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LIBRARY

KNOX COLLEGE.

TORONTO.

LIBRARY

KNOX COLLEGE,

TOROW TO.

KNOX COk^

ESSENTIALS T^;^

Elocution and Oratory.

VIRGIL A. PINKLEY,

Director of the Department of Elocution in the College
Music of Cincinnati, and formerly Professor of Sacred
Oratory in I^ane Theological Seminary.

REVISED AND ENLARGE D

New York

EDGAR S. WERNER, Publishe

108 East 16th Street

189^

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VIRGIL A. PINKLEY,

1888.

P^EF^CSK.

It is the high aim of the Trustees and Faculty of the
College of Music of Cincinnati to train the voices of their
students according to physiological principles; that health
may not be sacrificed; that the vocal organs may be given
endurance; and that a quality of voice-expression may be
cultivated, whether in speech or in song, that is easy, nat-
ural, and agreeable. For a long time, in common with my
associates, I have felt the need of a text-book on Vocal and
Visible Expression, prepared with these ends in full view.
Herein, therefore, lies my apology, if apology be necessary,
for throwing another book upon the world.

I would call especial attention to the pages devoted to
the Anatomy and Physiology of the vocal organs, and to the
chapter on the Mechanism of Respiration, as I believe that
a careful study of this portion of the work can but produce
excellent results.

A somewhat comprehensive course on Calisthenics I haive
introduced, because such a drill as recommended here will
promote health, will increase the strength of the vocal appa-
ratus, will improve the tone and timbre of the voice, and
will add grace and beauty to bodily movements.

In the pages on Gesture I have studied to point out
in a form as condensed and as easy of comprehension as

4 PREFACE.

possible, all that the student of Oratory needs to learn from
books. Perfection in gesture, and in other modes of visible
expression, like perfection in speech, can come only from
long and constant practice, and under never-failing watch
and correction.

To Phonetics I have given considerable space, believing
that a thorough understanding of the different sounds is
essential to good reading and good speaking.

I have taken some pains to prepare the pages on
Orthoepy, in the hope that the learner may acquire a love
for the study of pronunciation that will lead him to profi-
ciency in this department of study. Without accuracy in
accentuation and in enunciation, no one will meet with full
success in reading or in speaking. As lawyers, physicians,
preachers, artists, and scientists may be held justly account-
able for the correct pronunciation of words peculiar to their
respective professions, so may the orator be held responsible
for the correct pronunciation of every word that falls from
his lips.

The very important subject, Modulation, I have en-
deavored to present somewhat to advantage. Suggestions
as to the character of thought requiring modulatory
method; brief extracts, the reading of which is calcu-
lated to cultivate skill in the use of that method ; and
selections in which the method is questioned, are promi-
nent characteristics, and, I believe, are valuable features
of this book.

Drawing from my experience as a teacher of Elocution
for several years in Lane Theological Seminary, I have tried
to write a chapter on Sacred Oratory that will be of use to
students of Theology and to the Ministry as well, thinking

PREFACE. 5

that, perhaps, a few practical suggestions on this subject
might be well received.

In the choice and arrangement of the Oratorical Selections
I have made an effort to present such a variety that exam-
ples for practice, senatorial, dramatic, ethical, descriptive,
dialectic, humorous, colloquial, and juvenile, may be easily
found.

In fine, it has been my aim to prepare a book on Elocution
and Oratory that may serve as a guide to all grades of stu-
dents who would acquire proficiency in the art of Vocal and
Visible Expression, and, at the same time, a work that would
contain only that w^hich is true, pure, and practical.

My thanks are due to those authors and publishers who
have favored me with contributions, as well as to my friends
and colleagues who have been kind enough to give me the
benefit of their counsel and assistance during the progress
of this work.

VIKGIL A. PINKLEY.

Cincinnati, August 4, 1888.

Dr. John Martin Crawford,

Consul-General of the United States at St. Petersburg, Russia,
TRANSLATOR OF THE " KALEVALA,"

^Ar\)0 so ^eperously ai)d ably revised bt)ese pa^e^ ;

ar)cl bo all \^l)o bake ar)

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THE ART OF SPEECH OR SONG,

THE AUTHOR
DEDICATES THIS VOLUME.

COi^TE^JTS.

PAGE

Preface, • 3

Introductory Remarks 17

Part I.

AM ATOMY, PHYSIOLOGY, AND HYGIENE OP THE
RESPIRATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS.

The Nose, 25

The Throat, 26

The Trachea and Bronchi, 28

The Thorax, 29

The Muscles : Inspiratory and Expiratory, 31

The Abdomen, 33

Part II.

RESPIRATION.

Inhalation, 34

Exhalation, 37

Compound Movements, 39

8 CONTENTS.

PAGK.

Respiratory Volumes, 40

General Suggestions and Cautions, 41

Part III.

SIMPLE PHYSICAL CULTURE OR
CALISTHENICS.

Calisthenic Exercises, 43

Part IV.

GESTURE OR VISIBLE EXPRESSION.

Attitude, Action, and Center of Motion, 50

The Threefold Mission of Gesture, 52

Lines, Parts, Directions, Zones, 53

Head, Brows, Eyes, Nose, Mouth, Cheeks, Chin, 55

Fingers, Hands, Arms, 58

Shoulders, Chest, Trunk, 6!i5

Feet, Knees, Legs, 64

Special Gestures, General Suggestions, and Cautions, .... 65

Part V.

PHONETICS.

Diacritic Marks and their Significance, 71

Simple Sounds, 72

Compound Sounds, • 73

Needless Distinctions and Inconsistencies, 73

CONTENTS. 9

PAGE.

Long Flat a, Short a, Short Italian a, Short o, Broaxi o, and

Long Italian a, 74

Phonetic Spelling, 75

Short e. Tilde e, Short u, Broad u, and r,» 76

Long a, Long e, Short ^, y, 78

Long 0, Long Double o, Short Double o, and t^, . . . . . 79

Cognate Sounds, 80

The Liquids, 82

The Proper Diphthongs, 83

Part VI.

ORTHOEPY.

Definition and Violations, 86

Orthoepic Inconsistencies, 89

Evil Tendencies in Orthoepy, 90

Orthoepic Rules, 91

Orthoepic Exercises, ... 93

Part VII.

MODULATION.

Defined and Outlined, 98

Fundamental Drill, 98

Conversational Tones, 100

Tremulant Tones, 101

Methods of Vocal Emission, 102

Power, 117

Volume, 124

Quality, 133

10 CONTENTS.

PAGE.

Time: Rate, . . . » 145

Quantity, 152

Pause, . . 153

Inflection, 156

Monotone, 163

Part VIII.

Diction, . . . . « » 165

Part IX.

SACRED ORATORY.

Defective Articulation and Deficient Projectile Power, ... 171

Drawling and Irregularity of Delivery, 172

Head and Nasal Tones, 172

Mouthing and Clerical Sore Throat, 173

Monday Morning Prostrations, 173

Unnaturalness, 174

Speaking in a Too High Key, 174

Eccentricities, 175

Bible Readings, 176

Hymnal Readings, 178

Part X.

THOUGHT ANALYSIS.

The Battle of Ivry, 181

Gray's Elegy, 185

Horatius at the Bridge, 194

The Brides of Enderby, 207

CONTENTS.

Part XI.

ORATORICAL SELECTIONS.

AiNO Legend, The, J. M. Crawford, .

Apostrophe to the Ocean, The, . . . Byron,

Archbishop and Gil Bias, O. W. Hohnes, .

Archie Dean, Gail Hamilton, .

Aunt Polly's" George Washington," . Youth's Companion,

Aux Italiens, Bulwer Lytton,

Awfully Lovely Philosophy, .... Anon,

Baby, The, J. W. Riley, . . .

Basket of Flowers, A, Sarah B. Stebbins,

Battle of Ivry, The, T. B. Macaulay, .

Bay Billy, Frank H. Gassawaj

Bells, The, E. A. Poe, ....

Bereaved, Florus B, Plimpton

Better than Gold, Virgil A. Pinkley,

Birthday Reflections, George D. Prentice

Blacksmith's Story, The, Frank Olive, .

Bore, The, J. G. Saxe, .

Brakeman at Church, The, R. J, Burdette,

Brides of Enderby, The, Jean Ingelow,

Bridge, The, Longfellow, .

Brother Watkins, John B, Gough

Brutus on the Death of Csesar, . . . Shakespeare, .
Burial of Sir John Moore, The, . . . Charles Wolfe,

Catoonthe Immortality OF THE Soul, Addison, . .

Charcoal Man, The J. T. Trowbridge,

Chariot Race, The, Lew A. Wallace,

Child's Dream of a Star, A , Dickens, ....

Cleon and I, Charles Mackay,

Coronation, Perronet, . . .

12 CONTENTS.

PAGE.

Cricket, The, * . . . . Anon., 129

Curfew, The, . Anon., 359

Deacon's Story, The, N. S. Emerson, .... 430

Death of Little Jo, . Dickens, 125

Diath of Little Nell, Dickens, .119

Dot Baby of Mine, Charles F. Adams, ... 392

Dot Leedle Loweeza, " " " . . 393

Dot Leedle Yawcob Strauss, .... " « « . . 391

Driver's Christmas, The, M. L. Kayne, 422

Dumb Savior, The, Mary E. Bryan, .... 349

Elf-child, The, James Whitcomb Riley, 452

Elocution and Oratory, H. W. Beecher, .... 20

Elocution Applicant, The, Anon., 468

Emmet's Vindication, 145

Eugene Aram's Dream, Thomas Hood, 354

Evangeline, Longfellow, . . . . . . 142

Evening at the Farm, J. T. Trowbridge, . . • 404

Fireman's Prayer, The, R. H. Conwell, .... 362

Flash— The Fireman's Story, ... Will Carleton, 150

Flood and the Ark, The, Hard-shell Preacher, . . 427

Funeral, The, Will Carleton, 368

GooD-NiGHT, Papa, American Messenger, . 139

Gradatim, J. G. Holland, .... 220

Grattan's Invective, 159

Gray's Elegy, . 185

Guessing Nationalities, S. L. Clemens, .... 282

Guilty or Not Guilty, Anon., 323

Hamlet's Elocutionary Advice, . . Shakespeare, 113

Hamlet's Sohloquy on Death, .... ** 146

Horatius at the Bridge, T. B. Macaulay, .... 194

CONTENTS. 13

PAGE
. 231

If we Knew, Anon,

Inquiry, The, • • • • Charles Mackay, ... 158

Jimmy Butler and the Owl, .... Anon, 374

Last Days of Herculaneum, .... Edwin Atherton, ... 345

Last Hymn, The, Marianne Farningham, 334

Laughter, R. G. Ingersoll, ... 221

Liberty and Union, Daniel Webster, ... 141

Literary Nightmare, A, Samuel L. Clemens, . 243

Little Hatchet Story, The, R. J. Burdette, ... 438

Little Stow-away, The, Anon, 434

Lookout Mountain, Battle of, ... . George L. Catlin, . . . 379

Lost Sheep, The, Anon, 386

Mac-o-chee, Donn Piatt, 298

Maiden Martyr, The, . Baltimore Elocutionist, 321

Mark Twain and the Interviewer, . . Samuel L. Clemens, . 462

Marmion and Douglas, Sir Walter Scott, ... 115

MaruUus to the Romans, MissMitford, 105

Mary's Night-ride, George W. Cable, . . 328

Mine Katrine, Charles F. Adams, . . 394

Model American Boy, The, Virgil A. Pinkley, . . 221

Mountains, E. M. Morse, ..... 143

Napoleon, R. G. Ingersoll, . . . 302

Necessity of Elocutionary Training, . Bishop Simpson, ... 23

New Cure for Rheumatism, . ,. . . R. J. Burdette, . . . 259

Nicodemus Dodge, S. L. Clemens, .... 278

Old "Constitution," The, 0. W. Holmes, .... 123

Old Man and Jim, The, James Whitcomb Riley, 415

Old Man in the Model Church, The, J. H. Yates, 413

Old Schoolmaster, The, L. O. Harris, 325

Old Woman's Railway Signal, The, . Elihu Burritt, .... 331

14 CONTENTS.

PAGE.

One Niche the Higliest, Eliliii Burritt, .... 331)

On the Shores of Tennessee, . . . . E. L. Beers, 384

Out to Old Aunt Mary's, J. W. Riley, 303

Owl Critic, The, James T. Fields, ... 270

Paddy's Excelsior, Anon, 401

Platonic Love, W. B. Terrett, .... 253

Praying for Papa, 216

Psalm CXLVIII and CL, Bible, 131

Psalm of Life, Longfellow, 227

Pyramus and Thisbe, J. G. Saxe, 272

Rain on the Roof, Coates Kinney, . . . 215

Resignation, • • . . Longfellow, 296

Richelieu and France, Bulwer Lytton, . . . 107

Richelieu's Reflections, " " ... 106

Riding on the Rail, J. G. Saxe, 265

Rizpah, Lucy Blinn, 352

Royal Princess, A, Christina G. Rossetti, . 314

Sam's Letter, Our American Cousin, 268

Sandalphon, H. W. Longfellow, . . 234

Sandy Macdonald's Signal, Anon., 454

Schneider Sees Leah, Schneider, 395

Second Trial, A, Sarah W. Kellogg, . . 335

Seed-sowing, Virgil A. Pinkley, . . 225

Seven Decades of Man, The, ...."" " . . 2l8

She would be a Mason, James C. Laughton, . 276

Ship of Faith, The, Anon., 382

Slavery Cowper, 159

Slips 'Twixt Cup and Lip, Owen Meredith, ... 103

Snow Angel, The, Wallace Bruce, . . . 228

Snow-flakes, Deronda, 232

Sockery Setting a Hen, Sockery, 398

Soliloquy of an Old Man, The, . . . . C. R. Brooke, .... 293

Songs of the Night, R. J. Burdette, .... 266

Spanish Duel, The, J. I. Waller, 407

CONTENTS. 15

I'AGE.

Speech of Cassius, Shakespeare, 161

Star of the Evening Floras B. Plimpton, . 226

Student, The, Anon., 223

Sunday Fishin', Harper's Magazine, . . 402

Theology in the Quarters, ... J. A. Macon, .... 400

Tommy Taft, H. W. Beecher, ... 417

Twenty-third Psalm, The, Bible, 176

Uncle Dan'l, ... Clemens and Warner, 370

Uncle Tom and the Hornets, .... Detroit Free Press, . . 274

Wainamoinen's Harp-songs, . . . . J. M. Crawford, . . . 235

Ward's Mormon Lecture, Artemus Ward, . . . 248

Ward's Panorama, " " ... 288

War Inevitable, Patrick Henry, .... 105

Water Eulogized, Paul Denton, .... 241

Water-mill, The, D. C. McCallum, ... 121

We Shall Know, • Anon., 103

When the Frost is on the Punkin, . James AVhitcomb Riley, 429

AVhistle of the Quail, The, Mary S. Paden, ... 312

Who Kissed Away the Tear ? . . . . Detroit Free Press, . . 327

William Tell, on Freedom, Knowles, 316

Work, Work Away, Virgil A. Pinkley, . . 451

Wounded Soldier, The, Anon., 420

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS.

David Copperfield and his Child- wife, Dickens, 472

Annabel Lee, E. A. Poe, 478

Senath's Sacrifice, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, 479

Cuddle Doon, A. Anderson, .... 483

Gabriel Grub, Dickens, 484

Three Bells, Tiie, J. G. Whittier, ... 489

Cricket on the Hearth, The, ... Dickens, 491

An Old Sweetheart of Mine, .... James Whitcomb Riley, 495
Nothin' to Say, James Whitcomb Riley, 496

SYNOPSIS OF THE WORK

PART I Anatomy, Physioi^ogy, and Hygiene of

THE Respiratory and Vocai, Agents.

PART II. ... Respiration.

PART III. . . . SiMPi^E Physical Culture, OR CALisTHENica

PART IV. . . . Gesture, or Visible Expression.

PART V Phonetics.

PART VI. . . . Orthoepy.

PART VII. . . . Modulation.

PART VIII. . . Diction.

PART IX. . . . Sacred Oratory.

PART X. . . . Thought Analysis.

Elocution and Oratory.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.

Oratory is the vocal aud visible expression of one's
own thoughts. Elocution is the vocal and visible expres-
sion of the thoughts of another. Speech is articulate vocal
expression. Gesture is visible expression. Good elocution
or oratory is the art of putting speech and gesture into har-
mony with the thought to be expressed.

Both elocution and oratory, therefore, fall legitimately
and logically within the province of this book.

The cardinal essentials to good reading and speech are
breath, body, voice, intellect, and emotion. When breath,
body, and voice are made subservient to the mind ; when
the mind is made to know what are the demands of thought ;
when the emotions are in keeping with the character of the
thought; when all these forces act in harmony with the
requirements of the thought, — then has the Art of Elocu-
tion and of Oratory touched its zenith.

Who will say that this is the work of a day, of a month,
of a year? Surely graduation is fittingly called Commence-
ment.

The highest mission to which these pages can address
themselves is the furnishing of a vocal and physical equip-
ment for the purpose of speech, the greatest gift of God
to man.

The body must be trained until it becomes the obedient
servant of the mind, to which end Calisthenics is a funda-
mental step, with gesture as its culmination.

2 17

18 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y.

The voice must be given purity, fulluess, flexibility,
compass, aud projectile power, all of which come under the
head of Vocal Culture.

The mind must be capable of fully grasping the mean-
ing embodied in the thought. Of what avail is a good voice
and a well-trained body if the mind can not comprehend
what the voice and body are to express? Intellectual acu-
men is essential to the broadest success of the reader or
speaker. Among many subjects, so far as they relate to the
Art of Delivery, the following may be named :

Invention — As the art of materializing and crystal-
lizing thought, and discovering suitable dress in which to
clothe it.

Etymology — As one of the greatest of all illuminators
of the hidden meaning of words.

Diction — As a training in the pure, precise, and appro-
priate use of words.

Logic — In its development of the reason as an aid to
analysis, and of the judgment as an aid to expression.

Criticism — As the art of judging impartially of the
merits of a theme and its delivery.

History — In its bearing upon the rise and development
of the science and art of Elocution and Oratory.

Some will ask, what has mental culture to do with a
course in elocutionary training? It has much to do with it.
The intellect is at the very foundation of all good vocal or
visible expression. If the student thoroughly understand
the thought, and understand why that thought may be bet-
ter expressed in one way than in another, his delivery will
be the outcome of his own intelligence and temperament.
It is because instructors have neglected the fundamental
conditions, the understanding of the thought, and of the laws
which govern its delivery, that so many pupils read and
speak mechanically. Such defective instruction is, in a
large degree, accountable for the superficiality, affectation.

INTROD UCTOR Y REMARKS. 19

and exaggeration which abound, to the disgust of the thought-
ful and the sensible.

And, finally, back of all these lies yet another essential —
namely, feeling — without which all is cold and passionless.
Can emotion be cultivated? one asks. Why not? Its cul-
tivation involves Ethics, as the art of extracting from words
their moral and emotional power ; it involves Esthetics, in so
far as it throws about delivery the mantle of the beautiful.

May the day soon come when the public, fully awake to
the importance of this subject, will frown out of existence
those elocutionists (?) whose sole stock in trade is a few
selections they have learned to recite as their teachers re-
cited before them!

Should one's delivery be nr^tural? Yes, if his natural
delivery be the best he can command. If a speaker has,
naturally, a nasal tone, he should be unnatural to the extent
of ridding himself of that tone. If he is naturally awkward,
he should get rid of that phase of naturalness. It seems
natural for some people to be unnatural.

Shall one speak as he talks? That depends, to some
extent, on how he talks. If he talks ill, he should not
speak as he talks.

In truth, the instructor finds no more gigantean task
than the bringing of a stiff*, angular, distorted, self-conscious
adult back to his child-like simplicity and self-forgetfulness.
When an adult has made that return, he has touched the top-
most round in Art. The author has no higher hope than
that he may be of some service in driving out affectation,
exaggeration, superficiality, and in encouraging originality,
individuality, and independent thought. Noise is not the
whole of Elocution. A rolling of the eyes, or a writhing of
the muscles, is not the only outlet of the soul. To say
*'me father," for "my father," is not art; it is flippancy, or
ignorance. There are those who are ever ready to aflSrm that
elocutionary and oratoric excellence of the highest order is

20 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

the direct outflow of genius. If you ask them what they
mean by genius, the usual reply is : * ' That gift which enables
one to accomplish wonders without work." To any such theory
emphatic exceptions may be taken. No eminent reader,
no artistic actor, no great orator, in the history of the world,
has attained his skill without labor. To say that real great-
ness is the result of idleness, is an insult to reason, and a
slander upon industry.

There was a time when the author listened to wonderful
oratoric flights, with the feeling that they were the sponta-
neous outbursts of direct inspiration. Since then he has
learned from the lips of orators that their skill is the out-
come of the closest attention to details, the result of long-
continued toil.

On this subject H. W. Beecher says:

"But oratory is disregarded largely; and one of the fruits
of this disregard is, that men fill all the places of power with
force misdirected ; with energy not half so fruitful as it might
be; with sincerity that knows not how to spread its wings
and fly. If you were to trace and to analyze the methods
which prevail in all the departments of society, you would
find in no other such contempt of culture, and in no other
such punishment of this contempt.

*'How much squandering there is of the voice! How
little is there of the advantage that may come from conver-
sational tones ! How seldom does a man dare to acquit him-
self with pathos and fervor ! And the men are themselves
mechanical and methodical in the bad way, who are most
afraid of the artificial training that is given in the schools,
and who so often show by the fruit of their labor that the
want of oratory is the want of education.

" Conversation itself belongs to oratory. How many men
there are who are weighty in argument, who have abundant
resources, and who are almost boundless in their power at
other times and in other places, but who, when in company
among their kind, are exceedingly unapt in their methods!

INTROD UCTOR Y REMARKS. 21

Having none of the secret instruments by which the elements
of nature may be touched ; having no skill and no power in
this direction, they stand as machines before living, sensitive
men. A man may be as a master before an instrument,
only the instrument is dead; and he has the living hand,
and out of that dead instrument what wondrous harmony
springs forth at his touch ! And if you can electrify an
audience by the power of a living man on dead things, how
much more should that audience be electrified when the
chords are living and the man is alive, and he knows how
to touch them with divine inspiration !

**I advocate, therefore, in its full extent, and for every
reason of humanity, of patriotism, and of religion, a more
thorough culture of oratory.

*'The first work, therefore, is to teach a man's body to
serve his soul ; and in this work the education of the bodily
presence is the very first step. What power there is in pos-
ture and in gesture! By it how many discriminations are
made; how many smooth things are rolled ofiT; how many
complex things men are made to comprehend !

"Among other things the voice — perhaps the most im-
portant of all, and the least cultured — should not be for-
gotten. The human voice is like an orchestra. It ranges
high up, and can shriek betimes like the scream of an eagle ;
or it is low as a lion's tone; and at every intermediate point
is some peculiar quality. It has in it the mother's whisper
and the father's command. It has in it warning and alarm.
It has in it sweetness. It is full of mirth and full of gayety.
It glitters, though it is not seen with all its sparkling fancies.
It ranges high, intermediate, or low, in obedience to the will,
unconsciously to him who uses it; and men listen through the
long hour, wondering that it is so short, and quite unaware
that they have been bewitched out of their weariness by the
charm of a voice, not artificial, not prearranged in the man's
thought, but by assiduous training made to be his highest na-
ture. Such a voice answers to the soul, and is its beating.

22 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

'"But/ it is said, 'does not the voice come by nature?'
Yes; "but is there anything that comes by nature which
stays as it comes, if it is worthily handled? We receive
one talent that we may make it five; and we receive five
talents that we may make them ten. There is no one thiug
in man that he has in perfection till he has it by culture.
We know that in respect to everything but the voice. Is
not the ear trained to acute hearing? Is not the eye trained
in science? Do men not school the eye, and make it quick-
seeing by patient use? Is a man, because he has learned a
trade, and was not born with it, thought to be less a man?
Because we have made discoveries of science, and adapted
them to manufacture ; because we have developed knowledge
by training, are we thought to be unmanly? Shall we, be-
cause we have unfolded our powers by the use of ourselves
for that noblest of purposes, the inspiration and elevation of
mankind, be less esteemed? Is the school of human train-
ing to be disdained, when by it we are rendered more useful
to our fellow-men?

"If you go from our land to other lands; if you go to
the land Avhich has been irradiated by parliamentary elo-
quence; if you go to the people of Great Britain; if you
go to the great men in ancient times who lived in the intel-
lect; if you go to the illustrious names that every one re-
calls, Demosthenes and Cicero, they represent a life of work.

"You shall not find one great sculptor, nor one great
architect, nor one great painter, nor one eminent man in
any department of art, nor one great scholar, nor one great
statesman, nor one divine of universal gifts, whose greatness,
if you inquire, you will not find to be the fruit of study,
and of the evolution that comes from study.

"To make men patriots, to make men Christians, to
make men the sons of God, let all the doors of heaven
be opened, and let God drop down charmed gifts — winged
imagination, all-perceiving reason, and all-judging reason.
Whatever there is that can make men wiser and better,

INTROD UCTOR Y REMARKS. 23

let it descend upon the head of him who has consecrated
himself to the work of mankind, and who has made himself
an orator for man's sake and for God's sake."

On this subject Bishop Simpson thus expresses himself:

"Should there be schools of elocution, is a question which
sometimes presses on the mind; and I answer, the necessity
for schools of elocution is founded on the general law of cul-
ture. God has given us organs which need development;
there is a law of growth and culture everywhere.

*'But it is said, why not study elocution alone? why not
cultivate the voice privately ? Much may be done by private
effort, and nothing can succeed without personal effort; yet
we learn from others. Our task is lightened by skillful
teachers, who have met and mastered a hundred difficulties.
And they can assist us; they can tell us how these voices
can be strengthened ; they can tell us how notes can be more
easily and gracefully enunciated, and they build up a stronger
human voice, and give a more graceful and easy utterance.
Thus the teacher becomes a blessing to the pupil. Time is
saved, less effort is required, and the results are better for
the individual and better for society. There are some of us
always blundering. We need a teacher to guide us; we
need a friend to admonish us, to point out the errors into
which we fall, and to save us, if possible, from some of those
errors that so greatly disfigure orations.

"This age demands elocution. The world is calling to-
day as it never called before. In ancient times languages
were many. Pass a few miles, and a different dialect re-
quired a different address; and men studying dialect were
unable thoroughly to pursue the study of elocution. But
mark how times are changed. The ends of the earth are
brought together, and audiences can come from the remotest
parts in a few hours; and wherever there is a man who has
thoughts to give, and can give them in an attractive man-
ner, multiplied thousands are ready to dwell upon his lips.
There is a motive for elocutioo which there oever was

24 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

before. Our republican government demands it. Monarchies
discuss but little, despotisms never. But in a republic, men
must discuss; and what questions are there of finance, of
Church and State, of labor and capital, of slavery, of tem-
perance, and of reform! How many questions are pressing
upon us from all parts of the earth! and these questions
must be discussed."

Part I.

Anatomy, Physiology, and Hygiene

OF THE

Respiratory and Vocal Agents.

THE NOSE.

1. Air Chambers. — The nose is supplied with sinuous
passage-ways which, in cold weather, act as moderators of
the in-going air. If people would shut their mouths when
they inhale cold air, there would be a decided decrease in
the number of deaths from pneumonia.

2. Filaments. — The nose is furnished with fine fila-
ments which are designed to protect the lungs from irritants,
such as flying bits of metal, coal, and dust. The cause of
inflammation of the lungs can often be traced to open-
mouth inhalation.

3. Nasal Glands. — The nose is provided with nasal
glands, which furnish moisture for the inhaling air, that fits
it for its introduction to the throat and lungs. If speakers
would seek relief from aching throats and husky voices, they
should inhale the air as nature intended, through the nose.
With such inhalation there would be fewer cases of catarrh,
and fewer throat congestions.

26 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

THE THROAT.

1. The Uvula. — The uvula is suspended from the rear
of the roof of the mouth, just in front of the posterior
nares. By it can be gauged the amount of air one wills
to exhale through the nose, or through the mouth. If one
lowers the uvula until egress of air through the mouth
is impossible, the nasal tone is the result. If one, while suf-
fering from a cold, would conceal to the uttermost its effect
upon the voice, he should elevate and retract the uvula until
the tone must be emitted wholly through the mouth. An
abnormally long uvula may become a source of irritation to
the throat, in which case the knife is sometimes resorted to,
although vocal training, by enlarging and strengthening the
throat and removing the irritation, often renders surgical
treatment unnecessary.

2. The Tonsils. — ^The tonsils are found one on either
side of the uvula. They are oval in shape. They, too,
when abnormally enlarged, become a source of irritation to
the throat, and an injury to the voice. As a means of their
reduction the knife is sometimes used. Sometimes they are
burned. There are few instances in which swollen tonsils
and throat-irritations will not disappear under proper elocu-
tionary training.

3. The Pharynx. — The pharynx is an opening about
four and a half inches in length, beginning with the pos-
terior nares, just back of the uvula, and merging below into
the oesophagus. In shape it somewhat resembles a cone, the
base being near the root of the tongue, and its apex at its
junction with the oesophagus. There are seven openings
connected with the larynx, six of which are concerned in
vocalization — the two eustachian tubes, the two posterior
nares, the opening into the mouth, and the opening into the
larynx, known as the glottis. During the act of swallowing,
the glottis is protected by a little leaf like lid, called the

RESPIRATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. 27

epiglottis. The pharynx is bounded in front by the
base of the nose, tongue, and mouth, and the upper
part of the larynx, and behind by the upper five cervical
vertebrae.

4. The Larynx. — The larynx consists of cartilages so
articulated and bound together by membranes as to be ex-
ceedingly pliant. It is bounded above by the base of the
tongue and by some of the muscles of the pharynx ; behind
by a portion of the pharynx and the front wall of the
oesophagus; and below by the trachea.

The hyoid bone is at the base of the tongue, and consti-
tutes the upper portion of the larynx. It lies in a horizontal
plane, and is shaped somewhat like a horseshoe, with the toes
of the shoe looking backward.

The thyroid cartilage forms the part known as the
''Adam's Apple."

The cricoid cartilage has something of the shape of a seal-
ring, the setting being in the rear. It is narrow in front,
and rapidly widens from the front backward. It lies in a
horizontal plane. It is attached to the thyroid in front.
Behind, it serves as a support for the two arytenoid cartilages,
which articulate with it in a manner permitting considerable
rotary movement. The two arytenoids stand upright, and
near their articulation with the cricoid are found the pos-
terior attachments of the vocal cords. These cords are at-
tached to the thyroid cartilage in front. The rotation of the
arytenoids upon their axes pulls the vocal cords together, en-
abling their free edges to vibrate as they receive the shock of
the expiring air. Thus the vocal cords, aided by breath, pro-
duce sound. A certain number of vibrations of the vocal cords
per second must be attained before sound becomes audible.
It is claimed that a well-trained, sensitive ear can distinguish
sound at fifteen vibrations per second. Vibrations may occur
so rapidly that sound ceases to be audible, estimated by some
to be about forty thousand per second. In repose, the male

28 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

vocal cofds are a little more than one-half an inch in length.
In women they are slightly shorter. Highly tensioned, they
are almost an inch in length. They are larger in men than
in women. In inspiration they so separate as somewhat to
resemble a triangle, the apex being in front and the base in
the rear, where they are, sometimes, a third of an inch apart.
In health they are almost pearly white. Irritation of the
mucous membrane of the larynx causes hoarseness. When
the irritation becomes chronic, the voice suffers permanent
derangement, and can not be restored until the ill condition
of the larynx is corrected.

When the vocal cords are most lax, the vibrations are
slowest and the pitch lowest. A depression of the rear of
the cricoid cartilage, by the downward pressure of the aryte-
noids, stretches the vocal cords, and it is chiefly to this little
act that the world is so much indebted for an infinite variety
of pitch. The longer the vocal cords are by nature, the
slower the vibrations and the graver the voice. In infancy
the cords are shortest and the voice highest. In women the
cords are shorter than in men, and their voices are the higher
keyed. The length of the cords in men is variable, the
longest and largest cords producing the deepest bass, the
shortest and smallest the highest tenor.

THE TRACHEA AND BRONCHI.

The trachea is from four to four and one-half inches in
length, and about three-fourths of an inch in diameter. It
is flattened behind, where there are no rings, and it serves
as the front wall of the oesophagus. Its principal mission is
to admit air to, and convey it from, the lungs. At its sides
and in front are circular rings throughout its length. At its
base it divides into the right and left bronchial tubes. The
right bronchical tube is shorter, larger, and more horizontal
than the left. The right is about one inch, and the left about

RESPIRATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. 29

two iuches in length. These two divide and subdivide, form
ing passage-ways for the air to all parts of the lungs.

THE THORAX. {g.^/Xi',.

Internal Thora.x.

1. The Heart. — The heart occupies more space in the
left side than in the right. The right lung, although shorter
than the left, contains three lobes, and is the heavier by
about two ounces. The right lung weighs about twenty-two
ounces. The left lung contains but two lobes, the heart
taking up almost enough space to be equal to a third lobe.

2. The Lungs. — Relatively, the lungs are larger and
heavier in men than in women, but in shape they are almost
identical. The circumference of the lungs at the base is
about twice as great as at the apex.

External Thorax.

1. The Sternum. — This body is composed of three
bones closely knit into one. They are the upper, the mid-
dle, and the lower. The lower is sometimes called the
ensiform cartilage. The sternum is from five to seven and
one-half inches long. It varies in breadth, being broadest
at the top. It then narrows, again broadens, and again
begins to grow narrower at its ensiform junction. At its
top it unites with the clavicle. By means of cartilages it
has direct communication wnth seven ribs on each side. The
eighth, ninth, and tenth ribs on each side articulate, each by
its cartilage with the cartilage of the rib above. The ster-
num is longer in man than in woman.

2. The Ribs. — There are twelve ribs on each side.
The eleventh and twelfth have no attachments in front,
which accounts for their being sometimes called floating
ribs. The first, or upper rib, is but little more than half the

80 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

length of the second, but is thicker and stronger. These
two join the sternum more nearly at right angles than do
any of the others. The ribs, beginning with the first, in-
crease in length until the seventh is reached, then diminish
until the twelfth is found to be but little more than half
the length of the eleventh. This gives the ribs an arch
forward. Their outward curve arches them laterally, and
they articulate with that portion of the spine which arches
backward.

3. The Costal Cartilages. — Each rib has a cartilage.
These cartilages, in common with the ribs, grow longer from
the first to the seventh, and then diminish until the eleventh
and twelfth amount to no more than simple tips for their
respective ribs. The first cartilage is shorter, thicker, and
broader than the others. It is the first to ossify. It ossifies
earlier in man than in woman. These cartilages are about
one-sixth the length of their respective ribs.

4. The Vertebrae. — There are twelve dorsal vertebrae.
The first, eleventh, and twelfth have a simple articulation with
their respective ribs. Each of the others serves a compound
purpose, articulating with the rib above and the rib below.
There are seven cervical and five lumbar vertebrae. The
sacrum and the coccyx, with which the spinal column termi-
nates, are sometimes classed with the vertebrae.

