant stillness a bird-like whisper grew, - So sweet, so clear and solemn, - That smiles gave place to tear-drops; - “Nan loves ’oo darlin’ soldier; an’ here’s a f’ower for ’oo.” - - -ONE OF THE LITTLE ONES. - - ’Twas a crowded street, and a cry of joy - Came from a ragged, barefoot boy— - A cry of eager and glad surprise, - And he opened wide his great black eyes - As he held before him a coin of gold - He had found in a heap of rubbish old - By the curb stone there. - - “How it sparkles!” the youngster cried, - As the golden piece he eagerly eyed: - “Oh, see it shine!” and he laughed aloud; - Little heeding the curious crowd - That gathered around, “Hurrah!” said he, - “How glad my poor mother will be! - I’ll buy her a brand-new Sunday hat, - And a pair of shoes for Nell, at that, - And baby sister shall have a dress— - There’ll be enough for all, I guess; - And then I’ll——” - - “Here,” said a surly voice - “That money’s mine. You can take your choice - Of giving it up or going to jail.” - The youngster trembled, and then turned pale - As he looked and saw before him stand - A burly drayman with outstretched hand; - - Rough and uncouth was the fellow’s face, - And without a single line or trace - Of the goodness that makes the world akin. - “Come, be quick! or I’ll take you in,” - Said he. - “For shame!” said the listening crowd. - The ruffian seemed for the moment cowed. - “The money’s mine,” he blurted out; - “I lost it yesterday hereabout. - I don’t want nothin’ but what’s my own - And I am going to have it.” - - The lad alone - Was silent. A tear stood in his eye, - And he brushed it away; he would not cry. - “Here, mister,” he answered, “take it then; - If it’s yours, it’s yours; if it hadn’t been——” - A sob told all he would have said, - Of the hope so suddenly raised, now dead. - - And then with a sigh, which volumes told, - He dropped the glittering piece of gold - Into the other’s hand. Once more - He sighed—and his dream of wealth was o’er. - But no! Humanity hath a heart - Always ready to take the part - Of childish sorrow, wherever found. - - “Let’s make up a purse”—the word went round - Through the kindly crowd, and the hat was passed - And the coins came falling thick and fast. - - “Here, sonny, take this,” said they. Behold, - Full twice as much as the piece of gold - He had given up was in the hand - Of the urchin. He could not understand - It all. The tears came thick and fast, - And his grateful heart found voice at last. - - But, lo! when he spoke, the crowd had gone— - Left him, in gratitude, there alone. - Who’ll say there is not some sweet, good-will - And kindness left in this cold world still? - - G. L. CATLIN. - - -THE DRUNKARD’S DAUGHTER. - - She was a bright and beautiful child, one who seemed born for a - better career, yet one on whom the blight of intemperance had - left its impress early. - - Her father was a drunkard, a worthless, miserable sot, whose only - aim and ambition in life seemed to be to contrive ways and means - of satisfying the devouring fire that constantly burned within - him. - - Her mother had died when she was a mere child, leaving her to - grow up a wild flower in the forest, uncultured and uncared for. - - Yet she was very beautiful; her form and face were of wondrous - perfection and loveliness; her disposition was happy and - cheerful, notwithstanding the abuse to which she was continually - subjected. - - The years went by; she grew to be almost a woman. She could not - go to school or church, because she had nothing respectable to - wear; and had she gone her wicked father would have reviled her - for her disposition to make something better of herself and for - her simple piety. He sank lower and lower in the miserable slough - of intemperance, and yet, when urged by well-meaning friends, to - leave him she clung to him with an affection as unaccountable as - it was earnest and sincere. - - “If I should leave him he would die,” she said. “If I stay and - suffer with him here, some time I may save him and make him a - worthy man.” - - Many would have given her a home, food and comfortable clothes, - but she preferred to share her father’s misery rather than - selfishly forsake him in his unhappy infirmity. - - The summer passed, the berries ripened and disappeared from the - bushes. The leaves turned to crimson and yellow, and fell from - the trees. The cold November winds howled through the desolate - hollows, while, scantily clad, she crouched in a corner of her - inhospitable, unhappy home. - - She was very ill; bad treatment, poor food, and exposure had - brought on a fatal sickness. Her brow burned with fever. Even her - wretched father, selfish and inebriated as he was, became alarmed - at her condition as he staggered about the room upon his return - at a late hour from the village tavern, where he had spent the - evening with a company of dissolute companions. - - “Father,” she said, “I am very sick; the doctor has been to see - me; he left a prescription. Will you not go to the village and - get it filled?” - - “They won’t trust me, child,” he said, gruffly. - - “But I will trust you,” she said sweetly. “There is a little - money hidden in the old clock there, which I saved from picking - and selling berries. You can take it; there is enough.” - - His eyes sparkled with a dangerous glitter. - - “Money!” he exclaimed almost fiercely. “I didn’t know you had - money. Why didn’t you tell me before? Didn’t you know it belonged - by right to me?” - - She sighed pitifully. - - He staggered to the clock, fumbled about for a few moments, and - soon found what he was seeking. - - “Yes, I’ll go,” he said, excitedly. “Give me the prescription.” - - He snatched it from her extended hand, opened the door and - disappeared. - - The night grew colder. The sick girl crept into bed and tossed - and turned restlessly. The oil in the old lamp burned out. The - windows rattled, a storm came, and rain and hail beat upon the - window panes. The old clock struck the hour of midnight. The - drunkard did not return. - - Poor girl, her soul became filled with apprehension and fear for - him. - - “I must go for him,” she said. “He will perish, and it will be my - fault.” She crawled out of bed, drew on her scanty apparel and - worn shoes, threw a ragged shawl over her head and shoulders, and - went forth into the darkness, heroically facing the driving storm. - - The morning came, clear, cloudless and beautiful. The earth was - cold and frosty. A neighbor, going early to the village, found - two lifeless forms lying by the roadway. Beside the dead man lay - an empty black bottle. The girl’s white arms were clasped about - his neck. Her soul had gone to intercede for him before the Mercy - Seat on high. - - EUGENE J. HALL. - - -THE BEAUTIFUL. - - Beautiful faces are those that wear— - It matters little if dark or fair— - Whole-souled honesty printed there. - - Beautiful eyes are those that show, - Like crystal panes, where earth fires glow, - Beautiful thoughts that burn below. - - Beautiful lips are those whose words - Leap from the heart like song of birds, - Yet whose utterance prudence girds. - - Beautiful hands are those that do - Work that is earnest and brave and true, - Moment by moment the long day through. - - Beautiful feet are those that go - On kindly ministry to and fro, - Down lowliest ways, if God wills it so. - - Beautiful shoulders are those that bear - Heavy burdens of homely cart - With patience, grace and daily prayer. - - Beautiful lives are those that bless— - Silent rivers of happiness, - Whose hidden fountains but few may guess. - - Beautiful twilight at set of sun, - Beautiful goal with race well run, - Beautiful rest with work well done. - - Beautiful grave where grasses creep, - Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deep, - Over worn-out hands—oh, beautiful sleep. - - -TROUBLE IN THE AMEN CORNER. - - ’Twas a stylish congregation, that of Theophrastus Brown, - And its organ was the finest and the biggest in the town, - And the chorus, all the papers favorably commented on it, - For ’twas said each female member had a forty—dollar bonnet. - - Now in the “amen corner” of the church sat Brother Eyer, - Who persisted every Sabbath-day in singing with the choir; - He was poor, but genteel-looking, and his heart as snow was white, - And his old face beamed with sweetness when he sang with all his might. - - His voice was cracked and broken, age had touched his vocal chords, - And nearly every Sunday he would mispronounce the words - Of the hymns, and ’twas no wonder, he was old and nearly blind, - And the choir rattling onward always left him far behind. - - Then the pastor called together in the lecture-room one day - Seven influential members who subscribe more than they pay, - And having asked God’s guidance in a printed prayer or two, - They put their heads together to determine what to do. - - They debated, thought, suggested, till at last “dear Brother York,” - Who last winter made a million on a sudden rise in pork, - Rose and moved that a committee wait at once on Brother Eyer, - And proceed to rake him lively for “disturbin’ of the choir.” - - Of course the motion carried, and one day a coach and four, - With the latest style of driver, rattled up to Eyer’s door; - And the sleek, well-dressed committee, Brothers Sharkey, York, and Lamb, - As they crossed the humble portal took good care to miss the jam. - - They found the choir’s great trouble sitting in his old arm-chair, - And the summer’s golden sunbeams lay upon his thin white hair; - He was singing “Rock of Ages” in a voice both cracked and low, - But the angels understood him, ’twas all he cared to know. - - Said York: “We’re here, dear brother, with the vestry’s approbation, - To discuss a little matter that affects the congregation;” - “And the choir, too,” said Sharkey, giving Brother York a nudge, - “And the choir, too!” he echoed with the graveness of a judge. - - “It was the understanding when we bargained for the chorus - That it was to relieve us, that is, do the singing for us; - If we rupture the agreement, it is very plain, dear brother, - It will leave our congregation and be gobbled by another. - - “We don’t want any singing except that what we’ve bought! - The latest tunes are all the rage; the old ones stand for naught; - And so we have decided—are you listening, Brother Eyer?— - That you’ll have to stop your singin’, for it flurrytates the choir.” - - The old man slowly raised his head, a sign that he did hear, - And on his cheek the trio caught the glitter of a tear; - His feeble hands pushed back the locks white as the silky snow, - As he answered the committee in a voice both sweet and low; - - “I’ve sung the psalms of David for nearly eighty years, - They’ve been my staff and comfort and calmed life’s many fears; - I’m sorry I disturb the choir, perhaps I’m doing wrong; - But when my heart is filled with praise, I can’t keep back a song. - - “I wonder if beyond the tide that’s breaking at my feet, - In the far-off heavenly temple, where the Master I shall greet,— - Yes, I wonder when I try to sing the songs of God up higher. - If the angel band will church me for disturbing heaven’s choir.” - - A silence filled the little room; the old man bowed his head; - The carriage rattled on again, but Brother Eyer was dead! - Yes, dead! his hand had raised the veil the future hangs before us, - And the Master dear had called him to the everlasting chorus. - - The choir missed him for awhile, but he was soon forgot, - A few church-goers watched the door; the old man entered not. - Far away, his voice no longer cracked, he sings his heart’s desires, - Where there are no church committees and no fashionable choirs. - - C. T. HARBAUGH. - - -LITTLE MAG’S VICTORY. - - ’Twas a hovel all wretched, forlorn and poor, - With crumbling eves and a hingeless door, - And windows where pitiless midnight rains - Beat fiercely in through the broken panes, - And tottering chimneys, and moss-grown roof, - From the heart of the city far aloof, - Where Nanny, a hideous, wrinkled hag, - Dwelt with her grandchild, “Little Mag.” - - The neighbors called old Nanny a witch. - The story went that she’d once been rich— - Aye, rich as any lady in town— - But trouble had come and dragged her down - And down; then sickness, and want, and age - Had filled the rest of her life’s sad page, - And driven her into the slums to hide - Her shame and misery till she died. - - The boys, as she hobbled along the street, - Her coming with yells and hoots would greet; - E’en grown folks dreaded old Nan so much - That they’d shun, in passing, her very touch, - And a mocking word or glance would send. - - Poor little Mag was her only friend: - Faithful and true was the child, indeed. - What did she ever care or heed - For those cruel words, and those looks of scorn - In patient silence they all were borne; - But she prayed that God would hasten the day - That would take her sorrow and care away. - - Alas! that day—that longed-for boon, - That ending of sorrow—came all too soon. - For there came a day when a ruffian crowd, - With stones, and bludgeons, and hootings loud, - Surrounded old Nanny’s hovel door, - Led on by a drunken brute, who swore, - In blasphemous oaths, and in language wild, - She had stolen a necklace from off his child. - - Crouched in a corner, dumb with fear, - The old hag sat, with her grandchild near, - As the furious mob of boys and men, - Yelling, entered her dingy den. - “Kill her!” shouted the brutal pack. - “Cowards!” screamed Little Mag. “Stand back!” - As she placed her fragile form before - Her poor old grandmother, on the floor, - And clasped her about the neck, and pressed - The thin gray hairs to her childish breast. - “Cowards!” she said. “Now, do your worst. - If either must die, let _me_ die first!” - - Cowed and abashed, the crowd stood still, - Awed by that child’s unaided will; - One by one, in silence and shame, - They all stole out by the way they came, - Till the fair young child and the withered crone - Were left once more in that room—alone. - - But stop! What is it the child alarms? - _Old Nan lies dead in her grandchild’s arms!_ - - GEORGE L. CATLIN. - - -LIFE’S BATTLE. - - Alas! I’m growing old, my hair, once thick and brown, - Is now quite white and silky, and sparse about the crown; - A year, that once seemed endless, now, passes like a dream, - Yet my boat still rides the billows, as it floats along the stream. - - My eye, once like the eagle’s, is now much dimmed by age, - And art alone enables me to read the printed page, - Yet still it rests with quickened glance upon each lovely scene. - As years roll by with silent pace and changes come between. - - Life is full of gladness if we but make it so, - There’s not a wave of sorrow but has an undertow. - A stout heart and a simple faith gives victory o’er the grave, - And God awaits all patiently, all powerful to save. - - ’Tis not a cross to live, nor is it hard to die, - If we but view the future with steadfast, fearless eye, - Looking ever on the bright side, where falls the sun’s warm beam, - Our boats will ride the billows as they float along the stream. - - WAYNE HOWE PARSONS. - - -THE LOST KISS. - - I put by the half-written poem, - While the pen, idly trailed in my hand, - Writes on, “Had I words to complete it, - Who’d read it, or who’d understand?” - But the little bare feet on the stairway, - And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall, - And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, - Cry up to me over it all. - - So I gather it up—where was broken - The tear—faded thread of my theme, - Telling how, as one night I sat writing, - A fairy broke in on my dream. - A little inquisitive fairy - My own little girl, with the gold - Of the sun in her hair, and the dewy - Blue eyes of the fairies of old. - - ’Twas the dear little girl that I scolded— - “For was it a moment like this,” - I said, when she knew I was busy, - “To come romping in for a kiss? - Come rowdying up from her mother - And clamoring there at my knee - For ‘One ’ittle kiss for my dolly - And one ’ittle uzzer for me?’” - - God pity the heart that repelled her - And the cold hand that turned her away! - And take from the lips that denied her - This answerless prayer of to-day! - Take, Lord, from my mem’ry forever - That pitiful sob of despair, - And the patter and trip of the little bare feet - And the one piercing cry on the stair! - - I put by the half-written poem, - While the pen, idly trailed in my hand, - Writes on, “Had I words to complete it, - Who’d read it, or who’d understand?” - But the little bare feet on the stairway, - And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall, - And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, - Cry up to me over all. - - JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. - - -EXECUTION OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. - - The Queen arrived in the hall of death. Pale but unflinching - she contemplated the dismal preparations. There lay the block - and the axe. There stood the executioner and his assistant. All - were clothed in mourning. On the floor was scattered the sawdust - which was to soak her blood, and in a dark corner lay the bier. - It was nine o’clock when the Queen appeared in the funereal hall. - Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, and certain privileged persons, - to the number of more than two hundred, were assembled. The hall - was hung with black cloth; the scaffold, which was elevated about - two feet and a half above the ground, was covered with black - frieze of Lancaster; the arm-chair in which Mary was to sit, the - footstool on which she was to kneel, the block on which her head - was to be laid, were covered with black velvet. - - The Queen was clothed in mourning like the hall and as the ensign - of punishment. Her black velvet robe, with its high collar and - hanging sleeves, was bordered with ermine. Her mantle, lined - with marten sable, was of satin, with pearl buttons and a long - train. A chain of sweet-smelling beads, to which was attached a - scapulary, and beneath that a golden cross, fell upon her bosom. - Two rosaries were suspended to her girdle, and a long veil of - white lace, which in some measure softened this costume of a - widow and of a condemned criminal, was thrown around her. - - Arrived on the scaffold, Mary seated herself in the chair - provided for her, with her face toward the spectators. The Dean - of Peterborough, in ecclesiastical costume, sat on the right of - the Queen, with a black velvet footstool before him. The Earls - of Kent and Shrewsbury were seated, like him, on the right, but - upon larger chairs. On the other side of the Queen stood the - Sheriff, Andrews, with white wand. In front of Mary were seen the - executioner and his assistant, distinguishable by their vestments - of black velvet with red crape round the left arm. Behind the - Queen’s chair, ranged by the wall, wept her attendants and - maidens. - - In the body of the hall, the nobles and citizens from the - neighboring counties were guarded by musketeers. Beyond the - balustrade was the bar of the tribunal. The sentence was read; - the Queen protested against it in the name of royalty and of - innocence, but accepted death for the sake of the faith. She then - knelt before the block and the executioner proceeded to remove - her veil. She repelled him by a gesture, and turning toward the - Earls with a blush on her forehead, “I am not accustomed,” she - said, “to be undressed before so numerous a company, and by the - hands of such grooms of the chamber.” - - She then called Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curle, who took off - her mantle, her veil, her chains, cross and scapulary. On their - touching her robe, the Queen told them to unloosen the corsage - and fold down the ermine collar, so as to leave her neck bare for - the axe. Her maidens weepingly yielded her these last services. - Melvil and the three other attendants wept and lamented, and - Mary placed her finger on her lips to signify that they should - be silent. She then arranged the handkerchief embroidered with - thistles of gold with which her eyes had been covered by Jane - Kennedy. - - Thrice she kissed the crucifix, each time repeating, “Lord, into - Thy hands I commend my spirit.” She knelt anew and leant her - head on that block which was already scored with deep marks, and - in this solemn attitude she again recited some verses from the - Psalms. The executioner interrupted her at the third verse by a - blow of the axe, but its trembling stroke only grazed her neck; - she groaned slightly, and the second blow separated the head from - the body. - - LAMARTINE. - - -OVER THE RANGE. - - Half-sleeping, by the fire I sit, - I start and wake, it is so strange - To find myself alone, and Tom - Across the Range. - - We brought him in with heavy feet - And eased him down; from eye to eye, - Though no one spoke, there passed a fear - That Tom must die. - - He rallied when the sun was low, - And spoke; I thought the words were strange; - “It’s almost night, and I must go - Across the Range.” - - “What, Tom?” He smiled and nodded: “Yes, - They’ve struck it rich there, Jim, you know, - The parson told us; you’ll come soon; - Now Tom must go.” - - I brought his sweetheart’s pictured face: - Again that smile, so sad and strange, - “Tell her,” said he, “that Tom has gone - Across the Range.” - - The last night lingered on the hill. - “There’s a pass, somewhere,” then he said, - And lip, and eye, and hand were still; - And Tom was dead. - - Half-sleeping, by the fire I sit: - I start and wake, it is so strange - To find myself alone, and Tom - Across the Range. - - J. HARRISON MILLS. - - -THE STORY OF CRAZY NELL. - -FOUNDED ON FACT. - - “Come, Rosy, come!” I heard the voice and looked - Out on the road that passed my window wide, - And saw a woman and a fair-haired child - That knelt and picked the daisies at the side. - - The child ran quickly with its gathered prize, - And, laughing, held it high above its head; - A light glowed bright within the woman’s eyes, - And in that light a mother’s love I read. - - She took the little hand, and both passed on; - The prattle of the child I still could hear, - Mixed with the woman’s fond, caressing tone, - That came in loving words upon my ear. - - “Come, Rosy, come!” Years, many years had gone, - But yet had left the recollection of that scene— - The woman and the fair-haired child that knelt - And picked the daisies on the roadside green. - - I looked. The old familiar road was there— - A woman, wan and stooping, stood there too; - And beckoned slowly, and with vacant stare - That fixed itself back where the daisies grew. - - “Come, Rosy, come!” I saw no fair-haired child - Run from the daisies with its gathered prize; - “Come, Rosy, come!” I heard no merry laugh - To light the love-glow in the mother’s eyes. - - “Come, Rosy, come!” She turned, and down the road - The plaintive voice grew fainter on my ear; - Caressing tones—not mixed with prattle now, - But full of loving words—I still could hear. - - I, wondering, asked a gossip at my door; - He told the story—all there was to tell: - A little mound the village churchyard bore; - And this, he said, is only Crazy Nell. - - JOSEPH WHITTON. - - -LITTLE SALLIE’S WISH. - -The following poem was written from _facts_, concerning a sweet little -girl who lived in New York. When Summer came her parents took a cottage -in the country, where the scene described was enacted. - - I have seen the first robin of Spring, mother dear, - And have heard the brown darling sing; - You said, “Hear it and wish, and ’twill surely come true,” - So I’ve wished such a beautiful thing. - - I thought I would like to ask something for you, - But couldn’t think what there could be - That you’d want, while you had all these beautiful things; - Besides you have papa and me. - - So I wished for a ladder, so long that ’twould stand - One end by our own cottage door, - And the other go up past the moon and the stars, - And lean against heaven’s white floor. - - Then I’d get you to put on my pretty white dress, - With my sash and my darling new shoes; - And I’d find some white roses to take up to God, - The most beautiful ones I could choose. - - And you, dear papa, would sit on the ground, - And kiss me, and tell me “good-bye;” - Then I’d go up the ladder, far out of your sight, - Till I came to the door in the sky. - - I wonder if God keeps the door fastened tight? - If but one little crack I could see, - I would whisper, “Please, God, let this little girl in, - She’s as weary and tired as can be. - - “She came all alone from the earth to the sky, - For she’s always been wanting to see - The gardens of heaven, with their robins and flowers; - Please, God, is there room there for me?” - - And then when the angels had opened the door, - God would say, “Bring the little child here.” - But He’d speak it so softly, I’d not be afraid, - And He’d smile just like you, mother dear. - - He would put His kind arms round your dear little girl, - And I’d ask Him to send down for you, - And papa, and cousin, and all that I love— - Oh, dear, don’t you wish ’twould come true? - - The next Spring time, when the robins came home, - They sang over grasses and flowers, - That grew where the foot of the long ladder stood, - Whose top reached the heavenly bowers. - - And the parents had dressed the pale, still child - For her flight to the Summer land, - In a fair white robe, with one snow-white rose - Folded tight in her pulseless hand. - - And now at the foot of the ladder they sit, - Looking upward with quiet tears, - Till the beckoning hand and the fluttering robe - Of the child at the top re-appears. - - -DROWNED AMONG THE LILIES. - - How the reeds and rushes quiver - On the low banks of the river, - And the leaning willows shiver - In a strange and deep affright, - And the water moans and murmurs - As it eddies round the lilies, - Like a human soul in sorrow, - Over something hid from sight. - - How the shadows haunt the edges - Of the river, where the sedges - To the lilies whisper ever - Of some strange and awful deed! - How the sunshine, timid, frightened, - Dares not touch the spot it brightened - Yesterday, among the shadows - Of the lily and the reed. - - What is that that floats and shimmers - Where the water gleams and glimmers, - In and out among the rushes, - Growing thick, and tall, and green? - Something yellow, long and shining - Something wondrous fair and silken, - Like a woman’s golden tresses, - With a broken flower between. - - What is that, so white and slender, - Hidden, almost, by the splendor - Of a great white water lily, - Floating on the river there? - ’Tis a hand stretched up toward Heaven, - As, when we would be forgiven, - We reach out our hands, imploring, - In an agony of prayer. - - Tremble, reeds, and moan and shiver, - At your feet, in the still river, - Lies a woman, done forever, - With life’s mockery and woe. - God alone can know the sorrow, - All the bitterness and heartache, - Ended in the moaning river - Where the water lilies blow. - - EBEN E. REXFORD. - - -THE FATE OF CHARLOTTE CORDAY. - - The sunny land of France with streams of noblest blood was dyed, - Nor could a monarch’s royal veins suffice the insatiate tide; - And youth and beauty knelt in vain, and mercy ceased to shine, - And Nature’s holiest ties were loosed beneath the guillotine. - - Wild war and rapine, hate and blood, and terror ruled supreme, - Till all who loved its vine-clad vales had ceased of peace to dream; - But there was one whose lover’s blood wrote vengeance in her soul, - Whom zeal for France and blighted hopes had bound in fast control. - - Dark “Discord’s demon,” fierce Marat, his country’s fellest foe, - Belzance’s executioner, the fount of war and woe; - Demon alike in mind and face, he dreamt not of his fall, - Yet him the noble maiden doomed to vengeance and to Gaul. - - O! had an artist seen them there as face to face they stand; - The noblest and the meanest mind in all that bleeding land; - The loveliest and most hideous forms that pencil could portray— - A picture might on canvas live that would not pass away. - - “Point out the foes of France,” he said, “and ere to-morrow shine, - The blood, now warm within their veins, shall stain the guillotine.” - “The guillotine!” the maid exclaimed, the steel a moment gleams, - A moment more ’tis in his heart; adieu to all his dreams! - - Before her judges Charlotte stands, undaunted, undismayed, - While eyes that never wept are wet with pity for the maid, - Unstained as beautiful she stands before the judgment seat, - Resigned to fate, her heart is calm while others wildly beat! - - Alas! too sure her doom is read in those stern faces, while - Fear from her looks affrighted fled, where shone Minerva’s smile; - Hope she had none, or, if perchance she had, that hope was gone, - Yet in its stead ’twas not despair but brightest triumph shone! - - “What was the cause?” “His crimes,” she said, her bleeding country’s foe, - Inspired her hand, impelled the steel, and laid the tyrant low; - Though well she knew her blood would flow for him she caused to bleed, - Yet what was death?—The crowning wreath that graced the noble deed! - - Her doom is passed, a lovely smile dawns slowly o’er her face, - And adds another beauty to her calm majestic grace; - She does not weep, she does not shrink, her features are not pale, - The firmness that inspired her hand forbids her heart to fail! - - ’Tis morn; before the Tuilleries the dawn is breaking gray, - And thousands through the busy streets in haste pursue their way; - What means the bustle and the throng, the scene is nothing new— - A fair young lady, doomed to die, each day the same they view. - - Before that home of bygone kings a gloomy scaffold stands, - Upreared in Freedom’s injured name to manacle her hands; - Some crowd to worship, some insult, the martyr in her doom, - But over friends and foes a cloud is cast of sombre gloom. - - She stands upon the fatal spot angelically fair, - The roses of her cheek concealed beneath her flowing hair; - “Greater than Brutus,” she displays no sign of fear or dread, - But in a moment will be still and silent with the dead. - - Her neck is bared, the fatal knife descends, and all is o’er, - The martyred heroine of France—of freedom dreams no more; - The insults of the wretched throng she hears no longer now, - But Death, man’s universal friend, sits on her pallid brow! - - In life, fear never blanched her cheek; but now ’tis calm and pale, - Love and her country asked revenge, and both her fate bewail; - She fell, more glorious in her fall than chief or crowned queen, - A martyr in a noble cause, without a fault to screen! - - CLARE S. MCKINLEY. - - -THE LITTLE VOYAGER. - - Three little children in a boat - On seas of opal splendor; - The willing waves their treasure float - To rhythm low and tender; - Over their heads the skies are blue— - Where are the darlings sailing to? - - They do not know—we do not know, - Who watch their pretty motions; - Safe moored within the harbor, though - They sail untraveled oceans; - They rock and sway and shut their eyes; - “No land in sight!” the helmsman cries! - - “Oh, little children have you heard - Of ships that sail for pleasure; - And never wind or wave hath word - Of all their vanished treasure? - They were as blithe and gay as you - And sailed away as fearless, too!” - - Then from the pleasure-freighted crew - One spake—a little maiden, - With sunny hair, and eyes of blue, - And lashes fair, dew-laden, - Her wise head gave a thoughtful nod—! - “Perhaps—they sailed—away to God!” - - MRS. M. L. BAYNE. - - -THE DREAM OF ALDARIN. - -This selection won a gold medal at a Commencement of the Mt. Vernon -Institute of Elocution in Philadelphia. It is a remarkable embodiment of -tragedy and pathos. - - A chamber with a low, dark ceiling, supported by massive rafters - of oak; floors and walls of dark stone, unrelieved by wainscot or - plaster—bare, rugged, and destitute. - - A dim, smoking light, burning in a vessel of iron, threw its red - and murky beams over the fearful contents of a table. It was - piled high with the unsightly forms of the dead. Prostrate among - these mangled bodies, his arms flung carelessly on either side, - slept and dreamed Aldarin—Aldarin, the Fratricide. - - He hung on the verge of a rock, a rock of melting bitumen, that - burned his hands to masses of crisped and blackened flesh. The - rock projected over a gulf, to which the cataracts of earth might - compare as the rivulet to the vast ocean. It was the Cataract of - Hell. He looked below. God of Heaven, what a sight! Fiery waves, - convulsed and foaming, with innumerable whirlpools crimsoned by - bubbles of flame. Each whirlpool swallowing millions of the lost. - Each bubble bearing on its surface the face of a soul, lost and - lost forever. - - Born on by the waves, they raised their hands and cast their - burning eyes to the skies, and shrieked the eternal death-wail of - the lost. - - Over this scene, awful and vast, towered a figure of ebony - blackness, his darkened brow concealed in the clouds, his - extended arms grasping the infinitude of the cataract, his feet - resting upon islands of bitumen far in the gulf below. The eyes - of the figure were fixed upon Aldarin, as he clung with the - nervous clasp of despair to the rock, and their gaze curdled his - heated blood. - - He was losing his grasp; sliding and sliding from the rock, his - feet hung over the gulf. There was no hope for him. He must - fall—fall—and fall forever. But lo! a stairway, built of white - marble, wide, roomy and secure, seemed to spring from the very - rock to which he clung, winding upward from the abyss, till it - was lost in the distance far, far above. He beheld two figures - slowly descending—the figure of a warrior and the form of a - dark-eyed woman. - - He knew those figures; he knew them well. They were his victims! - Her face, his wife’s! beautiful as when he first wooed her in the - gardens of Palestine; but there was blood on her vestments, near - the heart, and his lip was spotted with one drop of that thick, - red blood. “This,” he muttered, “this, indeed, is hell, and yet I - must call for aid—call to them!” How the thought writhed like a - serpent round his very heart. - - He drew himself along the rugged rock, clutching the red-hot ore - in the action. He wanted but a single inch, a little inch and he - might grasp the marble of the stairway. Another and a desperate - effort. His fingers clutched it, but his strength was gone. He - could not hold it in his grasp. With an eye of horrible intensity - he looked above. “Thou wilt save me, Ilmerine, my wife. Thou wilt - drag me up to thee.” She stooped. She clutched his blackened - fingers and placed them around the marble. His grasp was tight - and desperate. “Julian, O Julian! grasp this hand. Aid me, O - Julian! my brother!” The warrior stooped, laid hold on his hand - and drawing it toward the casement, wound it around another piece - of marble. - - But again his strength fails. “Julian, my brother; Ilmerine, - my wife, seize me! Drag me from this rock of terror! Save me! - O save me!” She stooped. She unwound finger after finger. She - looked at his horror-stricken face and pointed to the red wound - in her heart. He looked toward the other face. “Thou, Julian, - reach me thy hand. Thy hand, or I perish!” The warrior slowly - reached forth his hand from beneath the folds of his cloak. He - held before the eyes of the doomed a goblet of gold. It shone and - glimmered through the foul air like the beacon fire of hell. - - “Take it away! ’Tis the death bowl!” shrieked Aldarin’s livid - lips. “I murdered thee. Thou canst not save.” He drew back from - the maddening sight. He lost his hold, he slid from the rock, he - fell. - - Above, beneath, around, all was fire, horror, death; and still he - fell. “Forever and forever,” rose the shrieks of the lost. All - hell groaned aloud, “Ever, ever. Forever and forever,” and his - own soul muttered back, “This—this—is—hell!” - - GEORGE LIPPARD. - - -IN THE MINING TOWN. - - “Tis the last time, darling,” he gently said, - As he kissed her lips like the cherries red, - While a fond look shone in his eyes of brown. - “My own is the prettiest girl in town! - To-morrow the bell from the tower will ring - A joyful peal. Was there ever a king - So truly blessed, on his royal throne, - As I shall be when I claim my own?” - - ’Twas a fond farewell, ’twas a sweet good-by, - But she watched him go with a troubled sigh. - So, into the basket that swayed and swung - O’er the yawning abyss, he lightly sprung. - And the joy of her heart seemed turned to woe - As they lowered him into the depths below. - Her sweet young face, with its tresses brown, - Was the fairest face in the mining town. - - Lo! the morning came; but the marriage-bell, - High up in the tower, rang a mournful knell - For the true heart buried ’neath earth and stone, - Far down in the heart of the mine, alone. - A sorrowful peal on their wedding-day, - For the breaking heart and the heart of clay, - And the face that looked from the tresses brown, - Was the saddest face in the mining town. - - Thus time rolled along on its weary way, - Until fifty years, with their shadows gray, - Had darkened the light of her sweet eyes’ glow, - And had turned the brown of her hair to snow. - Oh! never the kiss from a husband’s lips, - Or the clasp of a child’s sweet finger-tips, - Had lifted one moment the shadows brown - From the saddest heart in the mining town. - - Far down in the depths of the mine, one day, - In the loosened earth they were digging away. - They discovered a face, so young, so fair; - From the smiling lip to the bright brown hair - Untouched by the finger of Time’s decay. - When they drew him up to the light of day, - The wondering people gathered ’round - To gaze at the man thus strangely found. - - Then a woman came from among the crowd, - With her long white hair and her slight form bowed. - She silently knelt by the form of clay, - And kissed the lips that were cold and gray. - Then, the sad old face, with its snowy hair - On his youthful bosom lay pillowed there. - He had found her at last, his waiting bride, - And the people buried them side by side. - - ROSE HARTWICK THORPE. - - -TOMMY’S PRAYER. - -This beautiful poem is full of the pathos and suffering of poverty. It -should be delivered with expression and feeling. Although lengthy the -interest is sustained throughout. - - In a dark and dismal alley where the sunshine never came, - Dwelt a little lad named Tommy, sickly, delicate and lame; - He had never yet been healthy, but had lain since he was born, - Dragging out his weak existence well nigh hopeless and forlorn. - - He was six, was little Tommy, ’twas just five years ago - Since his drunken mother dropped him, and the babe was crippled so. - He had never known the comfort of a mother’s tender care, - But her cruel blows and curses made his pain still worse to bear. - - There he lay within the cellar from the morning till the night, - Starved, neglected, cursed, ill-treated, naught to make his dull life - bright; - Not a single friend to love him, not a living thing to love— - For he knew not of a Saviour, or a heaven up above. - - ’Twas a quiet summer evening; and the alley, too, was still; - Tommy’s little heart was sinking, and he felt so lonely, till, - Floating up the quiet alley, wafted inwards from the street, - Came the sound of some one singing, sounding, oh! so clear and sweet. - - Eagerly did Tommy listen as the singing nearer came— - Oh! that he could see the singer! How he wished he wasn’t lame. - Then he called and shouted loudly, till the singer heard the sound, - And on noting whence it issued, soon the little cripple found. - - ’Twas a maiden, rough and rugged, hair unkempt and naked feet, - All her garments torn and ragged, her appearance far from neat; - “So yer called me,” said the maiden, “wonder wot yer wants o’ me; - Most folks call me Singing Jessie; wot may your name chance to be?” - - “My name’s Tommy; I’m a cripple, and I want to hear you sing, - For it makes me feel so happy—sing me something, anything.” - Jessie laughed, and answered, smiling, “I can’t stay here very long, - But I’ll sing a hymn to please you, wot I calls the ‘Glory song’” - - Then she sang to him of Heaven, pearly gates and streets of gold, - Where the happy angel children are not starved or nipped with cold; - But where happiness and gladness never can decrease or end, - And where kind and loving Jesus is their Sovereign and their Friend. - - Oh! how Tommy’s eyes did glisten as he drank in every word - As it fell from “Singing Jessie”—was it true, what he had heard? - And so anxiously he asked her: “Is there really such a place?” - And a tear began to trickle down his pallid little face. - - “Tommy, you’re a little heathen; why, it’s up beyond the sky, - And if yer will love the Saviour, yer shall go there when yer die.” - “Then,” said Tommy; “tell me, Jessie, how can I the Saviour love, - When I’m down in this ’ere cellar, and he’s up in Heaven above?” - - So the little ragged maiden who had heard at Sunday-school - All about the way to Heaven, and the Christian’s golden rule, - Taught the little cripple Tommy how to love and how to pray, - Then she sang a “Song of Jesus,” kissed his cheek and went away. - - Tommy lay within the cellar which had grown so dark and cold, - Thinking all about the children in the streets of shining gold; - And he heeded not the darkness of that damp and chilly room, - For the joy in Tommy’s bosom could disperse the deepest gloom. - - “Oh! if I could only see it,” thought the cripple, as he lay. - “Jessie said that Jesus listens and I think I’ll try and pray;” - So he put his hands together, and he closed his little eyes, - And in accents weak, yet earnest, sent this message to the skies: - - “Gentle Jesus, please forgive me, as I didn’t know afore, - That yer cared for little cripples who is weak and very poor, - And I never heard of Heaven till that Jessie came to-day - And told me all about it, so I wants to try and pray. - - “You can see me, can’t yer, Jesus? Jessie told me that yer could, - And I somehow must believe it, for it seems so prime and good; - And she told me if I loved you, I should see yer when I die, - In the bright and happy heaven that is up beyond the sky. - - “Lord, I’m only just a cripple, and I’m no use here below, - For I heard my mother whisper she’d be glad if I could go; - And I’m cold and hungry sometimes; and I feel so lonely, too, - Can’t yer take me, gentle Jesus, up to Heaven along o’ you? - - “Oh! I’d be so good and patient, and I’d never cry or fret; - And yer kindness to me, Jesus, I would surely not forget; - I would love you all I know of, and would never make a noise— - Can’t you find me just a corner, where I’ll watch the other boys? - - “Oh! I think yer’ll do it, Jesus, something seems to tell me so, - For I feel so glad and happy, and I do so want to go; - How I long to see yer, Jesus, and the children all so bright! - Come and fetch me, won’t yer, Jesus? Come and fetch me home to-night!” - - Tommy ceased his supplication, he had told his soul’s desire, - And he waited for the answer till his head began to tire; - Then he turned towards his corner, and lay huddled in a heap, - Closed his little eyes so gently, and was quickly fast asleep. - - Oh, I wish that every scoffer could have seen his little face - As he lay there in the corner, in that damp and noisome place; - For his countenance was shining like an angel’s, fair and bright, - And it seemed to fill the cellar with a holy, heavenly light. - - He had only heard of Jesus from a ragged singing girl, - He might well have wondered, pondered, till his brain began to whirl; - But he took it as she told it, and believed it then and there, - Simply trusting in the Saviour, and His kind and tender care. - - In the morning, when the mother came to wake her crippled boy, - She discovered that his features wore a look of sweetest joy, - And she shook him somewhat roughly, but the cripple’s face was cold— - He had gone to join the children in the streets of shining gold. - - Tommy’s prayer had soon been answered, and the Angel Death had come - To remove him from his cellar, to His bright and heavenly home - Where sweet comfort, joy and gladness never can decrease or end, - And where Jesus reigns eternally, his Sovereign and his Friend. - - I. F. NICHOLS. - - -ROBBY AND RUTH. - - Robby and Ruth strolled out one day, - Over the meadows, beyond the town; - The robins sang, and the fields looked gay, - And the orchards dropped their blossoms down: - But they took no thought of song or flower, - For this, to them, was love’s sweet hour; - And love’s hour is fleet, - And swift love’s feet, - When a lad and a winsome lassie meet! - - Robby and Ruth in the church were wed, - Ere the orchard apples began to fall; - “Till death shall part,” were the words they said, - And love’s pure sunlight hallowed all. - Ah! never a bride more sweet and fair - Wore orange-blooms in her sunny hair! - The maiden sung, - And the joy-bells rung - And echoed the orchards and groves among. - - Robby and Ruth kept house together, - Till both were old and bent and gray, - And little they cared for outside weather, - For home’s sweet light gilded all their way; - And many a precious nestling came - To be called by the dear old household name; - And the love that blessed - When first confessed - Remained in their hearts a constant guest. - - Robby and Ruth grew weary at last— - Bobby went first the shining way; - And when the earth on _his_ grave was cast, - The faithful Ruth could no longer stay; - And daisy ne’er blossomed or wild-rose grew - O’er hearts more tender, leal and true! - Love’s vows were sweet - When they sat at Love’s feet, - And Heaven makes love itself complete. - - LOUISA S. UPHAM. - - - - -RECITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. - - -The perplexing question of obtaining something suitable for the “little -tots” to recite, is solved by the choice collection of pieces here -presented. The pathetic, the humorous, the beautiful, in short, every -variety of recitation for the young people, may be found in the following -pages, including drills and motion recitals, and selections for special -occasions, all of which are entertaining and admirably suited to the -little folks. - - -TWO LITTLE MAIDENS - - A sorry little maiden - Is Miss Fuss-and-Feather, - Crying for the golden moon, - Grumbling at the weather; - The sun will fade her gown, - The rain will spoil her bonnet, - If she ventures out, - And lets it fall upon it. - - A merry little maiden - Is Miss Rags-and-Tatters, - Chatting of the twinkling stars - And many other matters; - Dancing in the sunshine, - Pattering through the rain, - Her clothes never cause her - A single thought or pain. - - AGNES CARR. - - -THE WAY TO SUCCEED. - - Drive the nail aright, boys, - Hit it on the head; - Strike with all your might, boys, - While the iron’s red. - - When you’ve work to do, boys, - Do it with a will; - They who reach the top, boys, - First must climb the hill. - - Standing at the foot, boys, - Gazing at the sky, - How can you ever get up, boys, - If you never try? - - Though you stumble oft, boys, - Never be downcast; - Try, and try again, boys— - You’ll succeed at last. - - -WHEN PA BEGINS TO SHAVE. - - When Sunday mornin’ comes around - My pa hangs up his strop, - An’ takes his razor out an’ makes - It go c’flop! c’flop! - An’ then he gits his mug an’ brush - An’ yells t’ me, “Behave!” - I tell y’u, things is mighty still— - When pa begins t’ shave. - - Then pa he stirs his brush around - An’ makes th’ soapsuds fly; - An’ sometimes, when he stirs too hard, - He gits some in his eye. - I tell y’u, but it’s funny then - To see pa stamp and rave; - But y’u mustn’t git ketched laffin’— - When pa begins t’ shave. - - Th’ hired hand he dassent talk, - An’ even ma’s afeard, - An’ y’u can hear th’ razor click - A-cuttin’ through pa’s beard! - An’ then my Uncle Bill he laffs - An’ says: “Gosh! John, you’re brave,” - An’ pa he swears, an’ ma jest smiles— - When pa begins t’ shave. - - When pa gits done a-shavin’ of - His face, he turns around, - And Uncle Bill says: “Why, John, - Yu’r chin looks like plowed ground!” - An’ then he laffs—jest laffs an’ laffs, - But I got t’ behave, - Cos things’s apt to happen quick— - When pa begins t’ shave. - - HARRY DOUGLASS ROBBINS. - - -A BOY’S VIEW. - - Girl is very nice! Everybody who has not the misfortune to be - girl will allow this. Nice girl will allow it also as far as - itself is concerned. Strange girl is objectionable in the eyes of - girl generally. - - Powder improves girl sometimes, but it seldom finds this out - until it is suggested to it by one of experience. - - Healthy girl costs its parents less money for doctors’ bills, but - persons who write romantic tales for circulating libraries choose - unhealthy and pasty faced girl to write about—the swooning kind - preferred. - - If I were not boy I think I should like to be girl. It’s best fun - to be boy when there’s plenty of girl about. - - -MAMMY’S CHURNING SONG. - - Set still, honey, let ole Mammy tell yer ’bout de churn, - Wid de cream en clabber dashin’, - En de buttermilk er-splashin’. - Dis de chune hit am er-singin’ ’fore hit ’gin ter turn: - Jiggery, jiggery, jiggery, jum, - Bum-bum-bum, - But-ter-come, - Massa give old nigger some. - - Jump down, honey, en fotch me dat rag fum de table, fer ter wipe - off dis hyah led. Tole yer so, dat milk gwine ter splatter up - hyah ’reckly! Dar now, dat’s er good chile, git back in mer lap. - - Now de cream, en milk, en clabber’s churnin’ up so fas’, - Hyah hit splatterin’ en er-splutterin’, - En er-mixin’, en er-mutterin’, - In de churn en roun’ de dasher, singin’ ter de las’; - Jiggery, jiggery, jiggery, jum, - Bum-bum-bum, - But-ter-come, - Massa gib old nigger some. - - Uh-er! Teck kyah, honey, keep dem fingers way fum dar! Butter - mos’ come now: set still jis’ er leetle w’ile longer. - - Sooen de lumps ob butter ’ll be er-floatin’ on de top— - Now de ole churn’s fa’rly hummin’, - Tell yer wot, de butter comin’— - Done come! Mammy’s arm so ti-yerd, now she’s gwine ter stop. - Jiggery, jiggery, jiggery, jum, - Bum-bum-bum, - But-ter-come, - Mammy ’ll gib de baby some. - - Dar now! [_removing the top and giving the dasher a circular - motion_] jis’ peep in dar en see de lumps ob yaller butter - er-huddlin’ tergedder. Now run fotch yer leetle blue mug, en - Mammy ’ll gib yer some nice sweet buttermilk right outen dis hyah - churn. - - EDWARD A. OLDHAM. - - -THE TWENTY FROGS! - - Twenty froggies went to school, - Down beside a rushy pool; - Twenty little coats of green, - Twenty vests all white and clean. - “We must be in time,” said they; - “First we study, then we play; - That is how we keep the rule - When we froggies go to school.” - - Master Bullfrog, grave and stern, - Called the classes in their turn; - Taught them how to nobly strive, - Likewise how to leap and dive. - From his seat upon the log, - Taught them how to say “Ker-chug,” - Also how to dodge a blow - From the sticks which bad boys throw. - - Twenty froggies grew up fast; - Bullfrogs they became at last; - Not one dunce among the lot, - Not one lesson they forgot; - Polished in a high degree, - As each froggie ought to be; - Now they sit on other logs, - Teaching other little frogs. - - -ONLY A BIRD. - - Only a bird! and a vagrant boy - Fits a pebble with a boyish skill - Into the fold of a supple sling. - “Watch me hit him. I can an’ I will.” - Whirr! and a silence chill and sad - Falls like a pall on the vibrant air, - From a birchen tree, whence a shower of song - Has fallen in ripples everywhere. - - Only a bird! and the tiny throat - With quaver and trill and whistle of flute, - Bruised and bleeding and silent lies - There at his feet. Its chords are mute. - And the boy, with a loud and boisterous laugh, - Proud of his prowess and brutal skill, - Throws it aside with a careless toss— - “Only a bird! it was made to kill.” - - Only a bird! yet far away - Little ones clamor and cry for food— - Clamor and cry, and the chill of night - Settles over the orphan brood. - Weaker and fainter the moaning call - For a brooding breast that shall never come. - Morning breaks o’er a lonely nest, - Songless and lifeless; mute and dumb. - - MARY MORRISON. - - -THE WAY TO DO IT. - -Teach the child to make all the gestures and facial expressions. This is -a captivating recital for any “little tot” who can do it well, and this -will require patient practice. - - I’ll tell you how I speak a piece: - First, I make my bow; - Then I bring my words out clear - And plain as I know how. - - Next, I throw my hands up—so! - Then I lift my eyes: - That’s to let my hearers know - Something doth surprise. - - Next, I grin and show my teeth, - Nearly every one, - Shake my shoulders, hold my sides: - That’s the sign of fun. - - Next, I start, and knit my brows, - Hold my head erect: - Something’s wrong, you see, and I - Decidedly object. - - Then I wabble at my knees, - Clutch at shadows near, - Tremble well from top to toe: - That’s the sign of fear. - - Now I start, and with a leap, - Seize an airy dagger. - “Wretch!” I cry: that’s tragedy - Every soul to stagger. - - Then I let my voice grow faint, - Gasp, and hold my breath, - Tumble down and plunge about: - That’s a villain’s death. - - Quickly then I come to life, - Perfectly restored; - With a bow my speech is done. - Now you’ll please applaud. - - MARY MAPES DODGE. - - -WE MUST ALL SCRATCH. - -For five little children and one older, a girl, who takes the part of the -mother. They stand in a row and each steps forward and recites the verse. - - Said the first little chicken, - With a queer little squirm, - “I wish I could find - A fat little worm.” - - Said the next little chicken, - With an odd little shrug, - “I wish I could find - A fat little bug,” - - Said the third little chicken, - With a sharp little squeal, - “I wish I could find - Some nice yellow meal.” - - Said the fourth little chicken, - With a small sigh of grief, - “I wish I could find - A green little leaf.” - - Said the fifth little chicken, - With a faint little moan, - “I wish I could find - A wee gravel stone.” - - “Now, see here,” said the mother, - From the green garden patch, - “If you want any breakfast, - Just come here and scratch.” - - -KITTY AT SCHOOL. - - Come, Kitty dear, I’ll tell you what - We’ll do this rainy day; - Just you and I, all by ourselves, - At keeping _school_, will play. - - The teacher, Kitty, I will be; - And _you_ shall be the class; - And you must close attention give, - If you expect to pass. - - Now, Kitty, “C-A-T” spells _cat_. - Stop playing with your tail! - You are so heedless, I am sure - In spelling you will fail. - - “C-A” oh, Kitty! _do_ sit still! - You must not chase that fly! - You’ll never learn a single word, - You do not even try. - - I’ll tell you what my teacher says - To me most ev’ry day— - She says that girls can never learn - While they are full of play. - - So try again—another word; - “L-A-C-E” spells “_lace_.” - Why, Kitty, it is not polite - In school to wash your face! - - You are a naughty, naughty puss, - And keep you in I should; - But then, I love you, dear, so much - I don’t see how I could! - - O, see! the sun shines bright again! - We’ll run out doors and play; - We’ll leave our school and lessons for - Another rainy day. - - KATE ULMER. - - -A FELLOW’S MOTHER. - - “A fellow’s mother,” said Fred the wise, - With his rosy cheeks and his merry eyes, - “Knows what to do if a fellow gets hurt - By a thump, or a bruise, or a fall in the dirt. - - “A fellow’s mother has bags and strings, - Rags and buttons, and lots of things; - No matter how busy she is, she’ll stop - To see how well you can spin your top. - - “She does not care—not much, I mean— - If a fellow’s face is not always clean; - And if your trousers are torn at the knee - She can put in a patch that you’d never see. - - “A fellow’s mother is never mad, - But only sorry if you are bad, - And I’ll tell you this, if you’re only true, - She’ll always forgive whate’er you do. - - “I’m sure of this,” said Fred the wise, - With a manly look in his laughing eyes, - “I’ll mind my mother, quick, every day, - A fellow’s a baby that don’t obey.” - - M. E. SANGSTER. - - -THE STORY KATIE TOLD. - - Now, stay right still and listen, kitty-cat, and I’ll tell you a - story. - - Once there was a girl. - - She was a pretty good little girl, and minded her papa ’n’ mamma - everything they said, only sometimes she didn’t, and then she was - naughty; but she was always sorry, and said she wouldn’t do so - any more, and her mamma’d forgive her. - - She was going to hang up her stocking. - - “You’ll have to be pretty good, ’lest ’twon’t be filled,” said - her mamma. - - “’Less maybe there’ll be a big bunch of sticks in it,” said her - papa. - - Do you think that’s a nice way to talk, kitty-cat? I don’t. - - So the little girl was good as she could be, ’less she was - bigger, and didn’t cry and slap her little sister hardly any at - all, and always minded her mamma when she came where the chimney - was, ’specially much. - - So she hung up her stocking. - - And in the night she got awake, and wanted it to come morning; - but in the morning she didn’t get awake till ’twas all sunshiny - out doors. - - Then she ran quick as she could to look at her stocking where - she’d hung it; and true’s you live, kitty-cat, there wasn’t the - leastest thing in it—not the leastest bit of a scrimp! - - Oh, the little girl felt dreadfully! How’d you feel, s’pose it - had been you, kitty-cat? - - She ’menced to cry, the little girl did, and she kept going - harder ’n harder, till by’mby she screeched orfly, and her mamma - came running to see what the matter was. - - “Mercy me!” said her mamma. “Look over by the window ’fore you do - that any more, Kathie.” - - That little girl’s name was Kathie too, kitty-cat, just the - same’s mine. - - So she looked over by the window, the way her mamma said, and—oh! - there was the loveliest dolly’s house you ever saw in all your - born life. - - It had curtains to pull to the sides when you wanted to play, and - pull in front when you didn’t. - - There was a bed-room, kitty-cat, and a dinner-room, and a - kitchen, and a parlor, and they all had carpets on. - - And there was the sweetest dolly in the parlor, all dressed up in - blue silk! Oh, dear! And a penano, to play real little tunes on, - and a rocking-chair, and—O kitty-cat! I can’t begin to tell you - half about it. - - I can’t about the bed-room, either, and the dinner-room. - - But the kitchen was the very bestest of all. There was a - stove—a teeny tonty mite of a one, kitty-cat,—with dishes just - zactly like mamma’s, only littler, of course, and fry-pans and - everything; and spoons to stir with, and a rolling-pin, and two - little cutters-out, and the darlingest baker-sheet ever you saw! - - And the first thing that little girl did was to make some teenty - mites of cookies, ’cause her mamma let her; and if you’ll come - right down stairs, kitty-cat, I’ll give you one. - - ’Cause I was that little girl, kitty-cat, all the time. - - -A LITTLE ROGUE. - - Grandma was nodding, I rather think; - Harry was sly and quick as a wink; - He climbed in the back of her great arm-chair, - And nestled himself very snugly there; - Grandma’s dark locks were mingled with white, - And quick this fact came to his sight; - A sharp twinge soon she felt at her hair, - And woke with a start, to find Harry there. - “Why, what are you doing, my child?” she said; - He answered, “I’se pulling a basting fread?” - - -MATTIE’S WANTS AND WISHES. - - I wants a piece of cal’co - To make my doll a dess; - I doesn’t want a big piece; - A yard’ll do, I guess. - I wish you’d fred my needle, - And find my fimble, too— - I has such heaps o’ sewin’ - I don’t know what to do. - - I wants my Maud a bonnet; - She hasn’t none at all; - And Fred must have a jacket; - His ozzer one’s too small. - I wants to go to grandma’s; - You promised me I might. - I know she’d like to see me; - I wants to go to-night. - - She lets me wipe the dishes, - And see in grandpa’s watch— - I wish I’d free, four pennies - To buy some butter-scotch. - My Hepsy tored her apron - A tum’lin’ down the stair, - And Cæsar’s lost his pantloons. - And needs anozzer pair. - - I wants some newer mittens— - I wish you’d knit me some, - ’Cause most my fingers freezes, - They leaks so in the fum. - I wored ’em out last summer, - A pullin’ George’s sled; - I wish you wouldn’t laugh so— - It hurts me in my head. - - I wish I had a cookie; - I’m hungry’s I can be. - If you hasn’t pretty large ones, - You’d better bring me free. - I wish I had a p’ano— - Won’t you buy me one to keep? - O, dear! I feels so tired, - I wants to go to sleep. - - GRACE GORDON. - - -WON’T AND WILL. - - Sha’n’t and Won’t were two little brothers, - Angry, and sullen, and gruff; - Try and Will are dear little sisters, - One can scarcely love them enough. - - Sha’n’t and Won’t looked down on their noses, - Their faces were dismal to see; - Try and Will are brighter than roses - In June, and as blithe as a bee. - - Sha’n’t and Won’t are backward and stupid, - Little, indeed, did they know; - Try and Will learn something new daily, - And seldom are heedless or slow. - - Sha’n’t and Won’t loved nothing, no, nothing, - So much as to have their own way; - Try and Will give up to their elders, - And try to please others at play. - - Sha’n’t and Won’t came to terrible trouble: - Their story is awful to tell; - Try and Will are in the schoolroom, - Learning to read and spell. - - -WILLIE’S BREECHES. - -The boy’s garments should suit the description contained in the piece. -In reciting the last two lines he should point to his head, stretch out -his hands to show them, look down at his feet, and then catch hold of his -pants and spread them out on the sides, putting on at the same time a -look of pride. - - I’m just a little boy, you know, - And hardly can remember, - When people ask how old I am, - To tell ’em four last ’vember. - And yet for all I am so small, - I made so many stitches - For mamma’s fingers, that she put - Her little boy in breeches. - - You may be sure that I was glad; - I marched right up and kissed her, - Then gave my bibs and petticoats, - And all, to baby sister. - I never whine, now I’m so fine, - And don’t get into messes; - For mamma says, if I am bad, - She’ll put me back in dresses! - - There’s buttons up and down my legs, - And buttons on my jacket; - I’d count ’em all, but baby makes - Just now, an awful racket. - She’s sitting there, behind the chair, - With blocks, and dolls, and kitty, - A playing “go to gran’ma’s house,” - Alone, ’n that’s a pity. - - I think I’ll go and help her some, - I’m sure it would amuse me; - So I won’t bother any more - To talk—if you’ll excuse me. - But first I’ll stand before the glass, - From top to toe it reaches; - Now look! there’s head, and hands, and feet, - But all the rest is breeches! - - ETTA G. SALSBURY. - - -LITTLE DORA’S SOLILOQUY. - - I tan’t see what our baby boy is dood for anyway: - He don’t know how to walk or talk, he don’t know how to play; - He tears up ev’ry single zing he posser-bil-ly tan, - An’ even tried to break, one day, my mamma’s bestest fan. - He’s al’ays tumblin’ ’bout ze floor, an’ gives us awful scares, - An’ when he goes to bed at night, he never says his prayers. - On Sunday, too, he musses up my go-to-meetin’ clothes, - An’ once I foun’ him hard at work a-pinc’in’ Dolly’s nose; - An’ ze uzzer day zat naughty boy (now what you s’pose you zink?) - Upset a dreat big bottle of my papa’s writin’ ink; - An’, ’stead of kyin’ dood an’ hard, as course he ought to done, - He laughed and kicked his head ’most off, as zough he zought ’twas fun. - - He even tries to reach up high, an’ pull zings off ze shelf, - An’ he’s al’ays wantin’ you, of course, jus’ when you wants you’self. - I rather dess, I really do, from how he pulls my turls, - Zey all was made a-purpose for to ’noy us little dirls; - An’ I wish zere wasn’t no such zing as naughty baby boys - Why—why, zat’s him a-kyin’ now; he makes a drefful noise, - I dess I better run and see, for if he has—boo-hoo!