5. The Clavicles. — The clavicle on either side artic-
ulates in front with the sternum and cartilage of the first rib,
and behind with the scapula, where it is quite movable. In
front it can move only as the sternum moves. It has a double
curve, the anterior part being convexed forward, the posterior
part concaved forward. It is heavier, rougher, and thicker
in man than in woman. The right one is, usually, larger,
stronger, and rougher than the left. They are highly elastic.

6. The Scapulae. — They constitute the back part of
the shoulders. They are broad, fiat bones, articulating with
the clavicles and humeri, and extending downward behind
to abou* the plane of the eighth rib.

RESPIRATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. 31

THE MUSCLES. {[-'^----

Inspiratory Muscles.

1. External Intercostals. — There are eleven of these
on gaj^h side, partly filling the eleven rib-spaces. They arise
froji the lower edge of the rib above, extending downward
and forward to their insertion in the upper edge of the rib
below. Their contraction lifts the ribs, especially in front,
increasing the thoracic capacity.

2. Internal Intercostals. — They fill the anterior por-
tion of the eleven rib-spaces. They arise from the lower
edge of the rib above, and extend downward and backward
to their insertion in the upper edge of the rib below. Their
contraction raises the ribs.

3. The Scaleni Muscles. — ^These are three in num-
ber. The anterior arises from the upper edge of the first
rib, and is inserted into the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth
cervical vertebrae.

The middle scalenus also arises from the upper surface
of the first rib, and is inserted into the second, third, fourth,
fifth, sixth, and seventh cervical vertebrse.

The posterior scalenus arises from the outer surface of
the second rib, and is inserted into the fifth, sixth, and
seventh cervical vertebrse. Their contraction lifts the ribs
and induces inhalation.

4. The Serratus Posticus Superior. — This muscle
arises from the last cervical, and the first, second, and, some-
times, third dorsal vertebrse, and is inserted into the upper
borders of the second, third, fourth, and fifth ribs, just be-
yond their angles. Their contraction lifts the ribs.

5. Levatores Costarum. — Taking their origin from
the transverse processes of the last cervical, and all the
dorsal vertebrse, save the last, they attach themselves to the
upper edges of the posterior parts of the ribs. As they

32 ELOCUTION AND OKA TORY.

originate from a fixed point, their contraction must lift the
ribs, thus aiding inhalation.

Inspiratory and Expiratory.

The Diaphragm. — The diaphragm is a large, strong,
elastic muscle which forms the floor of the thorax and the
roof of the abdomen. It is attached in front to the ensi-
form cartilage; at the sides, to the lower six or seven ribs
and their cartilages; behind, on the right side, to the second,
third, and fourth lumbar vertebrse; and on the left side, to
the second and third lumbar vertebrae. In expiration the
diaphragm presents an upward convex surface, which fits
into the concavity at the base of the lungs. In inspiration
the diaphragm descends. This muscle is mainly inspiratory.
In its ascent it is principally passive. However, it partici-
pates actively in expulsive or explosive exhalation.

Expiratory Muscles.

1. Triangularis Sterni. — ^Tbis muscle arises from the
ensiform cartilage, from the base of the sternum, and from
the lower costal cartilages. It is attached to the second,
third, fourth, and fifth ribs. The sternum being compara-
tively fixed, the contraction of this muscle depresses the ribs
and aids in expiration.

2. The Obliquus Externus. — This arises from the
outer and lower portions of the eight inferior ribs, and is
inserted into the lower abdomen. Its contraction pulls the
ribs downward and inward, and, by compressing the abdo-
men, pushes the diaphragm upward, thus expelling the air.

3. The Obliquus Internus. — This muscle crosses under
the obliquus exterftus much as the internal intercostals cross
under the external intercostals. Arising from the lower ab-
domen, and inserting, in part, into the cartilages of the four
lower ribs on either side, its contraction assists in pulling
down the ribs, and in compressing the abdomen.

RESPIRATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. ^3

4. The Transversalis. — This muscle lies under the
obliquus interims. It arises, in part, from the inner surface
of the cartilages of the six lower ribs on either side, and as
it is inserted, in part, into the lower abdomen, its contraction
aids in expiration.

5. The Rectus Abdominus. — Originating from the
lower abdomen, and inserting into the cartilages of the fifth,
sixth, and seventh ribs on either side, it assists in pulling
down the ribs, compressing the abdomen, and pushing up
the diaphragm. In profound inspiration or expiration other
muscles are called upon.

THE ABDOMEN.

The abdominal contents are pushed down by the descend-
ing diaphragm in inspiration. If the inspiration be very-
deep, the abdominal viscera are pushed downward and out-
ward, until the ribs no longer surround any part of them,
the liver descending almost three inches. Thus distended,
these contents possess a strong tendency to return to their
normal position, thus affording expiratory power.

Part II.

Respiration.

Judicious respiratioD is essential to good speech. He
who fails fully to vocalize the vowel sounds is an expiratory-
spendthrift. He who corrupts the sub-vocal sounds by an
aspirated hissing of them, offends the educated listener, and
wrongs the English language. He who exaggerates the as-
pirates, exasperates the cultivated ear.

INHALATION.

The Inhalatory Method. — ''And the Lord God
formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into
his nostrils the breath of life." As a proof that inhalation
should be carried on through the nostrils, one needs but to
sleep an hour with open mouth. When he nwakes his throat
will be dry, hot, often painful.

Shallow, feeble inhalation is another foe to health. There
are adults who never know what it is to be entirely alive.
Their hands and feet are always cold. Their inhalations are
too shallow wholly to aerate the blood. The heart weakens;
the lower cells of the lungs decay; and, as a sequel, heart-
disease and consumption carry off an alarming proportion of
the people. An epidemic of fever, or small-pox, or cholera,
causes consternation in any community ; but an enemy nearly
as destructive — an open-mouthed and feeble inhalation — stalks
among us all the time, none the less fatal that it is so little
understood. If those who suffer from cold extremities, who
34

RESPIRATION. 35

rarely, if ever, sensibly perspire, knew the peril of their po-
sition, and knew the value of inspiratory exercises in restor-
ing the circulation and toning the vital functions, they would
not be slow in seeking relief.

Again, it is not generally known to what extent a full
inhalation adds to the carrying power of the voice. With
lungs almost empty, the voice can have but little vitality,
and drops lifeless not far from the lips of the speaker or
singer. It is estimated that in taking an inhalation, such as
skillful speech or song demands, a resistance of about one
thousand pounds of power must be overcome. Think of the
projectile force a thousand pounds of pressure upon the out-
bound breath will give to the voice!

Medical authorities speak of two forms of inhalation, the
diaphragmatic and the thoracic. The descent of the dia-
phragm increases the thoracic diameter. The lifting of the
ribs enlarges the thoracic circumference. Kegardless of sex,
the lungs should be allowed perfect liberty to expand in
every direction. If you wish to see real, genuine, artistic
inhalation, behold the child, the savage — aye, even an edu-
cated adult — when asleep ! Only among the cultivated and
refined, whose bodies are inflexibly bound by those delicate
bands of high-toned torture and untimely death, will you find
the diaphragm divested of its natural function. It cost four
years of war, with all its wealth and blood, to free four mill'
ion slaves. If we could capture once the ear, and through
that citadel the conscience and the sense, we might, without
the loss of coin or blood, free from bondage the waists of an
unnumbered multitude.

The Inhalatory Course. — Entering the nasal pas-
sages, the air emerges from the posterior nares into the
pharynx, through the glottis into the larynx, into the
trachea, then into the two bronchial tubes, which, dividing
and subdividing, supply every part of the lungs with air.

Inhalatory Action. — The nostrils dilate ; the epiglottis
stands erect; the vocal cords separate; the diaphragm

36 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

descends, enlarging the waist, and pressing the abdomen
downward and outward; the ribs move forward, upward,
sideward, backward; and the lungs expand in every direction.

Inhal atory Exercises.

1. Dorsal Expansion. — With the thumbs fixed at the
sides, spread the fingers backward upon the dorsal muscles.
Take six quick, rapidly succeeding inhalations, producing
the greatest possible outward pressure of the dorsal muscles
against the fingers.

2. Costal Expansion. — With the thumbs placed be-
hind on the dorsal muscles, spread the fingers at the sides.
Inhale six times, as in No. 1, taking care that there shall
be a decided outward action of the costal muscles against
the fingers.

3. Abdominal Expansion. — Fix the thumbs at the
sides, and spread the fingers forward over the abdomen.
Inhale six times as above. If properly done, a marked
outward expansion will be observed.

4. Waist Expansion. — This is a grouping of the pre-
ceding three into a single exercise, and, instead of being
tested by touch, should be tested by measurement. Tightly
and inflexibly laced, the waist can not expand ; but when
properly dressed, the expansion will reach, at first, an average
of an inch, which can be tripled by three months daily drill.

5. Chest Expansion. — Test this exercise, too, by
measurement. An expansion of two inches is a good be-
ginning. It does not require long practice to be able to
expand four inches.

6. Prolonged Inaudible Inhalation. — Inhale as
slowly as possible, letting the air escape the moment the
lungs can receive no more. To keep the lungs on a straiu,
by trying to retain the imprisoned air after the lungs are
completely full, can do no good, and may do much harm.
Students rarely reach ten seconds at their first effort at pro-
longed inhalation. They rarely fall short of sixty seconds at

RESPIRATION. 37

the close of one year's course in elocution. Many suc-
ceed in reaching ninety seconds. We have found, without
exception, that those whose respiration is the feeblest, are
those who liave the smallest, weakest voices. The muscles
of the waist and chest are given tone and strength by prac-
tice upon these exercises, while the voice uniformly improves
in force and fullness. Discontinue the effort of prolonging
the inhalation, for the time being at least, if faintness is
felt, and be especially careful if a fluttering or smothering
sensation is felt about the heart. He who escapes such feel-
ing may conclude that his heart is strong. If a smothering
sensation is felt on attempting to prolong the inhalation, stop
instantly, and try again another time, and so continue until
the heart affection is entirely removed. If a twinge of pain
is felt in either lung, be certain there is danger there. Of
this, too, you may rest assured — that taking long, deep
draughts of fresh air into the lungs will restore them, if
restoration is possible. Pure air is a divinely prepared rem-
edy for pulmonary ills. No medicine that man can mix will
so surely counteract the inroads of disease upon the lungs.

There are times, in song and speech, when the inha-
lations must be taken quickly. To do so inaudibly and
almost invisibly requires great skill. There come times
when dramatic art requires an upheaval of the shoulders in
inhalation. Except as occasion demands, never permit the
shoulders to rise perceptibly. It is said that a great artist
never gets out of breath. He may, in personating intense
anguish, or some consuming passion, appear to be exhausted,
but in reality his breath is wholly at his command.

EXHALATION.

It is estimated that the expiratory is one-third greater
than the inspiratory power. Besides the actions of the
muscles which aid expiration, the fully inflated lungs exert

38 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

about one hundred pounds of elastic auxiety to return to
their normal size, while the pressure of the outer air upon
the external thorax amounts to nearly seven hundred and
fifty pounds. The costal cartilages, tired of their stretch,
display a two-hundred-pound desire to return to their state
of repose. The flattened diaphragm exerts an upward press-
ure of about one hundred pounds to return to its normal
arch. Thus we see the expiratory muscles receive not far
from one thousand pounds of involuntary aid in expelling
the air from the lungs. Dr. Hutchinson found in one man
an expiratory power of twenty-two hundred pounds. He
claims that men of about five feet eight inches in height
possess the greatest average inspiratory and expiratory power.

EXHALATORY i]XERCISES.

1. Inaudibly Prolonged. — With a quick inhalation
through the nostrils, completely fill the lungs; then slightly
separate the lips, and exhale the air as slowly and steadily
as possible. Time the exercise. Pupils, at their first eff()rts,
do not average more than eight seconds. A daily practice
of a few minutes will, in a short time, enable one to exhale
for a minute, continuously, without discomfort.

2. Audibly Prolonged. — This exercise differs from
No. 1, in that it requires the giving out of the air with
sufficient force to make it distinctly audible. Many pupils
are unable to carry this exhalation longer than five seconds
on their first attempt, while the same pupils frequently
make a record of thirty seconds before their first quarter has
closed.

3. Expulsive Exhalation. — Placing the hands suc-
cessively on the dorsal, costal, and abdominal muscles, expel
the air with a sudden shock, prolonging it by a brief vanish.
Expel the letter h in the same way. Give the exercise three
times in rapid succession, with the hands in each of the
positions named,

RESPIRATION. 39

4. Explosive Exhalation. — Follow the directions
given for No. 3, omitting the vanish. Instead of the letter
h, the letter k may be used. Those who are afflicted with
diseased or delicate throats will find Nos. 3 and 4 a hazard-
ous drill, unless directed by a skilled instructor. To gain
command of these exercises is to take a decided stride in
the direction of artistic speech and song.

COMPOUND MOVEMENTS.

Thebe are some acts which include both inhalation and
exhalation, and which, although accompanied by sound, do
not come under the head of speech, and may be mentioned
in this connection.

1. Sighing. — This act is the result of a quick, audible
exhalation, preceded by a deep, long-drawn inhalation.

2. Yawning. — A yawn is a magnified sigh, accompanied
by a decided dropping of the lower jaw, and, usually, by an
uplifting of the shoulders.

3. Hiccoughing. — This is caused by a convulsive con-
traction of the diaphragm ; a sudden in-rush of air, and a
closure of the glottis, against which the out-bound breath
is hurled.

4. Sobbing. — Sobbing resembles No. 3 in its action, the
glottis closing earlier in the inspiration, allowing but little,
if any, air to enter the lungs.

5. Coughing. — In this act the glottis closes itself firmly
against the expiratory air, until the pressure becomes so great
that it is violently opened by the outburst of breath.

6. Sneezing. — This differs little in its action from No. 5,
the expelled air escaping through the nose, instead of through
the mouth.

7. Panting. — In panting, the inhalations and exhalations
are deep, short, and labored.

40 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

8. Laughing. — In laughter, each inspiration is followed
by a series of interrupted explosive exhalations ; glottis wide
open, and vocal cords in violent vibration.

9. Weeping. — Although the product of emotions the
reverse of those which produce laughter, yet in its move-
ments weeping closely resembles laughing.

RESPIRATORY VOIvUMES.

1. The Residual Air. — After one has expelled all the
air possible, there remains in the lungs a considerable vol-
ume, which, according to the estimates of various authorities,
averages about one hundred cubic inches.

2. The Tidal Air. — This is the amount which is re-
ceived and displaced at each respiration. In a state of
moderate activity, twenty-five cubic inches may be considered
an average estimate of the amount of tidal air.

3. Complemental Air, — The amount that can be in-
haled above the tidal air is called complemental air. It is
evident that this volume must be greatly governed by physi-
ological circumstances. Under normal conditions the com-
plemental air is placed at about one hundred cubic inches.

4. Supplemental Air. — After an ordinary or tidal ex-
halation, there remains in the lungs a reserve fund, which
may be drawn upon for extraordinary occasions. As in
No. 3, so here the amount depends upon the physical state,
being greatest in repose, and least under great exertion or
exhaustion; the extremes being estimated from seventy to
one hundred and seventy cubic inches. The normal amount
is about one hundred cubic inches.

5. Vital Capacity. — The vital capacity is the amount
of air it is possible to exhale from the lungs after the fullest
inhalation. At the height of five feet eight inches, condi-
tion normal, the vital capacity is about two hundred and
twenty-five cubic inches.

RESPIRATION. 41

GENERAL SUGGESTIONS AND CAUTIONS.

To Teachers.

As a rule, teachers do not know to what extent their
daily exhaustion is due to a waste of breath. Place near
your lips a slip of tissue paper, and then utter, with force,
any vowel sound. If the paper does not move, your breath
is wholly vocalized. If it flies from your lips, it will pay
you to learn the lesson of breath-economy.

To THE Cinergy.

Ministers, if you knew how largely this expiratory de-
fect is responsible for your "Monday morning prostration,"
you would not be slow to seek relief. "Clergyman's sore
throat," in a large majority of cases, is caused by the shock
of outgoing unvocalized breath against the tender tissues of
a tightly congested throat. When that is the cause, medicine
can not cure it. Right respiratory and vocal methods will
be elfective.

To Lawyers.

The essentials to an attorney's success are body, brains,
breath. How many attorneys have failed when they should
have been in their prime, because of mismanagement of
breath! "Why does my throat burn and ache, and my
voice grow husky, before I have spoken thirty minutes?" at-
torneys often ask. The answer is, because you inhale through
the mouth; inhale too little breath, and waste a part of that
as you speak. It is in the power of well-used vocal organs
to labor, unimpaired, for many successive hours. Indeed,
well ordered speech is one of the most exhilarating and
wholesome of exercises. We repeat that many of the ills
incident to teaching, preaching, and pleading, are directly
traceable to faulty respiration.

The experience of Talma, the famous actor, will illus-
trate and emphasize the value of respiratory skill. He

42 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

heard Dorival perform in a heavy dramatic role, and
noticed that he looked as fresh at its close as at its be-
ginning. Amazed, he said: ^'Dorival, I am strong; you
are slight. With such an effort as you made to-day, I
should be utterly exhausted. Tell me how you save your
strength?" Dorival playfully replied that his friend was
in need of no advice from him. Talma would not be thus
denied, and on one occasion secreted himself where he could
closely watch his rival's performance. He soon observed
that Dorival always kept his lungs well supplied with
air, never allowing them to approach an exhausted con-
dition; and, it is said, Talma rushed from the theater ex-
claiming: "I have found it!" Dorival was master of his
breath. That was his secret.

Waist Compression.

While it is true that, by nature, women have greater
action of the upper chest in respiration than men, it is
equally true that, for health and best of vocal results, they
must not deaden the diaphragm by ribs of bone or steel, or
by constriction of the waist in any form. Prima donnas
know this secret, and make free use of the muscles of the
waist in scoring their vocal triumphs. Lacking this free-
dom of the waist, the breath will come in gasps; the chest
will violently heave, the shoulders will jerk unseemly, and
will rise and fall to extremes. If the lungs are not allowed
to expand at the base, they will find room at the top, and
the shoulders are raised. Would that we could write in
letters of light so large that all the world could read: ''Do
not lace tJw waist! Give the lungs room I"

Part III.

Simple Physical Culture,

CALISTHENICS.

There are many who argue that if one feels what he
says, his gestures will always be appropriate. They mis-
take. Feeling, as a guide, is as unsafe as it is uncer-
tain. One may be honest and awkward. Sincerity and
stiffness have been known to go together. One may mean
well and act ill.

Calisthenic exercises are an admirable preparation for
gesture. With as much reason might one expect, with un-
trained fingers, to touch the proper keys, in the proper order,
with the proper force, producing exquisite music, as to ex-
pect to be able with untrained muscles to clothe speech in
fitting action. When the body is put under complete control,
then, and not before, is it in condition faithfully to respond
to all calls of intelligence or emotion.

It is the aim of calisthenics to give the greatest freedom
and mobility to the joints and muscles of the body. Prac-
tice in calisthenics heightens health, secures symmetry and
strength, produces pliability and poise, and gives grace to
attitude and action.
43

44 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

CAI^ISTHKNIC COURSE.

For the substance of what is presented under this head,
credit should be given to instructors, to daily experience and
observation, and to books. It is in some such way that all
information comes. It would be vain to attempt to give
acknowledgment in all cases; but, in this connection, the
reader is referred to a most admirable work by Oscar Gutt-
man on "^Esthetic Physical Culture," and to Professor Shoe-
maker's well-named "Practical Elocution."

CALISTHENIC EXERCISES.

Finger Movements.

Position : Arms extended horizontally to the front ; hands
open and prone. Move the fingers up and down, slowly at
first, gradually quickening the movement. Repeat the exer-
cise with the hands facing each other; with the backs toward
each other; with the hands supine. Repeat the same exer-
cise with the arms extended obliquely in the horizontal plane;
laterally in the horizontal plane.

Wrist Movements.

Practice the same order of movements as in the preced-
ing exercise, the action proceeding from the wrist-joints.
Rotate the hand from right to left, and revense, steadily
increasing the rate of movement.

Fore-Arm Movements.

With the elbow-joint as the center of action proceed as in
the foregoing exercise. Rotate the fore-arm from right to
left, and reverse, as in the preceding exercise.

Full-Arm Movements.

Transferring the pivot of action to the shoulder-joints,
follow the foregoing order. Rotate the full-arm from right

CALISTHENICS. 45

to left, and reverse, faster and faster. Swing the right arm
from back to front in a side-ellipse. Make the ellipse ap-
proach the circle as nearly as possible. Reverse the move-
ment. Conduct the same exercise with the ellipse in front.
Same order of movements with the left arm. Same with
both arms.

In all the calistheuic exercises which remain, count thus:
One and, twd and, three and, four and, five and, six and,
seven and, eight and, repeating the strain as often as neces-
sary. Instrumental music will add much to the precision
and enjoyment of these exercises.

Head Movements.

Position: Arms hanging loosely at the sides; shoulders
level; body erect; face to the front. Turn the head as far
as you can to the right without moving the body; return ;
in the same way to the left ; return ; repeat. Drop the head
as nearly as you can to the right shoulder ; return ; same
to the left ; return ; repeat. Drop the head to the breast
as nearly as you can ; return ; drop the head backward as
far as you can; return; repeat. Right, erect; back, erect;
left, erect; front, erect.

Arm Movements.

First Fore-arm Leadership. — Position : Hands clinched, on
the chest near the shoulder ; body erect ; shoulders level ;
heels together. Thrust the clinched right hand downward at
the side until it rests against the thigh ; return ; repeat.
Left hand through the same movement. Right hand down.
As the right returns, thrust the left down. As the left
returns, thrust the right down. Return the right. Thrust
them both down ; return ; repeat.

Do not permit the body to be pulled out of the perpendic-
ular, nor the shoulders to lo.se their level, during this drill.

Second Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat the first exercise,
making the movements sidewise in the horizontal plane.

46 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Do not permit the body to sway from side to side in this
exercise.

TJiird Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat the first exercise,
making the movements directly upward. Do not, in this
exercise, pull the body out of plumb. Hold each shoulder,
when not at work, in its proper position.

Fourth Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat the first exercise,
striking to the front. In the forward stroke do not allow
the corresponding shoulder to be drawn forward, nor the
opposite shoulder to be drawn backward, nor the body to
be pulled out of position.

Fifth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Finger-tips resting
on the shoulders ; arms akimbo ; heels together ; body erect ;
shoulders level. With the shoulder as a starting-point, re-
produce exercises one and four inclusive.

Sixth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position as in the first exer-
cise. Thrust the right arm down ; return ; thrust the right
arm directly upward ; return; repeat. Same movements with
the left arm. Thrust the right hand down and the left up,
simultaneously ; return both simultaneously ; reverse ; re-
turn; repeat. Both down; return; both up; return; repeat.

Seventh Fore-arm Leadership. — With the position as in the
fifth exercise, repeat the movements of the sixth exercise.

Eighth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Fingers in the
arm-pits ; arms akimbo. Thrust the right hand down at
the right side ; return ; repeat. Same movements with the
left. Right down ; right back and left down simultaneously.
Right down as the left returns ; return the right. Both down :
both back ; repeat. Do not lower the shoulder as you strike
down, nor should the opposite shoulder be jerked upward.

Ninth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Hands clinched
and on the chest. Thrust both hands downward, forward,
upward, returning to starting point. Repeat the circuit
seven times. Do not bend the body forward with the for-
ward stroke, nor backward with the upward stroke.

TeniJi Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat the ninth exercise,

CALISTHENICS. 47

moving the hands downward, sideward, upward, and back
to starting point.

Eleventh Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat the ninth exercise,
starting from the shoulders.

Tivelfth Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat the tenth exercise,
starting from the shoulders.

Thirteenth Fore-ainn Leadership. — Position : Hands clinched
on chest ; face to the front. Strike obliquely backward, with
the right arm in the horizontal plane, turning the body to
the right, and opening the hand with the stroke ; return ;
strike with the right arm obliquely to the left; return;
repeat. Obliquely backward with the left arm ; return ;
obliquely to the right with the left arm ; return ; repeat.
Obliquely to the right with both arms; return; obliquely
to the left with both arms ; return ; repeat. Both arms
twice obliquely to the right with returns. Both arms ob-
liquely twice to the left with returns.

First Rigid Fidl-arm Exercise. — Position : Fingers inter-
laced in front. Lift the arms forward and upward ; return ;
repeat seven times. Stand erect during the exercise.

Second Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Same as the preceding,
except that the hands are to be behind.

Third Rigid Full-arra Exercise. — Position : Hands clinched,
arms extended laterally and horizontally. Raise rigid right
arm directly upward to a vertical position ; return ; lower
it to the body ; return ; repeat. Same with the left arm.
Lift right arm up and put the left arm down simultaneously;
return ; right down and left up simultaneously ; return ;
repeat. Both down; return; both up; return; repeat.

Fourth Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Repeat the preceding
exercise, making the movements to the front.

Fifth Rigid Fidl-arm Exercise. — Position : Hands with
palms resting against the thighs, ^aise the rigid right arm
sideward and upward into a vertical position ; return ; repeat.
Same with left arm. Right up ; right down and left up, simul-
taneously; reverse; right return; both up; return; repeat.

48 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Sixth Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Same order as in the pre-
ceding exercise, making the movements to the front.

Seventh Rigid Full-ami Exercise. — Position : Arms hori-
zontal; front; hands open; palms together. Throw the
arms backward in the horizontal plane, bringing the backs
of the hands into contact behind ; return ; repeat seven
times. Very few will succeed in this without long con-
tinued practice.

Eighth Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — With the backs of hands
together in front, strike with palms backward in the hori-
zontal plane. No one, perhaps, succeeds in bringing the
palms together behind in this exercise.

Shoulder Movements.

First Shoulder Exercise. — Position : Arras hanging at the
sides; body erect. Lower the right shoulder; return; lift
the right shoulder ; return ; repeat. Same with the left
shoulder. As the right shoulder drops, lift the left
shoulder; return; reverse; repeat. Drop both; return; lift
both ; return ; repeat. Keep the body in the perpendicular.

Second Shoulder Exercise. — Position as before. Thrust
right shoulder forward ; return ; thrust right shoulder back-
ward ; return ; repeat. Same with the left shoulder. As
the right goes forward , thrust the left one back ; return ;
reverse ; repeat. Both forward ; return ; both backward ;
return ; repeat.

Trunk Movements.

Position : Body erect ; arms hanging at the sides. Turn
to the right without moving the feet ; return ; turn to the
left ; return ; repeat. Bend the body to the right side ;
return ; bend the body to the left side ; return ; repeat.
Bend the body forward ; return; backward; return; repeat.
Bend to the left; return; backward; return; to the right;
return; to the front; return.

By this exercise the muscles, upon which the voice

CALISTHENICS. 49

almost solely depends for its propelling power, are given
an admirable drill. With feeble muscles of the trunk, one
can not cast the voice very far. This exercise gives the
muscles strength.

Movements of the Lower Limbs.

Position: Arms hanging at the sides; hands open. Lift
the body until the weight rests upon the toes, at the same
time thrusting the arms vertically upward ; return. Without
permitting the knees to project, bend the body forward, touch-
ing the floor with the finger-tips ; return ; repeat three times.

Very few will be able, at first, to touch the floor with
the fingers without relaxing the knees. Insist on the rigid-
ity of the knees.

Part IV.

Visible Expression,

GESTURE.

Gesture is visible expression. It consists in action and
attitude. It appeals to the eye. Motion is the most usual
manifestation of gesture, yet there are times when an attitude
is profoundly impressive, and expressive. Attitude may be
defined as action arrested, motion congealed. A monument,
though mute and motionless, may enforce many a moral.
Napoleon at St. Helena, hat in hand, eye fixed upon the
boundless sea, lips silent and compressed, body as* motionless
as marble, speaks volumes to an admiring world.

Good gesture makes melody for the eye, as good modula-
tion makes melody for the ear. To be truthful, gesture must
be in harmony with the thought. The hand of a miser
does not illustrate generosity. A corrugated brow is not in-
dicative of joy. In the impersonation of character, the per-
former should see that it is not his own individuality to
which he gives expression. In all cases, the surroundings,
the circumstances, the sense, must be the guide to gesture.

There are many idolaters of the "divine afilatus" theory,
who contend that gesture can be founded on no law, that it
can not be learned; that it bubbles out of the being; that
it is essentially an inspiration. There is a bit of truth in
this claim. Spontaneity is a good thing if it springs from a
50

OESTURK 51

well-trained body. Oue who, by culture and by custom, un-
cousciously acts well, may with safety trust to impulse. No
one else can afford to do it. Instinct does not teach a pilot
how to guide a boat. No one would trust his life with
such a pilot. One might just as reasonably ask him to know
where lie tiie shoals, the sands, the snags, the eddies, without
study and observation, as to ask artistic action of one who
is ignorant or indolent.

There are laws upon which gesture is founded, and by
which a course of instruction may be systematically con-
ducted. As space will not permit an exhaustive treatment of
this subject, an endeavor will be made to employ only rep-
resentative terms, such as are most suggestive, and best
calculated to lead the student into a more thorough line of
thought. Moreover, in the analysis of action, of attitude,
facial expression, and of the various agents of each, space
permits but a simple statement of the cardinal divisions.

ACTION.

r Unimpassioned,

Action is, comparatively speaking, i impassioned,

■*■ '' ^ ^ (^Highly Impassioned.

Action should be always in harmony with the thought.
In quiet moods it should be unimpassioned.

Heroism, valor, decisiveness, and kindred emotions, call
for impassioned action.

Fury, frenzy, vehemence, and their kind, require action
of a highly impassioned character.

Require the pupil to read or recite lines which require
these types of action.

ATTITUDE.

r Passive,
Attitude may be considered as ] active,

•^ ( Intensely Active.

In the expression of weakness, weariness, carelessness, and
like conditions, the passive position is employed.

The attitude is active in aggression, defiance, dominance,
and in kindred feelings.

52 tJLOCDTION AND OttATORY.

An intensely active attitude is adapted to feelings of fury>
revenge, and all highly dramatic situations.

Require the pupil to illustrate the attitudes by quoting
from authors, or by his own composition.

CENTER OF MOTION.

(Wrist,

Arm movements center at the i Elbow,

(Shoulder,

Gestures of a conversational nature pass through but a
limited area of action, and, when of a very quiet, simple
style, center at the wrist. Ask the pupil to illustrate.

If the conversation take a lively, animated turn, the cen-
ter of motion transfers itself to the elbow, and the gestures
cover a more extended area. Illustrate.

Gestures of an oratorio, heroic, exalted, dignified, majestic,
tragic, or dramatic character, call for yet broader action, and
the center of motion is found at the shoulder. Illustrate.

With the thought given, require the pupil to state what
position, what facial expression, and what center of action,
would be required. Give any one of the four conditions
to find the other three.

MISSION OF GESTURE.

The mission of gesture is threefold. It sometimes pre-
cedes, sometimes accompanies, and sometimes follows the
spoken words. Its principal mission is to act as a fore-
runner and illuminator. By a flash ot the eye, a twitch of
the mouth, a toss of the head, a turn of the hand — by any
one of an infinite number of gestures, the mind of the list-
ener may be prepared for the words that follow.

Whether gesture shall precede, accompany, or follow, de-
pends entirely upon the nature of the thought that demands
the gesture. If there is a series of gestures called for by a
series of thoughts, the action must partake of the nature of
the thought; quickening as it quickens; intensifying as it
intensifies; culminating as it culminates.

GESTURE. 53

Not unfrequently gesture waits until speech has wrought
its work upon the ear, when like a flash it follows, empha-
sizing the same thought by presenting it to the eye.

Give examples requiring anticipative action, accompany-
ing action, subsequential action.

I.INES.
The lines in which gestures are made are { |urv?d!^'
Self-defense takes a straight line; so does impetuosity,
ferocity. The curve-like flourish is employed in serener,
more aesthetic moments.

r Preparation,

The parts of a simple gesture are j Execution,

Sometimes the preparation passes through a limited space ;
sometimes through space more extended. Sometimes the prep-
aration is made swiftly ; sometimes more deliberately. Some-
times the preparation is made in silence; sometimes with
words. The area through which it shall pass, its rate of mo-
tion, at what moment it shall occur, and how long continue,
all depend upon the thought to be expressed. Do not begin
the preparation prematurely, nor tardily. Once begun, carry
it through to its consummation. Nothing looks more ludi-
crous than to see an arm start out as if to gesticulate, and
then fall back as with paralysis.

The consummation should be in harmony with the prepa-
ration ; deliberate if it is deliberate, swift if it is swift.

The return should be in keeping with the body of the
gesture, the distance through which it must travel being
entirely dependent upon the point at which the execution
terminates. Give illustrations.

DIRECTIONS.

{Front,
SJeraI^'^'^''^'
Backward-oblique.

The gesture to the front is one of especial directness and
emphasis. The pugilist strikes to the front, even if he must

54 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

turn around to do it. Give illustrations of gestures to the
front.

We begin to generalize with the front-oblique direction.
In this direction we show parts of a great whole. In recit-
ing the words ''charging an army, while all the world won-
dered!" to carry the arms entirely to the sides on the words
' ' charging an army " would be manifestly illogical. The world
is broader than an army, and requires greater breadth of
action. Give examples of gestures to the front-oblique.

The lateral direction should be used in showing greatest
breadth, fullness, completeness.

In the following, "Through thy corn-fields green, and
sunny vines, O pleasant land of France ! " the action grad-
ually broadens until the culmination is reached on the words,
*' O pleasant land." Give other illustrations.

The oblique-backward gesture is suggestive of remoteness,
indistinctness, indiflTerence, disgust. Illustrate.

ZONES.

TUpward, or Spiritual ;

The zones of gesture are i middlk, or intellectual ;

° (^Downward, or Physical.

These three zones have several distinctive characteristics.

First. We may say, in a general way, that descending
gestures belong to the realm of determination ; horizontal
gestures to the realm of reason; ascending gestures to the
realm of imagination.

Second. Meanness of every type should be expressed by
descending gestures; morality, by horizontal gestures; spirit-
uality, by ascending gestures.

Third. All objects, real or imaginary, lying beneath us,
require descending gestures; on a plane with us, horizontal
gestures; above us, ascending gestures.

Fourth. We may speak of the upper zone, as the torrid ;
the middle, as the temperate; the lower, as the frigid zone.

For love, warmth, purity, lightness, brightness, gleeful-

GESTURE. 55

ness, and all that is ennobling or spiritualizing, the ascend-
ing gestures are suited.

For calmness, simplicity, and unimpassioned speech in
general, horizontal action is adapted.

In giving expression to incision, decision, dogmatism, deg-
radation, destruction, malevolence, and all forms of brutality,
or bestiality, gestures should take the descending direction.

Require the pupil to recite, with appropriate gesture, ex-
amples calling for movements in the zones named.

THE HEAD.

The head is to be held in a normal position in the expres-
sion of composure, contentment, trustfulness, and the like.

The head is bowed forward in submission, embarrass-
ment, contemplation, timidity, melancholy, and in kindred
feelings.

The head is turned to the side with averted face in dis-
gust, horror, and evasion.

The head is thrown back in defiance, haughtiness, and
egotism.

The head held high or erect is indicative of dignity, in-
dependence, and self-reliance.

A rocking of the head to and fro is employed in assent,
consent, conviction, and in like feelings.