— - Felled down ze stairs and killed his-self, whatever s-s-s’all I do! - - -THE SQUIRREL’S LESSON. - - Two little squirrels, out in the sun, - One gathered nuts, and the other had none; - “Time enough yet,” his constant refrain; - “Summer is still just on the wane.” - - Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate: - He roused him at last, but he roused him too late; - Down fell the snow from a pitiless cloud, - And gave little squirrel a spotless white shroud. - - Two little boys in a school-room were placed, - One always perfect, the other disgraced; - “Time though yet for my learning,” he said; - “I will climb, by and by, from the foot to the head.” - - Listen, my darling; their locks are turned gray; - One as a Governor sitteth to-day; - The other, a pauper, looks out at the door - Of the almshouse, and idles his days as of yore. - - Two kinds of people we meet every day; - One is at work, the other at play, - Living uncared for, dying unknown— - The busiest hive hath ever a drone. - - -LITTLE KITTY. - - Once there was a little kitty, - Whiter than snow; - In the barn she used to frolic, - Long time ago; - In the barn a little mousie - Ran to and fro; - For she heard the kitty coming, - Long time ago. - - Two black eyes had little kitty, - Black as a sloe; - And they spied the little mousie, - Long time ago. - Nine pearl teeth had little kitty, - All in a row; - And they bit the little mousie, - Long time ago. - - When the teeth bit little mousie, - Little mousie cried, “Oh!” - But she got away from kitty, - Long time ago. - Kitty White so shyly comes, - To catch the mousie Gray; - But mousie hears her softly step - And quickly runs away. - - -LABOR SONG. - -This is a charming exercise for boys and girls. Each should be dressed -in the costume of the character to be represented, and, as far as -possible, should go through the motions called for by the part. The -properties can all be placed on the stage before the performance begins. -Each character comes in alone, those who have already entered remaining -until the close. All unite in singing the chorus, after each performer -has spoken or sung (according to choice) the part he or she is to act. -Music suitable for this selection is herewith furnished. Come in promptly -and avoid long pauses. - -[Music] - - THE FARMER (_with scythe and dressed like a farmer_.) - - I’m glad I am a husbandman, - My acres broad to till, - And in the Autumn of the year - My many barns to fill. - How happy is the farmer’s life, - ’Tis one of peace and joy, - To reap and sow, and plow and mow, - And thus the time employ. - - CHORUS. - - How happy is the laborer, - For when the day is o’er, - The evening shadows gather round, - That he may work no more; - How happy is the laborer, - His heart is light and gay, - And merrily his song rings out, - Throughout the livelong day. - - THE FARMER’S WIFE (_kneading bread_). - - I’m glad I am a farmer’s wife, - The wheaten bread to knead, - And when the men come home from work - Their hungry mouths to feed. - I keep my house in perfect trim, - I sweep and dust and bake, - And when the busy day is done, - Sweet is the rest I take.—CHORUS. - - THE FARMER’S GIRL (_with broom and milk pail_) - - I’m glad I am a farmer’s girl, - I love the farmer’s life, - And if I ever wed at all, - I’ll be a farmer’s wife. - My milking pails make music sweet, - I’m happy all the day, - Work gives my cheek the glow of health, - And drives dull care away.—CHORUS. - - THE FARMER’S BOY (_with rake_). - - I’m glad I am a farmer’s boy, - To plant and rake and hoe— - I get upon old Dobbin’s back, - And don’t I make him go? - I shout and make the welkin ring, - I sing my merry song, - And, roaming through the fields and woods, - I’m jolly all day long. [_Boy whistles Chorus._ - - DAIRY MAID (_with churn_.) - - I’m glad I am a dairy maid, - My butter is so yellow; - I know the lad that catches me - Will be a lucky fellow. - I’m glad I am a dairy maid, - My heart is light and gay, - And with my milk and cream and churn, - I’m happy all the day.—CHORUS. - - WASHERWOMAN (_with tub and washboard_). - - I’m glad I am a washerwoman, - Ye know me by my look, - I’ll wash and starch your snowy clothes, - And fold them like a book; - Then sind me in your orders quick - For I’ve no time for fooling; - - (_Spoken_). - - I’ll do thim to the best of my ability, - Ontirely sure.—CHORUS. - - THE SHOEMAKER (_shoe, last and hammer_). - - I’m glad I am a shoemaker, - With hammer, last and shoe; - Without the slippers that I make, - What would the ladies do? - I cut the leather, fit the last— - To me, my work is play— - From morn to night, with heart so light, - I sing and peg away.—CHORUS. - - THE BLACKSMITH (_with anvil and hammer_). - - I’m glad I am a blacksmith, - A noble horse to shoe, - I hold within my lap his hoof, - And whack the shoe-nail through; - I swing the hammer and I know - Just how to make a hit, - And indigestion, if you please, - Don’t trouble me a bit.—CHORUS. - - THE SCHOOL-TEACHER (_with slate, hook and rule; three or four children - to take part of scholars_). - - I’m glad I am a school-teacher, - With slate and book and rule, - To teach the young idea to shoot, - And extirpate the fool. - The heights of knowledge I point out, - And upward lead the way, - And with my pupils pressing on, - I’m happy every day.—CHORUS. - - -WHAT BABY SAID. - - I am here. And if this is what they call the world, I don’t think - much of it. It’s a very flannelly world and smells of paregoric - awfully. It’s a dreadful light world, too, and makes me blink, I - tell you. And I don’t know what to do with my hands; I think I’ll - dig my fists in my eyes. No, I won’t. I’ll scratch at the corner - of my blanket and chew it up, and then I’ll holler; whatever - happens, I’ll holler. And the more paregoric they give me, the - louder I’ll yell. That old nurse puts the spoon in the corner of - my mouth, sidewise like, and keeps tasting my milk herself all - the while. She spilt snuff in it last night, and when I hollered - she trotted me. That comes of being a two-days-old baby. Never - mind; when I’m a man, I’ll pay her back good. - - There’s a pin sticking in me now, and if I say a word about it, - I’ll be trotted or fed; and I would rather have catnip-tea. I - heard folks say, “Hush! don’t wake up Emeline’s baby;” and I - suppose that pretty, white-faced woman on the pillow is Emeline. - - No, I was mistaken; for a chap was in here just now and wanted - to see Bob’s baby and looked at me and said I was a funny little - toad, and looked just like Bob. He smelt of cigars. I wonder - who else I belong to! Yes, there’s another one—that’s “Gamma.” - “It was Gamma’s baby, so it was.” I declare, I don’t know who I - belong to; but I’ll holler, and maybe I’ll find out. There comes - snuffy with catnip tea. I’m going to sleep. I wonder why my hands - won’t go where I want them to! - - -ONE LITTLE ACT. - - I saw a man, with tottering steps, - Come down a graveled walk, one day; - The honored frost of many years - Upon his scattered thin locks lay. - With trembling hands he strove to raise - The latch that held the little gate, - When rosy lips looked up and smiled,— - A silvery child-voice said, “Please wait.” - - A little girl oped wide the gate, - And held it till he passed quite through, - Then closed it, raising to his face - Her modest eyes of winsome blue. - “May Heaven bless you, little one,” - The old man said, with tear-wet eyes; - “Such deeds of kindness to the old - Will be rewarded in the skies.” - - ’Twas such a little thing to do— - A moment’s time it took—no more; - And then the dancing, graceful feet - Had vanished through the school-room door. - And yet I’m sure the angels smiled, - And penned it down in words of gold; - ’Tis such a blessed thing to see - The young so thoughtful of the old. - - -THE LITTLE ORATOR. - -Lines written for Edward Everett, when a child. - - Pray, how should I, a little lad, - In speaking make a figure? - You’re only joking, I’m afraid— - Do wait till I am bigger. - - But, since you wish to hear my part, - And urge me to begin it, - I’ll strive for praise, with all my heart, - Though small the hope to win it. - - I’ll tell a tale how Farmer John - A little roan colt bred, sir, - And every night and every morn - He watered and he fed, sir. - - Said Neighbor Joe to Farmer John, - “Aren’t you a silly dolt, sir, - To spend such time and care upon - A little useless colt, sir?” - - Said Farmer John to Neighbor Joe, - “I bring my little roan up, - Not for the good he now can do, - But will do when he’s grown up.” - - The moral you can well espy, - To keep the tale from spoiling; - The little colt, you think, is I— - I know it by your smiling. - - And now, my friends, please to excuse - My lisping and my stammers; - I, for this once, have done my best, - And so—I’ll make my manners. - - THADDEUS MASON HARRIS. - - -A GENTLEMAN. - - I knew him for a gentleman - By signs that never fail; - His coat was rough and rather worn, - His cheeks were thin and pale— - A lad who had his way to make, - With little time for play; - I knew him for a gentleman - By certain signs to-day. - - He met his mother on the street; - Off came his little cap. - My door was shut; he waited there - Until I heard his rap. - He took the bundle from my hand, - And when I dropped my pen, - He sprang to pick it up for me— - This gentleman of ten. - - He does not push and crowd along; - His voice is gently pitched; - He does not fling his books about - As if he were bewitched, - He stands aside to let you pass; - He always shuts the door; - He runs on errands willingly - To forge and mill and store. - - He thinks of you before himself, - He serves you if he can; - For, in whatever company, - The manners make the man. - At ten or forty, ’tis the same; - The manner tells the tale, - And I discern the gentleman - By signs that never fail. - - MARGARET E. SANGSTER. - - -BABIES AND KITTENS. - - There were two kittens, a black and a gray, - And grandma said with a frown: - “It never will do to keep them both, - The black one we had better drown.” - - “Don’t cry, my dear,” to tiny Bess, - “One kitten is enough to keep, - Now run to nurse, for ’tis growing late - And time you were fast asleep.” - - The morning dawned, and rosy and sweet, - Came little Bess from her nap, - The nurse said, “Go in mamma’s room, - And look in grandma’s lap.” - - “Come here,” said grandma, with a smile, - From the rocking-chair, where she sat, - “God has sent you two little sisters, - What do you think of that?” - - Bess looked at the babies a moment, - With their wee heads, yellow and brown, - And then to grandma soberly said: - “Which one are you going to drown?” - - L. M. HADLEY. - - -A DISSATISFIED CHICKEN. - - There was a little chicken that was shut up in a shell, - He thought to himself, “I’m sure I cannot tell - What I am walled in here for—a shocking coop I find, - Unfitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind.” - - He went out in the barnyard one lovely morn in May, - Each hen he found spring-cleaning in the only proper way; - “This yard is much too narrow—a shocking coop I find, - Unfitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind.” - - He crept up to the gateway and slipped betwixt a crack, - The world stretched wide before him, and just as widely back; - “This world is much too narrow—a shocking coop I find, - Unfitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind. - - “I should like to have ideals, I should like to tread the stars, - To get the unattainable, and free my soul from bars; - I should like to leave this dark earth, and some other dwelling find - More fitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind. - - “There’s a place where ducks and pleasure boats go sailing to and fro, - There’s one world on the surface and another world below.” - The little waves crept nearer and, on the brink inclined, - They swallowed up the chicken with an enterprising mind. - - A. G. WATERS. - - -THE LITTLE TORMENT. - - My name’s Jack. I’m eight years old. I’ve a sister Arathusa, - and she calls me a little torment. I’ll tell you why: You know - Arathusa has got a beau, and he comes to see her every night, and - they turn the gas ’way, ’way down ’till you can’t hardly see. I - like to stay in the room with the gas on full blaze, but Arathusa - skites me out of the room every night. - - I checked her once, you better believe. You know she went to - the door to let Alphonso in, and I crawled under the sofa. Then - they came in, and it got awful dark, and they sat down on the - sofa, and I couldn’t hear nothing but smack! smack! smack! Then I - reached out and jerked Arathusa’s foot. Then she jumped and said, - “Oh, mercy, what’s that?” and Alphonso said she was a “timid - little creature.” “Oh, Alphonso, I’m happy by your side, but when - I think of your going away it almost breaks my heart.” - - Then I snickered right out, I couldn’t help it, and Arathusa got - up, went and peeked through the keyhole and said, “I do believe - that’s Jack, nasty little torment, he’s always where he isn’t - wanted.” Do you know this made me mad, and I crawled out from - under the sofa and stood up before her and said, “You think - you are smart because you have got a beau. I guess I know what - you’ve been doing; you’ve been sitting on Alphonso’s lap, and - letting him kiss you like you let Bill Jones kiss you. You ought - to be ashamed of yourself. If it hadn’t been for that old false - front of yours, Pa would have let me have a bicycle like Tom - Clifford’s. You needn’t be grinding them false teeth of yours - at me, I ain’t a-going out of here. I ain’t so green as I look. - I guess I know a thing or two. I don’t care if you are 28 years - old, you ain’t no boss of me!” - - -THE REASON WHY. - - A Boston master said, one day, - “Boys, tell me, if you can, I pray, - Why Washington’s birthday should shine - In to-day’s history, more than mine?” - - At once such stillness in the hall - You might have heard a feather fall; - Exclaims a boy not three feet high, - “Because _he_ never told a lie!” - - -A CHILD’S REASONING. - - She was ironing dolly’s new gown, - Maid Marian, four years old, - With her brows puckered down - In a painstaking frown - Under her tresses of gold. - - ’Twas Sunday, and nurse coming in - Exclaimed in a tone of surprise: - “Don’t you know it’s a sin - Any work to begin - On the day that the Lord sanctifies?” - - Then, lifting her face like a rose, - Thus answered this wise little tot: - “Now, don’t you suppose - The good Lord He knows - This little iron ain’t hot?” - - -A SWELL DINNER. - - A plain, grave man once grew quite celebrated; - Dame Grundy met him with her blandest smile, - And Mrs. Shoddy, finding him much feted, - Gave him a dinner in her swellest style. - - Her dining-table was a blaze of glory; - Soft light from many colored candles fell - Upon the young, the middle aged, and hoary— - On beauty and on those who “made up” well. - - Her china was a miracle of beauty— - No service like it ever had been sold, - And, being unsmuggled, with the price and duty, - Was nearly worth its weight in gold. - - The flowers were wonderful—I think that maybe - Only another world has flowers more fair; - Each rose was big enough to brain a baby, - And there were several bushels of them there. - - The serving was the acme of perfection; - Waiters were many, silent, deft, and fleet; - Their manners seemed a reverent affection - And oh! what stacks of things there were to eat! - - And yet the man, for all this honor singled, - Would have exchanged it with the greatest joy - For one plain meal of pork and cabbage mingled, - Cooked by his mother when he was a boy. - - -LITTLE JACK. - - He wore a pair of tattered pants, - A ragged roundabout, - And through the torn crown of his hat - A lock of hair stuck out; - He had no shoes upon his feet, - No shirt upon his back; - His home was on the friendless street, - His name was “Little Jack.” - - One day a toddling baby-boy - With head of curly hair - Escaped his loving mother’s eyes, - Who, busy with her care, - Forgot the little one, that crept - Upon the railroad near - To play with the bright pebbles there, - Without a thought of fear. - - But see! around the curve there comes - A swiftly flying train— - It rattles, roars! the whistle shrieks - With all its might and main; - The mother sees her child, but stands - Transfixed with sudden fright! - The baby clasps his little hands - And laughs with low delight. - - Look! look! a tattered figure flies - Adown the railroad track! - His hat is gone, his feet are bare! - ’Tis ragged “Little Jack!” - He grasps the child, and from the track - The babe is safely tossed— - A slip! a cry! the train rolls by— - Brave “Little Jack” is lost. - - They found his mangled body there, - Just where he slipped and fell, - And strong men wept who never cared - For him when he was well. - If there be starry crowns in heaven - For little ones to wear, - The star in “Little Jack’s” shall shine - As bright as any there! - - EUGENE J. HALL. - - -A STORY OF AN APPLE. - - Little Tommy and Peter and Archy and Bob - Were walking one day, when they found - An apple; ’twas mellow and rosy and red, - And lying alone on the ground. - - Said Tommy: “I’ll have it.” Said Peter: “’Tis mine.” - Said Archy: “I’ve got it; so there!” - Said Bobby: “Now let us divide in four parts, - And each of us boys have a share.” - - “No, no!” shouted Tommy, “I’ll have it myself.” - Said Peter: “I want it, I say.” - Said Archy: “I’ve got it, and I’ll have it all; - I won’t give a morsel away.” - - Then Tommy, he snatched it, and Peter, he fought, - (’Tis sad and distressing to tell!) - And Archy held on with his might and his main, - Till out of his fingers it fell. - - Away from the quarrelsome urchins it flew, - And then down a green little hill - That apple it rolled, and it rolled, and it rolled - As if it would never be still. - - A lazy old brindle was nipping the grass - And switching her tail at the flies, - When all of a sudden the apple rolled down - And stopped just in front of her eyes. - - She gave but a bite and a swallow or two— - That apple was seen nevermore! - “I wish,” whimpered Archy and Peter and Tom, - “We’d kept it and cut it in four.” - - SYDNEY DAYRE. - - -IDLE BEN. - - Idle Ben was a naughty boy; - (If you please, this story’s true;) - He caused his teachers great annoy, - And his worthy parents, too. - - Idle Ben, in a boastful way, - To his anxious parents told, - That, while he was young, he thought he’d play, - And he’d learn when he grew old. - - “Ah, Ben!” said his mother, and dropped a tear, - “You’ll be sorry for this by-and-by.” - Says Ben, “To me, that’s not very clear, - But at any rate I’ll try.” - - So Idle Ben, he refused to learn, - Thinking that he could wait; - But, when he had his living to earn, - He found it was just too late. - - Little girls, little boys, don’t delay your work; - Some day you’ll be women and men: - Whenever your task you’re inclined to shirk, - Take warning by Idle Ben. - - -BABY ALICE’S RAIN. - - The drouth had been long—oh, very long— - The whole long month of blithesome May; - The rain-clouds seemed to have wandered wrong, - From the pinched, brown land so far away: - Leaves fell; and the blue-birds hushed their song, - As field and forest grew dim and gray. - - Then one night the clouds had gathered: the wind - Came in from the east; but it needed trust - To believe that the soft rain lurked behind, - To cool the fierce heat and to lay the dust: - So soon we forget that God is kind! - So easily cease to hope and to trust! - - But it rained at morning: oh, welcome fall - Of the drops from heaven, that had such need! - Those drops that have fallen alike on all, - Of the kindly thought and the cruel deed, - Since the plant of life was so tiny and small - When the Mighty Hand had just dropped the seed. - - Did we wonder, to see it come at last— - This coveted blessing?—wee Alice did not, - As quick to the window all dimpled she passed, - Springing up in glee from her little cot, - And bearing a love so holy and vast - In such limited space—dear baby tot! - - “Look, mamma! look, papa!—oh yes, it yanes! - “I tought dere ood be some ’ittle showers! - “Detoration Day—Dod take such pains! - “Don’t ’u see Dod’s waterin’ de soldiers’ f’owers?” - Oh, lips of the children!—there’s something remains - Yet, of Eden’s prime, in this world of ours. - - JOHN HAY FURNESS. - - -GIVE US LITTLE BOYS A CHANCE. - - Here we are! don’t leave us out, - Just because we’re little boys! - Though we’re not so bold and stout, - In the world we’ll make a noise. - You are many a year ahead, - But we’ll step by step advance; - All the world’s before _you_ spread— - Give us little boys a chance! - - Never slight us in our play; - You were once as small as we; - We’ll be big, like you, some day, - Then perhaps _our_ power you’ll see. - We will meet you, when we’re grown - With a brave and fearless glance; - Don’t think all this world’s _your_ own— - Give us little boys a chance! - - Little hands will soon be strong - For the work that they must do; - Little lips will sing their song - When these early days are through. - So, you big folks, if we’re small, - On our toes you needn’t dance; - There is room enough for all— - Give us little boys a chance! - - -PUSS IN THE OVEN. - - While sitting at our breakfast rather late - One winter’s morn a little after eight, - We heard a noise; - But from the shuffling of feet and legs, - Of drinking coffee and of eating eggs, - We girls and boys - Thought little of it, but looked at one another; - Fred looked at Polly—Polly at her brother. - Just then we heard a feeble cry, so wee, - Where could it come from—and what could it be? - “It’s puss,” cried one, “she must be in the ‘aery.’” - And so we went with footsteps soft and wary. - But, no; Puss in the aery was not found, - And once again we heard the plaintive sound, - “M-e-o-w, M-e-w,” - What could we do? - - We looked again and Clara searched the house; - Was pussy in the coal-hole, with a mouse? - “M-e-w, M-e-o-w,” - Much louder now. - “She’s in the cupboard,” so, we search the shelves, - But find no pussy. Have some fairy elves - Been imitating puss? But once again - Poor pussy gives a cry as if in pain; - The drawers are searched; in every little nook - Where puss could hide we take a hasty look. - - “M-e-w, M-e-o-w,” - Still louder now, - We all look frightened, so while one declares - That pussy’s hidden underneath the stairs; - And while we stood upon the kitchen rug, - Wondering where pussy was so nice and snug, - The oven door was opened just a bit - To warm some toast, _when out jumped little Kit_! - And as she shook her furry brindled form, - She seemed to say, “My bed was rather warm.” - - -WHAT WAS IT? - - Guess what he had in his pocket. - Marbles and tops and sundry toys - Such as always belong to boys, - A bitter apple, a leathern ball?— - Not at all. - - What did he have in his pocket? - A bubble-pipe, and a rusty screw, - A brassy watch-key, broken in two. - A fish-hook in a tangle of string?— - No such thing. - - What did he have in his pocket? - Ginger-bread crumbs, a whistle he made, - Buttons, a knife with a broken blade, - A nail or two and a rubber gun?— - Neither one. - - What _did_ he have in his pocket? - Before he knew it slyly crept - Under the treasures carefully kept, - And away they all of them quickly stole— - ’Twas a hole! - - SIDNEY DAYRE. - - -THE COBBLER’S SECRET. - - A waggish cobbler once in Rome, - Put forth this proclamation, - That he was willing to disclose - For due consideration, - A secret which the cobbling world - Could ill afford to lose; - The way to make in one short day - A hundred pairs of shoes. - From every quarter soon there came - A crowd of eager fellows; - Tanners, cobblers, bootmen, shoemen, - Jolly leather sellers, - All redolent of beef and smoke, - And cobbler’s wax and hides; - Each fellow paid his thirty pence - And called it cheap besides. - Silence! The cobbler enters - And casts around his eyes, - Then curls his lips—the rogue!—then frowns - And looks most wondrous wise; - “My friends,” he says, “’tis simple quite, - The plan that I propose; - And every man of you, I think, - Might learn it if he chose. - A good sharp knife is all you need - In carrying out my plan; - So easy is it none can fail - Let him be child or man, - To make a hundred pairs of shoes, - Just go back to your shops, - And take a hundred pairs of boots - And cut off all their tops!” - - -A SAD CASE. - - I’m a poor little kitty, - And alas! when born, so pretty, - That the morning I was found, - Instead of being drowned, - I was saved to be the toy - Of a dreadful baby-boy, - Who pinches and who pokes me, - Holds me by my throat and chokes me, - And when I could vainly try - From his cruel clutch to fly, - Grabs my tail, and pulls so hard - That some day, upon my word! - I am sure ’twill broken be, - And then everybody’ll see - Such a looking Kitty! - - That baby has no pity! - Thinks I’m “only a kitty”— - I won’t stand it, nor would you! - ’Tis no use to cry out m-e-w! - Listen! Some day I shall scratch, - And he’ll find he’s met his match; - That within my little paws - There are ever so many claws! - And it won’t be very long, - If this sort of thing goes on, - Till there’ll be a kitten row - Such as has not been till now; - Then, my lad, there will be found, - Left upon that battle-ground, - Such a looking Baby! - - CLARA D. BATES. - - -THE HEIR APPARENT. - -A small boy who can adopt the air and demeanor of the “afflicted parent” -will make this soliloquy very amusing. - - A Baby! Yes—a baby—a real, definite, unquestionable baby! _What - of it?_ do you ask. Well, that’s queer. Don’t know what a baby - is? I’m sorry for you. My advice is—go and get one. - - Heigho! I’m weighted down with my responsibility. - Solferino in color—no hair on its - head—kicks—yowls—mews—whines-sneezes—squints—makes up mouths—it’s - a singular circumstance—_that_ baby is, and—but never mind. - - Cross? I guess that’s a beginning of the truth, so far as _it’s_ - concerned, but, why did it happen along just at the moment when - muslin, linen and white flannel were the highest they had been - since Adam built a hen-house for Mrs. Eve’s chickens? when the - doctors charge two dollars a squint, four dollars a grunt, and, - on account of the scarcity in the country, take what is left in - a man’s pocket, no discount for cash, and send bill for balance, - Jan. 1st? Queer, isn’t it? (_A pause._) - - A queer little thing is that baby; a speck of a nose like a wart, - head as bald as a squash, and no place to hitch a waterfall; a - mouth just situated to come the gum-game and chew milk. Oh! you - should hear her sing. I have stuffed my fur cap down its throat, - given it the smoothing-iron to play with; but that little red - lump that looks as if it couldn’t hold blood enough to keep a - musketo from fainting, persists to swallow its fists, and the - other day they dropped down its throat, to the crook in its - elbows. _That_ stopped its music, and I was happy for one and a - half minutes. - - It is a pleasant thing to have a baby in the house—one of your - achy kind. Think of the pleasures of a father in his night - costume, trembling in the midnight hour, with his warm feet upon - a square yard of oilcloth, dropping paregoric in a teaspoon, by - moonlight, the nurse thumping at the door, and the wife of your - bosom crying “hurray,” and the baby yelling till the fresco drops - from the ceiling. It’s a nice time to think of dress coats, - pants, ties, and white kids. - - Its mother says the darling is troubled with—oh, don’t mention - it. I have got to get up in the cold and shiver while the milk - warms—it uses the bottle. I tried to stop its growth the other - night; it was no go. I rocked so hard that I missed stays, and - sent it slap clear across the room, upsetting the flower-stand. - It didn’t make any noise then! Oh, no! I was a happy man. Oh, - yes. (_A pause._) That baby’s mother says only wait until it gets - bleached (it’s been vaccinated) and old enough to crawl about and - feed on pins. Yes, I’m going to wait. Won’t it be delightful? - - John, run for the doctor; it’s fallen into the slop pail; it’s - choking with a peach-skin; or it has fallen down stairs; or has - swallowed the tack-hammer; or shows signs of the mumps, croup, - whooping cough, small pox, cholera infantum, or some other - curious thing to let the doctor take the money laid by for my - winter’s donation to the poor. - - Shampooing, curling my hair, wearing nice clothes, going to - parties? Oh, no more of that! No—more—of—that. A baby—oh! I’m an - old fellow now. Adieu, vain world! - - -AN EGG A CHICKEN. - - “An egg a chicken! Don’t tell me! - For didn’t I break an egg to see? - There was nothing inside but a yellow ball, - With a bit of mucillage round it all— - Neither beak nor bill, - Nor toe nor quill, - Not even a feather - To hold it together; - Not a sign of life could any one see. - An egg a chicken? You can’t fool me! - - “An egg a chicken! Didn’t I pick - Up the very shell that had held the chick— - So they said?—and didn’t I work half a day - To pack him in where he couldn’t stay? - Let me try as I please, - With squeeze upon squeeze, - There is scarce space to meet - His head and his feet. - No room for any of the rest of him—so - That egg never held that chicken I know.” - - Mamma heard the logic of her little man, - Felt his trouble, and helped him, as mothers can! - Took an egg from the nest—it was smooth and round: - “Now, my boy, can you tell me what makes this sound?” - Faint and low, tap, tap; - Soft and slow, rap, rap; - Sharp and quick, - Like a prisoner’s pick. - “Hear it peep, inside there!” cried Tom, with a shout; - “How did it get in, and how can it get out?” - - Tom was eager to help—he could break the shell. - Mamma smiled and said, “All’s well that ends well. - Be patient awhile yet my boy.” Click, click, - And out popped the bill of a dear little chick. - No room had it lacked. - Though snug it was packed, - There it was, all complete, - From its head to its feet. - The softest of down and the brightest of eyes, - And so big—why, the shell wasn’t half its size. - - Tom gave a long whistle, “Mamma, now I see - That an egg is a chicken—though the how beats me, - An egg isn’t a chicken, that I know and declare; - Yet an egg isn’t a chicken—see the proof of it there. - Nobody can tell - How it came in that shell; - Once out all in vain - Would I pack it again. - I think ’tis a miracle, mamma mine, - As much as that of the water and wine.” - - -ONE OF GOD’S LITTLE HEROES. - - The patter of feet was on the stair, - As the Editor turned in his sanctum chair, - And said—for weary the day had been— - “Don’t let another intruder in.” - - But scarce had he uttered the words, before - A face peered in at the half-closed door, - And a child sobbed out—“Sir, mother said - I should come and tell you that Dan is dead.” - - “And pray who is ‘Dan’?” The streaming eyes - Looked questioning up, with a strange surprise: - “Not know him?—Why, sir, all day he sold - The papers you print, through wet and cold. - - “The newsboys say that they could not tell - The reason his stock went off so well: - I knew!—with a voice so weak and low, - Could any one bear to say him ‘No?’ - - “And the money he made, whatever it be, - He carried straight home to mother and me: - No matter about his rags, he said, - If only he kept us clothed and fed. - - “And he did it, sir—trudging through rain and cold, - Nor stopped till the last of his sheets was sold; - But he’s dead—he’s dead! and we miss him so! - And mother—she thought you might like to know!” - - In the paper, next morning, as “leader,” ran - A paragraph thus: “The newsboy Dan, - One of God’s little heroes, who - Did nobly the duty he had to do— - For mother and sister earning bread, - By patient endurance and toil—is dead.” - - MARGARET J. PRESTON. - - -WHAT THE COWS WERE DOING. - - Little Rosie, walking slowly - Past the verdant meadow, sees - Many cows, and some are standing, - Others lying ’neath the trees. - - In the road stands little Rosie, - Caring not for dust or mud, - While her eyes are bent upon them - As they calmly chew their cud. - - Great surprise her face expresses, - For awhile her lips are dumb; - Then she cries out, “Mamma! Mamma! - All the cows are chewing gum!” - - -MAMMA’S HELP. - - “Yes, Bridget has gone to the city, - And papa is sick, as you see, - And mamma has no one to help her - But two-year old Lawrence and me. - - “You’d like to know what I am good for, - ’Cept to make work and tumble things down; - I guess there aren’t no little girlies - At your house at home, Dr. Brown. - - “I’ve brushed all the crumbs from the table, - And dusted the sofa and chairs, - I’ve polished the hearthstone and fender, - And swept off the area stairs. - - “I’ve wiped all the silver and china, - And just dropped one piece on the floor, - Yes, Doctor, it broke in the middle, - But I ’spect it was cracked before. - - “And the steps that I saved precious mamma! - You’d be s’prised, Doctor Brown, if you knew. - She says if it wasn’t for Bessie - She couldn’t exist the day through! - - “It’s ‘Bessie, bring papa some water!’ - And ‘Bessie dear, run to the door!’ - And ‘Bessie love, pick up the playthings - The baby has dropped on the floor!’ - - “Yes, Doctor, I’m ’siderably tired, - I’ve been on my feet all the day; - Good-bye! well, perhaps I will help you - When your old Bridget ‘goes off to stay!’” - - -HOW TWO BIRDIES KEPT HOUSE. - - The morning was sunshiny, lovely, and clear, - And two little wrens were both hovering near, - Chirping and warbling with wonderful zest, - Looking for some place to build them a nest. - - They searched the veranda, examined the trees, - But never a place could they find that would please; - Till Mabel, whose eyes were as blue as the sky, - And very observing, their trouble did spy. - - Then, quick as the thought darted through her wee head, - “I’ll help you, dear birdies,” she lispingly said; - “You just wait a minute, I’ll give you my shoe; - ’Twill make you a nice nest—as good as if new.” - - With much toil and trouble she undid the knot, - Took off the small shoe, and picked out a spot - Behind a large pillar: there tucked it away; - And soon she forgot it in innocent play. - - But the wrens chirped, “Why, here’s a nest ready-made, - In the very best place, too, and quite in the shade!” - They went to work quickly, without more ado, - To keep house like the woman “that lived in a shoe.” - - When evening shades came, at the close of the day, - And dear little Mable was tired of play, - She thought of the birdies, and went off alone, - To see, if she could, what the birdies had done, - - With heads under their wings the wrens were asleep; - Side by side, in the shoe, they were cuddled down deep, - Then, clapping her hands, Mable said, “Keep my shoe; - My new ones I’ll wear, and this one’s for you.” - - -WHY HE WOULDN’T DIE. - - Listen, my boy, and you shall know - A thing that happened a long time ago, - When I was a boy not as large as you, - And the youngest of all the children, too. - I laugh even now as I think it o’er, - And the more I think I laugh the more. - ’Twas the chilly eve of an autumn day; - We were all in the kitchen, cheery and gay; - The fire burned bright on the old brick hearth, - And its cheerful light gave zest to our mirth. - My elder sister, addressing me, - “To-morrow’s Thanksgiving, you know,” said she; - “We must kill the chickens to-night, you see. - Now light the lantern and come with me; - I will wring their necks until they are dead, - And have them all dressed ere we go to bed.” - - My sister, unused to sights of blood, - And, pale with excitement, trembling stood; - But summoning courage, she laid her plans, - And seized the old rooster with both her hands, - And, with triumph written all over her face, - Her victim bore to the open space. - Then she wrung and wrung with might and main, - And wrung and twisted and wrung again, - ’Till, sure that the spark of life had fled, - She threw him down on the ground for dead. - - But the rooster would not consent to die, - And be made up into chicken-pie, - So he sprang away with a cackle and bound, - Almost as soon as he touched the ground, - And hiding away from the candle’s light, - Escaped the slaughter of that dark night. - My sister, thus brought to sudden stand, - And looking at what she held in her hand, - Soon saw why the rooster was not dead— - She had wrung off his tail instead of his head! - - -THE SICK DOLLY. - -It needs a cute little girl who can make appropriate gestures to recite -this piece. - - My dolly is very sick! - I don’t know what to do; - Her little forehead it scowls quite horrid, - Her lips are turning blue. - - She’s got a dreadful pain, - I know it from her face; - I’ll fetch a pellet and make her smell it, - From mamma’s medicine-case. - - There, there, my child, lie still; - That’s sure to do you good. - Now don’t be ugly, I’ll wrap you snugly - All in your scarlet hood. - - I know what made her sick! - She’s had too much to eat! - A piece of cheese, six blackberries - And a little bit of meat! - - That’s too much for a doll, - (Hush, Baby dear, don’t cry!) - All those blackberries, besides stewed cherries, - And huckleberry pie. - - I ought to be ashamed - (That’s just what mamma said) - To let my dolly commit such folly, - And get a pain in her head. - - Some gruel would do her good; - What fun ’twill be to make it! - Just flour and water, and then, my daughter, - You’ll have to wake and take it! - - I’d like to be a cook! - How nice the gruel _does_ smell! - Oh, there it goes all over her nose! - Now dolly has got well. - - -DAYS OF THE WEEK. - -For seven little boys and girls. Teacher or some large boy or girl should -speak. - - The days of the week once talking together - About their housekeeping, their friends and the weather, - Agreed in their talk it would be a nice thing - For all to march, and dance, and sing; - So they all stood up in a very straight row, - And this is the way they decided to go: - - (_Let seven children stand up, and as day of week is called, take - places, each one equipped with the things the speaker mentions._) - - First came little Sunday, so sweet and good, - With a book in her hand, at the head she stood. - Monday skipped in with soap and a tub, - Scrubbing away with a rub-a-dub-dub; - With board and iron comes Tuesday bright, - Talking to Monday in great delight. - Then Wednesday—the dear little cook—came in, - Riding cock horse on his rolling-pin. - Thursday followed, with broom and brush, - Her hair in a towel, and she in a rush. - Friday appeared, gayly tripping along; - He scoured the knives and then he was gone. - Saturday last, with a great big tub, - Into which we all jump for a very good rub. - - (_The children march and sing to the tune of “Good Morning, - Merry Sunshine.”_) - - Children of the week are we, - Happy, busy, full of glee. - Often do we come this way, - And you meet us every day. - Hand in hand we trip along, - Singing, as we go, a song. - Each one may a duty bring, - Though it be a little thing. - - (_All bow, and, taking up the articles, retire from the stage - in order, Sunday, Monday etc._) - - MARY ELY PAGE. - - -POPPING CORN. - - And there they sat, a popping corn, - John Styles and Susan Cutter— - John Styles as fat as any ox - And Susan fat as butter. - - And there they sat and shelled the corn, - And raked and stirred the fire, - And talked of different kinds of care - And hitched their chairs up nigher. - - Then Susan she the popper shook, - Then John he shook the popper, - Till both their faces grew as red - As saucepans made of copper. - - And then they shelled, and popped and ate, - All kinds of fun a-poking, - While he haw-hawed at her remarks, - And she laughed at his joking. - - And still they popped, and still they ate— - John’s mouth was like a hopper— - And stirred the fire and sprinkled salt, - And shook and shook the popper. - - The clock struck nine—the clock struck ten, - And still the corn kept popping; - It struck eleven, and then struck twelve, - And still no signs of stopping. - - And John he ate, and Sue she thought— - The corn did pop and patter— - Till John cried out, “The corn’s afire! - Why, Susan, what’s the matter?” - - Said she, “John Styles, it’s one o’clock; - You’ll die of indigestion; - I’m sick of all this popping corn— - Why don’t you pop the question?” - - -HOW THE FARMER WORKS. - -For Several Boys. - - This is the way the happy farmer(1) - Plows his piece of ground, - That from the little seeds he sows - A large crop may abound. - - This is the way he sows the seed,(2) - Dropping with careful hand, - In all the furrows well prepared - Upon the fertile land. - - This is the way he cuts the grain(3) - When bending with its weight; - And thus he bundles it in sheaves,(4) - Working long and late. - - And then the grain he threshes thus,(5) - And stores away to keep; - And thus he stands contentedly(6) - And views the plenteous heap. - -1. Arms extended forward as though holding a plow. 2. A motion as -of taking seed out of a bag or basket, and scattering with the -right hand. 3. Motion as of cutting with a scythe. 4. Arms curved -and extended forward. 5. Hands as though grasping a flail. Strike -with some force. 6. Erect position arms folded, or hands on the hips. - - -THE BIRDS’ PICNIC. - - The birds gave a picnic, the morning was fine, - They all came in couples, to chat and to dine; - Miss Robin, Miss Wren and the two Misses Jay, - Were dressed in a manner decidedly gay. - - And Bluebird, who looks like a handful of sky, - Dropped in with her spouse as the morning wore by; - The yellow-birds, too, wee bundles of sun, - With brave chickadees, came along to the fun. - - Miss Phœbe was there, in her prim suit of brown; - In fact, all the birds in the fair leafy town. - The neighbors, of course, were politely invited; - Not even the ants and the crickets were slighted. - - The grasshoppers came, some in gray, some in green, - And covered with dust, hardly fit to be seen: - Miss Miller flew in, with her gown white as milk; - And Lady Bug flourished a new crimson silk. - - The bees turned out lively, the young and the old, - And proud as could be, in their spencers of gold. - But Miss Caterpillar, how funny of her, - She hurried along in her mantle of fur. - - There were big bugs in plenty, and gnats great and small— - A very hard matter to mention them all. - And what did they do? Why, they sported and sang, - Till all the green wood with their melody rang. - - Whoe’er gave a picnic so grand and so gay? - They hadn’t a shower, I’m happy to say. - And when the sun fell, like a cherry-ripe red, - The fire-flies lighted them all home to bed. - - -A VERY SMART DOG. - -For a boy eight or ten years old. - - I have a pretty little dog, he’s just about so high,(1) - And sometimes you would think he knew as much as you(2) or I;(3) - When e’er a letter I would write, he jumps around in glee,(4) - For then he knows that he can take it to the mail for me,(5) - - I hold a stick out in my hands,(6) o’er it he jumps in joy— - He shoulders(7) arms as soberly as any soldier boy— - He jumps on table, box(8) or chair, which e’er I tell him to. - I think he is the smartest dog—now, really do not you? - - My little dog will sit up straight(9) and open wide his eyes, - And hold his pretty paws just so,(10) and look so very wise. - If e’er to him I crossly speak(11) I very soon regret, - And just as soon my little dog my anger will forget. - - He says bow-wow-wow-wow-wow-wow, - No word but this alone, - And yet he is the smartest dog that ever I have known. - -At place marked 1 hold right hand out, palm downwards, as if measuring -height. At place marked 2, point to audience. At 3, the reciter points -to himself. At 4, downward motion of hand. At 5, point to right. At 6, -hold out both hands, as if holding stick. At 7, double up right arm, with -hand in front of shoulder. At 8, point to left. At 9, hold head up very -straight. At 10, cross hands on breast. At 11, hold out right hand, with -finger pointed, as if in command. - - -OPPORTUNITY. - -ADDRESSED TO THE BOYS OF AMERICA. - - A judgeship is vacant, the ermine awaits - The shoulder of youth, brave, honest and true, - Some one will be standing by fame’s open gates, - I wonder, my boys, will it be one of you? - - The president’s chair of a great railroad maze, - Is empty to-day, for death claimed his due, - The directors are choosing a man for his place, - I wonder, my boys—Will it be one of you? - - A pulpit is waiting for some one to fill, - Of eloquent men there are only a few, - The man who can fill it must have power to thrill; - The best will be chosen—Will it be one of you? - - The great men about us will pass to their rest, - The places be filled by the boys who pursue - The search for the highest, the noblest—the best, - I wonder who’ll fill them; I hope ’twill be you. - - -THE LITTLE LEAVES’ JOURNEY. - -A motion exercise for six little girls. - - Some little leaves one autumn day - From maple(1) branches high, - Looked down(2) upon the lovely world - And upward(3) at the sky; - Then each one sighed, “Had I(4) but wings, - (5)Away, away I’d fly.” - - At last the wind(6) aweary grew - Of hearing them complain, - He(7) shook the sturdy maple boughs - With all his might and main; - He shook(8) the little leaflets all, - And down(9) they fell like rain. - - They huddled(10) close in little heaps - To keep all snug and warm, - When Nature(11) came, a tender nurse, - With bed(12) clothes on her arm; - She tucked(13) them ’neath soft snowy folds - And hid(14) them from the storm. - -1. Motion upward with right hand. 2. Look downward. 3. Look upward. 4. -Wave hands back and forth. 5. Extend right arm. 6. Close eyes, faces -expressive of weariness. 7. Double the hands up, moving them quickly -backwards and forwards. 8. Same as 7. 9. Move hands downward. 10. Put -palms of hands together. 11. Look toward right. 12. Extend right arm, -looking at same. 13. Downward motion with right hand. 14. Motion toward -the north. - - -THE BROOM DRILL. - -Marches and drills by the little folks are always very attractive -and entertaining. The preparation for these benefits young people by -requiring them to move the body quickly and gracefully, assuming an erect -attitude, then other positions at the word of command. Such exercises -also aid in forming a habit of strict attention. - -The Broom Drill is one of the most entertaining, and can readily be -learned. It should be practiced until it can be performed promptly and -without any mistakes. Twelve or sixteen girls—in fact, any even number, -according to the size of the stage—may take part in it. - -All should be dressed alike, in blouse waist of Turkey red chintz, -sleeves and collar trimmed with white braid; skirt made of white cheese -cloth, trimmed above the hem with band of red chintz, four or five inches -wide; a red cap completes the costume. - -During the marching there should be music, and the notes of the piano -should be struck sharply. Any good march will answer for the music. The -following exercises conform very nearly to the “Manual of Arms” used -in the army. The cuts will be found very serviceable in showing the -different positions. - -[Illustration] - -Standing in rank near the front side of the stage, the teacher gives the -command to “present arms,” “carry arms,” “trail arms,” etc. Each command -consists of two words: the first is to indicate what the pupil is to do, -and on the second word the movement is made, all acting in concert. - -The following exercises are suitable for this drill, and always prove -very entertaining to the audience. - -_Carry_—ARMS!—The broom is held in the right hand, handle upward, with -the hand clasping the handle where it joins the brush. The left hand -hangs at the side. (Fig. 1.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 1.] - -_Present_—ARMS!—Place the broom with the right hand in front of the -centre of the body, clasping the handle with the left hand above the -right. Hold the broom perfectly perpendicular. (Fig. 2.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 2.] - -_Order_—ARMS!—Let go the handle with the left hand, and carry the broom -to the side with the right hand; then drop the broom to the floor. (Fig. -3.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 3.] - -_In place_—REST!—Grasp the handle with both hands, the left above the -right, and place both hands in front of the lower part of the breast. -(Fig. 4.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 4.] - -_Trail_—ARMS!—Grasp the handle with the right hand and incline it -forward, the broom behind, resting on the floor. (Fig. 5.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 5.] - -_Attention_—CHARGE!—Half face to the right, carrying the heel six inches -to the rear and three inches to the right of the left, turning the toes -of both feet slightly inward; at the same time drop the stick into the -left hand, elbow against the body, point of stick at the height of the -chin; right hand grasping the stick just above the brush and supporting -it firmly against the right hip. (Fig. 6.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 6.] - -_Port_—ARMS!—Raise and throw the broom diagonally across the body; grasp -it smartly with both hands, the right, palm down at the base of the -stick; the left, palm up, thumb clasping stick; handle sloping to the -left and crossing opposite the middle of left shoulder; right forearm -horizontal; forearms and handle near the body. (Fig. 7.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 7.] - -_Secure_—ARMS!—Advance the broom slightly with the right hand, turn the -handle to the front with the left hand. At the same time change the -position of the right hand, placing it further up the handle, drop the -handle to the front, placing the broom where joined with the handle, -under the right arm. (Fig. 8.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 8.] - -_Reverse_—ARMS!—Lift the broom vertically with the right hand, clasp the -stick with the left hand; then, with the right hand grasp the handle near -the brush. Reverse the broom, the handle dropping to the front, the broom -passing between the breast and right forearm. Press the handle under the -arm with the left hand until the right elbow can hold it in place against -the body; pass left hand behind the back and clasp the stick. (Fig. 9.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 9.] - -_Inspection_—ARMS!—This is executed from the “carry arms” position. Lift -the broom quickly with the right hand, bringing it in front of the centre -of the body; then grasp the handle with the left hand, placed near the -chin, and hold it. (Fig. 10.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 10.] - - -MOVEMENTS OF ATTACK AND DEFENSE. - -These can be executed only with open ranks, the pupils being placed seven -or eight feet apart. To so place them, the teacher will give the order— - -_Right (or Left) open Ranks_—MARCH!—The pupils face to the right or left, -according to the order given, except the one at the extreme end of the -line. The others march, the last of the file halting at every four or -five steps from the one in the rear, until all are the same distance -apart. They then face front. To close the rank, turn to the right or left -and march toward the pupil standing at the end until halted by the one -ahead. Then face front. - -_Attention_—GUARD!—At the command _guard_, half face to the right, carry -back and place the right foot about twice its length to the rear and -nearly the same distance to the right, the feet at little less than a -right angle, the right toe pointing squarely to the right, both knees -bent slightly, weight of the body held equally on both legs; at the same -time throw the end of the stick to the front, at the height of the chin, -grasping it lightly with both hands, the right just above the brush, the -left a few inches higher; the right hand in line with the left hip and -both arms held free from the body and without constraint. (Fig. 11.) - -_Being at the Guard_—ADVANCE!—Move the left foot quickly forward, twice -its length; follow with the right foot the same distance. - -[Illustration: FIG. 11.] - -RETIRE!—Move the right foot quickly to the rear, twice its length; follow -with the left foot the same distance. - -_Front_—PASS!—Advance the right foot quickly, fifteen inches in front of -the left, keeping right toe squarely to the right; advance the left foot -to its relative position in front. - -_Rear_—PASS!—Carry the left foot quickly fifteen inches to the rear of -the right; place the right foot in its relative position in rear, keeping -the right toe squarely to the right. - -_Right_—VOLT!—Face to the right, turning on the ball of the left foot, at -the same time carry the right foot quickly to its position in rear. - -_Left_—VOLT!—Face to the left, turning on the ball of the left foot, at -the same time carry the right foot quickly to its position in rear. - -_Right rear and left rear volts_ are similarly executed, facing about on -the ball of the left foot. - -_Quarte_—PARRY!—Hold the broom in front of the left shoulder with the -right hand, handle upward, the fingers of the left hand on the handle, -the left elbow touching the right wrist. (Fig. 12.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 12.] - -_Seconde_—PARRY!—Move the point of the broom-handle quickly to the left, -describing a semi-circle from left to right, the left elbow in front of -the body, the flat of the broom under the right forearm, the right elbow -two or three inches higher than the right shoulder. (Fig. 13.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 13.] - -_Prime_—PARRY.—Carry the broom to the left, covering the left shoulder, -the handle downward, the left forearm behind the handle, the right arm in -front of and above the eyes. (Fig. 14.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 14.] - - -THRUSTS. - -TO THRUST IN TIERCE.—Straighten the right leg, extend both arms, keeping -point of handle at height of the breast, broom at right side of head. -(Fig. 15.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 15.] - -THRUST IN QUARTE.—The same as tierce, but with the broom on the left side -of the head. - - -LUNGES. - -The lunges are the same as the thrusts, except that the left foot is -extended farther in front. (Fig. 16.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 16.] - -_Broom to Front_—ONE!—Raise handle nearly straight up and down, drop it -into the hollow of the right shoulder.—TWO!—Strike quickly by pushing the -broom forward, the handle always resting on the right shoulder. (Fig. 17.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 17.] - -_Right Short_—THRUST!—ONE!—Hold the broom with the right hand to the -rear, left hand by the right breast, the point of the handle opposite the -centre of the body.—TWO!—Thrust forward. (Fig. 18.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 18.] - -_High Prime_—PARRY!—Raise the broom with both hands in front of and -higher than the head. Hold the handle firmly with the right hand, -the broom being to the right; turn the knuckles of the left hand to -the front, and let other end of broom handle rest on the thumb and -forefinger. (Fig. 19.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 19.] - -TO GUARD WHEN KNEELING.—Bring the toe of the left foot square in front, -plant the right foot to the rear, kneel on the right knee, bending the -left, hold the broom at an angle of 45 degrees, pointing directly to the -front, the right hand pressed firmly against the side, the left hand -holding the point of handle upward. (Fig. 20.) - -[Illustration: FIG. 20.] - - -THE MARCH. - -There should be music while the pupils are coming upon the stage and -leaving. Any spirited march will answer. - -Girls enter from right and left sides of stage at the back, eight on each -side, and march in single files according to the diagram furnished below. - -[Illustration] - -When they meet at C F, separate and march to L F and R F, then up sides -of stage to back, then across back to C B. When they meet at C B, form -couples and march in twos forward on centre line. At C F first couple -turn to R F, second to L F, third to R F, fourth to L F, etc. March up -sides to back, and when couples meet at C B march in fours to C F. First -four turn to R F, second four to L F, etc. March up sides to back. - -When the fours meet at C B, form eights and march toward front and halt -for drill. During the march they “carry brooms” in the right hand, the -stick resting against the right shoulder and nearly vertical, the arm -hanging at nearly its full length near the body, the hand grasping the -handle of the broom just above the sweep (the brush part), which rests -flat against the side of skirt. The thumb and forefinger must be in -front. - - - - -RECITATIONS FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. - - -It is so difficult to obtain really good selections to be recited at -Sunday-school anniversaries and similar occasions, that those here -presented will be much appreciated. They have the merit of containing -good sentiments and are therefore appropriate. The best lessons for young -and old are often conveyed in simple language. - - -LITTLE SERVANTS. - - Oh, what can little hands do - To please the King of heaven? - The little hands some work may try - To help the poor in misery;— - Such grace to mine be given. - - Oh, what can little lips do - To please the King of heaven? - The little lips can praise and pray, - And gentle words of kindness say:— - Such grace to mine be given. - - Oh, what can little eyes do - To please the King of heaven? - The little eyes can upward look, - Can learn to read God’s holy book;— - Such grace to mine be given. - - Oh, what can little hearts do - To please the King of heaven? - The hearts, if God his Spirit send, - Can love and trust the children’s Friend;— - Such grace to mine be given. - - When hearts, eyes, lips and hands unite - To please the King of heaven, - And serve the Saviour with delight, - They are most precious in his sight;— - Such grace to mine be given. - - -WILLIE AND THE BIRDS. - - A little black-eyed boy of five - Thus spake to his mamma: - “Do look at all the pretty birds; - How beautiful they are! - How smooth and glossy are their wings; - How beautiful their hue; - Besides, mamma, I really think - That they are _pious_, too!” - - “Why so, my dear?” the mother said, - And scarce suppressed a smile; - The answer showed a thoughtful head, - A heart quite free from guile: - “Because, when each one bows his head, - His tiny bill to wet, - To lift a thankful glance above - He never does forget; - And so, mamma, it seems to me - That very pious they must be.” - - Dear child, I would a lesson learn - From this sweet thought of thine, - And heavenward, with a glad heart, turn - These earth-bound eyes of mine; - Perfected praise, indeed is given, - By babes below, to God in heaven, - - -A CHILD’S PRAYER. - - Lord, teach a little child to pray, - And oh! accept my prayer; - Thou canst hear all the words I say, - For Thou art everywhere. - - A little sparrow cannot fall - Unnoticed, Lord by Thee; - And though I am so young and small, - Thou dost take care of me. - - Teach me to do whate’er is right, - And when I sin, forgive; - And make it still my chief delight - To serve Thee while I live. - - -GOD LOVES ME. - - God cares for every little child - That on this great earth liveth; - He gives them homes and food and clothes, - And more than these God giveth;— - - He gives them all their loving friends; - He gives each child its mother; - He gives them all the happiness - Of loving one another. - - He makes the earth all beautiful; - He gives us eyes to see; - And touch and hearing, taste and smell, - He gives them all to me. - - And, better still, he gives his word, - Which tells how God’s dear Son - Gathered the children in his arms - And loves them—every one. - - What can a little child give God? - From his bright heavens above - The great God smiles, and reaches down - To take his children’s love. - - -THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. - -This beautiful poem is admirably adapted for a church entertainment when -spoken by a little girl. - - “Now I lay”—say it, darling; - “Lay me,” lisped the tiny lips - Of my daughter, kneeling, bending - O’er her folded finger tips. - - “Down to sleep”—“to sleep,” she murmured - And the curly head dropped low; - “I pray the Lord”—I gently added, - “You can say it all, I know.” - - “Pray the Lord”—the words came faintly, - Fainter still—“my soul to keep;” - When the tired head fairly nodded, - And the child was fast asleep. - - But the dewy eyes half opened, - When I clasped her to my breast, - And the dear voice softly whispered, - “Mamma, God knows all the rest.” - - -DEEDS OF KINDNESS. - - Suppose the little cowslip - Should hang its little cup, - And say, “I’m such a tiny flower, - I’d better not grow up.” - How many a weary traveler - Would miss its fragrant smell! - How many a little child would grieve - To lose it from the dell! - - Suppose the glistening dew-drops - Upon the grass should say, - “What can a little dew-drop do? - I’d better roll away.” - The blade on which it rested, - Before the day was done, - Without a drop to moisten it - Would wither in the sun. - - Suppose the little breezes, - Upon a summer’s day, - Should think themselves too small to cool - The traveler on his way; - Who would not miss the smallest - And softest ones that blow, - And think they made a great mistake - If they were talking so? - - How many deeds of kindness - A little child may do, - Although it has so little strength, - And little wisdom too! - It needs a loving spirit, - Much more than strength, to prove - How many things a child may do - For others by its love. - - -A LOT OF DON’TS. - - I believe, if there is one word that grown-up folks are more - fond of using to us little folks, than any other word in the big - dictionary, it is the word D-o-n-t. - - It is all the time “Don’t do this,” and “Don’t do that,” and - “Don’t do the other,” until I am sometimes afraid there will be - nothing left that we can do. - - Why, for years and years and years, ever since I was a tiny - little tot, this word “Don’t” has been my torment. It’s “Lizzie, - don’t make a noise, you disturb me,” and “Lizzie, don’t eat so - much candy, it will make you sick,” and “Lizzie, don’t be so - idle,” and “Don’t talk so much,” and “Don’t soil your clothes,” - and “Don’t” everything else. One day I thought I’d count how - many times I was told not to do things! Just think! I counted - twenty-three “don’ts,” and I think I missed two or three little - ones besides. - - But now it is my turn. I have got a chance to talk, and I’m going - to tell some of the big people when to Don’t! That is what my - piece is about. First, I shall tell the papas and mammas—Don’t - scold the children, just because you have been at a party the - night before, and so feel cross and tired. Second, Don’t fret and - make wrinkles in your faces over things that cannot be helped. I - think fretting spoils big folks just as much as it does us little - people. Third, Don’t forget where you put your scissors, and then - say you s’pose the children have taken them. Oh! I could tell you - ever so many “don’ts,” but I think I’ll only say one more, and - that is—Don’t think I mean to be saucy, because all these don’ts - are in my piece, and I had to say them. - - E. C. ROOK. - - -LITTLE WILLIE AND THE APPLE. - - Little Willie stood under an apple tree old, - The fruit was all shining with crimson and gold, - Hanging temptingly low—how he longed for a bite, - Though he knew if he took one it wouldn’t be right. - - Said he, “I don’t see why my father should say, - ‘Don’t touch the old apple tree, Willie, to-day;’ - I shouldn’t have thought, now they’re hanging so low, - When I asked for just one, he would answer me, ‘No.’ - - “He would never find out if I took but just one, - And they do look so good, shining out in the sun, - There are hundreds and hundreds, and he wouldn’t miss - So paltry a little red apple as this.” - - He stretched forth his hand, but a low mournful strain - Came wandering dreamily over his brain; - In his bosom a beautiful harp had long laid, - Which the angel of conscience quite frequently played:— - - And he sang, “Little Willie, beware, O beware! - Your father is gone, but your Maker is there. - How sad you would feel, if you heard the Lord say, - ‘This dear little boy stole an apple to-day.’” - - Then Willie turned round, and, as still as a mouse, - Crept slowly and carefully into the house. - In his own little chamber he knelt down to pray - That the Lord would forgive him, and please not to say, - “Little Willie almost stole an apple to-day.” - - -THE CHILD’S PRAYER. - - The curtains drawn across the light - Made darkness in the room, - And in our watching eyes and hearts - Fear wrought an answering gloom. - - Grief-wrung, we heard from lips we loved - The moanings of distress, - And vainly strove to stifle pain - With helpless tenderness. - - We scarcely marked the three-years boy - Who stood beside the bed, - From whose wet cheeks and quivering lips - The frightened dimples fled. - - Till all at once, with eager hope, - A thrill in every word, - Our darling cried, “I guess I’ll speak - About it to the Lord!” - - He sank upon his bended knee, - And clasped his hands in prayer, - While, like a glory, from his brow - Streamed back his golden hair. - - “O Lord!” he said, “dear grandma’s sick; - We don’t know what to do! - If I could only make her well, - I’m sure I would. Won’t you?” - - He rose; o’er all his childish face - A subtle radiance shone, - As one who on the mount of faith - Had talked with God alone. - - We gazed each in the other’s eyes, - We almost held our breath - Before the fearless confidence - That shamed our tardy faith. - - But, when our yearning glances sought - The sufferer’s face again, - A look of growing ease and rest - Replaced the lines of pain. - - Quick as his trusting prayer to raise, - Its answer to discern, - The child climbed up to reach her lips, - Which kissed him in return. - - “Grandma”—the ringing accents struck - A new, triumphant chord— - “I _knew_ you would be better soon, - Because I asked the Lord!” - - MARY A. P. HUMPHREY. - - -“MAYN’T I BE A BOY?” - - “Mayn’t I be a boy?” said our Mary, - The tears in her great eyes blue; - “I’m only a wee little lassie— - There’s nothing a woman can do. - - “’Tis so; I heard Cousin John say so— - He’s home from a great college, too— - He said so just now in the parlor; - ‘There’s nothing a _woman_ can do.’” - - “My wee little lassie, my darling,” - Said I, putting back her soft hair, - “I want you, my dear little maiden, - To smooth away all mother’s care. - - “Who is it, when pa comes home weary, - That runs for his slippers and gown? - What eyes does he watch for at morning, - Looking out from their lashes of brown? - - “And can you do nothing, my darling, - What was it that pa said last night? - ‘My own little sunbeam is coming, - I know, for the room is so bright.’ - - “And there is a secret, my Mary— - Perhaps you will learn it some day— - The hand that is willing and loving - Will do the most work on the way. - - “And the work that is sweetest and dearest— - The great work that so many ne’er do— - The work of making folks happy - Can be done by a lassie like you.” - - -GIVE YOUR BEST. - - See the rivers flowing - Downward to the sea, - Pouring all their treasures - Bountiful and free! - Yet, to help their giving, - Hidden springs arise; - Or, if need be, showers - Feed them from the skies. - - Watch the princely flowers - Their rich fragrance spread; - Load the air with perfumes - From their beauty shed; - Yet their lavish spending - Leaves them not in dearth, - With fresh life replenished - By their mother earth. - - Give thy heart’s best treasures; - From fair Nature learn; - Give thy love, and ask not, - Wait not, a return. - And the more thou spendest - From thy little store, - With a double bounty - God will give thee more. - - ADELAIDE A. PROCTOR. - - -THE BIRDS. - -For six children and an older scholar, who takes the part of teacher, and -recites the “Response.” Stand in a row and step forward as you recite -your lines. - - HUMMING-BIRD. - - I wish I were a humming-bird, - A tiny little thing, - With feathers light and airy, - And a brilliant rainbow wing; - Fleet as a sound, I’d fly, I’d fly, - Away from fear and harm, - Over the flowers and through the air, - Inhaling heavenly balm. - - LARK. - - I’d rather be a lark to rise, - When the sleep of night is done; - And higher, higher through the skies - Soar to the morning sun; - And clearer, sweeter, as I rise, - With rapture I would sing, - While diadems from heaven’s own light - Would sparkle on my wings. - - NIGHTINGALE. - - I’d like to be a nightingale; - She sings the sweetest song; - The daylight gone, her voice is heard - In tune the whole night long. - The stars look down from heaven’s dome, - The pale moon rolls along; - And maybe angels live up there, - And listen to her song. - - EAGLE. - - Of all the birds that sing so sweet, - Or roam the air so free, - With pinions firm, and proud, and strong, - The eagle I would be; - On some high mount whose rugged peaks - Beyond the clouds do rest, - There, in the blaze of day, I’d find - My shelter and my rest. - - DOVE. - - The humming-bird’s a pretty thing. - The lark flies very high, - The eagle’s very proud and strong, - The nightingale sings lullaby; - But, as I want a nature - That every one can love, - And would be gentle, mild, and sweet, - I think I’ll be a dove. - - CHICKADEE. - - I’ll tell you what I want to be— - A little, merry, chickadee; - In the storm and in the snow - When the cold winds fiercely blow, - Not to mind the wintry blast, - Nor how long the storm may last, - Active, merry, blithe and free, - This’s the bird I’d like to be. - - RESPONSE. - - I do not want to be a bird, - And really had not you - Much rather be like all the birds, - And yet be children too? - The humming-bird, from bloom to bloom - Inhales the heavenly balm; - So we from all may gather good, - And still reject the harm. - And, like the lark, our minds arise, - By inspirations given, - To bathe our souls, as she her wings, - In the pure light of heaven. - - The nightingale sings all the night, - In sweet, harmonious lays; - So, in the night of sorrow, we - Should sing our Maker’s praise. - The eagle, firm, and proud, and strong, - On his own strength relying, - Soars through the storm, the lightning’s glare - And thunders bold defying. - Till far above the clouds and storm, - High on some mountain crest, - He finds the sun’s clear light at last, - And there he goes to rest. - - Be ours a spirit firm and true, - Bold in the cause of right, - Ever steadily onward moving, - And upward to the light; - But still as gentle as the dove, - As loving and as true; - Every word and act be kindness, - All life’s journey through; - Always thankful, happy, free; - Though life’s tempests fiercely blow; - Cheerful as a chickadee - Flying through the wintry snow. - - MYRA A. SHATTUCK. - - -“COME UNTO ME.” - - As children once to Christ were brought - That he might bless them there, - So now we little children ought - To seek the Lord by prayer. - - And as so many years ago - Poor babes his pity drew, - I’m sure he will not let me go - Without a blessing too. - - Then while, this favor to implore, - My little hands are spread, - Do thou thy sacred blessing pour, - Dear Jesus, on my head. - - -THERE IS A TEETOTALER. - -This piece should be spoken by a spirited boy, and as he goes upon the -stage, some one should cry out, “There’s a teetotaler!” - - Yes, sir, here _is_ a teetotaler, from the crown of his head to - the tips of his toes. I’ve got on teetotal boots, too, that never - will walk in the way of a drunkard. The other day a man asked me - about our White Ribbon Army. He wanted to know what use there is - in making so many promises. I told him the use was in _keeping_ - the promises more than in _making_ them. - - The boys which belong to our Army have something to do besides - loafing at the corners of the streets, and smoking the stumps of - cigars they pick out of the gutters. It makes me sick to think of - it! - - Some boys are dreadfully afraid of losing their liberty, so they - won’t sign our pledge. I saw four or five of them the other day. - They had been off, somewhere, having what they call a jolly time; - and they were so drunk they couldn’t walk straight. They lifted - their feet higher than a sober boy would to go upstairs, and I - watched them till one fell down and bumped his nose. - - Thinks I to myself, there’s liberty for you, but it’s just such - liberty as I don’t want. I would rather walk straight than - crooked, I would rather stand up than fall down, and I would - rather go to a party with my sisters, and some other pretty - girls, than hide away with a lot of rough fellows, to guzzle beer - and whisky. - - There are plenty of other reasons why I am a teetotaler. When I - grow up, I would rather be a _man_ than a walking wine-cask or - rum-barrel; I would rather live in a _good_ house than a _poor_ - one, and I would rather be loved and respected than despised and - hated. - - Now, if these are not reasons enough for being a teetotaler, I - will give you some more the next time we meet. - - -AN APPEAL FOR BENEFICENCE. - -_For a small boy._ - - The boy that spoke first to-night said you were all welcome. I - shan’t take it back. You _are_ welcome. You’re welcome to see and - hear; but you’re just twice as welcome to _give_. We love to look - at you, and we’re _willing_ you should look at us. We’re glad to - have you hear _us_; but we want to hear _you_. You haven’t any - speeches ready? All right! We don’t want to hear those. We can - make those ourselves—as you’ve seen. - - What we do want to hear is the rustling of Greenbacks and - the clinking of Silver, as the ushers pass the boxes round. - That’s a kind of music that we appreciate, for it gets us our - library-books, our papers, our banners, and everything else - that a Sunday-School needs; and then it’s a kind of music that - we can’t make ourselves, and everybody prizes what he can’t do - himself. We do our best now. This school has given ⸺ dollars for - benevolent objects, during the past year. Isn’t such a school - worth helping? We mean to do better by-and-by, when _we_ get hold - of the money-bags. Just now, _you_ must do the giving. - - -ADDRESS OF WELCOME TO A NEW PASTOR. - -To be spoken by a small girl. - - DEAR PASTOR:—The old folks have asked you to come and be their - pastor, and we children want to know if you won’t come and be - ours too. I am sure little folks need a pastor just as much as - big ones do. I think they do more, because big folks ought to be - able to take care of themselves. - - We think the Sunday-school belongs especially to us, as we are - allowed to say more there than we are in church, so we would like - you to come into the Sunday-school and work with us there, and - we will gladly pay you with our love and sunny smiles. (We can’t - give you our pennies because they have to go across the ocean - to the poor heathen.) If you could only come around through our - classes every week and help us just a little by a word of good - cheer, I am sure we would feel that you belonged to us and we to - you. - - I know pastors have an awful lot to do, and they say it is real - hard work to preach, but if you could say just a little less to - the old folks, and a little more to the young folks, we will help - you build up the church and make it a big success. So, I hope, - dear pastor, you will let us call you our own, and when you come - among us you may be sure we will love you and welcome you as the - children’s friend. - - -ADDRESS OF WELCOME TO A NEW SUPERINTENDENT. - -To be spoken by a small boy. - - DEAR MR. BLANK:—I am sent out here to-day to tell you how glad - we are that you are to be our new superintendent. I welcome you - in the name of the school, and do it most heartily. Boys know a - good thing when they see it—if they didn’t Farmer Jones wouldn’t - have to put up sticky fly-paper on his peach trees—just to catch - flies, of course. So, when we were told that you had been chosen - for our new superintendent, we said “that’s all right.” - - There must be an engineer to every train if it is to be run - properly, at the same time a great deal depends on the train and - how it is made up. Now, I believe there is good stuff in our - Sunday-school. We would make a good train if guided by a good - engineer. We can’t run ourselves and keep on the track, that’s - sure. We are quite certain, to begin with, that we are on the - right track, and we know that Mr. Blank can keep us there. To get - to the end of our journey safely, though, will depend much on how - well our train hangs together. This, boys and girls, is our part, - and we must do our best. - - We know that love will make the wheels go round and charity will - bind us together, tighter than any cord. We hope our engineer - will be proud of his train. - - -OPENING ADDRESS FOR A SUNDAY-SCHOOL EXHIBITION. - - I have always been told that children should be seen and not - heard, but this is children’s night and we are going to be seen - and heard too. - - We are very glad to welcome the old folks. There are so many here - their presence would lead us to think they believe boys and girls - can do something after all. Their eyes are on us, and I hope, - children, that you have brought your best behavior with you, - because this is a good time and place to use it. Perhaps I may be - allowed to suggest that you keep your eye on the old folks, just - to see that they conduct themselves properly. - - Boys and girls, we have a great deal to say that is worth - hearing, and I hope you will speak out loud and prompt so that - our audience will not miss any of the good things. We want to - make this the best exhibition we have ever given, so that when - our elders go home they will have a better impression of us than - they ever had before. - - -CLOSING ADDRESS FOR A SUNDAY-SCHOOL EXHIBITION. - - When I found that our superintendent had put me _last_ on the - programme, I felt, as boys often do, that it would be much nicer - to be _first_, but he said it was a good plan to keep the best - wine till the last, so I feel all right about it. I know, too, - that you will not question the superintendent’s good taste. I - mean about _me_, not the _wine_. He wants me to say we are all - very much obliged to you for coming, and we hope you have had a - much bigger treat than you expected. - - These exhibitions mean work for the boys and girls, as well as - for the teachers, but _work_ does everybody good, especially boys - who love base-ball better than Sunday-school. I hope our efforts - have been a credit to ourselves and to the Sunday-school, of - which we are all so proud. - - -PRESENTATION ADDRESS TO A PASTOR. - -For a young lady. - - DEAR PASTOR:—It is our delight at this season of gifts and good - will, to present to you a slight token of the esteem in which - you are held by your Sunday School. To say we all love you is to - repeat what you must already know. - - “Out of the fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh,” but words - do not always answer our purpose. We like to put them into some - tangible form, and so to-night we present you with this ⸺ which - comes as an expression of our sincere love and good wishes. - - We ask you to accept this, not for its intrinsic value, but as - a gift from loyal scholars, who recognize and appreciate your - constant and untiring efforts to minister to their needs in every - way and at all times. - - Do not thank us, dear Pastor. We are discharging but a mite of - the indebtedness we owe you, and you will only add to that debt - if you persist in returning thanks to us. You know how Church - people abhor debts, and we are trying to put into practice some - of your preaching. We hope the token will be a constant reminder, - if that were necessary, of our unceasing interest in you and your - work. - - -A PRESENTATION ADDRESS TO A TEACHER. - - DEAR TEACHER:—We take this occasion to acknowledge publicly - our deep and sincere appreciation of the faithful service you - have rendered us. It is our desire to tender you some tangible - expression of the sincere feeling we have for you and to impress - upon you the love and good will felt by every pupil. - - I, therefore, present you this ⸺ asking you to associate it - forever with the names and faces of the donors. Through your kind - and prayerful aid many of us have been led into the way of truth, - and will, therefore, gratefully remember you as long as we live. - - -A PRESENTATION ADDRESS TO A SUPERINTENDENT. - -For a young man. - - MR. SUPERINTENDENT:—We are going to make you a present to-night, - and I for one think you deserve it. - - Our School has the reputation of being a _live_ one, and it is - a good deal because there is a _live_ man at the head of it. In - the past year that you have been with us, your patience must have - been sorely tried, for while most of the children are naturally - good, some are naturally unruly. The young men and young women - from whom we expect the best conduct are often, strange to say, - more attentive to each other than to their lessons. But having - been first a boy yourself, and perhaps later a beau, you have - not had the heart to be too severe on those who are still young - pupils in the school of experience. - - By your untiring efforts you have brought the Sunday School up - to a standard of unusual excellence. For its free and vigorous - life, we are largely indebted to you. As a token of that fact - please accept this gift. We wish its intrinsic value were twice - as great. But if it conveys, even in a slight degree, the esteem - in which you are held by all our scholars, young and old, it will - serve the purpose for which it was procured. - - -ADDRESS OF WELCOME AFTER ILLNESS. - -To be spoken by a young lady. - - DEAR MR. BLANK:—I feel unable to fully express to you our joy at - seeing you once more in your place in the Sunday School. It has - been hard for us to be deprived of your presence, for you had - made yourself invaluable to us, but added to the personal loss - we felt at your absence was the greater sorrow that you had been - called upon to pass through so much physical suffering. - - But, we know that God’s hand is always leading us, and the same - wise purpose that causes the shadows to fall, also makes the sun - to shine, and “the darker the shadow, the brighter the sunshine.” - When, for a time, it was feared that you might not be restored to - us, we felt we could not have it so, but our prayers were heard, - and our thanks are deep and sincere that you are again in our - midst. We pray that you may long be permitted to glorify Him who - is the great physician, in the work to which you are returned. - - -ADDRESS OF WELCOME AFTER ABSENCE. - -To be spoken by a young man. - - DEAR PASTOR:—I want to speak in behalf of the younger members - of your flock and add our hearty welcome to that already voiced - by our elders. We congratulate you on your safe return, and - rejoice with you that change and rest have reinvigorated your - physical health. As you come, bringing the fresh fruits of added - experience and observation, you will find us all eager to benefit - by what has enriched your store. - - Welcome home, then, to all that has suffered by your absence. - The Church with its manifold offices has often felt the need of - your strength and wisdom. Welcome to the Sunday-school where your - words of help and counsel have guided us many times, and where - your presence has been most uplifting. - - Welcome to the homes and hearts of the young and old alike. There - is not a fireside in our midst that has not been cheered by your - frequent and timely visits. In the seasons of joy and sorrow - which must come to all homes alike, there has been no one to whom - we could turn and be so sure of loving sympathy as yourself. - - Welcome to the privileges and responsibilities of your calling - and to the honor of your old title—The Pastor who loves the - children. We want to give fresh assurance of our hearty - co-operation in that work which you are about to resume. We have - learned in your absence how much and how great is that work. - - Let it be our privilege to share it with you and so prove by our - deeds, the love we have for your labors. - - MAY HATHEWAY. - - - - -PART III. - -PROGRAMMES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS - -CONTAINING - -Charming Exercises for Fourth-of-July Celebrations; Washington’s -Birthday; Christmas and Thanksgiving; Decoration Day; Public School -Exhibitions; Arbor Day; Harvest Homes; Evening Entertainments, Etc., Etc. - -INCLUDING A CHOICE COLLECTION OF DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX, SUBJECTS FOR -DEBATE, ETC. - - -PROGRAMME NO. 1 FOR FOURTH OF JULY. - -The following programme can be varied as occasion may require by -additional exercises or by substituting others for those here suggested. -The platform should be decorated with flags and patriotic emblems. In -addition to the singing of patriotic airs, there should be music by a -band or orchestra. Each of the children should be furnished with a small -flag. Let all the exercises be very spirited. - - -MUSIC—By the Band or Orchestra. - - -SINGING—Tune: “America.” - - My country, ’tis of thee, - Sweet land of liberty, - Of thee I sing; - Land where my fathers died, - Land of the pilgrim’s pride, - From every mountain-side - Let freedom ring. - - My native country, thee— - Land of the noble free— - Thy name I love; - I love thy rocks and rills, - Thy woods and templed hills, - My heart with rapture thrills - Like that above. - - Let music swell the breeze - And ring from all the trees - Sweet freedom’s song; - Let mortal tongues awake; - Let all that breathe partake; - Let rocks their silence break— - The sound prolong. - - Our fathers’ God, to Thee, - Author of liberty, - To Thee we sing; - Long may our land be bright - With Freedom’s holy light; - Protect us by Thy might, - Great God, our King. - - SAMUEL F. SMITH. - - -READING—The Declaration of Independence. - - -RECITATION—The Fourth of July. - - To the sages who spoke, to the heroes who bled, - To the day and the deed, strike the harp-strings of glory! - Let the song of the ransomed remember the dead, - And the tongue of the eloquent hallow the story, - O’er the bones of the bold - Be that story long told, - And on fame’s golden tablets their triumphs enrolled - Who on freedom’s green hills freedom’s banner unfurled, - And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the world! - - They are gone—mighty men!—and they sleep in their fame: - Shall we ever forget them? Oh, never! no, never! - Let our sons learn from us to embalm each great name, - And the anthem send down—“Independence forever!” - Wake, wake, heart and tongue! - Keep the theme ever young; - Let their deeds through the long line of ages be sung - Who on freedom’s green hills freedom’s banner unfurled, - And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the world! - - CHARLES SPRAGUE. - - -MUSIC—By Band or Orchestra. - - -READING—The Vow of Washington. - - The sword was sheathed: in April’s sun - Lay green the fields by freedom won; - And severed sections, weary of debates, - Joined hands at last and were United States. - - O city, sitting by the sea! - How proud the day that dawned on thee, - When the new era, long desired, began, - And, in its need, the hour had found the man! - - One thought the cannon salvos spoke; - The resonant bell-tower’s vibrant stroke, - The voiceful streets, the plaudit-echoing halls, - And prayer and hymn borne heavenward from St. Paul’s! - - How felt the land in every part - The strong throb of a nation’s heart, - As its great leader gave, with reverent awe, - His pledge to union, liberty and law! - - That pledge the heavens above him heard, - That vow the sleep of centuries stirred; - In world-wide wonder listening peoples bent - Their gaze on freedom’s great experiment. - - Could it succeed? Of honor sold - And hopes deceived all history told. - Above the wrecks that strewed the mournful past - Was the long dream of ages true at last? - - Thank God! the people’s choice was just, - The one man equal to his trust, - Wise beyond lore, and without weakness good, - Calm in the strength of flawless rectitude! - - His rule of justice, order, peace, - Made possible the world’s release; - Taught prince and serf that power is but a trust, - And rule, alone, which serves the ruled, is just; - - That freedom generous is, but strong - In hate of fraud and selfish wrong, - Pretense that turns her holy truths to lies, - And lawless license masking in her guise. - - Land of his love! with one glad voice - Let thy great sisterhood rejoice; - A century’s suns o’er thee have risen and set, - And, God be praised, we are one nation yet. - - And still, we trust, the years to be - Shall prove his hope was destiny, - Leaving our flag with all its added stars - Unrent by faction and unstained by wars! - - Lo! where with patient toil he nursed - And trained the new-set plant at first, - The widening branches of a stately tree - Stretched from the sunrise to the sunset sea. - - And in its broad and sheltering shade, - Sitting with none to make afraid, - Were we now silent, through each mighty limb, - The winds of heaven would sing the praise of him. - - Our first and best—his ashes lie - Beneath his own Virginian sky. - Forgive, forget, O true and just and brave, - The storm that swept above thy sacred grave! - - For, ever in the awful strife - And dark hours of the nation’s life, - Through the fierce tumult pierced his warning word, - Their father’s voice his erring children heard! - - The change for which he prayed and sought - In that sharp agony was wrought; - No partial interest draws its alien line - ’Twixt North and South, the cypress and the pine! - - One people now, all doubt beyond, - His name shall be our Union-bond; - We lift our hands to heaven, and here, and now, - Take on our lips the old Centennial vow. - - For rule and trust must needs be ours; - Chooser and chosen both our powers - Equaled in service as in rights; the claim - Of duty rests on each and all the same. - - Then let the sovereign millions, where - Our banner floats in sun and air, - From the warm palm-lands to Alaska’s cold, - Repeat with us the pledge a century old! - - JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. - - -DECLAMATION—The Little Mayflower. - -And now—for the fulness of time is come—let us go up, in imagination -to yonder hill, and look out upon the November scene. That single dark -speck, just discernible through the perspective glass, on the waste of -waters, is the fated vessel. The storm moans through her tattered canvas, -as she creeps, almost sinking, to her anchorage in Provincetown harbor; -and there she lies, with all her treasures, not of silver and gold (for -of these she has none), but of courage, of patience, of zeal, of high -spiritual daring. - -So often as I dwell in imagination on this scene; when I consider the -condition of the Mayflower, utterly incapable, as she was, of living -through another gale; when I survey the terrible front presented by -our coast to the navigator who, unacquainted with its channels and -roadsteads, should approach it in the stormy season, I dare not call it a -mere piece of good fortune, that the general north and south wall of the -shore of New England should be broken by this extraordinary projection -of the cape, running out into the ocean a hundred miles, as if on purpose -to receive and encircle the precious vessel. - -As I now see her, freighted with the destinies of a continent, barely -escaped from the perils of the deep, approaching the shore precisely -where the broad sweep of this most remarkable headland presents almost -the only point at which, for hundreds of miles, she could, with any ease, -have made a harbor, and this, perhaps, the very best on the seaboard, I -feel my spirit raised above the sphere of mere natural agencies. - -I see the mountains of New England rising from their rocky thrones. They -rush forward into the ocean, settling down as they advance; and there -they range themselves, as a mighty bulwark around the heaven-directed -vessel. Yes, the everlasting God himself stretches out the arm of his -mercy and his power, in substantial manifestation, and gathers the meek -company of his worshipers as in the hollow of his hand. - - EDWARD EVERETT. - - -MARCH—Our Naval Cadets. - - (Twelve or more boys dressed in naval costume and carrying flags.) - - -SINGING—TUNE: Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean. - - O, land of a million brave soldiers, - Who severed the bonds of despair; - O, land of a million true-hearted - Who failed not to do and to dare! - May ever thy shores gleam before us, - With harvests whose wealth shall not cease, - May ever in beauty bend o’er us, - The wings of the white dove of peace. - - CHORUS. - - Hail the glory of Freedom’s glad light! - Hail the passing of Slavery’s night! - Hail the triumph of Truth over Error! - Hail the glory of Freedom’s glad light! - Though hushed is the voice of the cannon - Though silent the loud battle cry, - There’s many to-day, who if needful, - For Freedom would suffer and die. - Columbia’s sons still are loyal, - Columbia’s sons still are true, - ’Neath the emblem of Justice and Mercy - The banner of red, white and blue. - - -RECITATION—To the Ladies. - -(To be prefaced with the following statement: “In the year 1768, the -people of Boston resolved that they would not import any tea, glass, -paper, or other commodities commonly brought from Great Britain, until -the act imposing duties upon all such articles should be repealed. This -poetical appeal to the ladies of the country, to lend a ‘helping hand’ -for the furtherance of that resolution, appeared in the Boston _News -Letter_, anonymously.”) - - Young ladies in town, and those that live round, - Let a friend at this season advise you; - Since money’s so scarce, and times growing worse, - Strange things may soon hap and surprise you. - - First, then, throw aside your topknots of pride; - Wear none but your own country linen; - Of economy boast, let your pride be the most - To show clothes of your own make and spinning. - - What if homespun they say is not quite so gay - As brocades, yet be not in a passion, - For when once it is known this is much worn in town, - One and all will cry out—’Tis the fashion! - - And, as one, all agree, that you’ll not married be - To such as will wear London factory, - But at first sight refuse, tell ’em such you will choose - As encourage our own manufactory. - - No more ribbons wear, nor in rich silks appear; - Love your country much better than fine things; - Begin without passion, ’twill soon be the fashion - To grace your smooth locks with a twine string. - - Throw aside your Bohea, and your Green Hyson tea, - And all things with a new-fashion duty; - Procure a good store of the choice Labrador, - For there’ll soon be enough here to suit you. - - These do without fear, and to all you’ll appear - Fair, charming, true, lovely and clever; - Though the times remain darkish, young men may be sparkish, - And love you much stronger than ever. - - Then make yourselves easy, for no one will teaze ye, - Nor tax you, if chancing to sneer - At the sense-ridden tools, who think us all fools; - But they’ll find the reverse far and near. - - -MUSIC—By Band or Orchestra. - - -TABLEAU—Conquered and Conqueror. - - (A soldier dressed as a British redcoat is lying down, resting - on one elbow and holding up his hand to ward off his foe. A - soldier dressed in Continental uniform stands over him, pointing - a bayonet at his breast.) - - -MUSIC—By Band or Orchestra. - - -PROGRAMME NO. 2, FOR FOURTH OF JULY. - - -MUSIC—By Band or Orchestra. - - -SINGING—TUNE: America. - - God bless our native land! - Firm may she ever stand - Through storm and night; - When the wild tempests rave, - Ruler of winds and wave! - Do thou our country save - By thy great might. - - For her our prayers shall rise - To God above the skies, - On him we wait; - Thou who art ever nigh, - Guardian with watchful eye! - To thee alone we cry, - God save the State. - - Our fathers’ God! to thee, - Author of liberty, - To thee we sing; - - Long may our land be bright - With freedom’s holy light; - Protect us by thy might, - Great God, our King! - - -READING—Declaration of Independence. - - -RECITATION—Our Natal Day. - - Oh, the Fourth of July! - When fire-crackers fly, - And urchins in petticoats tyrants defy! - When all the still air - Creeps away in despair, - And clamor is king, be the day dark or fair! - When freedom’s red flowers - Fall in star-spangled showers, - And liberty capers for twenty-four hours. - When the morn’s ushered in - By a sleep-crushing din, - That tempts us to use philological sin; - When the forenoon advances - With large circumstances, - Subjecting our lives to debatable chances; - When the soldiers of peace - Their attractions increase, - By marching, protected with clubs of police; - When the little toy gun - Has its share of the fun, - By teaching short-hand to the favorite son. - - Oh, the Fourth of July! - When grand souls hover nigh! - When Washington bends from the honest blue sky! - When Jefferson stands— - Famous scribe of all lands— - The charter of heaven in his glorified hands! - When his comrade—strong, high, - John Adams—comes nigh, - (For both went to their rest the same Fourth of July!) - When Franklin—grand, droll— - That could lightnings control, - Comes here with his sturdy, progressive old soul; - When freedom’s strong staff— - Hancock—with a laugh, - Writes in memory’s album his huge autograph! - - But let thought have its way, - And give memory sway; - Do we think of the cost of this glorified day? - While the harvest-field waves, - Do we think of those braves - In the farms thickly planted with thousands of graves? - How the great flag up there, - Clean and pure as the air, - Has been drabbled with blood-drops, and trailed in despair? - - Do we know what a land - God hath placed in our hand, - To be made into star-gems, or crushed into sand? - Let us feel that our race, - Doomed to no second place, - Must glitter with triumph, or die in disgrace! - That millions unborn, - At night, noon, and morn, - Will thank us with blessings, or curse us with scorn, - For raising more high - Freedom’s flag to the sky, - Or losing forever the Fourth of July! - - WILL CARLETON. - - -SINGING—Tune: “Hold the Fort.” - - Oh, behold in all its beauty, - Freedom’s flag unfurled! - Glorious flag—to us the fairest - In the wide, wide world. - - CHORUS. - - Proudly float, O flag of Freedom, - Fair Columbia’s pride! - For thy stars and stripes of beauty, - Many a hero died. - - Great the price of Freedom’s purchase— - ’Twas the price of life; - Oh, the pain and loss and sorrow - Ere the end of strife. - - Ever mindful of the struggle, - Let us all be true - To the colors of our nation— - Red, and white and blue. - - -RECITATION—The Banner of the Sea. - - By wind and wave the sailor brave has fared - To shores of every sea; - But never yet have seamen met or dared - Grim death for victory - In braver mood than they who died - On drifting decks, in Apia’s tide, - While cheering every sailor’s pride, - The banner of the free! - - Columbia’s men were they who then went down, - Not knights nor kings of old, - But brighter far their laurels are than crown - Or coronet of gold; - Our sailor true, of any crew, - Would give the last long breath he drew - To cheer the old red, white and blue, - The banner of the bold! - - With hearts of oak, through storm and smoke and flame, - Columbia’s seamen long - Have bravely fought and nobly wrought, that shame - Might never dull their song; - They sing the country of the free, - The glory of the rolling sea, - The starry flag of liberty, - The banner of the strong! - - We ask but this, and not amiss the claim, - A fleet to ride the wave, - A navy great to crown the State with fame, - Though foes or tempests rave; - Then, as our fathers did of yore, - We’ll sail our ships to every shore, - On every ocean wind will soar - The banner of the brave! - - Oh! this we claim, that never shame may ride - On any wave with thee, - Thou Ship of State, whose timbers great abide - The home of liberty! - For, so, our gallant Yankee tars, - Of daring deeds and honored scars, - Will make the banner of the stars - The banner of the sea. - - HOMER GREEN. - - -MUSIC—Cornet Solo. - - -ORATION—What America has Done for the World. - -What has this nation done to repay the world for the benefits we have -received from others? We have been repeatedly told, and sometimes, -too, in a tone of affected impartiality, that the highest praise which -can fairly be given to the American mind, is that of possessing an -enlightened selfishness; that if the philosophy and talents of this -country, with all their effects, were forever swept into oblivion, the -loss would be felt only by ourselves; and that if to the accuracy of this -general charge, the labors of Franklin present an illustrious, it is -still but a solitary, exception. - -The answer may be given, confidently and triumphantly. Without abandoning -the fame of our eminent men, whom Europe has been slow and reluctant to -honor, we would reply, that the intellectual power of this people has -exerted itself in conformity to the general system of our institutions -and manners; and therefore, that, for the proof of its existence and the -measure of its force, we must look not so much to the works of prominent -individuals, as to the great aggregate results; and if Europe has -hitherto been wilfully blind to the value of our example and the exploits -of our sagacity, courage, invention, and freedom, the blame must rest -with her, and not with America. - -Is it nothing for the universal good of mankind to have carried into -successful operation a system of self-government, uniting personal -liberty, freedom of opinion, and equality of rights, with national power -and dignity; such as had before existed only in the Utopian dreams of -philosophers? Is it nothing, in moral science, to have anticipated -in sober reality, numerous plans of reform in civil and criminal -jurisprudence, which are, but now, received as plausible theories by the -politicians and economists of Europe? Is it nothing to have been able to -call forth on every emergency, either in war or peace, a body of talented -patriots always equal to the difficulty? - -Is it nothing to have, in less than a half-century, exceedingly improved -the sciences of political economy, of law, and of medicine, with all -their auxiliary branches; to have enriched human knowledge by the -accumulation of a great mass of useful facts and observations, and to -have augmented the power and the comforts of civilized man, by miracles -of mechanical invention? Is it nothing to have given the world examples -of disinterested patriotism, of political wisdom, of public virtue; of -learning, eloquence, and valor, never exerted save for some praiseworthy -end? It is sufficient to have briefly suggested these considerations; -every mind would anticipate me in filling up the details. - -No—Land of Liberty! thy children have no cause to blush for thee. What -though the arts have reared few monuments among us, and scarce a trace -of the muse’s footstep is found in the paths of our forests, or along -the banks of our rivers; yet our soil has been consecrated by the blood -of heroes, and by great and holy deeds of peace. Its wide extent has -become one vast temple and hallowed asylum, sanctified by the prayers -and blessings of the persecuted of every sect, and the wretched of all -nations. - -Land of Refuge—Land of Benedictions! Those prayers still arise, and they -still are heard: “May peace be within thy walls, and plenteousness within -thy palaces!” “May there be no decay, no leading into captivity, and no -complaining in thy streets!” “May truth flourish out of the earth, and -righteousness look down from Heaven!” - - GULIAN C. VERPLANCK. - - -MARCH—Daughters of the Revolution. - -(Twelve or more little girls, dressed in Continental costume and carrying -flags. They should be drilled to perform a march.) - - -RECITATION—Stand up for Liberty. - - Ye sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought - For those rights which unstained from your sires had descended. - May you long taste the blessings your valor has brought, - And your sons reap the soil which your fathers defended. - Let our patriots destroy anarch’s pestilent worm, - Lest our liberty’s growth should be checked by corrosion; - Then let clouds thicken round us: we heed not the storm; - Our realm feels no shock but the earth’s own explosion. - Foes assail us in vain, - Though their fleets bridge the main; - For our altars and laws with our lives we’ll maintain; - For ne’er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, - While the earth bears a plant or the sea rolls its waves. - - Should the tempest of war overshadow our land, - Its bolts could ne’er rend freedom’s temple asunder; - For, unmoved, at its portal would Washington stand, - And repulse, with his breast, the assaults of the thunder! - His sword from the sleep - Of its scabbard would leap, - And conduct, with its point, every flash to the deep! - For ne’er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, - While the earth bears a plant or the sea rolls its waves. - - Let fame to the world sound America’s voice; - No intrigues can her sons from their government sever; - Her pride are her statesmen—their laws are her choice, - And shall flourish till liberty slumbers forever. - Then unite heart and hand, - Like Leonidas’ band, - And swear to the God of the ocean and land - That ne’er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, - While the earth bears a plant or the sea rolls its waves. - - ROBERT TREAT PAINE, JR. - - -MUSIC—By Band or Orchestra. - - -RECITATION—Off with Your Hat as the Flag Goes By. - - Off with your hat as the flag goes by! - And let the heart have its say; - You’re man enough for a tear in your eye - That you will not wipe away. - - You’re man enough for a thrill that goes - To your very finger tips— - Ay! The lump just then in your throat that rose - Spoke more than your parted lips. - - Lift up the boy on your shoulder high, - And show him the faded shred— - Those stripes would be red as the sunset sky - If death could have dyed them red. - - The man that bore it, with death has lain - These thirty years or more— - He died that the work should not be vain - Of the men who bore it before. - - The man that bears it is bent and old, - And ragged his beard and gray; - But see his proud form grow young and bold, - At the tune that he hears them play. - - The old tune thunders through all the air, - And strikes right into the heart; - If it ever calls for you, boy, be there! - Be there and ready to start! - - Off with your hat as the flag goes by! - Uncover the youngster’s head! - Teach him to hold it holy and high, - For the sake of its sacred dead. - - H. C. BUNNER. - - -RECITATION—The Young American. - - Scion of a mighty stock! - Hands of iron—hearts of oak— - Follow with unflinching tread - Where the noble fathers led. - - Craft and subtle treachery, - Gallant youth! are not for thee; - Follow thou in word and deeds - Where the God within thee leads! - - Honesty with steady eye, - Truth and pure simplicity, - Love that gently winneth hearts— - These shall be thy only arts: - - Prudent in the council train, - Dauntless on the battle-plain, - Ready at the country’s need - For her glorious cause to bleed! - - Where the dews of night distill - Upon Vernon’s holy hill; - Where above it, gleaming far, - Freedom lights her guiding star: - - Thither turn the steady eye, - Flashing with a purpose high; - Thither, with devotion meet, - Often turn the pilgrim feet! - - Let the noble motto be, - God—the country—liberty! - Planted on religion’s rock, - Thou shalt stand in every shock. - - -TABLEAU—Surrender of Cornwallis. - - (American and British soldiers in the background. Washington in - front and Cornwallis handing him his sword.) - - -MUSIC—By Band or Orchestra. - - -PROGRAMME FOR A CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENT. - -(A Christmas tree always pleases young people, and what interests them -is sure to be appreciated by older persons. In the absence of a Christmas -tree, loaded with decorations and gifts, the room should be trimmed with -evergreens; in fact, such decorations are always in order at the merry -Christmas time.) - - -SONG—Christmas Bells, Tune: “Ring the Bells of Heaven.” - - Ring, O bells, in gladness, - Tell of joy to-day; - Ring and swing o’er all the world so wide. - Banish thoughts of sadness, - Drive all grief away, - For it is the Merry Christmas tide. - - CHORUS. - - Ring, O bells, from spire and swelling dome, - Ring and bid the peaceful ages come; - Banish thoughts of sadness, - Drive all grief away, - For it is the Merry Christmas Day. - - Ring, O bells, the story - From the ages far; - Of the Christmas joy and song and light; - How the wondrous glory - Of the Christmas star - Led the shepherds onward through the night! - - Ring, O bells, in gladness - Of the Saviour King; - May your silver chimings never cease; - Banish thoughts of sadness - And all nations bring - Glorious dawning of the Day of Peace. - - ALICE JEAN CLEATOR. - - -RELIGIOUS EXERCISES—To be Selected. - - -RECITATION—A Letter to Santa Claus. - - Blessed old Santa Claus! king of delights! - What are you doing these long winter nights? - Filling your budgets with trinkets and toys— - Wonderful gifts for the girls and the boys? - While you are planning for everything nice, - Pray let me give you a bit of advice. - - Don’t take it hard, if I say in your ear, - Santa, I think you were partial last year; - Loading the rich folks with everything gay, - Snubbing the poor ones who came in your way: - Now, of all times in the year, I am sure - This is the time to remember the poor. - - Little red hands that are aching with cold, - You should have mittens your fingers to hold; - Poor little feet, with your frost-bitten toes, - You should be clothed in the warmest of hose. - On the dark hearth I would kindle a light, - Till the sad faces were happy and bright. - - Don’t you think, Santa, if all your life through, - Some one had always been caring for you, - Watching to guard you by night and by day, - Giving you gifts you could never repay, - Sometimes, at least, you would sigh to recall - How many children have nothing at all? - - Safe in your own quiet chamber at night, - Cozy and warm in your blankets so white, - Wouldn’t you think of the shivering forms - Out in the cold and the wind and the storms? - Wouldn’t you think of the babies who cry, - Pining in hunger and cold till they die? - - Blessed old Nick! I was sure, if you knew it, - You would remember, and certainly do it; - This year, at least, when you open your pack, - Pray give a portion to all who may lack; - Then if you chance to have anything over, - Bring a small gift to your friend—Kitty Clover. - - -RECITATION—Christmas in all the Lands - - (For four children. They recite singly and then in concert, - beginning with the words in the last verse, “Lo, want and - sin,” etc.) - - FIRST CHILD. - - From the wild Northland where the wolf’s long howl - Stirs the depths of down in the ocean fowl, - And the white bear prowls with stealthy creep - To the spot where the seal lies fast asleep, - And the sledges flash through the silence vast - Like a glittering dream, now here, now past,— - On this waste of sparkle and waste of snow - ’Neath skies aflame with a crimson glow; - The feet of the Christ-child softly fall, - And Christmas dawn brings cheer to all. - - SECOND CHILD. - - ’Tis the homestead low in the quiet vale - Where the farm-dog follows Dobbin’s trail - To the pasture lot, now cold and bare, - And sniffs with glee the snow-filled air. - In this home of busy household joys, - ’Mong the rosy girls and sturdy boys, - Sweet peace descends on wings of light, - And all exclaim, “’Tis Christmas night, - The dear Christ-child is hovering near - Let each one share our Christmas cheer.” - - THIRD CHILD. - - ’Tis the prairies vast where cyclones sweep, - And their sturdy men world-harvests reap, - Where the skies are such an airy blue - An angel’s robe might flutter through; - And the lark flings down her music sweet - A chain of song, each link complete; - Then a white day comes, so bland or wild, - It bears in arms the sweet Christ-child, - And hearts touch heart and hands touch hand, - While Christmas light illumes the land. - - FOURTH CHILD. - - ’Tis the land of palms and of orange trees, - Whose lamps of gold swing in the breeze, - Where the pickaninny’s black eyes glow, - O’er swarthy cheeks and teeth of snow, - And the dusky hand is raised to bless - The gift that makes his misery less; - For rich and poor and young and old - Stand in the charmed ring of gold - Which Christmas brings. Lo, want and sin - Flee from the blessed eyes of Him, - The dear Christ child, who far and near - Gives Christmas love and Christmas cheer. - - G. A. BROWN. - - -MUSIC—Cornet Solo, or Choir. - - -READING—Santa Claus on the Train. - - On a Christmas eve an emigrant train - Sped on through the blackness of night, - And cleft the pitchy dark in twain - With the gleam of its fierce headlight. - - In a crowded car, a noisome place, - Sat a mother and her child; - The woman’s face bore want’s wan trace, - But the little one only smiled, - - And tugged and pulled at her mother’s dress, - And her voice had a merry ring, - As she lisped, “Now, mamma, come and guess - What Santa Claus’ll bring.” - - But sadly the mother shook her head, - As she thought of a happier past; - “He never can catch us here,” she said - “The train is going too fast.” - - “O, mamma, yes, he’ll come, I say, - So swift are his little deer, - They run all over the world to-day;—I’ll - hang my stocking up here.” - - She pinned her stocking to the seat, - And closed her tired eyes; - And soon she saw each longed-for sweet - In dreamland’s paradise. - - On a seat behind the little maid - A rough man sat apart, - But a soft light o’er his features played, - And stole into his heart. - - As the cars drew up at a busy town - The rough man left the train, - But scarce had from the steps jumped down - Ere he was back again. - - And a great big bundle of Christmas joys - Bulged out from his pocket wide; - He filled the stocking with sweets and toys - He laid by the dreamer’s side. - - At dawn the little one woke with a shout, - ’Twas sweet to hear her glee; - “I knowed that Santa Claus would find me out, - He caught the train you see.” - - Though some from smiling may scarce refrain, - The child was surely right, - The good St. Nicholas caught the train, - And came aboard that night. - - For the saint is fond of masquerade - And may fool the old and wise, - And so he came to the little maid - In an emigrant’s disguise. - - And he dresses in many ways because - He wishes no one to know him, - For he never says, “I am Santa Claus,” - But his good deeds always show him. - - HENRY C. WALSH. - - -RECITATION—The Waifs. - - At the break of Christmas day, - Through the frosty starlight ringing, - Faint and sweet and far away, - Comes the sound of children, singing, - Chanting, singing, - “Cease to mourn, - For Christ is born, - Peace and joy to all men bringing!” - - Careless that the chill winds blow, - Growing stronger, sweeter, clearer, - Noiseless footfalls in the snow - Bringing the happy voices nearer; - Hear them singing, - “Winter’s drear, - But Christ is here, - Mirth and gladness with him bringing!” - - “Merry Christmas!” hear them say - As the east is growing lighter; - “May the joy of Christmas day - Make your whole year gladder, brighter!” - Join their singing, - “To each home - Our Christ has come, - All Love’s treasures with him bringing!” - - MARGARET DELAND. - - -SONG—Welcome Santa Claus. Tune: “Hold the Fort.” - - From the cold and frosty northland; - Oh so far away, - Santa Claus will soon be coming - In his little sleigh; - Let us listen for the reindeers’ - Dancing, prancing feet, - Let us wait old Santa’s jolly, - Jolly face to greet! - - Listen, don’t you hear his sleigh-bells - Oh so faintly ring, - Santa Claus is surely coming - Many gifts to bring; - In his busy little workshop - Many a long, long day, - Pretty presents he has made - To give them all away! - - Oh his sleigh-bells jingle, jingle, - Very, very near; - Can it be that dear old Santa’s - Really almost here? - Hark, they cease their silver music, - Santa Claus has come! - Welcome, welcome, dear old Santa, - Welcome to each home! - - -ORIGINAL ADDRESS—By a Person Selected. - - -RECITAL—Santa Claus and the Mouse. - - (For boy or girl, who has a stocking with a hole in it, and holds - it up in the last verse, shows the hole and thrusts one or two - fingers through it.) - - One Christmas eve when Santa Claus - Came to a certain house, - To fill the children’s stockings there - He found a little mouse. - - “A merry Christmas, little friend,” - Said Santa, good and kind. - “The same to you, sir,” said the mouse, - “I thought you wouldn’t mind - - If I should stay awake to-night - And watch you for awhile.” - “You’re very welcome, little mouse,” - Said Santa with a smile. - - And then he filled the stockings up - Before the mouse could wink.— - From toe to top, from top to toe - There wasn’t left a chink. - - “Now, they won’t hold another thing,” - Said Santa Claus, with pride. - A twinkle came in mouse’s eyes, - But humbly he replied: - - “It’s not polite to contradict,— - Your pardon I implore,— - But in the fullest stocking there - I could put one thing more.” - - “Oh, ho!” laughed Santa, “silly mouse! - Don’t I know how to pack? - By filling stockings all these years, - I should have learned the knack.” - - And then he took the stocking down - From where it hung so high, - And said: “Now put in one thing more; - I give you leave to try.” - - The mousie chuckled to himself, - And then he softly stole - Right to the stocking’s crowded toe - And gnawed a little hole! - - “Now, if you please, good Santa Claus, - I’ve put in one thing more; - For you will own that little hole - Was not in there before.” - - How Santa Claus did laugh and laugh! - And then he gayly spoke: - “Well! you shall have a Christmas cheese - For that nice little joke.” - - If you don’t think this story true, - Why I can show to you - The very stocking with the hole - The little mouse gnawed through! - - EMILIE POULSSON. - - -RECITATION—What Ted Found in his Stocking. - - “I don’t care, I _will_ go! - So there, Mamma Mouse! - The folks are all sleeping - All over the house; - - “The stockings are hanging— - I smell the sweet bits. - It’s enough to drive mousies - Into wild, crazy fits!” - - So when old Mrs. Mouse - Went off to her bed, - The little mouse watched, - And popped up his head. - - Then smelling his way - Very nicely along, - He jumped into a stocking, - So new and so strong. - - But a string on a bundle - Stuck out in a loop, - And in it he tumbled, - The poor silly dupe! - - Oh, then what bewailings - Came out of that stocking! - Such moans and lamentings, - It really was shocking! - - “O dear! and oh dear! - I wish I was home! - If I’d minded mamma, - And hadn’t ’a’ come!” - - But ’twas all of no use. - The string was so tight - That all he could do - Was to wait for daylight. - - Then Ted gave a shout - That awoke the whole house; - For there in his stocking - Was a little gray mouse! - - What became of him then - The cat only can tell, - But one thing I’ll say— - I know very well - - (_By Whole School in Concert_). - - That he’ll never again on a Christmas Eve - Jump into a stocking without any leave! - - -MUSIC—To be Selected. - - -SANTA CLAUS—To be Selected. - - (Comes in dressed in heavy winter garments, with long, white beard - and pockets stuffed with toys). - - -DISTRIBUTION OF GIFTS. - - -PROGRAMME FOR DECORATION DAY. - -(Music by band or orchestra can be introduced whenever deemed -appropriate). - - -SINGING—“Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean.” - - -DECLAMATION—The Meaning of the Day. - -All over our land, in every cemetery where rests members of our army of -the dead—and we doubt if any burial place has not such sleepers,—people -are gathered to-day to pay tribute to our soldier dead and strew flowers -over their graves. All hearts turn as by a common impulse to these -ceremonies. We bring our offerings of flowers to the soldiers, but it -affects them not; they cannot feel the love and gratitude that prompt the -gift. Their lives and deeds have wrought for themselves more enduring -monuments than sculptured marble. We assure the loving soldiers that -they are not forgotten—that their courage and patriotism will always -be remembered as long as a loyal school boy or school girl may live. -But this day means more than this, it means something for our nation, -something for posterity; its belief in that grand old flag and what -it stands for; a belief in freedom. It means that the boys and girls -of to-day, the men and women of to-morrow, who share in this day’s -ceremonies, echo the words of our fathers, that “this government shall be -preserved, come what will, threaten it who may.” - - -EXERCISE. - - (For fifteen pupils each carrying a flag, and gesturing as - indicated. Pupil 8 should carry a larger flag than the others. - Seven to the left of eight should hold flags to left shoulder; - seven to right of eight, should hold flags to right shoulder. - When the word _North_ is recited, the seven to the right of - number eight raise their flags, then back to the shoulder; when - the word _South_ is recited, the seven to the left of number - eight lift their flags, then replace to shoulders. Each might - carry in other hand a bunch of flowers, and at the word - _flowers_, the bouquets should be raised as were the flags. - The pupils to the left could wear gray and those to the right, - blue, in some way—in caps, sashes or bows. Number eight should - be dressed in red, white and blue.) - - _1st Pupil._ - - There is peace, there is peace in the South and the North, - When the suns of the May-time shall call the blooms forth. - - _2nd Pupil._ - - There is peace in the vale where the Tennessee runs— - Where the river grass covers the long silent guns. - - _3rd Pupil._ - - There is peace in Virginia amid the tall corn; - Where Lookout’s high summit grows bright in the morn. - - _4th Pupil._ - - There is peace where the James wanders down to the main; - Where the war-torn Savannas are golden with grain. - - _5th Pupil._ - - There is peace where the squadrons of carnage have wheeled, - Fierce over Shiloh’s shell-furrowed field. - - _6th Pupil._ - - There is peace in the soil whence the palmettoes spring; - In the sad Shenandoah the harvesters sing. - - _7th Pupil._ - - There is peace in Manassas, Antietam’s dark rills; - No more throb the drum on the bare Georgian hills. - - _8th Pupil._ - - There is peace where the warriors of Gettysburg rest; - On the ramparts of Sumter the summer bird’s nest. - - _9th Pupil._ - - There is peace where the “Father of Waters” ran red, - Where the batteries of Mobile lie soundless and dead. - - _10th Pupil._ - - There is peace where the rifle hangs mantled with dust, - Where the once reeking saber is sheathed in its rust. - - _11th Pupil._ - - There is peace where the war-hoofs tore up the smooth lea, - Where the hoarse-noted cannon rang over the sea. - - _12th Pupil._ - - There is peace in the North, though her soldier is yet - Far away on the field where the fierce columns met. - - _13th Pupil._ - - There is peace in the South, though her soldier is lost - In the path where the lines of the foeman have crossed. - - _14th Pupil._ - - There is peace in the land, and the “stars and the bars” - Forever have merged in the “stripes and the stars.” - - _15th Pupil._ - - There is peace where the flowers cover the tombs, - And the Blue and the Gray now blend with the blooms. - - _All._ - - God grant that this peace may forever be ours! - And the Blue and the Gray alike sleep neath the flowers! - - (These last two lines should be recited while flags and flowers - are held in front, in prayerful attitude, eyes of pupils glancing - upward.) - - -RECITATION—Decoration Day. - - It’s lonesome—sorto’ lonesome—it’s a Sund’y day to me, - It ’pears like—mor’n any day I nearly ever see! - Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a flutterin’ in the air, - On ev’ry soldier’s grave I’d love to lay a lily there. - - They say, though, Decoration Days is generally observed— - Most ev’ry wheres—especially by soldier boys that served— - But me and mother never went—we seldom git away— - In pint of fact, we’re allus home on Decoration Day. - - They say the old boys marches through the streets in columns grand, - A-follerin’ the old war tunes they’re playin’ on the band, - And citizens all jinin’ in—and little children, too— - All marchin’ under shelter of the old Red, White and Blue, - - With roses! roses! roses!