A movement of the head from side to side is suggestive
of pomposity, presumption, voluptuousness, and vanity.

A rotary action of the head is an index of dissatisfaction,
disagreement, senility, and idiocy.

Do not keep the head in perpetual motion. An occasional
movement may be made very effective. Unless the circum-
stances require it, the head should not be drawn toward, nor
react from, a gesture of the arm.

THE BROWS.

An elevation of the brows is an expression of surprise,
inquisitiveness, superciliousness, and haughtiness.

56 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

The brows are depressed in lauguor, sorrow, listlessness,
and remorse.

The brows are contracted in pain, suspicion, impatience,
and in similar mental conditions.

When the eyebrows are normal, the forehead is smooth.
When the eyebrows are elevated, the forehead is relaxed,
and lies in horizontal folds. When the eyebrows are de-
pressed, the forehead is in a state of tension.

When the eyebrows are contracted, the forehead is con-
tracted, and lies in perpendicular folds. Constant smiling
creates horizontal lines, and constant frowning creates per-
pendicular lines in the forehead. Avoid a continual wrink-
ling of the forehead, or an over-use of the eyebrows.

What feelings other than those already mentioned require
an elevation of the brows? A depression of the brows? A
contraction of the brows? Give illustrations both from au-
thors and from your own composition.

THE BYES.

The eyes are well open in amazement, expectation, and
exultation.

They are partly closed in the expression of discourage-
ment, debility, debasement, and of similar sentiments.

The eyes have an eccentric expression in courage, resist-
ance, aggression, and in hostility.

The eyes have a concentric look in soliloquy, abstraction,
introspection, and the like.

The eyes are averted in shame, disgust, fear, and aver-
sion. Give examples.

The eye is the indicator of thought. In the eye gesture
has its birth, just as in the larynx voice originates. Like
the lightning's flash, which springs from the cloud and illu-
minates the earth, so thought radiates from the eye, and
reflects the soul within. While with the voice one may utter
but one language, and that imperfectly, with the eye ojie
may speak intelligibly in all languages, to all peoples. The

GESTURE. 57

eye, then, being a factor of paramount importance, its cor-
rect use is surely worthy of cultivation. Have you not heard
a speaker whose eyes seemed never to behold his audience;
who looked in one favorite upper corner of the hall, or in
both upper corners alternately, or above your heads, or below
your eyes, anywhere rather than into your faces? This is
bad, and should not be tolerated. When you read or speak,
look at your listeners, unless your are impersonating some
character that does not admit of it.

THE NOSTRILS.

The nostrils are dilated in the expression of indignation,
contemptuousness, malevolence, and like sentiments.

In the expression of pain,- avarice, anxiety, and distress
the nostrils are contracted.

An elevation of the tip of the nose is suggestive of ridi-
cule, contempt, bigotry, and prejudice.

THE MOUTH.

The corners of the mouth are lifted in anticipation, satis-
faction, mirthfulness, and kindred feelings.

The corners of the mouth are depressed in the expression
of scorn, grief, and hatred.

The degree to which the corners of the lips should be
lifted, or lowered, should be in proportion to the intensity
of the emotion that inspires the action.

THE IvIPS.

The lips are compressed in the portrayal of determination,
defiance, distress, and agony.

They are puffed or projected as an index of disgust, sen-
suality, petulance, and sullenness.

The upper lip is lifted in derision, menace, haughtiness,
and contempt.

The lower lip droops as an exponent of verdancy, imbe-
cility, insanity, and the like.

58 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

A protuberance of the lower lip is suggestive of vul-
garity, brutality, and selfishness.

A shortening and receding of the lower lip would be em-
ployed in depicting indecision, efieminacy, and superficiality.

THE CHEEKS.

The cheeks are puffed or eccentric in merriment, and in
the impersonation of contented, self-satisfied, phlegmatic con-
ditions.

The cheeks are compressed or concentric in terror, re-
morse, suspense, and pain.

THE CHIN.

Cunning, curiosity, and incisiveness are the language of
a projected, pointed chin.

Sternness, stability, and valor are better represented by
a square or broadened chin.

Liberality, geniality, and frankness are indicated by the
round, full chin.

A rapidly receding chin is suggestive of timidity, vacil-
lation, and mental weakness.

THE FINGERS.
The fingers in position are found { ^oJ^ther.

Fright, disgust, detestation, all emotions expressive of
unfriendliness or lack of companionship, tend to separate
the fingers.

Sorrow, sympathy, communion, whatever is attractive or
congenial, has a tendency to bring the fingers into close com-
panionship. Give examples.

{Normal,
Rigid,
Relaxed.

They are rigid in horror, repulsion, vituperation; and re-
laxed in melancholy, resignation, and docility.

GESTURE. 59

The index-finger is made serviceable in locating, limiting,
illustrating, and in emphasizing.

In the use of the index -finger, if you wish to emphasize a
thought, or specify a thing, be sure to straighten it. Noth-
ing can look weaker or more ridiculous than an angular index-
finger, shaking its crooked self in the belief that it is giving
pith, power, incisiveness, to some statement.

Guttman speaks of the third finger as the wishing-finger,
and says it plays a prominent part in the hand of greed.
He calls the fourth, or little finger, the feeling finger, say-
ing that if we would scratch the chin or rub the eye, we
should use the little finger. The little finger may be used
for the purpose of belittlement, tantilization, and scornful-
ness. The same may be expressed by the throwing back
and pointing of the thumb.

The fingers may be interlocked as a rest, or recreation,
or for the sake of variety, and in the expression of anguish,
despair, and remorse. Give examples.

THE HANDS

('Prone

The positions of the hands may be designated as \ supine,

The prone position is used to express compression, depres-
sion, oppression, suppression, destruction, degradation, and
the like.

We use the prone hand for a placing upon, whether it be
a fact, a principle, a blessing, or an object, real or imaginary.
The prone hand, in one sense, is the hand of limitation, an
illustration of which will be given later.

The supine position is the one employed in giving expres-
sion to frankness, friendliness, and benevolence. The supine
hand removes all limitation, and is expressive of infinitude.
In illustrating the tossing of the waves of the sea one could
not wisely employ the supine position of the hand, as the
waves are borne to a limited height. To attempt to waft a

60 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

spirit to the heavens by the use of the prone position of the
hand is quite as injudicious.

With the vertical position of the hand we may attract,
or repel ; warn, or adore.

The hand is open in candor, invitation, and persuasion.
We generalize with the open hand.

The hand is closed in avariciousness and exclusiveness.
It is clinched in anger, revenge, and resolution.

Delight, approval, a desire to attract attention, and the
like, find fit expression in a clapping of the hands.

Self-content, appreciation, and pleasurable anticipation,
may rub the hands together, one upon the other.

The hands are often wrung as an expression of torture
of mind or body. Give examples illustrative of the various
positions and conditions of the hand.

Caution. — If you mean to use the open hand, open it.
Do not cramp it, nor throw it into unseemly angles.

WHEN TO USE THE LEFT, WHEN THE RIGHT HAND.

We are often asked, how can we know when to use the
left, when the right, when both? Many seem to think that
the left hand is given man as an ornament, and not to use
in gesture. With such persons, this hand has more of a
paralytic than an ornamental look. Action to the left side
should usually be made with the left arm, and it should be
under as complete control as the right. There are very few
occasions that would draw the right arm across the breast in
a struggle to cover the left field of action. There are some
acts which custom calls upon the right hand uniformly
to perform ; among them, salutation, hand-shaking, and
taking the oath.

Both hands are in demand when the area of action is too
broad to be compassed by one, or when the force to be em-
ployed is too great to be accomplished by one, or in response
to any sentiment or situation suggestive of the use of both.

GESTVRE. 61

THE ARMS.

The movements of the arm are many, intricate, and com-
plex. There is no agent of the body more difficult to man-
age gracefully than the arm ; none that so frequently mars the
effect of speech or song by its angularity and awkwardness.

Every teacher should give his pupils special drill in the
movements of the arms. Their preparation for gesture may
be brought about by the following preliminary exercises.

Silent-arm Exercises. — Move the right arm through
all the planes, in all the directions, with all the positions of
the hand; same with the left arm; same with both arms.
This furnishes the arms with one hundred and eight dis-
tinct movements, and the transformation they Avill work in
the action of a pupil is surprising. After this silent subju-
gation of the joints and muscles, the instructor may ask the
pupils to produce language that requires these various move-
ments, and to fit them to the words.

Cuts, and labelings, and figurings, and directions, at this
stage of the study of gesture, are of little value unless the
teacher is present to explain and exemplify.

Of the many purposes of the movements of the arm, some
of the more prominent are, location, illustration, limitation,
generalization, and emphasis.

A single gesture may serve a compound purpose. For
example, in delivering the words, "On yonder jutting cliff,"
the movement of the arm led by the index-finger may ex-
press limitation, location, illustration, and emphasis. The
index-finger limits the number to a single peak. If there
are thousands of them, the open hand would be required.
The index-finger points out or locates the peak.

The whole arm and index-finger, in the forward thrust,
is an illustration of the "jutting peak." The force with
which the movement should be made imparts the emphasis.

In the statement, "O'ertaken by the furious mountain
blast, I 've laid me flat along," the words " I Ve laid me flat

62 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

along" require some visible as well as vocal expression. A
gesture of illustration is necessary. To say **laid me flat
along" with the supine hand, would be palpably improper,
as in such a crisis a man would not lie on his back.

The instructor should require his pupils to give other
illustrations exemplifying the various purposes of the move-
ments of the arm.

A good illustration of the full-arm flight of gesture, and
its culmination, in harmony with the vocal flight and culmi-
nation, is found in the following: "Or as our peaks, that
wear their caps of snow, in very presence of the regal sun."
If the pupil were asked to what zone this compound gesture
belonged, he would see in an instant why it must belong to
the ascending. If asked what condition of the hand is re-
quired, he might not feel so sure. This is an admirable
mode of awakening self-invescigation and self-reliance in the
minds of pupils. For the first clause, "Or as our peaks,"
the open hand is demanded. "Peaks" can not be indicated
by one finger. " Caps of snow" employs the same condition
with an upward movement. "In very presence," still higher
movement. "Of the regal sun" calls for the index-finger
only, and brings the gesture to its climax at the moment
the pitch of the voice reaches its highest point.

THE SHOULDERS.

The shoulders are normal in repose. They are thrown
back in independence, bravado, and pomposity. They are
drawn upward or shrugged in skepticism and insinuation.
Such a statement as, "What are you to do about it? I
have no fear of you," could be made by a shrug of the
shoulders, without the use of a single word.

Languor, debility, dejection, surrender, shame, and similar
feelings, cause the shoulders to fall forward or droop.

Caution. — Do not jerk nor shrug the shoulders unless
occasion demands. A continued and meaningless twitching

GESTURE. 63

of the shoulders is very distasteful to the average observer.
Give illustrations of the shoulder movements.

THE CHEST.

In the representation of such feelings as resistance, arro-
gance, and bravado, the chest assumes the eccentric form.

In the impersonation of sickness, weakness, decrepitude,
fear, and exhaustion, the chest becomes concentric. The
chest of the gladiator is eccentric; of the coward, concentric.
The eccentric chest suggests activity ; the concentric, pas-
sivity. Give illustrations.

THE TRUNK.

The body is thrown backward in the delivery of such
feelings as those of defense, defiance, bombast, and pride.
The pupils may be required to enlarge the list of emotions
which employ this position.

Secrecy, curiosity, anticipation, and the like, incline the
body forward.

A rotary movement of the trunk is suited to the ex-
pression of verdancy, coquetry, and embarrassment.

A movement to and fro, or from side to side, is a sign
of woe, despair, and insanity.

A manly bearing, a military bearing, a courageous bear-
ing, all carry the body erect.

The body is rigid in revenge, wrath, and in all types of
vehemence.

Sorrow, soliloquy, surrender, and the like, relax the body.
Recite such words as will illustrate the various movements
and attitudes of the trunk.

Caution. — Unless the sense demands it, avoid, by all
means, a monotonous movement of the body to and fro, or
from side to side, or in a rotary way. When not in harmony
with the thought, such motions are extremely ungainly, and
exceedingly trying to the nerves of the beholder.

64 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

THE FEET.
There is no easier or more graceful position of the feet
than at an angle of from forty to sixty degrees, the heel of
the advanced foot about two inches from the hollow of the
retired foot. To denote a military precision the feet ap-
proach the right angle. In buffoonery, or burlesque, or in
the impersonation of extreme awkwardness, the feet may be
placed in a parallel position. A swaggering, or intoxicated,
or ruffianly bearing, plants the feet widely apart.

THE FEET AS WEIGHT-BEARERS.
In the bearing of the weight the feet are put in five dis-
tinctive positions, namely :

1. Eight foot advanced, bearing the burden of the weight.

2. Right foot retired, bearing the burden of the weight.

3. Left foot advanced, bearing the burden of the weight.

4. Left foot retired, bearing the burden of the weight.

5. The two feet sharing the weight.

Give examples illustrative of the feet-positions. Which
shall be advanced is, as a rule, a question of comfort. How-
ever, there are laws which determine whether the advanced
foot shall bear the excess of weight, or whether the principal
portion of the weight shall be put upon the retired foot.
Salutation, sympathy, affinity, and kindred feelings, throw
the greater weight upon the advanced foot; while dread,
fright, and all forms of repulsion, assign more weight to the
retired foot. Stolidity, stability, and sturdiness, place upon
the feet, approximately, an equal amount of weight.

THE KNEES.
The protruding of the knees is a sign of slothfulness, ver-
dancy, sycophancy, and servility, and is seen often in bur-
lesque. The knees are held firmly back in place, in feelings
of rage, resentment, and malice. In kneeling, if the side is
toward the audience, and but one knee is to touch the floor,
that knee should be the one nearest the audience.

GESTURE, 65

THE LEGS.

The legs should be rigid in all impassioned or dramatic
situations. They should be relaxed in the expression of
feebleness, exhaustion, melancholy, and soliloquy. Illustrate.

Caution. — Avoid standing in such a manner as to make
one leg eclipse the other. Such a position gives one the ap-
pearance of standing on a very narrow base, and makes his
figure look unsym metrical. As all who recite, or speak, or
act, are required at times to take steps in presence of the
public eye, a few suggestions in that connection will not be
amiss.

Steps of delight, pleasant anticipation, exhilaration, and
the like, are quick and elastic. Daintiness, undue nicety,
vanity, and mock-modesty move with mincing steps. Stealth,
suspicion, and treachery glide noiselessly on their mission.
Imbecility, incapacity, indolency, self-abandonment, are sym-
bolized in a slow and shuffling gait. Doubt, reluctance, re-
pugnance, approach their object, if at all, with faltering step.
Indignation, infuriation, and aggression employ steps which
are firm and swift. The steps of dignity, deliberation, and
ponderosity are slow and steady. The swaggering step is
the delight of the clown. It is put into frequent use by the
caricaturist, and is admirably suited to either top-heaviness
or top-emptiness.

SPECIAIv GESTURES, SUGGESTIONS. AND CAUTIONS.

There are countless numbers and varieties of gesture
which come under no specific law. These may be known as
special gestures. To give an impression of the breadth
of the field they cover, attention is called to a few that
are common to the hand. The palm of one hand is alter-
nately run over the back of the other in quick succession to
express pleasure in the contemplation of a subject, in its
cheerful presentation, in gladly accepting its truth, in creat-

66 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

ing warmth of subject, or warmth of hands when cold. The
fingers are thrust between each other and quickly separated,
the movement being rapidly repeated in childish glee, and
in the impersonation of child-simplicity. The fingers are
run through the hair, or beat a tattoo, or nervously clutch
at something, or nothing, as circumstances may dictate. The
hand may go to the heart, or the head, or the side, in the
expression of whatever calls for such action.

Handling of the Handkerchief. — The public reader,
especially if a man, should use care in his management of
this article. To be constantly fumbling it, to move it from
hand to hand, from pocket to pocket, to tuck it away about
a stand where he can not find it, gives him a nervous and
effeminate air.

•'Suit the action to the word." — This is a bit of
advice that will live as long as law. To have a calm or
passive face in the expression of impassioned thought, is not
logical. Good gesture simply holds the mirror up to nature.
All people of intelligence must indorse the study of gesture,
so defined. To speak the words, " Ten feet they measure from
tip to tip," with an up-and-down movement of the arm, places
the flying-machine of Darius Green in quite an aw^kward
position. Since they are buckled tightly upon the youth,
where would Darius be at such a moment? Saying, '' With
paddle or fin or pinion, we soon or late shall navigate," with
a series of up-and-down strokes of the hands, is not holding
the mirror up to nature. For pinions the gesture is a good
one so far as the vertical portion of the flight is concerned.
" For Darius was sly, and whenever at work he happened to
spy at chink or crevice a blinking eye, he let the dipper of
water fly." To make the gesture with open hand would be
to put Darius to a great many needless steps, as each time he
lets the " water fly " in that way, he must go after the thrown
away dipper. Such a gesture shows lack of logic. To
have the tip of the thumb against the forehead, and the
hand shading the eyes, when you speak of ** Mabel flatten-

GESTURE. 67

iDg her face agaiust the window-pane," is a thoughtless, irra-
tional gesture.

A youth in a Philadelphia school of Elocution, whose
egotism exceeded his wisdom, criticised a classmate by say-
ing she should have indicated the upward flight of the bird
thus: and he made a beautiful compound flourish of the
supine hand upward and outward. Picture the poor bird's
predicament, flying feet upward into infinite space !

**0'erstep not the Modesty of Nature." — In writ-
ing with a pencil, do not put the tip of it in your mouth.
Do not continually toy with a watch-guard. It is indicative
of abstraction, indifference, or nervousness. Keep the hands
out of the pockets. The fingers should not pick at the cloth-
ing or buttons. Fingers clasped, with one thumb revolving
around the other, is a gesture that one need not covet. A
disposition to stick the little finger straight out from the
others, is not an enviable one. Avoid standing with either
hand on the hip, or with either hip drooping. Do not culti-
vate a mustache in presence of an audience. In imper-
sonating the act of lifting, the gesture must depend upon the
character of the object to be lifted. To lift some objects, the
hand is placed beneath. Other objects are grasped from
above by the fingers. If one were exhibiting an imaginary
canary, it would show little thought in him to use the latter
gesture. Be logical. Be consistent.

If in a public performance pouring must be done, let it
proceed with propriety. Do not make a farce of it by seeming
to pour from a single small pitcher more than you could pour
from a three-gallon pail. Do not pour with an unreasonable
precipitancy. Do not lift a glass containing imaginary drink,
and in a single gulp accomplish the impossible. Be consistent;
If you are to impersonate the character of an aged man,
remember that old age makes fewer and slower gestures than
youth. Remember, also, that old men are as unlike as young
men, and the mastery of one old-man character is not the
mastery of all old age. For another old man you would need

68 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

another voice and another manner. If you are imperson-
ating a part in a play, do not mar the character by lapsing
into yourself, even for a moment, while in presence of the
audience. Many forget this, while being addressed, or upon
leaving the stage. In writing, some ply the tongue so vigor-
ously that they suggest the question, which is mightier, the
tongue or the pen? In the personation of letter-writing,
another inconsistency occurs, viz. : the penning of a full-
page letter in less time than a single line would require a
lightning-like folding without the use of a blotter, and
directing of the letter by pitching the pen at the envelope.
Be logical. Be consistent.

In the impersonation of letter-reading, or the reading of
any message, take at least time enough to make a reasonable
suggestion of its perusal.

Poise is power. There are some who seem to think that
repose is no part of gesture, no part of Elocution. Experi-
ence demonstrates that nothing so magnetizes an audience as
the manifestation of great force issuing from a comparatively
quiet source, with an appearance of almost limitless strength
in reserve. Speakers sometimes weep in such a way as to
make listeners laugh. If one would move others to tears,
he should, as a rule, restrain his own. Thinking that he is
with intensity picturing the purest pathos or the deepest
despair, the speaker is shocked by seeing smiles on the faces
of those who listen. Those who so repay him are, as a rule,
ill-bred. However, the speaker should hold himself largely
responsible for his uncivil reception. It is usually the out-
come of his own inartistic methods.

You will see the whole arm, and sometimes the entire
body, thrown into violent commotion in the efforts to give
expression to an idea, for which the movement of a single
finger would be adequate. The throwing back of the body
is not essential to the lifting of an arm. The arm may move
independently of the body, and should in the majority of
cases. Sympathy is a proper thing, but it can exist without

GESTURE. 69

awkwardness. In the preparation for seating one's self, a
sweeping separation of the coat-tails is as uncouth as it is
unnecessary. In falling, the law of self-preservajiou may-
assert itself by first relaxing the lower limbs, and then by
causing the arms to strike the floor slightly in advance of
the body. In arranging pupils for public exhibition, the
director should see that they group themselves in curves,
whether they stand or sit.

In dialogue, the one listening should so place himself
that the speaker may give at least three-quarters of his face
to the audience. A vast amount of indistinctness would be
avoided by observing this simple direction. The performer
of a minor part should not try to outshine the star. A sub-
ordinate should approach his superior, and not wait for his
superior to take extra steps to reach him.

The pupil is warned against the common fault of making
too many gestures. The young, especially, are prone to
overact. Above all things do not impose upon the imagina-
tion of the listener.

A public reader in Philadelphia, in impersonating a stab-
bing scene, fell to the floor presumably dead. There was no
merciful curtain to drop upon the scene. Imagine the
impression made upon the audience when the sla-in man
arose to his feet!

A lady reader of renown, in reciting " Curfew Shall Not
Ring To-night," would have the audience believe (judging
from the gestures she makes) that she herself was hanging to
the rope and swinging out, far out over the city ; but the
imagination of the average listener rebels against any such
representation. The reader must not let his emotion run
riot with his reason. O'erstep not the modesty of nature.
He who thinks least, who cares least for logic, who values
truth least, is he who is most prone to **tear a passion to
tatters;" to substitute roar for reason, sound for sense. The
"applause of the groundlings" is slight remuneration for a
sacrifice so great.

Part V.

Phonetics,

Phonetics is the science of sounds, separately considered.
As a prelude to proper pronunciation the study of phonetics
is of prime importance. Not long since the author read a
statement, that not one-tenth of those who are graduated
from our educational institutions can give correctly the
simple sounds of the English language. It, doubtless, could
be made stronger and still be within the bounds of truth.
Until orthoepists agree as to how many simple sounds there
are in the English language, it will not be easy for any one
to know that he can give them all correctly. By some or-
thoepists, a simple sound is defined as being one that is made
by a single position of the vocal organs. There is no sound
in our language that can be made in that way. Motion is
essential to sound. A simple sound is a single sound.
There are forty simple sounds in the English language.
To know how to give them as they should be given is
as essential to good pronunciation as a knowledge of the
twenty -six letters of the alphabet is to correct spelling.
Nevertheless, phonetics is so shamefully neglected in our
educational system, that there are but few speakers who pro-
nounce well. There are a few sounds which, easy enough
to give in connection with other sounds, are difficult to give
aloiie. They are the sounds of^, k, p, t, w, and y. When
Bounded separately they are almost unavoidably followed by
a vanish, which in h, k, p, and t, sounds like 3Pme whispered
70

PHONETICS. 71

vowel ; in w and y, like some vocalized vowel. The harsh
sounds of our language are the aspirates. Foreigners com-
plain of the English language as being unmusical. The
language is not so much at fault as its speakers. The sound
of d, is a sub-vocal, and yet one seldom hears it so uttered.
Instead of ami, one hears dndt. The word big has in it but
three sounds, big, not blgk; large is Idrj, not Idrjch; has is hdz^
not hdzs. With a custom, so nearly universal, of forcing
upon the ear almost double the number of aspirates the
words actually contain, it is a matter of no amazement that
people exclaim: ''How sadly your language is lacking in
melody !" A correct enunciation of the sounds not only
spares our language much reproach, but gives to one's pro-
nunciation a neatness and accuracy that can be insured in no
other way. Until one knows what short e is, and learns to
appreciate it at its full value, he is in danger of saying
blessid for blessed; ashus for ashes. Thousands of similar mis*
takes he will make.

An honest endeavor has been made to put the following
phonetic system in its simplest and most lucid form.

Lesson I.

DIACRITIC MARKS AND THEIR SIGNIFICANCE.

The Macron (-) indicates that the sound of the vowel
above which it is found is long.

The Breve (v^) shows that the sound of the vowel above
which it is found is short.

The Tilde (^) shows that the sound of the vowel over
which it is placed is that of tilde e.

The Dieresis (••) shows that the sound of the vowel over
which it is placed is that of the Italian a long.

The Semi-dieresis (*) shows that the sound of the vowel
over which it js found is that of short Italian a,

ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

The Caret (a) indicates, when it is found above o or u.
that the sound is broad ; when found above a, that it has its
long flat sound.

IvESSON II.

SIMPLE SOUNDS.

TONICS.

Long a,

as iu

pale. 9. Short i,

as in it.

Long flat a,

pair. 10. Long o,

ore.

Long Italian a,

part. 11. Short o,

((

6x.

Short Italian a,

past. 12. Broad o,

((

for.

Short a,

hand. 13. Long-double

o, ''

fo-od.

Long e,

raete. 14. Short-double

0, ''

good

Short e,

m6t. 15. Short u,

((

lip.

Tilde e,

earn. 16. Broad u,

SUB-TONICS.

((

tirn.

b, as in

bay.

m, as in my. 11. v,

as in

vie.

d, -

day.

n, '' in. 12. w,

((

we.

g, "

gay.

n, '' ink. 13. y,

((

yes.

J, ''

jay.

r, *' rye. 14. z,

((

zest.

1, '*

lay.

10.

th, " thy. 15. zh,

ATONIC8.

usury.

ch, as in

chin.

k, as in kin. 7. sh,

as in

shy.

f, ''

fin.

p, - pin. 8. t,

((

try.

h, "

him.

s, '' sin. 9. th,

((

pith.

The only sub-tonics that need any given name are Nos.
8 and 10. The former is under-line n, the latter is svb-
tonic tk. But one (No. 9) of the aspirates requires any
given name; it may be called atonic th.

PHONETICS. 73

Lesson III.

COMPOUND SOUNDS.

Long i, composed of a and i, as in ice.

Long u, " " e " 60, '* use.

oi, " " 6 " i, *' oil.

ou, " " a " 00, " out.

From the analysis of these four proper diphthongs, it
will be seen that their introduction adds no new sounds to
our language. They draw their material from the list of
simple sounds.

The macron is used to denote how many sounds? The
breve? The tilde? The dieresis? The semi-dieresis ? The
caret? Does Webster use any other diacritical mark? For
what sounds does Webster use markings other than the ones
we have given ? Tell what they are. What is an improper
diphthong? Phonetically speaking, an improper diphthong
is but a simple sound. For what sounds do Webster and
Worcester use different markings?

Lesson IV.

NEEDLESS DISTINCTIONS.

1. There is no need of hard and soft c, since there is no
such thing as c, phonetically. In the word cent^ c has the
sound of s; in the word card, the sound of k; in the word
sacrifice, c, in the last syllable, has the sound of z.

2. What orthoepists call hard ch is but the sound of k.

3. Soft g is not g, but J. Hard g is g, nothing more.

4. What is styled soft s is not s; it is the z sound.

5. Worcester marks oi and ou diacritically. This is un-
necessary. There is but one oi, and but one ou, and they
should go unmarked.

74 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

Inconsistencies.

Webster makes the mistake of using the symbol g for
both s and z.

Worcester would have us believe that the initial sound
in oi and of on is the same.

In the following phonetic study we shall call sounds by
their right names. If we hear j, we shall say ,;'.

Lesson V.

LONG FLAT A, SHORT A, SHORT ITALIAN A, SHORT O,
BROAD (9, LONG ITALIAN A.

The flattest sound in our language is long flat a. Short
a differs from long flat a more in quantity than in quality.
Short Italian a is shorter in quantity than long Italian a. It
is also a little less open in its mechanism.

Short 0 resembles long Italian a very niuch in sound, but
it is much the shorter in quantity.

Broad o has a quality quite distinct from those already
named.

Long flat a is always followed by r.

Phonetic Ills.

1. Long flat a is sounded by many almost as if it were
long a. Pear is pdr, not par.

2. Short a is immutably, constitutionally, unconditionally
short. So are all short sounds. To prolong any one of them
is a phonetic error. Their beauty is their brevity. Take
from them their dash, and the drawl remains. Hat is hat,
not hd et, nor hd id, nor hat. Short a suffers special mistreat-
ment when found in unaccented syllables.

Formal is formdl, not formPl, nor formll, nor formid.

3. By the masses short Italian a is miserably mangled.

PHONETICS. 75

The student should be drilled upon it until he can produce
it with perfect precision. To pronounce the a in jktsk as
broadly as the a in father, sounds pedantic; while to sound it
as short as a in mat, sounds unscholarly.

Pupils should prepare an exhaustive list of words contain-
ing short Italian a. Give twenty monosyllables containing
it; twenty dissyllables; twenty proper names; twenty geo-
graphical names.

4. Long Italian a, one of the most beautiful of sounds,
is by many sadly marred. The words h'dth, path, laugh,
aunt, can't, sha!nH, laundry, may be cited as a few of the
serious sufferers.

Prepare a list of words containing this sound. Drill upon
it until you can pronounce the words correctly.

5. Short 0 has its perils. To say fox for fdXy is to strand
on Scylla; while to say fdtix, is to strand on Charybdis. Sail
between.

There is no such thing as a dog, much less ddtig. The
golden mean is d6g. Short o is often banished unjustly.
Do not say md'n for melon. In unaccented syllables short o
is a frequent victim, as in sciiin for scion.

6. Broad o also suffers. If it could feel, how it would
writhe on hearing rdt for wrought; t6t for taught; c6t for
caught! There would come an extra twinge of pain when
86t is said for smightl

A list of words containing broad o should be written and
mastered. God is not Gawd, although the ignorant and
superstitious so pronounce it.

Phonetic Spelling.

Observe the following order in all phonetic spelling:

1. Pronounce the word.

2. Give the sounds separately.

3. Pronounce the word.

4. Name the sounds separately.

5. Pronounce the wor(i.

ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Spell Phonetically.

Stand,

e'er,

balk.

trough,

piquant,

plaid.

eyre.

clause.

ought,

Aaron,

fare,

balm,

naught,

wasp,

prayer,

fair,

daunt,

awful.

watch,

knowledge,

there.

hearth.

George,

flog,

sergeant,

wear,

guard,

stork.

hough,

extraordinary,

heir.

grass,

broad,

water,

authorities.

In the preceding list what equivalents are found for short
a, short Italian a, long Italian a, long flat a, short o, broad of
Do you know of any other? Does ua stand for short a in
any word other than piquant f Is there any in which ey stands
for long flat a other than in eyref

One can ofttimes locate the State from which a speaker
comes by his use of long Italian a. Beginning in the east,
where it is heard in all its breadth and beauty, it gradually
dwindles away as it proceeds westward until, long before
it reaches the Mississippi Kiver,^it becomes a lank, sickly,
long flat a.

lyBSSON VI.

SHORT E, TILDE £, SHORT C/, BROAD 6^, /^.

In this, as in the preceding group of sounds, there is a
close phonetic resemblance. As to the mechanism of the
sounds, the student will find the mirror more valuable than
any description that can be put in print. Learn exactly
what each sound is; practice until each can be accurately
produced, and then consult the mirror to see how each is
made.

Phonetic Ills.

1. Short e suffers most at the tongue of the irrepressible
drawler. The drawler says sent for set. It suffers but little
less when found in unaccented syllables. Ashes is not asMs ;

PHONETICS. 77

children is not chUdrun, nor childrXn. Sot for set is a luxury
very few can now afford.

2. The greatest foe of tilde e is broad u. As a usurper
broad u is not surpassed by any other sound. Earn is not
Urn; serge is not sHrge. There are some things custom can
not do. Wrong is wrong, and custom can not make wrong
right. It is wrong to pronounce fir as fUr, custom to the
contrary notwithstanding.

3. One of the most marked characteristics of the perfect
short u is its shortness. In the drawler's speech it is most
noted for its lack of shortness. Ihist is not dMst DM is
often mispronounced.

Short 0, for short w, is a relic of barbarism not often met
to-day. There are few localities in the United States where
mi for iin is the rule ; as onknown for unknown.

4. Broad u is sometimes given the sound of tilde e, but
is less mispronounced than other vowel sounds.

5. As a phonetic sufferer the sound of r takes high rank.
Why r should be sounded in the word raw^ and omitted in
the word war^ deserves an explanation. Ah is no more the
terminal sound of imr than it is the initial sound of raiu.
There are those who appear to pronounce on the principle
that r is not r, unless initial, or if r is r in any other posi-
tion, it is inelegant to let it be heard. Thus they heah with
their ea/is, when they should hear with their ears. Again,
there are those who make r do double, triple, quadruple
duty. Such people never ramble, they r-r-r-ramble. Their
rats are all hydra-headed r-r-r-r-r-r-ats. Never trill an r un-
less the sense demands it. There are other speakers who
introduce some spurious sound before or after r; thus errain
for rain ; faru for far.

Webster says that r is commonly suppressed in the United
States, when it follows a long vowel or a diphthong in the
same syllable. The statement is too strong, as the error
mentioned prevails but little outside of New England and
the Southern States.

ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Spell Phonetically.

Many,

girl.

says,

doth.

Wednesday,

heifer.

gallows,

foetid.

world,

verge,

earl,

again,

myrtle.

tread.

tough.

scirrhus,

friend,

scirrhous.

guess,

iron.

aesthetic.

guerrilla.

bent.

flood.

children,

jeopardy.

flung.

burial.

journal.

picture.

What equivalents in this lesson do you find for short e,
tilde e, short u, broad uf Have they other equivalents!'
Prepare a full list of words containing the five sounds
which are the subject of this lesson. Of these lists what
words have you heard mispronounced? In what way?
Pronounce them correctly. Has r any equivalents? How
have you heard the word idea mispronounced ? Name othef
words likewise mispronounced.

Lesson VII.

LONG A, LONG £, SHORT /, V.
Phonetic Ills.

1. The sin which most besets long a is its tendency to
end in the sound of long e. The drawler is never happier
than when saying fdel for fail. There is a foppish pronun-
ciation which gives to long a a sound somewhat resembling
long flat a ; thus, face for face.

2. Long Cy too, is troubled by a tendency to spurious
vanishes ; for example, meU or mefd, for meal.

3. Short i is beset with a similar tendency. Thus one
hears /?^, or flM, for fit.

Short i, as an unaccented syllable, or in an unaccented
syllable, suffers various indignities. Short i has a beautiful
sound, not a beautiful, nor a beautuful sound. Divinity is not
dSmniXty, nor dSvinHy, nor d^mntite; it is divinWi.

4. The sound ot y bears a striking phonetic resemblance

PHONETICS.

to long e and short i. Pronounce e^, W, yH. The three
combinations sound almost as one. The loss of y would not
be a serious one, phonetically, to our language.

Spell Phonetically.

Fate,

weight.

sieve.

fountain,

tortoise.

stain,

whey,

yet,

Thursday,

sovereign.

straight,

gaol,

union.