—ev’rybody in the town! - And crowds of girls in white, just fairly loaded down! - Oh! don’t the boys know it, from their camp across the hill? - Don’t they see their comrades comin’ and the old flag wavin’ still? - - Oh! can’t they hear the bugle and the rattle of the drum?— - Ain’t they no way under heaven they can rickollect us some? - Ain’t they no way we can coax ’em through the roses, just to say - They know that every day on earth is their Decoration Day? - - We’ve tried that,—me and mother,—where Elias takes his rest, - In the orchard, in his uniform, and hands across his breast, - And the flag he died fer smilin’ and a-ripplin’ in the breeze - Above his grave—and, over that—the robin in the trees. - - And yet it’s lonesome—lonesome! It’s a Sund’y-day to me, - It ’pears like—more’n any day—I nearly ever see— - Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a flutterin’ in the air, - On ev’ry soldier’s grave—I’d love to lay a lily there. - - JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. - - -ACROSTIC—Memorial Day. - - (_Exercise for eleven children. Each carries standard on which - the letters are pasted in red, white and blue, and turns the - letter toward the audience as the words are recited._) - - Memorial Day again has come, - When throbs the music of the drum. - - Each muffled accent seems to tell - Of heroes who in battle fell. - - Memories return to boys in blue, - Of vanished comrades brave and true. - - On camping ground and battle plain - Alike they met with want and pain. - - Rivers of blood their courses swept, - While sad Columbia mourned and wept. - - In fever swamp and prison pen - Died many of her bravest men. - - All honor to the soldier bands - Who followed Freedom’s stern commands. - - Let each true soldier’s noble name, - Glow brightly on the books of Fame. - - Deeds wrought for truth can never die - For they are penned in books on high. - - A nation now in reverence stands - With sorrowing heart and flower-filled hands. - - Years may into long ages glide, - These names shall still be glorified. - - -PAPER—Origin of Memorial Day. - -General John Murray was the originator of Memorial Day in the North. -While visiting in the South in the winter of 1867-’68, he noticed the -touching rite of decorating soldiers’ graves with flowers by the ladies. -Being very much impressed with this custom, he instituted a similar one -at his own home. - -On the 5th day of May, 1868, Gen. John A. Logan, who was then -Commander-in-chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, established -Decoration Day, and by a general order, May 30, 1868, was designated as a -day set apart for the purpose of paying tribute to the memory of those -brave men who died in defense of our country. The national encampment -held in Washington had it incorporated in its rules and regulations, -May 11, 1870. Since then, in many of the States, May 30th has been -established as a holiday, and it is the universal custom to decorate the -graves of all ex-soldiers, thus making it one of the most patriotic days -of the year, wherein all classes unite in paying honor to our heroic -dead, and feel a conscious pride in being able to thus show respect for -their memory and the cause for which they fought. - - -SONG:—“The Star Spangled Banner.” - - -EXERCISE. - - (A large urn or vase is placed on a stand decorated with the - national colors and a bow of black ribbon. Around the rim of - the vase a beautiful wreath should be placed. The stand should - be at the front of the rostrum, so the pupils may pass behind it. - The pupils representing the various wars should be dressed if - possible in the costumes of that day—military costumes. Beside - the urn, a girl representing Liberty should stand holding a large - flag at half-mast, she should dress in white and wear sash of the - national colors. After reciting, each pupil stands in rear of - Liberty. When coming upon the stage, each pupil salutes the flag - before reciting and stands on opposite side of urn while reciting. - When through, he gracefully deposits his bouquet into the urn. At - close of exercise the school arises and salutes the flag and - repeats the pledge.) - - _Liberty_ (_Enters carrying flag and recites standing at right - of urn; when through reciting casts her flowers into the urn._) - - “Strew with flowers the soldier’s grave, - Plant each lovely thing that grows; - Let the summer breezes wave - The calla lily and the rose; - White and red—the cause, the price! - Right, upheld by sacrifice. - - Let the summer’s perfumed breath, - Fragrant with the sweetest flowers, - Charm the sadness out of death, - Glorify the mourners’ hours, - Freighted with their prayers, arise - Incense of their sacrifice. - - ’Tis not valor that we praise, - Thirst for glory, love of strife; - Gentle hearts from quiet ways, - Turned to save a nation’s life, - Lest in jealous fragments torn - Freedom’s land should come to scorn. - - O’er the Gray, as o’er the Blue, - Nature’s bursting tears will flow; - Both were brave, and both were true - And fought for all they loved below. - Pity! nor forbid the tear - Shed above so sad a bier. - - Cherish, then, the patriot fires, - Honor loyalty, and trust - In God that Freedom ne’er expires - Where virtue guards the martyr’s dust, - Who counted life as little worth, - And saved the imperiled Hope of Earth.” - - JNO. W. DUNBAR. - - -OUR NATION’S PATRIOTS. - - _Revolutionary Pupil._ - - I had heard the muskets’ rattle of the April running battle; - Lord Percey’s hunted soldiers, I can see their red coats still; - But a deadly chill comes o’er me, as the day looms up before me, - When a thousand men lay bleeding on the slopes of Bunker Hill. - Here are lilies for the valorous, and roses for the brave; - And laurel for the victor’s crown, and rue for lowly grave. - There’s crimson for the blood that flowed that Freedom might be free, - And golden for the hearts of gold that died for you and me; - Till love no more is loving, we lift our souls and say, - For liberty find loyalty we bless their names to-day! - - _Civil War Pupil._ - - Strew the fair garlands where slumber the dead, - Ring out the strains like the swell of the sea, - Heartfelt the tribute we lay on each bed. - Sound o’er the brave the refrain of the free. - - Sound the refrain of the loyal and free, - Visit each sleeper and hallow each bed, - Wave the starred banner from seacoast to sea - Grateful the living, and honored the dead. - - _Cuban War Pupil (carrying Cuban Flag.)_ - - New graves we crown with flowers to-day - New homes shall saddened be; - For loved ones sleeping far away, - And some beneath the sea. - - ’Twas for humanity and right - Our loved boys fought and died; - To lift the islands into light - And break the Spanish pride. - - We’ll wrap the Bible in the Flag - And back them with our might, - And bear them over sea and crag, - In lofty eagle’s flight; - - And break the bands of heathen night, - And set the islands free; - Till Freedom sheds her glorious light - O’er every land and sea. - - _Liberty (in prayerful attitude, the boys standing in rear with - hats lifted.)_ - - O God! look down upon the land which Thou hast loved so well, - And grant that in unbroken truth her children still may dwell; - Nor while the grass grows on the hill, and streams flow through the vale, - May they forget their fathers’ faith, or in their covenant fail! - God keep the fairest, noblest land that lies beneath the sky— - Our country, our whole country, whose fame shall never die. - - -PLEDGE. - -(All stand; salute flag; and repeat pledge.) - -“We pledge allegiance to our flag and the republic for which it -stands—one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” - - -SONG—America. - - -PROGRAMME FOR WASHINGTON’S BIRTHDAY. - - -MUSIC—“The Star-Spangled Banner.” - - -RECITATION—Washington Enigma. - - To be given by ten little girls with evergreen or large printed - letters hung around their necks by a black thread and adjusted - to the proper height. Let the letter be turned as the child - speaks. - - _First Child_—W— - - In the wailing winds my first - Speaks in faintly murmuring tones. - - _Second Child_—A— - - While my second’s cry will burst - In the martyr’s latest groans.— - - _Third Child_—S— - - How the noisome serpents scare. - In them finds my third a place. - - _Fourth Child_—H— - - In the homes which mothers share, - Rules my fourth with gentle grace. - - _Fifth Child_—I— - - Watch the Indian’s scalping knife, - And my fifth shall greet your sight. - - _Sixth Child_—N— - - But my sixth is brought to life - In the moonless ebon night. - - _Seventh Child_—G— - - See the gambler’s greed and note - How my seventh rules supreme. - - _Eighth Child_—T— - - The latest presidential vote - Holds secure my eighth, I deem. - - _Ninth Child_—O— - - From our sorrow, from our woe, - None can drive my ninth away. - - _Tenth Child_—N— - - Mark the wailing infant—lo! - There my tenth holds fullest sway. - - _All in Concert._ - - Join from first to tenth each part, - And you’ll find a noble name, - Written on each patriot’s heart, - Glorious in our country’s fame. - - -RECITATION—Washington’s Day. - -For a little boy. - - Oh! how the world remembers! - It is many and many a day - Since the patriot, George Washington, - Grew old and passed away. - - And yet to-day we are keeping - In memory of his birth, - And his deeds of truth and valor - Are told at every hearth. - - How he fought for independence - All little schoolboys know; - And why he signed the declaration - So many years ago. - - To be as great as Washington - I could not if I would; - But I’ve made up my mind that I - Will try to be as good. - - -RECITATION—A Little Boy’s Hatchet Story. - - When the great and good George Washington - Was a little boy like me, - He took his little hatchet - And chopped down a cherry tree. - - And when his papa called him, - He then began to cry, - “I did it, oh, I did it; - I cannot tell a lie!” - - His papa didn’t scold at all, - But said, “You noble youth, - I’d gladly lose ten cherry trees - To have you tell the truth!” - - But I myself am not quite clear; - For if I took my hatchet - And chopped my papa’s cherry tree, - Oh, wouldn’t I just catch it! - - -READING—Maxims of Washington. - -Adopted by him at the age of fifteen. - -“Neither laugh, nor speak, nor listen when older people are talking -together.” - -“Say not anything that will hurt another, either in fun or in earnest.” - -“If you say anything funny, don’t laugh at it yourself, but let others -enjoy it.” - -“When another person speaks, listen yourself, and try not to disturb -others.” - -“Obey and honor your father and mother.” - -“Every action in company ought to be with some sign of respect to those -present.” - -“When you meet with one of greater quality than yourself, stop and -retire, especially if it be at a door or any strait place, to give way -for him to pass.” - -“Speak not evil of the absent, for it is unjust.” - -“Show not yourself glad at the misfortune of another, though he were your -enemy.” - -“Be not curious to know the affairs of others; neither approach to those -that speak in private.” - -“Undertake not what you cannot perform, but be careful to keep your -promises.” - -“Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire -called conscience.” - - -SINGING—Tune: “My Country.” - - Once more we celebrate - Birthday of him so great, - So true and brave; - Who struggled not in vain - Liberty to attain, - Breaking a tyrant’s chain - His land to save. - - Bravely the patriot band - Fought ’neath his sure command - And freedom won; - Honor those soldiers all, - Who did for freedom fall, - Who followed at the call - Of Washington. - - While shines in heaven the sun, - The name of Washington - Shall glow with light; - He feared no tyrant grand, - But foremost in command, - Did like a mountain stand - For cause of right. - - ALICE JEAN CLEATOR. - - -ORATION—The Father of his Country. - -The birthday of the “Father of his Country!” May it ever be freshly -remembered by American hearts! May it ever re-awaken in them a filial -veneration for his memory; ever rekindle the fires of patriotic regard -to the country he loved so well; to which he gave his youthful vigor -and his youthful energy, during the perilous period of the early Indian -warfare; to which he devoted his life, in the maturity of his powers, in -the field; to which again he offered the counsels of his wisdom and his -experience, as President of the Convention that framed our Constitution; -which he guided and directed while in the Chair of State, and for which -the last prayer of his earthly supplication was offered up, when it came -the moment for him so well, and so grandly, and I so calmly, to die. He -was the first man of the time in which he grew. His memory is I first and -most sacred in our love; and ever hereafter, till the last drop of blood -shall freeze in the last American heart, his name shall be a spell of -power and might. - -Yes, there is one personal, one vast felicity, which no man can share -with him. It was the daily beauty and towering and matchless glory of his -life, which enabled him to create his country, and, at the same time, -secure an undying love and regard from the whole American people. “The -first in the hearts of his countrymen!” Yes, first! He has our first and -most fervent love. Undoubtedly there were brave and wise and good men, -before his day, in every colony. But the American Nation, as a Nation, -I do not reckon to have begun before 1774. And the first love of that -young America was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her -earliest breath spoke it. It still is her proud ejaculation; and it will -be the last gasp of her expiring life! - -Yes, others of our great men have been appreciated—many admired by -all. But him we love. Him we all love. About and around him we call up -no dissentient and discordant and dissatisfied elements—no sectional -prejudice nor bias,—no party, no creed, no dogma of politics. None of -these shall assail him. Yes, when the storm of battle blows darkest and -rages highest, the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm, -and cheer every American heart. It shall relume that Promethean fire, -that sublime flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, which his -words have commended, which his example has consecrated. Well did Lord -Byron write: - - “Where may the wearied eye repose - When gazing on the great, - Where neither guilty glory glows, - Nor despicable state?— - Yes—one—the first, the last, the best, - The Cincinnatus of the West, - Whom Envy dared not hate, - Bequeathed the name of Washington, - To make man blush, there was but one.” - - -RECITATION—February Twenty-second. - - In seventeen hundred thirty-two, - This very month and day, - Winking and blinking at the light, - A little baby lay. - - No doubt they thought the little man - A goodly child enough; - But time has proved that he was made - Of most uncommon stuff. - - The little babe became a man - That everybody knew - Would finish well what he began, - And prove both firm and true. - - So when the Revolution came, - That made our nation free, - They couldn’t find a better man - For general, you see. - - As general, he never failed - Or faltered; so they though - He ought to be the President, - And so I’m sure he ought. - - And then he did his part so well - As President—’twas plain - They couldn’t do a better thing - Than choose him yet again. - - Through all his life they loved him well - And mourned him when he died; - And ever since his noble name - Has been our nation’s pride. - - The lesson of his life is clear, - And easy quite to guess, - Be firm and true, if you would make - Your life a grand success. - - JOY ALLISON. - - -SONG—A True Soldier. Tune: “Hold the Fort.” - - Though we never may be soldiers - On the battle field, - Though we may not carry banner, - Bayonet or shield; - Each can be as true and valiant - Till life’s work is done, - Each can be as brave a soldier - As George Washington. - - There are mighty hosts of evil, - Armies great and strong, - Each can be a little soldier - Fighting all day long. - Let us ever fight them bravely, - Let us valiant be; - - Fight the host of falsehood, envy, - Pride and cruelty. - Oh, how valiant are the soldiers - Who to battle go, - Yet more brave are they who struggle - With an unseen foe. - When the battles all are ended - And the victory’s won, - Each will be as true a soldier - As George Washington. - - ALICE JEAN CLEATOR. - - -RECITAL—Washington’s Life. - - (Recitation for five boys; each holds in his right hand a card - with date, lifting it during his recitation.) - - 1732. - - In seventeen hundred and thirty-two - George Washington was born; - Truth, goodness, skill, and glory high, - His whole life did adorn. - - 1775. - - In seventeen hundred and seventy-five - The chief command he took - Of all the army in the State - Who ne’er his flag forsook. - - 1783. - - In seventeen hundred and eighty-three, - Retired to private life; - He saw his much-loved country free - From battle and from strife. - - 1789. - - In seventeen hundred and eighty-nine, - The country with one voice, - Proclaimed him president, to shine, - Blessed by the people’s choice. - - 1799. - - In seventeen hundred and ninety-nine, - The nation’s tears were shed, - To see the patriot life resign, - And sleep among the dead. - - ALL IN CONCERT. - - As “first in war, first in peace,” - As patriot, father, friend— - He will be blessed till time shall cease, - And earthly life shall end. - - -SINGING—Birthday of Washington. - -(May be sung to “America.”) - - _First Pupil_: - - Welcome, thou festal morn, - Never be passed in scorn - Thy rising sun. - Thou day forever bright - With Freedom’s holy light, - That gave the world the sight - Of Washington. - - _Second Pupil_: - - Unshaken ’mid the storm, - Behold that noble form— - That peerless one, - With his protecting hand, - Like Freedom’s angel, stand, - The guardian of our land, - Our Washington. - - _Third Pupil_: - - Traced there in lines of light, - Where all pure rays unite, - Obscured by none; - Brightest on history’s page, - Of any clime or age, - As chieftain, man or sage, - Stands Washington. - - _Fourth Pupil_: - - Name at which tyrants pale, - And their proud legions quail, - Their boasting done; - While Freedom lifts her head, - No longer filled with dread, - Her sons to victory led - By Washington. - - _Class in Concert_: - - Now the true patriot see, - The foremost of the free, - The victory won. - In Freedom’s presence bow, - While sweetly smiling now - She wreathes the spotless brow - Of Washington. - - Then, with each coming year, - Whenever shall appear - That natal sun, - Will we attest the worth - Of one true man to earth - And celebrate the birth - Of Washington. - - GEORGE HOWLAND. - - -MARCH.—Boys and Girls Carrying Flags. - - -PROGRAMME FOR ARBOR DAY. - -The celebration of Arbor Day has become so common that there is a demand -for a programme of public exercises for schools and academies. The -following can be varied by omitting pieces or substituting others. Little -flags on palm-leaf fans tacked on well, also tufts of pine, and wreaths -of flowers, bouquets, etc., might aid in decoration. Let the pupils take -an active part in preparation. - - -SONG. Tune: “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” - - We have come with joyful greeting, - Songs of gladness, voices gay, - Teachers, friends, and happy children, - All to welcome Arbor Day. - Here we plant the trees whose branches, - Warmed by breath of summer days, - Nourished by the dews and showers, - Soon shall wave in leafy sprays. - - Let us plant throughout our borders, - O’er our lands so far and wide, - Treasures from the leafy forest, - Vale, and hill, and mountain side; - Rooted deep, oh let them flourish, - Sturdy giants may they be! - Emblems of the cause we cherish— - Education broad and free. - - Gentle winds will murmur softly, - Zephyrs float on noiseless wing; - ’Mid their bows shall thrush and robin, - Build their nests and sweetly sing. - ’Neath their shady arms will childhood - Weary of the noontide heat, - In its cool inviting shadow, - Find a pleasant, safe retreat. - - -READING. - - Proclamation of State Governor or of School Commissioner. - - -DECLAMATION. - -Arbor Day is an anniversary that looks forward with bright hope. The -trees which we plant to-day, will grow into groves and forests of the -future, and in their silent beauty and voiceless green will honor the -hands that so tenderly planted them. Beneath them the youth yet to be may -meet in social banquet, and enjoy the fruitage of our labors. - - “We are what wind and sun and water make us, - The mountains are our sponsors, and the rills - Fashion and win their nurslings with their smiles.” - -This is not a holiday; but a day especially set apart for the purpose of -tree-planting, of observing more closely and studying more carefully the -trees, flowers and gifts of the forest; also of cultivating a greater -reverence and finer sense of the beautiful and sublime. - -What object can better inspire us to gain victory over trials than the -grand old oak which in bold defiance to its foes while reeling in the -wrath of the tempest is sending down to deeper hold its gnarled roots -only to be better able to triumph in the next storm? Our poets have used -their purest thought, their sweetest music in praise of the forest and -the flowers. Arbor Day provides gracious means of a closer acquaintance -with “God’s first temples,” and we hope that this day’s effort may result -in much good. - - -QUOTATIONS. - - (Pupils stand by desks and after naming authors recite the - quotations.) - - _1st Pupil._—Whittier said: - - “Give fools their gold, and knaves their power; - Let fortune’s bubbles rise and fall; - Who sows a field or trains a flower, - Or plants a tree, is more than all.” - - _2nd Pupil._—Ben Johnson wrote: - - “Not merely growing like a tree - In bulk doth make man better be, - Or standing long an oak three hundred years, - To fall a log at last, dry, bald and sear. - A lily of a day is fairer far in May; - Although it fall and die that night, - It was the plant and flower of light. - In small proportions we just beauties see, - And in short measure life may perfect be.” - - _3rd Pupil._—Holmes said: - - “In fact there’s nothing that keeps its youth, - So far as I know, but a tree and truth.” - - _4th Pupil._—Morris wrote: - - “To me the world’s an open book - Of sweet and pleasant poetry; - I read it in the running book - That sings its way toward the sea. - It whispers in the leaves of trees, - The swelling grain, the waving grass, - And in the cool, fresh evening breeze, - That crisps the wavelets as they pass. - - “The flowers below, the stars above, - In all their bloom and brightness given, - Are, like the attributes of love, - The poetry of earth and heaven; - Thus, nature’s volume, read aright, - Attunes the soul to minstrelsy, - Tingeing life’s cloud with rosy light - And all the world with poetry.” - - _5th Pupil._—Longfellow said: - - “If thou art worn and heart beset - With sorrows that thou wouldst forget, - If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep - Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, - Go to the woods and hills! No tears - Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.” - - _6th Pupil._—Bryan Waller Proctor wrote: - - “Methinks I love all common things, - The common air, the common flower, - The dear, kind, common thought that springs - From hearts that have no other dower, - No other wealth, no other power, - Save love; and will not that repay - For all else fortune tears away? - - “What good are fancies rare, that rack - With painful thought the poet’s brain? - Alas! they cannot bear us back - Unto happy years again! - But the white rose without a stain - Bringeth times and thoughts of flowers, - When youth was bounteous as the hours.” - - _The School._ - - “He who plants a tree - Plants a hope. - Rootlets up through fibres blindly grope; - Leaves unfold into horizons free, - So man’s life must climb - From the clods of time - Unto heavens sublime.” - - -RECITATION—What do we Plant when we Plant a Tree? - - What do we plant when we plant the tree - We plant the ships that will cross the sea - We plant the mast to carry the sails, - We plant the plank to withstand the gales, - The keel, the keelson, the beam and knee, - We plant the ship when we plant the tree. - - What do we plant when we plant the tree? - We plant the houses for you and me; - We plant the rafters, the shingles, the floors, - We plant the studding, the lath, the doors, - The beams, the siding, all parts that be, - We plant the house when we plant the tree. - - What do we plant when we plant the tree? - A thousand things that we daily see. - We plant the spire that out-towers the crag, - We plant the staff for our country’s flag; - We plant the shade from the hot sun free, - We plant all these when we plant the tree. - - HENRY ABBEY. - - -EXERCISE—Wedding of the Palm and Pine. - -(CHARACTERS.—Uncle Sam, Miss Palm, Mr. Pine, and maids for Miss Palm, -and servant for Mr. Pine. The maids carry tropical fruits, and one holds -either a palm leaf or a peacock fan over Miss Palm, who wears a flowing -dress made of some light cheesecloth or goods without starch; also over -her head an ice-wool shawl. Her face powdered white, cheeks rosy, and she -should be a girl having black hair and eyes. Approaches the stage very -modestly, and is always very reserved. Her dress should wear flowers and -blossoms. Mr. Pine should be stately, tall and reserved, and should wear -tuft of pine for button-hole bouquet. His hair might be whitened with -magnesia. His attendant should carry his fur coat and leggings, etc. -Uncle Sam should be dressed in customary attire. Uncle Sam first enters -stage, carrying a good-sized flag. Palm carries a palm-leaf fan on which -is fastened on one side a small flag, and on the other side a wreath of -leaves—myrtle or the like.) - - _Uncle Sam_: - - “She’s up there, Old Glory, where light wings are sped, - She dazzles the nations with ripples of red; - And she’ll wave for us living, or droop o’er us dead— - The flag of our country forever! - - She’s up there, Old Glory, how bright the stars stream! - And the stripes like red signals, of liberty gleam! - And we dare for her living or dream the last dream, - ’Neath the flag of our country forever! - - She’s up there, Old Glory, no tyrant-dealt scars— - No blur on her brightness, no stain on her stars! - The brave blood of heroes hath crimsoned her bars— - She’s the flag of our country forever!” - - There comes from the south (_Miss Palm enters_) where the balmy breeze - blows, - There comes from the north (_Mr. Pine enters_) where the hardy pine - grows, - Warm hearts and true hearts, loyal and free, - The Palm and the Pine now wedded to be. - Come stand ’neath the flag, modest Palm, mighty Pine, - - (_Both step to front before Uncle Sam and bow to each other, and then - gracefully salute the flag._) - - The emblem so dear to brave fathers of thine, - And under its bars, and its stars and its blue, - Unite now and ever to dare and to do (_join hands_) - What your hearts and your hands can our nation to save, - And to keep the old flag o’er the free and the brave. - - (_Uncle Sam, placing his right hand upon the joined hands of Palm and - Pine, continues._) - - No north, no south, no east, no west, - But one, united, free! - The Palm and Pine, in Union blest, - Now stand for liberty. - From lakes to gulf, from sea to sea, - May union stronger grow; - Thus teach the world humanity, - And might together go. - - (_Retire, Palm leaning on arm of Pine._) - - -PAPER—Origin of Arbor Day. - -At an annual meeting of the Nebraska State Board of Agriculture, held in -the city of Lincoln, January 4, 1872, Hon. J. Sterling Morton introduced -the following resolution which was unanimously adopted after a short -debate as to the name; some desired to call the day “Sylvan” instead of -“Arbor:” - -RESOLVED, “That Wednesday, the 10th day of April, 1872, be, and the same -is hereby especially set apart and consecrated for tree planting in the -State of Nebraska, and the State Board of Agriculture hereby name it -_Arbor Day_, and urge upon the people of the State the vital importance -of tree planting, and hereby offer a special premium of one hundred -dollars to the agricultural society of that county in Nebraska which -shall upon that day plant properly the largest number of trees; and a -farm library of twenty-five dollars’ worth of books to that person, who, -on that day, shall plant properly in Nebraska the greatest number of -trees.” - -The result was that over a million trees were planted in Nebraska on that -first Arbor Day. A few years later, April 22, the birthday of Mr. Morton -was set apart by the Governor as Arbor Day in that State, and now nearly -all States observe Arbor Day. - - -RECITATION—Value of Our Forests. - - (The pupils come on the stage, one at a time, and recite, showing - the article about which they speak and give motions.) - -_1st Pupil_ (carrying a bunch of toothpicks). - -A Toothpick is a little thing, yet it is reported that one factory uses -10,000 cords of wood annually in the production of these splints of wood. - -_2d Pupil_ (carrying a box of pegs). - -Shoe pegs are small affairs; yet a single factory sends to Europe -annually 40,000 bushels of pegs, besides what it sells in this country. - -_3d Pupil._ - -A spool is of small account when the thread is wound off; yet several -factories use each from 1800 to 3500 cords of wood every year in making -these articles. Thousands of acres of birch trees have been bought at one -time by thread manufacturers, for the sole purpose of securing a supply -of spools. - -_4th Pupil._ - -Who thinks much of the little friction match, as he uses it to light the -lamp or fire, and then throws it away? But one factory, it is said, makes -60,000,000 of these little articles every day, and uses for this purpose -12,000 square feet of best pine lumber. - -_5th Pupil._ - -Forests affect the climate of the country; influence the rain of a -country; build up a wall and protect the crops; they keep the air pure. -The leaf-mold in forests holds back the rains. We draw $700,000,000 -worth of products every year from the trees. No other crop equals this in -value. - -_All in Concert._ - - “The groves were God’s first temples. - Ere man learned - To hew the shaft and lay the architrave - And spread the roof above them; ere he framed - The lofty vault, to gather and roll back - The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, - Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down - And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks - And supplication.” - - -SONG—Tune: “America.” - - Up from the smiling earth - Comes there a voice of mirth - Our hearts to cheer; - Listen where the willows lean, - Lovingly o’er the stream, - Listen, where the pine trees dream, - Springtime is here. - - Let us sing merrily, - Blithely and cheerily, - With the new year; - Join in the chorus, - Loudly swelling o’er us; - Joy is before us, - Springtime is here. - - Come, let us plant a tree - Tenderly, lovingly, - Some heart to cheer, - Long may its branches sway, - Over the dusty way - With shade for sultry day, - For years to be. - - EDNA D. PROCTOR. - - -CONCERT RECITATION—The Trees. - - (By small pupils standing in aisles and in imitation of trees, - gestures as indicated.) - - We are trees in tiny rows - Growing straight and tall; - Roots we have so when it(1) blows, - None of us may fall. - - Bending gently (2)to and fro - Then to (3)left and right, - Makes us stronger as we grow, - (4)Upward to the light. - - Tiny branches spreading wide,(5) - Adding grace and form, - Growing firmly from our side, - (6)Hide us from the storm. - - On our branches, in the spring, - (7)Leaves in green unfold; - Till the frost with cruel sting, - Turns them into gold. - - Then our brightly tinted leaves, - From our branches fall; - (8)Flutter in the autumn breeze, - To October’s call. - - (9)Midst our branches squirrels run, - Searching for our fruit; - And the birds in summer’s sun, - (10)Flit in hot pursuit - - And at night when all is still, - (11)We have gone to sleep, - Comes the owl, a mouse to kill, - And (12)hoots in a voice so deep. - - As little trees of hope we stand - And promises of good; - Oh, may we grow up (13)tall and grand - A deep and shady wood, - - Bear sweet and gladsome fruit of love, - And shelter weary souls; - And (14)lift our crests the storm above, - Where endless sunlight rolls. - - -_Gestures for “The Trees.”_ - -1. Half of the number imitate the swaying of trees by the blowing of -wind, done by bending head and body to right and left. 2. Hands on hips, -body bending forward and backward. 3. Body bending left and right. 4. -Point upward with right hands. 5. Slowly extend arms. 6. Crouch as in -hiding. 7. Arms extended, open hands slowly. 8. Arms extended, move -fingers like fluttering leaves. 9. First imitate leaping squirrel with -right hand; then with left; then with both hands. 10. Move hands to and -fro with fast moving fingers. 11. Arms extended direct above head, -fingers closed and eyes shut. 12. Half the number imitate the _hoots_ -while others recite. 13. Move arm full length obliquely from right side, -and direct eyes upward in same direction. 14. Lift both hands slowly to -full length above head in front of body, and look up. - - -MUSIC—To be Selected. - - -PROGRAMME FOR A HARVEST HOME. - - -TUNE.—“Marching Through Georgia.” - - Through the golden summertime we’ve all been sowing seeds; - Oh they’ve sprung to blossoms or to tall and ugly weeds; - Children have we sown the seed of wrong or kindly deeds, - All through the bright days of summer. - - CHORUS. - - The seeds we planted along life’s onward way, - Are swiftly growing, growing every day; - What the harvest time shall be, it is for us to say— - Let us be cheerful in sowing. - - -RECITATION.—A Sermon in Rhyme - - If you have a friend worth loving, - Love him. Yes, and let him know - That you love him, ere life’s evening - Tinge his brow with sunset glow. - Why should good words ne’er be said - Of a friend till he is dead? - - If you hear a song that thrills you, - Sung by any child of song, - Praise it. Do not let the singer - Wait deserved praises long. - Why should one who thrills your heart - Lack the joy you may impart? - - If a silvery laugh goes rippling - Through the sunshine on his race, - Share it. ’Tis the wise man’s saying - For both joy and grief a place. - There’s health and goodness in the mirth - In which an honest laugh has birth. - - If your work is made more easy - By a friendly helping hand, - Say so. Speak out brave and truly - Ere the darkness veil the land. - Should a brother workman dear - Falter for a word of cheer? - - Scatter thus your seeds of kindness, - All enriching as you go— - Leave them. Trust the Harvest Giver, - He will make each seed to grow. - So, until its happy end - Your life shall never lack a friend. - - -FARMER JOHN. - -(For a man dressed in farmer’s costume.) - - Home from his journey Farmer John - Arrived this morning safe and sound; - His black off and his old clothes on; - “Now I’m myself,” says Farmer John; - And he thinks, “I’ll look round.” - - Up leaps the dog: “Get down, you pup! - Are you so glad you would eat me up?” - The old cow lows at the gate to greet him, - The horses prick up their ears to meet him: - “Well, well, old Bay! - Ha, ha, old Gray! - Do you get good food when I’m away? - You haven’t a rib,” says Farmer John; - “The cattle are looking round and sleek; - The colt is going to be a roan, - And a beauty, too; how he has grown! - We’ll wean the calf next week.” - - “I’ve found this out,” says Farmer John, - “That happiness is not bought and sold, - And clutched in a life of waste and hurry, - In nights of pleasure and days of worry; - And wealth isn’t all in gold, - Mortgages, stocks, and ten per cent., - But in simple ways and sweet content; - Few wants, pure hope, and noble ends, - Some land to till, and a few good friends - Like you, old Bay, - And you, old Gray: - That’s what I learned by going away.” - - J. T. TROWBRIDGE. - - -RECITAL—The Husbandman. - -(For boys and girls.) - - _First_: - - Earth, of man the bounteous mother, - Feeds him still with golden grain; - He who best would aid a brother - Shares with him his loaded wain. - - _Second_: - - Many a power within her bosom, - Noiseless hidden, works beneath; - Hence are seed and leaf and blossom, - Golden ear, and clustered wreath. - - _Third_: - - These to swell with strength and beauty - Is the royal task of man; - Man’s a king; his throne is duty, - Since his work on earth began. - - _Fourth_: - - Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage— - These, like men, are fruits of earth; - Stamped in clay, a heavenly mintage. - All from dust receive their birth. - - _Fifth_: - - What the dream but vain rebelling, - If from earth we sought to flee? - ’Tis our stored and ample dwelling; - ’Tis from it the skies we see. - - _Sixth_: - - Wind and frost, and hour and season, - Land and water, sun and shade— - Work with these, as bids thy reason, - For they work thy toil to aid. - - _All in concert_: - - Sow thy seed and reap in gladness! - Man himself is all a seed; - Hope and hardship, joy and sadness— - Slow the plant to ripeness lead. - - JOHN STERLING. - - -ORATION—The Nobility of Labor. - -I call upon those whom I address to stand up for the nobility of labor. -It is Heaven’s great ordinance for human improvement. Let not that great -ordinance be broken down. What do I say? It is broken down; and it has -been broken down for ages. Let it, then, be built up again; here, if -anywhere, on these shores of a new world—of a new civilization. But how, -I may be asked, is it broken down? Do not men toil? it may be said. They -do, indeed, toil; but they, too, generally do it because they must. Many -submit to it as, in some sort, a degrading necessity; and they desire -nothing so much on earth as escape from it. They fulfill the great law -of labor in the letter, but break it in the spirit; fulfill it with the -muscle, but break it with the mind. - -To some field of labor, mental or manual, every idler should fasten, as a -chosen and coveted theatre of improvement. But so is he not impelled to -do, under the teachings of our imperfect civilization. On the contrary, -he sits down, folds his hands, and blesses himself in his idleness. This -way of thinking is the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal system, -under which serfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting -and feasting. It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away with. - -Ashamed to toil, art thou? Ashamed of thy dingy workshop and dusty -labor-field; of thy hard hands, scarred with service more honorable than -that of war; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on which Mother -Nature has embroidered, ’midst sun and rain, ’midst fire and steam, her -own heraldic honors? Ashamed of these tokens and titles, and envious of -the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness and vanity? It is treason to -nature—it is impiety to Heaven—it is breaking Heaven’s great ordinance. -TOIL, I repeat—TOIL, either of the brain, or of the heart, or of the -hand, is the only true manhood, the only true nobility! - - ORVILLE DEWEY. - - -RECITATION—The Corn Song. - -(For a lad who holds a tall stalk of corn in left hand.) - - Heap high the farmer’s wintry hoard; - Heap high the golden corn! - No richer gift has autumn poured - From her most lavish horn! - - Let other lands, exulting, glean - The apple from the pine, - The orange from its glossy green, - The cluster from the vine; - - We better love the hardy gift - Our rugged vales bestow, - To cheer us when the storm shall drift - Our harvest-fields with snow. - - Where’er the wide old kitchen hearth - Sends up its smoky curls, - Who will not thank the kindly earth, - And bless our farmer girls? - - Then shame on all the proud and vain, - Whose folly laughs to scorn - The blessing of our hardy grain, - Our wealth of golden corn! - - Let earth withhold her goodly root, - Let mildew blight the rye, - Give to the worm the orchard’s fruit, - The wheat-field to the fly. - - But let the good old crop adorn - The hills our fathers trod; - Still let us, for his golden corn, - Send up our thanks to God! - - J. G. WHITTIER. - - -SINGING—Tune: “Rockingham.” - - Great God! our heart-felt thanks to Thee! - We feel Thy presence everywhere; - And pray that we may ever be - The objects of Thy guardian care. - - We sowed!—by Thee our work was seen, - And blessed; and instantly went forth - Thy mandate; and in living green - Soon smiled the fair and fruitful earth. - - We toiled!—and Thou didst note our toil; - And gav’st the sunshine and the rain, - Till ripened on the teeming soil - The fragrant grass, and golden grain. - - And now, we reap!—and oh, our God! - From this, the earth’s unbounded floor, - We send our song of thanks abroad, - And pray Thee, bless our hoarded store! - - W. D. GALLAGHER. - - -PROGRAMME FOR LYCEUM OR PARLOR ENTERTAINMENT. - - -MUSIC—Piano Solo. - - -SONG—Selected by Quartette. - - -SALUTATORY ADDRESS. - - (The following speech should be delivered by a droll boy who can - keep his face straight while others do the laughing. He should - act out the spirit of the piece with appropriate gestures.) - -I am requested to open our performances by a salutatory address. It needs -but one honest Saxon word for that—one homely pertinent word; but before -I utter a pertinent word, allow me, like other great speakers, to indulge -in a few _im_pertinent words. - -And first, let me ask if there is a critic among us; for this is a sort -of family gathering. We allow no critics! No reporters! No interviewers! -(Do I see a boy taking notes? Put him out. No! It’s a false alarm, I -believe.) - -Pardon me if, with the help of my mother’s eye-glass (_lifts -eye-glasses_), I look round on your phys—phys—physiognomies. (That’s the -word, I’m very certain, for I practiced on it a good half hour.) Without -flattery I say it, I like your countenances—with one exception. - -A critic! If there is anything I detest it is a critic. One who cannot -bear a little nonsense, and who shakes his head at a little salutary (not -salutatory) fun. Salutary fun? Did anybody hiss? Point him out. (_Speaker -folds his arms, advances, fixes his eyes on some one in the audience, -and shakes his fist at him._) Yes, sir, I said salutary fun. Salutary! -You needn’t put on such a grave look. Salutary! You needn’t sneer at that -ep—ep—epithet. (Yes, I’m quite positive that’s the word I was drilled on. -Epi—_thet_! That’s it.) - -But I was speaking of critics. If there is any one of that tribe in this -assembly—any dear friend of Cæsar—I mean any stupid friend of Pompey, no, -of pomposity—to him I say—no, to you I say—Go mark him well; for him no -minstrel raptures swell; despite his titles, power and pelf, the wretch -(rather rough on him, that!)—the wretch, concentred all in self, living -shall forfeit fair renown, and, doubly dying, shall go down to the vile -dust from whence he sprung, unwept, unhonored, and unsung. - -There! If any member of Congress could do it better, bring him on. Excuse -me if I sop my brow. (_Wiping it with handkerchief._) - -But enough! Let us now put by the cap and bells. Enough of nonsense! As -a great philosopher, who had been frolicking, once said: “Hush! Let us -be grave! Here comes a fool.” Nothing personal, sir, in that! Let us be -grave. - -And so friends, relatives, ladies, and gentlemen, I shall conclude by -uttering from an overflowing heart that one word to which I alluded at -the beginning—that one pertinent Saxon word; that is—(_flourishes his -hand as if about to utter it; then suddenly puts his hand to his forehead -as if trying to remember_.) - -Forgotten? Confusion! Not a big word either! Not half as big as some I -have spoken! What—where—when—whence—what has become of it? Must I break -down, after all? Must I retire in disgrace from public life? Never! I -have it. Here it is! Here it is in big capitals: WELCOME! - - -RECITATION—Mrs. Piper. - - (Suited for a young lady. She should appear very innocent at the - beginning, and speak in a droll, unsuspecting voice and manner. - Toward the end she should exhibit an uncontrollable delight, at - the same time manifest a disposition to conceal it.) - - Mrs. Piper was a widow— - “Oh, dear me! - This world is not at all,” she said, “the place it used to be! - Now my good husband, he was such a good man to provide— - I never had the leastest care of anything outside! - But now, - Why, there’s the cow, - A constant care, and Brindle’s calf I used to feed when small, - And those two Ayrshire heifers that we purchased in the fall— - Oh, dear, - My husband sleeping in the grave, it’s gloomy being here! - The oxen Mr. Piper broke, and four steers two years old, - The blind mare and the little colt, they all wait to be sold! - For how am I to keep ’em now? and yet how shall I sell? - And what’s the price they ought to bring, how can a woman tell? - Now, Jacob Smith, he called last night, and stayed till nine o’clock, - And talked and talked, and talked and talked, and tried to buy my stock; - He said he’d pay a higher price than any man in town; - He’d give his note, or, if I chose, he’d pay the money down. - But, there! - To let him take those creeturs off, I really do not dare! - For ’tis a lying world, and men are slippery things at best; - My poor, dear husband in the ground, he wasn’t like the rest! - But Jacob Smith’s a different case; if I would let him, now, - Perhaps he’d wrong me on the horse, or cheat me on a cow; - And so - I do not dare to trust him, and I mean to answer ‘No.’” - - Mrs. Piper was a widow— - “Oh, dear me! - A single woman with a farm must fight her way,” said she. - “Of everything about the land my husband always knew; - I never felt, when he was here, I’d anything to do; - But now, what fields to plow, - And how much hay I ought to cut, and just what crops to sow, - And what to tell the hired men, how can a woman know? - Oh, dear! - With no strong arm to lean upon, it’s lonesome being here! - Now Jacob Smith, the other night, he called on me again, - And talked and talked, and talked and talked, and stayed till after ten; - He said he’d like to take my farm, to buy it or to lease— - I do declare, I wish that man would give me any peace! - For there! - To trust him with my real estate I truly did not dare; - For, if he buys it, on the price he’ll cheat me underhand; - And, if he leases it, I know he will run out the land; - And, if he takes it at the halves, both halves he’ll strike for then; - It’s risky work when women folk have dealings with the men! - And so, - I do not dare to trust him, and I mean to answer ‘No.’” - - Mrs. Piper was a widow— - “Oh, dear me! - Yet I have still some mercies left; I won’t complain,” said she. - “My poor, dear husband knows, I trust, a better world than this; - ’Twere sinful selfishness in me to grudge him Heaven’s bliss! - So now, - I ought to bow - Submissively to what is sent—not murmur and repine; - The hand that sends our trials has, in all, some good design. - Oh, dear! - If we knew all, we might not want our buried lost ones here! - And Jacob Smith, he called last night, but it was not to see - About the cattle or the farm, but this time it was me! - He said he prized me very high, and wished I’d be his wife, - And if I did not he should lead a most unhappy life. - He did not have a selfish thought, but gladly, for my sake, - The care of all my stock and farm he would consent to take— - And, there! - To slight so plain a Providence I really do not dare! - He’ll take the cattle off my mind, he’ll carry on the farm— - I haven’t since my husband died had such a sense of calm! - I think the man was sent to me—a poor, lone woman must, - In such a world as this, I feel, have some one she can trust; - And so, - I do not feel it would be right for me to answer ‘No.’” - - MARIAN DOUGLAS. - - -MUSIC—To be Selected. - - -COLLOQUY—True Bravery. - -(Suited to a boy and girl of twelve years.) - -_Ralph._ Good morning, Cousin Laura! I have a word to say to you. - -_Laura._ Only a word! It is yet half an hour to school-time, and I can -listen. - -_R._ I saw you yesterday speaking to that fellow Sterling—Frank Sterling. - -_L._ Of course I spoke to Frank. What then? Is he too good to be spoken -to? - -_R._ Far from it. You must give up his acquaintance. - -_L._ Indeed, Cousin Ralph! I must give up his acquaintance? On what -compulsion _must_ I? - -_R._ If you do not wish to be cut by all the boys of the academy, you -must cut Frank. - -_L._ Cut! What do you mean by _cut_? - -_R._ By cutting, I mean not recognizing an individual. When a boy who -knows you passes you without speaking or bowing, he cuts you. - -_L._ I thank you for the explanation. And I am to understand that I -must either give up the acquaintance of my friend Frank, or submit to -the terrible mortification of being “cut” by Mr. Ralph Burton and his -companions! - -_R._ Certainly. Frank is a boy of no spirit—in short, a coward. - -_L._ How has he shown it? - -_R._ Why, a dozen boys have dared him to fight, and he refuses to do it. - -_L._ And is your test of courage a willingness to fight? If so, a -bull-dog is the most courageous of gentlemen. - -_R._ I am serious, Laura; you must give him up. Why, the other day Tom -Harding put a chip on a fellow’s hat, and dared Frank Sterling to knock -it off. But Sterling folded his arms and walked off, while we all -groaned and hissed. - -_L._ You did? You groaned and hissed? Oh, Ralph, I did not believe you -had so little of the true gentleman about you! - -_R._ What do you mean? Come, now, I do not like that. - -_L._ Were you at the great fire last night? - -_R._ Yes; Tom Harding and I helped work one of the engines. - -_L._ Did you see that boy go up the ladder? - -_R._ Yes; wouldn’t I like to be in his shoes! They say the Humane -Society are going to give him a medal; for he saved a baby’s life and no -mistake—at the risk of his own, too; everybody said so; for the ladder he -went up was all charred and weakened, and it broke short off before he -got to the ground. - -_L._ What boy was it! - -_R._ Nobody could find out, but I suppose the morning paper will tell us -all about it. - -_L._ I have a copy. Here’s the account; “Great fire; house tenanted by -poor families; baby left in one of the upper rooms; ladder much charred; -firemen too heavy to go up; boy came forward, ran up; seized an infant; -descended safely; gave it into arms of frantic mother.” - -_R._ Is the boy’s name mentioned? - -_L._ Ay! Here it is! Here it is! And who do you think he is? - -_R._ Do not keep me in suspense. - -_L._ Well, then, he’s the boy who was so afraid of knocking a chip off -your hat—Frank Sterling—the coward, as _you_ called him. - -_R._ No! Let me see the paper for myself. There’s the name, sure enough, -printed in capital letters. - -_L._ But, cousin, how much more illustrious an achievement it would have -been for him to have knocked a chip off your hat! Risking his life to -save a chip of a baby was a small matter compared with that. Can the -gratitude of a mother for saving her baby make amends for the ignominy of -being cut by Mr. Tom Harding and Mr. Ralph Burton? - -_R._ Don’t laugh at me any more, Cousin Laura. I see I have been stupidly -in the wrong. Frank Sterling is no coward. I’ll ask his pardon this very -day. - -_L._ Will you? My dear Ralph, you will in that case show that you are not -without courage. - - -RECITATION—Reverie in Church. - - Too early of course! How provoking! - I told ma just how it would be. - I might as well have on a wrapper, - For there’s not a soul here yet to see. - There! Sue Delaplaine’s pew is empty— - I declare if it isn’t too bad! - I knew my suit cost more than her’s did, - And I wanted to see her look mad. - - I do think that sexton’s too stupid— - He’s put some one else in our pew— - And the girl’s dress just kills mine completely; - Now what am I going to do? - The psalter, and Sue isn’t here yet! - I don’t care, I think it’s a sin - For people to get late to service, - Just to make a great show coming in. - - Oh, you’ve got here at last, my dear, have you? - Well, I don’t think you need be so proud - Of that bonnet if Virot did make it, - It’s horrid fast-looking and loud. - What a dress!—for a girl in her senses - To go on the street in light blue! - And those coat-sleeves—they wore them last summer— - Don’t doubt, though, that she thinks they’re new. - - Mrs. Gray’s polonaise was imported— - So dreadful!—a minister’s wife, - And thinking so much about fashion!— - A pretty example of life! - The altar’s dressed sweetly—I wonder - Who sent those white flowers for the font!— - Some girl who’s gone on the assistant— - Don’t doubt it was Bessie Lamont. - - Just look at her now, little humbug!— - So devout—I suppose she don’t know - That she’s bending her head too far over - And the end of her switches all show. - What a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning! - That woman will kill me some day, - With her horrible lilacs and crimsons, - Why will these old things dress so gay? - - And there’s Jenny Wells with Fred Tracy— - She’s engaged to him now—horrid thing! - Dear me! I’d keep on my glory sometimes, - If I did have a solitaire ring! - How can this girl next to me act so— - The way that she turns round and stares, - And then makes remarks about people:— - She’d better be saying her prayers. - - Oh, dear, what a dreadful long sermon! - He must love to hear himself talk! - And it’s after twelve now—how provoking! - I wanted to have a nice walk. - Through at last. Well, it isn’t so dreadful - After all, for we won’t dine till one: - How can people say church is poky!— - So wicked!—I think it’s real fun. - - GEORGE A. BAKER. - - -ORATION—The Spanish-American War. - -It is gratifying to all of us to know that this has never ceased to be -a war of humanity. The last ship that went out of the harbor of Havana -before war was declared was an American ship that had taken to the -suffering people of Cuba the supplies furnished by American charity, -and the first ship to sail into the harbor of Santiago was an American -ship bearing food supplies to the suffering Cubans, and I am sure it is -the universal prayer of American citizens that justice and humanity and -civilization shall characterize the final settlement of peace, as they -have distinguished the progress of the war. - -My countrymen, the currents of destiny flow through the hearts of our -people. Who will check them, who will divert them, who will stop them? -And the movements of men, planned and designed by the Master of Men, -will never be interrupted by the American people. - -I witness with pride and satisfaction the cheers of the multitudes as the -veterans of the civil war on both sides of the contest are reviewed. I -witness with increasing pride the wild acclaim of the people as you watch -the volunteers and the regulars and our naval reserves (the guardians -of the people on land and sea) pass before your eyes, for I read in the -faces and hearts of my countrymen the purpose to see to it that this -government, with its free institutions, shall never perish from the face -of the earth. - -My heart is filled with gratitude to the God of battles, who has so -favored us, and to the soldiers and sailors who have won such victories -on land and sea and have given such a new meaning to American valor. No -braver soldiers or sailors ever assembled under any flag. - -Gentlemen, the American people are ready. If the Merrimac is to be sunk -in the mouth of the Santiago harbor to prevent the escape of the Spanish -fleet, a brave young hero is ready to do it and to succeed in what his -foes have never been able to do—sink an American ship. All honor to -the army and navy, without whose sacrifices we could not celebrate the -victory. The flag of our country is safe in the hands of our patriots and -heroes. - - PRESIDENT MCKINLEY. - - -MUSIC—To be Selected. - - -RECITATION—A Cook of the Period. - -(For a young lady who can give the Irish brogue.) - - The looks of yer, ma’am, rather suits me— - The wages ye offer ’ill do; - But thin I can’t inter yer sarvice - Without a condition or two. - And now, to begin, is the kitchen, - Commodgeous, with plenty of light, - And fit, ye know, fur entertainin’ - Sech fri’nds as I’m like to invite? - - And nixt, are yous regular at male-times? - Because ’taint convainyent, ye see, - To wait, and if I behaves punkshul, - It’s no more than yous ought to be. - And thin is your gurrels good-natured? - The rayson I lift my last place, - The French nuss was sich a high lady, - I sint a dish-cloth at her face. - - And have yer the laste objection - To min droppin’ in when they choose? - I’ve got some enlivinin’ fust cousins - That frayquently brings me the news. - I must have thim trayted powlitely; - I give yer fair warnin’ ma’am, now, - If the airy gate be closed agin thim, - You’ll find me commincin’ a row. - - These matters agrayed on between us, - I’d try yer a wake, so I would. - (She looks like the kind I can manage, - A thin thing without any blood!) - But mind, if I comes for a wake, ma’am, - I comes for that time, and no liss; - And so, thin, purvidin’ ye’d want me, - Just give me your name and addriss. - - -SONG—Bee-hive Town. TUNE—“Marching Through Georgia.” - - Have you ever been to see the busy Bee-Hive Town, - With its funny little wooden houses square and brown? - Hear the bees from clover-fields come flying swiftly down - All enter one little doorway. - - CHORUS. - - Hurrah, hurrah, for busy Bee-Hive Town, - With funny little houses square and brown; - Here the bees from clover fields come flying swiftly down - Bringing the sweet golden honey. - - Oh, there are so many rooms with thin and waxen wall, - Packed so close together that you could not count them all, - Here the small bee babies sleep until they learn to crawl, - And fly to find the golden honey. - - Mother bee is called the queen, her children love her well, - And she lives within a warm and cosy little cell; - While her children search in garden, meadow-land and dell, - Helpful and happy in working. - - All the merry sister bees do many a helpful thing— - Tend their little sisters and the golden honey bring: - But the lazy brother bees do naught but hum and sing, - All through the long golden summer. - - -PROGRAMME FOR THANKSGIVING. - -(The room should be decorated with fruits and grains of the season, -among them a large pumpkin, which will be appropriate to one of the -recitations.) - - -SONG—Tune: “My Country.” - - Honor the Mayflower’s band, - Who left their native land - And home so bright; - Honor the bravery - That crossed the winter sea, - For worship, fearless, free, - In cause of right. - - Oh, they had much to fear, - Sickness and death was near - To many a one; - Foes did them cruel wrong, - Winter was dark and long, - Ere came the Springtime’s song - And burst of sun. - - Honor those valiant sons, - Honor those fearless ones, - The Mayflower’s band. - Honor the bravery - That scorned all tyranny, - And crossed the stormy sea - To this fair land! - - -RELIGIOUS EXERCISES—Selected. - - -RECITATION—What I’m Thankful For. - - I’m thankful that I’m six years old, - And that I’ve left off dresses; - And that I’ve had my curls cut off,— - Some people call them tresses. - Such things were never meant for boys;— - Horrid dangling, tangling curls— - They go quite well with dress and sash; - They are just the thing for girls. - - I’m thankful I have pockets four, - Tho’ they’re almost too small, - To hold the things I want to keep;— - Some strings, knife, top and ball. - I’m thankful that we’re going to have, - All my folks and I, - Just a jolly dinner to-day, - With turkey and mince pie. - - O, one thing more, my mamma says, - And what she says is true; - ’Tis God who gives us everything, - And keeps and loves us too. - And so I thank Him very much - For all that I enjoy; - And promise that next New Year’s day - Will find a better boy. - - -RECITATION—The Pumpkin. - - Ah! on Thanksgiving Day, when from East and from West, - From North and from South come the pilgrim and guest, - When the grey-haired New Englander sees round his board - The old broken links of affection restored, - When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, - And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before, - What moistens the lip, and what brightens the eye? - What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin pie? - - O, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling; - When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling! - When wild, ugly faces were carved in its skin, - Glaring out through the dark with a candle within! - When we laughed round the corn heap, with hearts all in tune, - Our chair a broad pumpkin, our lantern the moon, - Telling tales of the fairy who traveled like steam - In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team! - - Then thanks for thy present!—none sweeter or better - E’er smoked from an oven or circled a platter! - Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine, - Brighter eyes never watched o’er its baking than thine! - And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express, - Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less, - That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below, - And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow, - And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky - Gold-tinted and fair as thine own pumpkin-pie! - - J. G. WHITTIER. - - -SONG—Tune: “Yankee Doodle.” - - What matters it the cold wind’s blast, - What matters though ’tis snowing, - Thanksgiving Day has come at last; - To grandmamma’s we’re going. - Wrapped in furs as warm as toast, - O’er the hills we’re fleeting; - To welcome friends, a merry host - And grandma’s smile of greeting. - - The sleigh bells jingle merrily, - And though the flakes are flying, - At last beyond the hills we see - A little mansion lying. - I’m sure we’ll find sweet cakes and fruit - And pumpkin pies so yellow; - For grandma knows just how to suit - Each hungry little fellow. - - -RECITAL—Outside and In. - - (May be recited by three girls; No. 1 remaining on the platform - while No. 2 recites the second part, and both standing while No. - 3 steps between and repeats the closing verse.) - - 1. Just outside the window, - Through the cold night air, - Snowflakes falling softly, - Dropping here and there, - Covering like a blanket - All the ground below, - Where the flowers are sleeping, - Tucked in by the snow. - They are dreaming sweetly, - Through the winter’s night, - Of the summer’s morning - Coming sure and bright. - - 2. Just inside the window - Firelight ruddy gleams; - On the walls and ceiling - Dance its merry beams. - White as outside snowflakes - Is the little bed; - On the downy pillow - Rests a curly head. - Like the flowers the child is dreaming - Of the long, bright hours of play - Coming as the darkness melteth - Into sunny day. - - 3. And above the sleepers,— - Be they child or flower,— - Our loving Father bendeth - Watching hour by hour. - ’Tis his love which giveth - Blessings great or small; - ’Tis his sun which shineth, - Making day for all. - - -ORATION—The Laboring Classes. - -Sir, it is an insult to our laboring classes to compare them to the -debased poor of Europe. Why, sir, we of this country do not know what -poverty is. We have no poor in this country, in the sense in which that -word is used abroad. Every laborer, even the most humble, in the United -States, soon becomes a capitalist, and even, if he choose, a proprietor -of land; for the West, with all its boundless fertility, is open to him. - -How can any one dare compare the mechanic of this land (whose -inferiority, in any substantial particular, in intelligence, in virtue, -in wealth, to the other classes of our society, I have yet to learn) with -that race of outcasts, of which so terrific a picture is presented by -recent writers—the poor of Europe?