England,

machine.

gauge,

theme,

pleiads,

surfeit,

reprieve.

stay.

sheaf,

^sop,

volley.

champaign,

aye.

greet.

people,

victuals.

champagne,

fete.

key,

deceive,

women.

aitch-bone.

break.

quay,

foetal.

busy.

guayaquil,

vein.

been,

melee,

folly,

hallelujah,

deign.

mint.

bouquet.

guilty.

vicinity.

What equivalents in this list for long a, long e, short i,
for y^ Have they any other equivalents? Give some
word, other than the one given in the lesson, containing each
equivalent.

Is there any word beside gaol in which ao is equivalent to
long a.? any beside quay in which uay equals long e^

Prepare a list containing the sounds of which this lesson
treats, showing how they are often mispronounced ; pronounc-
ing them correctly.

Lesson VIII.

LONG O, LONG DOUBLE O, SHORT DOUBLE O, W.

The drawler finds long o an easy victim. To say moobry
or moer for more, is a joy he can not forego. Gou, or goob
for go, is his delight. Its usurpation by broad o is another
of its ills. Board is not baivrd, nor bawerd, nor baivtlrd. To
say bawd for board, is a depth of phonetic degradation painful
to contemplate.

Long double a is not exempt from misuse. Of all affec-
tations of speech, there is none more offensive than short

ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

double 0 for long double o. To say root for root, or Jood for
food, is a phonetic abomination.

Long u for long double o, is as bad as long double o for
long u. Two is not tu. Dew is not dob. Do is doo.

Short double o is, comparatively, well treated. To sub-
stitute long double o for it, is an error of little magnitude in
America. Were it used as a terminal sound, it would be
subjected, as they all are, to spurious vanishes.

Notice how similar are the sounds of w, and do. Pro-
nounce odet, wet. But little phonetic loss would attend the
disappearance of the sound of w from our language.

Spell Phonetically.

strew.

dough,

grew,

thought,

weave.

cone.

glow,

rheum.

bruise.

quest.

roam.

douche,

move,

stood.

caoutchouc.

foe,

bureau.

moon.

should.

manoeuvre.

four.

yeoman.

group.

bush.

connoisseur.

brooch.

hautboy.

rue.

wolf.

Worcester,

owe.

canoe,

rule,

choir.

rendezvous.

Do you know of any equivalents not found in the list?
Do you know of any word other than manceuvre that contains
the triphthong oeu f

Prepare lists as in previous lessons. Give a word con-
taining silent w.

lyESSON IX.

COGNATE SOUNDS.

Two sounds are cognate when they have a common origin.
When the vocal organs are in position to produce the
sound of b, they are also in position to produce the sound
of p. Hence b and p are cognate sounds. The cognates
are: b — p, d — t, g — k, j — ch, tk— th, v — f^ z — s, zh — sh.

PHONETICS.

Phonetic Ills.

The most troublesome trinity in this list is, doubtless,
b, d, and g. They are by construction absolutely shut, but it
requires some force of character to make them so, especially
when they are used terminally. The ignorant speaker does
not know that it is wrong to say andt for and. The indolent
speaker does not care. AndU for and is quite as objection-
able. Tub is not tubp, nor tubvL. Log is not logk, nor bgU.
Large is not laijob. With is not withii. Love is not luvii; it
is not luvf, but Mv. Has is Jiaz, not hazs, nor hazii. Be
careful not to make ch sound like sh; or zhj like sh. The
digraph zh is never seen in an English word, but it is often
heard. Give examples. Which of the cognate sounds are,
as a rule, used explosively? Which are least fitted to bear
long quantity?

Spell Phonetically.

ball,

ghost,

puff,

this.

glacial,

pall.

^gs»

phlegm.

breathe.

chaise.

hiccough.

kill,

tough.

thick.

dough,

diphthong,

hough,

trough,

withe.

nauseous,

dropped,

quest.

draught.

azure.

shall.

add.

stack.

zone.

mirage,

version,

time.

chaos.

czar.

glazier,

caption.

thyme.

coquette.

laud.

regime.

schottish,

worked.

antique.

discern.

jet-d'eau,

conscientious,

yacht,

jest.

Xenophon,

transition,

conscience.

phthisic,

gem.

sole.

explosion.

fissure.

coquette.

chest.

fuchsia.

inclosure,

passion,

seven-night,

, vast,

pass.

luxurious,

negotiate.

asthma,

Stephen,

cent,

ocean,

laxity,

gone,

fast,

goal.

oceanic,

ouch.

There are, doubtl(

sss, a number of substitutes for the

sixteen cognate sounds not given in this ]

list. Students

should be asked to make a search for them.

, Name some

S2 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

word that contains silent b, d, /, g, k, p, s, z; j is never silent;
V is never silent. AYhat is assimilation? What examples
of assimilation in the foregoing list? Give some word in
which b becomes assimilated with some preceding or succeed-
ing sound. Give one illustration of a similar change in the
remaining cognates. Does j ever change to ch for the pur-
pose of assimilation ? Is there any assimilation of sounds
other than cognates?

IvKSSON X.

LIQUIDS— Z, M, N, iV, H.

These five sounds complete the list of simple sounds.
The first four are liquid sounds. Accommodating as are
the cognates in pronunciation, the liquids are yet more so ;
they coalesce with .either an aspirate or a sub-vocal. For
example, in the word and the sound of n unites with that of
(?, no more readily than with the sound of t, in the word ant.

Illustrate the coalescent tendency on the part of the other
liquids. Is there any liquid not named in this lesson ?

Of the forty simple sounds in the English language, the
sound of h possesses, perhaps, the least individuality. But
that it has a work to perform is shown by those speakers who
say at for hat, and hat for at; and harmole for armhoh.

As said of b, d, and g, so may be said of I, m, and 71.
They are mispronounced most in terminal positions. AU is
not ollu; jam is not jamu; ten is not tenii. Underline n is
sometimes given too much of the nasal quality, and is allowed
sometimes to partake too freely of the sound of g. To omit
an h when it should be sounded, and sound it when it should
be omitted, is an error too common to the English-speaking
people. However in England, no less than in America,
this custom is chiefly confined to the lower classes.

The pupil may furnish his own lists of equivalents for m,
n, w, and h. Spell the lists phonetically. Name some word
containing silent /i, I, m.

PHONETICS. 88

Lesson XI.

PROPER DIPHTHONGS— LONG /, LONG Cr, 01, OU.

What is a proper diphthong? There are a number of
combinations which to the eye appear as proper diphthongs,
but which to the ear are nothing more than simple sounds,
as in please, in which ea is a single sound. How many other
similar combinations are there? Give examples. What is
such a combination sometimes called? The eye occasionally
beholds a triphthong, as in the word lieu; but to the ear it
is not a triphthong.

As to the analysis of long i orthoepists differ. Sheridan
says it is composed of 6 and e; Walker and Webster say a
and e; Smart says u and e; while Worcester is sagely silent.
Among them there would seem to be a uniform feeling that
long e is the proper vanish. Every drawler in the land in-
dorses that conclusion.

However, as long i is always found where its initial
sound (a) consumes the more time, there is no reason why
the vanishing sound may not always be short i; certainly it
is more agreeable to the ear.

The sound of long u has aroused more discussion and
more diversity of opinion than any other sound. Worcester
says u = y-^Uj a quantity equal to itself and something
more. We leave that problem with the mathematicians.
Webster says u = y-\- oo, or e + oo, or t + do, and in the
latest edition is added ^-{- do. 'No one can question the flex-
ibility of his analysis. For all practical purposes e-\- oo is
sufficient, let the u be found in what position it may. When
a prolongation of the sound of long u becomes necessary, the
prolongation should fall upon the vanishing sound. Long
quantity on the initial sound does it great injury.

The attempt to prolong the vanish of long i not only in-
troduces some spurious sound, but adds a syllable unlawfully.
Thus, fire becomes fier or fivir. Foer for fire, although sane-

84 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

tioned by Sheridan, has very few followers. Long u is very
often mispronounced. There are many who habitually sup-
press its initial sound, as dobty for duty. With equal pro-
priety they might say dose for ftse. In the pronunciation of
the word lute, one frequently hears nothing but the vanish
of long u, thus, loot. The sound of long u undergoes another
distortion fully as disagreeable as the one just noted. It is
the attempt to prolong its initial sound, the sequel to which
is pleum for plume, veu for view.

The sound of oi is not so much misused. He for oil is
the fault of but a limited class. The sound of ou is some-
what more harshly treated. A cow is, ordinarily, a harmless
animal; but a keou is not to be trusted. Aboot for about is
another ludicrous error. Do you know of any other ills that
beset these four diphthongs? Spurious sounds before long i
are as much to be condemned as when found preceding long u.
Geyid for guide; geyerl for girl; skei for sky, are samples of
this provincialism. Give other illustrations. Name a nura
ber of words in which long u is mispronounced.

Spell Phonetically.

ay,

why,

oil.

you,

beauty.

ey,

isle,

guide.

blew.

pursuit.

eye.

aisle,

slime,

blue.

adieu.

vie.

light.

rhyme.

feod,

maneuver.

buy,

height.

eider.

flute,

accoutre.

What equivalents? Replace the words in this lesson, so
far as you can, with other words containing the same equiv-
alents. Are there other substitutes not given here? Prepare
a full list of words containing the sound of long u. In the
word feod, eo equals long u. Can you give another example?
In the word bough, what is the equivalent? Give other illus-
trations of the same. Analyze the twenty-six letters of the
alphabet phonetically. In the analysis how many of the forty
simple sounds appear? What are they? Name those that

PHONETICS. 85

remain. How many simple sounds are used in the pronun-
ciation of the letter wf What are they? What letters of
the alphabet entirely disappear in the phonetic analysis?
Name twenty words of one syllable containing the sound of
long u; twenty words of two syllables; twenty words of more
than two syllables.

Part VI.

Orthoepy

What is good pronunciation ? To this question we liave
seen no more fitting answer than that of Dr. Johnson, an
eminent English lexicographer of the eighteenth century.
This is his definition: " The best general rule is to consider
those as the most elegant speakers who deviate least from the
written words."

Of this statement Worcester says: ''This is a princi-
ple which seems worthy of being encouraged rather than
checked."

Smart, the most prominent English lexicographer of the
present day, sanctions this definition.

Webster's Dictionary also argues that the more nearly
words are pronounced as they are spelled, the better is the
pronunciation.

However, all of these authorities are found frequently to
violate this most commendable law. A few illustrations
must suffice.

Worcester attributes the sound of e to that of short i, in
unaccented syllables; thus, dutiful he calls duteful; ability he
calls ahilete; but he does not say what e is meant. He is
guilty of an inexactness almost as great when he places a
semi-dieresis under a vowel in an unaccented syllable, to
show that the vowel is to have an obscure sound, failing to
say what obscure sound is meant.

Walker, in speaking of the word nature, violates the prin-
86

ORTHOEPY, 87

ciple when he says: "Some critics have contended that it
ought to be pronounced as if written nate-yure; but this pro-
nunciation comes so near to that here adopted [ndcJiur] as
scarcely to be distinguishable from it." Walker apparently
errs here, as there is a very keen distinction between yure
and chure.

Webster conforms to the principle in treating of words
ending in dure, ture, as verdyoor, gestyoor; but when the word
ends in sure he disregards it; thus, instead of saying cens-
yoor, he says cemhoor.

Worcester agrees with Webster in the foregoing, except
that he puts a semi-dieresis under the u in each case; as
durej ture, shire.

All of these authorities drop the initial sound of u, when
preceded by the sounds of r, sk, or zh. This they justify on the
ground of ease of utterance. Smart goes further by dropping
the initial sound of it in such words as lute, conclude ; and Sheridan
went so far as to say shoopreme for supreme, shooicide for suicide.

Worcester is guilty of a violation more flagrant than any
yet cited. He would have us pronounce such words as hire,
lore, more, soar, sore, flour, as though they were dissylables,
thus, higher and lower. This corruption can not be too
severely criticised. He emphasizes his error by adding: "a,
c, i, 0, u, 00, ou, in the words fare, mere, ire, poor, our,
are not quite identical with the same sounds in fate, mete,
ide, ode, cube, pool, owl." That the a in fare is not identical
with the a in fate no one will question ; but the remainder
of the statement is open to criticism.

Smart maintains that the a in care is the same as a in
fate, and that it owes all its peculiarity in the former instance
to the subsequent r. The fact is, the sound of a in care, and
of a in fate, is not the same. In the former, it is long flat
a; in the latter, long a. Long flat a has a sound of its
own wholly independent of r, and, in phonetic spelling, we
invariably sound the two separately.

We find in the Principles of Pronunciation of Webster's

88 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Dictionary, as revised by Chauncey A. Goodrich and Noah
Porter, these words : " When an unaccented syllable ends
in a consonant, its vowel, if single, has in strict theory its
regular short sound, though uttered somewhat more faintly
than in an accented syllable, as in assign', etc. In many
words of this class, however, the vowel is apt to suffer a
change or corruption of its distinctive quality, passing over
into some sound of easier utterance."

In the foregoing quotation it will be observed the revisers
condemn, as a corruption, the lapse in pronunciation. Almost
immediately thereafter they encourage the corruption by say-
ing: *'As a general rule, a and o, in unaccented syllables
ending in a consonant, verge toward, or fall into, the sound
of short u, as in ballad, method, etc. In such words, it would
ordinarily be the merest pedantry or affectation to give the
vowel its regular short sound. Thus the vowel sounds in the
unaccented syllables, ar, er, ir, or, yr, are coincident with
the sound of u in sulphur.**

Those who oppose both corruption and contradiction, as
well as the violation of Johnson's most practical principle,
will not say ur nor Hr for ar, er, ir, or yr.

We quote from Webster's Principles of Pronunciation
again: *'In connected discourse, certain classes of monosyl-
lables, such as articles, prepositions, pronouns, conjunctions,
and auxiliary verbs, are usually unemphasized, and their
vowel is liable to the same corruption of quality as that in an
unaccented syllable of a word. Thus in the word their, when
unemphatic, the vowel sound would resemble u in the word
urge, and the words a, your, that, tJie, from, for, etc., would
become nearly or quite li, thus, yUr, thut, fr^m, fur, etc."

Whether the words quoted may or may not be con-
strued into an indorsement, is a matter of little moment, as
they are self-contradictory ; for the u in urge is not u short.

When words are pronounced precisely as they are spelled,
then, and not till then, will Dr. Johnson's standard of good
pronunciation be fully realized.

ORTHOEPY. 89

ORTHOKPIC INCONSISTENCIES.

Why orthoepists insist upon the difficult accentuation of
many words is hard to understand. The placing of the ac-
cent on the first syllable of the word oHhoepy, for example, is
difficult and unnatural. It will be answered that some law
of philology or etymology has so decreed it. Fortunately
an inborn love of comfort combats the law's austerity, and
usually wins. The majority of speakers will continue to say
ortho'epy until orthoepists will do the same. Very many words
might be cited as having undergone a change of accent in
favor of easy utterance. Dyspepsy was once accented on the
first syllable. Speakers, as a rule, prefer Webster's discrep'-
ant, diserep'ancy, acces'sary, acces'sory, to Worcester's discrep-
ant, discrepancy^ ac'cessary, ac'cessory. There are many other
words destined to surrender to this innate love of euphony
and ease. One does not often hear Worcester's pronuncia-
tion of halco'ny, quanda'ry, elegi'ac.

Why Webster finds fault with orthoepists for being in-
consistent in their pronunciation of trisyllabic adjectives
ending in ose, and then accents the following words thus,
acetose', ad'ipose, animose'j op^erose, and co'inatose, is beyond
comprehension.

Why Worcester accents the noun increase upon both the
first and second syllables, and accents the noun decrease only
upon the second syllable, would probably puzzle the philolo-
gists. Why he accents the noun detail on both the fird
and second syllables, and the noun retml only on the first syl-
lable, is quite as puzzling. Proceed, as a noun, he accents
on either the first or second syllable ; proceeds, as a noun, he
accents only on the last syllable. Why ? His treatment of
the word gallant is as novel as it is intricate and confusing.
As a noun, meaning gay, gaUantf ; as an adjective, mean-
ing gay or brave, gaVlant; as an adjective, meaning polite,
gallant'. Webster says, gallantf, as a noun; gal'hnty as an
adjective.

90 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

The student finds such inconsistencies very confusing, and
they add immeasurably to the difficulties in the study of
orthoepy.

EVIL TENDENCIES IN ORTHOEPY.

There is a great tendency in America to give undue
prominence to unaccented syllables, and to those with second-
ary accents. The English are much less given to this ; and
such words as alimony, dedicatory, inelancholy, gooseberry, drop
from their lips with a smoothness and elasticity most com-
mendable. An American will pronounce strawberry in such a
way that one would find it difficult to decide upon which
syllable he means to place the primary accent. Nothing is
more fatal to the flow of speech than exaggerated or ill-
placed accentuation.

The substitution of illegitimate for legitimate sounds in
unaccented syllables is one of the rankest corruptions to which
pronunciation is subject. Thus one hears bri4r for brier;
jeiM for jewel; caM for cmM; and dem^n for demdn. Of
course sounds in unaccented syllables and in unemphatic
words should be given more lightly than those in accented syl-
lables and in emphatic words ; but they should not lose their
individuality. It is inconsistent to say my when emphatic, and
me when unemphatic, or thy, emphatic, and ^M, unemphatic.

The misplacement of quantity is another error in orthoepy
of no little magnitude. To know what sound should be pro-
longed in different words is a matter of great importance.
In any word that requires long quantity there is always some
sound which may be prolonged without marring the pronun-
ciation. Let the pupil give illustrations of this corruption,
and state its remedy.

The mumbling and merging of sounds, syllables, and
words is a common error; as, virchoo for virtue; perpechual for
perpetual; woojoo for would you; someme for some mwe; thislate for
ihvi slate. Require the pupil to prepare a list of similar errors.

ORTHOEPY. 91

ORTHOKPIC RUI^KS.

Only such rules will be given as will be of especial
service to pupils in the study of orthoepy.

I. The sound of short Italian a is found in three posi-
tions; as an unemphatic word; as an unaccented syllable; as
a terminal in an unaccented syllable. Examples; He is a
man; Asa; America.

II. C, before a, o, u, usually has the sound of k, as in
mne^ cone, cube. As a rule, when c is found before e and i
sounds, it takes the sound of s, as in cent, dte, cyst. Excep-
tions: Discern, sceptic, scirrhus, suffice, sacrifice.

III. In verbs and participles ending in ed, the e is usually
silent; as in blessed. When they are derived from roots
which end in d, or t, the e is sounded ; as in accorded.

Adjectives ending in ed sound the e; as in Uess-ed,
Participles used as adjectives generally retain the e; as in

(yroohed.

Adverbs formed by adding ly^ and nouns by adding wcss, to

terminal ed, retain the sound of e; as in resignedly, blessedness.

IV. It is the rule to sound the e in terminal d; as in
chisel. Exceptions: Betel, drazel, drivel, easel, grovel,
hazel, mantel, navel, ousel, raVel, rivel, scovel, shekel, shovel,
shrivel, snivel, swingel, swivel, teasel, tousel, weasel.

Worcestor suppresses the e in the word barbel. Webster
suppresses the e in mispicJcel.

V. In terminal en the e is usually silent; as in even,
heaven, seven, eleven.

Words which are not participles, in which the en is pre-
ceded by I, m, n, r, form an exception to this rule. Outside
of these the exceptions are few.

Webster both sounds and suppresses the e in sloven;
Worcester does not suppress it in sloven, nor in Eden, bounden.

VI. G, before the sounds of e and i usually has the sound
of J; as in gem, gin, gymnast. Before a, o, and u, it retains its
sound ; as in game, goad, gun. The word gaol is an exception.

92 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

VII. Chemical terms ending in ide^ by almost all ortho-
epists, are pronounced with the i short ; as in chloride.

VIII. Terminal il usually sounds the i, as in anvil. Devils
evil, weevil, are exceptions.

IX. The i is also retained, as a rule, in terminal in; as in
Latin. Exceptions: Basin, cousin, raisin.

X. When preceded by c, or k, the o in terminal on is
usually silent; as in deacon, reckon.

XI. R is never silent except when two are consecutive
in the same syllable; as in myrrh. A vowel preceding
double r, not terminal, takes its short sound, as a rule.
Examples: Merry, hurry. The vowel is also usually short,
if the r which it precedes is followed by a syllable beginning
with a vowel. Examples: Apparel, peril.

Derivatives from words ending in re are exceptions. Ex-
ample: Daring. To this may be added the words alarum,
and parent.

XII. Nouns which in the singular end with aspirate
th, usually retain that sound. Examples: Youths, truths.
Exceptions: Baths, cloths, latJis, moths, mx)uilis, oaths, paths,
wreaths.

XIII. Double Consonants. — When any consonant is
doubled in a single syllable, but one is sounded. Example :
Falling.

If a syllable ends with a consonant, and the next syllable
begins with the same consonant, it is the custom to sound
but one, although that one is somewhat more prolonged than
when found in other positions. Example : Commence. Nor
does general usage, in ordinary speech, give the two sounds
separately when one closes a word and the other is initial to
the following word. However, speech would gain greatly in
distinctness and dignity were both sounds given in such
instances.

XIV. In the pronunciation of nouns, adjectives, and
verbs, of more than one syllable, it is the rule to place the
accent further back on nouns and adjectives than on verbs;

ORTHOEPY. 93

thus: refuse as a noun or adjective is accented on the pen ul-
tima ; as a verb, on the ultima.

XV. If there is nothing in the orthography or accent to
distinguish the noun or adjective from the verb, some change
in sound must be made. Abuse, as a noun or adjective, re-
tains the sound of s; as a verb, the s takes the sound of z.

XVI. When words which are used antithetically, differ
in their spelling in but one syllable, that syllable receives
the accent. Example : I said in'citement, not ex'citement

XVII. In poetry, accent is usually made to conform to
the demands of rhythm and rhyme ; but this is an unwar-
ranted liberty.

XVIII. Dissyllabic nouns and adjectives are usually dis-
tinguished by placing the accent on the ultima of adjectives;
and on the penultima of nouns. Example : Au'gust, as a
noun; august', as an adjective.

XIX. Accent is not found as a rule upon two consecu-
tive syllables. Walker claims that amen is the only word in
the language that must of necessity be accented on two con-
secutive syllables. With equal reason a double accent might
be placed on many other dissyllabic words, especially com-
pounds ; as pellf-mell', up' -build'.

ORTHOKPIC EXERCISES.

1. It is fair that she should share with the other heir.

2. A man with much land must hire a hand.

3. One could not ask a more pleasant task.

4. Let him bask in the sun with his mask.

5. In a cask or flask is the sting of an asp.

6. He could neither grasp nor clasp the hasp or rasp.

7. At last he cast a blast quite fast at caste.

8. His friends stood aghast at his bombast.

9. In the past a vast amount of brass was amassed.

10. Alas ! the mass of the class could not pass.

11. A lass looked in the glass and saw the grass.

94 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

12. His wine he may quaff, may flourish his staff, but his

words are chaff.

13. They dance and prance when they get a chance.

14. He woke from his trance and grasped his lance.

15. He quaffed a draught from the rickety raft.

16. He held out his arras to his aunt for alms.

17. He took a bath in the calm of the balmy afternoon.

18. She flaunts her jaunty hat in her favorite haunt.

19. I can't nor shaVt take this taunt. Avaunt!

20. The calf was gaunt as though half-starved.

21. In wrath he strode down the path with a lath.

22. With a laugh and a psalm he carries the palm.

23. The words, laundry, gauntlet, dahlia, saunter, moustache,

drama, rajah, jaundice, piano, agape, rather, half, and
salve, are often mispronounced.

24. He ate a banana as a fitting finale.

25. The sot was sought and caught on a cot.

26. Do not say tot for taught; not for naught; rot for

wrought.

27. Do not say horn for borne ; hold for bold ; seald for

scold ; call for coal ; saul for soul ; tar for tore ; morn
for mourn ; sawn for sown.

28. His children were gifted, trusted, honest, blessed.

29. Do not say surge for serge ; surf for serf; urn for earn;

fur for fir.

30. At first we saw the bird in the myrtle ; then it flew to

the earth, where it was at the hunter's mercy.

31. After we enter the car the rain will not annoy us.

32. An honor was conferred upon a certain, earnest, superb,

fervid, perfect performer.

33. Do not say goward for gourd, nor wah for war.

34. If dew is dod, then, surely, hew is hod.

35. If news is nodz, amuse is amooz.

36. It is as proper to say dhpoot as to say institoot.

37. If ladies consoom candies, they should perfoom their hand-

kerchiefs.

ORTHOEPY. 95

38. One who is sedooded may refodz to come forth.

39. Say illdomination if you say donited States.

40. Upon his throne he reigns supreme.

41. And day had dawned before he rose.

42. Did you, would you, can 't you, sha'n't you go?

43. Could you, should you, must you make such gestures?

44. His son seeks sources of highest culture.

45. He has fortune, who has health and content.

46. Eventually and effectually his education was complete.

47. In feature beautiful, in disposition amiable, in virtue

unsurpassed.

48. When youths of this age tell truths, they are sage.

49. Black cloth is worn now by plebeian and courtier.

50. Perpetuate the right; ameliorate the wrong.

51. Do not venture to caricature that creature.

52. His betrothed said the furniture was fine.

53. If neither he sells sea-shells, nor she sells sea-shells, who

shall sell sea-shells? Shall sea-shells be sold?

54. Shall she shun sunshine ? -Shall he shun sunshine ?

Shall sunshine be shunned?

55. The bituminous coal comes annually, or biennially.

56. Blessed is the man who makes men happy.

57. Cold and passionless, the snow, like a cerement, clung

to the earth.

58. Cincinnati is on the eve of her centennial.

59. With the subject of civil service he is conversant.

60. You may come at half-past seven, Christmas eve.

61. The curator is eleven hundred and seventeen miles away.

62. In his decadence the executor is excessively exorbitant.

63. He is a bounteous, courteous, cultivated Christian.

64. Through his impetuosity the exposure came.

65. He seems to be naturally and perpetually tempestuous.

66. Beyond question she modulates well.

67. His system is an admixture of allopathy and home-

opathy.

68. He is combative, vehement, indefatigable, peremptory.

96 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y.

69. His order is irrevocable ; his loss irreparable, remediless.

70. He has the vagaries of an epicurian.

71. Beware the revolting, sacrilegious traducer and blas-

phemer.

72. A righteous soul is a treasure untold.

73. That the temperature is low is demonstrable.

74. Although he is virtually a usurer, he is not amenable

to the law.

75. His complaisant opponent is an incomparable orator.

76. The acoustics of the Odeon are admirable, if not ex-

quisite.

77. He resolutely, voluminously, turbulently, declines.

78. As an amateur he is conversant with the subject.

79. His mind is rational, fame national, conduct exemplary.

80. His gondola glides over the legendary waters of the

Lethean stream.

81. Literature and eloquence flourish most in lands of frosts.

82. Do not misconstrue the allegorist's meaning.

83. His voice was canorous, his purse plethoric, his course

chivalric.

84. The athenseum was pyramidal in shape.

85. What a gigantean mind his coadjutor displays!

SQ. Contumely, scathing raillery, was the product of his
splenetic tongue.

87. That the recitative should be given is not obligatory.

88. Over your allies the brigand takes precedence.

89. That adult is an adept in address with large assets.

90. Contrary to expectation, the canine became acclimated.

91. The aeronaut in his aerial flight rose above the horizon.

92. The truculent Pythogoreans fill their stomachs with

anchovies and apricot trufl[les.

93. The diocesan betook himself to absolutory prayers.

94. Doffiing his blouse and chapeau, the manager of the

museum leaped upon the tepid and saline waters.

95. The superintendent of calisthenics in the Lyceum of

Nice ended his life on the gallows.

ORTHOEPY . 97

96. The allopathic Esculapians prescribe quinine as an anti-

periodic, and morphine as a soporific.

97. She wore a brooch of onyx set in platinum and gold,

with a vine of clematis around her forehead.

98. He was an expert in telegraphy, telephony, and micros-

copy, and an experienced pedagogist and paragraphist.

99. My indefatigable and redoubtable military comrade was

drowned in the Thames.
100. These one hundred exercises in orthoepy are not offered
as examples of excellent diction.
7

Part VII,

Modulation

Modulation is the stream on whose bosom thought finds
vocal transmission. This stream is sometimes perfectly serene ;
sometimes it surges along tumultuously; and between the ex-
tremes of calmness and commotion there is infinite change.
Modulation has reference to those alterations in vocal utter-
ance by which the qualities of thought and the variations of
feeling are expressed. By modulation the feeling soul unites
with the thinking brain, and the utterance becomes subdued
by sorrow, or thrills and trembles with pathos, or deepens
with suppressed passion. Under this one generic term may
be included pitch, force, volume, quality, rate, quantity,
pause, and inflection. The science of Elocution comprehends
and formulates the laws which underlie the whole range of
expression, while the art of Elocution comprehends expres-
sion untrammeled by bodily defects or by conventional usage.
Thus may be seen the value of elocutionary drill. Only those
whose voices and bodies possess every virtue, and are free
from every defect, are in no need of such training.

FUNDAMBNTAI. DRII,L.

A VERY high degree of vocal excellence may be attained
even though the drill be confined to the simple mutable vowel
sounds. The first attempt to pronounce these sounds, even

MODULATION. 99

in a simple conversational tone, will reveal some vocal de-
fects. Attempting the same in very high keys will reveal
other defects; in very low keys, still others. Various de-
grees of force will develop their own special difficulties.
The following are some of them : huskiness, harshness, hard-
ness, thinness, sharpness, aspiration, nasality, and indistinct
articulation.

To develop smoothness, purity, flexibility, compass, vol-
ume, power, and control of the voice, the following fundamen-
tal exercises are commended.

Lesson I.

FUNDAMENTAL EXERCISES.

Crescendo. — Prolong the mutable vowel sounds, begin-
ning with the smallest audible amount of volume, increasing
each sound to the fullest extent. From five to ten seconds
is as long as the beginner can carry a crescendo. He also
finds it very difficult to make the increase in volume a grad-
ual one. The voice manifests a desire to expand by jerks.
It requires much skill to so shade the increase that the limit
of fullness shall be reached at the instant the breath is ex-
hausted. The breath shows a disposition to escape too rap-
idly, especially during the first two or three seconds. The
quality of the voice oftentimes proves unruly. Ten minutes
daily practice for three months will more than double the
prolonging power, and improve in a marked degree the vol-
ume and quality of the voice.

Diminuendo. — Prolong the mutable vowel sounds be-
ginning with the fullest possible volume, gradually decreas-
ing it to the smallest audible tone. Time the exercise. Eight
seconds will suffice for the first effort. Six months of proper
elocutionary training will more than triple this amount of
time. In prolonging the sound, as in the crescendo, see that
a uniform pitch is preserved ; that the vibratory movements

100 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

of the voice are not irregular ; that the quality of the voice
is good ; and that no jerking of the tone is allowed.

Crescendo and Diminuendo Combined. — Prolong
the mutable vowel sounds, beginning with the slightest vol-
ume, steadily swelling to the climax, and as gradually di-
minishing to the starting point. Profiting by preceding
practice, the pupil should be able to prolong this combina-
tion at least ten seconds. The great difficulty w^ill be to di-
vide evenly his time and strength between the crescendo and
the diminuendo. Avoid waste of breath, change of pitch, facial
contortions, and labored action of the shoulders. Practice
these exercises in pitch ranging from the lowest to the highest.

In testing the voice at different keys it will often be
found that, while it is good in quality in one pitch, it is de-
fective in another. Some have good control of the voice in
the medium, but can not command a good quality in the
higher keys. With others the reverse is the case. Again,
many voices, pure enough when propelled by moderate force,
become quite unruly when force is added or withdrawn.
Practice will give control throughout the entire vocal range.

Lesson II.

CONVERSATIONAL TONES.

Peonounce the vowel sounds in a conversational manner.
At first glance this seems an easy exercise ; but perfect sim-
plicity of utterance is the reward only of much practice ; and
it is the highest type of art.

Upon some of the sounds, especially long a, e, and %
many voices will break, or harden, or grow husky. Let the
drill be continued until each vowel sound can be pronounced
with perfect purity. Not until the breath is thoroughly vo-
calized, and the molding agents put in proper position,
can this be done. Insist on the pronunciation of each sound
with the descending slide.

MODULATION. . 101

The instructor will learn that in almost every instance
the student who has difficulty in utteriug these letters with
the downward slide, will have the same difficulty in reading.
The upward inflection has done much damage. Many posi-
tive statements have lost their convincing power because of
the final upward slide.

Lesson III.

TREMULANT TONES.

About one out of five beginners fail to produce and sus-
tain a truly tremulous tone. Some will start the tone ef-
fusively, breaking occasionally into a momentary tremor,
and again lapsing into the efi'iisive. A very few do not so
much as touch the tremor in their first attempts.

Exercise : Prolong the mutable vowel sounds tremulously.
Preserve a uniform pitch, the same degree of volume, and
an evenly distributed vibratory movement.

Tremuiant Exercises.

1. " Rest thee, my babe ; rest on ! ' Tis hunger's cry.
Sleep ! For there is no food ; the fount is dry.
Famine and cold their v/earying work have done !
My heart must break! And thou '."—The clock strikes one.

COATES.

2. 0 Christ, who didst bear the scourging,
And who now dost wear the crown,

I at thy feet,

O True and Sweet,
Would lay my burden down.

Thou bad'st me love and cherish
The babe thou gavest me.

And I have kept

Thy word, nor stepped
Aside from following thee.
And lo ! my boy is dying !
And vain is all my care ;

102 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

And my burden's weight
Is very great,
Yea, greater than I can bear !

0 Lord, thou knowest what peril

Doth threat these poor men's Hves;
And I, a woman,
Most weak and human,

Do plead for their waiting wives.

Thou canst not let them perish!

Up, Lord, in thy strength, and save
From the scorching breath
Of this terrible death,

On this cruel winter wave.

ANON.

Lesson IV.

METHODS OF VOCAI. EMISSION.

There are three cardinal methods of emitting the voice ;
viz., effusive, expulsive, explosive. In effusive utterance
the vocal cords are acted upon in a smooth, steady, connected
manner. The expulsive and explosive deliveries differ but
little in their mechanism. In each style the vocal cords are
in contact throughout their entire length. If the sudden
glottal stroke be followed by a vanish, the result is expul-
sion. Deduct the vanish, and explosion is the result.

Effusive Emission.

Vowel Practice. — Give each vowel sound with a free, full,
pure, prolonged outflow of the voice. Not a trace of hard-
ness or huskiness is admissible in this exercise.

Thoughts of a quiet, respectful, subdued, resigned, benig-
nant nature, employ the effusive mode.

Effusive Exercises.

1. Three of them! a charmed and mystic number, which,
if it be broken in these young days— as alas! it may be — will only
yield a cherub-angel to float over you, and to float over them.

MODULATION. 103

to wean you and to wean them from this world, where all joys
do perish, to that seraph-world where joys do last forever.

DONALD G. MITCHELL.

2. My Paul has climbed the noblest mountain height
In all his little world, and gazed on scenes
As beautiful as rest beneath the sun.
I trust he will remember all his life
That to his best achievement, and the spot
Nearest to heaven his youthful feet have trod,
He has been guided by a guileless lamb.