—a race among no inconsiderable portion -of whom famine and pestilence may be said to dwell continually; many of -whom are without morals, without education, without a country, without -a God! and may be said to know society only by the terrors of its penal -code, and to live in perpetual war with it. Poor bondmen! mocked with -the name of liberty, that they may be sometimes tempted to break their -chains, in order that, after a few days of starvation in idleness and -dissipation, they may be driven back to their prison-house to take their -shackles up again, heavier and more galling than before; severed, as it -has been touchingly expressed, from nature, from the common air, and the -light of the sun; knowing only by hearsay that the fields are green, that -the birds sing, and that there is a perfume in flowers! - -And is it with a race whom the perverse institutions of Europe have -thus degraded beneath the condition of humanity that the advocates, the -patrons, the protectors, of our working-men, presume to compare them? -Sir, it is to treat them with a scorn at which their spirit should -revolt, and does revolt. - - HUGH LEGARE. - - -RECITATION—A Thanksgiving. - -(For six boys. They stand in a row and each steps forward to recite his -verse). - - For the wealth of pathless forests, - Whereon no axe may fall; - For the winds that haunt the branches; - The young bird’s timid call; - For the red leaves dropped like rubies - Upon the dark green sod; - For the waving of the forests - I thank thee, O my God! - - For the sound of water gushing - In the bubbling beads of light; - For the fleets of snow-white lilies - Firm anchored out of sight; - For the reeds among the eddies; - The crystal on the clod; - For the flowing of the rivers, - I thank thee, O my God! - - For the rosebud’s break of beauty - Along the toiler’s way; - For the violet’s eye that opens - To bless the new-born day; - For the bare twigs that in summer - Bloom like the prophet’s rod; - For the blossoming of flowers, - I thank thee, O my God! - - For the lifting up of mountains, - In brightness and in dread; - For the peaks where snow and sunshine - Alone have dared to tread; - For the dark and silent gorges, - Whence mighty cedars nod; - For the majesty of mountains, - I thank thee, O my God! - - For the splendor of the sunsets, - Vast mirrored on the sea; - For the gold-fringed clouds that curtain - Heaven’s inner mystery; - For the molten bars of twilight, - Where thought leans glad yet awed; - For the glory of the sunsets, - I thank thee, O my God! - - For the earth and all its beauty; - The sky and all its light; - For the dim and soothing shadow - That rest the dazzled sight; - For unfading fields and prairies, - Where sense in vain has trod; - For the world’s exhaustless beauty, - I thank thee, O my God! - - LUCY LARCOM. - - -SONG—The Pilgrims. Tune—“Lightly Row.” - - Long ago, - To our land - Came the Mayflower’s little band, - Long ago - To our land - Came the Mayflower’s band. - O, they came across the sea, - For the heart’s devotion free. - Long ago - To our land - Came the Mayflower’s band. - - Winter, spring, - Slowly passed, - And the harvest came at last. - Winter, spring, - Slowly passed - Harvest came at last. - Then for all the blessings given, - Thanks they rendered unto heaven, - From that day - Came to stay, - Glad Thanksgiving Day. - - -TABLEAU—Harvest Home. - - (Handsome lady, representing Ceres, surrounded by baskets or - shocks of grain, wheat, corn, etc., with farmers in attitudes - of gathering or binding the crops). - - -PROGRAMME FOR FLOWER DAY. - - -SONG—Tune: “My Country.” - - Let us with nature sing, - And floral tributes bring, - On this glad day; - Violets white and blue, - Daisies and lilies too, - Pansies of purple hue, - And roses gay. - - O’er this fair land of ours, - Blossom the golden flowers - In loveliness; - From Maine to Washington, - Wherever smiles the sun, - Their fairy footsteps run - To cheer and bless. - - When winter’s curtains gray, - From skies are pushed away - By nature’s hand; - We gladly welcome you, - Blossoms of red and blue, - Blossoms of every hue, - To our fair land. - - -RECITAL—The Poppy and Mignonette. - - Once ’tis said, gay, flaunting poppies, - And the humble mignonette, - Side by side grew in a garden - Where one day their glances met. - Cried a Poppy: “Of your presence, - In this spot we have no need, - You are sadly out of place, - You are nothing but a weed.” - - Meekly bowed the Mignonette - And ashamed in silence stood, - When there came a gentle murmur, - Like a whisper from the wood: - “Henceforth, gay and flaunting poppies, - Proud and stately in thy bloom, - Shall be taken half thy beauty— - All thy wealth of sweet perfume. - - It is thine, O mignonette, - Flower of sweet and lowly grace; - Thou shalt win the hearts of others, - Though thou hast a humble face.” - And the magic of that whisper. - Holds its mystic power yet; - Poppies lure us with their beauty, - But we love the mignonette. - - -FLOWER QUOTATIONS. - - (For seven pupils, each of whom recites a verse, prefacing it - with the name of the author.) - - _Wordsworth wrote_: - - The rainbow comes and goes, - And lovely is the rose; - The moon doth with delight - Look round her when the heavens are bare. - Waters on a starry night, - Are beautiful and fair. - - _Longfellow wrote_: - - O flower de luce, bloom on, and let the river - Linger to kiss thy feet. - O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever - The world more fair and sweet. - - _Lowell wrote_: - - The cowslip startles in meadows green, - The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, - And there’s never a blade or a flower too mean, - To be some happy creature’s palace. - - _Leigh Hunt wrote_: - - We are violets blue, - For our sweetness found - Careless in the mossy shades, - Looking on the ground. - Love-dropped eye-lids, and a kiss, - Such our breath and blueness is. - - _John Wolcott wrote_: - - The daisies peep from every field, - And violets sweet their odors yield, - The purple blossom paints the thorn, - And streams reflect the blush of morn - Then lads and lasses, all be gay, - For this is Nature’s holiday. - - _Horace Smith wrote_: - - Your voiceless lips, O flowers, are living teachers, - Each cup a pulpit and each leaf a book, - Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers, - From loveliest nook. - - _Lowell wrote_: - - Winds wander, and dews drip earthward, - Rains fall, suns rise and set, - Earth whirls, and all but to prosper - A poor little violet. - - -SONG—Tune: “Auld Lang Syne.” - - When winter o’er the hills afar, - Has vanished from the land, - And glad and welcome signs of Spring - Are seen on every hand, - Then Robin in his vest of red, - And sober suit of brown, - From out his sunny, southern home, - Flies gaily into town. - - The blossoms smile to hear him sing, - And see him build his nest; - For of all merry summer birds - Dear Robin, they love best. - He chirps and twitters at his work, - While skies forget to frown, - And all the world is glad and gay - When Robin lives in town. - - The summer softly fades away - Into the winter drear, - Then Robin gayly sings, “good-bye, - I’ll come another year.” - So when the woodland trees are bare, - And snowy flakes fall down; - In little suit of brown and red, - Dear Robin leaves the town. - - -RECITATION—Flowers. - -How the universal heart of man blesses flowers! They are wreathed round -the cradle, the marriage altar, and the tomb. The Persian in the far East -delights in their perfume, and writes his love in nosegays; while the -Indian child of the far West clasps his hands with glee as he gathers the -abundant blossoms—the illuminated scripture of the prairies. The Cupid -of the ancient Hindoos tipped his arrows with flowers, and orange buds -are the bridal crown with us, a nation of yesterday. Flowers garlanded -the Grecian altar, and they hang in votive wreaths before the Christian -shrine. - -All these are appropriate uses. Flowers should deck the brow of the -youthful bride, for they are in themselves a lovely type of marriage. -They should twine round the tomb, for their perpetually renewed beauty is -a symbol of the resurrection. They should festoon the altar, for their -fragrance and their beauty ascend in perpetual worship before the Most -High. - - LYDIA M. CHILD. - - -THE FOOLISH HAREBELL. - -(For eighteen pupils, each speaking two lines.) - - A harebell hung its willful head: - “I am so tired, so tired! I wish I was dead.” - - She hung her head in the mossy dell: - “If all were over, then all were well.” - - The wind he heard, and was pitiful; - He waved her about to make her cool. - - “Wind, you are rough,” said the dainty bell; - “Leave me alone—I am not well.” - - And the wind, at the voice of the drooping dame, - Sank in his heart, and ceased for shame. - - “I am hot, so hot!” she sighed and said; - “I am withering up; I wish I was dead.” - - Then the sun, he pitied her pitiful case, - And drew a thick veil over his face. - - “Cloud, go away, and don’t be rude; - I am not—I don’t see why you should.” - - The cloud withdrew, and the harebell cried, - “I am faint, so faint! and no water beside!” - - And the dew came down its million-fold path; - But she murmured, “I did not want a bath.” - - A boy came by in the morning gray; - He plucked the harebell, and threw it away. - - The harebell shivered, and cried, “Oh! oh! - I am faint, so faint! Come, dear wind, blow.” - - The wind blew softly, and did not speak. - She thanked him kindly, but grew more weak. - - “Sun, dear sun, I am cold,” she said. - He rose; but lower she drooped her head. - - “O rain! I am withering; all the blue - Is fading out of me;—come, please do.” - - The rain came down as fast as it could, - But for all its will it did her no good. - - She shuddered and shriveled, and moaning said; - “Thank you all kindly;” and then she was dead. - - Let us hope, let us hope, when she comes next year, - She’ll be simple and sweet. But I fear, I fear. - - GEORGE MACDONALD. - - -QUESTIONS ABOUT FLOWERS. - -(To be answered by a class or the whole school.) - -What is the favorite flower of the poets? - -_Ans._ The daisy. - -What English poet so loved the daisy that he lay all one day in the field -to see it open in the morning and close at night? - -_Ans._ Chaucer. - -What violet, so called, really belongs to the lily family? - -_Ans._ The dog-tooth violet. - -What flower was named by the Greeks after one of their gods? - -_Ans._ The pansy, after Pan. - -About what flower was Emerson’s finest poem written? - -_Ans._ The rhodora. - -Which of the buttercups are foreigners? - -_Ans._ The tall buttercup and the common buttercup with bulbous base. - -Name some other imported flowers. - -_Ans._ Dandelion and ox-eyed daisy. - -Name two distinctly American blossoms. - -_Ans._ Indian pipe and blood-root. - -What queen adopted the daisy as her flower? - -_Ans._ Queen Margherita of Italy. - -Name one of the most brilliant of August flowers. - -_Ans._ The cardinal flower. - -What is one of the most difficult wild flowers to cultivate? - -_Ans._ Trailing arbutus, which grows all over the United States. - -What floral poem of Wordsworth’s is famous? - -_Ans._ Daffodils. - -What is the most beautiful plant of Autumn? - -_Ans._ The golden rod. - - -RECITATION—Pansies. - - We had climbed to the top of the old Gray Peak, - And viewed the valley o’er; - And we started off on our homeward tramp, - A good three miles or more. - The road lay curved like a ribbon of gold, - Around the base of the hill, - And the brook gleamed out with a silver sheen, - From thickets near the mill. - - But the sun shone warm on the dusty road, - Until by heat oppressed, - We wearily stopped at a cottage gate; - The matron bade us rest. - How cool was the shade of the trumpet-vine, - A spring ran fresh and clear? - The flash and whirr of a jeweled thing, - A humming-bird was near. - - We were sauntering down the garden path, - Repeating kind good-byes, - When suddenly now were our footsteps stayed, - New beauties met our eyes. - “Will you have some pansies?” the hostess asks, - “O, thank you, on!” we say; - But the matron is culling the purple blooms, - We let her have her way. - - Purple and blue and russet and gold - Those fragrant rich bouquets; - “Ah!” she explains, “of my violets sweet, - You have not learned the ways. - - “There is something good about pansies - That’s worth your while to know; - The more they are picked and given away - The more they’re sure to grow.” - - MARY A. MCCLELLAND. - - -RECITAL—Plant Song. - - O where do you come from, berries red, - Nuts, apples and plums, that hang ripe overhead, - Sweet, juicy grapes, with your rich purple hue, - Saying, “Pick us and eat us; we’re growing for you?” - - O, where do you come from, bright flower and fair, - That please with your colors and fragrance so rare, - Glowing with sunshine or sparkling with dew? - “We are blooming for dear little children like you.” - - “Our roots are our mouths, taking food from the ground, - Our leaves are our lungs, breathing air all around, - Our sap, like your blood, our veins courses through— - Don’t you think, little children, we’re somewhat like you? - - “Your hearts are the soil, your thoughts are the seeds; - Your lives may become useful plants or foul weeds; - If thou think but good thoughts your lives will be true, - For good women and men were once children like you.” - - NELLIE M. BROWN. - - -SONG—TUNE.—“Bounding Billows.” - - We would hail thee, joyous summer, - We would welcome thee to-day, - With thy skies so blue and cloudless - And thy song-birds, glad and gay. - - Oh, the blossoms hear thee calling, - Hear thy voice that ne’er deceives, - And they waken from their slumbers - Far beneath the withered leaves. - - Little brooks with merry laughter, - Run to greet their lovely guest; - For of all the happy seasons - Summer dear, they love thee best. - - So we hail thee, joyous summer, - We would welcome thee to-day; - With thy skies so blue and cloudless, - And thy song-birds, glad and gay. - - -READING—Summer-Time. - -They were right—those old German minnesingers—to sing the pleasant -summer-time! What a time it is! How June stands illuminated in the -calendar! The windows are all wide open; only the Venetian blinds closed. -Here and there a long streak of sunshine streams in through a crevice. -We hear the low sound of the wind among the trees; and, as it swells and -freshens, the distant doors clap to, with a sudden sound. The trees are -heavy with leaves; and the gardens full of blossoms, red and white. The -whole atmosphere is laden with perfume and sunshine. The birds sing. -The cock struts about, and crows loftily. Insects chirp in the grass. -Yellow buttercups stud the green carpet like golden buttons, and the red -blossoms of the clover like rubies. - -The elm-trees reach their long, pendulous branches almost to the ground. -White clouds sail aloft, and vapors fret the blue sky with silver -threads. The white village gleams afar against the dark hills. Through -the meadow winds the river—careless, indolent. It seems to love the -country, and is in no haste to reach the sea. The bee only is at work—the -hot and angry bee. All things else are at play! he never plays, and is -vexed that any one should. - -People drive out from town to breathe, and to be happy. Most of them have -flowers in their hands; bunches of apple-blossoms, and still oftener -lilacs. Ye denizens of the crowded city, how pleasant to you is the -change from the sultry streets to the open fields, fragrant with clover -blossoms! how pleasant the fresh, breezy country air, dashed with brine -from the meadows! how pleasant, above all, the flowers, the manifold -beautiful flowers! - - H. W. LONGFELLOW. - - -SONG.—Tune.—“The Last Rose of Summer.” - - Tis the last rose of summer - Left blooming alone; - All her lovely companions - Are faded and gone; - No flower of her kindred, - No rose bud is nigh, - To reflect back her blushes, - Or give sigh for sigh! - - I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one, - To pine on the stem; - Since the lovely are sleeping, - Go, sleep thou with them. - Thus kindly I scatter - Thy leaves o’er the bed - Where thy mates of the garden - Lie scentless and dead. - - So soon may follow, - When friendships decay, - And from love’s shining circle - The gems drop away! - When true hearts lie withered - And fond ones are flown, - Oh! who would inhabit - This bleak world alone? - - THOMAS MOORE. - - -MARCH—Honor to the Flag. - - (Young people march to a well known tune; each carries a bouquet, - and, approaching a staff flying the Stars and Stripes, places the - flowers at the base.) - - - - -DIALOGUES FOR SCHOOLS AND LYCEUMS. - - -IN WANT OF A SERVANT. - -_Characters_: - - MR. MARSHALL AND WIFE. - MARGARET O’FLANAGAN. - KATRINA VAN FOLLESTEIN. - SNOWDROP WASHINGTON. - MRS. BUNKER. - FREDDIE. - -_Scene I._—_The breakfast-room of MR. and MRS. MARSHALL. MR. MARSHALL -enjoying the morning paper with his heels on the mantel._ - -_Mrs. Marshall_ (_in a complaining tone_.) Oh, dear, Charles, how sick -and tired I am of housework! I do envy people who are able to keep help. -Here I am tied up to the little hot kitchen morning till night—stewing, -and baking, and frying, and scrubbing, and washing floors, till I am -ready to sink! One thing over and over again. I wonder why Hood, when he -wrote the “Song of the Shirt,” had not kept on and written the “Song of -the Basement Story.” - -_Mr. M._ Is it so very bad, Lily? Why, I always thought it must be nice -work to cook—and washing dishes is the easiest thing in the world. All -you have to do is to pour a little hot water over ’em and give ’em a -flirt over with a towel. - -_Mrs. M._ That’s all you men know about it; it is the hardest work in -the world! I always hated it. I remember, when I was a little girl, I -always used to be taken with a headache when mother wanted me to wash the -dishes. And then she’d dose me with rhubarb. Ugh! how bitter it was; but -not half so bitter as washing dishes in boiling water in a hot kitchen -in the middle of August! - -_Mr. M._ (_meditatively taking his feet from the mantel_.) I made a lucky -sale this morning, and saved a cool three hundred. I had intended giving -you a new silk, but I’ll do better—I’ll hire you a girl. How will that -suit? - -_Mrs. M._ Oh, what a darling! I would kiss you if you hadn’t been -smoking, and my collar weren’t quite so fresh. I am afraid I shall muss -it. But you are a good soul, Charlie; and I shall be so happy. Do you -really mean it? - -_Mr. M._ To be sure. - -_Mrs. M._ Won’t Mrs. Fitzjones die of envy? She puts her washing out, and -she’s always flinging that in my face. I guess the boot will be on the -other foot now! I wonder what she’ll say when she runs in of a morning -to see what I’m cooking, and finds me in the parlor hem-stitching a -handkerchief, and my _maid_ attending to things in the kitchen? But where -is a girl to be had? Will you go to the intelligence office? - -_Mr. M._ No; I don’t approve of intelligence offices. I will advertise. -Bring me a pen and ink, Lily. - -_Mrs. M._ (_bringing the articles_.) You won’t say that to me any -more, Charles. It will be, “Biddy, my good girl, bring me the writing -implements.” Won’t it be nice? Just like a novel. They always have -servants, you know. - -_Mr. M._ What, the novels? - -_Mrs. M._ No; the people in them. Are you writing the advertisement? Be -sure and say that no one need apply except experienced persons. I want no -green hands about my kitchen. - -_Mr. M._ (_reads from the paper what he has been writing_.) “Wanted, by a -quiet family, a girl to do general housework. None but those having had -experience need apply. Call at No. 116 B⸺ street, between the hours of -ten and two.” How will that answer? - -_Mrs. M._ Admirably! Charles, you ought to have been an editor. You -express your ideas so clearly! - -_Mr. M._ Thank you, my dear, thank you. I believe I _have_ some talent -for expressing my meaning. But I am going down town now, and will have -this advertisement inserted in the _Herald_, and by to-morrow you can -hold yourself in readiness to receive applicants. By-bye (_goes out_). - -_Mrs. M._ (_alone_). If it isn’t the most charming thing! Won’t the -Fitzjoneses and Mrs. Smith be raving? Mrs. Smith has got a bound girl, -and Mrs. Fitzjones puts out her washing; but I am to have a regular -servant! I shall get a chance to practice my music now. Dear me—how red -my hands are! (_looks at them_) I must get some cold cream for them; -one’s hands show so on the white keys of a piano. I’ll go and open that -piano now, and dust it. It must be dreadfully out of tune. But I’ll have -it tuned as soon as ever I get that girl fairly initiated into my way of -doing work (_goes out_). - - -_Scene II._—_MRS. MARSHALL awaiting the coming of “applicants.” A furious -ring at the front door bell._ - -_Mrs. M._ (_peeping through the blinds_). Dear me! I wonder who’s coming! -A person applying for the situation of servant would not be likely to -come to the front door. I can just see the edge of a blue-silk flounce, -and a streamer of red ribbon on the bonnet. I’ll go and see who it -is (_opens the door, and a stout Irish girl, gaudily dressed, with -an eye-glass, and a bonnet of enormous dimensions pushes by her, and -entering the parlor, seats herself in the rocking-chair_). - -_Mrs. M._ To what am I indebted for this visit? - -_Irish Girl._ It looks well for the like of yees to ask! It’s the leddy -what’s wanting a young leddy to help in the wurrk that I’m after seeing. - -_Mrs. M._ (_with dignity_). I am that person, if you please. What may I -call your name? - -_Irish Girl._ Me name’s Margaret O’Flanagan, though some people has the -impudence to call me Peggy; but if ever the likes of it happens agin I’ll -make the daylight shine into ’em where it never dramed of shining before. -What may your name be, mum? - -_Mrs. M._ My name is Marshall. I am in want of a servant. - -_Margaret._ Sarvint, is it? Never a bit of a sarvint will I be for -anybody! The blud of my forefathy would cry out against it. But I might -have ixpected it from the appearance of yees. Shure, and I’d no other -thought but ye was the chambermaid. Marshall, is it? Holy St. Patrick! -why that was the name of the man that was hung in County Cork for the -murthering of Dennis McMurphy, and he had a nose exactly like the one -foreninst your face. (_A second ring at the door. MRS. MARSHALL ushers in -a stolid-faced German girl, and an over-dressed colored lady. They take -seats on the sofa._) - -_German Girl._ Ish dis the place mit the woman what wants a girl in her -housework that was put into de paper day pefore to-morrow. - -_Mrs. M._ Yes, I am the woman. What is your name? - -_German Girl._ Katrina Van Follenstein. I can do leetle of most -everything. I can bake all myself, and bile, and fry; and makes -sourkrout—oh, sphlendid! And I sphanks the children as well as their own -mudders. - -_Marg._ If ye’ll condescend to lave that dirty Dutchman, young leddy, -I’ll be afther asking ye a few questions; and then if ye don’t shute me I -can be laving. Me time is precious. Is them the best cheers in yer house? - -_Mrs. M._ They are. - -_Marg._ Holy Virgin! Why, mum, I’ve been used to having better cheers -than them in me own room, and a sofy in me kitchen to lay me bones on -when they’re took aching. Have ye got a wine cellar? - -_Mrs. M._ (_indignantly_). No! We are temperance people. - -_Marg._ Oh, botheration! Then ye’ll niver do for me, at all at all? It’s -wine I must have every day to keep me stummach in tune, and if Barney -O’Grath comes in of an evening I should die of mortification if I didn’t -have a drop of something to trate him on. And about the peanny. It’s -taking lessons I am, meself, and if it’s out of kilter, why, it must be -fixed at once. I never could think of playing on a instrument that was -ontuned. It might spile me voice. - -_Mrs. M._ I want no servants in my house who are taking music lessons. I -hire a girl to do my work—not to dictate to me, and sit in the parlor. - -_Marg._ Ye don’t hire me. No mum! Not by a long walk. It’s not Margaret -O’Flanagan that’ll be hosted round by an old sharp-nosed crayter like -yerself, wid a mole on yer left cheek, and yer waterfall made out of -other folks’ hair! The saints be blessed, me own is an illegant one—and -never a dead head was robbed for to make it! ’Twas the tail of me cousin -Jimmy’s red horse—rest his soul! - -_Mrs. M._ (_pointing to the door_). You can leave the house, Miss -O’Flanagan. You won’t suit me. - -_Marg._ And you won’t shute me. I wouldn’t work with ye for a thousand -dollars a week! It’s not low vulgar people that Margaret O’Flanagan -associates with. Good-bye to ye! I pity the girl ye gets. May the saints -presarve her—and not a drop of wine in the house! (_MARGARET goes out._) - -_Mrs. M._ Well, Katrina, are you ready to answer a few questions? - -_Katrina._ Yah; I is. - -_Mrs. M._ Are you acquainted with general housework? - -_Kat._ Nix; I never have seen that shinneral. I know Shinneral Shackson, -and Shinneral Grant, but not that one to speak of! - -_Mrs._ M. I intended to ask if you are used to doing work in the kitchen. - -_Kat._ Yaw, I sees. Dat ish my thrade. - -_Mrs. M._ Can you cook? - -_Kat._ Most people, what bees shenteel, keeps a cook. - -_Mrs. M._ I do not. I shall expect you to cook. Can you wash? - -_Kat._ Beeples that ish in de upper-crust puts their washing out. - -_Mrs. M._ Can you make beds, and sweep? - -_Kat._ The dust of the fedders sthuffs up my head, what has got one -leetle giutar into it. Most beeples keeps a chambermaid. Now, I wants -to ask you some tings. You gits up in morning, and gits breakfast, of -course? It makes mine head ache to git up early. And you’ll dust all -the furnitures, and schrub the kittles, and your goot man will wash the -floors and pump the water, and make the fires, and—— - -_Mrs. M._ We shall do no such thing. What an insolent wretch! You can go -at once. I’ve no further use for you. You won’t suit. - -_Kat._ (_retreating_). Mine krout! what a particular vomans. - -_Colored Lady._ Wall, missis, specks here’s jest de chile for ye. What -wages does you gib? and what is yer pollyticks? - -_Mrs. M._ What is your name—what wages do you expect? - -_Colored Lady._ My name is Snowdrop Washington, and I specks five dollars -a week if I do my own washing, but if it is put out to de washerwoman’s -wid de rest of de tings, den I takes off a quarter. And it’s best to have -a fair understanding now, in de beginning. I’m very particular about -my afternoons. Tuesdays I studies my cataplasin and can’t be ’sturbed; -Wednesdays I goes to see old Aunt Sally Gumbo, what’s got de spine of de -back; Thursdays I allers takes a dose of lobeely for me stummuch, and has -to lay abed; and Fridays I ginerally walks out wid Mr. Sambo Snow, a fren -of mine—and in none of dem cases can I be ’sturbed. And I shall spect you -to find gloves for me to do de work in; don’t like to sile my hands. - -_Mrs. M._ I want to hire a girl to work—every day—and every hour in the -day. - -_Snowdrop._ The laws-a-massy! what a missis! Why, in dat case dis chile -haint no better off dan wite trash! Ketch Snowdrop Washington setting in -that pew! Not dis nigger. I wish you a berry lubly morning! (_goes out, -and a woman clad in widow’s weeds, and a little boy enter._) - -_Woman_ (_in a brisk tone_). Are you the person that wants to hire help? -Dear me, don’t I smell onions! I detest onions! Only vulgar people eat -’em! Have your children had the measles? Because I never could think -of taking Freddie where he might be exposed to that dreadful disease! -Freddie, my love, put down that vase. If you should break it, you might -cut yourself with the pieces. Have you a dog about the house, marm? - -_Mrs. M._ Yes, we have. - -_Woman in Black._ Good gracious! he must be killed then! I shouldn’t see -a bit of comfort if Freddie was where there was a dog. The last words my -dear lamented husband said to me were these: “Mrs. Bunker, take care of -Freddie.” Bunker’s my name, marm. Have you a cow? - -_Mrs. M._ We have not. - -_Mrs. Bunker._ How unfortunate! Well, I suppose you can buy one. Freddie -depends so much on his new milk; and so do I. How many children have you? - -_Mrs. M._ Three. - -_Mrs. B._ Good gracious! what a host! I hope none of them have bad -tempers, or use profane language. I wouldn’t have Freddie associate with -them for the world if they did. He’s a perfect cherub in temper. My -darling, don’t pull the cat’s tail! she may scratch you. - -_Mrs. M._ You need not remain any longer, Mrs. Bunker. I do not wish to -employ a maid with a child. - -_Mrs. B._ Good heavens! (_indignantly_). Whoever saw such a hard-hearted -wretch! Object to my darling Freddie! Did I ever expect to live to see -the day when the offspring of my beloved Jeremiah would be treated -in this way? I’ll not stay another moment in the house with such an -unfeeling monster! Come, Freddie. (_Goes out. MRS. MARSHALL closes the -door and locks it._) - -_Mrs. M._ Gracious! if this is the way of having a servant, I am -satisfied. I’ll do my own work till the end of the chapter! There’s -another ring; but I won’t answer it—not I. I’ll make believe I’m not at -home. Ring away, if it’s any satisfaction to you! It doesn’t hurt me. - - CLARA AUGUSTA. - - -THE UNWELCOME GUEST. - -_Characters_: - - MR. EDWARD SIMPSON. - MRS. EMELINE SIMPSON, his wife. - JOHN SIMPSON, his brother, and a guest. - MR. MARTIN JONES. - MRS. ELIZA JONES, his wife. - -SCENE.—_A room in Edward Simpson’s house. Mr. and Mrs. Simpson -discovered._ - -_Mrs. S._ Edward, I may just as well say plainly that I think we must do -something to get your brother off our hands. He has been here now over -two weeks, and he stays and stays just as if this was his home, and as if -he hadn’t the slightest idea of ever going away. - -_Mr. S._ You are quite right, wife; we must get him away. I thought -it possible, when he came here, that he had plenty of money; but that -idea has vanished entirely. If he had money, he would not go around so -shabbily dressed. He had the audacity to hint to me yesterday that I -might buy him a new coat; just as if I hadn’t enough to do to buy new -coats for myself and my children. - -_Mrs. S._ Oh! the impudence of some people! I am sure we have done very -well in keeping him these two weeks, and not charging him a cent for his -boarding. And now he wants a new coat, does he? I wonder he didn’t ask -for a full suit; he certainly has need of it; but he needn’t expect to -get it here. But are you _sure_, Edward, that he didn’t bring any money -home with him? - -_Mr. S._ Yes, quite sure. I didn’t say anything to him about it, but John -was never the man to go in rags if he had any money in his pocket. He -has been away for fifteen years, you know, and he might have made plenty -of money in that time; but it is my impression, that if he did make -anything, he spent it all before he started for home. - -_Mrs. S._ Well, what are we to do with him? - -_Mr. S._ Send him to the poor-house, I suppose. I don’t quite like to do -that, either; for people _will_ talk, and they will say that I ought to -have kept him in his old days. - -_Mrs. S._ Let them talk. It’s nobody’s business but our own, and it will -all blow over in a week or two. Of course we can’t have him on our hands -as long as he lives, merely because the neighbors will talk a little -about our sending him to the poor-house. - -_Mr. S._ No, of course not. Here he comes now; we must inform him of our -decision. - -_Enter JOHN SIMPSON, shabbily dressed._ - -_Mr. S._ John, we have been talking about you. - -_John._ So I supposed. I thought I heard my name mentioned. You were -considering that matter about the coat, were you? I hope you will think -favorably of it. - -_Mrs. S._ (_bridling up_.) No, sir; we were not thinking of buying you a -coat, but we were speaking of your audacity in making such a request. - -_John._ Ah! were you? Don’t you see I am old now, and dreadfully crippled -with rheumatism? And, of course I am not able to work to buy myself -clothes. If my brother will not take care of me now, who will? - -_Mrs. S._ That’s just what we are going to talk about. - -_Mr. S._ Wife, allow me to speak to John about the matter. (_To John._) -It may sound a little harsh and unpleasant, but we have come to the -conclusion that we cannot keep you any longer. You know that we are not -very well off in this world’s goods; we have not much house-room, and -we have three children that demand our attention. We have kept you two -weeks and we think we have done very well. We feel that you would be -considerably in our road here, and we have concluded to send you to the -poor-house. - -_John._ The poor-house! I always did hate the poor-house. It must be so -lonesome there; and then, I don’t think the boarding will be good. Must I -go to the poor-house? - -_Mr. S._ Yes, we have decided. We cannot keep you. - -_John._ I thought, when I was away, that if I could only get home again, -I would find my brother willing to take me under his roof, and allow me -to end my days there. But I was mistaken. When must I go? - -_Mr. S._ I will have the papers made out, and be ready to take you -to-morrow afternoon. - -_John._ Send for Eliza Jones and her husband. They will not want to keep -me either, I suppose—how can I expect them, when they are a great deal -poorer than you? But send for them. I want to see them, and say good-bye, -before I go away. - -_Mrs. S._ Emeline, tell Parker to run across Jones’ for his Uncle Martin -and Aunt Eliza. - -[_Exit Mrs. S._ - -_John._ If they do not treat me well at the poor-house, what shall I do? -Cut stick and run off, or sue them for breach of promise? - -_Mr. S._ (_aside_.) It seems to me, he takes it exceedingly cool. But it -is better he should do so, than to make a noise about it. (_To John._) I -think you will be well treated. The Superintendent is very kind to all -under his care, and is considered a perfect gentleman. - -_John._ A gentleman! I’m glad of that. (_Sarcastically._) Ah! Edward, it -is a great thing to be a _gentleman_. - -_Mr. S._ I am glad you are willing to go without making any fuss about -it. You know people _will_ talk; and they would talk a great deal more, -if you should be opposed to going. I hope you will not think unkindly of -us, because we have concluded to take this step; you see that we can not -well keep you here; and as you are getting old, and are greatly afflicted -with rheumatism, you will be better attended to there than you could be -here. - -_John._ Yes, yes, I understand. Don’t fret about me, Edward. I suppose -it isn’t much difference where I live, and where I end my days. But, -Edward, I _think_ I would not have treated you so. However, one hardly -knows what one will do when one comes to the pinch. If I had brought home -a market-basket full of ninety-dollar gold pieces, perhaps I would not -have taken up so much room in your house, nor crowded your children so -dreadfully. - -_Enter MRS. SIMPSON, and MR. and MRS. JONES._ - -_Mrs. J._ (_running to John_.) O John, my brother, they want to send you -to the poor-house! You shall not go! you shall not go! - -_Mr. J._ No, John, you shall not go. While we have a crust of bread, you -shall share it with us. - -_John._ But I never did like to eat crusts. - -_Mrs. S._ That’s him, for you! He doesn’t want to pay anything for his -board, but he wants to have the best. - -_John._ And he doesn’t like to eat dirt. - -_Mrs. S._ Do you mean to say I am a dirty cook? - -_John_ (_whistles “Yankee Doodle.”_) Come, if I am to go to the -poor-house, let me be off. - -_Mrs. J._ You shall not go. We are poor, but you shall stay with us. We -can find room for you, and we will be provided for, I’ll warrant, some -way. - -_Mrs. S._ People oughtn’t to be rash about taking on a load they can’t -carry. - -_Mr. S._ Emeline, if Martin and Eliza want to keep John, let them do so; -don’t say a word. Of course, I think they have quite enough to do to keep -their own heads above water; but if they want to keep John, it is their -own business. - -_John._ Yes, it is their own business; and if they were on the point of -sinking, would _you_ raise a finger to keep their heads above water? -_No!_ Edward.—I cannot call you brother,—I know you now. I leave your -house to-day, but I do not go to the poor-house. I have money enough to -buy and _keep_ a hundred such little farms as yours, and a hundred such -_little men_. I do not need your coats nor your cringing sympathies; I -wanted to know what kind of a man you were, and _I know_. When I came -home, I determined to find out, in some way, whether you or the Jones -family were most deserving of my money. I have found that out; and I go -with them, to make my home there. - -_Mrs. S._ But we didn’t know—— - -_John._ Ay, I know it. You thought I was a beggar; you thought I had -no money and no clothes. If you had believed otherwise, you would have -received me with open arms. Come (_to Mr. and Mrs. Jones_), we will go. -I shall not forget you for your kindness. I will make my home with you; -and if it is true that you have hard enough work to keep your heads above -water it shall be so no longer. (_To Mr. and Mrs. Simpson._) I had almost -forgotten. Here are twenty dollars, for my two weeks’ board (_throwing -down the bills_). You see that although I may have a _shabby appearance_, -I am yet able to pay my way in the world. Good-day, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson. -(_Exit John Simpson, and Mr. and Mrs. Jones._) - -_Mrs. S._ Isn’t this dreadful! (_Rushes out at one side of the stage._) - -_Mr. S._ Confound the luck! (_Rushes out at the other side of the stage._) - -[_Curtain falls._ - - H. ELLIOT MCBRIDE. - - -AUNTY PUZZLED. - -_Characters_: - - PIOUS MAIDEN AUNT AND WAYWARD LITTLE GIRL, FIVE OR SIX YEARS OLD. - -_Aunt._ Now, Beth, this is the Sabbath day, and— - -_Niece._ How do you know it is? - -_A._ It is wrong to play to-day, Beth— - -_N._ Wrong to play what? - -_A._ Anything. - -_N._ Tain’t wrong to play Sunday-school. Didn’t you wish dat Carlo was me -when you was whippin’ him, jest now, Aunt Dora? - -_A._ Beth, I’ll tell you a beautiful story, the tender story of Joseph. - -_N._ Joseph who? - -_A._ He had no other name. - -_N._ Well, dat’s funny. - -_A._ Joseph was the son of a good old man, named Jacob— - -_N._ I knows him, he saws our wood, an’ he’s dot a wooden leg! What was -his last name? - -_A._ I don’t know, dear. - -_N._ Well, dat’s ze same man. Our Jacob he ain’t dot no ozzer name, -either: des Jacob, old Jacob. - -_A._ This good old man had twelve sons. - -_N._ Any little girls? - -_A._ Only one. - -_N._ Huh! I dess she was mighty sorry wiz such a houseful of boys an’ no -little sister. - -_A._ Well, Jacob loved this son very much— - -_N._ How much? - -_A._ Oh, ever so much; more than he could tell. - -_N._ Ten hundred thousand bushels? - -_A._ Yes, and more than that. He bought him a new coat— - -_N._ May Crawford’s dot a new dress, dray and blue, an’ pearl buttons on -it, an’ a new parasol, and I’m doing to have some new button shoes as -twick as I can kick zese ones out. - -_A._ His father bought him a new coat, a beautiful coat of many colors— - -_N._ Oh, ho! des like a bed quilt. - -_A._ And Joseph was very proud of this pretty coat— - -_N._ Huh! I bet you ze boys frowed stones an’ hollered at him if he wored -it to school! - -_A._ But his brothers, all of his older brothers, who— - -_N._ Did he wear it to school, Aunt Dora? - -_A._ No, I don’t think he did. - -_N._ I dess he was afraid, and kept it for a Sunday coat. Did he wear it -to Sunday school? - -_A._ He didn’t go to one. - -_N._ Den he was a heathen. - -_A._ No, Joseph wasn’t a heathen. - -_N._ Den he was a bad boy. - -_A._ No, indeed; Joseph was a good boy— - -_N._ Den why didn’t he go to Sunday-school? - -_A._ No matter. But all his brothers hated him because his father loved -him the best and— - -_N._ I spect he always dot the biggest piece of pie. - -_A._ And so they wanted to get rid of him, because— - -_N._ Den why didn’t zey send him out in the kitchen to talk with Jenny? -Dat’s what my ma’am does. - -_A._ And they hated him all the more because one night, Joseph had a -dream— - -_N._ Oo-oo! I dreamed dot ze big Bible on ze parlor had five long legs -and a mouf full of sharp teeth, an’ it climbed onto my bed and drowled -at me ’cause I bit ze wax apple an’ tied gran’pa’s wig onto Carlo’s head -last Sunday! Oh, I was so scared an’ I hollered an’ ma’am said she dessed -I had ze nightmare. - -_A._ Well, one day Joseph’s father sent him away to see how his brothers -were getting along— - -_N._ Why didn’t he write ’em a letter? - -_A._ And when they saw Joseph coming they said— - -_N._ Did he ride in ze cars? - -_A._ No, he walked. And when his brothers saw him coming— - -_N._ I dess they fought he was a tramp. I bet you Carlo would have bited -his legs if he’d been zere. - -_A._ No, they knew who he was, but they were bad, cruel, wicked men, and -they took poor Joseph, who was so good, and who loved them all so well— - -_N._ I see a boy climbing our fence! I dess he’s goin’ to steal our -apples. Let’s go sic Carlo on him. - -_A._ Poor Joseph, who was only a boy, just a little boy, who never did -any one any harm; these great rough men seized him with fierce looks and -angry words, and they were going to kill the frightened, helpless little -youth, who cried and begged them so piteously not to hurt him; going to -kill their own little brother— - -_N._ Nellie Taylor has a little brother Jim, an’ she says she wishes -somebody would kill him when he tears off her doll’s legs an’ frows her -kittens in ze cistern. - -_A._ But Joseph’s oldest brother pitied the little boy when he cried— - -_N._ I dess he wanted some cake; I cry when I want cake, an’ mamma dives -me some. - -_A._ And as he wouldn’t let them kill him, they found a pit— - -_N._ I like peach pits, an’ I know where I can find a great lot of ’em -now. Come along. - -_A._ No, let’s finish the story first. These bad men put Joseph in the -pit— - -_N._ Why—Aunt—Dora! What is you talking about? - -_A._ About those cruel men who put Joseph into the pit— - -_N._ I dess you mean zey put the pit into Joseph. - -_A._ So there the poor little boy was, all alone in this deep, dark hole— - -_N._ Why didn’t he climb out? - -_A._ Because he couldn’t. The sides of the pit were rough, and it was -very deep, deep as a well— - -_N._ Ding-dong-dell, cat’s in ’e well; oh auntie, I know a nice story, -’bout a boy that felled into a cistern and climbed out on a ladder. - -_A._ Poor Joseph was sitting in this pit— - -_N._ Did he have a chair? - -_A._ No, he was sitting on the ground, wishing— - -_N._ I wish I was a bumble bee an’ could stand on my head like a boy, an’ -have all ze honey I could eat. - -_A._ But while Joseph was in the dark pit, frightened and crying all -alone— - -_N._ I bet he was afraid of ghosts! - -_A._ While he was wondering if his cruel brothers were going to leave him -in the dark pit, some merchants came along, and Joseph’s brothers took -him out of the pit and sold him for a slave. Just think of it. Sold their -little brother to be a slave in a country far away from his home, where -he would have to work hard and where his cruel master would beat him; -where— - -_N._ What did zey get for him, Aunt Dora? - -_A._ Twenty pieces of silver, and now— - -_N._ Hump, dat was pitty cheap, but, I spec’ it was all that he was worth. - - -THE POOR LITTLE RICH BOY. - - (Dialogue for two boys.) - -_Harry._ (_Enters room, tossing his hat on table where Roy sits -studying._) “I tell you, Roy, I’m sorry for Harold Belmont!” - -_Roy._ “Sorry for Harold Belmont! Why, I’d like to know? His father is -the richest man in town. You know father has been working for him ever -since we were born.” - -_Harry._ “Yes, I know; but Harold don’t have half the nice times we do.” - -_Roy._ “Well, I like that. Don’t he wear nicer clothes every day than we -ever had for Sunday?” - -_Harry._ “Yes, but they’re so nice his mother won’t let him roll on the -grass, or go wading in the pond, or anything.” - -_Roy._ “Well, did you ever notice what nice lemon pie and frosted cake he -has in his lunch basket?” - -_Harry._ “Yes, but he often wants to trade lunches with me.” - -_Roy._ “But, Harry, he’s got a bicycle!” - -_Harry._ “He told me yesterday that he would rather have a dog like our -Rover that he could drive to a little wagon like ours.” - -_Roy._ “But only think, Harry, of the hundreds and hundreds of books in -his father’s library that he can read as much as he pleases! Why, if -I had them, I’d be the happiest boy in the State. I wouldn’t waste a -minute. I know just what books I’d read first—Dickens’ Child’s History of -England, and—” - -_Harry._ “O yes, Roy, but then he doesn’t care for books, like you, nor -to be a carpenter, as I mean to be. He wants to be a farmer, and he -says his father don’t mean to let him—wants Harold to be a banker, like -himself; but those are not the things I was thinking of when I said I was -sorry for him.” - -_Roy._ “What was it?” - -_Harry._ “Why, you know I made a little bird-house out of that -cracker-box mother gave me; just a common little bird-house, without any -paint or nice things about it, and set it up on a pole in the garden—” - -_Roy._ “Yes, I know, and two families of blue-birds are living in it. -What else?” - -_Harry._ “Well, Harold begged his father to let him have a bird-house, -and so Mr. Belmont got a man to make one—oh, a little beauty!—just like a -little Swiss chalet, with porches and gables, and all painted so nicely, -white with green trimmings and a dark brown roof, and the pole is striped -red, white and blue, and they put it close to the big maple tree on the -lawn. Oh, it was so nice I was almost ashamed of my poor little unpainted -house—only the birds were building in it then, and it made me glad to see -them so busy and happy. Harold was happy, too. He sat by the window for -hours, watching for the birds to come to his house. But, Roy, none ever -came! They were afraid of that beautiful house. I guess they thought it -was a trap. Harold don’t sit by the window to watch it any more; that’s -why I’m sorry for him.” - -_Roy._ “Well, that is too bad; but I don’t know that we can help him. -You couldn’t give him your little house, because it isn’t fine enough for -his father’s lawn; besides, the blue-birds might object to moving.” - -_Harry._ “Of course; but, Roy, don’t you believe he’d like to come over -here and watch our birds feed their little ones? I never get tired of -seeing them.” - -_Roy._ “He might. Let’s go and ask him.” - -(_Both boys take their hats and pass out._) - - MRS. ADRIAN KRAAL. - - -COLLOQUY. - -AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT MATTER. - -SCENE.—_An office with a desk or table on which are an inkstand, a pile -of ledgers and some extra sheets of paper. Mr. Pinchem, with gray wig and -whiskers and spectacles sits in his office busily engaged in figuring up -his accounts. He does not look up from his paper, but keeps on figuring -while his clerk enters and takes a seat near the table in such a position -as to both face the audience._ - -_Clerk._ Mr. Pinchem, I—I— - -_Mr. Pinchem._ Have you got those goods off for Kalamazoo? - -_Clerk._ Yes, sir, they are off. Mr. Pinchem, I— - -_Mr. P._ And about that order for starch? - -_Clerk._ That has been attended to, sir. Mr. Pinchem— - -_Mr. P._ And that invoice of tea? - -_Clerk._ That’s all right, sir. Mr. Pinchem, I have— - -_Mr. P._ And that cargo of sugar? - -_Clerk._ Taken care of as you directed, sir. Mr. Pinchem, I have long— - -_Mr. P._ What about Bush & Bell’s consignment? - -_Clerk._ Received in good order, sir. Mr. Pinchem, I have long wanted— - -_Mr. P._ And that shipment to Buffalo? - -_Clerk._ All right, sir. Mr. Pinchem, I have long wanted to speak to you— - -_Mr. P._ Ah! speak to me? Why, I thought you spoke to me fifty times a -day. - -_Clerk._ Yes, sir, I know, but this is a private matter. - -_Mr. P._ Private? Oh! Ah! Wait till I see how much we made on the last -ten thousand pounds of soap—Six times four are twenty-four; six times two -are twelve and two to carry make fourteen; six times nought are nothing -and one to carry makes one; six times five are thirty; seven times -four—ah! well go ahead, I’ll finish this afterwards. - -_Clerk._ Mr. Pinchem, I have been with you ten long years.— - -_Mr. P._ Ten, eh! Long years, eh! any longer than any others years? Go -ahead. - -_Clerk._ And I have always tried to do my duty. - -_Mr. P._ Have, eh? Go on. - -_Clerk._ And I now make bold— - -_Mr. P._ Hold on! What is there bold about it? But never mind, I’ll hear -you out. - -_Clerk._ Mr. Pinchem I want to ask—ask—I want to ask— - -_Mr. P._ Well, why don’t you ask, then? I don’t see why you don’t ask if -you want to. - -_Clerk._ Mr. Pinchem I want to ask you for—for— - -_Mr. P._ You want to ask me for the hand of my daughter. Ah! why didn’t -you speak right out? She’s yours, my boy, take her and be happy. You -might have had her two years ago if you had mentioned it. Go along, now, -I’m busy. Seven times six are forty-two, seven times five are thirty-five -and four are thirty-nine, seven times eight— - -_Clerk._ Mr. Pinchem— - -_Mr. P._ What! You here yet? Well, what is it? - -_Clerk._ I want to ask you for— - -_Mr. P._ Didn’t I give her to you, you rascal! - -_Clerk._ Yes, but what I wanted to ask you for was not the hand of your -daughter, but a raise of salary. - -_Mr. P._ Oh! that was it, eh? Well, sir, that is an entirely different -matter, and it requires time for serious thought and earnest -deliberation. Return to your work. I’ll think about it, and some time -next fall I’ll see about giving you a raise of a dollar or so a week. -Seven times eight are fifty-six and three are fifty-nine— - - -THE GOSSIPS. - - _Characters._—MRS. PRY, MRS. QUICK, MRS. SEARCH, MRS. GOSSIP. - -SCENE.—_The Street. MRS. PRY, MRS. SEARCH and MRS. QUICK, meeting._ - -_Mrs. Pry._ Have you heard any news, neighbor Search? - -_Mrs. Search._ News? no. I am dying to hear some. I have not heard a word -since last night, and it is now almost noon. - -_Mrs. Quick._ I have heard a piece of news as I came along, and you will -hardly believe it, though I received it from a person of veracity, who -was knowing to the fact, and therefore could not mistake. - -_Mrs. S._ Pray let us have it. I hope it is nothing short of an elopement. - -_Mrs. P._ I hope it is a murder, or, at least, a suicide. We have not had -any news worth mentioning these two months. - -_Mrs. Q._ It is neither an elopement nor a murder, but you may think it -something akin to the latter. The truth is, there is a woman down in the -village, and they will not allow her to be buried. - -_Mrs. S._ You don’t say so? - -_Mrs. Q._ I do. The coroner has positively refused to bury her. - -_Mrs. P._ Do tell! What could the poor creature have done to be denied -Christian burial? - -_Mrs. Q._ I do not know what the offense was, but they say he has his -reasons, and buried she shall not be. - -_Mrs. P._ Where is she lying? I must go and inquire into it. Bless me, -Mrs. Search, how could this happen and we not hear of it? - -_Mrs. S._ Did you hear her name, Mrs. Quick? That may give us a clue to -the mystery. - -_Mrs. Q._ I did not learn her name, though, if I forget not, it began -with a G, or some such letter. But I have a little errand up the -street, and must leave you. In the meantime as we know so little of the -circumstances, it will be prudent not to repeat what I have told you. -Good morning. (_She goes out_). - -_Mrs. P._ Did you ever hear anything so strange? One of two things is -certain, she has either killed herself or been killed, and is reserved -for examination. - -_Mrs. S._ I don’t understand it so. Mrs. Quick seemed to insinuate that -she had been lying a long time, and was not to be buried at all. But here -comes Mrs. Gossip, and perhaps she can tell us all about it, as she comes -fresh from the village. - -_Enter MRS. GOSSIP._ - -_Mrs. P._ Good morning, Mrs. Gossip. - -_Mrs. Gossip._ Good morning, Mrs. Pry. How do you do, Mrs. Search? - -_Mrs. S._ Pretty well, I thank you. How do you do? - -_Mrs. G._ Indifferent, I’m much obliged to you. I’ve had a touch of -hydrophoby, I believe they call it or something else. - -_Mrs. P._ (_to MRS. SEARCH aside_). No new complaint. She always hated -cold water. (_aloud_) How did the dreadful disease affect you, Mrs. G.? -What dog bit you? - -_Mrs. G._ Dog! what do you mean by a dog? The disease began with a cold -in my head, and a sore throat, and— - -_Mrs. S._ Oh, it was the influenza. - -_Mrs. G._ So it was; I knew it was some outlandish name, and they all -sound alike to me. For my part, I wish there _was_ no foreign words. - -_Mrs. P._ Mrs. Gossip, did you hear the particulars of the dreadful news -in the village? - -_Mrs. G._ No. What dreadful news? I have not heard _nothing_, good, bad, -or indifferent. - -_Mrs. P._ What! haven’t you heard of the woman in the village that they -won’t bury? - -_Mrs. G._ Not a word. Who is she? What’s her name? - -_Mrs. S._ Her name begins with G, and as that begins your name, I hoped -you would know something about it. - -_Mrs. G._ Bless me! I never heard a syllable of it! Why don’t they bury -the poor thing? I couldn’t refuse to bury even a dog. - -_Mrs. P._ There is a suspicion of murder or suicide in the case. - -_Mrs. G._ Well, they hang murderers and suicides, don’t they? What can be -the matter? There is something very mysterious about it! - -_Mrs. S._ I am dying to know all about it. Come, let’s all go down to the -village, and probe the matter to the bottom. I dearly love to get hold of -a mystery. - -_Mrs. P._ I say, let us all go, and here is Mrs. Quick coming back. She -will go with us, for she told us the news, and she is dying to learn the -particulars. - -_Re-enter MRS. QUICK._ - -_Mrs. Quick._ Good morning again, ladies. - -_All._ Good morning. - -_Mrs. G._ What was the matter with that _air_ woman that they won’t bury -in the village? - -_Mrs. Q._ Nothing is the matter with her. - -_Mrs. G._ Then, in _marcy’s_ name, why don’t they bury her? - -_Mrs. Q._ I know of but one reason, but that is a very important one. - -_Mrs. P._ We did not know you knew the reason they wouldn’t bury her. Why -did you not tell us what it was? - -_Mrs. Q._ You did not ask me, and, besides, it is somewhat of a secret. - -_Mrs. S._ You need not fear our disclosing it. Pray let us have it. - -_Mrs. P._ Pray do. I am bursting with curiosity. - -_Mrs. G._ And I too. Mrs. Quick, you say there is but one reason why they -will not bury the woman, and pray what is that? - -_Mrs. P._ What is it? - -_Mrs. S._ Yes, what is it? - -_All_ (_earnestly_). What is it? - -_Mrs. Q._ _She is not dead!_ - - -FARMER HANKS WANTS A DIVORCE. - - (For two males and one female.) - - _Characters._—LAWYER PORTER; FARMER HANKS; MRS. HANKS. - -SCENE.—_Lawyer’s office. LAWYER PORTER sitting at desk writing. Knock at -door._ - -(_Enter FARMER HANKS in rustic attire, looking hesitatingly around._) - -_Farmer Hanks._ Be you the divorce man? - -_Lawyer Porter._ (_Smiling._) Well, I don’t exactly know that my vocation -lies particularly in that direction, but I have been known to undertake -such cases. Are you in trouble? - -_Far. H._ I should rather say so! It’s come to jest this ’ere climax -that I _can’t_ stand it nohow, not another day; an’ ef you can’t git me -unspliced, I’ll hev to find some one who can. - -_Law. P._ What are your grounds for complaint? - -_Far. H._ _Grounds!_ Ordinary grounds wouldn’t hold ’em! I’ve a hull farm -full! - -_Law. P._ One or two are just as efficient in procuring a divorce as -a hundred, providing the offence is grave enough. Your wife now, for -instance; I suppose she hasn’t fallen in love with another man? - -_Far. H._ Haw-haw! That’s a good ’un! Betsey in love with _another_ -feller! Wal, hardly, mister! Betsey isn’t no fool. You can bet high on -_that_! - -_Law. P._ Of course that was a suppositional case, merely. Is she a -scandal-monger? - -_Far. H._ Scandal-monger? Not much; ef ever a woman knew how to hold her -tongue when other folks’s is a-waggin’, that’s Betsey every time. - -_Law. P._ Cruel to her children, possibly? - -_Far. H._ I swow, I’ll begin to take you fer the fool, mister. Our -children is growed up an’ in homes of the’r own, years back; an’ ez fer -gran’children, ef ever an old woman made an idjit of herself over babies, -it’s Betsey with them thar youngsters. She jest sp’iles them no end, an’ -thar’s nobudy they sets such store by as gran’ma. You hain’t on the right -track, by long odds. - -_Law. P._ Evidently not. Suppose now, as my time is valuable, we reverse -the case, and you enlighten me as to the cause of your unhappiness, -instead of my wasting the minutes in making conjectures? Perhaps -incompatibility of temper may cover the ground. - -_Far. H._ In—com—what kind of temper? You beat me with them long words o’ -yourn; but, mebbe you’ve struck it, this time. Thar’s no use talking, but -Betsey’s that aggervatin’, she riles me so it seems like as though I’d -bu’st! Ef she’d ever _say_ a word I could stand it; but she’s that mum -you can’t get a word out o’ her edgewise; you’d say, for sartain, thet -she’d b’en born deaf, an’ without a tongue in her mouth. - -_Law. H._ A woman and _dumb_? Ye gods! This is a reversal of the laws of -nature with a vengeance! Do you mean for me to understand that your wife -_never_ speaks? How can she conduct her household? - -_Far. H._ Oh, she’s chipper enough when things goes to suit; but when I’m -r’iled, an’ dyin’ to see the fur fly—to hev it out with some one—then -she’s mummer than the side o’ a house; ye couldn’t git a word out o’ -her then with a pair o’ oxen! Ef she’d only spit it out, too, an’ hev -a good out en out settlin’ o’ matters, ’twould clear the air like a -thunder-storm; but thet’s exactly whar the pinch comes. I might r’are an’ -tear, an’ pull the house down over our heads, fer all the good ’twould -do—thet woman would set as calm es a cucumber, or go about her chores, -an’ you’d never guess she knew I was within a hundred miles o’ her! -Either she hain’t got an atom o’ sense in her git up, or else she’s too -dumb to show it at sech times. It’s enough to drive a man into fits, an’ -I can’t go it no longer. It’s either her or me that’s got to git out! -I’m willin’ to do my duty to the letter, an’ give her a share in the old -farm. I wouldn’t see her want for nothin’, fer in spite o’ her tongue— - -_Law. P._ I rather think you mean her want of tongue! - -_Far. H._ Jest so! There isn’t a kinder or willin’er woman in the section. - -_Law. P._ Suppose, now, that we sum up: your wife, according to your -statements, is a good, pure woman— - -_Far. H._ That she is, lawyer! I’d like to hear any one say a thing -against Betsey’s character! I’d choke the life out ov him! - -_Law. P._ Fond of her children and grandchildren; don’t gossip; domestic -in her tastes—Does she keep your house in order, your clothes mended, -your wants all attended to, and give you your meals on time! - -_Far. H._ Why, of course! Thet’s what a wife’s fer, isn’t she? What a -question to ax! - -_Law. P._ You acknowledge all this. Now, supposing, on the contrary, that -your wife was a shrew. - -_Far. H._ (_Bewildered._) A which? - -_Law. P._ A cross, scolding woman; a woman who left her own fireside to -gossip and make scandal among her neighbors; who neglected her home; who -got your meals at all or no times and let you look out for yourself; who -abused the little children around her; who— - -_Far. H._ Stop, mister! Betsey _couldn’t_ do none o’ them things. Why, -you’d make her out a pretty sort o’ critter for me to hev been livin’ -with these forty years! - -_Law. P._ No, Betsey couldn’t do all or any of these things. From -your own story you have a saint instead of an ordinary woman for a -wife; a being who knows that essence of all true happiness—how to hold -her tongue; who, instead of lowering herself to petty quarrels and -commonplace bickerings, keeps her temper within bounds while you are -purposely doing all you possibly can to aggravate her—to make her dislike -you—to— - -_Far. H._ (_Shamefacedly._) Sho! You air trying to make out a purty -strong case against me, ain’t you now? I never looked at it in jest -_that_ light before, an’ you can’t tell how a few words now an’ then -would splice up things in general. - -_Law. P._ If your wife were to come to me and demand a divorce, after -what you have told me, I should be strongly tempted to take up her case. - -_Far. H._ _Betsey_ git a divorce from _me_! Thet’s the best yet! Well, I -should as soon think o’ the sky falling. (_Knock at door, voice outside -asking if LAWYER PORTER is in._) I’ll be everlastin’ly simmered, ef thet -don’t sound like Betsey’s voice this actual minute! Whar’ll I go? I don’t -want to be found around these parts; but, what in the name o’ conscience -kin _she_ want with you, now? (_Glares, at the lawyer, who takes him by -the shoulder and leads him up to closet door or behind a screen._) - -_Law. P._ Step into this cover, and be quick about it. You’ll soon -ascertain what your wife wants of me. And remember, this is a private -interview which you are not to interrupt (_FARMER HANKS disappears, and -the lawyer goes to door._) - -(_Enter MRS HANKS, hesitatingly._) - -_Law. P._ Good morning, madame! What can I do for you? Let me give you -a chair. (_Seats her with back to closet or screen. FARMER H. pokes his -head out._) - -_Far. H._ I’ll be durned but it _is_ Betsey! (_Comes half out into room, -but LAWYER P. scowls and motions him back. MRS. HANKS sits silent._) - -_Law. P._ (_Kindly._) Well, madame, you want— - -_Mrs. Hanks._ (_In a half whisper._) I want, or I _guess_ I want a bill -of divorce. (_FARMER HANKS’S face pops out again, with an expression of -bewilderment and horror upon it._) - -_Law. P._ Your husband is addicted to the excessive use of liquor, maybe? -(_FARMER H. shakes his fist at the lawyer._) - -_Mrs. H._ Good gracious, no! Samuel never took too much liquor in his -life, to my knowledge. - -_Law. P._ Then, perhaps, he is violent, and cruel to you and the children? - -_Mrs. H._ Mercy, no! Whatever made you think of sech a thing! Samuel -wouldn’t hurt a fly; he’s the softest-hearted man in the world; it isn’t -that—it’s only—only— - -_Law._ P. Well, you must try to tell me your difficulty, or I will be -unable to help you. - -_Mrs. H._ (_Bursting into tears._) It’s so hard to tell, yet it’s so hard -to bear. It seems jest as if I’d go wild ef I had it to stand another -day. Yet except fer this one thing Samuel’s the best husband a woman -could ask fer. He is perfect temperate in all his habits, liberal an’ -open-handed as the day is long, an’ as kind an’ considerate as any one -could wish fer. (_FARMER H. looks out at the lawyer exultingly._) But—but— - -_Law. P._ But what? - -_Mrs. H._ Oh, those _dreadful_ tantrums of his’n! They come on without -any apparent reason at all, an’ he’s like to a crazy man. - -_Law. P._ And you oppose him and aggravate him when he gets in these -moods, possibly? - -_Mrs. H._ (_Sadly._) Oh, no! What good would _that_ do? or rather, what -harm wouldn’t it do? I jest stand them as best I may, an’ pray the Good -Power above for strength to hold my tongue, an’ bear the affliction which -he has seen fit to visit me with. (_FARMER H. looks out again with an -incredulous, shamefaced expression, and seems about to speak, but the -lawyer motions him back._) - -_Law. P_. And you say absolutely nothing? - -_Mrs. H._ I never hev given way to my tongue yet; ef I once _should_, -or to the feelin’ that he rouses in me at sech times, I almost think I -should _strike_ him. (_FARMER H. again advances, but is motioned back._) - -LAW. P. Wouldn’t that serve him right? - -_Mrs. H._ (_Surprised._) Strike Samuel? I’d never forgive myself ef I -did. Yet, it is so hard; you can’t tell! It really seems as ef the harder -I tried to hold my tongue an’ keep the peace, the worse he got, until -sometimes I ’most think he’d like to _kill_ me! - -_Law. P._ Oh, surely not! His wicked temper would not, or could not, -carry itself to such an extent against such an angel of peace. But, I -cannot find words to express my opinion of such a brute. I cannot find -strong enough terms to convey my condemnation. A man who will seek -willfully to quarrel with a wife who is gentleness and meekness itself, -to say nothing of the other cardinal virtues, is a selfish heartless -piece of humanity, unworthy of the name of man, and deserves nothing -better than the public whipping-post, which, unhappily— - -_Mrs. H._ Stop! I will not allow you to speak of Samuel in such a manner! -He may hev his little faults as all men do— - -_Far. H._ (_Rushing out_). Yes, let him say every durned thing he kin -of me, Betsey! I deserve it all, an’ a hundred times more—(_Mrs. Hanks -gives a scream and almost sinks to the floor, but her husband catches -her_)—when I think of what a howlin’ idjit I’ve b’en all these years. The -whippin’-post ain’t half severe enough. - -_Mrs. H._ Oh, you _never_ was that, Samuel! - -_Far. H._ Yes I was, an’ be, up to this very minute; but I be goin’ to -make a clean breast of it or bu’st. Here I hev b’en thinkin’ an’ sayin’ -that you didn’t quarrel with me nor answer me back, because ye didn’t -_know_ enough— - -_Mrs. H._ Oh, Samuel, how _could_ you? - -_Far. H._ An’ thet you was a perfect fool, with no spunk in ye, an’ here -you’ve b’en with the spunk all bottled up, an’ never darin’ to let her -loose for fear o’ makin’ _me_ wuss, an’ doin’ wrong yourself! Oh! I’m the -wickedest kind of a sinner, Betsey. (_Groans_). I don’t wonder you want -to git a bill ag’inst me; an’ this here lawyer’ll be sure to git ye one, -as he sees you deserve it fast enough, an’ I don’t blame neither o’ ye. - -_Mrs. H._ But I don’t _want_ it, Samuel. Now you see jest how it is, -an’ that I never allowed to r’ile you, I’m sure ’twill all be right. -(_Turning to Lawyer P_). An’ you won’t let what I’ve said turn you -ag’inst him, will you? You can see for yourself that he never could hev -meant it. - -_Law. P._ And he never was such a man as he proves at this very time when -he humbles himself to confess how wrong he has been, and acknowledges -the true worth of his devoted wife whom he has so long misjudged or -misunderstood. - -_Far. H._ You’re right thar, Lawyer Porter. I can’t find the words to -tell what a blamed fool I’ve been; yet, ef you’ll believe it, I feel -lighter o’ heart this blessed minute than I hev in a month o’ Sundays -before. An’ to think that an hour ago I was actually hankerin’ after a -bill ag’in ye, Betsey! I don’t desarve ye should forgive me, like this, -but I give ye my word o’ honor that the next time a tantrum strikes me -I’ll hev it out down in the meddar with that old Jersey bull o’ mine. - -(_Curtain falls._) - - -TAKING THE CENSUS. - -_Characters_: - - INQUISITOR. _A Patient Man, with pen, ink and a large sheet of - paper, engaged in taking the census._ - - MRS. TOUCHWOOD. _An old lady in frilled cap and set-sprig apron, - engaged in giving it._ - -SCENE.