J. G. HOLLAND.

3. Up! forth again, Pegasus! "Many's the slip,"

Hath the proverb well said, "'twixt the cup and the lip."
How blest should we be, have I often conceived,
Had we really achieved what we nearly achieved !
We but catch at the skirts of the thing we would be,
And fall back on the lap of a false destiny.
So it will be, so has been, since this world began !
And the happiest, noblest, and best part of man
Is the part which he never hath fully played out ;
For the first and last word in life's volume is — Doubt.
The face the most fair to our vision allowed
Is the face we encounter and lose in the crowd.
The thought that most thrills our existence is one
Which, before we can frame it in language, is gone.

0 Horace! the rustic still rests by the river.

But the river flows on, and flows past him forever !
Who can sit down and say, *' What I will be, I will?"
Who stand up and affirm, " What I was, I am still?"
Who is it that must not, if questioned, say, " What

1 would have remained or become, I am not?"

OWEN MEREDITH.

WB SHALL KNOW.

When the mists have rolled in splendor

From the beauty of the hills.
And the sunshine warm and tender

Falls in kisses on the rills,
We may read love's shining letter

In the rainbow of the spray ;
We shall know each other better

104 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

When the mists have cleared away.
We shall know as we are known,
Nevermore to walk alone,
In the dawning of the morning,
When the mists have cleared away.

If we err in human blindness.

And forget that we are dust.
If we miss the law of kindness.

When we struggle to be just.
Snowy wings of peace shall cover

All the pain that clouds our day,
When the weary watch is over

And the mists have cleared away.
We shall know as we are known,
Nevermore to walk alone.
In the dawning of the morning.
When the mists have cleared away.

When the silvery mists have veiled us

From the faces of our own.
Oft we deem their love has failed us.

And we tread our path alone ;
We should see them near and truly,

We should trust them day by day,
Neither love nor blame unduly,
If the mists were cleared away.

We shall know as we are known,
Nevermore to walk alone,
In the dawning of the morning.
When the mists have cleared away.

ANON.

Lesson V.

EXPULSIVE EMISSION.

Vmod Practice. — Give the mutable vocal sounds expul-
sively, opening with fullest volume, and rapidly vanishing
into silence.

Caution. — Avoid stiffness or tightness of the throat at the
base of the tongue, as you value your voice and your health.

MODULATION. 105

Incisiveness, aggressiveness, decisiveness, and obstinacy,
usually move expulsively.

Expulsive Illustrations.

1. O, comrades ! warriors ! Thracians ! — if we must fight, let
us fight for ourselves. If we must slaughter, let us slaughter
our oppressors. If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by
the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle. e. kellogg.

2. Rouse, ye Romans! Rouse, ye slaves! Have ye brave
sons? Look in the next fierce brawl to see them die! Have ye
fair daughters? Look to see them torn from your arms, dis-
dained, dishonored ; and if ye dare call for justice, be answered
by the lash ! Yet this is Rome, that sat upon her seven hills,
and from her throne of beauty ruled the world ! Yet we are
Romans ! Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman was greater
than a king. maky e. mitford.

3. It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen
may cry peace, peace ! but there is no peace. The war is actually
begun. The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to
our ears the clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already
in the field. Why stand we here idle ? W^hat is it that gentle-
men wish ? What would they have ? Is life so dear, or peace
so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery ?
Forbid it. Almighty God! I know not what course others may
take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death !

PATRICK HENRY.

In these exercises what words make especial use of the
expulsive attack ?

IvKSSON VI.
EXPLOSIVE EMISSION.

Aggressiveness, vindictiveness, anger, defiance, and
kindred emotions use the explosive quality of voice.

Vowel practice. — Give the vowel sounds explosively.
In giving this exercise, beware of throat-congestion. The
labor of hurling the breath against the vocal cords should be
borne mainly by the muscles of the waist and chest. It is

106 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

not necessary, in this exercise, to jerk the shoulders upward,
nor to stand on the toes, nor to wrinkle the forehead, nor to
shut the eyes.

In explosive practice, the teacher can not guard pupils
too zealously. Better entirely to omit this practice than to
engage in it injudiciously. Properly conducted, it exhila-
rates; improperly conducted, it exhausts. It should make
one hungry, but not tired.

Intelligently employed, vociferous exercises exert a be-
neficent influence as up-builders of the voice ; but when used
injudiciously, they have few rivals as voice-destroyers.

Explosive Exercises.

1. "Who spake of life ? I bade thee grasp that treasure as
thine honor — a jewel worth whole hecatombs of lives ! Begone !
Redeem thine honor ! Back to Marion, or Baradas, or Orleans ;
track the robber, regain the packet ; or crawl on to age — age and
gray hairs like mine— and know thou hast lost that which had
made thee great and saved thy country. See me not till thou
hast bought the right to see me. Away! Nay, clieer thee!
Thou hast not failed yet. Fail I Fail ! In the bright lexicon of
youth, there 's no such word as fail ! bulwer.

2. Thou liest, knave! I am old, infirm—most feeble— but
thou liest ! Armand de Eichelieu dies not by the hand of man :
the stars have said it, and the voice of my own oracular soul
confirms the shining sybils ! Call them all, thy brother butch-
ers ! Earth hath no such fiend. No ! as one parricide of his
fatherland, who dares in Richelieu murder France !

BULWER.

3. To thy knees, and crawl for pardon ; for I tell thee thou
shalt live for such remorse, that, did I hate thee, I would bid
thee strike, that I might be avenged ! It was to save my Julia
from the king, that in my valor I forgave thy crime. It was
when thou, the rash and ready tool — yea, of that shame thou
loath'st — did'st leave thy hearth to the polluter— in these arms
thy bride found the protecting shelter thine withheld.

BULWER.

4. Ay, is it so? Then wakes the power which, in the age of
iron, burst forth to curb the great and raise the low. Mark where

MODULATION. 107

she stands ! Around her form I draw the awful circle of our sol-
emn church ! Set but one foot within that holy ground, and on
thy head — yea, though it wore a crown — I launch the curse of
Rome. BULWER.

6. Irreverent ribald ! If so, beware the falling ruins ! Hark !
I tell thee, scorner of these whitening hairs, when this snow
melteth there shall come a flood ! A vaunt ! My name is Rich-
elieu. I defy thee ! Walk blindfold on ; behind thee stalks the
headsman ! Ha ! ha ! how pale he is ! Heaven save my country !

BULWER.

Select the most decidedly explosive words and passages.

RICHELIEU AND FRANCE.

My liege, your anger can recall your trust,
Annul my office, spoil me of my lands.
Rifle my coffers ; but my name, my deeds,
Are royal in a land beyond your scepter.
Pass sentence on me, if you will ; from kings,
Lo, I appeal to time ! Be just, my liege.
I found your kingdom rent with heresies
And bristling with rebellion ; lawless nobles
And dreadless serfs ; England fomenting discord :
Austria, her clutch on your dominion ; Spain
Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind
To armed thunderbolts. The arts lay dead ;
Trade rotted in your marts ; your armies mutinous.
Your treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke
Your trust ? So be it ! and I leave you sole,
Supremest monarch of the mightiest realm
From Ganges to the icebergs. Look without —
No foe not humbled ! Look within — the Arts
Quit, for our school, their old Hesperides,
The golden Italy ! while throughout the veins
Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides
Trade, the calm health of nations ! Sire, I know
That men have called me cruel.
I am not ; I am just ! I found France rent asunder ;
The rich men, despots; the poor, banditti ;
Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple ;
Brawls festering to rebellion, and weak laws
Rotting awa^' with rust in antique sheaths.

108 • ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

I have re-created France ; and, from the ashes
Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass,
Civilization, on her luminous wings,
Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove ! What was my art ?
Genius, some say ; some, fortune ; witchcraft, some.
Not so. My art was Justice!

BULWEB.

Lesson VII.

In its mechanism, pitch is dependent on the following:

1. Length of the vocal cords.

2. Size of the vocal cords.

3. Elasticity of the vocal cords.

4. Tension of the vocal cords.

6. Space between the vocal cords.

6. Position of the larynx.

7. Flexibility of the larynx.

8. Degree of expiratory power.

Other things being equal, the pitch is lower in proportion
as the vocal cords are longer or larger. Enlarging the space
between the vocal cords, or depressing the larynx, or dimin-
ishing the expiratory power, tends to lower the pitch.
The greater the elasticity of the vocal cords, and the more
flexible the larynx, the greater is the compass of the voice.

Lower Register.

Vowel Practice. — Utter the mutable vowel sounds in pitch
gradually descending from the medium to the lowest possible.
The instructor will know that the student has touched his
lowest limit as soon as the voice begins to surrender to aspi-
ration. Another evidence of the approaching limit is dim-
inution of volume.

Caution. — Do not try too hard to reach a very low key.
Tension is fatal to low key. The lowest pitch is the product

MODULATION. 109

of the corapletest relaxation of the vocal apparatus. What-
ever depresses, suppresses, secretes, or degrades, tends to
lower the key.

At the close of a few weeks of diligent practice the be-
ginner will be delighted to learn how much has been gained,
both in volume and in compass.

Illustrations.

1. Dead, your majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead,
right reverends and wrong reverends of every order. Dead, men
and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts; and
dying thus around us every day. dickens.

2. In silence, and at night, the conscience feels that life should
soar to nobler ends than power. So sayest thou, sage and sober
moralist! But wert thou tried? ye safe and formal men, who
write the deeds, and with unfeverish hand weigh in nice scales
the motives of the great, ye can not know what ye have never
tried. bulwer.

3. Come to the bridal chamber. Death!
Come to the mother when she feels
For the first time her first-born's breath ;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ;
Come when the heart beats high and warm.

With banquet song, and dance, and wine.
And thou art terrible ; the tear.
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier.
And all we know, or dream, or fear,

Of agony, are thine. halleck.

BIRTHDAY REFLECTIONS.

Another year
Has parted, and its knell is sounding now
O'er the Past's silent ocean. Ah! it is
An hour for tears! There is a specter-form
In memory's voiceless chambers, pointing now
Its dim, cold finger to the beautiful
And holy visions that have passed away,
And left no shadow of their loveliness

110 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

. On the dead waste of life. That specter Hfts
The coffin-lid of dear, remembered Love,
And, bending mournfully above the pale,
Sweet form that slumbers there, scatters dead flowers
O'er what is gone forever.

I am not
As in the years of boyhood. There were hours
Of joyousness that came like angel-shapes
Upon my heart; but they are altered now,
And rise on memory's view like statues pale
By a dim fount of tears. And there were springs,
Upon whose stream the sweet young blossoms leaned
To list the gush of music ; but their depths
Are turned to dust. There, too, were holy lights,
That shone, sweet rainbows of the spirit, o'er
The skies of new existence ; but their gleams,
Like the lost Pleiad of the olden time.
Have faded from my vision, and are lost
*Mid the cold mockeries of earth.

Alone ! —
I am alone! The guardians of my young
And sinless years have gone, and left me here
A solitary wanderer. Their low tones
Of love oft swell upon the evening winds,
Or wander sweetly down through falling dews
At midnight's still and melancholy hour;
But voice alone is there. Ages of thought
Come o'er me there ; and, with a spirit won
Back to its earlier years, I kneel again
At young life's broken shrine.

The thirst of power
Has been a fever to my spirit. Oft,
Even in my childhood, I was wont to gaze
Upon the swollen cataract rushing down
With its eternal thunder-peal ; the far
Expanse of ocean, with its infinite
Of stormy waters roaring to the heavens ;
The night-storm fiercely rending the great oaks
From their rock pinnacles; the giant clouds
Tossing their plumes like warriors in the sky,
And hurling their keen lightnings tlirough the air

MODULATION.' Ill

Like the red flash of swords. Ay, I was wont

To gaze on these, and almost wept to think

I could not match their strength. The same wild thirst

For power is yet upon me : it has been

A madness in my day-dreams, and a curse

Upon my being. It has led me on

To mingle in the strife of men, and dare

The Samiel-breath of hate ; and I am now,

Even in the opening of my manhood's prime,

One whom the world loves not.

Well — it is well.
There is a silent purpose in my heart ;
And neither love, nor hate, nor fear, shall tame
My own fixed daring. Though my being's stream
Gives out no music now, 't is passing back
To its far fountain in the heavens, and there
'T will rest forever in the ocean-tide
Of God's immensity. I will not mourn
Life's shrouded memories. I can still drink in
The unshadowed beauty of the universe.
Gaze with a swelling soul upon the blue
Magnificence above, and hear the hymn
Of Heaven in every starlight ray, and fill
Glen, hill, and vale, and mountain, with the bright
And glorious visions poured from the deep home
Of an immortal mind. Past year, farewell !

GEORGE D. PRENTICE.

In these exercises what parts require the lowest pitch?

Lesson VIII.

MIDDLE REGISTER.

Common conversation, simple narration, plain description,
moderation in all its forms, employ the medium key.

ILLUSTRA.TIONS.

1. Whatever the lagging, dragging journey may have been to
the rest of the emigrants, it was a wonder and delight to the
children, a world of enchantment; and they believed it to be

112 ELOCUTION AND ORATOHY.

peopled with the mysterious dwarfs and giants and goblins that
figured in the tales the negro slaves were in the habit of telling
them, nightly, by the shuddering light of the kitchen fire.

MARK TWAIN.

2. Listeners, will you please cast your eyes over the follow-
ing lines and see if you can find any thing harmful in them:

Conductor, when you receive a fare,
Punch in the presence of the passenjare !
A blue trip-slip for an eight-cent fare,
A buff* trip-slip for a six-cent fare.
A pink trip-slip for a three-cent fare,
Punch in the presence of the passenjare !

CHORUS.

Punch, brothers, punch, punch with care;
Punch in the presence of the passenjare!

MARK TWAIN.

3. On the first day of March it was, that Tommy Taft had been
unquietly sleeping in the forenoon, to make up for a disturbed
night. The little noisy clock that regarded itself as the essence
of a Yankee, and ticked with immense alacrity and struck in the
most bustling and emphatic manner, — this industrious and moral
clock began striking whir-r-r, one ; whir-r-r, two ; whir-r-r, three
(Tommy jerked his head a little as if something vexed him in
his sleep); whir-r-r, four; whir-r-r, five; whir-r-r, six ("Keep
still, will ye ? Let me alone, old woman ! Confound your medi-
cine!"); whir-r-r, seven; whir-r-r, eight ("God in heaven! as
sure as I live," said Tommy, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure
he saw aright) ; whir-r-r, nine; whir-r-r, ten! Then holding out
his arms with the simplicity of a child, his face fairly glowing
with joy, and looking now really noble, he cried: "Barton, my
boy. Barton, I knew you would n't let the old man die and not
help him! I knew it! I knew it!" h. w. beecher.

4. The Sabbath day was ending in a village by the sea,
The uttered benediction touched the people tenderly,
And they rose to face the sunset, in the glowing, lighted west,
And then hastened to their dwellings for God's blessed boon
of rest! farningham.

Analyze the exercises in this lesson so far as pitch is
concerned.

MODULATION, 113

HAMLET'S ELOCUTIONARY ADVICE.

Speak the speech, I pray yoii, as I pronounced it to you —
trippingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of our
players do, I had as lief the town-crier spake my lines. Nor do
not saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gently ;
for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of
your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may
give it smoothness. 0, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robus-
tious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags,
to split the ears of the groundlings; who, for the most part, are
capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb show, and noise. I
would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant: it
out-herods Herod. Pray you, avoid it.

Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your
tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action : with
this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of
nature ; for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing,
whose end, both at the first and now, was, and is, to hold, as
'twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature,
scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time
his form and pressure. Now this, overdone or come tardy off,
though it make the unskillful laugh, can not but make the judi-
cious grieve ; the censure of which one, must, in your allow^ance,
o'erweigh a whole theater of others. O, there be players, that I
have seen play— and heard others praise, and that highly— not to
speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians,
nor the gait of Christian, pagan, or man, have so strutted and
bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had
made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so
abominably ! shakespeare.

IvESSON IX.
UPPER REGISTER.

Give the vowel sounds in keys steadily ascending from
the medium pitch to the highest that can be attained without
strain.

Suggestion. — A wrinkling of the forehead does not aid the
voice in its upward flight. The tendency to rise upon the

114 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

toes should be restrained, as this does not conduce to high-
ness of pitch. Shrugging, contorting, or elevating the
shoulders may be omitted, as such action is as ungainly as
it is unnecessary. Last but not least : Do not congest the
tJiroat. There is no pitch in the entire vocal range that can
not be reached without damage to the vocal apparatus.

Gayety, vivacity, hilarity, joyousness, spirituality — what-
ever exalts or exhilarates — employs tones in the upper reg-
ister. To these upper keys belong the shout of victory, the
cry of alarm, the shriek of fear, and the wail of despair.

Illustrations.

1, Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!
The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain.
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies now — upon them with the lance !

MACAULAY.

2. " Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend! " I shrieked,

upstarting ;
" Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian

shore !
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath

spoken !
Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my

door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from

oflfmydoor!"

Quoth the raven : " Nevermore ! " poe.

3. "Pull, if ye never pulled before;

Good ringers pull your best," quoth he.
" Play up, play up, 0 Boston bells !
Play all your changes, all your swells.

Play up. The Brides of Enderby." ingelow.

4. And see ! she stirs !

She starts — she moves — she seems to feel
The thrill of life along her keel,

MODULATION, 115

And, spurning with her feet the ground,

With one exulting, joyous bound,

She leaps into the ocean's arms ! longfellow.

"Hi! Harry Holly! Halt, and tell

A fellow just a thing or two ;
You 've had a furlough, been to see

How all the folks in Jersey do ! " ethel lynn

MARMION AND DOUGLAS.

Not far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array,

To Surrey's camp to ride ;
He had safe conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,

And Douglas gave a guide.
The ancient earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,
And whispered in an undertone,
*' Let the hawk stoop, — his prey is flown."
The train from out the castle drew,
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu.

" Though something I might 'plain," he said,
" Of cold respect to stranger guest.
Sent hither by your king's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed.
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble earl, receive my hand."
But Douglas round him drew his cloak.
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :
" My manors, halls, and bowers shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer ;
My castles are my king's alone.
From turret to foundation-stone, —
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And— "This to me!" he said.

116 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared

To cleave the Douglas' head !
And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state.
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,

Even in thy pitch of pride —
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword),

I tell thee thou 'rt defied !
And if thou said'st I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here.
Lowland or Highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied !"
On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age.
Fierce he broke forth : "And dar'st thou then
To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ?
No; by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!
Up drawbridge, grooms ! — What, warder, ho !

Let the portcullis fall !"
Lord Marmion turned— well was his need !—
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung ;
The ponderous grate behind him rung ;
To pass there was such scanty room.
The bars, descending, razed his plume.
The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise ;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim ;
And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched hand.
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers.
"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!'
But soon he reined his fury's pace :

MODULATION. 117

*' A royal messenger he came,
Though most unworthy of the name.

St. Mary,mend my fiery mood!
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,
I thought to slay him where he stood.
'T is pity of him, too," he cried ;
*' Bold can he speak and fairly ride,
I warrant him a warrior tried."
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle walls.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Analyze the exercises in this lesson. What portions
require the highest pitch ? what the lowest ?

Lesson X.

POWER.

There are two forms of power: moral and physical.
The two do not always coincide. There may be a manifes-
tation of much physical power, with scarce a semblance of
moral power. Great moral force may be extracted from
words, with seemingly but little outward physical effort.
Indeed, external self-subjugation is frequently the very life
of moral and magnetic influence.

The speaker, singer, or actor, never scores a greater
triumph than when, having the bearing of perfect poise, he
makes the beholder feel that beneath his outward repose
there is throbbing a volcano of passion.

For the present, we shall treat of the physical phase of
force. Note this word of warning : Do not strain the voice !
Do not try to reach the top-round of the vocal ladder with-
out touching the rounds below. Bide your time. The art of
Elocution is not mastered in a day. Do not allow any one
to beguile you into overexertion. One moment of such

118 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

indiscretion may cost you your voice. There are instances of
partial adhesion of the vocal cords. In proportion to the
amount of adhesion, is the compass of the voice lessened. A
teacher, ambitious to see his pupil progress, and ignorant of
the vocal mechanism, is liable to be betrayed into the inflic-
tion of an irreparable injury. The law should not allow one
to undertake the direction of the human voice who is ig-
norant of the vocal mechanism, and of the laws underlying
the art of vocal culture. To murder the voice is a crime.

There are too many teachers who trust too much to in-
spiration. They have what they are pleased to call "divine
afflatus" — a most dangerous thing in the hands of igno-
rance— and with this as their sole stock in trade, they set%
about ensnaring the unsuspecting. Parents can not be too
careful in deciding who shall conduct the vocal training of
their children in either speech or song.

Slight Propelling Power. — Secrecy, feebleness, inde-
cision, restraint, and like emotions, employ but little force.

Illustrations.

1. "Now, Barton, my boy, you 've done a good thing. I 've
been waiting for you all winter, and you did n't come a minute
too soon. I 'm tired now, but I w^ant to say one thing. Barton,
when I'm gone, you won't let the old woman suffer? She's
had a pretty hard time of it with me ! I knew you would n't.
One thing more, Barton, you know I never had much money. I
never laid up any — could n't. Now you won't let me come on
to the town for a funeral, will ye? I should hate to be buried
in a pine coffin, at town expense, and have folks laugh at me
that did n't dare open their head to me when I was 'round

town." H. W. BEECHER.

2. " Where they laid him as wos wery good to me ; wery good
to me indeed, he wos. It 's time for me to go down to that
there berryin ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. I
want to go there and be berried. He used fur to say to me : * I
am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he sez. I wants to tell him that
I am as poor as him now, and have come there to be laid along
with him." dickens.

MODULATION. 119

3. She was dead and past all help or need of it. The an-
cient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own
was ebbing fast ; the garden she had tended ; the eyes she had
gladdened ; the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour ;
the paths she had trodden as if it were but yesterday, — could
know her no more. dickens.

DEATH OF LITTLE NELL.

She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from
trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh
from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life ; not one
who had lived and suffered death.

Her couch was dressed with, here and there, some winter
berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used
to favor. "When I die, put near me something that has loved
the light, and had the sky above it always." These were her
words.

She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead.
Her little bird — a poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would
have crushed — was stirring nimbly in its cage ; and the strong
heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless forever.

Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings and
fatigues ? All gone. This was the true death before their weep-
ing eyes. Sorrow was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect
happiness were born ; imaged in her tranquil beauty and pro-
found repose.

And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change.
Yes. The old fireside had smiled on that same sweet face ; it
had passed like a dream through haunts of misery and care. At
the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, be-
fore the furnace-tire upon the cold, wet night, at the still bed-
side of the dying boy, there had been the same mild, lovely look.
So shall we know the angels in their majesty, after death.

The old man held one languid arm in his, and kept the
small hand tight folded to his breast for warmth. It was the
hand she had stretched out to him with her last smile — the hand
that had led him on through all their wanderings. Ever and
anon he passed it to his lips, then hugged it to his breast again,
murmuring that it was warmer now ; and as he said it, he looked,
in agony, to those who stood around, as if imploring them to
help her.

She was dead and past all help, or need of it. The ancient

120 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was
ebbing fast ; the garden she had tended ; the eyes she had glad-
dened; the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour; the
paths she had trodden as if it were but yesterday— could know
her no more.

"It is not," said the "schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss
her on her cheek, and give his tears free vent — "it is not in this
w^orld that Heaven's justice ends. Think what it is compared
with the world to which her young spirit has winged its early
flight, and say, if one deliberate wish expressed in solemn terms
above this bed could call her back to life, which of us would
utter it!" dickens.

In these exercises what words or clauses require the lowest
keys ? the slightest force ? the highest keys ? the greatest force ?
Give reasons.

IvESSON XI.

MODERATE PROPELLING POWER.

The entire temperate zone of thought requires the mod-
erate use of force.

Illustrations.

1. No day so bright but scuds may fall,

No day so still but winds may blow ;

No morn so dismal with the pall

Of wintry storm, but stars may glow

When evening gathers, over all. Holland.

2. Should not we, too, go as strictly and as ingeniously to
work, seeing that we practice an art far more delicate than that
of music; seeing we are called on to express the commonest
and the strangest emotions of human nature, with elegance, and
so as to delight ? Can any thing be more shocking than to slur
over our rehearsal, and in overacting to depend on good luck, or
the capricious chance of the moment? Why is the master of the
band more secure about his music than the manager about his play ?
Because, in the orchestra, each individual would feel ashamed of
his mistakes, which oflfend the outward ear ; but how seldom have

MODULATION. 121

I found an actor disposed to acknowledge or feel ashamed of his
mistakes, by which the ear is so outrageously offended ! I could
wish, for my part, that our theaters were as narrow as the wire
of the rope-dancer, that no inept fellow might dare to intrude on
it ; instead of being as it is, a place where every one discovers in
himself capacity enough to flourish and parade. goethe.

THE WATER-MILL.

Listen to the water-mill, through the livelong day,
How the clicking of the wheels wears the hours away !
Languidly the autumn wind stirs the greenwood leaves ;
From the fields the reapers sing, binding up the sheaves;
And a proverb haunts my mind, as a spell is cast :
The mill will never grind with the water that is past.

Autumn winds revive no more leaves that once are shed,
And the sickle can not reap the corn once gathered ;
And the rippling stream flows on, tranquil, deep, and still,
Never gliding back again to the water-mill.
Truly speaks the proverb old, with a meaning vast:
The mill will never grind with the water that is past

Take the lesson to thyself, loving heart, and true :
Golden years are fleeting by ; youth is passing, too ;
Learn to make the most of life, lose no happy day ;
Time will never bring thee back chances swept away.
Leave no tender word unsaid, love while life shall last:
The mill will never grind with the water that is past.

Work while yet the daylight shines, man of strength and will,

Never does the streamlet glide useless by the mill ;

Wait not till to-morrow's sun beams upon thy way ;

All that thou canst call thy own lies in thy to-day;

Power, intellect, and health may not always last :

The mill will never grind with the water that is past.

O, the wasted hours of life that have drifted by ;
O, the good we might have done, lost without a sigh !
Love that we might once have saved by a single word ;
Thoughts conceived, but never penned, perishing unheard;
Take the proverb to thine heart, take and hold it fast :
The mill will never grind with the water that is past.
11

122 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

O, love thy God and fellow-man, thyself consider last ;
For come it will when thou must scan dark errors of the past;
And when the fight of life is o'er, and earth recedes from view,
A.nd Heaven, in all its glory, shines amid the good and true,
Then you'll see more clearly still the proverb deep and vast :
The mill can never grind with the water that is past.

m'callum.

The instructor should require an analysis of the com-
parative force with which various parts of the exercises in
this lesson should be given.

Lesson XII.

GREAT PROPELLING POWER.

Impetuosity, indignation, denunciation, frenzy, and ha-
tred— intensity in any form — calls for a corresponding degree
of propelling power.

Illustrations.

X, Fierce he broke forth: "And dar'st thou then
To beard the lion in his den.

The Douglas in his hall ?
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?
No ! by Saint Bride of Both well, no !
Up drawbridge, grooms ! — What, warder, ho !

Let the portcullis fall!" — scott.

2. 'Hear the loud alarum bells, —

Brazen bells !
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells !

In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright I
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek.

Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fi^e,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire.

MODULATION. 123

Leaping higher, higher, higher,

With a desperate desire,

And a resolute endeavor,

Now — now to sit, or never,

By the side of the pale-faced moon

O the bells, bells, bells.

What a tale their terror tells
Of despair !
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! POB.

3. If thou should'st in those waters thy diadem fling,
And cry, "Who may find it shall win it and wear,'*
God wot, though the prize were the crown of a king —
A crown at such hazards were valued too dear.

SCHILLER.

4. And rearing Lindis backward pressed.
Shook all her trembling banks amaine,

Then madly at the eygre's breast
Flung uppe her weltering walls againe.

Then banks came downe with ruin and rout ;

Then beaten foam flew round about ;

Then ail the mighty floods were out.

INGELOW.

THE OLD "CONSTITUTION."

The famous old frigate, Constitution, was formally put out of commission at
the Brooklyn Navy-yard on Thursday, December 15, 1881. and placed in " Rotten
Row," to be either broken up or allowed to gradually fall to pieces. Her keel
was laid in 1794, and she was the third vessel built for the United States after the
adoption of the Constitution. She has always held a place in the affections of
the American people equaled by no other ship ; and when, in 1860, it was pro-
posed to dismantle and break her up, a storm of indignation arose to which the
Government was forced to yield. This stirring protest was contributed by Oliver
Weudell Holmes, and it has become a standard piece of American literature :

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.
Beneath it rang the battle-shout,
. And burst the cannon's roar ;
The meteor of the ocean air

Shall sweep the clouds no more.

124 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood —

Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were humming o'er the flood,

And waves were white below —
No more shall feel the victors' tread,

Or know the conquered knee;
The harpies of the shore shall pluds

The eagle of the sea !

O, better that her shattered hulk

Should sink beneath the wave!
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,

And there should be her grave.
Nail to the mast her holy flag ;

Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms.

The lightning and the gale !

O. W. HOLMES.

What passages in this lesson require the greatest force?

Lesson XIII.

VOLUME.

Other things being equal, an increase of the expiratory
power; an enlargement of the buccal or glottal aperture;
an increase in the size of the larynx, — all tend to increase
the volume of the voice.

Slight Volume. — Secrecy, timidity, debility, — what-
ever is suppressed or subjugated requires but little volume.

Illustrations.

1. And soldiers whisper: "Boys, be still;

There 's some bad n^ws from Granger's folks."

ETHEL LYNN.

2. Then answers he : "Ah ! Hal, I '11 try.

But in my throat there 's something chokes,
Because, you see, I Ve thought so long
To count her in among our folks.

MODULATION. 126

I s'pose she must be happy now,

But still I will keep thinking, too,
I could have kept all trouble off,

By being tender, kind, and true.
But may be not. She 's safe up there,

And when His hand deals other strokes,
She '11 stand by heaven's gate, I know.

And wait to welcome in our folks."

ETHEL LYNN.

3. " Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompey,

In the sunshine bright and strong ;
For this world is fading, Pompey —

Massa won't be with you long;
And I fain would hear the south-wind

Bring once more the sound to me
Of the wavelets softly breaking

On the shores of Tennessee." ' e. l. beers.

4. This is all that I remember ! The last time the hghter came,
And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises much the

same.
He had not been gone five minutes when something called

my name:
"Orderly Sergeant Robert Burton!" just tliat way it called

my name. f. willson.

6. If it were done, when 't is done, then 't were well
It were done quickly : if the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch,
With his surcease, success ; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here.
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, —
We 'd jump the life to come. Shakespeare.

DEATH OF LITTLE JO.

Jo is very glad to see his old friend ; and says, when they are
left alone, that he takes it uncommon kind as Mr. Snagsby should
come so far out of his way on accounts of sich as him. Mr.
Snagsby, touched by the spectacle before him, immediately lays
upon the table half a crown, that magic balsam of his for all kinds
of wounds.

"And how do you find yourself, my poor lad?" inquires the
stationer, with his cough of sympathy.

126 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

"I'm in luck, Mr. Snagsby, I am," returns Jo, "and don't
want for nothink. *I 'm more cumf bier nor you can 't think, Mr.
Snagsby. I 'm wery sorry that I done it, but I did n't go fur to
do it, sir."

The stationer softly lays down another half-crown, and asks
him what it is that he is sorry for having done.

" Mr. Snagsby," says Jo, " I went and giv a illness to the
lady as wos and yet as war n't the t' other lady, and none of 'em
never says nothink to me for having done it, on accounts of their
being so good and my having been so unfortnet. The lady come
herself and see me yes'day, and she ses, 'Ah, Jo! ' she ses. *We
thought we'd lost you, Jo ! ' she ses. And she sits down a smilin'
so quiet, and do n't pass a word nor yit a look upon me for hav-
ing done it, she do n't ; and I turns agin the wall, I doos, Mr.
Snagsby. And Mr. Jarnders, I see him a forced to turn away
his own self. And Mr. Woodcot, he come fur to give me some-
think fur to ease me, wot he 's alius a doin' on day and night,
and when he come a bendin' over me and a speakin' up so bold,
I see his tears a fallin', Mr. Snagsby."

The softened stationer deposits another half-crown on the
table. Nothing less than a repetition of that infallible remedy
will relieve his feelings.

"Wot I wos thinkin' on, Mr. Snagsby," proceeds Jo, "wos,
as you wos able to write wery large, p'raps ? "

" Yes, Jo, please God," returns the stationer.

"Uncommon precious large, p'raps?" says Jo, with eagerness.

" Yes, my poor boy."

Jo laughs with pleasure. " Wot I was thinkin' on, then, Mr.
Snagsby, wos, that wen I wos moved on as fur as ever I could
go, and could n't be moved no furder, whether you might be so
good, p'raps, as to write out, wery large, so that any one could see
it anywheres, as that I wos wery. truly hearty sorry that I done
it, and that I never w^ent fur to do it ; and that though I did n't
know nothink at all, I know'd as Mr. Woodcot once cried over it,
and wos alius grieved over it, and that I hoped as he 'd be able
to forgive me in his mind. If the writin' could be made to say
it wery large, he might."

*' It shall say it, Jo ; very large."

Jo laughs again. " Thankee, Mr. Snagsby. It 's wery kind
of you, sir, arid it makes me more cumf'bler nor I wos afore."

The meek little stationer, with a broken and unfinished
cough, slips down his fourth half-crown— he has never been so

MODULATION. 127

close to a case requiring ao many — and is fain to depart. And
Jo and he, upon this httle earth, shall meet no more. No more.

(Another Scene. — Enter Mr. Woodcot.)

" Well, Jo, what is the matter? Don't be frightened."

" I thought," says Jo, who has started, and is looking round,
" I thought I was in Tom-all- Alone's agin. An't there nobody
here but you, Mr. Woodcot?"

"Nobody."

"And I ain't took back to Tom-all- Alone's, am I sir?"

" No."

Jo closes his eyes, muttering, " I am wery thankful."

After watching him closely a little while, Allan puts his
mouth very near his ear, and says to him in a low, distinct voice :
"Jo, did you ever know a prayer?"

" Never know'd nothink, sir."

"Not so much as one short prayer?"

" No, sir. Nothink at all. Mr. Chadbands he wos a prayin'
wunst at Mr. Snagsby's, and I heerd him ; but he sounded as if
he was a-speakin' to hisself, and not to me. He prayed a lot, but
I could n't make out nothink on it. Different times there wos
other gen'l'men come down Tom-all-Alone's a-prayin', but they
all mostly sed as the t'other wuns prayed wrong, and all mostly
sounded to be a-talkin' to theirselves, or a-passin' blame on
t'others, and not a-talkin' to us. We never know'd nothink. 1
never know'd what it wos all about."

It takes him a long time to say this ; and few but an ex-
perienced and attentive listener could hear, or, hearing, under-
stand him. After a short relapse into sleep or stupor, he makes,
of a sudden, a strong effort to get out of bed.

" Stay, Jo, stay ! What now ? "

"It 's time for me to go to that there berryin'-ground, sir,"
he returns with a wild look.

•'Lie down, and tell me. What burying-ground, Jo?"

" Where they put him as wos wery good to me ; wery good
to me, indeed he wos. It 's time for me to go down to that there
berryin'-ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. He used
fur to say to me, 'I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he ses. I
wants to tell him that I am as poor as him now, and have come
there to be laid along with him."