—_A house in the country. MRS. TOUCHWOOD at a wash-tub hard at -work._ - -_Enter INQUISITOR._ - -_Inquisitor._ Good morning, madam. Is the head of the family at home? - -_Mrs. Touchwood._ Yes, sir, _I’m at home_. - -_Inq._ Haven’t you a husband? - -_Mrs. T._ Yes, sir, but he ain’t the head of the family, I’d have you to -know. - -_Inq._ How many persons have you in your family? - -_Mrs. T._ Why, bless me, sir, what’s that to you? You’re mighty -inquisitive, I think. - -_Inq._ I’m the man that takes the census. - -_Mrs. T._ If you was a man in your _senses_ you wouldn’t ask such -impertinent questions. - -_Inq._ Don’t be offended, old lady, but answer my questions as I ask them. - -_Mrs. T._ “Answer a fool according to his folly!”—you know what the -Scripture says. _Old_ lady, indeed! - -_Inq._ Beg your pardon, madam; but I don’t care about hearing Scripture -just at this moment I’m bound to go according to law and not according to -gospel. - -_Mrs. T._ I should think you went neither according to law nor gospel. -What business is it to you to inquire into folks’ affairs, Mr. Thingumbob? - -_Inq._ The law makes it my business, good woman, and if you don’t want to -expose yourself to its penalties, you must answer my questions. - -_Mrs. T._ Oh, it’s the law, is it? That alters the case. But I should -like to know what the law has to do with other people’s household matters? - -_Inq._ Why, Congress made the law, and if it don’t please you, you must -talk to them about it. - -_Mrs. T._ Talk to a fiddle-stick! Why, Congress is a fool, and you’re -another. - -_Inq._ Now, good lady, you’re a fine, good-looking woman; if you’ll give -me a few civil answers I’ll thank you. What I wish to know first is, how -many are there in your family? - -_Mrs. T._ Let me see [_counting on her fingers_]; there’s I and my -husband is one—— - -_Inq._ Two, you mean. - -_Mrs. T._ Don’t put me out, now, Mr. Thinkummy. There’s I and my husband -is one—— - -_Inq._ Are you always one? - -_Mrs. T._ What’s that to you, I should like to know. But I tell you, if -you don’t leave off interrupting me I won’t say another word. - -_Inq._ Well, take your own way, and be hanged to you. - -_Mrs. T._ I will take my own way, and no thanks to you. [_Again counting -her fingers._] There’s I and my husband is one; there’s John, he’s two; -Peter is three, Sue and Moll are four, and Thomas is five. And then -there’s Mr. Jenkins and his wife and the two children is six; and -there’s Jowler, he’s seven. - -_Inq._ Jowler! Who’s he? - -_Mrs. T._ Who’s Jowler! Why, who should he be but the old house dog? - -_Inq._ It’s the number of persons I want to know. - -_Mrs. T._ Very well, Mr. Flippergin, ain’t Jowler a person? Come here, -Jowler, and speak for yourself. I’m sure he’s as personable a dog as -there is in the whole State. - -_Inq._ He’s a very clever dog, no doubt. But it’s the number of human -beings I want to know. - -_Mrs. T._ Human! There ain’t a more human dog that ever breathed. - -_Inq._ Well, but I mean the two-legged kind of beings. - -_Mrs. T._ Oh, the two-legged, is it? Well, then, there’s the old rooster, -he’s seven; the fighting-cock is eight, and the bantam is nine—— - -_Inq._ Stop, stop, good woman, I don’t want to know the number of your -fowls. - -_Mrs. T._ I’m very sorry indeed, I can’t please you, such a sweet -gentleman as you are. But didn’t you tell me—’twas the two-legged beings—— - -_Inq._ True, but I didn’t mean the hens. - -_Mrs. T._ Oh, now I understand you. The old gobbler, he’s seven, the hen -turkey is eight; and if you’ll wait a week there’ll be a parcel of young -ones, for the old hen turkey is setting on a whole snarl of eggs. - -_Inq._ Blast your turkeys! - -_Mrs. T._ Oh, don’t now, good Mr. Hipper-stitcher, I pray you don’t. -They’re as honest turkeys as any in the country. - -_Inq._ Don’t vex me any more. I’m getting to be angry. - -_Mrs. T._ Ha! ha! ha! - -_Inq._ [_striding about the room in a rage_.] Have a care, madam, or I -shall fly out of my skin. - -_Mrs T._ If you do, I don’t know who will fly in. - -_Inq._ You do all you can to anger me. It’s the two-legged creatures who -talk I have reference to. - -_Mrs. T._ Oh, now I understand you. Well then, our Poll Parrot makes -seven and the black gal eight. - -_Inq._ I see you will have your own way. - -_Mrs. T._ You have just found out, have you! You are a smart little man! - -_Inq._ Have you mentioned the whole of your family? - -_Mrs. T._ Yes, that’s the whole—except the wooden-headed man in front. - -_Inq._ Wooden-headed? - -_Mrs. T._ Yes, the schoolmaster what’s boarding here. - -_Inq._ I suppose if he has a wooden head he lives without eating, and -therefore must be a profitable boarder. - -_Mrs. T._ Oh, no, sir, you are mistaken there. He eats like a leather -judgment. - -_Inq._ How many servants are there in the family? - -_Mrs. T._ Servants! Why, there’s no servants but me and my husband. - -_Inq._ What makes you and your husband servants? - -_Mrs. T._ I’m a servant to hard work, and he is a servant to rum. He -does nothing all day but guzzle, guzzle, guzzle; while I’m working, -and stewing, and sweating from morning till night, and from night till -morning. - -_Inq._ How many colored persons have you? - -_Mrs. T._ There’s nobody but Dinah, the black girl, Poll Parrot and my -daughter Sue. - -_Inq._ Is your daughter a colored girl? - -_Mrs. T._ I guess you’d think so if you was to see her. She’s always out -in the sun—and she’s tanned up as black as an Indian. - -_Inq._ How many white males are there in your family under ten years of -age? - -_Mrs. T._ Why, there ain’t none now; my husband don’t carry the mail -since he’s taken to drink so bad. He used to carry two, but they wasn’t -white. - -_Inq._ You mistake, good woman; I meant male folks, not leather mails. - -_Mrs. T._ Let me see; there’s none except little Thomas, and Mr. Jenkins’ -two little girls. - -_Inq._ Males, I said, madam, not females. - -_Mrs. T._ Well, if you don’t like them, you may leave them off. - -_Inq._ How many white males are there between ten and twenty? - -_Mrs. T._ Why, there’s nobody but John and Peter, and John ran away last -week. - -_Inq._ How many white males are there between twenty and thirty? - -_Mrs. T._ Let me see—there’s the wooden-headed man is one, Mr. Jenkins -and his wife is two, and the black girl is three. - -_Inq._ No more of your nonsense, old lady; I’m heartily tired of it. - -_Mrs. T._ Hoity toity! Haven’t I a right to talk as I please in my own -house? - -_Inq._ You must answer the questions as I put them. - -_Mrs. T._ “Answer a fool according to his folly”—you’re right, Mr. -Hippogriff. - -_Inq._ How many white males are there between thirty and forty? - -_Mrs. T._ Why, there’s nobody but I and my husband—and he was forty-one -last March. - -_Inq._ As you count yourself among the males, I dare say you wear the -breeches. - -_Mrs. T._ Well, what if I do, Mr. Impertinence? Is that anything to you? -Mind your own business, if you please. - -_Inq._ Certainly—I did but speak. How many white males are there between -forty and fifty? - -_Mrs. T._ None. - -_Inq._ How many between fifty and sixty? - -_Mrs. T._ None. - -_Inq._ Are there any between this and a hundred? - -_Mrs. T._ None except the old gentleman. - -_Inq._ What old gentleman? You haven’t mentioned any before. - -_Mrs. T._ Why, gramther Grayling—I thought everybody knew gramther -Grayling—he’s a hundred and two years old next August, if he lives so -long—and I dare say he will, for he’s got the dry wilt, and they say such -folks never dies. - -_Inq._ Now give the number of deaf and dumb persons. - -_Mrs. T._ Why, there is no deaf persons, excepting husband, and he ain’t -so deaf as he pretends to be. When anybody axes him to take a drink of -rum, if it’s only in a whisper, he can hear quick enough. But if I tell -him to fetch an armful of wood or feed the pigs or tend the griddle, he’s -as deaf as a horse-block. - -_Inq._ How many dumb persons? - -_Mrs. T._ Dumb! Why, there’s no dumb body in the house, except the -wooden-headed man, and he never speaks unless he’s spoken to. To be sure, -my husband wishes I was dumb, but he can’t make it out. - -_Inq._ Are there any manufactures carried on here? - -_Mrs. T._ None to speak on, except turnip sausages and tow cloth. - -_Inq._ Turnip-sausages! - -_Mrs. T._ Yes, turnip-sausages. Is there anything so wonderful in that? - -_Inq._ I never heard of them before. What kind of machinery is used in -making them? - -_Mrs. T._ Nothing but a bread-trough, a chopping-knife and a sausage -filler. - -_Inq._ Are they made of clear turnips? - -_Mrs. T._ Now you’re terrible inquisitive. What would you give to know? - -_Inq._ I’ll give you the name of being the most communicative and -pleasant woman I’ve met with for the last half-hour. - -_Mrs. T._ Well, now, you’re a sweet gentleman, and I must gratify you. -You must know we mix with the turnip a little red cloth, just enough to -give them a color, so they needn’t look as if they were made of clear fat -meat; then we chop them up well together, put in a little sage, summer -savory, and black pepper; and they make as pretty little delicate links -as ever was set on a gentleman’s table; they fetch the highest price in -the market. - -_Inq._ Indeed! Have you a piano in the house? - -_Mrs. T._ A piany! What’s that? - -_Inq._ A musical instrument. - -_Mrs. T._ Lor, no. But Sary Jane, down at the Corners, has one—you see. -Sary got all highfalutin about the great Colushun down to Bosting, and -down she went; an’ when she came back the old man got no rest until she -had one of the big square music boxes with white teeth—’spose that’s what -you call a piany. - -_Inq._ You seem to know what it is, then. - -_Mrs. T._ Yes, sir. Have you anything more to ax? - -_Inq._ Nothing more. Good morning, madam. - -_Mrs. T._ Stop a moment; can’t you think of something else? Do now, -that’s a good man. Wouldn’t you like to know what we’re a-going to have -for dinner; or how many chickens our old white hen hatched at her last -brood; or how many— - -_Inq._ Nothing more—nothing more. - -Mrs. T. Here, just look in the cupboard, and see how many red ants there -are in the sugar-bowl; I haven’t time to count them myself. - -_Inq._ Confound your ants and all your relations. - -[_Exit in a huff._ - - -ELDER SNIFFLES’ COURTSHIP - -_Characters._ - - WIDOW BEDOTT, ELDER SNIFFLES, In Character. - -_The widow retires to the grove in the rear of ELDER SNIFFLES’ house, -sits down on a log and sings in a plaintive voice._ - -_Widow Bedott._ - - What peaceful hours I once enjoyed, - All on a summer’s day! - But O, my comfort was destroyed, - When Shadrack crossed my way! - - I heerd him preach—I heerd him pray— - I heerd him sweetly sing; - Dear suz! how I did feel that day! - It was a drefful thing! - - Full forty dollars would I give - If we’d continnerd apart— - For though he’s made my sperrit live - He’s surely bust my heart! - -_She sighs profoundly, and the ELDER advances unexpectedly._ - -_W. B._ Good gracious! is that you, Elder Sniffles! how you _did_ scare -me! Never was so flustrated in all the days o’ my life! hadn’t the -remotest idee o’ meeting _you_ here—would’t a come for forty dollars if -I’d a s’posed you ever meander’d here. I never was here afore—but was -settin’ by my winder and I cast my eyes over here, and as I observed -the lofty trees a wavin’ in the gentle blast, and heerd the feathered -songsters a wobblin’ their mellancolly music, I felt quite a call to come -over; it’s so retired and morantic—such an approbriate place to marvel -round in, ye know, when a body feels low-sperrited and unconsolable, as I -dew to-night. O, d-e-a-r! - -_E. S._ Most worthy Mrs. Bedott, your evident depression fills me with -unmitigated sympathy. Your feelings (if I may be permitted to judge from -the language of your song, which I overheard)—— - -_W. B._ You didn’t though, Elder! the drefful suz! what _shall_ I dew! I -wouldn’t a had you heerd that song for no money! I wish I hadn’t a come! -I wish to gracious I hadn’t a come! - -_E. S._ I assure you, Mrs. Bedott, it was unintentional on my part, -entirely unintentional, but my contiguity to yourself and your proximity -to me were such as rendered it impossible for me to avoid hearing you— - -_W. B._ Well, it can’t be helped now; it’s no use crying for spilt milk, -but I wouldn’t have you to think I know’d _you_ ever came here. - -_E. S._ On the contrary, this grove is a favorite resort of mine; it -affords a congenial retreat after the exterminating and tremendous mental -labors of the day. I not unfrequently spend the declining hours of the -evening here, buried in the most profound meditations. On your entrance -I was occupying my customary seat beneath that umbrageous mounting ash -which you perceive a few feet from you; indeed, had not your mind been -much pre-occupied you could scarcely have avoided discovering me. - -_W. B._ Oh, granf’ther grievous! I wish I’d staid to hum! I was born for -misfortin’ and nothin’ else! I wish to massy I’d staid to hum to-night! -but I felt as if I’d like to come here once afore I leave the place. -[_She weeps._] - -_E. S._ Ah! indeed! do you project leaving Scrabble Hill? - -_W. B._ Yes, I dew; I calklate to go next week. I must hear you preach -once more—_once_ more, Elder, and then I’m gwine—somewhere—I don’t care -where, nor I don’t care what becomes o’ me when I git there. [_She sobs -violently._] - -_E. S._ O, Mrs. Bedott, you distress me beyond limitation—permit me to -inquire the cause of this uncontrollable agony? - -_W. B._ O, Elder Sniffles, you’re the last indiwidual that ought to ax -such a question. O, I _shall_ die! I shall give it up! - -_E. S._ Madame, my interest in your welfare is intense; allow me to -entreat you still more vehemently to unburden your mind; perhaps it is in -my power to relieve you. - -_W. B._ Relieve me! what an idee! O, Elder, you _will_ be the death o’ -me if you make me revulge my feelings so. An hour ago I felt as if I’d a -died afore I’d a said what I hev said now, but you’ve draw’d it out o’ me. - -_E. S._ Respected madame, you have as yet promulgated nothing -satisfactory; permit me—— - -_W. B._ O, granf’ther grievous! must I come to’t? Well, then, if I must, -I must, so to begin at the beginnin’. When I fust heern you preach, your -sarmons onsettled my faith; but after a spell I was convinced by yer -argefyin’, and gin up my ’roneus notions, and my mind got considerably -carm. But how could I set Sabberday after Sabberday under the droppin’s -o’ yer voice, and not begin to feel a mor’n ordinary interest in the -speaker? I indevored not tew, but I couldn’t help it; ’twas in vain to -struggle against the feelin’s that prepossest my buzzom. But it’s all -over with me now! my felicitude is at an end! my sittiwation is hopeless! -I shall go back to Wiggleton next week, and never truble you no more. - -_E. S._ Ah, Mrs. Bedott, you alarm—— - -_W. B._ Yes, you never’ll see no more truble with Prissilly. I’m agwine -back to Wiggleton. Can’t bear to go back thar, nother, on account o’ the -indiwidduals that I come away to git rid of. There’s Cappen Canoot, he’s -always been after me ever since my husband died, though I hain’t never -gin him no incurridgement—but he won’t take no for an answer. I dread the -critter’s attentions. And ’Squire Bailey—he’s wonderful rich—but that -ain’t no recommendation to me, and I’ve told him so time and agin, but I -s’pose he thinks I’ll come round bumby. And Deacon Crosby, he lost his -partner a spell afore I come away; he was very much pleased with me; -he’s a wonderful fine man—make a fust-rate husband. I kind o’ hesitated -when he promulgated his sentiments tew me, told him I’d think on’t till -I cum back—s’pose he’ll be at me as soon as I git there. I hate to -disappoint Deacon Crosby, he’s such a fine man, and my dezeased companion -sot so much by him, but then I don’t feel for him as I dew for——. He’s -a Presbyterian, tew, and I don’t think ’twould be right to unite my -destination to hisen. - -_E. S._ Undoubtedly in your present state of feeling, the uncongeniality -would render a union—— - -_W. B._ O, dear, dear, dear! I can’t bear to go back there and indure -their attentions, but, thank fortune, they won’t bother me long—I shall -go into a decline, I know I shall, as well as I want to know it. My -trubles’ll soon be over—undoubtedly they’ll put up a monnyment to my -memory—I’ve got the description all ready for it—it says: - - Here sleeps Prissilly P. Bedott, - Late relic of Hezekier, - How mellancolly was her lot! - How soon she did expire! - - She didn’t commit self-suicide, - ’Twas tribbilation killed her; - O, what a pity she hadn’t a died - Afore she saw the elder! - -And O, Elder, you’ll visit my grave, won’t ye, and shed tew or three -tears over it? ’Twould be a consolation tew me tew think you would. - -_E. S._ In case I should ever have occasion to journey through that -section of the country, and could consistently with my arrangements make -it convenient to tarry for a short time at Wiggleton, I assure you it -would afford me much pleasure to visit your grave, agreeably to your -request. - -_W. B._ O, Elder, how onfeelin’! - -_E. S._ Unfeeling! did I not understand you correctly when I understood -you to request me to visit your grave? - -_W. B._ Yes, but I don’t see how you could be so carm, when I’m talkin’ -about dyin’. - -_E. S._ I assure you, Mrs. Bedott, I had not the slightest intention of -manifesting a want of feeling in my remark. I should regard your demise -as a most deplorable event, and it would afford me no small degree of -satisfaction to prevent so melancholy a catastrophe were it in my power. - -_W. B._ Well, I guess I’ll go hum. If Sally should know you was here a -talkin’ with me, she’d make an awful fuss. - -_E. S._ Indeed I see no reason to fear that my domestic should interfere -in any of my proceedings. - -_W. B._ O, lawful sakes! how numb you be, elder! I didn’t allude to Sal -Blake—I meant Sal Hugle. She’t you’re ingaged tew. - -_E. S._ Engaged to Miss Hugle! You alarm me, Mrs. Be—— - -_W. B._ Now don’t undertake to deny it, Elder; everybody says it’s a fact. - -_E. S._ Well, then, it only remains for me to assert that everybody is -laboring under an entire and unmitigated mistake. - -_W. B._ You don’t say so, Elder! Well, I declare, I do feel relieved. I -couldn’t endure the idea o’ stayin’ here to see that match go off. She’s -so onworthy—so different from what your companion had ort to be—and so -lazy—and makes such awful poitry; and then she hain’t worth a cent in -the world. But I don’t want to say a word against her; for, if you ain’t -ingaged now, mabby you will be. O, Elder! promise me, dew promise me -now’t you won’t marry that critter. ’Twould be a consolation to me when -I’m far away on my dyin’ bed to know—[_She weeps with renewed energy._] -O, Elder, I’m afeared I’m a gwine to have the highsterics. I’m subjick to -spasmotic affections when I’m excited and overcome. - -_E. S._ You alarm me, Mrs. Bedott! I will hasten to the house and bring -the sal volatile, which may restore you. - -_W. B._ For the land’s sake, Elder, don’t go after Sal; she can’t dew -nothin’ for me. It’ll only make talk, for she’ll tell it all round the -village. Jest take that ar newspaper that sticks out o’ yer pocket, and -fan me with it a leetle. There, I feel quite resusticated. I’m obliged -tew ye; guess I can manage to get hum now. [_She rises._] Farwell, Elder -Sniffles! adoo! we part to meet no more! - -_E. S._ Ah, Mrs. Bedott! do not speak in that mournful strain; you -distress me beyond all mitigation. [_He takes her hand._] Pray reseat -yourself, and allow me to prolong the conversation for a short period. As -I before observed, your language distresses me beyond all duration. - -_W. B._ Dew you actually feel distressed at the idee o’ partin’ with me? - -_E. S._ Most indubitably, Mrs. Bedott. - -_W. B._ Well, then, what’s the use o’ partin’ at all? O, what have I -said? what have I said? - -_E. S._ Ahem—ahaw, allow me to inquire—are you in easy circumstances, -Mrs. Bedott? - -_W. B._ Well, not entirely yet, though I feel considerable easier’n what -I did an hour ago. - -_E. S._ Ahem! I imagine that you do not fully apprehend my meaning. I -am a clergyman, a laborer in the vineyard of the Lord—as such you will -readily understand I cannot be supposed to abound in the filthy lucre of -this world; my remuneration is small—hence—— - -_W. B._ O, Elder, how can you s’pose I’d hesitate on account o’ your -bein’ poor? Don’t think on’t—it only increases my opinion of you; money -ain’t no objick to me. - -_E. S._ I naturally infer from your indifference respecting the amount of -_my_ worldly possessions that you yourself have—— - -_W. B._ Don’t be oneasy, Elder, dear—don’t illude tew it again; depend -on’t you’re jest as dear tew me, every bit and grain, as you would be if -you owned all the mines in Ingy. - -_E. S._ I will say no more about it. - -_W. B._ So I s’pose we’re ingaged. - -_E. S._ Undoubtedly. - -_W. B._ We’re ingaged, and my tribbilation is at an end. [_Her head drops -on his shoulder._] O, Shadrack! what will Hugelina say when she hears -on’t? - - FRANCIS M. WHITCHER. - - -THE MATRIMONIAL ADVERTISEMENT. - - _Characters._—_MARY COLE; GRANDMOTHER COLE, who is very deaf; - JACK COLE; AUNT MARTHA GORDON; CYRUS GORDON._ - - -SCENE I.—_The sitting-room of the COLE family. MARY reading a newspaper. -GRANDMOTHER COLE knitting. AUNT MARTHA crocheting. JACK playing with the -balls in AUNT MARTHA’S work-basket._ - -_Mary Cole._ Oh, Aunt Martha! only hear this! it’s in the _Chronicle_. -What a splendid chance! I declare, I’ve a great mind to answer it myself! - -_Aunt M._ What have you got hold of now? You’re allez a-making some -powerful diskivery somewheres. What now? Something to turn gray eyes -black, and blue eyes gray? - -_Mary._ No; it’s a matrimonial advertisement. What a splendid fellow this -“C. G.” must be! - -_Aunt M._ Oh, shaw! A body must be dreadfully put to it, to advertise for -a pardner in the newspapers. Thank goodness! I never got in such a strait -as that ’er. The Lord has marcyfully kept me thus fur from having any -dealings with the male sect, and I trust I shall be presarved to the end. - -_Jack Cole._ Didn’t you ever have an offer, Aunt Mattie? - -_Aunt M._ (_indignantly_.) Why, Jack Cole! What an idee! I’ve had more -chances to change my condition than you’ve got fingers and toes. But I -refused ’em all. A single life is the only way to be happy. But it did -kinder hurt my feelings to send some of my sparks adrift—they took it so -hard. There was Colonel Turner. He lost his wife in June, and the last -of August he come over to our ’ouse, and I gave him to understand that -he needn’t trouble himself; and he felt so mad that he went rite off and -married the Widder Hopkins afore the month was out. - -_Jack._ Poor fellow! How he must have felt! And, Aunt Mattie, I notice -that Deacon Goodrich looks at you a great deal in meeting, since you’ve -got that pink feather on your bonnet. What if he should want you to be a -mother to his ten little ones? - -_Aunt M._ (_simpering_). Law, Jack Cole! What a dreadful boy you be! -(_pinches his ear._) The deacon never thought of such a thing! But if it -should please Providence to appoint to me such a fate, I should try and -be resigned. - -_Granny Cole._ Resigned? Who’s resigned? Not the President, has he? Well, -I don’t blame him. I’d resign, too, if I was into his place. Nothing -spiles a man’s character so quick as being President or Congress. Yer -gran’father got in justice of the peace and chorus, once, and he resigned -afore he was elected. Sed he didn’t want his repetition spiled. - -_Jack._ Three cheers for Gran’father Cole! - -_Granny C._ Cheers? What’s the matter with the cheers, now? Yer father -had them bottomed last year, and this year they were new painted. What’s -to pay with ’em now? - -_Mary_ (_impatiently_). Do listen, all of you, to this advertisement. - -_Aunt M._ Mary Cole, I’m sorry your head is so turned with the vanities -of this world. Advertising for a pardner in that way is wicked. I hadn’t -orter listen to it. - -_Mary._ Oh, it won’t hurt you a bit, auntie. (_reads_) “A gentleman of -about forty, very fine looking; tall, slender, and fair-haired, with very -expressive eyes, and side whiskers, and some property, wishes to make the -acquaintance of a young lady with similar qualifications——” - -_Jack._ A young lady with expressive eyes and side whiskers—— - -_Mary._ Do keep quiet, Jack Cole! (_reads_) “With similar qualifications -as to good looks and amiable temper, with a view to matrimony. Address, -with stamp to pay return postage—C. G., _Scrubtown_; stating when and -where an interview may be had.” There! what do you think of that? - -_Jack._ Deacon Goodrich to a T. “C. G.” stands for Calvin Goodrich. - -_Aunt M._ The land of goodness! Deacon Goodrich, indeed! a pillar of the -church! advertising for a wife! No, no, Jack; it can’t be him! He’d never -stoop so low! - -_Jack._ But if all the women are as hard-hearted as you are, and the poor -man needs a wife. Think of his ten little olive plants! - -_Granny C._ Plants? Cabbage plants? ’Taint time to set them out yet. Fust -of August is plenty airly enuff to set ’em for winter. Cabbages never -begin to head till the nights come cold. - -_Jack._ Poor Mr. C. G.! Why don’t you answer it, Aunt Mattie; and tell -him you’ll darn his stockings for him, and comb that fair hair of his? - -_Aunt M._ Jack Cole! if you don’t hold your tongue, I’ll comb your -hair for you in a way you won’t like. Me answering one of them low -advertisements! _Me_, indeed! I hain’t so eager to get married as some -folks I know. Brother Cyrus and I have lived all our lives in maiden -meditation, fancy free—the only sensible ones of the family of twelve -children; and it’s my idee that we shall continner on in that way. - -_Mary._ Why, don’t you believe that Uncle Cyrus would get married if he -could? - -_Aunt M._ Your Uncle Cyrus! I tell you, Mary Cole, he wouldn’t marry the -best woman that ever trod! I’ve hearn him say so a hundred times. - -_Mary._ Won’t you answer this advertisement, auntie? I’ll give you a -sheet of my nicest gilt-edge note-paper if you will! - -_Aunt M._ (_furiously_). If you weren’t so big, Mary Jane Cole, I’d spank -you soundly! I vow I would! Me answer it, indeed! - -(_Leaves the room in great indignation._) - -_Mary._ Look here, Jack. What’ll you bet she won’t reply to that notice? - -_Jack._ Nonsense! Wouldn’t she blaze if she could hear you? - -_Mary._ I’ll wager my new curled waterfall against your ruby pin that -Aunt Mattie replies to Mr. “C. G.” before to-morrow night. - -_Jack._ Done! I shall wear a curled waterfall after to-morrow. - -_Mary._ No, sir! But I shall wear a ruby pin. Jack, who do you think “C. -G.” is? - -_Jack._ Really, I do not know; do you? Ah! I know you do, by that look in -your eyes. Tell me, that’s a darling. - -_Mary._ Not I. I don’t expose secrets to a fellow who tells them all over -town. Besides, it would spoil the fun. - -_Jack._ Mary, you are the dearest little sister in the world! Tell me, -please. (_taking her hands._) - -_Mary._ No, sir! You don’t get that out of me. Take care, now. Let go of -my hands. I’m going up stairs to keep an eye on Aunt Mattie. She’s gone -up now to write an answer to “C. G.” And if there is any fun by-and-by, -Jack, if you’re a good boy you shall be there to see. - -_Granny C._ To sea? Going to sea? Why, Jack Cole! you haint twenty-one -yet, and the sea’s a dreadful place! There’s a sarpint lives in it as -big as the Scrubtown meeting-’us’, and whales that swaller folks alive, -clothes and all! I read about one in a book a great while ago that -swallered a man of the name of Jonah, and he didn’t set well on the -critter’s stummuck, and up he come, lively as ever! - -(_Curtain falls._) - - -SCENE II.—_The garden of a deserted house, in the vicinity of MR. COLE’S. -MARY leading JACK cautiously along a shady path._ - -_Mary._ There; we’ll squat down behind this lilac bush. It’s nearly -the appointed hour. I heard Aunt Mattie soliloquizing in her room this -morning, after this manner—“At eight o’clock this night I go to meet -my destiny! In the deserted garden, under the old pear tree. How very -romantic!” Hark! there she comes! - -_Jack._ Well, of all the absurd things that ever I heard tell of! Who -would have believed that our staid old maid aunt would have been guilty -of answering a matrimonial advertisement? - -_Mary._ Hush! Jack, if you make a noise and spoil the fun now, I’ll never -forgive you. Keep your head still, and don’t fidget so. - -_Aunt Mattie_ (_slowly walking down the path—soliloquizing_.) Eight -o’clock! It struck just as I started out. He ought to be here. Why -does he tarry? If he aint punctual I’ll give him the mitten. I swow -I will! Dear gracious! what a sitivation to be in! Me, at my time of -life! though, to be shure, I haint so old as—as I might be. The dew’s -a-falling, and I shall get the rheumatiz in these thin shoes, if he don’t -come quick. What if Jack and Mary should git hold of this? I never should -hear the last of it! Never! I wouldn’t have ’em know it for a thousand -dollars! Goodness me! What if it _should_ be the deacon? Them children -of his’n is dreadful youngsters; but, the Lord helping me, I’d try to -train ’em up in the way they should go. Hark! is that him a-coming? No; -it’s a toad hopping through the carrot bed. My soul and body! what if he -should want to kiss me? I’ll chew a clove for fear he should. I wonder if -it would be properous to let him? But then I s’pose if it’s the deacon I -couldn’t help myself. He’s an awful _dee_tarmined man; and if I couldn’t -help it I shouldn’t be to blame! Deary me! how I trimble! There he comes! -I hear his step! What a tall man! ’Taint the deacon. He’s got a shawl on! -Must be the new school-master! he wears a shawl! (_a man approaches, MISS -MATTIE goes up to him cautiously._) Is this Mr. C. G.? - -_C. G._ Yes, it is; Is this Miss M. G.? - -_Aunt M._ It is. Dear sir, I hope you wont think me bold and unmaidenly -in coming out here all alone in the dark to meet you? - -_C. G._ Never! Ah, the happiness of this moment! For forty years I have -been looking for thee! (_puts his arm around her._) - -_Aunt M._ Oh, dear me! dont! dont! my dear sir! I aint used to it! and it -aint exactly proper out here in this old garden! It’s a dreadful lonely -spot, and if people should see us they might talk. - -_C. G._ Let ’em talk! They’ll talk still more when you and I are married, -I reckon. Lift your veil and let me see your sweet face. - -_Aunt M._ Yes, if you’ll remove that hat and let me behold your -countenance. - -_C. G._ Now, then; both together. (_AUNT M. throws back her veil. C. G. -removes his hat. They gaze at each other a moment in utter silence._) - -_Aunt M._ Good gracious airth! ’tis brother Cyrus! - -_C. G._ Jubiter Ammon! ’tis sister Martha! - -_Aunt M._ Oh, my soul and body, Cyrus Gordon! Who’d ever a-thought of -you, at your time of life, cutting up such a caper as this? You old, -bald-headed, gray-whiskered man! Forty years old! My gracious! You were -fifty-nine last July! - -_C. G._ Well, if I am, you’re two year older. So it’s as broad as ’tis -long! - -_Aunt M._ Why, I thought shure it was Deacon Goodrich that advertised. C. -G. stands for Calvin Goodrich. - -_C. G._ Yes; and it stands for Cyrus Gordon, too. And Deacon Goodrich was -married last night to Peggy Jones. - -_Aunt M._ That snub-nosed, red-haired Peggy Jones! He’d ort to be flayed -alive! Married again! and his wife not hardly cold! Oh, the desatefulness -of men! Thank Providence I haint tied to one of the abominable sect. - -_C. G._ Well, Martha, we’re both in the same boat. If you wont tell -of me, I wont of you. But it’s a terrible disappointment to me, for I -sarting thought M. G. meant Marion Giles, the pretty milliner. - -_Aunt M._ Humph! What an old goose! She wouldn’t look at you! I heerd her -laffing at your swaller-tailed coat, when you come out of meeting last -Sunday. But I’m ready to keep silence if you will. Gracious! if Jack and -Mary should get wind of this, shouldn’t we have to take it? - -_C. G._ Hark! what’s that? (_voice behind the lilac-bush sings_:) - - “Oh, there’s many a bud the cold frost will nip, - And there’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.” - -_Aunt M._ That’s Jack’s voice! Goodness me! Let us scoot for home! - -_Jack._ Did he kiss you, Aunt Mattie? - -_Mary._ Do you like the smell of cloves, Uncle Cyrus? - -_C. G._ Confound you both! If I had hold of ye I’d let you know if I like -to smell cloves, and birch, too. - -(_Curtain falls._) - - -MRS. MALAPROP AND CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE. - - _From “The Rivals.”_ - - _Costumes._ - - MRS. MALAPROP, _Crimson satin dress, trimmed with white lace and - satin ribbon._ - - CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE, _Scarlet regimental full-dress coat, white - breeches, silk stockings and cocked hat._ - -_Enter MRS. MALAPROP, with a letter in her hand, CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE -following._ - -_Mrs. Malaprop._ Your being Sir Anthony’s son, Captain, would itself be a -sufficient accommodation; but from the ingenuity of your appearance, I am -convinced you deserve the character here given of you. - -_Capt. A._ Permit me to say, madame, that as I have never yet had the -pleasure of seeing Miss Languish, my principal inducement in this affair, -at present, is the honor of being allied to Mrs. Malaprop, of whose -intellectual accomplishments, elegant manners and unaffected learning no -tongue is silent. - -_Mrs. M._ Sir, you do me infinite honor! I beg, Captain, you’ll be -seated. [_Both sit._] Ah! few gentlemen, nowadays, know how to value -the ineffectual qualities in a woman! Men have no sense now but for the -worthless flower of beauty. - -_Capt. A._ It is but too true, indeed, ma’am; yet I fear our ladies -should share the blame; they think our admiration of beauty so great -that knowledge in them would be superfluous. Thus, like garden trees, -they seldom show fruit till time has robbed them of the more spacious -blossoms: few, like Mrs. Malaprop and the orange tree, are rich in both -at once. - -_Mrs. M._ Sir, you overpower me with good breeding. [_Aside._] He is the -very pineapple of politeness! You are not ignorant, Captain, that this -giddy girl has, somehow, contrived to fix her affections on a beggarly, -strolling, eavesdropping ensign, whom none of us have seen, and nobody -knows anything of. - -_Capt. A._ Oh, I have heard the silly affair before. I’m not at all -prejudiced against her on that account. But it must be very distressing, -indeed, to you, ma’am. - -_Mrs. M._ Oh, it gives me the hydrostatics to such a degree!—I thought -she had persisted from corresponding with him; but, behold, this very -day, I have interceded another letter from the fellow—I believe I have it -in my pocket. - -_Capt. A._ My last note! [_Aside._] - -_Mrs. M._ Ay, here it is. - -_Capt. A._ Oh, the little traitress, Lucy! - -_Mrs. M._ There, perhaps you may know the writing. [_Gives him the -letter._] - -_Capt. A._ I think I have seen the hand before—yes, I certainly must have -seen this hand before. - -_Mrs. M._ Nay, but read it, Captain. - -_Capt. A._ [_reads_.] “My soul’s idol, my adored Lydia!” Very tender, -indeed! - -_Mrs. M._ Tender! ay, and profane too, o’my conscience. - -_Capt. A._ “I am excessively alarmed at the intelligence you send me, the -more so as my new rival”—— - -_Mrs. M._ That’s you, sir. - -_Capt. A._ “Has universally the character of being an accomplished -gentleman and a man of honor.” Well, that’s handsome enough. - -_Mrs. M._ Oh, the fellow has some design in writing so. - -_Capt. A._ That he had, I’ll answer for him, ma’am. - -_Mrs. M._ But go on, sir—you’ll see presently. - -_Capt. A._ “As for the old weather-beaten she-dragon who guards you”?—who -can he mean by that? - -_Mrs. M._ Me, sir—me—he means me there—what do you think now?—but go on a -little further. - -_Capt. A._ Impudent scoundrel!—“it shall go hard, but I will elude her -vigilance! as I am told that the same ridiculous vanity which makes her -dress up her coarse features and deck her dull chat with hard words which -she don’t understand”—— - -_Mrs. M._ There, sir, an attack upon my language! what do you think of -that?—an aspersion upon my parts of speech! was ever such a brute! Sure, -if I reprehend anything in this world, it is the use of my oracular -tongue, and a nice derangement of epitaphs. - -_Capt. A._ He deserves to be hanged and quartered! let me see—“same -ridiculous vanity”—— - -_Mrs. M._ You need not read it again, sir! - -_Capt. A._ I beg pardon, ma’am—“does also lay her open to the -grossest deceptions from flattery and pretended admiration”—an -impudent coxcomb—“so that I have a scheme to see you shortly, with -the old harridan’s consent, and even to make her a go-between in our -interviews”—Was ever such assurance! - -_Mrs. M._ Did you ever hear anything like it? [_They rise._] He’ll elude -my vigilance, will he?—yes, yes!—ha! ha! he’s very likely to enter these -doors!—we’ll try who can run best! - -_Capt. A._ So we will, ma’am—so we will—Ha! ha! ha! a conceited puppy! -ha! ha! ha!—Well, but Mrs. Malaprop, as the girl seems so infatuated by -this fellow, suppose you were to wink at her corresponding with him for -a little time—let her even plot an elopement with him—then do you connive -at her escape—while I, just in the nick, will have the fellow laid by the -heels, and fairly contrive to carry her off in his stead. - -_Mrs. M._ I am delighted with the scheme; never was anything better -perpetrated. - -_Capt. A._ But, pray, could I not see the lady for a few minutes now?—I -should like to try her temper a little. - -_Mrs. M._ Why, I don’t know—I doubt she is not prepared for a visit of -this kind. There is a decorum in these matters. - -_Capt. A._ O, she won’t mind me!—only tell her Beverley—— - -_Mrs. M._ Sir! - -_Capt. A._ Gently, good tongue! [_Aside._] - -_Mrs. M._ What did you say of Beverley? - -_Capt. A._ Oh, I was going to propose that you should tell her, by way -of jest, that it was Beverley who was below—she’d come down fast enough -then—ha! ha! ha! - -_Mrs. M._ ’Twould be a trick she well deserves—besides, you know, the -fellow tells her he’ll get my consent to see her—ha! ha!—Let him, if he -can, I say again.—Lydia, come down here! [_Calling._] He’ll make me a -go-between in their interviews!—ha! ha! ha!—Come down, I say, Lydia!—I -don’t wonder at your laughing—ha! ha! ha! his impudence is truly -ridiculous. - -_Capt. A._ ’Tis very ridiculous, upon my soul, ma’am!—ha! ha! ha! - -_Mrs. M._ The little hussy won’t hear. Well, I’ll go and tell her at once -who it is—she shall know that Captain Absolute is come to wait on her; -and I’ll make her behave as becomes a young woman. - -_Capt. A._ As you please ma’am. - -_Mrs. M._ For the present, Captain, your servant—Ah! you’ve not done -laughing yet, I see—elude my vigilance! yes, yes—Ha! ha! ha! [_Exit._ - - RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. - - -WINNING A WIDOW. - -_Characters._ - - MRS. CUMMISKEY, _A Middle-aged Widow_. - MR. COSTELLO, _An Old Bachelor_. - -SCENE.—_MRS. C.’S dwelling. Table set. MR. C. outside._ - -_Mr. C._ Good evenin’ to you, ma’am. - -_Mrs. C._ Good evenin’ to you, Mr. Costello. - -_Mr. C._ It’s fine weather we’re havin’, ma’am. - -_Mrs. C._ It is that, thank God, but the winter’s comin’ at last, and it -comes to all, both great and small. - -_Mr. C._ Ah! but for all that it doesn’t come to all alike. Nowhere -are you, ma’am, fat, rosy and good-lookin’, equally swate as a summer -greenin’, a fall pippin or a winter russet— - -_Mrs. C._ Arrah, hould your whist, now. Much an old bachelor like you -knows about apples or women. But come in, Mr. Costello, and take a cup o’ -tay with me, for I was only standin’ be the door lookin’ at the people -passin’ for company sake, like, and I’m sure the kittle must have sung -itself hoarse. [_MR. C. enters and sits._] - -_Mr. C._ It’s very cosy ye are here, Mrs. Cummiskey. - -_Mrs. C._ Yes. [_Lays the supper._] It is that whin I do be havin’ -company. - -_Mr. C._ Ah! it must be lonesome for you with only yer cat and the cup o’ -tay. - -_Mrs. C._ Sure it is. But sit up to the table, Mr. Costello. Help -yourself to this fish, and don’t furget the purtaties. Look at them; -they’re splittin’ their sides wid laughin’. [_She pours tea._] - -_Mr. C._ I’m sensible of the comforts of a home, Mrs. Cummiskey, though -I’ve none meself. Mind now, the difference between the taste o’ tay made -and sarved that way and the tay they gives you in an aitin’-house. - -_Mrs. C._ Sure there’s nothin’ like a little home of yer own. I wonder -yer never got marrit, Mr. Costello. - -_Mr. C._ I was about to make the same remark in rifference to yerself, -ma’am. - -_Mrs. C._ God help us, aren’t I a widder woman this seven years? - -_Mr. C._ Ah, but it’s thinkin’ I was why ye didn’t get marrit again. - -_Mrs. C._ Well, it’s sure I am [_thoughtfully setting down her teacup and -raising her hand by way of emphasis_], there was no betther husband to -any woman than him that’s dead and gone, heaven save an’ rest his sowl. -He was that asy a child could do anything wid him, and he was as humorous -as a monkey. You favor him very much, Mr. Costello. He was about your -height, and complicted like you. - -_Mr. C._ Ah! - -_Mrs. C._ He often used to say to me in his banterin’ way, Sure, Nora, -what’s the woruld to a man whin his wife is a widder, manin’, you know, -that all the timptations and luxuries of this life can never folly a man -beyant the grave. Sure, Nora, says he, what’s the woruld to a man whin -his wife’s a widder? - -_Mr. C._ It was a sensible sayin’ that [_helping himself to more fish_]. - -_Mrs. C._ I mind the day John died. He knew everything to the last, and -about four o’clock in the afthernoon—it was seventeen minutes past five -exactly, be the clock, that he died—he says to me, Nora, says he, you’ve -been a good wife, says he, an’ I’ve been a good husband, says he, an’ -so there’s no love lost atween us, says he, an’ I could give ye a good -characthur to any place, says he, an’ I wish ye could do the same for -me where I’m goin’, says he; but it’s case equal, says he, an’ every -dog has his day, an’ some has a day an’ a half, says he, an’ says he, -I’ll know more in a bit than Father Corrigan himself, says he, but I’ll -say now, says he, that I’ve always been a true son of the Church, says -he, so I’ll not bother my brains about it; an’ he says, says he, I lave -ye in good hands, Nora for I lave you in your hands, says he; an’ if -at any time ye see any wan ye like betther nor me, marry him, says he. -Ah, Nora, says he, for the first time spakin’ it solemn like, ah, Nora, -what’s the woruld to a man whin his wife’s a widder? An’ says he, I lave -fifty dollars for masses, and the rest I lave to yourself, said he, an’ I -needn’t tell ye to be a good mother to the childer’, says he, for well ye -know there are none. Ah, poor John! Will ye have another cup of tay, Mr. -Costello? - -_Mr. C._ It must have been very hard on ye [_passing cup_]. Thank ye, -ma’am, no more. - -_Mrs. C._ It was hard, but time will tell. I must cast about me for my -own livin’; and so I got intil this place an’ here I am to-day. [_Both -rise from the table and seat themselves before the fire._] - -_Mr. C._ Ah! an’ here we are both of us this evenin.’ - -_Mrs. C._ Here we are, sure enough. - -_Mr. C._ And so I mind ye of—of him, do I? - -_Mrs. C._ That ye do. Ye favor him greatly. Dark complicted, an’ the same -plisint smile. - -_Mr. C._ Now, with me sittin’ here an’ you sittin’ there ferninst me, ye -might almost think ye were marrit agin. [_Insinuatingly._] - -_Mrs. C._ Ah, go away now for a taze that ye are. [_Mussing her apron by -rolling the corners of it._] - -_Mr. C._ I disremember what it was ye said about seein’ any man you liked -betther nor him. [_Moving his chair nearer to that of the widow._] - -_Mrs. C._ He said, said he [_smoothing her apron over her knees_], Nora, -said he, if anny time ye see anny man ye like betther nor me, marry him, -says he. - -_Mr. C._ Did he say anything about anny one ye liked as good as him? - -_Mrs. C._ I don’t mind that he did. [_Reflectively, folding her hands in -her lap._] - -_Mr. C._ I suppose he left that to yerself? - -_Mrs. C._ Faith, an’ I don’t know, thin. - -_Mr. C._ Div ye think ye like me as well as ye did him? [_Persuasively, -leaning forward to look into the widow’s eyes, which are cast down._] - -_Mrs. C._ Ah, go away now for a taze. [_Straightening herself and -playfully slapping MR. COSTELLO on the face. He moves his chair still -nearer, and puts his arm around her waist._] - -_Mr. C._ Tell me, div ye like me as well as ye did him? - -_Mrs. C._ I—I most—I most disremember now how much I liked him. -[_Embarrassed._] - -_Mr. C._ Ah, now, don’t be breakin’ me heart. Answer me this question, -Mrs. Cummiskey—Is your heart tender toward me? - -_Mrs. C._ It is [_whispers_], an’ there, now ye have it. - -_Mr. C._ Glory! [_Kisses her._] - -_Mrs. C._ But, James, ye haven’t told me yet how ye liked yer tay? - -_Mr. C._ Ah, Nora, me jewel, the taste of that first kiss would take away -the taste of all the tay that ever was brewed. - - - - -MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS - -COMPRISING - -Dramatic, Humorous and Tragic Pieces from the most Celebrated Authors, -adapted to the use of Public Schools, Academies and Higher Institutions -of Learning, for Public and Social Entertainments. - -Wit and Wisdom Represented by a Great Variety of Entertaining Characters. - - -UNCLE PETE. - -_Characters._ - - GEORGE PEYTON, _a planter_. - - UNCLE PETE, _a venerable darkey, looking the worse for wear, with - more patches than pantaloons_. - - SCENE—_Exterior view of a planter’s cabin, with practicable door. - GEORGE PEYTON discovered, seated on a bench, under veranda, - reading a newspaper._ - - _Enter UNCLE PETE, a limp noticeable in his left leg, the knee of - which is bowed outward, hoe on his shoulder._ - -_Uncle Pete._ (_Pausing as he enters, shading his eyes with his hand, -going towards GEORGE PEYTON._) Yes, dar he is; dar is Marse George, a -sittin’ on the porch, a readin’ his papah. Golly, I cotch him at home! -(_Advancing and calling_) Marse George, Marse George, I’s come to see -you once mo’, once mo,’ befo’ I leabes you fo’ebber. Marse George, I’se -gwine to de odder shoah; I’se far on de way to my long home, to dat home -ober acrost de ribber, whar de wicked hab’ no mo’ trouble, and where -water-millions ripen all the year! Youns has all bin berry kine to me -heah, Marse George, berry kine to de ole man, but I’s gwine away, acrost -de dark ribber. I’s gwine ober, an’ dar, on dat odder shoah, I’ll stan’ -an’ pick on de golden hawp among de angels, an’ in de company of de -blest. Dar I’ll fine my rest; dar I’ll stan’ befo’ de throne fo’ ebber -mo’ a singin’ an’ a shoutin’ susannis to de Lord! - -_George Peyton._ Oh, no, Uncle Pete, you’re all right yet—you’re good for -another twenty years. - -_Uncle P._ Berry kine o’ you to say dat, Marse George—berry kine—but it’s -no use. It almos’ breaks my hawt to leab you, and to leab de missus and -de chillun, Marse George, but I’s got my call—I’s all gone inside. - -_George P._ Don’t talk so, Uncle Pete; you are still quite a hale old man. - -_Uncle P._ No use talkin’, Marse George, I’s gwine to hebben berry soon. -’Pears like I can heah the singin’ on de odder shoah. ’Pears like I -can heah de voice of ol’ “Aunt Liza” an’ de odders dat’s gone befoah. -You’s bin berry kine, Marse George—de missus an’ de chillun’s bin berry -good—seems like all de people’s been berry good to poor ole Pete—poor -cretur like me. - -_George P._ Nonsense, Uncle Pete (_kindly and encouragingly_), nonsense, -you are good for many years yet. You’ll see the sod placed on the graves -of many younger men than you are, before they dig the hole for you. What -you want just now, Uncle Pete, is a good square meal. Go into the kitchen -and help yourself—fill up inside. There is no one at home, but I think -you know the road. Plenty of cold victuals of all kinds in there. - -_Uncle P._ (_A smile illuminating his face._) ’Bleedged t’ye, Marse -George, ’bleeged t’ye, sah, I’ll go! For de little time I has got to -stay, I’ll not go agin natur’; but it’s no use. I’s all gone inside—I’s -got my call. I’m one o’ dem dat’s on de way to de golden shoah. - -(_Exit UNCLE PETE through door, his limp hardly noticeable. His manner -showing his delight._) - -_George P._ Poor old Uncle Pete, he seems to be the victim of religious -enthusiasm. I suppose he has been to camp-meeting, but he is a cunning -old fox, and it must have taken a regular hard-shell sermon to convert -the old sinner. He was raised on this plantation, and I have often -heard my father say, he hadn’t a better negro on the place. Ever since -the war, he has been working a little, and loafing a good deal, and I -have no doubt he sometimes sighs to be a slave again at work on the old -plantation. (_Starts and listens._) - -_Uncle P._ (_Singing inside_:) - - Jay bird, jay bird, sittin’ on a limb, - He winked at me, an’ I at him; - Cocked my gun, an’ split his shin, - An’ left the arrow a-stickin’. - -_George P._ (_Starting up._) Zounds! if that old thief hasn’t found my -bitters bottle! Pete! Pete, you rascal! - -_Uncle P._ (_Continues singing_:) - - Snake bake a hoe cake, - An’ set the frog to mind it; - But the frog fell asleep, - An’ the lizard come an’ find it. - -_George P._ Pete! you rascal, come out of that. - -_Uncle P._ (_Who does not hear the planter, continues singing, and dances -a gentle, old-fashioned shuffle._) - - De debbil cotch the groun’ hog - A-sittin’ in de sun, - An’ kick him off de back-log, - Jes’ to see de fun. - -_George P._ (_Furious._) Pete; you infernal nigger, come out of that, I -say. - -_Uncle P._ (_Still singing and dancing._) - - De ’possum up de gum tree, - A-playin’ wid his toes, - An’ up comes de ginny pig, - Den off he goes. - -_George P._ (_Thoroughly aroused, throwing down his paper._) You, Pete; -blast the nigger. - -_Uncle P._ (_Continues singing_:) - - De weasel went to see de polecat’s wife, - You nebber smelt such a row in all yer— - -_George P._ (_Rushes in the cabin, interrupts the singing, and drags PETE -out by the ear._) Pete! Pete, you infernal old rascal, is that the way -you are crossing the river? Are those the songs they sing on the golden -shore? Is this the way for a man to act when he has got his call—when he -is all gone inside? - -_Uncle P._ (_Looking as if he had been caught in a hen-roost._) Marse -George. I’s got de call, sah, an’ I’s gwine acrost de dark ribber -soon, but I’s now braced up a little on de inside, an’ de ’scursion am -postponed—you see, de ’scursion am postponed, sah! - -_George P._ (_Folding his arms, looking at Pete, as if in admiration -of his impudence._) The excursion is postponed, is it? Well, _this_ -excursion is not postponed, you old scoundrel. (_Seizes PETE by the -coat-collar and runs him off stage, L._) [CURTAIN.] - - -PAT’S EXCUSE. - -CHARACTERS: - - NORA, _a young Irish lass_. - PAT MURPHY, _a gay deceiver_. - -_Curtain rises._—_Discovers NORA in kitchen, peeling potatoes._ - -_Nora._ Och! it’s deceivin’ that all men are! Now I belaved Pat niver -would forsake me, and here he’s trated me like an ould glove, and I’ll -niver forgive him. How praties make your eyes water. (_Wipes tears -away._) Almost as bad as onions. Not that I’m cryin’; oh, no. Pat Murphy -can’t see _me_ cry. (_Knock without._) There is Pat now, the rascal. I’ll -lock the door. (_Hastens to lock door._) - -_Pat_ (_without_). Arrah, Nora, and here I am. - -_Nora._ And there ye’ll stay, ye spalpeen. - -_Pat_ (_without_). Ah, come now, Nora,—ain’t it opening the door you are -after? Sure, I’m dyin’ of cold. - -_Nora._ Faith, you are too hard a sinner to die aisy—so you can take your -time about it. - -_Pat._ Open the door, cushla; the police will be takin’ me up. - -_Nora._ He won’t kape you long, alanna! - -_Pat._ Nora, if you let me in, I’ll tell you how I came to lave you at -the fair last night. - -_Nora_ (_relenting_). Will you, for true? - -_Pat._ Indade I will. - -(_Nora unlocks door. Enter PAT gayly. He snatches a kiss from her._) - -_Nora._ Be off wid ye! Now tell me how you happened to be wid Mary -O’Dwight last night? - -_Pat (sitting down)._ Well, you see it happened this way; ye know Mike O’ -Dwight is her brother, and he and me is blatherin’ good friends, ye know; -and as we was going to Caltry the ither day, Mike says to me, says he: -“Pat, what’ll you take fur that dog?” and I says, says I— - -_Nora (who has been listening earnestly)._ Bother you, Pat, but you are -foolin’ me again. - -_Pat (coaxingly takes her hand)._ No—no—Nora—I’ll tell ye the truth this -time, sure. Well, as I was sayin’, Mike and me is good friends; and Mike -says, says he: “Pat, that’s a good dog.” “Yis,” says I, “it is.” And he -says, says he. “Pat, it is a blatherin’ good dog.” “Yis,” says I; and -then—and then—(_Scratches his head as if to aid his imagination._) - -_Nora_ (_angrily snatching away hand_). There! I’ll not listen to another -word! - -_She Sings._ - - (Tune—Rory O’Moore.) - - Oh, Patrick Murphy, be off wid you, pray, - I been watching your pranks this many a day; - You’re false, and ye’re fickle, as sure as I live - And your hateful desaivin’ I’ll niver forgive. - Ouch! do you think I was blind yester night, - When you walked so fine with Mary O’Dwight? - You kissed her, you rascal, and called her your own, - And left me to walk down the dark lane alone. - -_Pat_ (_taking up song_). - - Oh, Nora, me darlint, be off wid your airs, - For nobody wants you, and nobody cares! - For you do want your Patrick, for don’t you see, - You could not so well love any but me. - When my lips met[1] Miss Mary’s, now just look at me, - I shut my eyes tight just this way, don’t you see? - And when the kiss came, what did I do?— - I shut my eyes tight, and made believe it was _you_! - -_Nora._ - - Be off wid your nonsense—a word in your ear, - Listen, my Patrick, be sure that you hear; - Last night when Mike Duffy came here to woo, - We sat in the dark, and made believe it was you— - And when the kiss came, now just look at me,— - I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don’t you see? - And when our lips met, what did I do, - But keep my eyes shut, and make belave it was you! - -(_Nora, laughing; Pat, disconcerted._) - -[QUICK CURTAIN.] - -[1] From the asterisk they sing only the first strain of “Rory -O’More”—omitting the minor strain, with which Nora finishes her first -stanza. - - -THE DUEL. - -_Enter SIR LUCIUS O’TRIGGER to left, with pistols, followed by ACRES._ - -_Acres._ (_L._[2]) By my valor, then, Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good -distance. Odds levels and aims!—I say it is a good distance. - -_Sir Lucius._ (_R._) Is it for muskets or small field-pieces? Upon my -conscience Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me.—Stay, now—I’ll -show you. (_Measures paces along the floor._) There, now, that is a very -pretty distance—a pretty gentleman’s distance. - -_Acr._ (_R._) Zounds! we might as well fight in a sentry-box! I tell you, -Sir Lucius, the further he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim. - -_Sir L._ (_L._) Faith! then I suppose you would aim at him best of all if -he was out of sight! - -Acr. No, Sir Lucius; but I should think forty or eight-and-thirty yards— - -_Sir L._ Pooh! pooh! nonsense! Three or four feet between the mouths of -your pistols is as good as a mile. - -_Acr._ Odds bullets, no!—by my valor! here is no merit in killing him so -near! Do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot:—a -long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me! - -_Sir L._ Well, the gentlemen’s friend and I must settle that. But tell -me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or -commission I could execute for you? - -_Acr._ I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius—but I don’t understand— - -_Sir L._ Why, you may think there’s no being shot at without a little -risk; and if an unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it—I say it -will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters. - -_Acr._ A quietus! - -_Sir L._ For instance, now—if that should be the case—would you choose to -be pickled and sent home?—or would it be the same to you to lie here in -the Abbey?—I’m told there is very snug lying in the Abbey. - -_Acr._ Pickled!—Snugly in the Abbey!—Odds tremors! Sir Lucius, don’t talk -so! - -_Sir L._ I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair of -this kind before. - -_Acr._ No, Sir Lucius, never before. - -_Sir L._ Ah! that’s a pity!—there’s nothing like being used to a thing. -Pray, now, how would you receive the gentlemen’s shot? - -_Acr._ Odds files!—I’ve practiced that—there, Sir Lucius—there. (_Puts -himself in an attitude._) A side front, hey? I’ll make myself small -enough: I’ll stand edgeways. - -_Sir L._ Now—you’re quite out—for if you stand so when I take my -aim—(_Leveling at him._) - -_Acr._ Zounds! Sir Lucius—are you sure it is not cocked? - -_Sir L._ Never fear. - -_Acr._ But—but—you don’t know—it may go off of its own head! - -_Sir L._ Pooh! be easy. Well, now, if I hit you in the body, my bullet -has a double chance; for, if it misses a vital part of your right side, -’twill be very hard if it don’t succeed on the left. - -_Acr._ A vital part! - -_Sir L._ But, there, fix yourself so—(_placing him_)—let him see the -broadside of your full front, there, now, a ball or two may pass clean -through your body, and never do any harm at all. - -_Acr._ Clean through me!