" By and by, Jo ; by and by."

"Ah! P'raps they wouldn't do it if I wos to go myself.

128 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

But will you promise to have me took there, sir, and laid along
with him?"

" I will, indeed."

" Thankee, sir ! Thankee, sir ! They '11 have to get the key
of the gate afore they can take me in, for it 's alius locked. And
there 's a step there as I used fur to clean with my broom. It 's
turned wery dark, sir. Is there any light a comin' ? "

" It is coming fast, Jo."

Fast. The cart is shaken all to pieces, and the rugged road is
very near its end.

" Jo, my poor fellow ! "

" I hear you, sir, in the dark, but I 'm a gropin' — a gropin' ;
let me catch hold of your hand."

" Jo, can you say w^hat I say?"

" I '11 say anythink as you say, sir, for I knows it 's good."

" Our Father."

" Our Father !— yes, that 's wery good, sir."

" Which art in Heaven."

"Art in Heaven !— Is the light a comin', sir ? "

" It is close at hand. Hallowed be thy name."

" Hallowed be— thy— name ! "

The light is come upon the dark benighted way. Dead.

Dead, your majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead,
right reverends and wrong reverends of every order. Dead, men
and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts;
and dying thus around us every day. dickens.

What parts of the exercises in this lesson should be read
with slightest voice ? In the ' ' Death of Little Joe " how
many characters are represented? How many are to be
impersonated? What quality of voice should be used in
impersonating Little Joe? what, Mr. Woodcot?

Lesson XIV.

MODERATE VOLUME.

Calmness, repose, quietude, moderation in general, finds
expression through the medium of moderate volume.

MODULATION, 129

Illustrations.

1. Clear and cold and passionless, pure intellect looks down
from its calm heights upon surging, pulsating humanity, immov-
able as the snow-crowned crest of Mont Blanc while whelming
avalanches thunder below. No warm flush of sympathy prompts
to fly to the rescue and assuage the woe. Grand and wonderful,
indeed, is reason ; but as one star differs from another in glory,
so does the moral and spiritual nature of man transcend the intel-
lectual, in its relations to the happiness and destiny of the race.

NEWTON BATEMAN.

2. Now, a living force that brings to itself all the resources of
imagination, all the inspirations of feeling, all that is influential
in body, in voice, in eye, in gesture, in posture, in the whole
animated man, is in strict analogy with the divine thought and
the divine arrangement ; and there is no misconstruction more
utterly untrue and fatal than this : that oratory is an artificial
thing, which deals with baubles and trifles, for the sake of making
bubbles of pleasure for transient effect on mercurial audiences.
So far from that, it is the consecration of the whole man to the
noblest purposes to which one can address himself — the education
and inspiration of his fellow-men by all that there is in learning,
by all that there is in thought, by all that there is in feeling, by
all that there is in all of them, sent home through the channels
of taste and beauty. And so regarded, oratory should take its
place among the highest departments of education.

H. W. BEECHER.

THE CRICKET.

The cricket dwells in the cold, cold ground.

At the foot of the old oak tree,
And all through the lengthened autumn night

A merry song sings he.
He whistles a clear and merry tune
By the sober light of the silver moon.

The winds may moan

With a hollow tone
All through the leaves of the rustling tree ;

The clouds may fly

Through the deep blue sky.
The flowers may droop and the brooklet sigh,
9

130 ELOCVTION AND ORATORY.

But never a fig cares he ;
He whistles a clear and merry tune
By the sober light of the silver moon,
All through the lengthened autumn night,

And never a fig cares he.

There 's a tiny cricket within thy heart,

And a pleasant song sings he ;
He sings of the mercies and goodness of God,

That hourly fall upon thee.
Let him whistle loud and clear,
Never drown him in a tear ;
There 's darkness enough on earth, I trow,
Without the gloom of a gloomy brow :—
Darkness enough in the home of the poor,
That never comes to thy lofty door.

Forth with a smil&,

Their woe to beguile;
Forth to lighten the heavy gloom ;
Forth to brighten the clouded home,
And cheer the soul that is shrouded in night ;

Tell it, in tones of love,
Of hope on earth, and a land all bright —

The Land of Life and Love ;
And never fret that you can not get
Just what you want while you travel here.
Then let him whistle loud and clear ;
Never drown him in a tear ;
But all through the length of trouble's night
Let him sing his merry song. anon.

What passages in this lesson require more than a moderate
volume? what require less?

j:vESSON XV.
FULL VOLUME.

Majesty, nobility, pomposity, ponderosity, and kindred
conditions, find fit expression in the use of various degrees
of vocal fullness.

MODULATION 131

Illustrations.

1 Age, thou art shamed!

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods !

"When went there by an age, since the great flood,

But it was famed with more than with one man ?

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome,

That her wide walls encompassed but one man ?

Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,

AVhen there is in it but one only man.

O, you and I have heard our fathers say,

There was a Brutus once, that would have brooked

Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Rome

As easily as a king. shakespeaee.

2. Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens:
praise him in the heights. Praise ye him, all his angels : praise
ye him, all his hosts. Praise ye him, sun and moon : praise him,
all ye stars of light. Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye
waters that be above the heavens. Let him praise the name of
the Lord : for he commanded, and they were created. He hath
also established them for ever and ever: he hath made a decree
which shall not pass. Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons
and all deeps : fire and hail, snow and vapors; stormy wind fulfill-
ing his word: mountains and all hills, fruitful trees, and all
cedars; beasts, and all cattle: creeping things, and flying fowl;
kings of the earth and all people ; princes and all judges of the
earth ; both young men and maidens ; old men and children : let
them praise the name of the Lord : for his name alone is excel-
lent ; his glory is above the earth and heaven.

Praise ye the Lord. Praise God in his sanctuary : praise him
in the firmament of his power. Praise him for his mighty acts :
praise him according to his excellent greatness. Praise him with
the sound of the trumpet: praise him with the psaltery and
harp. Praise him with the timbrel and dance : praise him with
stringed instruments and organs. Praise him upon the loud
cymbals: praise him upon the high-sounding cymbals. Let
every thing that hath breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the
Lord. PSALMS.

3. What, my lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to the
scaffold Vf'hich that tyranny, of which you are only the interme-

132 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

diate minister, has erected for my murder, that I am accountable
for all the blood that has been and will be shed in this struggle
of the oppressed against the oppressor ? Shall you tell me this,
and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it ? I, who fear not
to approach the Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of
my whole life, am I to be appalled here before a mere remnant
of mortality ? by you, too, who, if it w^ere possible to collect all
the innocent blood that you have caused to be shed, in your
unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your lordship might
swim in it! emmet.

4. Mountains ! ye are prond and haughty things. Ye hurl
defiance at the storm, the lightning, and the wind ; ye look down
with deep disdain upon the thunder-cloud; ye scorn the devas-
tating tempest ; ye despise the works of puny man ; ye shake
your rock-ribbed sides with giant laughter, when the great earth-
quake passes by. Ye stand as giant sentinels, and seem to say
to the boisterous billows: "Thus far shalt thou come, and here
shall thy proud waves be stayed ! " e. m. mouse.

APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll!

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ;
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control

Stops with the shore : — upon the watery plain

The wrecks are all thy deed ; nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,

When, for a moment, like a drop of rain.
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. I

The armaments, which thunderstrike the walls

Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake.
And monarchs tremble in their capitals ;

The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make

Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war,—

These are thy toys ; and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

MODULATION. ' 133

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee : —
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ?

Thy waters wasted them while they were free.
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay

Has dried up realms to deserts. Not so thou —
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play ;

Time writes no wrinkle on thy azure brow ;

Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou roUest now !

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests ! — in all time —
Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime!

The image of Eternity! the throne

Of the Invisible ! — even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made ! Each zone

Obeys thee ! Thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone !

BYRON.

In this lesson what words, clauses, and sentences, require
full volume, slight volume, much force, little force, low pitch,
high pitch?

IvESSON XVI.
QUALITY.

Quality or Timbre depends on the condition, position,
and use of the molding agents. The nose, mouth, throat,
and lungs are lined with mucous membrane. Let the nasal
membrane become inflamed, and the voice at once becomes
impure. If the inflammation becomes chronic, the tone
assumes a peculiar catarrhal quality. If the membrane in
the throat becomes inflamed, the usual result is hardness,
harshness, huskiness, hoarseness. Should the inflammation
reach the membranous lining of the lungs, a deranged con-
dition of the voice is the sec^uel.

134 * ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

For those who appreciate health, soundness of throat,
roundness and richness of voice, the following advice is offered :

1. Never congest the throat.

2. Make free use of the muscles of the chest.

3. Waste no breath.

4. Send the fully vocalized tone through a pliant throat.
To see that position influences the quality, try to produce

the orotund with shut throat and mouth.

That use of the molding agents is a condition on which
quality depends, is self-evident. The molding agents are
the lungs, throat, mouth, nose, and head. If the lungs act
as the main sounding-board, the tone is pectoral ; if the
throat, guttural; if the mouth, oral; if the nose, nasal; if
the head, falsetto. If all the agents participate in proper
ratio, the tone is pure. The pure tone, rounded out into
fullness of volume, constitutes the most captivating of all
tones — the orotund.

Pectoral Quality. — Sentiments of a gloomy, sad, sol-
emn, sepulchral nature employ the somber, pectoral quality.

Illustrations.

1. Now a shroud of snow and silence over every thing was spread ;
And but for this old blue mantle and the old hat on my head,
I should not have even doubted, to this moment, I was dead ;
For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon the dead.

F. WILLSON.

2. And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamp-light o 'er him streaming throws his shadow on the

floor ;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall 1)e lifted — nevermore. poe.

3. They 're gone, they 're gone ! the glimmering spark hath fled f
The wife and child are numbered with the dead.

On the cold earth, outstretched in solemn rest.
The babe lay, frozen on its mother's V)reast.

MODULATION. 135

The gambler came at last ; but all was o 'er !

Dread silence reigned around : — the clock struck four f

COATES.

4. Hear the tolling of the bells,—
Iron bells !
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone !
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats

Is a groan.
And the people, — ah, the people, —
They that dwell up in the steeple,

All alone.
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,

In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone.

And their king it is who tolls ;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls.

Rolls,
A psean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells !
And he dances and he yells.

Keeping time, time, time.

In a sort of Runic rhyme

To the throbbing of the bells, —

Of the bells, bells, bells —

To the sobbing of the bells ;
Keeping time, time, time.

As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,

To the rolling of the bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells,—

To the tolling of the bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells, —
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. poe.

136 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried ;

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot

O 'er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkl}^ at dead of night,

The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,

And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin inclosed his breast,

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ;

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest.
With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, y

And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed.
And smoothed down his lonely pillow.

That the foe and the stranger would tread o 'er his head,
And we far away on the billow !

Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 's gone,
And o 'er his cold ashes upbraid him ;

But little he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave were a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task M^as done,

When the clock struck the hour for retiring;

And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ;

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone.
But we left him alone in his glory.

CHARLES WOLFE.

What parts of this lesson require the pectoral quality ?
With what rate, force, and volume does the pectoral usually
associate ?

MODULATION. 137

Lesson XVII.

GUTTURAIv QUALITY.

Anger, revenge, contempt, hatred, derision, scorn — all
the passions in their ugly, impure, perverted phases — tear
their way through a closed and congested throat. That con-
gestion must precede and prepare the way for them, seems to
be a divine decree, as each such exhibition carries with it its
own penalty. Believing that the less we indulge in the use
of the guttural, the better it is for health, both physically
and morally, no examples are given here for practice. Feel
assured that when occasion and feeling are ripe for their use,
examples will be at hand in due malignancy.

Oral Quality.

Tones that pass out directly through the mouth, gaining
their chief resonance from the cavity of the mouth, are oral in
their nature. These are the vowel tones. When wholly vo-
calized, they are pure ; and as the pure is so nearly related
to the orotund, one set of examples — that under Orotund —
will serve for each.

Nasal Quality.

In the imitations of certain provincialisms, in character-
sketchings and impersonations, and in burlesque, there are
times when the nasal quality seems a necessity.

As life would be made sweeter were all occasions for the
use of the guttural swept away, so life's pleasure would be en-
hanced were there no nasal sounds in the English language.
Especially does the pulpit suffer from the corrupting touch of
the nasal tone. There are untold thousands of speakers who,
wittingly or unwittingly, impose it upon their fellow-man.

In the majority of cases, victims of the nasal habit are ig-
norant of their fault. Were they aware of the torture they
inflict upon the ears of innocent and deserving friends, they

138 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

would surely banish this euemy of vocal purity. In almost
every case it may be easily overcome. The one cause of na-
sality is obstruction of the nasal passages. If so much air is
poured into the nose as to engorge the passages, the nasal
tone is sure to result.

Illustrations.

1. " The bird can fly, an' why can 't I ?
Must we give in," says he with a grin,
"That the bluebird an' phoebe are smarter 'n we be?
Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller
An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler?
Docs the little chatterin', sassy wren,
No bigger 'n my thumb, know more 'n men ?
Jest show me that ! ur prove 't the bat
Hez got more brains than 's in my hat.
An' I'll back down, an' not till then!"

TROWBRIDGE.

2. "Wal," said Sam Lawson, "after all, it was more Ike
Babbitt's fault than 't was any body's. You see, Ike was allers
for gettin' what he could out o' the town, and he would feed his
sheep on the meetin'-house green. Somehow or other Ike's
fences allers contrived to give out come Sunday, and up would come
his sheep, and Ike was too pious to drive 'em back Sunday, and
so there they was. He was talked to enough about it, cause, you
see, to have sheep and lambs a ba'-a-n' and a blatin' all prayer
and sermon time wa'nt the thing. 'Member that old meetin'-
house up to the north end, down under Blueberry hill? The
land sort o' sloped down, so as a body had to go into the meetin'-
house steppin' down instead o' up. h. b. stows.

Lesson XVIII.

FALSETTO.

In the shriek of fright, in the cry of frenzy, in child im-
personation, in affecting the unusually high female voice, in
burlesquing a foppish, hair-brained apology of a man, use
the falsetto equality.

MODULATION. 139

Illustrations.

1. P'ez, Dezus, 'et Santa Taus turn down to-night,
An' b'ing us some p'esents before it is yight ;
I want he should div' me a nice 'ittie s'ed,
Wiv b'ight shinin' 'unners, an' all painted yed ;
A box full of tan'y, a book, an' a toy.
Amen, an' den, Dezus, I be a dood boy.

S. p. SNOW.

2. I 've seen mair mice than you, guid man ;
An' what think ye o' that ?
Sae baud your tongue an' sae nae mair ;

I tell ye, it was a rat ! anon.

GOOD-NIGHT, PAPA.

The words of a blue-eyed child, as she kissed her chubby hand
and looked down the stairs: " Good-night, papa ; Jessie see you in
the morning."

It came to be a settled thing ; and every evening, as the mother
slipped the white night-gown over the plump shoulders, the little
one stopped on the stairs and sang out, " Good-night, papa," and
as the father heard the silvery accents of the child, he came, and
taking the cherub in his arms, kissed her tenderly, while the
mother's eyes filled, and a swift prayer went up; for, strange to
say, this man, who loved his child with all the warmth of his great
noble nature, had one fault to mar his manliness. From his youth
he loved the wine-cup. Genial in spirit, and with a fascination of
manner that won him friends, he could not resist when surrounded
by his boon companions. Thus his home was darkened, the heart
of his wife bruised and bleeding, the future of his child shadowed.

Three years had the winsome prattle of the baby crept into
the avenues of the father's heart, keeping him closer to his home;
but still the fatal cup was in his hand. Alas for frail humanity,
insensible to the calls of love !

"Good-night, papa," sounded from the stairs. What was there
in the voice? A silvery, plaintive sound; a lingering music that
couched the father's heart, as when a cloud crosses the sun.
"Good-night, my darling;" but his lips quivered, and his broad
brow grew pale. "Is Jessie sick, mother? Her cheeks are
flushed, and her eyes haye a strange light,"

140 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

" Not sick," and the mother stooped to kiss the flushed brow ;
" she may have played too much. Pet is not sick ? "

"Jessie tired, mamma; good-night, papa; Jessie see you in
the morning."

"That is all, she is only tired," said the mother, as she took
the small hand.

Another kiss, and the father turned away ; but his heart was
not satisfied.

Sweet lullabies were sung ; but Jessie was restless, and could
not sleep. "Tell me a story, mamma;" and the mother told of
the blessed babe that Mary cradled, following along the story till
the child had grown to walk and play. The blue, wide-open eyes
filled with a strange light, as though she saw and comprehended
more than the mother knew.

That night the father did not visit the saloon; tossing on his
bed, starting from a feverish sleep and bending over the crib, the
long weary hours passed. Morning revealed the truth ; Jessie was
smitten with the fever.

" Keep her quiet," the doctor said ; " a few days of good nurs-
ing, and she will be all right."

Words easy said ; but the father saw a look on the sweet
face such as he had never seen before. He knew the message
was at the door.

Night came. "Jessie is sick; can't say good-night, papa;"
and the little clasping fingers clung to the father's hand.

Days passed ; the mother was tireless in her watching. With
her babe cradled in her arms, her heart was slow to take in the
truth, doing her best to solace the father's heart. "A light case!
The doctor says: 'Pet will soon be well.'"

Calmly, as one who knows his doom, the father laid his hand
upon the hot brow, and looked into the eyes even then covered
with the film of death.

With a last painful effort the parched lips opened: "Jessie's
too sick; can't say good-night, papa; in the morning." There
was a convulsive shudder, and the clasping fingers relaxed their
hold ; the messenger had taken the child.

Months have passed. Jessie's crib stands by the side of her
father's couch ; her blue embroidered dress and white hat hang
in his closet; her boots, with the print of the feet just as she last
wore them, as sacred in his eyes as they are in the mother's.
Not dead, but merely risen to a higher Hfe ; while, sounding
down from the upper stairs, "Good-night, papa; Jessie see you

MODULATION. 141

in the morning," has been the means of winning to a better way
one who had shown himself deaf to every former call.

AMERICAN MESSENGER.

In the exercises in this lesson, what lines require the fal-
setto? In ** Good-night, Papa," how many characters are
represented? With what vocal characteristics should each
be clothed, and why?

Lesson XIX.

OROTUND.

The orotund quality is used in the expression of dignity,
majesty, nobility, sublimity, and grandeur.

In the following exercises, what parts should be read
with the fullest orotund ? what with the slightest ? How
do other parts compare with these two extremes?

Illustrations.

1. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying
prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond
that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my
day at least, that curtain may not rise ! God grant that on my
vision never may be opened what lies behind ! When my eyes
shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven,
may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored frag-
ments of a once glorious Union ; on States dissevered, discordant,
belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched it
may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering
glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now
known and honored throughout the earth, still full high ad-
vanced ; its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster ;
»not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured — bear-
ing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as, What is all
this worth f nor those other words of delusion and folly. Liberty
first and Union afterwards ; but everywhere, spread all over in
characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they
float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the

142 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y.

whole heavens, that other sentiment dear to every true American
heart, Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable !

WEBSTER.

2. And after these things I heard a great voice of much peo-
ple in heaven, saying, Alleluia ; salvation, and glory, and honor,
and power, unto the Lord our God. And again they said, Alle-
luia. And I heard as it were the voice of a great multitude, and
as the voice of many waters, and as the voice of mighty thunder-
ings, saying. Alleluia ; for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.

REV. XIX.

3. O for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where rumor of oppression and deceit,
Of unsuccessful or successful war,
Might never reach me more ! cowper.

4. Still stands the forest primeval, but far away from its shadow,
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic church-yard,
In the heart of the city, they lie unknown and unnoticed.
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them ;
Thousrmds of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and

forever ;
Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy ;
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from

their labors ;
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their

journey ! longfellow.

5. Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dis-
honor. Let no man attaint my memory by believing that I could
have engaged in any cause but that of my country's liberty and
independence, or that I could have become the pliant minion
of power in the oppression and the miseries of my countrymen.
I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor, for the same
reason that I would resist the domestic tyrant. In the dignity of
freedom I would have fought upon the threshold of my country,
and its enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse.
And am I, who have lived but for my country — who have sub-
jected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor,
and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my country

MODULATION. 143

men their rights, and my country her independence— am I to be
loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent it ? No ; God
forbid ! emmet.

BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF CAESAR.

Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! Hear me for my cause ;
and be silent that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor ;
and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure
me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the
better judge. If there be any in this assembly— any dear friend
of Caisar's — to him I say, that Brutus's love to Caesar was not
less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose
against Caesar, this is my answer : not that I loved Caesar less,
but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living,
and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free-
men ? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he w^as fortunate,
I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him ; but as he was
ambitious, I slew him. There are tears, for his love ; joy, for his
fortune ; honor, for his valor ; and death for his ambition ! Who
is here so base that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for
him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would not be a
Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here
so vile that w ill not love his country ? If any, speak ; for him
have I offended. I pause for a reply. shakespeare.

MOUNTAINS.

Mountains! who was your Builder? AVho laid your awful
foundations in the central fires, and piled your rocks and snow-
capped summits among the clouds? AVho placed you in the
gardens of the world, like noble altars, on which to offer the sac-
rificial gifts of many nations ? Who reared your rocky walls in
the barren desert, like towering pyramids, like monumental
mounds, like giants' graves, like dismantled piles of royal ruins,
telling a mournful tale of glory, once bright, but now fled forever,
as flee the dreams of a midsummer's night? Who gave you a
home in the islands of the sea — those emeralds that gleam among
the waves — those stars of ocean that mock the beauty of the stars
of night ?

Mountains! I know who built you. It was God! His
name is written on your foreheads. He laid your corner-stones
on that glorious morning when the orchestra of heaven sounded

144 ELOCUTION AND OUATORY.

the anthem of creation. He clothed your high, imperial forms
in royal robes. He gave you a snowy garment, and wove for
you a cloudy veil of crimsbn and gold. He crowned you with a
diadem of icy jewels ; pearls from the arctic seas ; gems from the
frosty pole. Mountains ! ye are glorious. Ye stretch your gran-
ite arms away toward the vales of the undiscovered ; ye have a
longing for immortality.

But, mountains! ye long in vain. I called you glorious, and
truly ye are ; but your glory is like that of the starry heavens ;
it shall pass away at the trumpet-blast of the angel of the Most
High. And yet ye are worthy of a high and eloquent eulogium.
Ye were the lovers of the daughters of the gods ; ye are the
iovers of the daughters of liberty and religion now ; and in your
old and feeble age the children of the skies shall honor your
bald heads. The clouds of heaven — those shadows of Olympian
power, those spectral i)hantoms of dead Titans— kiss your sum-
mits, as guardian angels kiss the brow of infant nobleness. On
your sacred rocks I see the foot-prints of the Creator ; I see the
blazing fires of Sinai, and hear its awful voice ; I see the tears of
Calvary, and listen to its mighty groans.

Mountains ! ye are proud and haughty things. Ye hurl de-
fiance at the storm, the lightning, and the wind ; ye look down
with deep disdain upon the thunder-cloud ; ye scorn the devas-
tating tempest; ye despise the works of puny man; ye shake
your rock-ribbed sides with giant laughter, when the great earth-
quake passes by. Ye stand as giant sentinels, and seem to say
to the boisterous billows: "Thus far shalt thou come, and here
shall thy proud waves be stayed !"

Mountains ! ye are growing old. Your ribs of granite are
getting weak and rotten; your muscles are losing their fatness;
your hoarse voices are heard only at distant intervals ; your vol-
canic heart throbs feebly ; and your lava-blood is thickening, as
the winters of many ages gather their chilling snows around
your venerable forms. The brazen sunlight laughs in your old
and wrinkled faces ; the pitying moonlight nestles in your hoary
locks ; and the silvery starlight rests upon you like the halo of
inspiration that crowned the heads of dying patriarchs and
prophets. Mountains ! ye must die. Old Father Time, that sex-
ton of earth, has dug you a deep, dark tomb; and in silence ye
shall sleep after sea and shore shall have been pressed by the
feet of the apocalyptic angel, through the long watches of an
eternal night. ' e. m. morse.

MODULATION. 145

I^KSSON XX.
TIME.
In Elocution there are three divisions of Time, \ Quantity,

C Pause,

Rate is time as applied to a collection of words.

Quantity is time as applied to a word or part of a word.

Pause is time as applied to silence.

The part played by rate in the true expression of thought
is great. Now it lashes words to their utmost speed; now
it applies the brakes to them until they scarcely move ; and
there is no stage between the two extremes that is not at
some time touched by the real artist. Not to understand
the art of varying rate in harmony with the ever-changing
thought, is to pluck from delivery one of its most effective
factors.

Deliberate Rate. — Debility, indolence, indifference,
sluggishness, weightiness, deliberation, solemnity, pomposity,
ponderosity, and their near relations, are noted for theii*
slowness of movement.

Illustrations.

1. All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow;
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing;
All the dull, deep pain,* and constant anguish of patience!
And as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom,
. Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured: "Father, I
thank thee ! " longfellow.

2. My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice. The
blood for which you thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors
which surround your victim ; it circulates, warmly and unruffled,
through the channels which God created for noble purposes,
but which you are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous that
they cry to Heaven. Be yet patient! I have but a few words
more to say. I am going to my cold and silent grave. My lamp
of life is nearly extinguished. My race is run. The grave opens
to receive me, and I sink into its bosom. I have but one request

146 t:LOCUTlON AND ORATOHY.

to make at my departure from this world; it is the charity of its
silence. Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who
knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice nor
ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity
and peace, and ray tomb remain uninscribed, until other times
and other men can do justice to my character. When my country
takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till
then, let my epitaph be written. I have done. emmet.

3. "Cain ! Cain ! where is thy brother now ?
Lives he still — if dead, still where is he?
Where ? In heaven ? Go read the sacred page :
' No drunkard ever shall inherit there.'
Who sent him to the pit? Who dragged him down?
Who bound him hand and foot? Who smiled and smiled
While yet the hellish work went on? Who grasped
His gold, his health, his life, his hope, his all ?
Who saw his Mary fade and die ? Who saw
His beggared children wandering in the streets ?
Speak, coward, if thou hast a tongue,
Tell why, with hellish art, you slew a man."

EDWARDS.

HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON DEATH.

To be, or not to be, — that is the question :

Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them ! To die,— to sleep, —

No more ; and, by a sleep, to say we end

The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, — 't is a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep ;

To sleep ! perchance to dream ;— ay, there 's the rub !

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off" this mortal coil,

Must give us pause: there's the respect,

That makes calamity of so long life ;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time.

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

MODULATION. 147

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death, —

The undiscovered country, from whose bourne

No traveler returns, — puzzles the will.

And makes us rather bear those ills we have,

Than fly to others that we know not of ?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ;

And enterprises of great pith and moment.

With this regard, their currents turn awry.

And lose the name of action. shakespkark.

Analyze and state with what degree of slowness various
passages in this lesson should be read.

Lesson XXI.

MODERATE RATE.

All thought of a temperate nature moves with mod-
eration.

Illustrations.

1. The moon above the eastern wood
Shone at its full ; the hill-range stood
Transfigured in the silver flood,
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine
Took shadow, or the somber green
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness at their back. whittikr.

2. The rich man's son inherits lands,

And piles of brick, and stone, and gold ;

And he inherits soft, white hands.

And tender flesh that fears the cold ;
Nor dares to wear a garment old ;

A heritage, it seems to me,

One would not care to hold in fee. lowell.

148 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

3. And she who strives to take the van,
In conflict or the common way,
Does outrage to the heavenly plan.

And outrage to the finer clay
That makes her beautiful to man. Holland.

4. "The kettle began it. Don't tell me what Mrs. Peery-
bingle said. I know better. Mrs. Peerybingle may leave it on
record to the end of time that she could n't say which of them
began it ; but I say the kettle did. I ought to know, I hope !
The kettle began it, full five minutes by the little waxy-faced
clock in the corner, before the cricket uttered a chirp."

DICKENS.

5. We have demonstrations enough, fortunate!)'', to show that
truth alone is not sufficient; for truth is the arrow, but man is
the bow that sends it home. There be many men who are the
light of the pulpit, whose thought is profound, whose learning
is universal, but whose offices are unspeakably dull. They do
make known the truth ; but without fervor, without grace, with-
out beauty, without inspiration; and discourse upon discourse
would fitly be called the funeral of important subjects!

BEECHER.

CLEON AND I.

Cleon hath a million acres ; ne'er a one have I ;
Cleon dwelleth in a palace; in a cottage, I;
Cleon hath a dozen fortunes ; not a penny, I ;
But the poorer man is Cleon; not the poorer, I.

Cleon, true, possesseth acres ; but the landscape, I ;
Half the charms to me it yieldeth, money can not buy;
Cleon harbors sloth and dullness ; freshening vigor, I ;
He in velvet, I in fustian ; richer man am I.

Cleon is a slave to grandeur ; free as thought am I ;
Cleon fees a score of doctors ; need of none have I ;
Wealth-surrounded, care-environed, Cleon fears to die;
Death may come, he '11 find me ready ; happier man am I.

Cleon sees no charm in nature ; in a daisy, I ;

Cleon hears no anthems ringing in the sea and sky ;

Nature sings to me forever; earnest listener, I;

State for state, with all attendants, who would change? Not I.

CHARLES MACKAY.

MODULATION. 149

Lesson XXII.

RAPID RATE.
Impetuosity, precipitancy, gleefulness — all the more
highly wrought passions — require a rate of rapidity propor-
tionate to the degree of their intensity.
Illustrations.

1. Morgan's men are coming, Frau ; they 're galloping on this way.
I 'm sent to warn the neighbors. He is n't a mile behind ;
He sweeps up all the horses — every horse that he can find !
Morgan, Morgan, the raider, and Morgan's terrible men I
With bowie-knives and pistols, are galloping up the glen I

C. F. WOOLSON.

2. Hemmed in by many a billow.

With mad and foaming lip,
A mile from shore, or hardly more,

She saw a gallant ship, —
Aflame from deck to topmast,

Aflame from stem to stern ;
For there seemed no speck on all that wreck,

Where the fierce fire did not burn !

PARKING HAM.

3. For evil news from Mablethorpe,

Of pyrate galleys warping down ;
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe,

They have not spared to wake the towne ;
But while the west bin red to see,
And storms be none and pyrates flee,
Why ring The Brides of Enderby ? ingelow.

4. By the river's brink that night,

Foot to foot in strife.
Fought we in the dubious light

A fight of death or life.
Don Camillo slashed my shoulder;
With the pain I grew the bolder,

Close and closer still I pressed !
Fortune favored me at last;
I broke his guard ; my weapon passed

Through the caballero's breast. waller.

150 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

6. Back darted Spurius Lartius ;

Herminius darted back ;
And as they passed, beneath their feet

They felt the timbers crack.
But when they turned their faces,

And on the further shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone,

They would have crossed once more.

T. B. MACAULAY.

FLASH— THE FIREMAN'S STORY.

Flash was a white-foot sorrel an' run on No. 3 ;
Not much stable manners — an average horse to see ;
Notional in his methods, strong in his loves and hates ;
Not very much respected, or pop'lar 'mongst his mates ;

Dull an' moody an' sleepy on off an' quiet days ;
Full of turb'lent sour looks, an' small sarcastic ways ;
Scowled an' bit at his partner, and banged the stable floor,
With other tricks intended to designate life a bore.

But when, be't day or night time, he heard the alarm-bell ring.
He 'd rush for his place in the harness with a regular tiger spring ;
An' watch with nervous shivers the clasp of buckle and band.
Until it was plainly ev'dent he'd like to lend a hand.

An' when the word was given, away he would rush an' tear,
As if a thousan' witches was rumplin' up his hair.
An' wake his mate up crazy with his magnetic charm ;
For every hoof-beat sounded a regular fire alarm !

Never a horse a jockey would worship an' admire
Like Flash in front of his engine, a-racin* with a fire ;
Never a horse so lazy, so dawdlin' an' so slack
As Flash upon his return trip, a-drawin' the engine back.

Now when the different horses gets tender-footed an' old.
They aint no use in our business ; so Flash was finally sold
To quite a respectable milkman, who found it not so fine
A-bossin' of God's creatures outside o' their reg'lar line.

Seems as if I could see Flash a-mopin' along here now,
A-feelin' that he was simply assistant to a cow;

MODULATION. 151

But sometimes he'd imagine he heard the alarm-bell's din,
An' jump an' rear for a minute before they could hold him in.

An' once, in spite o' his master, he strolled in 'mongst us chaps,
To talk with the other horses, of former fires, perhaps ;
"Whereat the milkman kicked him ; wherefore us boys to please.
He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees.

But one day, for a big fire as we was makin* a dash —
Both o' the horses we had on somewhat resemblin' Flash,
Yellin' an' ringin' an' rushin' with excellent voice an' heart —
We passed the poor old fellow, a-tuggin' away at his cart.

If ever I see an old horse grow upward into a new;

If ever I see a driver whose traps behind him flew ;

'T was that old horse, a-rompin' an' rushin' down the track.

An' that respectable milkman a-tryin' to hold him back.

Away he dashed like a cyclone for the head of No. 3 ;
Gained the lead, an' kept it, an' steered his journey free,
Dodgin' the wheels an' horses, an' still on the keenest silk,
An' furnishin' all that district with good, respectable milk.

Crowds a-yellin' an' runnin', and vainly hollerin' " Whoa! "
Milkman bracin' an' sawin', with never a bit o' show;
Firemen laughin' an' chucklin' an' hollerin', "Good! go in!"
Hoss a-gettin' down to it, an' a sweepin' along like sin.

Finally come where the fire was; halted with a thud;
Sent the respectable milkman heels over head in mud ;
Watched till he see the engine properly workin' there.
After which he relinquished all interest in the afiair.

Moped an' wilted an' dawdled, faded away once more ;
Took up his old occ'pation of votin' life a bore ;
Laid down in the harness, an' sorry I am to say,
The milkman he drew there, drew his dead body away.

That 's the whole o' my story ; I 've seen more 'n once or twice.
That poor dumb animal's actions are full o' human advice ;
An' if you ask what Flash taught, I simply answer you then.
That poor old horse was a symbol of some intelligent men.

WILL CARLETON.

Compare passages in this lesson in regard to rate.

152 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

IvKSSON XXIII.

QUANTITY.

Quantity is one of the subtlest, as it is one of the
least understood, factors in expressive delivery. How many
readers and speakers there are who do not know the meaning
of the word quantity as applied to Elocution, and who do
not catch the faintest glimpse of its influence!

The word every means all, and it takes the whole word to
express it. Eternity is beginningless and endless; but as it
is often pronounced, one would think it means a lapse of
time so brief that it ends almost as soon as it begins. Our
language is full of words, the full meaning of which can be
expressed only by the appropriate play of quantity.

The thinker will observe that the large majority of words
in the English language contain some sound or sounds that
will not legitimately admit of long quantity. He who has a
discriminating ear will notice that speakers who make sounds
carry quantity which by nature are unfitted for it, are inar-
tistic in their utterance. A short sound is a short sound,
and an attempt to prolong it must do it injury. Short a
prolonged, is not short a. The detestable drawl is the off-
spring of this wrong application of quantity. Prolong the
first sound in the word and, and note the effect. No well-
trained ear will willingly tolerate it.

Name the simple sounds that will admit of prolongation.
Which of these permit the longest quantity ? They may be
called indefinites. Which permit but a limited prolongation ?
They may be called definites. Which permit only the shortest
quantity? They may be called immutables. Which sounds
are, as a rule, used as explosives? what as continuants?
Syllables composed wholly of immutables can not bear long
quantity, as it, in the word itself. All the vowel sounds, save
the six short sounds, admit of more or less prolongation.

The consonants, when found initial in syllables or words,

MODULATION. 153

ordinarily refuse to receive long quantity. An attempt to
force it upon them produces such results as gerrand for grand.

The sub-vocals, used terminally, will permit various de-
grees of prolonged quantity.

The aspirates are fitted, least of all, for bearing quantity.

Short Quantity.

There are words, the very nature of which is suggestive
of brief existence. Examples: Cut, quick, short, snap,
whip, dash, tap, dip, rap, flip, flap. Require the pupil to
mention other words requiring short quantity.

Medium Quantity.

Conjunctions, prepositions, and the articles, as a rule,
require medium quantity.

Long Quantity.

A multitude of words have in them that which is indica-
ative of long life, aud they should not be prematurely ended.

If you would extract from the word ynisery all there is in
it, you must take time ; it can 't be done in an instant.

You make a burlesque of the word solemnity, when you
precipitate the syllables one upon another, at a break-neck
pace. Melancholy is not the emotion of a moment ; it broods.

Examples of Long Quantity.

Dreary, dreadful, boundless, everlasting, immeasurable,
unbounded. Give additional examples.

IvESSON XXIV.

PAUSE.

That silence is golden, is an adage nowhere truer than
in the Art of Delivery. In his use of pause, more than in any
other one element of delivery, the artist shows his superiority

154 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

over the novice. In many situations silence is more eloquent
than sound.

And how ignorant is the world at large as to the right
employment of pause ! How meaningless the old rules were !
Many of them, how unreasonable ! One need not be very old
to remember the time when he read in the school-book:
"Stop long enough at a comma to count one; at a semi-
colon, to count two," etc. Now those who give the subject
thought know that the rhetorical or tongue-pause cares but
little about the grammatical or printer's pause. The good
reader or speaker makes many a halt that grammar does not
note, and many a time he goes thundering along over a
period, regardless of its presence. The Soliloquy of Hamlet
without the pause is no soliloquy; with misplaced pause, it
becomes ridiculous.

THE BRIDGE.

I stood on the bridge at midnight,

As the clocks were striking the hour.

And the moon rose o'er the city.
Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection

In the waters under me.
Like a golden goblet falling

And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance

Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace

Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters

The wavering shadows lay.
And the current that came from the ocean

Seemed to lift and bear them away ;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,

Eose the belated tide,
And, streaming into the moonlight.

The sea-weed floated wide.

MODULATION. 155

And like those waters rushing

Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o'er me

That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, 0 how often.

In the days that had gone by,
I had stood on that bridge at midnight,

And gazed on that wave and sky !

How often, 0 how often,

I had wished that the ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom

O'er the ocean wild and wide !

For my heart was hot and restless,

And my life was full of care.
And the burden laid upon me

Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me.

It is buried in the sea ;
And only the sorrow of others

Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river

On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odor of brine from the ocean

Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands

Of care-incumbered men,
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,

Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession

^ill passing to and fro,^-
The young heart hot and restless.

And the old, subdued and slow !

And forever and forever.

As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,

As long as life has woes ;

156 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

The moon and its broken reflection

And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,

And its wavering image here.

LONGFELLOW.

Locate and give the comparative length of all the rhetor-
ical pauses in " The Bridge."

Lesson XXV.

INFLECTION.

As THE artist in oils adds a few final strokes to his work
that it may wear an air of finish, so the artist in words con-
cludes his clause, or sentence, or thought, by a slide which,
small as it seems, gives the last, decisive touch to the char-
acter of what is delivered. If one would leave about a
statement an air of weakness, indecision, uncertainty, let it
terminate with an upward inflection. Would one speak with
the voice of conviction, decision, determination, completion,
he should turn the inflection downward. The hinge on which
inflection turns is the character of the thought ; doubt, up-
ward ; decision, downward ; uncertainty, upward ; certainty,
downward; weakness, upward; strength, downward ; cow-
ardice, upward; courage, downward; vacillation, upward;
determination, downward ; incorapletion, upward ; comple-
tion, downward.

Would you give expression to a conflict between these
two sets of emotions, between doubt and certainty, use the
circumflex. If certainty terminates the conflict, the last dip
of the wave is downward. If doubt triumphs, that is an-
nounced by the rising circumflex. The circumflex always
takes its name from its termination. There are many who
have been made uncomfortable when listening to statements,
in their very nature full of emphasis and earnestness and
truth, but over which a cloud of uncertainty was cast by
the speaker's upward slides of voice. Such oratory bespeaks

MODULATION. 167

a shrinking, timid, undecided nature, or an ignorance of
this simple law of inflection. The upward slide is good
enough in the proper place, but an abomination when out
of place. By its misuse, candor bears the seal of insincerity,
and statements that should issue from the lips with all the
assurance of absolute certainty, are emitted with the paraly-
sis of doubt. There are those who can utter a single simple
elementary sound with the downward slide, only by the
greatest exertion, and after many attempts. Many a speech
has fallen dead, slain by the upward slide, which, driven
home by the right use of the downward slide, would have
exerted a powerful influence.

RISING INFLECTION.

Exercises.

1. Can storied urn or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust,

Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?

GRAY.

2. Am I, who have lived but for my country, and who have
subjected myself to the dangers of the zealous and watchful op-
pressor and the bondage of the grave, only to give my country-
men their rights and my country her independence, — am I to be
loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent or repel it ?

-EMMET.

3. Wherefore rejoice that Caesar comes in triumph ?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
Knew you not Pompey?
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout.
That Tiber trembled underneath lier banks
To hear the replication of your sounds
Made in her concave shores?
And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out a holiday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way.
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ?

SHAKESPEARE.

158 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

THE INQUIRY.

Tell me, ye winged winds, that round my pathway roar,
Do ye not know some spot were mortals weep no more ?
Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley in the west.
Where, free from toil and pain, the weary soul may rest?

The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,

And sighed for pity as it answered — ** No."

Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play,
Know'st thou some favored spot, some island far away.
Where weary man may find the bliss for which he sighs,
Where sorrow never lives, and friendship never dies?
The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow,
Stopped for awhile, and sighed to answer — "No."

And thou, serenest moon, that, with such lovely face.
Dost look upon the earth, asleep in night's embrace.
Tell me, in all thy round hast thou not seen some spot
Where miserable man might find a happier lot ?
Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,
And a voice, sweet but sad, responded — " No."

Tell me, my secret soul— O, tell me, Hope and Faith —
Is there no resting-place from sorrow, sin, and death ?
Is there no happy spot where mortals may be blessed.
Where grief may find a balm, and weariness a rest?
Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given,
Waved their bright wings, and whispered — " Yes, in heaven !"

CHARLES MACKAY.

Point out all the rising inflections this lesson requires.

Lesson XXVI.

FAIylvING INFIvECTION.

Illustrations.

1. Cain, Cain, thou art thy brother's keeper, and his blood
cries out to heaven against thee ! Every stone will find a tongue
to curse thee ! Every sight and sound will mind thee of the lost.

EDWARDS.

MODULATION 159

2. No bugle-call could rouse us all

As that brave sight had done ;
Down all the battered line we felt

A lightning impulse run ;
Up, up the hill we followed Bill,

And captured every gun ! gassawa.y.

3. 0, the famine and the fever !
O, the wasting of the famine !
O, the blasting of the fever!
0, the wailing of the children !
0, the anguish of the women !
All the earth was sick and famished ;
Hungry was the air around them,
Hungry was the sky above them,
And the hungry stars in heaven
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them!

LONGFELLOW.

4. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ;

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ;
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

GRAY.

6. Here I stand, ready for impeachment or trial. I dare
accusation. I defy the honorable gentlemen ; I defy the govern-
ment ; I defy the whole phalanx ; let them come forth.

GBATTAN.

SLAVERY.

O for a lodge in some vast wilderness,

Some boundless contiguity of shade,

Where rumor of oppression and deceit.

Of unsuccessful or successful war.

Might never reach me more !

My ear is pained, my soul is sick.

With every day's report of wrong and outrage

With which the earth is filled.

There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart ;
It does not feel for man ; the natural bond

160 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Of brotherhood is severed, as the flax

That falls asunder at the touch of fire.

He finds his fellow guilty of a skin

Not colored like his own ; and having power

To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause

Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.

Lands intersected by a narrow frith
Abhor each other. Mountains interposed
Make enemies of nations, who had else
Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ;
And, worse than all, and most to be deplored,
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot,
Chains him and tasks him and exacts his sweat
With stripes that mercy, with a bleeding heart,
Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast.

Then what is man? And what man, seeing this,

And having human feelings, does not blush

And hang his head to think himself a man ?

I would not have a slave to till my ground,

To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,

And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth

That sinews bought and sold have ever earned.

No ; dear as freedom is, and in my heart's

Just estimation, prized above all price,

I had much rather be myself the slave

And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him.

We have no slaves at home — then why abroad ?
And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave
That parts us, are emancipate and loosed.
Slaves can not breathe in England ; if their lungs
Receive our air, that moment they are free ;
They touch our country and their shackles fall.
That 's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it, then,
And let it circulate through every vein
Of all your empire ; that where Britain's power
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy, too.

COWPER.

Where are the falling inflections in this lesson ?

MODULATION. 161

Lesson XXVII.

(SIMPLE. .jSi^/fmV

CIRCUMFLEX.^ } JfsiNG

A COMBINATION of a Simple falling with a simple rising
slide constitutes a simple rising circumflex. This combina-
tion, repeated once, or oftener, and closing with the upper
slide, constitutes the compound rising circumflex.

A combination of a simple rising with a simple falling
slide constitutes the simple falling circumflex. A repetition
of the simple falling gives the compound falling circumflex.

SPEECH OF CASSIUS.

I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,

As well as I do know your outward favor.

Well, honor is the subject of my story.

I can not tell what you and other men

Think of this life ; but, for my single self,

I had as lief not be, as live to be

In awe of such a thing as I myself.

I was born free as Caesar ; so were you.

AVe both have fed as well ; and we can both

Endure the winter's cold as well as he ;

For once, upon a raw and gusty day.

The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,

Csesar said to me, " Dar'st thou, Cassius, now

Leap in with me into this angry flood,

And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word,

Accoutered as I was, I plunged in,

And bade him follow : so, indeed, he did.

The torrent roared ; and we did buffet it

With lusty sinews, throwing it aside.

And stemming it with hearts of controversy ;

But ere we could arrive the point proposed,

Csesar cried, " Help me, Cassius, or 1 sink! "

I, as ^neas, our great ancestor.

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder,

102 ELOCUTION AND OUATOHY.

The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber

Did I the tired Cfesar ; and this man

Is now become a god ; and Cassius is

A wretched creature, and must bend his body,

If Csesar carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he w^as in Spain,

And when the fit was on him, I did mark

How he did shake; 't is true, this god did shake:

His cow^ard lips did from their color fly ;

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,

Did lose his luster. I did hear him groan ;

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans

Mark him, and wTite his speeches in their books,

Alas ! it cried, " Give me some drink, Titinius,"

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me

A man of such a feeble temper should

So get the start, of the majestic world,

And bear the palm alone. ...

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow w'orld,

Like a Colossus ; and we petty men

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about

To find ourselves dishonorable graves.

Men at some time are masters of their fates :

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars.

But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Brutus, and Csesar: what should be in that Cae.sar?

Why should that name be sounded more than yours?

Write them together, yours is as fair a name ;

Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ;

Weigh them, it is as heavj"^ ; conjure with them,

Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar.

Now, in the names of all the gods at once.

Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed.

That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed!

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods !

When went there by an age, since the great flood,

But it was famed with more than with one man ?

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome

That her wide walls encompassed but one man ?

Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,

When there is in it but one only man.

O, you and I have heard our fathers say,

MODULATION. 163

There was a Brutus once, who would have brooked

Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,

As easily as a king. Shakespeare.

Give a comparative analysis of the speech of Cassius
as regards pitch, force, quality, quantity, volume, rate, pause,
and inflection.

Monotone.

A monotone is a tone without inflection. It is the tra-
ditional tone of the ghosts. As no one ever heard the voice
of a ghost, the tradition goes unchallenged. The monotone
befits the dirge. It is the tone of melancholy and soliloquy.
It is sometimes used in assumed gravity, and it has been
heard in an owl-eyed attempt at appearing wise.

Illustrations.

Because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go
about the streets: or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the
golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain,
or the wheel broken at the cistern. Then shall the dust return
to the earth as it was : and the spirit shall return unto God who

gave it. ECCLESIASTES.

CATO ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.

It must be so : Plato, thou reason'st well ; «

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,

This longing after immortality ?

Or whence this secret dread and inward horror

Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul

Back on herself, and startles at destruction? .

'T is the divinity that stirs within us,

'T is Heaven itself that points out an hereafter.

And intimates Eternity to man.

Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!

Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!

The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me ;

But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.

Here will I hold :— If there 's a Power above us

164 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

(And that there is all Nature cries aloud

Through all her works), he must delight in virtue;

And that which he delights in must be happy:

But when ? or where ? — this world was made for Caesar.

I'm weary of conjectures ; this must end them.

[Laying his hand upon his sword.]
Thus I am doubly armed ; my death and life,
My bane and antidote are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end ;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth.
Unhurt amid the war of elements.
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.

ADDISON.

PART VIII.

Diction.

The importance of the right use of words in any walk of
life is evident without argument. In the hope of interesting
the student in the study of Diction the following exercises
are offered:

Capacity is power to contain ; ability is power to perform.
We m2ij administer affairs of state, but it is not in good taste

to administer strokes.
We may aggravate a wound, but one's temper is never ag-
gravated.
In such words as agriculturalist, conversationalist, horticul-

turalist, floriculturalist, the al should be omitted.
He is alone when there is no one with him; he is the only

one when there is no one like him.
A novice knows less than an amateur; an amateur may know

more than a professional.
A reply is broader than an answer. We answer questions;

we reply to arguments.
We apprehend a thing when we catch the slightest glimpse

of it ; we comprehend sl thing when we see it through

and through.
A student can not be apt to solve a problem, but he may

be apt in solving it.
We say so far as I know, not as far as I know.
He came at last, not at length,

166 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

If a woman-author is an authoress^ a woman-painter is a
painteress; a woman-preacher, a preacheress; and a woman-
teacher, a teacheress.

When you say you have a bad cold, you suggest a time when
you had a good cold.

A man may be between two men, but not among two men.

If you are botind to accomplish the distance, who bound you?

One makes his character; his repidation is made for him.

Of the two, he is the elder; of the many, he is the oldest.

His punishment is condign, and so is his reward, if just. If
his punishment is greater than he deserves, it is severe.

To say that he is a confirmed invalid, is about as precise as to
say he is powerfid weak.

Saying it is a question of no consequence, is equivalent to
saying it is a question of no tliat which follows.

We do not consider a man polite; we know, without con-
sidering.

Do not say c(yrporeal punishment, if you mean corporal pun-
ishment.

We may say couple in speaking of two in union. Two mar-
bles do not unite, therefore they do not form a couple.

The violation of state-law is a crime; the violation of self-
law is a vice; the violation of God-law is a sin.

A man is dangeroiishj ill when he is prone to do himself or
others harm. One may be very ill and not be very dan-
gerous.

If a man has many dears, he may speak of his dearest.

A man dies with a disease, if the disease dies with him; if
the disease kills him, he dies of it.

We differ ivith another when we agree with the other; we
differ from him when we do not hold his view.

He shouts as others have done, is poor English.

Martha don't, does Annie? is the same as, Martha do not,
does Annie?

They may admire each odier, if they are two; if- more than
two, they may admire 0)ie another.

DICTION, - 167

Testimony that can not be strengthened into evideme should

not convict a man.
We expect sl gift; we suspect a thief. Expect has no back-
ward look.
To call a woman 2i female is very uncomplimentary. A female

woman and a ividow woman are alike erroneous.
He can as easily ascend up a hill as reach a fiiml completion.
As well say gentle sheeps as gentle folks. SJieep is plural ; so

is folk.
You should no more say gents for gentlemen than pants for

pantaloons, or doc for doctor.
Treat the word got as you would a hornet ; handle it aright,

and it will do no harm.
A student does not graduate; he is graduated.
If you mean Imd, say had; if you mean have, say have; but

never say had have.
Wholesome food tends to promote a healthy condition.
If we hurry much we shall not arrive in time for the train ;

but by making haste we shall not be late.
Ice-water is rarely ever used as a drink, but iced water is by

no means rare.
People call for ice-cream, but iced cream is served.
For ill, do not say illy.
To be a lady is nice ; to be a woman is noble. To say Mr.

Jones and lady is indefinite ; to say Mr. Jones and wife

casts reflection on neither.
The word lay indicates action ; lie, inaction. I may lay a

book upon the table, feeling sure that it will lie there

undisturbed.
A. good way to induce a hen to sit is to set her.
It may be right to leave to-morrow, but it is certainly wrong

to have me have a bite.
Less refers to amount ; fewer, to number.
If I am in error, I mistake; if I am taken for some one else,

I am mistaken.
If any one will listen, he, not they, will learn.

168 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

It is better to say a pair of new boots, than to say a iiew pair
of boots.

We should be polite, and we ought to be moral.

A field may be overflowed by water, while by birds it may
be overfloum.

A task is partly done when some part of it remains undone;
it is partially done when in some parts it is done better
than in other parts.

No one animal ever ran pell-mell.

Equals are introduced; we present an inferior to a superior.

Say preventive, not preventative.

Our merchandise we store in depots ; we wait in railway sta-
tions for trains.

Right here, permit me to say, is no better than Wrong here,
permit me to say.

If you live in this section, you live in these six hundred and
forty acres of land.

He was such a tall man ; but very few have seen a man
such tall.

We teach people ; we learn of people.

He was that excited he could not stand, is poor diction.

He has more sense than you think /or. For what?

Omit the terminal s in such words as upwards, downwards,
sidewards, forwards, backwards, towards.

We no more try an experiment than we descend down a stair-
way.

All hold him in universal esteem !

He is known for his truth and veracity!

Writing is my avocation; teaching my vocation.

To say, Shakespeare was the greatest of dramatists, is to imply
that he has ceased to occupy that rank.

Without you protect your lungs you will injure them !

A painting may be finished long before it is completed.

You are deceiving me. Perhaps he means. You are trying to
deceive me.

J^either of us have been informed I

DICTION. 169

A woman does not marry a man, much less does a minister

marry a man and a woman. A woman is married to a

man.
If it is correct to say she looks beautifuUyy it is also correct

to say she looks redly.
If she looks wretchedly , she may also look stoutly \ if she

looks awfully, she may look thinly.
If a man should catch a car, he might not be able to hold it,

but if he overtakes it, he may step inside.
Beside means by the side of; besides means in addition to.
What a person is, or seems to be, adjectives indicate; what

they do, adverbs indicate; hence we can not say she

looks handsomely, nor splendidly.
Of all others, his manner is the most cruel!
Make no more noise that you can help I
The contract has been closed up!
One of the cobs struck a man who was standing by on

the temple on last Saturday bruising it seriously. Re-
vise the sentence.
A newspaper head-line reads: "Peculiarities of a blind

mule bit by a grasshopper under both knees." Revise.
He kept the bandage on, to stop the pain for five minutes

in his forehead. Write this in good English.

A semi-humorous criticism by Burdette, on the loose use
of language, may not be out of place. Here it is :

"How did you find your patient, doctor?" "By going to
his home." " I mean how did you find him when you got
there?" "His wife took me to his room." "But what shape
did you find him in?" "In the shape of a man lying on his
back." "Well, but is he better?" " If he is well, he is better,
of course." "I mean is he improving?" " Improving what ? "
" Why, his health." "I don't know why he should improve
his health." " Is he better, then ? " " Better than what? " " O,
Doctor, do tell me what there is about him." "A pair of
blankets." "Pshaw! Is he dangerous ? " " No, he is perfectly
peaceable." "Doctor, do you know how to tell what ails your
patient?" "Yes; but you don't know how to ask."

Part IX.

Sacred Oratory.

Within bounds so limited it will be possible to take but
a cursory view of this subject. Indeed little more is neces-
sary, as the course of instruction so far indicated may be
as properly applied to the pulpit as to the stage, the
forum, the bar, or the lecture-platform. Preachers should
know that Bible joy, no less than any other joy, finds its
expression in the upper register of the voice ; that melan-
choly moves more slowly than cheerfulness, whether sacred
or profane ; that majesty requires more volume than meek-
ness, in pulpit as elsewhere; in brief, that intellectual acumen
and common sense may righteously enter into sacred oratory.
rt is hard to conceive of an All- wise Creator being pleased
with blind superstitions and nasal tones. Is it reasonable to
suppose that a servile, crouching, whining man is held in
higher esteem by Omniscience than the thinker, the gentle-
man, and the scholar? Must gladness, because found in the
Bible, shroud its face in gloom ? Must Bible truth be forever
clouded by the darkness of doubt? Shall the blessed prom-
ises of the sweet-voiced Savior take on a dull, desolate,
repellent tone? Shall heaven, with all its beauty and glory,
be so beclouded by the ministerial moan and frown, that
sinners will but quicken their pace toward destruction? The
devil would have fewer followers if his devotees should con-
stantly utter his name with a nasal twang, and his promises
at a vocal value far below par. There are ministers who
170

SACRED ORATORY. 171

carry intellect into pulpit delivery, and who make righteous
use of modulation in leading humanity into the paths of
peace; but every clear-headed observer knows that those so
skilled in the service of the Lord, are lamentably outnum-
bered by those who are ignorant of the divine requirements
of oratory, and whose consequent dullness of delivery drives
beyond their reach multitudes of would-be listeners and
learners.

Throw wide open the Bible doors of brightness, and hope-
fulness, and comfort. The Scriptures contain that which
demands every tone of voice in the vocal range ; every style
of delivery ; every method of modulation. Portions of the
Bible are intensely dramatic, and portions tenderly pathetic.
There are passages of deepest grief; passages of keenest
denunciation; passages of tragic power; and all of these
demand fitting vocal and visible expression. If the thought
is dramatic, deliver it dramatically ; if tragic, tragically ; if
sorrowful, sorrowfully ; if peaceful, peacefully ; if loving,
lovingly ; if stern, sternly ; every thing according to its nature.
Thus you employ Sacred Oratory in its broadest, fullest,
truest sense.

DEFECTIVE ARTICULATION AND DEFICIENT PROJEC-
TILE POWER.

These are the two great causes of m distinctness of utter-
ance. Your words do not carry to a large audience because
you do not propel them with sufi[icient force ; or if they are
sent forcibly enough, a faulty articulation will render them
indistinct. Cut out the sounds clearly ; give each one time
that it may not destroy its neighbor; vitalize them fully,
and your listeners will not complain of being unable to
understand you.

PRECIPITANCY.

No minister does justice to his work unless he makes his
words heard and understood. There are some who will hang

172 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

upon one word an unreasonably long time, and then utter
three or four words at such a speed that no listener can get
them apart. Others will strike a certain syllable with great
strength, and dash so precipitately over the remaining sylla-
bles that they are lost to almost every ear.

DRAWLING.

The preceding class has its antipode in the drawler. The
man of one tone, and that a drawling tone, can not quit the
pulpit too soon for the welfare of mankind.

IRREGULARITY.

There are men of w^ondrous vocal volume who are never
easily heard. They lavish their voices on certain parts of
their sentences, and invariably weaken on other parts. Usu-
ally the weakening occurs toward the close of the clause, or
sentence; aud so regular does he become iu this irregularity
that he affects a sing-song style, almost as injurious to his
cause as is drawling. Sustain the effort. Give each w^ord,
however small, its due prominence. Take time for the prepo-
sitions, the conjunctions, the articles. Slight nothing. Then,
with even moderate volume, the delivery will be distinct.

HEAD TONES.

A minister of Cincinnati some months ago said to a brother
minister: **] hear that the people are saying they can not
catch my words; that I am not distinct. I am amazed.
What can it mean? I know I have a more powerful voice
than you, and yet they understand you with ease. Can you
tell me why ? " The answer is easy : The man with the
powerful voice directed the burden of the vocal current into
the top of his head, and there his words were lost. The other,
who knew how to speak, sent his words direct from his lips,
and his congregation had no difficulty in understanding him.

SACRED ORATORY. 173

NASALITY.

The word Father is a beautiful word when spoken througli
the mouth ; but it is almost intolerable when spoken through
the nose. And yet there are those who seem to think that
the latter is the only pious mode of pronouncing it.

The scholar, be he sinner or saint, knows that God is
pronounced Gdd. Nevertheless our ears are almost daily
tortured with Gawd, and that, too, in a three-fourths nasal
tone. In truth, thousands of preachers are unconsciously
afflicted with this repulsive quality of voice.

MOUTHING.

Turning the voice into the nose and head, is no*t the only
means of making your audience miserable. Your lips may
be dull, heavy, inactive; your tongue may be thick and
unwieldy ; your teeth may clinch — any thing to make the
words mumble, and rumble, and suffocate in the mouth.

CIvERICAIv SORE-THROAT.

There are many words which, if they could speak, would
exclaim : *'I was murdered by the throat!" Of all vocal
crimes, this is the most wide-spread and pernicious. In the
city of Chicago, a specialist in the diseases of the throat
at one time had sixty ministers under his treatment, for
various throat affections. This seems like a just retribution
for the manner in which they murdered their words, the
words in turn finally retaliating by killing the ministers.
Use the throat according to physiological principles, and
speaking will never injure it.

MONDAY MORNING PROSTRATION.

Next to troubles of the throat, ministers suffer most
from collapse following on the heels of the Sunday services.
There is an unavoidable expenditure of nerve-force in the
earnest ministration of the gospel ;. but that alone does not

174 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

account for the husky voice, and the great physical exhaus-
tion experienced by so many ministers. A most prolific
cause may be found in the waste of breath. The speaker
who wastes more breath than he consumes in speech, will
suffer vastly more from weariness than he who uses only so
much as vocalization demands.

Congestion is not the only source of sore throat. In
speech, the waste of outgoing unvocalized breath is a source
of constant irritation. Breath put wholly into tone is void
of shock. You can prove this by putting a slip of tissue
paper near the lips, uttering with the fullest force any
vowel sound. You note no movement of the paper. Let
there be the slightest aspiration and the paper will be put
in motion. If the wasted breath shocks the paper after it
leaves the lips, it surely shocks the throat on its way to the
lips. The more lax the throat the less the shock.

UNNATURALNESS.

This is one of the rankest of oratoric ills. A minister
looks at his friends when he talks to them on the street.
Why does he not look at them when he preaches? Why
does he rivet his eyes above their heads? When he speaks
on the street, he speaks in a natural tone of voice. Why
does he use a voice wholly foreign to his nature when before
his congregation? In his parlor, with a few friends, his
action has a life-like air. Why is his action stilted, angu-
lar, and constrained before his audience? To be natural
in the pulpit is a power. In speaking, the eye should be
true to the mark, and full of native fire ; the voice should
be natural, and every movement life-like.

TOO HIGH A KEY.

The harm done by the use of a too high key is mani-
fold. There is no point in the entire compass of the voice
at which speakers so generally speak with indistinctness. In

SACRED ORATORY. 175

a large room, with voice pitched very high, it is almost im-
possible to make one's speech clear and distinct. It is
literally true that one may speak so loud that he can not
be heard. Philosophy, as well as experience, teaches this
truth. Avoid a pitch too high, as you would a pitch too
low. Again, an excessively high key, long sustained, sub-
jects the body to an unnecessary and harmful vital strain.

OBJECTIONABLE ECCENTRICITIES.

Avoid rocking to and fro. It is painful monotony to
your audience.

Avoid rocking from side to side, if you would have your
words heard.

Avoid a monotonous elevation, or knitting of the brows,
or a wrinkling of the forehead.

Avoid standing with hollow chest, or with one shoulder
far below the other, or with one knee projecting.

Avoid revolving from right to left, or from left to right.
This becomes as tiresome as movements to and fro, or from
side to side.

It seems unfortunate that there is so little attention given
to the Art of Delivery in the preparation for the ministry.
That defects are so many and so glaring, and skill in speech
so seldom seen, is the natural outcome of so much inatten-
tion to this subject. Learning is of little value to a minister,
if he can not impart it with force and clearness to his
hearers. What he may know amounts to but little, if he
does not know how to tell it to good advantage. In every
Theological Seminary the art of imparting knowledge should
go hand in hand with the acquisition of the knowledge it-
self. The preacher whose soul is illumined by the light of
law, whose emotions have reason at their helm, whose mind
is awake to the best interests of his hearers, will make
the best use of his voice, his eye, his poise, his action, in
his efforts to enforce the truths of the gospel upon his
congregation. '

176 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

BIBLE READINGS.

PSALM XXIII.

1. The Lord is my shepherd ; I shall not want.

2. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures : he leadeth
me beside the still waters.

3. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of
righteousness for his name's sake.

4. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil : for thou art with me ; thy rod and thy
staff they comfort me.

5. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine
enemies : thou anointest my head with oil ; my cup runneth
over.

6. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days
of my life : and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

First Verse. — " The Lord is my shepherd ; I shall not
want."

In the first clause, David makes acknowledgment of his
leadership. David himself had been a shepherd, and his
use of that term in speaking of his Protector is most natural.
In the second clause he speaks in a sense of security — per-
fect faith in the shepherd.

Why a sentence filled with the feeling of divine protec-
tion and human gratitude should be read in a low, sepul-
chral tone, such as so many use, is difficult to comprehend.
Gratitude so expressed to a human friend would sound like
hollow mockery.

Second Verse. — '* He maketh me to lie down in green
pastures : he leadeth me beside the still waters."

There is a no more perfect picture of contentment than
this. David had often seen this picture, and now applies it.
As David had led his sheep, many times, beside the still
waters, so he declares himself willing to be led by the Heav-
enly Shepherd. Surely over such a declaration there hovers
no feeling of remorse, as some seem to think. Through it
runs no tinge of grief, as the voice of the pulpit sometimes

SACRED ORATORY. 177

suggests. In it should not be seen a shadow of doubt,
which so many wrongfully introduce by an upward slide of
the voice, or a wavering expression.

Third Verse. — " He restoreth my soul : he leadeth me
in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake."

In the opening clause is pictured the joy of the redeemed ;
in the second clause, the result of restoration, and a modest
attribution of glory to Christ. This should be read in per-
fect keeping with the sentiments expressed in this beautiful
sentence.

Fourth Verse. — " Yea, though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil : for thou
art with me ; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

In these verses may be seen the outcropping of David's
pastoral life. In the first words of this verse are seen the
first and only shade of sadness this psalm presents ; and it
endures but a moment, when it bursts into fullest trust in
the words : " I will fear no evil." The psalmist manifests the
completest confidence in Christ by saying : " For thou art
with me ; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." With
the voice and manner reflect these feelings, and the verse is
well read. Do not exaggerate the touch of sadness into the
depths of gloom.

In the contemplation of the crossing of the cold river of
death, the Christian himself may feel a momentary chill;
but, like David, it is instantly replaced by faith that rises
triumphant over every fear. In reading the opening words
of this verse, the voice should be slightly subdued and soft-
ened, rising into a higher key and more cheerful tone in the
words, " I will fear no evil," and steadily brightening to
the close of the verse.

Fifth and Sixth Verses. — "Thou preparest a table
before me in the presence of mine enemies : thou anointest
my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely good-
ness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life : and
I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
12

178 ELOCUTION AND ORATOMY.

In these verses there is an ascending flight by way of
increase in animation, in thanksgiving, in praise, until th§
culmination on the word life in the sixth verse, when fol-
lows a subsidence into a quiet trust that foresees the ever-
lasting dwelling of the soul " in the house of the Lord."

Now, he who reads these two verses with drooping lids,
and heavy eyes, and solemn face, and passive form, and a
dolorous monotone, should be told of his error.

When Sacred Oratory is seen in its true light, all super-
stitions concerning it, all prejudices against it, all narrow
egotistical undervaluations of it, will be swept away. Hon-
esty, earnestness, fervor, intellectuality, refinement, knowl-
edge, can not be put to better use than to the furtherance
of man's well-being here and hereafter.

Following the plan here suggested, any Scriptural reading
may be analyzed, and the voice and gesture suited to the
thought.

HYMNAL READINGS.

The wrongs constantly being perpetrated upon the Bible
are duplicated — augmented, if possible — in the treatment of
hymns. Every one knows that the majority of ministers
read hymns wretchedly. They whine them, drawl them,
render them in a sing-song style, and impose upon them every
conceivable indignity. The poor, helpless hymns aeserve
unbounded sympathy in their sufferings. Here is a recipe
for emptying churches : Read the hymns without a shade
of modulation, or a spark of animation ; have them sung
by a choir in such a way that listeners can not understand
a single word ; utter a stereotyped, labored, melancholy
prayer; then read a long, dry, large- worded manuscript-
sermon in the same style, and the probabilities are that you
will be preaching to empty benches, before your first year
has half ended.

SACRED ORATORY. 179

CORONATION.

All hail the power of Jesus' name !

Let angels prostrate fall ;
Bring forth the royal diadem,

And crown him Lord of all.

Let every kindred, every tribe,

On this terrestrial ball,
To him all majesty ascribe.

And crown him Lord of all.

O that with yonder sacred throng

We at his feet may fall !
We '11 join the everlasting song,

And crown him Lord of all.

There is not a word in this entire hymn that should be
spoken in a nasal tone. There is not a semblance of mo-
notony in it. There is no place in it for a sing-song style.
There is not a thought in it to cloud the face, or hang the
head, or droop the body, or cast a gloom upon the voice.
The hymn throughout carries a tone of triumph. Triumph,
in Bible, hymn, or elsewhere, demands a key above the me-
dium ; a rate more than moderately rapid ; and a force above
the average. Triumph requires clear, ringing tones. It
brightens the eye, illumines the face, and gives tension
to the whole muscular and emotional man. In hymnal or
Bible reading, as in the reading of any thing else, the first
essential is a correct conception of the thought to be ex-
pressed. This is an intellectual act. The second essential is
a knoAvledge of the expression the thought demands. This,
too, is a question which an educated mind must decide.
The third essential is the ability to adapt the voice and
gesture to the nature of the thought. The fourth essential
is a soul which shall vitalize the thought and give it per-
suading and convincing powder.

The minister who reads or speaks most eflfectively, is he

180 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

who analyzes justly ; "vvho modulates his voice in accordance
with the thought; who makes of his face a truthful mirror
of the soul ; whose every position or action tends to the
portrayal of things as they are. All that Elocution has to
do with Sacred Oratory may be summed up in these words :
It helps to conform the mind, the spirit, the face, the form,
the action, to the requirements of the thought. When all
these powers work in harmony, the pulpit is a power for good.

Part X.

Thought Analysis.

Concerning the analysis of thought something has been
said in the pages on Modulation and Sacred Oratory ; but the
following selections are here added in order that this subject
may receive more specific treatment :

THE BATTLE OF IVRY.