—a ball or two clean through me! - -_Sir L._ Ay, may they; and it is much the genteelest attitude into the -bargain. - -_Acr._ Look’ee, Sir Lucius! I’d just as lieve be shot in an awkward -posture as a genteel one; so, by my valor! I will stand edgeways. - -_Sir L._ (_Looking at his watch._) Sure, they don’t mean to disappoint -us. Ha! no, faith; I think I see them coming. (_Crosses to R._) - -_Acr._ (_L._) Hey!—what!—coming!— - -_Sir L._ Ay. Who are those yonder, getting over the stile? - -_Acr._ There are two of them, indeed! Well—let them come—hey, Sir Lucius! -we—we—we—we—won’t run! - -_Sir L._ Run! - -_Acr._ No,—I say,—we won’t run, by my valor! - -_Sir L._ What’s the matter with you? - -_Acr._ Nothing—nothing—my dear friend—my dear Sir Lucius! but I—I don’t -feel quite so bold, somehow, as I did. - -_Sir L._ O, fy! Consider your honor. - -_Acr._ Ay—true—my honor. Do, Sir Lucius, edge in a word or two every now -and then about my honor. - -_Sir L._ Well, here they’re coming. (_Looking R._) - -_Acr._ Sir Lucius, if I wa’n’t with you, I should almost think I was -afraid! If my valor should leave me!—Valor will come and go. - -_Sir L._ Then pray keep it fast while you have it. - -_Acr._ Sir Lucius, I doubt it is going!—yes—my valor is certainly -going!—it is sneaking off! I feel it oozing out, as it were, at the palms -of my hands! - -_Sir L._ Your honor! your honor! Here they are. - -_Acr._ O mercy!—now—that I was safe at Clod Hall! or could be shot -before I was aware! (_SIR LUCIUS takes Acres by the arm, and leads him -reluctantly off, R._) - - SHERIDAN. - -[2] _L._ signifies _left_; _R._, _right_, and _C._, _centre_ of stage. - - -READING THE WILL. - -CHARACTERS: - - _SWIPES, a brewer. CURRIE, a saddler. FRANK MILLINGTON, and - ’SQUIRE DRAWL._ - -_Enter SWIPES, R.,[3] CURRIE, L._ - -_Swipes._ A sober occasion this, brother Currie! Who would have thought -the old lady was so near her end? - -_Currie._ Ah! we must all die, brother Swipes. Those who live longest -outlive the most. - -_Swipes._ True, true; but, since we must die and leave our earthly -possessions, it is well that the law takes such good care of us. Had the -old lady her senses when she departed? - -_Cur._ Perfectly, perfectly. ’Squire Drawl told me she read every word of -her last will and testament aloud, and never signed her name better. - -_Swipes._ Had you any hint from the ’Squire what disposition she made of -her property? - -_Cur._ Not a whisper! the ’Squire is as close as a miser’s purse. But one -of the witnesses hinted to me that she has cut off her graceless nephew -with a shilling. - -_Swipes._ Has she? Good soul! Has she? You know I come in, then, in right -of my wife. - -_Cur._ And I in my _own_ right; and this is, no doubt, the reason why we -have been called to hear the reading of the will. ’Squire Drawl knows -how things should be done, though he is as air-tight as one of your own -beer-barrels, brother Swipes. But here comes the young reprobate. He must -be present, as a matter of course, you know. (_Enter FRANK MILLINGTON, -R._) Your servant, young gentleman. So, your benefactress has left you, -at last! - -_Swipes._ It is a painful thing to part with old and good friends, Mr. -Millington. - -_Frank._ It is so, sir; but I could bear her loss better, had I not so -often been ungrateful for her kindness. She was my only friend, and I -knew not her value. - -_Cur._ It is too late to repent, Master Millington. You will now have a -chance to earn your own bread. - -_Swipes._ Ay, ay, by the sweat of your brow, as better people are obliged -to. You would make a fine brewer’s boy, if you were not too old. - -_Cur._ Ay, or a saddler’s lackey, if held with a tight rein. - -_Frank._ Gentlemen, your remarks imply that my aunt has treated me as -I deserved. I am above your insults, and only hope you will bear your -fortune as modestly, as I shall mine submissively. I shall retire. (_As -he is going, R., enter ’SQUIRE DRAWL, R._) - -_’Squire._ Stop, stop, young man! We must have your presence. -Good-morning, gentlemen: you are early on the ground. - -_Cur._ I hope the ’Squire is well to-day. - -_’Squire._ Pretty comfortable for an invalid. - -_Swipes._ I trust the damp air has not affected your lungs. - -_’Squire._ No, I believe not. You know I never hurry. _Slow and sure_ is -my maxim. Well, since the heirs-at-law are all convened, I shall proceed -to open the last will and testament of your deceased relative, according -to law. - -_Swipes._ (_While the ’SQUIRE is breaking the seal._) It is a trying -scene to leave all one’s possessions, ’Squire, in this manner! - -_Cur._ It really makes me feel melancholy when I look round and see -everything but the venerable owner of these goods. Well did the preacher -say, All is vanity! - -_’Squire._ Please to be seated, gentlemen. - -(_All sit.—The ’SQUIRE puts on his spectacles, and reads slowly._) -“Imprimis: Whereas my nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobedience -and ungrateful conduct, has shown himself unworthy of my bounty, and -incapable of managing my large estate, I do hereby give and bequeath -all my houses, farms, stocks, bonds, moneys and property, both personal -and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt street, brewer, -and Christopher Currie, of Fly Court, saddler.” (_’SQUIRE takes off his -spectacles to wipe them._) - -_Swipes._ (_Dreadfully overcome._) Generous creature! kind soul! I always -loved her. - -_Cur._ She _was_ good, she _was_ kind! She was in her right mind. Brother -Swipes, when we divide, I think I will take the mansion-house. - -_Swipes._ Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Currie! My wife has long had -her eye upon that, and must have it. (_Both rise._) - -_Cur._ There will be two words to that bargain, Mr. Swipes! And, besides, -I ought to have the first choice. Did not I lend her a new chaise every -time she wished to ride? And who knows what influence——. - -_Swipes._ Am I not named first in her will? And did I not furnish her -with my best small beer for more than six months? And who knows——. - -_Frank._ Gentlemen, I must leave you. (_Going._) - -_’Squire._ (_Wiping his spectacles, and putting them on._) Pray, -gentlemen, keep your seats. I have not done yet. (_All sit._) Let me see; -where was I?—Ay,—“All my property, both personal and real, to my dear -cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt street, brewer——” - -_Swipes._ Yes! - -_’Squire._ “And Christopher Currie, Fly Court, saddler——” - -_Cur._ Yes! - -_’Squire._ “To have and to hold in trust, for the sole and exclusive -benefit of my nephew, Francis Millington, until he shall have attained -the age of twenty-one years; by which time I hope he will have so far -reformed his evil habits, as that he may safely be intrusted with the -large fortune which I hereby bequeath to him.” - -_Swipes._ What’s all this? You don’t mean that we are humbugged? _In -trust!_—how does that appear? Where is it? - -_’Squire._ (_Pointing to the parchment._) There! In two words of as good -old English as I ever penned. - -_Cur._ Pretty well, too, Mr. ’Squire, if we must be sent for to be made a -laughing-stock of! She shall pay for every ride she had out of my chaise, -I promise you! - -_Swipes._ And for every drop of my beer. Fine times, if two sober, -hard-working citizens are to be brought here to be made the sport of -a graceless profligate! But we will manage his property for him, Mr. -Currie! We will make him feel that trustees are not to be trifled with! - -_Cur._ That will we! - -_’Squire._ Not so fast, gentlemen; for the instrument is dated three -years ago, and the young gentleman must already be of age, and able to -take care of himself. Is it not so, Francis? - -_Frank._ It is, your worship. - -_’Squire._ Then, gentlemen, having attended to the breaking of this -seal according to law, you are released from any further trouble in the -premises. - -(_Exit SWIPES and CURRIE in earnest conversation._) - - SARGENT. - -[3] _R._, signifies _right_; _L._, _left_ and _C._, _centre_ of stage. - - -THE DEBTOR AND THE DUN. - -_Enter REMNANT, R._[4] - -_Remnant._ Well, I am resolved I’ll collect my bill of Col. Blarney -this time. He shan’t put me off again. This is the twentieth time, as -I’m a sinner, that I have dunned him! His smooth words shan’t humbug me -now. No, no! Richard Remnant is not such a goose as to be paid in fine -words for fine clothes. (_Takes out a long bill and unrolls it._) A -pretty collection of items, that! Why, the interest alone would make a -good round sum. But hark! He is coming. (_Hastily rolls up the bill and -returns it to his pocket._) - -_Enter COL. BLARNEY, R._ - -_Blarney._ Ah! my dear Remnant, a thousand welcomes! How delighted I am -to see you! And what stupidity on the part of my people not to make you -enter at once! True, I had given orders that they should admit nobody; -but those orders did not extend to you, my dear sir, for to you I am -always at home. - -_Rem._ Much obliged, sir. (_Fumbling in his pocket for his bill._) - -_Blar._ (_calling to his servants_.) What, ho! John! Martha! confound -you! I will teach you to keep my friend Remnant kicking his heels in the -entry! I will teach you to distinguish among my visitors! - -_Rem._ Indeed, sir, it is no sort of consequence. - -_Blar._ But it _is_ consequence! To tell you—you, one of my best -friends—that I was not in! - -_Rem._ I am your humble servant, sir. (_Drawing forth bill._) I just -dropped in to hand you this little— - -_Blar._ Quick, there, quick! A chair for my friend Remnant! - -_Rem._ I am very well as I am, sir. - -_Blar._ Not at all! I would have you seated. - -_Rem._ It is not necessary. (_Servant hands a common chair._) - -_Blar._ Rascal!—not that! An arm-chair! - -_Rem._ You are taking too much trouble. (_An arm-chair is placed for -him._) - -_Blar._ No, no; you have been walking some distance, and require rest. -Now be seated. - -_Rem._ There is no need of it—I have but a single word to say. I have -brought— - -_Blar._ Be seated, I say. I will not listen to you till you are seated. - -_Rem._ Well, sir, I will do as you wish. (_Sits._) I was about to say— - -_Blar._ Upon my word, friend Remnant, you are looking remarkably well. - -_Rem._ Yes, sir, thank heaven, I am pretty well. I have come with this— - -_Blar._ You have an admirable stock of health—lips fresh, skin ruddy, -eyes clear and bright—really— - -_Rem._ If you would be good enough to— - -_Blar._ And how is Madam Remnant? - -_Rem._ Quite well, sir, I am happy to say. - -_Blar._ A charming woman, Mr. Remnant! A very superior woman. - -_Rem._ She will be much obliged, sir. As I was saying— - -_Blar._ And your daughter, Claudine, how is she? - -_Rem._ As well as can be. - -_Blar._ The beautiful little thing that she is! I am quite in love with -her. - -_Rem._ You do us too much honor, sir. I—you— - -_Blar._ And little Harry—does he make as much noise as ever, beating that -drum of his? - -_Rem._ Ah, yes! He goes on the same as ever. But, as I was saying— - -_Blar._ And your little dog, Brisk,—does he bark as loud as ever, and -snap at the legs of your visitors? - -_Rem._ More than ever, sir, and we don’t know how to cure him. He, he! -But I dropped in to— - -_Blar._ Do not be surprised if I want particular news of all your family, -for I take the deepest interest in all of you. - -_Rem._ We are much obliged to your honor, much obliged. I— - -_Blar._ (_Giving his hand._) Your hand upon it, Mr. Remnant. Don’t rise. -Now, tell me, do you stand well with the people of quality?—for I can -make interest for you among them. - -_Rem._ Sir, I am your humble servant. - -_Blar._ And I am yours, with all my heart. (_Shaking hands again._) - -_Rem._ You do me too much honor. - -_Blar._ There is nothing I would not do for you. - -_Rem._ Sir, you are too kind to me. - -_Blar._ At least I am disinterested; be sure of that, Mr. Remnant. - -_Rem._ Certainly I have not merited these favors, sir. But, sir,— - -_Blar._ Now I think of it, will you stay and sup with me?—without -ceremony, of course. - -_Rem._ No, sir, I must return to my shop; I should have been there before -this. I— - -_Blar._ What ho, there! A light for Mr. Remnant! and tell the coachman to -bring the coach and drive him home. - -_Rem._ Indeed, sir, it is not necessary. I can walk well enough. But -here— (_Offering bill._) - -_Blar._ O! I shall not listen to it. Walk? Such a night as this! I am -your friend, Remnant, and, what is more, your debtor—your debtor, I -say—all the world may know it. - -_Rem._ Ah! sir if you could but find it convenient— - -_Blar._ Hark! There is the coach. One more embrace, my dear Remnant! -(_Shakes hands again._) Take care of the steps. Command me always; and be -sure there is nothing in the world I would not do for you. There! Good-by. - -(_Exit REMNANT, conducted by COL. B._) - - ALTERED FROM MOLIÈRE. - -[4] The initials _R._ and _L._ stand for the _Right_ and _Left_ of the -stage, facing the audience. - - -THE DISAGREEABLE MEDDLER. - -_Enter DOUBLEDOT and SIMON, L._[5] - -_Doubledot._ Plague take Mr. Paul Pry! He is one of those idle, -meddling fellows, who, having no employment themselves, are perpetually -interfering in other people’s affairs. - -_Simon._ Ay, and he’s inquisitive into all matters, great and small. - -_Doub._ Inquisitive! Why, he makes no scruple of questioning you -respecting your most private concerns. Then he will weary you to -death with a long story about a cramp in his leg, or the loss of a -sleeve-button, or some such idle matter. And so he passes his days, -“dropping in,” as he calls it, from house to house at the most -unreasonable times, to the annoyance of every family in the village. But -I’ll soon get rid of him. - -_Enter PRY, L., with umbrella, which he places against the wall._ - -_Pry._ Ha! how d’ye do, Mr. Doubledot? - -_Doub._ Very busy, Mr. Pry, and have scarcely time to say, “Pretty well, -thank ye.” (_Turns from him as if writing in memorandum book. SIMON -advances._) - -_Pry._ Ha, Simon! you here? Rather early in the morning to be in a public -house. Been taking a horn, eh? Sent here with a message from your master, -perhaps? I say, Simon, when this wedding takes place, I suppose your -master will put you all into new liveries, eh? - -_Simon._ Can’t say, sir. - -_Pry._ Well, I think he might. (_Touches SIMON’S sleeve._) Between -ourselves, Simon, it won’t be before you want ’em, eh? - -_Simon._ That’s master’s business, sir, and neither yours nor mine. - -_Pry._ Mr. Simon, behave yourself, or I shall complain of you to the -colonel. By the way, Simon, that’s an uncommon fine leg of mutton the -butcher has sent to your house. It weighs thirteen pounds five ounces. - -_Doub._ And how do you know that? - -_Pry._ I asked the butcher. I say, Simon, is it for roasting or boiling? - -_Simon._ Half and half, with the chill taken off. There’s your answer. -(_Exit SIMON, R._) - -_Pry._ That’s an uncommon ill-behaved servant! Well, since you say you -are busy, I won’t interrupt you; only, as I was passing, I thought I -might as well drop in. - -_Doub._ Then you may now drop out again. The railway ’bus will be in -presently, and— - -_Pry._ No passengers by it to-day, for I have been to the hill to look -for it. - -_Doub._ Did you expect any one by it, that you were so anxious? - -_Pry._ No; but I make it my business to see the coach come in every day. -I can’t bear to be idle. - -_Doub._ Useful occupation, truly! - -_Pry._ Always see it go out; have done so these ten years. - -_Doub._ (_Going up._) Tiresome blockhead! Well; good morning to you. - -_Pry._ Good-morning, Mr. Doubledot. Your tavern doesn’t appear to be very -full just now. - -_Doub._ No, no. - -_Pry._ Ha! you are at a heavy rent? (_Pauses for an answer after -each question._) I’ve often thought of that. No supporting such an -establishment without a deal of custom. If it’s not an impertinent -question, don’t you find it rather a hard matter to make both ends meet -when the first of the month comes round? - -_Doub._ If it isn’t asking an impertinent question, what’s that to you? - -_Pry._ O, nothing; only some folks have the luck of it: they have just -taken in a nobleman’s family at the opposition house, the Green Dragon. - -_Doub._ What’s that? A nobleman at the Green Dragon! - -_Pry._ Traveling carriage and four. Three servants on the dickey and an -outrider, all in blue liveries. They dine and stop all night. A pretty -bill there will be to-morrow, for the servants are not on board wages. - -_Doub._ Plague take the Green Dragon! How did you discover that they are -not on board wages? - -_Pry._ I was curious to know, and asked one of them. You know I never -miss any thing for want of asking. ’Tis no fault of mine that the nabob -is not here, at your house. - -_Doub._ Why, what had you to do with it? - -_Pry._ You know I never forget my friends. I stopped the carriage as it -was coming down the hill—brought it to a dead stop, and said that if his -lordship—I took him for a lord at once—that if his lordship intended to -make any stay, he couldn’t do better than to go to Doubledot’s. - -_Doub._ Well? - -_Pry._ Well,—would you believe it?—out pops a saffron-colored face from -the carriage window, and says, “You’re an impudent rascal for stopping -my carriage, and I’ll not go to Doubledot’s if there’s another inn to be -found within ten miles of it!” - -_Doub._ There, that comes of your confounded meddling! If you had not -interfered I should have stood an equal chance with the Green Dragon. - -_Pry._ I’m very sorry; but I did it for the best. - -_Doub._ Did it for the best, indeed! Deuce take you! By your officious -attempts to serve, you do more mischief in the neighborhood than the -exciseman, the apothecary, and the attorney, all together. - -_Pry._ Well, there’s gratitude! Now, really, I must go. Good-morning. -(_Exit PAUL PRY._) - -_Doub._ I’m rid of him at last, thank fortune! (_PRY re-enters._) Well, -what now? - -_Pry._ I’ve dropped one of my gloves. Now, that’s very odd—here it is in -my hand all the time! - -_Doub._ Go to confusion! (_Exit._) - -_Pry._ Come, that’s civil! If I were the least of a bore, now, it -would be pardonable—But—Hullo! There’s the postman! I wonder whether -the Parkins’s have got letters again to-day. They have had letters -every day this week, and I can’t for the life of me think what they -can—(_Feels hastily in his pockets._) By the way, talking of letters, -here’s one I took from the postman last week for the colonel’s -daughter, Miss Eliza, and I have always forgotten to give it to her. -I dare say it is not of much importance. (_Peeps into it—reads._) -“Likely—unexpected—affectionate.” I can’t make it out. No matter; I’ll -contrive to take it to the house—though I’ve a deal to do to-day. (_Runs -off and returns._) Dear me! I had like to have gone without my umbrella. - -[CURTAIN.] - - JOHN POOLE. - -[5] _L._ signifies _left_; _R._, _right_, and _C._, _centre_ of stage. - - -SPARTACUS AND JOVIUS. - -_Enter SPARTACUS, L.,[6] JOVIUS, R._ - - _Spartacus._ Speak, Roman! wherefore does thy master send - Thy gray hairs to the “cut throat’s” camp? - - _Jovius._ Brave rebel— - - _Spart._ Why, that’s a better name than rogue or bondman; - But in this camp I am called _General_. - - _Jov._ Brave General,—for, though a rogue and bondman, - As you have said, I’ll still allow you General, - As he that beats a consul surely is. - - _Spart._ Say two—two consuls; and to that e’en add - A proconsul, three prætors, and some generals. - - _Jov._ Why, this is no more than true. Are you a Thracian? - - _Spart._ Ay. - - _Jov._ There is something in the air of Thrace - Breeds valor up as rank as grass. ’Tis pity. - You are a barbarian. - - _Spart._ Wherefore? - - _Jov._ Had you been born - A Roman, you had won by this a triumph. - - _Spart._ I thank the gods I am barbarian; - For I can better teach the grace-begot - And heaven-supported masters of the earth - How a mere dweller of a desert rock - Can bow their crowned heads to his chariot-wheels, - Their regal necks to be his stepping-blocks. - But come, what is thy message? - - _Jov._ Julia, niece - Of the prætor, is thy captive. - - _Spart._ Ay. - - _Jov._ For whom - Is offered in exchange thy wife, Senona, - And thy young boy. - - _Spart._ Tell thou the prætor, Roman, - The Thracian’s wife is ransomed. - - _Jov._ How is that? - - _Spart._ Ransomed, and by the steel, from out the camp - Of slaughtered Gellius! (_Pointing off._) Behold them, Roman! - - _Jov._ (_Looking as SPART. points._) This is sorcery! - But name a ransom for the general’s niece. - - _Spart._ Have I not now the prætor on the hip? - He would, in his extremity, have made - My wife his buckler of defence; perhaps - Have doomed her to the scourge! But this is Roman. - Now the barbarian is instructed. Look! - I hold the prætor by the heart; and he - Shall feel how tightly grip barbarian fingers. - - _Jov._ Men do not war on women. Name her ransom. - - _Spart._ Men do not war on women! Look you: - One day I climbed up to the ridgy top - Of the cloud-piercing Hæmus, where, among - The eagles and the thunders, from that height, - I looked upon the world, as far as where, - Wrestling with storms, the gloomy Euxine chafed - On his recoiling shores; and where dim Adria - In her blue bosom quenched the fiery sphere. - Between those surges lay a land, might once - Have matched Elysium; but Rome had made it - A Tartarus. In my green youth I looked - From the same frosty peak where now I stood, - And then beheld the _glory_ of those lands, - Where Peace was tinkling on the shepherd’s bell - And singing with the reapers. - Since that glad day, Rome’s conquerors had passed - With withering armies there, and all was changed. - Peace had departed; howling War was there, - Cheered on by Roman hunters. Then, methought - E’en as I looked upon the altered scene, - Groans echoed through the valleys, through which ran - Rivers of blood, like smoking Phlegethons; - Fires flashed from burning villages, and Famine - Shrieked in the empty cornfields! Women and children, - Robbed of their sires and husbands, left to starve— - These were the dwellers of the land! Say’st thou - Rome wars not, then, on women? - - _Jov._ This is not to the matter. - - _Spart._ Now, by Jove, - It is! These things do Romans. But the earth - Is sick of conquerors. There is not a man, - Not Roman, but is Rome’s extremest foe: - And such am I; sworn from that hour I saw - Those sights of horror, while the gods support me, - To wreak on Rome such havoc as Rome wreaks, - Carnage and devastation, woe and ruin. - Why should I ransom, when I swear to slay? - Begone! This is my answer! - - BIRD. - -[6] _L._ signifies _left_; _R._, _right_, and _C._, _centre_ of stage - - -THE RESOLVE OF REGULUS.—_Sargent._ - - (Regulus, a Roman consul, having been defeated in battle and - taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, was detained in captivity - five years, and then sent on an embassy to Rome to solicit peace, - under a promise that he would return to Carthage if the proposals - were rejected. These, it was thought, he would urge in order - to obtain his own liberty; but he urged contrary and patriotic - measures on his countrymen; and then, having carried his point, - resisted the persuasions of his friends to remain in Rome, and - returned to Carthage, where a martyr’s death awaited him. Some - writers say that he was thrust into a cask covered over on the - inside with iron spikes, and thus rolled down hill. The following - scene presents Regulus just as he has made known to his friends - in Rome his resolution to return to Carthage.) - -_Enter REGULUS, followed by SERTORIUS._ - - _Sertorius._ Stay, Roman, in pity!—if not for thy life, - For the sake of thy country, thy children, thy wife. - Sent, not to urge war, but to lead Rome to peace, - Thy captors of Carthage vouchsafed thee release. - Thou return’st to encounter their anger, their rage;— - No mercy expect for thy fame or thy age! - - _Regulus._ To my captors one pledge, and one only, I gave: - To RETURN, though it were to walk into my grave! - No hope I extended, no promise I made, - Rome’s Senate and people from war to dissuade. - If the vengeance of Carthage be stored for me now, - I have reaped no dishonor, have broken no vow. - - _Sert._ They released thee, but dreamed not that thou wouldst fulfil - A part that would leave thee a prisoner still; - They hoped thy own danger would lead thee to sway - The councils of Rome a far different way; - Would induce thee to urge the conditions they crave, - If only thy freedom, thy life-blood, to save. - Thought shudders, the torment and woe to depict - Thy merciless foes have the heart to inflict! - Remain with us, Regulus! do not go back! - No hope sheds its ray on thy death-pointing track! - Keep faith with the faithless? The gods will forgive - The balking of such. O, live, Regulus, live! - - _Reg._ With the consciousness fixed in the core of my heart, - That I had been playing the perjurer’s part? - With the stain ever glaring, the thought ever nigh, - That I owe the base breath I inhale to a lie? - O, never! Let Carthage infract every oath, - Be false to her word and humanity both, - Yet never will I in her infamy share, - Or turn for a refuge to guilt from despair! - - _Sert._ O, think of the kindred and friends who await - To fall on thy neck, and withhold thee from fate; - O, think of the widow, the orphans to be, - And let thy compassion plead softly with me. - - _Reg._ O, my friend, thou canst soften, but canst not subdue; - To the faith of my soul I must ever be true. - If my honor I cheapen, my conscience discrown, - All the graces of life to the dust are brought down; - All creation to me is a chaos once more— - No heaven to hope for, no God to adore! - And the love that I feel for wife, children, and friend, - Has lost all its beauty, and thwarted its end. - - _Sert._ Let thy country determine. - - _Reg._ My country? Her will, - Were I free to obey, would be paramount still. - I go to my doom for my country alone; - My life is my country’s; my honor, my own! - - _Sert._ O, Regulus! think of the pangs in reserve! - - _Reg._ What menace should make me from probity swerve? - - _Sert._ Refinements of pain will these miscreants find - To daunt and disable the loftiest mind. - - _Reg._ And ’tis to a Roman thy fears are addressed! - - _Sert._ Forgive me. I know thy unterrified breast. - - _Reg._ Thou know’st me but human—as weak to sustain - As thyself, or another, the searchings of pain. - This flesh may recoil, and the anguish they wreak - Chase the strength from my knees, and the hue from my cheek; - But the body alone they can vanquish and kill; - The spirit immortal shall smile at them still. - Then let them make ready their engines of dread, - Their spike-bristling cask, and their torturing bed; - Still Regulus, heaving no recreant breath, - Shall greet as a friend the deliverer, Death! - Their cunning in torture and taunt shall defy, - And hold it in joy for his country to die. - - -HOW THE MONEY GOES. - - (A temperance play.) - - CHARACTERS.—_MAN, about thirty-five years old; his WIFE; NELLIE, - his daughter, ten years old; FRIEND, man about husband’s age, - dressed in a man-of-the-world style; A. and B., two young men, - dressed as business men, should appear about thirty years of age._ - - -SCENE I. (_MR. L. and his wife on the stage; MR. L. dressed for his work, -and about to go._) - -_Mrs. L._ Albert, I wish you would give me seventy-five cents. - -_Mr. L._ What do you want seventy-five cents for? - -_Mrs. L._ I want to get some braid for my new dress. - -_Mr. L._ I thought you had material enough on hand for that. - -_Mrs. L._ So I thought I had; but it looks rather plain with no trimming -at all. You know I was intending to trim it with that fringe; but it -looks too gray, come to try it by the side of the dress. - -_Mr. L._ Haven’t you something else that will do? - -_Mrs. L._ No. But, then, braid is cheap; and I can make it look quite -pretty with seventy-five cents. - -_Mr. L._ Plague take these women’s fashions. Your endless trimmings and -thing-a-ma-jigs cost more than the dress is worth. It is nothing but -shell out money when a woman thinks of a new dress. - -_Mrs. L._ I don’t have many new dresses. I do certainly try to be as -economical as I can. - -_Mr. L._ It is funny kind of economy, at all events. But if you must have -it, I suppose you must. - -(_Takes out his purse, and counts out carefully seventy-five cents, and -puts his purse away, angrily. He starts to go; but when at the door, he -thinks he will take his umbrella, and goes back for it. Finds his wife in -tears, which she tries hastily to conceal._) - -_Mr. L._ Good gracious! Kate, I should like to know if you are crying at -what I said about the dress. - -_Mrs. L._ I was not crying at what you said, but you were so reluctant to -grant the small favor! I was thinking how hard I have to work. I am tied -to the house. I have many little things to perplex me. Then to think— - -_Mr. L._ Pshaw! What do you want to be foolish for. (_Exit._) - -(_In the hall he was met by his little girl_, LIZZIE.) - -_Lizzie_ (_holding both his hands_). O, papa, give me fifteen cents. - -_Mr. L._ What? - -_Lizzie._ I want fifteen cents. _Please_ give me fifteen cents. - -_Mr. L._ What in the world do you want it for? Are they changing books -again? - -_Lizzie._ No. I want a hoop. It’s splendid rolling; and all the girls -have one. Mr. Grant has some real nice ones to sell. _Please_, can’t I -have one? - -_Mr. L._ Nonsense! If you want a hoop, go and get one off some old -barrel. I can’t afford to buy hoops for you to trundle about the streets. -(_Throws her off._) - -_Lizzie_ (_in a pleading tone_). Please, papa? - -_Mr. L._ No, I told you! - -(_She bursts into tears, and he goes off muttering, “Cry, then, and cry -it out.”_) - - -SCENE II. (_ALBERT enters, his wife entering on the opposite side. She -kisses him as a greeting._) - -_Mrs. L._ I am glad you are home thus early. How has business gone to-day? - -_Mr. L._ Well, I am happy to say. - -_Mrs. L._ Are you very tired? - -_Mr. L._ No; why? - -_Mrs. L._ I want you to go to the sewing circle to-night. - -_Mr. L._ I can’t go; I have an engagement. - -_Mrs. L._ I am sorry. You never go with me now. You used to go a great -deal. - -(_Just then LIZZIE comes in crying, dragging an old hoop, and rubbing her -eyes._) - -_Mr. L._ What is the matter with you, darling? - -_Lizzie._ The girls have been laughing at me, and making fun of my hoop. -They say mine is ugly and homely. - -_Mr. L._ Never mind; perhaps we’ll have a new one some time. - -_Lizzie._ Mayn’t I have one now? Mr. Grant has one left—a real pretty one. - -_Mr. L._ Not now, Lizzie; not now. I’ll think of it. - -(_LIZZIE goes out crying, followed by her mother. A friend of MR. L. -enters._) - -_Friend._ Hello, Albert! What’s up? - -_Mr. L._ Nothing in particular. Take a chair. - -_Friend._ How’s business? - -_Mr. L._ Good. - -_Friend._ Did you go to the club last night? - -_Mr. L._ Don’t speak so loud! - -_Friend._ Ha! wife don’t know—does she? Where does she think you go? - -_Mr. L._ I don’t know. She never asks me, and I am glad of it. She asked -me to go with her to-night, and I told her I was engaged. - -_Friend._ Good! I shan’t ask you where, but take it for granted that it -was with me. What do you say for a game of billiards? - -_Mr. L._ Good! I’m in for that. (_They rise to go._) Have a cigar, Tom? - -_Friend._ Yes. (_They go out._) - - -SCENE III. (_Two men in conversation as they come upon the stage._) - -_B._ Billiards? No, I never play billiards. - -_A._ Why not? - -_B._ I don’t like its tendency. - -_A._ It is only a healthy pastime. I am sure it has no evil tendency. - -_B._ I cannot assert that the game in its most innocent form is, of -itself, an evil, to be sure. But, although it has the advantage of -calling forth skill and judgment, yet it is evil when it excites and -stimulates beyond the bounds of healthy recreation. - -_A._ That result can scarcely follow such a game. - -_B._ You are wrong there. The result can follow in two ways. First, it -can lead men away from their business. Secondly, it leads those to spend -money who have none to spend. Look at that young man just passing. He -looks like a mechanic; and I should judge from his appearance that he has -a family. I see by his face that he is kind and generous, and wants to do -as near right as he can. I have watched him in the billiard saloon time -after time, and only last night I saw him pay one dollar and forty cents -for two hours’ recreation. He did it cheerfully, too, and smiled at his -loss. But how do you suppose it is at home? Suppose his wife had asked -him for a dollar or two for some household ornament, or his child, if he -has one, for a picture-book or toy, what do you suppose he would have -answered? This is not conjecture; for you and I both know plenty of such -cases. - -_A._ Upon my word, B., you speak to the point; for I know that young man, -and what you have said is true. I can furnish you with facts. We have a -club for a literary paper in our village, and last year he was one of the -subscribers. This year he was obliged to discontinue. His wife was very -anxious to take it; but he said he could not afford the $1.25 for it. -And his little Lizzie, ten years old, has coaxed her father for fifteen -cents, for a hoop, in vain. My Nellie told me that. - -_B._ Yes; and that two hours’ recreation last night, would have paid for -both. It is well for wives and children that they do not know where all -the money goes. - - -THE SALUTATORIAN’S DIFFICULTIES. - -CHARACTERS. - - FRANK CLAYTON. - HARRY THOMPSON. - TOMMY WATKINS. - SAMMY LONG. - JOHNNY WILSON. - WILLIE BROWN. - -SCENE.—_A stage. Curtain rises, and FRANK CLAYTON comes forward and -speaks._ - -_Frank._ Ladies and gentlemen: Our performances are now about to -commence. We have spent some time in preparing for this exhibition, -and we hope you will be pleased with all the performances that may be -given. You well know that we have not had much practice in giving school -exhibitions, and if you see any errors, we hope you will kindly forgive -and overlook. We will endeavor to give our recitations correctly, and act -our parts truthfully, and we ask you to—and we ask you to—and—and—and we -ask that—that— - -(_Enter HARRY THOMPSON. He comes in front of FRANK and commences to -speak._) - - “Did you ever hear of Jehosophat Boggs, - A dealer and raiser of all sorts of dogs? - No? Then I’ll endeavor in doggerel verse - To just the main points of the story rehearse. - Boggs had a good wife—” - -_Frank._ (_Speaking in a loud whisper._) Harry, what did you come out -here for? I’m not through with the introductory speech yet. - -_Harry._ (_Turns half way round, puts his hand to his mouth, as if to -keep the audience from hearing, and speaks in a loud whisper._) I know -you weren’t through, but you stuck, and I thought I had better come on. -You know my recitation is second on the programme, and I didn’t want to -have a bungle right at the commencement of the exhibition. - -_Frank._ Go back to your place, you little rascal, and don’t interrupt me -again. I’m going to speak my piece. - -_Harry._ (_With his hand up to hide his mouth as before._) Oh, you’re -stuck and you’d better retire. (_Turns to audience and continues to speak -his piece._) - - “Boggs had a good wife, the joy of his life, - There was nothing between them inclining to strife. - Except her dear J.’s dogmatic employment; - And that, she averred, did mar her enjoyment.” - -_Frank._ (_Whispering as before._) I say, Harry, get from before me and -let me speak my piece. - -_Harry._ (_Turns, puts up his hand, and whispers as before._) Oh, you -keep shady until I get through. (_Turns to audience and speaks._) - - “She often had begged him to sell off his dogs, - And instead to raise turkeys, spring chickens or hogs. - She made him half promise at no distant day - He would sell the whole lot, not excepting old Tray; - And as good luck would have it,—” - -_Frank._ (_Turning Harry by the collar and pulling him back._) I tell you -to get out of this until I have spoken my piece. - -_Harry._ I won’t. Let me alone, I say. You have stuck fast, and do you -want to spoil the exhibition? Didn’t you know enough to keep off the -stage until I had spoken my piece? - -_Frank._ (_Still holding him by the collar._) It is you that are spoiling -the exhibition. (_Leads him off the stage._) - -_Harry._ (_Speaking loudly as he goes out._) I call this an outrage. - -_Frank._ (_Returning to his place and commencing to speak._) Ladies and -gentlemen, my speech has been interrupted, and I will commence again. -Our performances are now about to commence. We have spent some time in -preparing for this exhibition, and we hope you will be pleased with -all the performances that may be given. You know that we have not had -much practice in giving school exhibitions, and if you see any errors, -we hope you will kindly forgive and overlook. We will endeavor to give -our recitations correctly, and act our parts truthfully, and we ask you -to—to—and we ask you to—and act our parts truthfully, and we ask you -to—and we ask you to—(_In a lower tone._) I’ve forgotten it again; isn’t -that too bad? (_Speaking as before._) And we ask you to—to—to— - -(_Enter TOMMY WATKINS. He comes in front of FRANK, and commences to speak -“The Ghost.”_) - - “’Tis about twenty years since Abel Law, - A short, round, favored merry - Old soldier of the Revolutionary War, - Was wedded to a most abominable shrew. - The temper, sir, of Shakespeare’s Catharine - Could no more be compared with hers - Than mine - With Lucifer’s.” - -_Frank._ (_In a loud whisper._) Tommy Watkins, get from before me. Don’t -you see I’m speaking? I don’t want to be interrupted—I want to finish my -speech. - -_Tommy._ (_Facing the audience and speaking in the same tone as when -reciting his speech._) Oh, you’d better quit! You’ve stuck twice now, and -if you don’t go off the stage the audience will become disgusted. - -_Sammy Long._ (_Seated in the audience._) The people are disgusted now -with that boy’s opening speech. He’d better go home, memorize it, and -speak it some time next year. - -_Tommy._ There! You hear what they say out there in the audience. They -are disgusted, and they think you had better leave the stage. - -_Frank._ Oh, that’s nobody but Sammy Long, and he is displeased because -we didn’t invite him to take part in the exhibition. - -_Tommy._ Well, I’ll go ahead and speak my piece while you are trying to -think up the words you have forgotten. - - Her eyes were like a weasel’s; she had a harsh - Face, like a cranberry marsh, - All spread with spots of white and red; - Hair of the color of a wisp of straw, - And a disposition like a cross-cut saw. - The appellation of this lovely dame - Was Nancy; don’t forget the name. - -_Frank._ Stop, Tommy; I can finish my speech now. - -_Tommy._ So can I. (_Continues his recitation._) - - His brother David was a tall, - Good-looking chap, and that was all, - One of your great big nothings, as they say - Out in Rhode Island, picking up old jokes, - And cracking them on other folks. - Well, David undertook one night to play - The Ghost, and frighten Abel, who, - He knew, - Would be returning from a journey through - A grove of forest wood - That stood - Below - The house some distance—half a mile or so. - - With a long taper - Cap of white paper, - Just made to cover - A wig, nearly as large over - As a corn-basket, and a sheet - With both ends made to meet - Across his breast - (The way in which ghosts are always dressed), - He took - His station near - A huge oak-tree, - Whence he could overlook - The road and see - Whatever might appear. - - It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel - Had left the table - Of an inn, where he had made a halt, - With horse and wagon, - To taste a flagon - Of malt - Liquor, and so forth, which, being done, - He went on, - Caring no more for twenty ghosts - Than if they had been so many posts. - - David was nearly tired of waiting; - His patience was abating; - At length, he heard the careless tones - Of his kinsman’s voice, - And then the noise - Of wagon-wheels among the stones. - Abel was quite elated, and was roaring - With all his might, and pouring - Out, in great confusion, - Scraps of old songs made in “the Revolution.” - - His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton; - And jovially he went on. - Scaring the whip-po’-wills among the trees - With rhymes like these: - - (_Sings. Air, “Yankee Doodle.”_) - - “See the Yankees - Leave the hill, - With baggernetts declining, - With lopped-down hats - And rusty guns, - And leather aprons shining.” - - “‘See the Yankees’—Whoa! Why, what is that?” - Said Abel, staring like a cat, - As, slowly, on the fearful figure strode - Into the middle of the road. - - “My conscience! what a suit of clothes! - Some crazy fellow, I suppose. - Hallo! friend, what’s your name? by the powers of gin, - That’s a strange dress to travel in.” - “Be silent, Abel; for I now have come - To read your doom; - Then hearken, while your fate I now declare. - I am a spirit—” “I suppose you are; - But you’ll not hurt me, and I’ll tell you why: - Here is a fact which you cannot deny;— - All spirits must be either good - Or bad—that’s understood— - And be you good or evil, I am sure - That I’m secure. - If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil— - And I don’t know but you may be the devil— - If that’s the case, you’ll recollect, I fancy, - That I am married to your sister Nancy!” - -(_Bows and turns to go off. To FRANK._) Now, Frank, you can go ahead -again until you come to the sticking place. I hope that, during the -time I have generously given you by speaking my piece, you have been -collecting your scattered senses, and will now be able to finish what you -began. (_Exit TOMMY._) - -_Frank._ Ladies and gentlemen, I am not at all pleased with this way -of doing business. I think these boys have not treated me with proper -respect. I was selected to give the opening or introductory address, and -you see how it has been done. - -_Sammy._ (_In the audience._) We didn’t see very much of it. Don’t you -think it would be well enough for you to retire and memorize your speech? - -_Frank._ You boys out there had better keep silent and not create a -disturbance. There is an officer in the house. - -(_Enter WILLIE BROWN. He comes before FRANK and commences to speak._) - -“’Twas night! The stars were shrouded in a veil of mist; a clouded canopy -o’erhung the world; the vivid lightnings flashed and shook their fiery -darts upon the earth—” - -_Frank._ (_Speaking out._) I say, Willie Brown, what did you come here -for? I haven’t finished the opening speech yet. - -_Willie._ What’s the use of having an opening speech now? The exhibition -is half over. (_Continues his speech._) - -“The deep-toned thunder rolled along the vaulted sky; the elements -were in wild commotion; the storm-spirit howled in the air; the winds -whistled; the hail-stones fell like leaden balls; the huge undulations -of the ocean dashed upon the rock-bound shore; and torrents leaped from -mountain tops; when the murderer sprang from his sleepless couch with -vengeance on his brow—murder in his heart—and the fell instrument of -destruction in his hand.” - -_Frank._ Stop, I say. What kind of an exhibition will this be without an -introductory speech? Stop, I say. We will be the laughing-stock of the -country if we don’t open our exhibition with an introductory speech. - -_Johnny._ (_In the audience._) Oh, nobody cares for the introductory -speech. Let the speech go and give us some dialogues and songs. - -_Willie._ No dialogues and songs until I have finished my speech. This -is my place on the programme. (_Continues his speech. FRANK comes and -stands near him and they both speak at the same time, WILLIE giving the -concluding portion of his speech and FRANK commencing at the first of -his Opening Speech and going as far as he had gone before. WILLIE should -finish just before FRANK commences to stammer._) - -“The storm increased; the lightnings flashed with brighter glare; the -thunder growled with deeper energy; the winds whistled with a wilder -fury; the confusion of the hour was congenial to his soul, and the stormy -passions which raged in his bosom. He clenched his weapon with a sterner -grasp. A demoniac smile gathered on his lip; he grated his teeth; raised -his arm; sprang with a yell of triumph upon his victim, and relentlessly -killed—a _mosquito_!” (_Bows and turns to go off. To FRANK._) Stuck -again, my boy? If we had waited for the opening speech we would not have -got our exhibition opened for a week or ten days. - -(_Exit WILLIE._) - -_Johnny._ (_In the audience._) Well, we haven’t had that introductory -speech yet, and I guess we are not going to get it. That was the -queerest kind of speech I ever heard. It began, and then balked, and -then kicked up, and then braced its feet in front, and finally stopped -altogether. I think we would have done better if we had started without -any introduction, just as grandpa said the other day he thought Parson -Goodwin ought to have begun his sermon at the conclusion and left out all -that went before it. - -_Frank._ (_Excitedly._) Hold on there! You say we don’t need any speech -and yet you are making a long one yourself. You said that I hitched like -a balky horse, but you have kicked up your heels and cantered off as if -somebody had touched off a pack of fire-crackers under you. - -(_Enter HARRY THOMPSON. He comes forward and speaks._) - - Our parts are performed and our speeches are ended, - We are monarchs and courtiers and heroes no more; - To a much humbler station again we’ve descended, - And are now but the school-boys you’ve known us before. - - Farewell then our greatness—’tis gone like a dream, - ’Tis gone—but remembrance will often retrace - The indulgent applause which rewarded each theme, - And the heart-cheering smiles that enlivened each face. - - We thank you! Our gratitude words cannot tell, - But deeply we feel it—to you it belongs; - With heartfelt emotion we bid you farewell, - And our feelings now thank you much more than our tongues. - - We will strive to improve, since applauses thus cheer us, - That our juvenile efforts may gain your kind looks; - And we hope to convince you, the next time you hear us, - That praise has but sharpened our relish for books. - -(_Bows and turns to go off._) I have spoken the valedictory, and the -exhibition is over. Ring down the curtain. - -_Frank._ (_Excitedly._) Stop! Hold! Don’t! I haven’t finished my speech -yet. - -_Johnny._ (_In the audience._) You’ve given us enough for the present. -You can finish it out next Christmas. - -_Harry._ Ring down the curtain. - -_Frank._ Stop! Don’t! Don’t! I want to speak my piece. (_A bell is rung -and the curtain falls._) - -_Frank._ (_Drawing the curtain aside and looking out._) Here’s a go! How -are we going to get along without an Opening Speech? (_Disappears._) - -[CURTAIN.] - - -PYGMALION AND GALATEA. - -CHARACTERS. - - PYGMALION, _an Athenian sculptor_. - GALATEA, _a statue_. - -COSTUMES. - - _GENTLEMAN, in the habit of a Greek artist. LADY, in - statuesque drapery or ordinary Greek costume._ - - (A noted Greek sculptor, Pygmalion, makes a most beautiful - statue of woman. Having attained perfection of form he longs to - breathe life into his work, and blames the gods that they have - limited his power. He stands on the stage, to the left, looking - thoughtfully up as if imploring the gods. While apparently - uttering his complaints, Galatea, coming to life, calls to him - from behind the curtain.) - - _Galatea_ (_from behind curtain, C._[7]). Pygmalion! - - _Pygmalion_ (_after a pause_). Who called? - - _Gal._ Pygmalion! - - (_PYGMALION tears away curtain and discovers GALATEA alive._) - - _Pyg._ Ye gods! It lives! - - _Gal._ Pygmalion. - - _Pyg._ It speaks! - I have my prayer! my Galatea breathes! - - _Gal._ Where am I? Let me speak, Pygmalion; - Give me thy hand—both hands—how soft and warm! - Whence came I? (_Descends._) - - _Pyg._ Why, from yonder pedestal. - - _Gal._ That pedestal! Ah, yes, I recollect, - There was a time when it was part of me. - - _Pyg._ That time has passed forever, thou art now - A living, breathing woman, excellent - In every attribute of womankind. - - _Gal._ Where am I, then? - - _Pyg._ Why, born into the world - By miracle. - - _Gal._ Is this the world? - - _Pyg._ It is. - - _Gal._ This room? - - _Pyg._ This room is a portion of a house; - The house stands in a grove; the grove itself - Is one of many, many hundred groves - In Athens. - - _Gal._ And is Athens, then, the world? - - _Pyg._ To an Athenian—yes— - - _Gal._ And I am one? - - _Pyg._ By birth and parentage, not by descent. - - _Gal._ But how came I to be? - - _Pyg._ Well, let me see - Oh! you were quarried in Pentelicus; - I modelled you in clay; my artisans - Then roughed you out in marble; I, in turn, - Brought my artistic skill to bear on you, - And made you what you are, in all but life. - The gods completed what I had begun, - And gave the only gift I could not give. - - _Gal._ Then this is life? - - _Pyg._ It is. - - _Gal._ And not long since - I was a cold, dull stone. I recollect - That by some means I knew that I was stone, - That was the first dull gleam of consciousness; - I became conscious of a chilly self, - A cold immovable identity. - I knew that I was stone, and knew no more; - Then by an imperceptible advance, - Came the dim evidence of outer things, - Seen, darkly and imperfectly, yet seen; - The walls surrounded me, and I alone. - That pedestal—that curtain—then a voice - That called on Galatea! At that word, - Which seemed to shake my marble to the core. - That which was dim before, came evident. - Sounds that had hummed around me, indistinct, - Vague, meaningless—seemed to resolve themselves - Into a language I could understand; - I felt my frame pervaded with a glow - That seemed to thaw my marble into flesh; - Its cold, hard substance throbbed with active life, - My limbs grew supple, and I moved—I lived! - Lived in the ecstasy of new born life; - Lived in the love of him that fashioned me; - Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope, - Love, gratitude, thoughts that resolved themselves - Into one word, that word, Pygmalion! - - (_Kneels to him._) - - _Pyg._ I have no words to tell thee of my joy, - O woman—perfect in thy loveliness. - - _Gal._ What is that word? Am I a woman? - - _Pyg._ Yes. - - _Gal._ Art thou a woman? - - _Pyg._ No, I am a man! - - _Gal._ What is a man? - - _Pyg._ A being strongly framed, - To wait on woman, and protect her from - All ills that strength and courage can avert; - To work and toil for her, that she may rest; - To weep and mourn for her, that she may laugh; - To fight and die for her, that she may live! - - _Gal._ (_after a pause_). I’m glad I am a woman. - - (_Takes his hand—he leads her down, L._) - - _Pyg._ So am I. (_They sit._) - - _Gal._ That I escape the pains thou hast to bear? - - _Pyg._ That I may undergo those pains for thee. - - _Gal._ With whom wouldst thou fight? - - _Pyg._ With any man - Whose word or deed gave Galatea pain. - - _Gal._ Then there are other men in this strange world? - - _Pyg._ There are, indeed? - - _Gal._ And other women? - - _Pyg._ (_taken aback_). Yes; - Though for the moment I’d forgotten it! - Yes, other women. - - _Gal._ And for all of these - Men work, and toil, and mourn, and weep, and fight? - - _Pyg._ It is man’s duty, if he’s called upon, - To fight for all—he works for those he loves. - - _Gal._ Then by thy works I know thou lovest me? - - _Pyg._ Indeed, I love thee. (_Embraces her._) - - _Gal._ What kind of love? - - _Pyg._ I love thee (_recollecting himself and releasing her_) - as a sculptor loves his work! - (_Aside._) There is diplomacy in that reply. - - _Gal._ My love is different in kind to thine: - I am no sculptor, and I’ve done no work, - Yet I do love thee; say—what love is mine? - - _Pyg._ Tell me its symptoms, then I’ll answer thee. - - _Gal._ Its symptoms? Let me call them as they come. - A sense that I am made by thee for thee. - That I’ve no will that is not wholly thine, - That I’ve no thought, no hope, no enterprise, - That does not own thee as its sovereign; - That I have life that I may live for thee, - That I am thine—that thou and I are one! - What kind of love is that? - - _Pyg._ A kind of love - That I shall run some risk in dealing with. - - _Gal._ And why, Pygmalion? - - _Pyg._ Such love as thine - A man may not receive, except, indeed, - From one who is, or is to be, his wife. - - _Gal._ Then I will be thy wife. - - _Pyg._ That may not be; - I have a wife—the gods allow but one. - - _Gal._ Why did the gods then send me here to thee? - - _Pyg._ I cannot say—unless to punish me (_Rises._) - For unreflecting and presumptuous prayer! - I pray’d that thou shouldst live. I have my prayer, - And now I see the fearful consequence - That must attend it! - - _Gal._ Yet thou lovest me? (_Rises._) - - _Pyg._ Who could look on that face and stifle love? - - _Gal._ Then I am beautiful? - - _Pyg._ Indeed thou art. - - _Gal._ I wish that I could look upon myself, - But that’s impossible. - - _Pyg._ Not so, indeed, (_Crosses, R._) - This mirror will reflect thy face. Behold! - - (_Hands her a mirror from table, R. C._) - - _Gal._ How beautiful! I am very glad to know - That both our tastes agree so perfectly; - Why, my Pygmalion, I did not think - That aught could be more beautiful than thou, - Till I behold myself. Believe me, love, - I could look in this mirror all day long. - So I’m a woman. - - _Pyg._ There’s no doubt of that! - - _Gal._ Oh! happy maid, to be so passing fair! - And happier still Pygmalion, who can gaze - At will upon so beautiful a face! - - _Pyg._ Hush! Galatea—in thine innocence - - (_Taking glass from her._) - - Thou sayest things that others would reprove. - - _Gal._ Indeed, Pygmalion; then it is wrong - To think that one is exquisitely fair? - - _Pyg._ Well, Galatea, it’s a sentiment - That every other woman shares with thee; - They think it—but they keep it to themselves. - - _Gal._ And is thy wife as beautiful as I? - - _Pyg._ No, Galatea; for in forming thee - I took her features—lovely in themselves— - And in marble made them lovelier still. - - _Gal._ (_disappointed_). Oh! then I am not original? - - _Pyg._ Well—no— - That is, thou hast indeed a prototype, - But though in stone thou didst resemble her, - In life, the difference is manifest. - - _Gal._ I’m very glad that I am lovelier than she. - And am I better? (_Sits, L._) - - _Pyg._ That I do not know. - - _Gal._ Then she has faults. - - _Pyg._ Very few, indeed; - Mere trivial blemishes, that serve to show - That she and I are of one common kin. - I love her all the better for such faults. - - _Gal._ (_after a pause_). Tell me some faults and I’ll commit them now. - - _Pyg._ There is no hurry; they will come in time: (_Sits beside her, L._) - Though for that matter, it’s a grievous sin - To sit as lovingly as we sit now. - - _Gal._ Is sin so pleasant? If to sit and talk - As we are sitting, be indeed a sin, - Why I could sin all day. But tell me, love, - Is this great fault that I’m committing now, - The kind of fault that only serves to show - That thou and I are of one common kin? - - _Pyg._ Indeed, I am very much afraid it is. - - _Gal._ And dost thou love me better for such fault? - - _Pyg._ Where is the mortal that could answer “no?” - - _Gal._ Why then I’m satisfied, Pygmalion; - Thy wife and I can start on equal terms. - She loves thee? - - _Pyg._ Very much. - - _Gal._ I’m glad of that. - I like thy wife. - - _Pyg._ And why? - - _Gal._ (_surprised at the question_). Our tastes agree - We love Pygmalion well, and what is more, - Pygmalion loves us both. I like thy wife; - I’m sure we shall agree. - - _Pyg._ (_aside_). I doubt it much. - - _Gal._ Is she within? - - _Pyg._ No, she is not within. - - _Gal._ But she’ll come back? - - _Pyg._ Oh! yes, she will come back. - - _Gal._ How pleased she’ll be to know when she returns, - That there was someone here to fill her place. - - _Pyg._ (_dryly_). Yes, I should say she’d be extremely pleased. - (_Rises._) - - _Gal._ Why, there is something in thy voice which says - That thou art jesting. Is it possible - To say one thing and mean another? - - _Pyg._ Yes, - It’s sometimes done. - - _Gal._ How very wonderful! - So clever! - - _Pyg._ And so very useful. - - _Gal._ Yes. - Teach me the art. - - _Pyg._ The art will come in time. - My wife will not be pleased; there—that’s the truth. - - _Gal._, I do not think that I shall like thy wife. - Tell me more of her. - - _Pyg._ Well— - - _Gal._ What did she say - When she last left thee? - - _Pyg._ Humph! Well, let me see: - Oh! true, she gave thee to me as my wife— - Her solitary representative; - (_Tenderly_) She feared I should be lonely till she came, - And counselled me, if thoughts of love should come, - To speak those thoughts to thee, as I am wont - To speak to her. - - _Gal._ That’s right. - - _Pyg._ (_releasing her_). But when she spoke - Thou wast a stone, now thou art flesh and blood, - Which makes a difference. - - _Gal._ It’s a strange world; - A woman loves her husband very much, - And cannot brook that I should love him too; - She fears he will be lonely till she comes, - And will not let me cheer his loneliness: - She bids him breathe his love to senseless stone, - And when that stone is brought to life—be dumb! - It’s a strange world, I cannot fathom it. - - (_Crosses, R._) - - _Pyg._ (_aside_). Let me be brave, and put an end to this. - (_Aloud._) Come, Galatea—till my wife returns, - My sister shall provide thee with a home; - Her house is close at hand. - - _Gal._ (_astonished and alarmed_). Send me not hence, - Pygmalion—let me stay. - - _Pyg._ It may not be. - Come, Galatea, we shall meet again. - - _Gal._ (_resignedly_). Do with me as thou wilt, Pygmalion! - But we shall meet again?—and very soon? - - _Pyg._ Yes, very soon. - - _Gal._ And when thy wife returns, - She’ll let me stay with thee? - - _Pyg._ I do not know. - (_Aside._) Why should I hide the truth from her? - (_Aloud._) Alas! - I may not see thee then. - - _Gal._ Pygmalion, - What fearful words are these? - - _Pyg._ The bitter truth. - I may not love thee; I must send thee hence. - - _Gal._ Recall those words, Pygmalion, my love! - Was it for this that Heaven gave me life? - Pygmalion, have mercy on me; see - I am thy work, thou hast created me; - The gods have sent me to thee. I am thine, - Thine! only and unalterably thine! (_Music._) - This is the thought with which my soul is charged. - Thou tellest me of one who claims thy love, - That thou hast love for her alone! Alas! - I do not know these things; I only know - That Heaven has sent me here to be with thee. - Thou tellest me of duty to thy wife, - Of vows that thou wilt love but her; alas! - I do not know these things; I only know - That Heaven, who sent me here, has given me - One all-absorbing duty to discharge— - To love thee, and to make thee love again! - -(_During this speech Pygmalion has shown symptoms of irresolution; at its -conclusion he takes her in his arms and embraces her passionately._) - - W. S. GILBERT. - -[7] _C._ indicates _centre_; _R._, _right_, and _L._, _left_ of stage. - - -QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. - - (A dialogue for two men. From Act IV. of _Julius Cæsar_. Before - rendering the dialogue it is presumed that the participants will - read the whole play from a volume of Shakespeare, and familiarize - themselves with the spirit of the selection. The interest will - be enhanced by the use of proper costumes. Where these cannot - be hired—as they generally may in cities and large towns—they - may be easily improvised by observing the simple Roman dress as - illustrated in historical works.) - -(_Curtain rises, revealing BRUTUS and CASSIUS in heated conversation on -the stage._) - - _Cassius._ That you have wronged me doth appear in this; - You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella - For taking bribes here of Sardinians; - Wherein my letters (praying on his side - Because I knew the man) were slighted of. - - _Brutus._ You wronged yourself, to write in such a case. - - _Cas._ At such a time as this, it is not meet - That every nice offence should bear its comment. - - _Bru._ Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself - Are much condemned to have an itching palm; - To sell and mart your offices for gold, - To undeservers. - - _Cas._ I an itching palm? - You know that you are Brutus that speak this, - Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last! - - _Bru._ The name of Cassius honors this corruption, - And chastisement doth therefore hide its head. - - _Cas._ Chastisement! - - _Bru._ Remember March, the ides of March remember! - Did not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake? - What villain touched his body, that did stab, - And not for justice?—What! shall one of us, - That struck the foremost man of all this world, - But for supporting robbers,—shall we now - Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, - And sell the mighty space of our large honors - For so much trash as may be grasped thus?— - I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, - Than such a Roman! - - _Cas._ Brutus, bay not me! - I’ll not endure it. You forget yourself - To hedge me in: I am a soldier, I, - Older in practice, abler than yourself - To make conditions. - - _Bru._ Go to! you’re not Cassius! - - _Cas._ I am. - - _Bru._ I say you are not. - - _Cas._ Urge me no more: I shall forget myself: - Have mind upon your health: tempt me no further! - - _Bru._ Away, slight man! - - _Cas._ Is’t possible? - - _Bru._ Hear me, for I will speak. - Must I give way and room to your rash choler? - Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? - - _Cas._ Must I endure all this? - - _Bru._ All this? Ay, more! Fret till your proud heart break! - Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, - And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? - Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch - Under your testy humor? - You shall digest the venom of your spleen, - Though it do split you; for, from this day forth, - I’ll use you for my mirth,—yea, for my laughter,— - When you are waspish. - - _Cas._ Is it come to this? - - _Bru._ You say you are a better soldier, - Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, - And it shall please me well. For mine own part, - I shall be glad to learn of noble men. - - _Cas._ You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus: - I said an elder soldier, not a better. - Did I say better? - - _Bru._ If you did, I care not. - - _Cas._ When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. - - _Bru._ Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him. - - _Cas._ I durst not? - - _Bru._ No. - - _Cas._ What! durst not tempt him? - - _Bru._ For your life you durst not. - - _Cas._ Do not presume too much upon my love; - I may do that I shall be sorry for. - - _Bru._ You have done that you should be sorry for. - There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats; - For I am armed so strong in honesty, - That they pass by me as the idle wind, - Which I respect not. I did send to you - For certain sums of gold, which you denied me;— - For I can raise no money by vile means: - I had rather coin my heart, - And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring - From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash - By any indirection. I did send - To you for gold to pay my legions; - Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius? - Should I have answered Caius Cassius so? - When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, - To lock such rascal counters from his friends, - Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, - Dash him to pieces! - - _Cas._ I denied you not. - - _Bru._ You did. - - _Cas._ I did not: he was but a fool - That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart, - A friend should bear a friend’s infirmities; - But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. - - _Bru._ I do not, till you practice them on me. - - _Cas._ You love me not. - - _Bru._ I do not like your faults. - - _Cas._ A friendly eye could never see such faults. - - _Bru._ A flatterer’s would not, though they do appear - As huge as high Olympus. - - _Cas._ Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come! - Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius; - For Cassius is a-weary of the world— - Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; - Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed, - Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, - To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep - My spirit from my eyes!—There is my dagger, - And here my naked breast; within, a heart - Dearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold; - If that thou be’st a Roman, take it forth: - I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: - Strike as thou didst at Cæsar; for I know, - When thou didst hate him worse, thou lovedst him better - Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. - - _Bru._ Sheathe your dagger: - Be angry when you will, it shall have scope: - Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. - O, Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, - That carries anger as the flint bears fire; - Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, - And straight is cold again. - - _Cas._ Hath Cassius lived - To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, - When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him? - - _Bru._ When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too. - - _Cas._ Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. - - _Bru._ And my heart, too.— - - _Cas._ O, Brutus! - - _Bru._ What’s the matter? - - _Cas._ Have you not love enough to bear with me, - When that rash humor which my mother gave me - Makes me forgetful? - - _Bru._ Yes, Cassius; and, henceforth, - When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, - He’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so. - -[CURTAIN.] - - SHAKESPEARE. - - -_TABLEAU._—FRIENDSHIP RESTORED. - -_Curtain rises, revealing BRUTUS and CASSIUS with one hand laid upon the -other’s shoulder, while the right hands firmly clasp. On the face of each -beams the light of noble love and manly friendship, showing their mutual -joy. The bearing should be dignified and manly._ - - -SCENE BETWEEN HAMLET AND THE QUEEN. - - (Dialogue for elderly lady and young man. From Act III. of the - tragedy of _Hamlet_. The part of HAMLET is a very difficult one - to play, and should be thoroughly studied. The whole tragedy - should be read from Shakespeare, any illustrated volume of which - will suggest appropriate costume. The GHOST may be impersonated - by a voice, unless a suitable costume and staging are available.) - -(_Curtain rises and reveals HAMLET approaching his MOTHER, who may be -seated and apparently in much distress._) - - _Hamlet._ Now, mother, what’s the matter? - - _Queen._ Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. - - _Hamlet._ Mother, you have my father much offended. - - _Queen._ Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. - - _Hamlet._ Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. - - _Queen._ Why, how now, Hamlet! - - _Hamlet._ What’s the matter now? - - _Queen._ Have you forgot me? - - _Hamlet._ No, by the rood, not so. - You are the queen, your husband’s brother’s wife; - And—would it were not so—you are my mother. - - _Queen._ Nay, then, I’ll set those to you that can speak. - - _Hamlet._ Come, come, and sit you down you shall not budge: - You go not till I set you up a glass - Where you may see the inmost part of you. - - _Queen._ What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther me? - Help, help, ho! - - _Polonius_ (_behind_). What, ho! help, help, help! - - _Hamlet_ (_drawing_.) How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead! - - (_Makes a pass through the arras._) - - _Polonius_ (_behind_). O, I am slain! - - (_Falls and dies._) - - _Queen._ O me, what hast thou done? - - _Hamlet._ Nay, I know not; - Is it the king? - - _Queen._ O, what a rash and bloody deed is this! - - _Hamlet._ A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother, - As kill a king, and marry with his brother. - - _Queen._ As kill a king! - - _Hamlet._ Ay, lady, ’twas my word.— - - (_Lifts up the arras and discovers Polonius._) - - Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! - I took thee for thy better: - Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you down, - And let me wring your heart; for so I shall, - If it be made of penetrable stuff, - If damned custom have not braz’d it so - That it is proof and bulwark against sense. - - _Queen._ What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue - In noise so rude against me? - - _Hamlet._ Such an act - That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, - Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose - From the fair forehead of an innocent love - And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows - As false as dicers’ oaths; O, such a deed - As from the body of contraction plucks - The very soul, and sweet religion makes - A rhapsody of words: heaven’s face doth glow, - Yea, this sondity and compound mass, - With tristful visage, as against the doom, - Is thought-sick at the act. - - _Queen._ Ay me, what act, - That roars so loud and thunders in the index? - - _Hamlet._ Look here, upon this picture, and on this, - The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. - See what a grace was seated on this brow; - Hyperion’s curls; the front of Jove himself; - An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; - A station like the herald Mercury - New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; - A combination and a form indeed, - Where every god did seem to set his seal, - To give the world assurance of a man. - This was your husband. Look you now, what follows: - Here is your husband; like a mildew’d ear. - Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? - Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, - And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? - You cannot call it love, for at your age - The hey-day in the blood is tame, it’s humble, - And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment - Would step from this to this? - O shame! where is thy blush? - - _Queen._ O Hamlet, speak no more; - Thou turns’t mine eyes into my very soul, - And there I see such black and grained spots - As will not leave their tinct. - O, speak to me no more; - These words like daggers enter in mine ears; - No more, sweet Hamlet! - - _Hamlet._ A murtherer and a villain; - A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe - Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings; - A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, - That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, - And put it in his pocket! - - _Queen._ No more! - - _Hamlet._ A king of shreds and patches,— - - (_Enter GHOST._) - - Save me, and hover o’er me with your wings, - You heavenly guards!—What would your gracious figure? - - _Queen._ Alas! he’s mad! - - _Hamlet._ Do you not come your tardy son to chide, - That, laps’d in time and passion, lets go by - The important acting of your dread command? - O, say! - - _Ghost._ Do not forget. This visitation - Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. - But, look, amazement on thy mother sits - O, step between her and her fighting soul: - Speak to her, Hamlet. - - _Hamlet._ How is it with you, lady? - - _Queen._ Alas, how is’t with you, - That you do bend your eye on vacancy - And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? - O gentle son, - Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper - Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? - - _Hamlet._ On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares! - His form and cause conjoin’d, preaching to stones, - Would make them capable. Do not look upon me; - Lest with this piteous action you convert - My stern effects; then what I have to do - Will want true color; tears perchance for blood. - - _Queen._ To whom do you speak this? - - _Hamlet._ Do you see nothing there? - - _Queen._ Nothing at all; yet all that is I see. - - _Hamlet._ Nor did you nothing hear? - - _Queen._ No, nothing but ourselves. - - _Hamlet._ Why, look you there! look, how it steals away! - My father, in his habit as he liv’d! - Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal. - - (_Exit GHOST._) - - _Queen._ This is the very coinage of your brain; - This bodiless creation ecstasy - Is very cunning in. - - _Hamlet._ Ecstasy! - My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, - And makes as healthful music: it is not madness - That I have utter’d; bring me to the test, - And I the matter will re-word, which madness - Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, - Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, - That not your trespass but my madness speaks; - It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, - Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, - Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; - Repent what’s past, avoid what is to come. - - _Queen._ O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain. - - _Hamlet._ O, throw away the worser part of it, - And live the purer with the other half. - For this same lord, (_Pointing to Polonius._) - I do repent; - I will bestow him, and will answer well - The death I gave him,—So, again, good-night. - I must be cruel, only to be kind; - Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. - -[CURTAIN.] - - SHAKESPEARE. - - -LOCHIEL’S WARNING. - - (This piece is frequently recited by one person, but is much more - effective in dialogue. LOCHIEL, a Highland chieftain, while on - his march to join the Pretender, is met by one of the Highland - seers, or prophets, who warns him to return, and not incur the - certain ruin and disaster which await the unfortunate prince and - his followers on the field of Culloden. When used as a dialogue, - a blast of trumpet is heard. The curtain being drawn, LOCHIEL - enters, attired in the Highland fighting costume, and following - him should appear in the doorway of the stage two or three armed - Scotch soldiers to give the idea of a large number behind them. - The SEER meets him from the other direction, dressed in flowing - robes, and with long white hair and beard, and, raising his hands - in the attitude of warning, speaks imploringly as follows:) - - _Seer._ - - Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day - When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array! - For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, - And the clans of Culloden are scattered in flight: - They rally, they bleed, for their country and crown,— - Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! - Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, - And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. - But, hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, - What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? - ’Tis thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await, - Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. - A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; - But its bridle is red with the sign of despair! - Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led! - O! weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead! - For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave— - Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave! - - _Lochiel._ - - Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! - Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, - Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, - This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright! - - _Seer._ - - Ha! laugh’st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? - Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! - Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, - From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the North? - Lo! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he rode - Companionless, bearing destruction abroad: - But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! - Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. - Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast - Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? - ’Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven - From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of Heaven. - O, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might, - Whose banners arise on the battlements’ height, - Heaven’s fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; - Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return! - For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, - And a wild mother scream o’er her famishing brood! - - _Lochiel._ - - False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshall’d my clan: - Their swords are a thousand; their bosoms are one: - They are true to the last of their blood, and their breath, - And like reapers, descend to the harvest of death. - Then welcome be Cumberland’s steed to the shock! - Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock! - But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, - When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; - When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, - Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud; - All plaided, and plum’d in their tartan array— - - _Seer._ - - Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day! - For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, - Yet man cannot cover what God would reveal: - ’Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, - And coming events cast their shadows before. - I tell thee, Culloden’s dread echoes shall ring - With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. - Lo! anointed by Heaven with vials of wrath, - Behold where he flies on his desolate path! - Now in darkness, and billows, he sweeps from my sight: - Rise! Rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! - ’Tis finish’d.—Their thunders are hush’d on the moors; - Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. - But where is the iron-bound prisoner! Where? - For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. - Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banish’d, forlorn, - Like a limb from his country, cast bleeding, and torn? - Ah! no; for a darker departure is near; - The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier; - His death-bell is tolling; oh! mercy, dispel - Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell! - Life flutters, convuls’d in his quivering limbs, - And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. - Accurs’d be the fagots that blaze at his feet, - Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat, - With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale— - - _Lochiel._ - - Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale, - For never shall Albin a destiny meet - So black with dishonor—so foul with retreat. - Tho’ his perishing ranks should be strow’d in their gore, - Like ocean-weeds heap’d on the surf-beaten shore, - Lochiel, untainted by flight, or by chains, - While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, - Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, - With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe! - And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, - Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. - - CAMPBELL. - -[CURTAIN.] - - -_TABLEAU._ - -_A very pretty tableau may be quickly formed behind the curtain, and at -the close of applause from the audience the curtain be raised, showing -LOCHIEL standing proud and imperious, his clan gathered around him, and -the old SEER upon his knees, head thrown back, with hands and face raised -imploringly._ - - -MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTLAND. - - (Adapted from Schiller, Scene II., Act III. Arranged for two - ladies and two gentlemen.) - -CHARACTERS: - - MARY, _Queen of Scotland_. - ELIZABETH, _Queen of England_. - ROBERT, _Earl of Leicester_. - TALBOT, _a friend of Mary_. - -COSTUMES. - - _Elizabethan age of England and Scotland._ - -_Enter MARY and TALBOT._ - -_Mary._ Talbot, Elizabeth will soon be here. I cannot see her. Preserve -me from this hateful interview. - -_Talbot._ Reflect a while. Recall thy courage. The moment is come upon -which everything depends. Incline thyself; submit to the necessity of the -moment. She is the stronger. Thou must bend before her. - -_Mary._ Before her? I cannot! - -_Tal._ Thou must do so. Speak to her humbly; invoke the greatness of her -generous heart; dwell not too much upon thy rights. But see first how she -bears herself towards thee. I myself did witness her emotion on reading -thy letter. The tears stood in her eyes. Her heart, ’tis sure, is not -a stranger to compassion; therefore place more confidence in her, and -prepare thyself for her reception. - -_Mary._ (_Taking his hand._) Thou wert ever my faithful friend. Oh, that -I had always remained beneath thy kind guardianship, Talbot! Their care -of me has indeed been harsh. Who attends her? - -_Tal._ Leicester. You need not fear him; the earl doth not seek thy fall. -Behold, the queen approaches. (_Retires._) - -_Enter ELIZABETH and LEICESTER._ - -_Mary._ (_Aside._) O heavens! Protect me! her features say she has no -heart! - -_Elizabeth._ (_To LEICESTER._) Who is this woman? (_Feigning surprise._) -Robert, who has dared to— - -_Lei._ Be not angry, queen, and since heaven has hither directed thee, -suffer pity to triumph in thy noble heart. - -_Tal._ (_Advancing._) Deign, royal lady, to cast a look of compassion on -the unhappy woman who prostrates herself at thy feet. - -[_MARY, having attempted to approach ELIZABETH, stops short, overcome by -repugnance, her gestures indicating internal struggle._] - -_Eliz._ (_Haughtily._) Sirs, which of you spoke of humility and -submission? I see nothing but a proud lady, whom misfortune has not -succeeded in subduing. - -_Mary._ (_Aside._) I will undergo even this last degree of ignominy. My -soul discards its noble but, alas! impotent pride. I will seek to forget -who I am, what I have suffered, and will humble myself before her who -has caused my disgrace. (_Turns to ELIZABETH._) Heaven, O sister, has -declared itself on thy side, and has graced thy happy head with the crown -of victory. (_Kneeling._) I worship the Deity who hath rendered thee so -powerful. Show thyself noble in thy triumph, and leave me not overwhelmed -by shame! Open thy arms, extend in mercy to me thy royal hand, and raise -me from my fearful fall. - -_Eliz._ (_Drawing back._) Thy place, Stuart, is there, and I shall ever -raise my hands in gratitude to heaven that it has not willed that I -should kneel at thy feet, as thou now crouchest in the dust at mine. - -_Mary._ (_With great emotion._) Think of the vicissitudes of all things -human! There is a Deity above who punisheth pride. Respect the Providence -who now doth prostrate me at thy feet. Do not show thyself insensible and -pitiless as the rock, to which the drowning man, with failing breath and -outstretched arms, doth cling. My life, my entire destiny, depend upon my -words and the power of my tears. Inspire my heart, teach me to move, to -touch thine own. Thou turnest such icy looks upon me, that my soul doth -sink within me, my grief parches my lips, and a cold shudder renders my -entreaties mute. (_Rises._) - -_Eliz._ (_Coldly._) What wouldst thou say to me? thou didst seek converse -with me. Forgetting that I am an outraged sovereign, I honor thee with my -royal presence. ’Tis in obedience to a generous impulse that I incur the -reproach of having sacrificed my dignity. - -_Mary._ How can I express myself? how shall I so choose every word that -it may penetrate, without irritating, thy heart? God of mercy! aid my -lips, and banish from them whatever may offend my sister! I cannot -relate to thee my woes without appearing to accuse thee, and this is -not my wish. Towards me thou hast been neither merciful nor just. I am -thine equal, and yet thou hast made me a prisoner, a suppliant, and a -fugitive. I turned to thee for aid, and thou, trampling on the rights -of nations and of hospitality, hast immured me in a living tomb! Thou -hast abandoned me to the most shameful need, and finally exposed me to -the ignominy of a trial! But, no more of the past; we are now face to -face. Display the goodness of thy heart! tell me the crimes of which I am -accused! Wherefore didst thou not grant me this friendly audience when -I so eagerly desired it? Years of misery would have been spared me, and -this painful interview would not have occurred in this abode of gloom and -horror. - -_Eliz._ Accuse not fate, but thine own wayward soul and the unreasonable -ambition of thy house. There was no quarrel between us until thy most -worthy ally inspired thee with the mad and rash desire to claim for -thyself the royal titles and my throne! Not satisfied with this, he then -urged thee to make war against me, to threaten my crown and my life. -Amidst the peace which reigned in my dominions, he fraudulently excited -my subjects to revolt. But heaven doth protect me, and the attempt was -abandoned in despair. The blow was aimed at my head, but ’tis on thine -that it will fall. - -_Mary._ I am in the hand of my God, but thou wilt not exceed thy power by -committing a deed so atrocious? - -_Eliz._ What could prevent me? Thy kinsman has shown monarchs how to make -peace with their enemies! Who would be surety for thee if, imprudently, -I were to release thee? How can I rely on thy pledged faith? Nought but -my power renders me secure. No! there can be no friendship with a race of -vipers. - -_Mary._ Are these thy dark suspicions? To thine eyes, then, I have ever -seemed a stranger and an enemy. If thou hadst but recognized me as -heiress to thy throne—as is my lawful right—love, friendship, would have -made me thy friend—thy sister. - -_Eliz._ What affection hast thou that is not feigned? I declare thee -heiress to my throne! Insidious treachery! In order, forsooth, to -overturn the state, and—wily Armida that thou art—entrap within thy -snares all the youthful spirits of my kingdom, so that during my own -lifetime all eyes would turn towards thee—the new constellation! - -_Mary._ Reign on in peace! I renounce all right to thy sceptre. The wings -of my ambition have long drooped, and greatness has no longer charms for -me. ’Tis thou who hast it all; I am now only the shade of Mary Stuart! My -pristine ardor has been subdued by the ignominy of my chains. Thou hast -nipped my existence in the bud. But pronounce those magnanimous words -for which thou cam’st hither; for I will not believe that thou art come -to enjoy the base delight of insulting thy victim! Pronounce the words -so longed for, and say, “Mary, thou art free! Till now thou hast known -only my power; now know my greatness.” Woe to thee, shouldst thou not -depart from me propitious, beneficent, like an invoked Deity. O sister! -not for all England, not for all the lands the vast ocean embraces, would -I present myself to thee with the inexorable aspect with which thou now -regardest me! - -_Eliz._ At length thou confessest thyself vanquished! Hast thou emptied -thy quiver of the artifices it contained? Hast thou no more assassins? -Does there not remain to thee one single hero to undertake in thy defence -the duties of knight-errant? Gone, Mary, gone forever are those days. -Thou canst no longer seduce a follower of mine; other causes now inflame -men’s hearts. In vain didst thou seek a fourth husband among my English -subjects; they knew too well that thou murderest thy husbands, as thou -dost thy lovers. - -_Mary._ (_Shuddering._) O heavens! sister! Grant me resignation. - -_Eliz._ (_To LEICESTER, with contempt._) Earl, are these the boasted -features, on which no mortal eye could gaze with safety? Is this the -beauty to which no other woman’s could be compared? In sooth, the -reputation appears to have been easily won. To be thus celebrated as the -reigning beauty of the universe seems merely to infer that she has been -universal in the distribution of her favors. - -_Mary._ Ah, ’tis too much. - -_Eliz._ (_With a smile of satisfaction._) Now thou showest thyself in -thine own form. Till now thou hast worn a mask. - -_Mary._ (_With dignified pride._) They were mere human errors that -overcame my youth. My grandeur dazzled me. I have nought to conceal, nor -deny my faults; my pride has ever disdained the base artifices of vile -intriguers. The worst I ever did is known, and I may boast myself far -better than my reputation. But woe to thee, thou malignant hypocrite, -if thou ever lettest fall the mantle beneath which thou concealest thy -shameless amours! Thou, the daughter of Anne Boleyn, hast not inherited -virtue! The causes that brought thy sinful mother to the block are known -to all. - -_Tal._ (_Stepping between them._) Is this, O Mary, thine endurance? Is -this thy humility? - -_Mary._ Endurance? I have endured all that a mortal heart can bear. -Hence, abject humility! Insulted patience, get ye from my heart! And -thou, my long pent-up indignation, break thy bonds, and burst forth from -thy lair! Oh, thou gavest to the angry serpent his deadly glance; arm my -tongue with poisonous stings. - -_Tal._ (_To ELIZABETH._) Forgive the angry transports which thou hast -thyself provoked. - -_Lei._ (_Inducing ELIZABETH to withdraw._) Hear not the ravings of a -distracted woman. Leave this ill— - -_Mary._ The throne of England is profaned by a base-born—the British -nation is duped by a vile pretender! If right did prevail, thou -wouldst be grovelling at my feet, for ’tis I who am thy sovereign. -(_ELIZABETH retires. LEICESTER and TALBOT follow._) She departs, burning -with rage, and with bitterness of death at heart. Now happy I am! I have -degraded her in Leicester’s presence. At last! at last! After long years -of insult and contumely, I have at least enjoyed a season of triumph. -(_Sinks upon the floor._) - -[CURTAIN.] - - SCHILLER. - - -_TABLEAU._ - -_Curtain rises. MARY reclines upon the floor, disheveled hair, face -buried in hands, shaking with emotion. ELIZABETH stands glaring at her, -face livid with anger, clenched fists. LEICESTER is restraining her; his -hand is raised as if admonishing her not to yield to her rage and do an -act unbecoming a queen. TALBOT leans over MARY, to whom he appears to -offer words of hope and consolation, at the same time lifting his right -hand imploringly to ELIZABETH._ - - -A CASE OF INDIGESTION. - -SCENE—_DR. GREGORY’S study. A table and two chairs._ - -_Enter PATIENT (an unhappy Scotch merchant) from left. DR. GREGORY -discovered reading (on right)._ - -_Patient._ Good morning, Dr. Gregory! I’m just come into Edinburgh about -some law business, and I thought when I was here, at any rate, I might -just as weel take your advice, sir, about my trouble. - -_Doctor._ Pray, sir, sit down. (_Patient sits on left._) And now, my good -sir, what may your trouble be? - -_Pa._ Indeed, doctor, I’m not very sure, but I’m thinking it’s a kind of -weakness that makes me dizzy at times, and a kind of pinkling about my -stomach—I’m just na right. - -_Dr._ You are from the west country, I should suppose, sir? - -_Pa._ Yes, sir; from Glasgow. - -_Dr._ Ay, pray, sir, are you a glutton? - -_Pa._ Heaven forbid, sir! I am one of the plainest men living in the west -country. - -_Dr._ Then, perhaps, you are a drunkard? - -_Pa._ No, Dr. Gregory, thank Heaven, no one can accuse me of that! I’m of -the dissenting persuasion, doctor, and an elder, so you may suppose I’m -na drunkard. - -_Dr._ I’ll suppose no such thing till you tell me your mode of living. -I’m so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that I should wish to hear -in detail what you do eat and drink. When do you breakfast, and what do -you take at it? - -_Pa._ I breakfast at nine o’clock; take a cup of coffee, and one or two -cups of tea, a couple of eggs, and a bit of ham or kippered salmon, or, -maybe, both, if they’re good, and two or three rolls and butter. - -_Dr._ Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, at breakfast? - -_Pa._ O, yes, sir! but I don’t count that as anything. - -_Dr._ Come, this is a very moderate breakfast. What kind of a dinner do -you make? - -_Pa._ O, sir, I eat a very plain dinner, indeed. Some soup, and some -fish, and a little plain roast or boiled; for I dinna care for made -dishes; I think, some way, they never satisfy the appetite. - -_Dr._ You take a little pudding, then, and afterwards some cheese? - -_Pa._ O, yes! though I don’t care much about them. - -_Dr._ You take a glass of ale or porter with your cheese? - -_Pa._ Yes, one or the other; but seldom both. - -_Dr._ You west-country people generally take a glass of Highland whiskey -after dinner? - -_Pa._ Yes, we do; it’s good for digestion. - -_Dr._ Do you take any wine during dinner? - -_Pa._ Yes, a glass or two of sherry; but I’m indifferent as to wine -during dinner. I drink a good deal of beer. - -_Dr._ What quantity of port do you drink? - -_Pa._ O, very little; not above half a dozen glasses or so. - -_Dr._ In the west country, it is impossible, I hear, to dine without -punch? - -_Pa._ Yes, sir; indeed, ’tis punch we drink chiefly; but, for myself, -unless I happen to have a friend with me, I never take more than a couple -of tumblers or so, and that’s moderate. - -_Dr._ O, exceedingly moderate, indeed! You then, after this slight -repast, take some tea and bread and butter? - -_Pa._ Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the evening letters. - -_Dr._ And on your return you take supper, I suppose? - -_Pa._ No, sir, I canna be said to take supper; just something before -going to bed;—a rizzered haddock, or a bit of toasted cheese, or a -half-hundred oysters, or the like o’that, and, maybe, two-thirds of a -bottle of ale; but I take no _regular_ supper. - -_Dr._ But you take a little more punch after that? - -_Pa._ No, sir; punch does not agree with me at bedtime. I take a tumbler -of warm whiskey-toddy at night; it is lighter to sleep on. - -_Dr._ So it must be, no doubt. This, you say, is your everyday life; but, -upon great occasions, you perhaps exceed a little? - -_Pa._ No, sir; except when a friend or two dine with me, or I dine out, -which, as I am a sober family man, does not often happen. - -_Dr._ Not above twice a week? - -_Pa._ No, not oftener. - -_Dr._ Of course you sleep well and have a good appetite? - -_Pa._ Yes, sir, thank Heaven, I have; indeed, any ill health that I have -is about mealtime. - -_Dr._ (_Rising with a severe air—the PATIENT also rises._) Now, sir, you -are a very pretty fellow, indeed! You come here and tell me you are a -moderate man; but, upon examination, I find, by your own showing, that -you are a most voracious glutton. You said you were a sober man; yet, by -your own showing, you are a beer-swiller, a dram-drinker, a wine-bibber, -and a guzzler of punch. You tell me you eat indigestible suppers, and -swill toddy to force sleep. I see that you chew tobacco. Now, sir, what -human stomach can stand this? Go home, sir, and leave your present course -of riotous living, and there are hopes that your stomach may recover its -tone, and you be in good health, like your neighbors. - -_Pa._ I’m sure, doctor, I’m very much obliged to you. (_Taking out a -bundle of bank notes._) I shall endeavor to—— - -_Dr._ Sir, you are not obliged to me:—put up your money, sir. Do you -think I’ll take a fee for telling you what you know as well as myself? -Though you’re no physician, sir, you are not altogether a fool. Go home, -sir, and reform, or, take my word for it, your life is not worth half a -year’s purchase. - -_Pa._ Thank you, doctor, thank you. Good-day, doctor. - -(_Exit on right, followed by DOCTOR._) - - -MR. CROSS AND SERVANT JOHN. - -_Mr. Cross._ Why do you keep me knocking all day at the door? - -_John._ I was at work, sir, in the garden. As soon as I heard your knock, -I ran to open the door with such haste that I fell down and hurt myself. - -_Mr. C._ Why didn’t you leave the door open? - -_John._ Why, sir, you scolded me yesterday because I did so. When the -door is open, you scold; when it is shut, you scold. I should like to -know what to do? - -_Mr. C._ What to do? What to do, did you say? - -_John._ I said it. Shall I leave the door open? - -_Mr. C._ No. I tell you, no! - -_John._ Shall I keep the door shut? - -_Mr. C._ Shall you keep the door shut? No, I say. - -_John._ But, sir, a door must be either open or—— - -_Mr. C._ Don’t presume to argue with me, fellow! - -_John._ But doesn’t it hold to reason that a door—— - -_Mr. C._ Silence, I say. Hold your tongue! - -_John._ And I say that a door must be either open or shut. Now, how will -you have it? - -_Mr. C._ I have told you a thousand times, you provoking fellow—I have -told you that I wished it—— But what do you mean by cross-questioning me, -sir? Have you trimmed the grape-vine, as I ordered you? - -_John._ I did that three days ago, sir. - -_Mr. C._ Have you washed the carriage? Eh? - -_John._ I washed it before breakfast, sir, as usual. - -_Mr. C._ You haven’t watered the horses to-day! - -_John._ Go and see, sir, if you can make them drink any more. They have -had their fill. - -_Mr. C._ Have you given them their oats? - -_John._ Ask William; he saw me do it. - -_Mr. C._ But you have forgotten to take the mare to be shod. Ah! I have -you now! - -_John._ I have the blacksmith’s bill here. - -_Mr. C._ My letters!—Did you take them to the post-office? Ha! You -forgot, did you? - -_John._ I forgot nothing, sir. The letters were in the mail ten minutes -after you handed them to me. - -_Mr. C._ How often have I told you not to scrape on that abominable -violin of yours? And yet this very morning—— - -_John._ This morning? You forget, sir. You broke the violin all to pieces -for me last Saturday night. - -_Mr. C._ I’m glad of it! Come, now; that wood which I told you to saw and -put into the shed—why is it not done? Answer me! - -_John._ The wood is all sawed, split, and housed, sir; besides doing -that, I have watered all the trees in the garden, dug over three of the -beds, and was digging another when you knocked. - -_Mr. C._ Oh, I must get rid of this fellow! He will plague my life out of -me. Out of my sight, sir! (_John rushes out._) - - -HOW TO BREAK BAD NEWS. - -_Mr. H._ Ha, steward! how are you, my old boy? How do things go on at -home? - -_Steward._ Bad enough, your honor; the magpie’s dead. - -_Mr. H._ Poor Mag! so he’s gone. How came he to die? - -_Steward._ Over-ate himself, sir. - -_Mr. H._ Did he, indeed? a greedy villain! Why, what did he get he liked -so well? - -_Steward._ Horse-flesh, sir; he died of eating horse-flesh. - -_Mr. H._ How came he to get so much horse-flesh? - -_Steward._ All your father’s horses, sir. - -_Mr. H._ What! are they dead, too? - -_Steward._ Ay, sir; they died of over-work. - -_Mr. H._ And why were they over-worked, pray. - -_Steward._ To carry water, sir. - -_Mr. H._ To carry water! What did they carry water for? - -_Steward._ Sure, sir, to put out the fire. - -_Mr. H._ Fire! What fire? - -_Steward._ Oh, sir, your father’s house is burned to the ground. - -_Mr. H._ My father’s house! How come it set on fire? - -_Steward._ I think, sir, it must have been the torches. - -_Mr. H._ Torches! What torches? - -_Steward._ At your mother’s funeral. - -_Mr. H._ Alas! my mother dead? - -_Steward._ Ah, poor lady, she never looked up after it! - -_Mr. H._ After what? - -_Steward._ The loss of your father. - -_Mr. H._ My father gone, too? - -_Steward._ Yes, poor man, he took to his bed soon as he heard of it. - -_Mr. H._ Heard of what? - -_Steward._ The bad news, sir, an’ please your honor. - -_Mr. H._ What! more miseries? more bad news? No! you can add nothing more! - -_Steward._ Yes, sir; your bank has failed, and your credit is lost, and -you are not worth a dollar in the world. I made bold, sir, to come to -wait on you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the news. - - - - -HOW TO DRAFT CONSTITUTION AND BY-LAWS FOR THE ORGANIZATION AND CONDUCT OF -LITERARY SOCIETIES. - - -All permanent associations formed for mutual benefit must have a -Constitution by which they shall be governed. - -Where it is intended to organize a society for the intellectual -improvement or social enjoyment of its members, a number of persons meet -together and select a name for the organization. The next step is to -appoint a committee, whose duty it shall be to prepare a _Constitution_ -and code of _By-Laws_ for the society. These must be reported to the -society at its next meeting, and must be adopted by the votes of a -majority of that body before they can take effect. - -The Constitution consists of the rules which form the foundation upon -which the organization is to rest. It should be brief and explicit. It -should be considered and adopted section by section; should be recorded -in a book for that purpose, and should be signed by all the members of -the society. - -Amendments to the Constitution should be adopted in the same way, and -should be signed by each member of the society. - -In addition to the Constitution, it is usual to adopt a series of minor -rules, which should be explanatory of the principles of the Constitution. -These are termed _By-Laws_, and should be recorded in the same book with -the Constitution, and immediately after it. New by-laws may be added from -time to time, as the necessity for them may arise. It is best to have as -few as possible. They should be brief, and as clear that their meaning -may be easily comprehended, and should govern the action of the body. - - -CONSTITUTION. - -As growth and development of mind, together with readiness and fluency of -speech, are the result of investigation and free discussion of religious, -education, political, and other topics, the undersigned agree to form -an association, and for its government, do hereby adopt the following -Constitution: - -ARTICLE I.—The name and title of this organization shall be - - “The Philomathian Literary Society,” - -and its objects shall be the free discussion of any subject coming before -the meeting for the purpose of diffusing knowledge among its members. - -ARTICLE II.—The officers of the Association shall consist of a President, -two Vice-Presidents, a Corresponding Secretary, a Recording Secretary, a -Treasurer and a Librarian, who shall be elected annually by ballot, on -the first Monday in January of each year, said officers to hold their -position until their successors are elected. - -ARTICLE III.—It shall be the duty of the President to preside at all -public meetings of the Society. The first Vice-President shall preside -in the absence of the President, and in case of the absence of both -President and Vice-President, it shall be the duty of the second -Vice-President to preside. - -The duty of the Secretary shall be to conduct the correspondence, keep -the records of the Society, and read at each meeting a report of the work -done at the preceding meeting. - -The Treasurer shall keep the funds of the Society, making an annual -report of all moneys received, disbursed, and the amount on hand. - -It shall be the duty of the Librarian to keep, in a careful manner, all -books, records and manuscripts in the possession of the Society. - -ARTICLE IV.—There shall be appointed by the President, at the first -meeting after his election, the following standing committees, to consist -of three members each, namely: On lectures, library, finance, and -printing, whose duties shall be designated by the President. - -The question for debate at the succeeding meeting shall be determined by -a majority vote of the members present. - -ARTICLE V.—Any lady or gentleman may become a member of this Society by -the consent of the majority of the members present, the signing of the -Constitution, and the payment of two dollars as membership fee. It shall -be the privilege of the Society to elect any person whose presence may be -advantageous to the Society, an honorary member who shall not be required -to pay membership fees or dues. - -ARTICLE VI.—This Association shall meet weekly, and at such other times -as a majority, consisting of at least five members of the Association, -shall determine. The President shall be authorized to call special -meetings upon the written request of any five members of the Society, at -which meetings one-third of the members shall be sufficient to constitute -a quorum for the transaction of business. - -ARTICLE VII.—It shall be the duty of the Finance Committee to determine -the amount of dues necessary to be collected from each member, and to -inform the Treasurer of the amount, who shall promptly proceed to collect -the same at such times as the committee may designate. - -ARTICLE VIII.—The parliamentary rules and general form of conducting -public meetings, as shown in “Cushing’s Manual of Practice,” shall be the -standard authority in governing the deliberations of this Association. - -ARTICLE IX.—Any member neglecting to pay dues, or who shall be guilty of -improper conduct, calculated to bring this Association into disrepute, -shall be expelled from the membership of the Society by a two-thirds -vote of the members present at any regular meeting. No member shall be -expelled, however, until he shall have had notice of such intention on -the part of the Association, and has been given an opportunity of being -heard in his own defense. - -ARTICLE X.—By giving written notice of change at any regular meeting, -this Constitution may be altered or amended at the next stated meeting by -vote of two-thirds of the members present. - - -BY-LAWS. - -RULE 1.—No question shall be stated unless moved by two members, nor be -open for consideration until stated by the chair. When a question is -before the Society, no motion shall be received, except to lay on the -table, the previous question, to postpone, to refer, or to amend; and -they shall have precedence in the order in which they are here arranged. - -RULE 2.—When a member intends to speak on a question, he shall rise in -his place, and respectfully address his remarks to the President, confine -himself to the question, and avoid personality. Should more than one -member rise to speak at the same time the President shall determine who -is entitled to the floor. - -RULE 3.—Every member shall have the privilege of speaking three times on -any question under consideration, but not oftener, unless by the consent -of the Society (determined by vote); and no member shall speak more than -once, until every member wishing to speak shall have spoken. - -RULE 4.—The President, while presiding, shall state every question coming -before the Society; and immediately before putting it to vote shall ask: -“Are you ready for the question?” Should no member rise to speak, he -shall rise to put the question; and after he has risen no member shall -speak upon it, unless by permission of the Society. - -RULE 5.—The affirmative and negative of the question having been both put -and answered, the President declares the number of legal votes cast, and -whether the affirmative or negative have it. - -RULE 6.—All questions, unless otherwise fixed by law, shall be decided by -a majority of votes. - -RULE 7.—After any question, except one of indefinite postponement, has -been decided, any member may move a reconsideration thereof, if done in -two weeks after the decision. A motion for reconsideration the second -time, of the same question, shall not be in order at any time. - -RULE 8.—Any two members may call for a division of a question, when the -same will admit of it. - -RULE 9.—The President, or any member, may call a member to order while -speaking, when the debate must be suspended, and the member take his seat -until the question of order is decided. - -RULE 10.—The President shall preserve order and decorum; may speak to -points of order in preference to other members; and shall decide all -questions of order, subject to an appeal to the Society by any member, -on which appeal no person shall speak but the President and the member -called to order. - -RULE 11.—No motion or proposition on a subject different from that under -consideration shall be admitted under color of an amendment. - -RULE 12.—No addition, alteration, or amendment to the Constitution, -By-Laws, etc., shall be acted upon, except in accordance with the -Constitution. - -RULE 13.—No nomination shall be considered as made until seconded. - -RULE 14.—The President shall sign all proceedings of the meetings. - -RULE 15.—No member shall vote by proxy. - -RULE 16.—No motion shall be withdrawn by the mover unless the second -withdraw his second. - -RULE 17.—No extract from any book shall be read consuming more than five -minutes. - -RULE 18.—No motion for adjournment shall be in order until after nine -o’clock. - -RULE 19.—Every motion shall be reduced to writing, should the officers of -the society desire it. - -RULE 20.—An amendment to an amendment is in order, but not to amend an -amendment to an amendment of a main question. - -RULE 21.—The previous question shall be put in this form, if seconded by -a majority of the members present: “Shall the main question be put?” If -decided in the affirmative, the main question is to be put immediately, -and all further debate or amendment must be suspended. - -RULE 22.—Members not voting shall be considered as voting in the -affirmative, unless excused by the Society. - -RULE 23.—Any member offering a protest against any of the proceedings of -this Society may have the same, if, in respectful language, entered in -full upon the minutes. - -RULE 24.—No subject laid on the table shall be taken up again on the same -evening. - -RULE 25.—No motion shall be debatable until seconded. - -RULE 26.—Points of order are debatable to the Society. - -RULE 27.—Appeals and motions to reconsider or adjourn are not debatable. - -RULE 28.—When a very important motion or amendment shall be made and -seconded, the mover thereof may be called upon to reduce the same to -writing, and hand it in at the table, from which it shall be read, open -to the Society for debate. - -RULE 29.—The mover of a motion shall be at liberty to accept any -amendment thereto; but if an amendment be offered and not accepted, yet -duly seconded, the Society shall pass upon it before voting upon the -original motion. - -RULE 30.—Every officer, on leaving his office, shall give to his -successor all papers, documents, books, or money belonging to the Society. - -RULE 31.—No smoking, and no refreshments except water, shall be allowed -in the Society’s hall. - -RULE 32.—When a motion to adjourn is carried, no member shall leave his -seat until the President has left his chair. - -RULE 33.—No alteration can be made in these rules of order without a -four-fifth vote of the society, and two weeks’ notice; neither can they -be suspended, but by a like vote, and then for the evening only. - - - - -SUGGESTED SUBJECTS FOR DEBATE - - -1. Should there be a Board of Arbitration appointed by the Government for -Settling Disputes between Employees and Employers? - -2. Is England Rising or Falling as a Nation? - -NOTE.—Compare the Elements of Modern with the Elements of Ancient -Prosperity. - -3. Has Nature or Education the Greater Influence in the Formation of -Character? - -4. From which does the Mind gain the more Knowledge, Reading or -Observation? - -5. Is the Character of Queen Elizabeth deserving of our Admiration? - -6. Is an Advocate Justified in Defending a Man whom he Knows to be Guilty -of the Crime with which he is Charged? - -7. Which does the most to Produce Crime—Poverty, Wealth, or Ignorance? - -8. Is a Limited Monarchy, like that of England, the Best Form of -Government? - -9. Is not Private Virtue essentially requisite to Greatness of Public -Character? - -10. Is Eloquence a Gift of Nature, or may it be Acquired? - -11. Is Genius an Innate Capacity? - -12. Is a Rude or a Refined Age the More Favorable to the Production of -Works of Imagination? - -13. Is the Shakespearian the Augustan Age of English Literature? - -14. Ought Pope to Rank in the First Class of Poets? - -15. Has the Introduction of Machinery been Generally Beneficial to -Mankind? - -16. Which Produce the Greater Happiness, the Pleasures of Hope or of -Memory? - -17. Is the Existence of Parties in the State Favorable to the Public -Welfare? - -18. Is there any Ground for Believing in the Ultimate Perfection and -Universal Happiness of the Human Race? - -19. Is Co-operation more Adapted to Promote the Virtue and Happiness of -Mankind than Competition? - -20. Was the Banishment of Napoleon to St. Helena a Justifiable Proceeding? - -21. Ought Persons to be Excluded from the Civil Offices on Account of -their Religious Opinions? - -22. Which Exercises the Greater Influence on the Civilization and -Happiness of the Human Race, the Male or the Female Mind? - -23. Which did the Most to Produce the French Revolution, the Tyranny of -the Government, the Excesses of the Higher Orders, or the Writings of -Voltaire, Montesquieu and Rousseau? - -24. Which was the Greater Poet, Byron or Burns? - -25. Is there Reasonable Ground for Believing that the Character of -Richard the Third was not so Atrocious as is Generally Supposed? - -26. Does Happiness or Misery Preponderate in Life? - -27. Should the Press be Totally Free? - -28. Do Modern Geological Discoveries Agree with Holy Writ? - -29. Did Circumstances Justify the First French Revolution? - -30. Could not Arbitration be Made a Substitute for War? - -31. Which Character is the More to be Admired, that of Loyola or Luther? - -32. Are there Good Grounds for Applying the Term “Dark” to the Middle -Ages? - -33. Which was the Greater Poet, Chatterton or Cowper? - -34. Are Public or Private Schools to be Preferred? - -35. Is the System of Education Pursued at our Universities in Accordance -with the Requirements of the Age? - -36. Which is the More Healthful Exercise, Bicycle Riding or Walking? - -37. Does the Game of Foot-Ball Produce more Evil than Beneficial Effects? - -38. Would the Free and Unlimited Coinage of both Silver and Gold be -better than the Single Gold Standard in America? - -39. Should Women be Granted the Right to Vote on all State and National -Questions? - -40. Would Absolute Prohibition be a Benefit to the Country? - - - - -TABLEAUX FOR PUBLIC ENTERTAINMENTS. - - -JOAN OF ARC AT THE STAKE. - -CHARACTER AND COSTUME. - -MAIDEN.—Loose, white robe, wing-like sleeves, displaying arm; hair long, -loose, and flowing over shoulders. - -THE TABLEAU. - -A large post in centre of stage, around which are piled fagots. Fastened -to the post by means of a chain around the waist stands the maiden, with -eyes cast upward, and the whole attitude that of exaltation. A strong -red light suddenly thrown upon the lower part of the picture, from both -sides, will produce the effect of ignited wood. - -Music, if any, triumphant. - - -WINTER IN THE LAP OF SPRING. - -CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES. - -WINTER.—Black, loose dress to the feet, fur cap, white wig, and long -white beard; dress flecked with bits of cotton, to represent snow; face -full and florid. The part may be taken by a lady. - -SPRING.—Trailing loose dress of white, sleeves draped so as to show arm -to elbow; scarf and sash of pink; long, flowing, yellow hair; sprays -of roses and other flowers gracefully fastened on the dress; wealth of -flowers on the head. - -THE TABLEAU. - -Spring is seated on a chair, over which may be thrown a covering of white -or pink, upon which are scattered profusely sprays of flowers. She holds -at her side a golden sceptre. - -Winter is seated in the lap of Spring holding extended in his right hand -a sceptre of black. - - -THERE’S NO ROSE WITHOUT A THORN. - -The scene is a parlor.—Standing in the foreground is a young girl, -simply dressed. In her left hand she has a rose, and holding out her -right hand shows to her companion the scratches made by the thorns (a -little carmine paint, put on with a fine camel’s-hair pencil, makes very -painless scratches.) Her companion, a young man dressed as a mechanic’s -apprentice (a carpenter’s, butcher’s, shoemaker’s or any other trade), -is, with a look of sympathy, raising the wounded hand to his lips. Behind -the young man stands his employer, with an expression of rage, raising a -rope about to strike the apprentice. He is not perceived by either of the -young people. - -In the background is a child, with a look of great glee, putting its -fingers into a jar, marked jam, while the mother, behind the child, is -raising her hand to box its ears. - - -A NUN AT HER DEVOTIONS. - -It hardly needs description. A background of dark brown gauze, very -faintly lighted at the upper right-hand corner; a dress of black serge or -stuff, with black veil and white coif; a crucifix and rosary—these are -the very simple materials needed. Let the light fall from the left-hand -upper corner in front. Choose your nun for the beauty of her eyes, the -regularity and refinement of feature, and the elegance of her hands. - - -TABLEAU WITH RECITALS. - -_Characters._ - -POET.—A young man with long hair and wide linen collar turned down over -coat collar. - -STATUE.—Personated by a young woman in white, with arms bare. - - (_The Poet speaks._) - - Thou holdest me, thou holdest me, - O marble presence, cold and fair. - I cannot draw my feet past thee - Within thy niche above the stair. - - I found thee in a mossy cave— - The entrance to a buried shrine; - The rocks around a shudder gave - As thence I bore my prize divine. - - What master wrought thee long ago— - Who but Pygmalion’s scholar apt? - The rose upon thy cheek of snow - Ofttimes he saw in vision rapt. - - The day upspringing in thine eye - He fancied now, and now it seemed - A hovering smile, a gradual sigh, - Thy lips from silence dead redeemed; - - But, dying ere the moment ripe - When thou should’st gather vital fire, - He left thee, a half-conscious type - Of Love and Love’s unvoiced desire. - - Thou holdest me, thou holdest me, - O marble presence, cold and fair! - Now let thy prisoned soul be free, - Thy breast its long-sealed fate declare. - - (_The Statue speaks._) - - Thou troublest me, thou troublest me! - A thousand years unused to speech, - Why should the charm dissolve for thee, - Or why to thee my secret teach? - - Not Paros, nor Pentelicus, - E’er held me in its quarried hill; - Nor master’s chisel carved me thus, - With lofty thought and patient skill. - - Ah, surely, not Pygmalion’s hand - Unprisoned me, through loving art— - I, who in marble moveless stand, - Once held quick veins and pulsing heart; - - Love, changed to hate, wrought this cold change - I froze beneath his bitter eye; - Love, changed to Hate—transformer strange— - Forbade me live, forbade me die! - - Thou troublest me, thou troublest me; - No further question; go thy way! - He, only, who could set me free, - Hath long since crumbled back to clay! - - Thy soul in peace if thou would’st save, - And give forgetfulness to mine, - Restore me to that mossy cave, - The entrance to a buried shrine! - - EDITH M. THOMAS. - - -CINDERELLA’S SLIPPER. - -(This beautiful tableau may be represented in three or four scenes, with -fine dress effect.) - -SCENE I. - -Cinderella meanly clad, the sisters and Prince in costliest attire. One -of the sisters is eagerly bent on forcing her foot into the slipper. - -A very large shoe, which she has just vacated, is on the floor beside -her. The other, her face and attitude showing keenest disappointment, -has just put on her shoe. These shoes, while nicely made, should be the -largest that can be had. The slipper may be of white satin, small and -handsome. - -SCENE II. - -Cinderella, having begged permission to try on the slipper, has -just seated herself, withdrawn her shoe and placed a dainty foot on -the cushion beside the slipper. The sisters give her a scornful and -reproachful look. - -SCENE III. - -Cinderella, having put on the slipper, has just drawn from her pocket its -mate. The sisters, bewildered and dumfounded, have thrown themselves at -her feet. This scene makes a fitting conclusion to the performance, and -the next two scenes should not be attempted unless the appliances are at -hand to make Cinderella imagination’s richest queen. - -SCENE IV. - -The fairy has touched her clothes with the magic wand, and Cinderella has -become a being of marvelous beauty. Her gorgeous splendor dazzles the -eyes of the Prince. She helps her sisters to their feet, and shows, as -before, no resentment for past insult. - -SCENE V. - -Cinderella and the Prince, arm in arm, prepare to leave the stage, -followed by the sisters. - - -LISTENERS HEAR NO GOOD OF THEMSELVES. - -The scene is a parlor.—In the foreground are two young girls, one of whom -holds a miniature out to the other, who puts it aside, with an expression -of angry contempt. The first girl is laughing heartily, and pointing her -finger at the second, as if teasing her about the picture. - -Peeping out from behind a window-curtain is a young man, who, with an -expression of perfect rage, is shaking his fist at the ladies. - - -[Illustration: IN MANILA BAY] - -[Illustration: COMIN’ THRO’ THE RYE] - -[Illustration: REMINISCENCES OF CHARLES DICKENS - -1. THE BIRTHPLACE OF CHARLES DICKENS, COMMERCIAL ROAD, PORTSEA. 2. THE -“DARK COURT” IN FLEET STREET, (JOHNSON’S COURT) WHERE DICKENS POSTED -HIS FIRST SKETCH. 3. THE HOUSE IN FURNIVAL’S INN WHERE “PICKWICK” WAS -WRITTEN. 4. CHARLES DICKENS EDITING “HOUSEHOLD WORDS.” 5. THE CHURCH IN -WHICH DICKENS WAS MARRIED, ST. LUKE’S, CHELSEA. 6. GAD’S HILL PLACE, -ROCHESTER, THE NOVELISTS’ LAST HOME. 7. THE MOAT, ROCHESTER CASTLE, WHERE -DICKENS DESIRED TO BE BURIED.] - -[Illustration: FRANCIS WILSON - - “It was all about a—ha! ha! and a—ho! ho! ho!—well really; - It is—he! he! he!—I never could begin to tell you.” - -(A Fine Study of Mirth)] - -[Illustration: THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT—SUGGESTION FOR A TABLEAU] - -[Illustration: CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES SUGGESTED FOR CHILDREN IN JUVENILE -ENTERTAINMENTS] - -[Illustration: JOSEPH JEFFERSON and BLANCHE BENDER in “Rip Van Winkle.” - -(Suggestion for Tableau.)] - -[Illustration: INDIAN COSTUME—SUGGESTION FOR A TABLEAU] - -[Illustration: THE SICK CHILD. - -(Suggestion For Tableau.) - -“Jessie tired, mamma; good-night, papa; Jessie see you in the morning.”] - -[Illustration: AN OLD TIME TEA - -(Suggestion for Tableau)] - -[Illustration: - - CHERRY RIPE, RIPE, RIPE, I CRY, - FULL AND FAIR ONES—COME AND BUY!] - -[Illustration: A STUDY IN ATTITUDES] - -[Illustration: THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY - -(Suggestion For Tableau)] - -[Illustration: RECITATION IN COSTUME - - WHOEVER WOULD BRING DOWN HER GAME, - MUST STRING HER BOW AND TAKE SURE AIM.] - -[Illustration: A LITTLE CHILD’S PRAYER. - -(Suggestion For Tableau.) - - “Jesus I would be like thee, - Look from heaven and pity me. - Though so full of sin I am, - Make me now thy little lamb.”] - -[Illustration: NOBODY’S CHILD - -(Suggestion for Tableau) - - “All day I wander to and fro - Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go - Oh! Why does the wind blow upon me so wild? - Is it because I’m nobody’s child?”] - -[Illustration: SHE HAD SO MANY CHILDREN SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO] - -[Illustration: - - THEY TELL ME I MUST DO IT JUST SO, - I WONDER IF THEY THINK THAT I DON’T KNOW.] - -[Illustration: - - OUR GREAT GRANDPARENTS WERE ONCE YOUNG, TOO, - AND THIS IS THE WAY THEY USED TO DO.] - -[Illustration: - - “I’M NOT QUITE SURE I’LL TAKE YOU FOR MY MAID;” - “WELL NOBODY ASKED YOU TO,” SHE SAID.] - -[Illustration: HOW PADEREWSKI PLAYS THE PIANO] - -[Illustration: GENERAL WHEELER AT SANTIAGO] - -[Illustration: - - ALAS, HOW LIGHT A CAUSE MAY MOVE - DISSENSION BETWEEN HEARTS THAT LOVE] - -[Illustration: - - “Out swept the squadrons, fated three hundred - Into the battle-line steady and full;”] - -[Illustration: ORIENTAL COSTUME] - -[Illustration: A FRENCH DANCER—SHOWING REVOLVING SKIRT - -PHOTO. BY MORRISON, CHICAGO] - -[Illustration: RECITATION IN COSTUME - -PHOTO. BY MORRISON, CHICAGO] - -[Illustration: - - OH, COLUMBIA, THE GEM OF THE OCEAN, - THE HOME OF THE BRAVE AND THE FREE.] - -[Illustration: PLEASING ENTRANCE IN A SPIRITED DIALOGUE] - -[Illustration: SONG OF THE FLOWER GIRL - -PHOTO. BY MORRISON, CHICAGO] - -[Illustration: THE DANCING LESSON] - -[Illustration: READY FOR THE OPENING SONG] - -[Illustration: THE BOY THAT LAUGHS] - -[Illustration: THREE FISHERS WENT SAILING] - -[Illustration: BRYANT. IRVING. WHITTIER. COOPER.] - -[Illustration: BYRON. TENNYSON. SCOTT. SHELLEY.] - -[Illustration: EDWARD EVERETT. BRET HARTE. H. W. LONGFELLOW. J. G. -HOLLAND. R. H. STODDARD.] - -[Illustration: H. B. STOWE. ALICE CARY. ELIZ. PHELPS WARD.] - -[Illustration: - - With her waves of golden hair - Floating free, - Hilda ran along the shore, - Gazing oft the waters o’er; - And the fishermen replied: - “He will come in with the tide,” - As they saw her golden hair - Floating free!] - -[Illustration: THE NEW COOK. - -“‘Will you iver be done wid your graneness,’ she axed me wid a loud -scrame.”] - -[Illustration: “DO YOU KNOW ME NOW?” - -PHOTO. BY MORRISON, CHICAGO] - -[Illustration: “I’VE PUT THE SOUL OF LAUGHTER IN MY FACE.” - -PHOTO. BY MORRISON, CHICAGO] - -[Illustration: A PASSING SALUTE - -PHOTO. BY MORRISON, CHICAGO] - -[Illustration: - - “SOCIETY IS QUICK TO TRACE - THE MAGIC OF A PLEASING FACE”] - -[Illustration: THE MASK REMOVED - -PHOTO. BY MORRISON, CHICAGO] - -[Illustration: NO DECEPTION, NOW! - -PHOTO. BY MORRISON, CHICAGO] - -[Illustration: A HUMOROUS RECITATION - -PHOTO. BY MORRISON, CHICAGO] - -[Illustration: RECITAL WITH HARP ACCOMPANIMENT - -PHOTO. 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