Now glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom all glories are !
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre !
Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance,
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vales, 0 pleasant land

of France !
And thou, Rochelle, our own Eochelle, proud city of the waters,
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters !
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy ;
For cold and stiff" and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war.
Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre !

O, how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day,
•We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array.
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears!
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land;
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ;

181

182 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y,

And as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,
And good Coligny's hoary hair, all dabbled with his blood ;
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war,
To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre.

III.

The king is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest ;

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest.

He looked upon his peoj^le, and a tear was in his eye ;

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.

Eight graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,

Down all our hne, a deafening shout: "God save our lord the

king!"
"And if my standard-bearer fall — as fall full well he may,
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray —
Press where ye see my white plume shine amidst the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre."

IV.

Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!

The fiery duke is pricking fast across St. Andre's plain.

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.

" Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,

Charge for the Golden Lilies now — upon them with the lance ! "

A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest ;

A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ;

And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

Now, God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned

his rein.
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain.
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale ;
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven

mail ;
And then, we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van,
"Remember St. Bartholomew!" was passed from man to man. '
But out spake gentle Henry: "No Frenchman is my foe;
Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go ! "
O, was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war,
As our sovereign lord King Henry, the soldier of Navarre !

THO UGHT ANAL YSIS. 1 83

VI.

Ho ! maidens of Vienna ! Ho ! matrons of Lucerne !

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return.

Ho ! Piiilip, send, for charity, thy Mexicans pistoles.

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearsmen's

souls !
Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright !
Ho ! berghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night !
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,
And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave.
Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are;
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre !

T. B. MACAULAY.

General Topics. — Give a sketch of the life of T. B.
Macaulay. What degree of force in the main characterizes
this selection ? What pitch, what rate, what volume, what
emotions, are put most prominently forward?

First Stanza. — Give the etymology of the word sover-
eign. What King Henry is referred to here? Give a brief
sketch of him. In visibly expressing corn-fields, vines, and
land, which requires the least extended gesture? which the
most? Where is Eochellef \Yhj proud f Why have her
daughters mourned? What is the meaning of our illsf
Why had her walls been annoyed ? What was the shigk
field f Where is Ivnjf When was this battle fought?

Second Stanza. — AVho composed the Army of the
League f Why had it been organized? Who was its leader?
What is the meaning of piest-led citizens f of rebel peers f
Pronounce Appenzd. Whence came he? What is the
meaning of siout f and why used here ? What is meant by
infantry f Give something about Egmont. What are Flem-
ish spears^ Why say ^^ brood of false Lorraine f" Who was
Ljorraine f Why were they the curses of France ? Why say
dark Mayennef Give something of Mayenne. What is a
truncheon f Why does looking on them bring up thoughts
of Seines empurpled flood f To what does Seine's empurpled
flood refer ? What was Coligny's standing in this religious

184 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

war? What was the body of people called of whom he was
so long the animating spirit? In what year did Coligny
die? On what occasion? under what circumstances? In
what key of voice should this stanza open, as compared with
the closing of the first stanza? with what force? and volume?
What gesture is suited to the location of the League ? priest-
led citizens? rebel peers? Appenzel's stout infantry? Eg-
mont's Flemish spears ? brood of false Lorraine ? Mayenne ?
dabbled with his blood? living God? and Henry of Na-
varre? Into what plane would curses logically carry the
gesture ?

Third Stanza. — Pronounce deafening. Define oriflamme;
give its etymology. To deliver ^^God save mir lord tke King"
in a feeble voice would not be very deafening. This shout re-
quires sustaining power, roundness, fullness, and smoothness
of voice, and great projectile power. In what particulars
would the delivery of, ^^He looked upon his people," differ from
that of, ''-He looked upon the traiUrrsf" To whom does the king
speak the closing four lines of this stanza? Tell how you
think they should be spoken, vocally and visibly.

Fourth Stanza. — Explain the variations of rate this
stanza requires; of force; of pitch. What slide predomi-
nates? What is the meaning of culverinf Who was the
fiery dukef Where is St. Andre's plain? What is the
meaning of hireling chivalry f Give something of Guelder ;
of Almayne. Give the meaning of fair; of golden lilies.
What is meant by a flight of the voice ? What flights are
found in this stanza? Are they ascending or descending?
What vocal variations do they require? What is the
meaning of knight f Why was Navarre applied to King
Henry IV?

Fifth Stanza. — Give something of D'Aumale. Who
was the Flemish Count f Explain the meaning of the third
line. Where is the Bay of Biscay f What is the meaning
of vanf Why say, Bemember St. Bartholomew f Who says
gentle Henry ? Was he really gentle ? Spell the word for-

THO UGHT ANAL YSIS. 185

signer, phonetically. What flight in the opening lines?
Where does it begin? where close? What changes in rate,
volume, force, pitch, and quality of voice occur in this
stanza ?

Sixth Stanza. — Where is Vienna? where Lucerne?
Were these maids and matrons friends or foes of the Hugue-
nots? What Philip is referred to? What is a pistole?
Why speak of Mexican ? Why use the word charity f Where
is Antwerp? Why should it be spoken of in this connec-
tion ? Who says gallant nobles f In what sense is the word
gallant used ? What is meant by look that your arms be bright ?
and in what spirit should these words be uttered ? What is
a burgher ? Where is St. Genevieve ? Did these burghers
favor or oppose the Protestant party ? Who were tyrants,
and why? who slaves, and why? In what particulars must
the reading of lines five and six differ, the one from the
other? In what pitch should the last two lines be read as
compared with the lines preceding?

ANAI.YSIS OF GRAY'S EI.EGY.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ;

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight.
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.

III.
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,

The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,

Molest her ancient, solitary reign.

186 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

IV.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade,

Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap,

Each in his narrow cell forever laid.

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

VI.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care ;

No children run to lisp their sire's return.

Or chmb his knees, the envied kiss to share.

VII.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield.

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ;

How jocund did they drive their team afield !

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke !

VIII.

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil.
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ;

Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
Theshort and simple annals of the poor.

IX.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,

Await alike th' inevitable hour, —

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise.

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

THOUGHT ANALYSIS. 187

XI.

Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ?
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust.

Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ?

XII.

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ;

Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed.
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

XIII.

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page.

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ;

Chill penury repressed their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear;

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

XV.

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood ;

Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest ;

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

XVI.

Th' applause of listening senates to command ;

The threats of pain and ruin to despise ;
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.

And read their history in a nation's eyes, —

XVII.

Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ;

188 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame,

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride

With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

XIX.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learned to stray ;

Along the cool, sequestered vale of life,

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

XX.

Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh.

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their names, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse,

The place of fame and elegy supply ;
And many a holy text around she strews.

That teach the rustic moralist to die.

XXII.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey.

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned,

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;

E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries.
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

XXIV.

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate.

If chance, by lonely contemplation led.

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, —

THO UGH T ANAL YSIS. 1 89

XXV.

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say:

" Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn,

XXVI.

There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,

His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

XXVII.

Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,

Muttering his w^ay ward fancies, he w^ould rove ;

Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn.

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.

XXVIII.

One morn I missed him on th' accustomed hill.
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ;

Another came — nor yet beside the rill.

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ;

XXIX.

The next, with dirges due, in sad array.

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne : —
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

XXX.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown ;

Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy marked him for her own.

XXXI.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ;

Heaven did a recompense as largely send;
He gave to misery (all he had) a tear;

He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend.

190 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

XXXII.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode

(There they alike in trembling hope repose),
The bosom of his Father and his God.

THOMAS GRAY.

First Stanza. — Give a sketch of Thomas Gray. What
is a curfew? What is it to M the knell of parting dayf
What word in this line should be read in the lowest key ?
Pronounce lowing. What is the leaf In what key should
this verse be read ; and with what rate, volume, quality, and
force ? Name the words that require the longest quantity.

Second Stanza. — Give the meaning of glimmering^ and
the etymology of landscape. How does the air hold a solemn
stillness f Why say drowsy tinklings f

Third Stanza. — What is the meaning of ivy-mantledf
How does the owl complain to the moon ? Why say ancient^
solitary reign f Locate the rhetorical pauses found in this
stanza.

Fourth Stanza. — The expression yew-tree^s shade modi-
fies what? Shade is the subsequent of what word as leader?
What is the meaning of the second line? what of rvdef
Where are the rhetorical pauses found? What word in the
stanza requires the longest quantity ?

Fifth Stanza. — Explain the terra incense-breathing.
What is the meaning of clarion f What line should be read
with the slowest rate ? what with the lowest key ? what with
the gravest quality ? What word in this stanza requires the
quickest syllabic utterance?

Sixth Stanza. — Pronounce hearth. What is it to ply
evening care f Give the etymology of sire. How does this
stanza compare with the first three lines of the preceding, in
pitch, rate, and gravity of tone?

Seventh Stanza. — Explain the term, stubborn glebe.
Give the meaning of jocund, and afield. In what sense did

THOUGHT ANALYSIS. 191

the woods. bmv? How does this stanza differ from the pre-
ceding in pitch, force, rate, quality, and style of delivery ?

Eighth Stanza. — What is the grammatical object of
mock f Give the meaning of homely, and the etymology of
obscure. What is an obscure destiny f Give the meaning of
annals^ For whom does the poet show sympathy here?
What has occasioned it ? In what sense is the word grandeur
used ? What is Gray's estimate of grandeur and ambition ?

Ninth Stanza. — What is Jieraldry smd pomp of power f
Compare the opening two lines, in pitch, force, rate, quan-
tity, and style, with the closing two lines.

Tenth Stanza. — These refers to whom, in particular ?
in general ? What is the meaning of trophies f What bng-
drawn aisle is meant ? What is meant by fretted vault f by
note of praise ? For whom are trophies reared, and such a
burial prepared as is described in the last two lines ?

Eleventh Stanza. — What is meant by storied urn f ani-
mated biistf its mansion f Give the meaning oi provoke as here
used ? What dull ear of death is meant ? In what way do the
inflections in this stanza differ from those which precede?
Has it fewer or more rhetorical pauses than are found in the
ninth or tenth stanza ?

Twelfth Stanza. — What neglected spot is meant ? Ex-
plain the second, third, and fourth lines. Where should
pauses be made in reading this stanza? Should this stanza
be read more slowly or more rapidly than the eleventh ?

Thirteenth Stanza. — Tell, in three words, the mean-
ing of the first and second lines. What is chiR penury, noble
rage, genial euirent f Give the etymology of the word penury.
In five words state the substance of this stanza.

Fourteenth Stanza. — Put this stanza into prose, with-
out omitting a thought. What is the grammatical construc-
tion o^ full many a gemf

Fifteenth Stanza. — What is meant by some village
Hampden f What is the meaning of the second line? De-
fine mvie inglorious Milton. What Cromwell was guilty of

192 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

his country's blood? Was a Cromwell lying in this country
church-yard? How was he g^dltless of his country's blood f

Sixteenth Stanza. — What slides close the clauses in
this stanza? Are the same slides used in the fifteenth?
What rate should be used in reading this stanza, as com-
pared with the thirteenth?

Seventeenth Stanza. — Explain the expression, their
lot forbade. Give the etymology of circumscribed. Name
some of their growing virtues. Give the meaning of crimes
confined. How were they confined? Explain the term, /or-
bade to wade. Parse this stanza. What does the last line
modify, and what does it mean ? What words of this stanza
requires special emphasis ?

Eighteenth Stanza. — Whose conscious trutJi is meant?
Why pangs and struggling f Define ingenumis. What word
does this stanza modify ? Put the sixteenth, seventeenth, and
eighteenth stanzas into diagram. Should the same inflec-
tions be used in this stanza as in the sixteenth ?

Nineteenth Stanza. — Define madding and ignoble. In-
troduce some word before far in the first line to make its
meaning plainer. Explain the second line. Explain the
use of cool, sequestered, noiseless tenor.

Twentieth Stanza. — Name the emphatic words in the
first line. What frail memorial is meant? Why uncouth,
shapeless smdpturef Define decked, implores, and give the
meaning of passing tribute. Why use sigh f What inflections
should be used in this stanza?

Twenty-first Stanza. — Define elegy, and give its
etymology. What has elegy to do with fame? What is
fame? Give the meaning of holy text as here used, and also
of rustic moralist. How could these holy texts teach these
moralists how to die? Define the unlettered muse. What
muse is here meant? How was it known that this one was
unlettered ?

Twenty-second Stanza. — Transpose the words of
this stanza to make it read more like prose, and to make its

THOUGHT ANALYSIS. 193

meaning clearer. What is your answer to the question
asked in this stanza? Seeing the interrogation-mark at
its close, one would suppose what inflection should be
used? In fact, what inflections are the proper ones in this
stanza ? Why ? Put this stanza in the form of a direct
afiirmation.

Twenty-third Stanza. — Does this stanza bear any
relation to the twenty-second? Give the meaning of pious
drops. What is the significance of dosing eyef How does
the voice of nature cry from the tomb? Explain the last
line. Pronounce and define wonted. Define fires. How do
stanzas twenty-one, twenty-two, and twenty-three diflTer from
sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen, in pitch, force, rate, quality,
and manner?

Twenty- fourth Stanza. — To whom does thee refer?
Who are the unhonored decL-if How does he show his mind-
fulness? What does artless mean here? Who had been led by
biiely contemplation f Who may be later likewise led ? If so
led, what may be seen, and what inquiry made? What inflec-
tion on fate, and why ? Why is the term kindred used here ?

Tw^enty-fifth Stanza. — Define haply and hoary-headed
swain. Who was seen at the peep of dawnf Give the mean-
ing of upland lawn. What do we learn of Gray's habits in
this stanza? Compare this stanza with the twenty-third, in
key, rate, force, and quality, of voice.

Twenty-sixth Stanza. — AVhat is the significance of
the word nodding as here used? and of fantastic f Explain
this line. Give the meaning of listless length. Point out the
instances of alliteration in this stanza. What of the poet's
habits, as reflected in the last two lines?

Twenty-seventh Stanza. — Give the meaning of hard.
What does smiling as in scorn modify? Explain the term
wayward fancies. What is taught of the poet's character
in this stanza?

Twenty-eighth Stanza. — Who is here missed^ Why?
Define heath. What does the poet mean by another camef

194 ELOCtJTIOn AND ORAfOkY.

How should this stauza differ in delivery from the three
immediately precediug?

Twenty-ninth Stanza. — What is meant by due^
Who is asked to approach and readf What is the most em-
phatic word in the parenthetical clause, for thou canst readf
Give the meaning of lay. AVhat is its peculiar fitness in
this connection ? Of all the lines within quotation marks,
which should be read with lowest key, slowest rate, most
subdued force, and saddest quality?

Thirtieth Stanza. — What is meant here by the term
lap? Define meaning o^ fair science. Is it literally true that
the subject here referred to w»as marked by melancholy?
Are epitaphs, as a rule, reliable? How should the reading
of this stanza differ from the twenty-ninth ?

Thirty-first Stanza. — If he was a youth to whom for-
tune was unknown, how could he be large in bounty? Who
says his smd was sincere f What recompense did Heaven send ?

Thirty -second Stanza. — AVho has disclosed his merits?
What frailties have been mentioned ? What is the dread
abode f What does they refer to? Explain the third line.
What does the last line modify? What style of delivery
should characterize the reading of the epitaph ?

ANAI.YSIS OF HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.

The Consul's brow was sad,

And the Consul's speech was low.
And darkly looked he at the wall,

And darkl)^ at the foe.
"Their van will be upon us

Before the bridge goes down ;
And if they once may win the bridge.

What hope to save the town?"

II.
Then out spake brave Horatius,
The Captain of the Gate :

THO UGHT ANAL Y8IS. 195

" To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late ;
And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds, .
For the ashes of his fathers,

And the temples of his gods ?

III.

Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,

With all the speed ye may ;
I, with two more to help me.

Will hold the foe in play.
In yon straight path a thousand

May well be stopped by three.
Now who will stand on either hand,

And keep the bridge with me?"

IV.

Then out spake Spurius Lartius,

A Eamnian proud was he:
" Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,

And keep the bridge with thee."
And out spake strong Herminius ;

Of Titian blood was he :
" I will abide on thy left side.

And keep the bridge with thee."

" Horatius," quoth the Consul,

"As thou say'st, so let it be."
And straight against that great array

Forth went the dauntless Three.
For Romans in Rome's quarrel

Spared neither land nor gold,
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,

In the brave days of old.

VI.

Then none was for a party ;

Then all were for the State ;
Then the great man helped the poor,

And the poor man loved the great;

196 ELOCUTION AND OUATORY.

Then lands were fairly portioned ;

Then spoils were fairly sold ;
The Romans were like brothers,

In the brave days of old.

VII.

Now while the Three were tightening

The harness on their backs,
The Consul was the foremost man

To take in hand an ax ;
And fathers mixed with commons,

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow.
And smote upon the planks above,

And loosed the props below.

VIII.

Meanwhile the Tuscan army,

Right glorious to behold,
Came flashing back the noonday light,
Rank behind rank, like surges bright

Of a broad sea of gold.
Four hundred trumpets sounded

A peal of warlike glee,
As that great host, with measured tread.
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,
Rolled slowly toward the bridge's head,

"Where stood the dauntless Three.

IX.

The Three stood calm and silent,

And looked upon the foes.
And a great shout of laughter

From all the vanguard rose ;
And forth the Three came spurring

Before that deep array ;
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,
And lifted high their shields, and flew

To win the narrow way.

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus

Into the stream beneath ;
Herminius struck at Seius,

And clove him to the teeth ;

THOUGHT ANALYSIS. 197

At Picus brave Horatius

Darted one fiery thrust ;
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms

Clashed in the bloody dust.

.XI.

But now no sound of laughter

Was heard among the foes!
A wild and wrathful clamor

From all the vanguard rose.
Six spears'-lengths from the entrance

Halted that deep array,
And for a space no man came forth

To win the narrow way.

But hark! the cry is, x\stur:

And lo ! the ranks divide ;
And the great Lord of Luna

Comes with his stately stride ;
Upon his ample shoulders

Clangs loud the fourfold shield,
And in his hand he shakes the brand

Which n©ne but he can wield.

XIII.

He smiled on those bold Romans

A smile serene and high;
He eyed the flinching Tuscans,

And scorn was in his eye.
Quoth he: "The she- wolf's litter

Stands savagely at bay ;
But will ye dare to follow

If Astur clears the way ? "

XIV.

Then, whirling up his broadsword.
With both hands to the height,

He rushed against Horatius,

And smote with all his might.

With shield and blade Horatius,
Eight deftly turned the blow,

198 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ;
. It missed his hehn, but gashed his thigh:
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
, To see the red blood flow.

XV.

He reeled, and on Herminius

He leaned one breathing-space ;
Then, like a wildcat mad with wounds,

Sprang right at Astur's face.
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet,

So fierce a thrust he sped,
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out

Behind the Tuscan's head.

XVI.

On Astur's throat Horatius

Right firmly pressed his heel.
And thrice and four times tugged amain,

Ere he wrenched out the steel.
''And see," he cried, ''the welcome,

Fair guests, that waits you here !
What noble Lucomo comes next

To taste our Roman cheer?"

XVII.

But at his haughty challenge

A sullen murmur ran,
Mingled of wrath and shame and dread,

Along the glittering van.
They lacked not men of prowess,

Nor men of lordly race ;
For all Etruria's noblest

Were round the fatal place.

IVIII.

Then all Etruria's noblest

Felt their hearts sick to see
On the earth the bloody corpses,

In the path the dauntless Three.
Was none who would be foremost

To lead such dire attack ;

THO UGHT ANAL YSIS. 199

But those behind cried " Forward ! "
And those before cried '* Back ! "

XIX.

Yet one man for one moment

Strode out before the crowd ;
Well known was he to all the Three,

And they gave him greeting loud.
•' Now, welcome, welcome, Sextus !

Now, welcome to thy home !
Why dost thou stay, and turn away?

Here lies the road to Rome I "

XX.

Thrice looked he at the city ;

Thrice looked he at the dead ;
And thrice came on in fury,

And thrice turned back in dread ;
And, white with fear and hatred.

Scowled at the narrow way.
Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,

The bravest Tuscans lay.

But meanwhile ax and lever

Have manfully been plied ;
And now the bridge hangs tottering

Above the boiling tide.
" Come back, come back, Horatius ! "

Loud cried the Fathers all.
" Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius !

Back, ere the ruin fall ! "

XXII.

Back darted Spurius Lartius ;

Herminius darted back ;
And, as they passed, beneath their feet

They felt the timbers crack.
But when they turned their faces,

And on the further shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone.

They would have crossed once more,

200 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

XXIII.

But with a crash like thunder

Fell every loosened beam ;
And, like a dam. the mighty wreck

Lay right athwart the stream ;
And a long shout of triumph

Rose from the walls of Rome,
As to the highest turret-tops

Was splashed the yellow foam.

XXIV.

Alone stood brave Horatius,

But constant still in mind;
Thrice thirty thousand foes before,

And the broad flood behind.
** Down with him ! " cried false Sextus,

With a smile on his pale face.
" Now yield thee ! " cried Lars Porsena,

** Now yield thee to our grace."

XXV.

Round turned he, as not deigning

Those craven ranks to see ;
Nought spake he to Lars Porsena,

To Sextus nought spake he;
But he saw on Palatinus

The white porch of his home ;
And he spake to the noble river,

That rolls by the towers of Rome

XXVI.

"O, Tiber! Father Tiber!

To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms.

Take them in charge this day ! "
So he spake, and speaking sheathed

The good sword by his side,
And, with his harness on his back,

Plunged headlong in the tide."

XXVII.

No sound of joy or sorrow

Was heard from either bank ;

THO UGHT A NAL YSIS. 201

But friends and foes in dumb surprise,
With panting lip and straining eyes,

Stood gazing where he sank ;
And when above the surges

They saw his crest appear.
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
And even the ranks of Tuscany

Could scarce forbear to cheer.

XXVIII.

But fiercely ran the current,

Swollen high by months of rain ;
And fast his blood was flowing,

And he was sore in pain.
And heavy with his armor.

And spent with changing blows ;
And oft they thought him sinking,

But still again he rose.

XXIX.

Never, I ween, did swimmer.

In such an evil case.
Struggle through such a raging flood

Safe to the landing-place ;
But his limbs were borne up bravely

By the brave heart within.
And our good father Tiber

Bare bravely up his chin.

XXX.

"Curse on him! " quoth false Sextus;

" Will not the villain drown ?
But for this stay, ere close of day

We should have sacked the town ! '
"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena,

"And bring him safe to shore ;
For such a gallant feat of arms

Was never seen before."

XXXI.

And now he feels the bottom ;

Now on dry earth he stands ;
Now round him throng the Fathers

To press his gory hands ;

202 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

And now, with shouts and clapping,

And noise of weeping loud.
He enters through the River-Gate,

Borne by the joyous crowd.

T. B. MACAULAY.

First Stanza. — Define Consul. Why should he look
darkly at the wall? Where was the/oe.^ The line, Before ike
bridge goes dawn, shows what purpose upon the part of the
loyal Romans? What town is to be saved? Upon whose
lips does the author put the last four lines? With what
rate should they be read? what pitch? what force? what
volume? what quality? With what inflection does the
stanza close? When do interrogative clauses or sentences
employ the falling inflection ?

Second Stanza. — Give something of Horatius. How
many syllables in his name? He was captain of what gate?
On which side of the river was the gate? and what river?
In what direction does it flow at this point? What is taught
of the character of Horatius in this stanza ? How great were
the odds? In whose favor were they? Give the meaning
of the closing line. In what pitch, force, rate, quantity,
and volume should these lines be read, as compared with the
first stanza?

Third Stanza. — Is there not considerable asked of Sir
Consul f What do you understand by this line ? Use some
other word for may in the second line. Give the meaning
of in play. Is it easier to stop a thousand in a straight path
than in a crooked ? Put some word in place of well. Put
the fifth line into prose. Give the meaning of keep. Is
there a great variety of delivery in this stanza ? What style
of delivery marks it? Should it be read slower or faster
than the one preceding ?

Fourth Stanza. — Tell something of Sparius Lartius.
Pronounce the name. Define Ramnian. Give a few words
concerning Herminim. Define and pronounce Titian. De-
fine abide. To which of the many styles, conversational.

THO UGHT ANAL YSIS. 203

descriptive, narrational, didactic, heroic, dramatic, imper-
sonative, does this stanza belong?

Fifth Stanza. — Spell the word quoth, phonetically. Give
the meaning of straight as found here. Explain ^eat array.
Give the etymology of dauntless. Explain the last four
lines, showing why they should be found in this connection.
Give the meaning of spared. Were the days of old braver
than any other days? In what sense is the word brave here
used ? To what style does this stanza belong ? After the
word Horatius, what change of pitch occurs ? After the word
Consid, what change ? What alteration of rate is made after
speaking the second line ? What part of the stanza should
be read most rapidly ? Between what clauses do the shortest
pauses occur?

Sixth Stanza. — What word in this stanza is found oft-
enest under emphasis? How does this stanza compare with
any preceding one in its number of emphatic words? By
explosion, expulsion, sudden change of pitch, or force, or
volume, or quality, or quantity, and in other ways we em-
phasize a word, — which of these is most employed in this
stanza? Does history justify Macaulay in the picture he
draws of Rome at that time ?

Seventh Stanza. — Define harness, foremost, fathers,
commons, bar, crow. How would the gesture, descriptive of
the last line but one, differ from that of the last? With
what rate should this stanza be read as compared with the
sixth ?

Eighth Stanza. — Whence came the Tuscan army ?
What direction from Rome? In what sense was the army
glorious f Explain the third line. Give the meaning of rank.
Show the fitness of the figure, lAke surges bright of a broad sea
of gold. Was the glee well founded ? Give the meaning of
ensigns. Which end of the bridge was the head? With
what rate, volume, force, quality, and pitch should this
stanza be delivered?

Ninth Stanza. — Define vanguard. What was the

204 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y.

nature of the laughter f Who were the three chiefs ? What
deep array is meant ? If in the last lines the reciter attempts
to impersonate the action of the three chiefs, which arm
should bear the shield? How should the arm be held? What
is the position of the shield, and on what part of the arm is
it worn? Could the action of the chiefs be as graphically
described by any other gestures? How would the facial ex-
pression, the attitude, the pitch, the quality, and the force,
in the first two lines compare with that of the second two
lines ? There are two main methods of vocal attack. First :
the staccato stroke, or a delivery dotted with brief pauses be-
tween words, the words flying forcibly from the lips in an
expulsive or explosive form. Second : a flowing method, in
which the words seem bound, link by link, into an unbroken
chain. This is called the eflTusive movement. Under which
of these methods shall be classed the last five lines of this
stanza ? With what rate shall these lines be read ?

Tenth Stanza. — Scan the first line and note the num-
ber of syllables the author means the word Lartius to have.
Is this according to the true pronounciation ? Pronounce
AuniLS, Seius, Picus. Define dove, fiery, proud, Umhrian.
What style of delivery, vocally and visibly, characterizes
this stanza?

Eleventh Stanza. — How did the conflict just described,
affect the Tuscan army ? What distance in feet is equal to
six spear^ -length f Give the meaning of spax;e. Compare this
stanza with the one preceding, in pitch, force, rate, volume,
action, facial expression, position, and quality of voice.

Twelfth Stanza — What do you learn of Astur's
physical powers in this stanza ? On the word harJc, what in-
flection? Should Lo! be given with the same inflection?
What position, action, and facial expression is fitted for the.
third and fourth lines?

Thirteenth Stanza. — In speaking the first and second
lines, in which direction does Astur face ? In giving the
third and fourth, in which direction does he face? Define

THO UQHT ANAL YSIS, 205

qmth. In what tone of voice, with what look of face, and
with what action, do you think Astur would utter these last
four lines?

Fourteenth Stanza. — Describe a broadsivord. What
height is meant? Define deftly, and hdm. Give the whole
stanza with such gestures as you think the text demands.

Fifteenth Stanza. — Give the meaning of one breathing
space. Contrast the muscular condition indicated by the first
two lines with that of the second two. Show the gesture
suited to the sixth line. How should the gestures of the
fifth and seventh lines differ from that of the sixth line ?
How much is a Imnd-hreadthf

Sixteenth Stanza. — Describe the action adapted to the
first four lines? Is there any poetic fault in the construc-
tion of the fourth line ? Justify the line. What change
of position occurs in preparation for the four succeeding
lines ? Give the meaning of fair as used here ; of gtiests.
Here means where ? Give the meaning of Lucomo.

Seventeenth Stanza. — Define lacked, prowess, lordly.
Where is Etruria f What fakd place is meant ? What lines
in this stanza require the slowest rate ? the lowest pitch ? the
slighest volume?

Eighteenth Stanza. — Give the meaning of noblest in
this line. Explain the fifth line. Give the meaning and
etymology of dire. In what key and with what force and
quantity should forward be given ? In what respect should
the giving of back differ from forward f Point out all the
rhetorical pauses found in this stanza.

Nineteenth Stanza. — Who was Sextusf Why say thy
Jwme f What does the action of Sextus in the next to the
last line indicate on his part ? AVhat attitude should be taken
in the second line ? What gesture in the last line ? In what
pitch, and with what force, volume, and rate should the last
four lines be given as compared with the first four ?

Twentieth Stanza. — With what pitch should thrice in
the second line be read, as compared with thrice in the first,

206 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y.

third, and fourtli lines? Give the reason. What lines in
this stanza are to be given with the most rapid rate, with the
highest pitch, and with the greatest force ?

Tw^enty-first Stanza. — Give the significance of man-
fully and plied as here used. The closing half of this stanza
is an admirable exercise for the cultivation of projected tones ;
for the developing of the roundness and fullness of the upper
tones, without injury to the voice.

Twenty-second Stanza. — This stanza admirably illus-
trates the sustained staccato style, with quick movement, and
full force. What flight of voice should be used in this stanza?
What variety of gestures may be used here ?

Twenty-third Stanza. — Define oihwart^ turret-tops, yel-
low foam. With what rate, pitch, force, and volume should
this stanza be read? Compare this with the following line
on these points. Compare this stanza with the last half of
the twenty -first on the same points.

Twenty-fourth Stanza. — Give the meaning of cm-
stant. Why should Sextus be called false f Pronounce
Porsena. Does this pronunciation harmonize with the meter?
How should the words cried false Sextus be spoken? Select
the clauses that should be read with most force and with
the highest key. What passages should be given conver-
sationally ?

Tw^enty-fifth Stanza. — Define craven and deigning.
Pronounce naught. What pronunciation of Porsena fits the
measure of this line? Where is Palatinusf and what is it?
Scan the stanza, and point out the rhythmic liberties in it.
How does this stanza compare with others in the selection,
in the variety of modulation it requires ?

Twenty-sixth Stanza. — Why is the term father used
here ? Why did the Eomans pray to Tiber ? What is meant
by the third and fourth lines ? Show what gestures should
be used in giving the last four lines.

Twenty-seventh Stanza. — Explain the use of crest.
What and where is Tusoany? What form of force should

THO VOHT ANAL YSIS. 207

be used in this stanza ? what pitch ? Analyze this stanza, a
line at a time, as to variations of rate. Does pause figure
prominently in the delivery of this stanza ? Show where the
pauses should be placed.

Twenty- eighth Stanza. — What is predicated of he in
this stanza ? What style of delivery is adapted to this stanza ?

Twenty-ninth Stanza. — Give the meaning of iveen
and of evil case. Should the manner of giving this stanza
differ materially from that of the twenty -eighth ?

Thirtieth Stanza. — Give the significance of stay. Pro-
nounce ere. Define sacked. How should Porsena be pro-
nounced here ? How is arms used here ? What play of rate,
pitch, force, quantity, quality, and of volume is found in
this stanza?

Thirty-first Stanza. — With what force, rate, pitch,
and quality should these lines be read ? What vocal flights
are found in this stanza?

ANALYSIS OF THE BRIDES OF ENDERBY.

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,
The ringers ran by two, by three ;

" Pull if ye never pulled before ;

Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he:

"Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells !

Play all your changes, all your swells,
Play uppe The Brides of Enderby."

Men say it was a stolen tyde —

The Lord that sent it, he knows all;

But in myne ears doth still abide

The message that the bells let fall :

And there was naught of strange, beside

The flights of mews and peewits pied

By millions crouched on the old sea-wall.

208 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

III.
I sat and spun within the doore,

My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes;
The level sun, like ruddy ore,

Lay sinking in the barren skies ;
And dark against day's golden death
She moved where Lindis wandereth,
My Sonne's fair wife, Elizabeth.

IV.

" Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! " calling,
Ere the early dews were falling,
Farre away I heard her song.
" Cusha ! Cusha ! " all along ;
Where the reedy Lindis floweth,

Floweth, floweth.
From the meads where melick groweth
Faintly came her milking song:

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling,
" For the dews will soon be falling ;
Leave your meadow grasses mellow,

Mellow, mellow;
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ;
Come uppe, Whitefoot ; come uppe, Lightfoot ;
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow.

Hollow, hollow;
Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow ;

From the clovers lift your head ;
Come uppe, Whitefoot; come uppe, Lightfoot;
Come uppe. Jetty ; rise and follow,

Jetty, to the milking shed."

VI.

If it be long, ay, long ago.

When I beginne to think howe long,
Again I hear the Lindis flow.

Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong;
And all the aire, it seemeth mee,
Bin full of floating bells, sayth shee.
That ring the tune of Enderby.

THO UOHT ANALYSIS. 209

VII.

AUe fresh the level pasture lay,

And not a shadowe mote be seene,
Save where full fyve good miles away

The steeple towered from out the greene;
And lo ! the great bell farre and wide
Was heard in all the country side
That Saturday at eventide.

VIII.

The swanherds, where there sedges are,

Moved on in sunset's golden breath ;
The shepherde lads I heard afarre,

And my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth ;
Till floating o'er the grassy sea
Game downe that kindly message free,
The " Brides of Mavis Enderby."

IX.

Then some looked uppe into the sky,

And all along where Lindis flows
To where the goodly vessels lie.

And where the lordly steeple shows,
They sayde : "And why should this thing be?
What danger lowers by land or sea ?
They ring the tune of Enderby !

For evil news from Mablethorpe,

Of pyrate galleys warping downe ;
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe,
• They have not spared to wake the towne.
But while the west bin red to see,
And storms be none, and pyrates flee.
Why ring The Brides of Enderby?"

XI.

I looked without, and lo ! my sonne

Came riding down with might and main ;

He raised a shout as he drew on.
Till all the welkin rang again :

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.)
14

210 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

XII.

" The old sea-wall," he cried, "is downe;

The rising tide comes on apace.
And boats adrift in yonder towne

Go sailing uppe the market-place."
He shook as one that looks on death:
" God save you, mother ! " straight he saith ;
" Where is my wife, Elizabeth ? "

XIII.

" Good Sonne, where Lindis winds away,

With her two bairns I marked her long ;
And ere yon bells beganne to play.
Afar I heard her milking-song."
He looked across the grassy lea,
To right, to left, " Ho, Enderby ! "
They rang The Brides of Enderby I

XIV.

With that he cried, and beat his breast;

For, lo! along the river's bed
A mighty eygre reared his crest.

And uppe the Lindis raging sped.
It swept with thunderous noises loud.
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.

XV.

And rearing Lindis, backward pressed,

Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ;

Then madly at the eygre's breast

Flung uppe her weltering walls again.

Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout ;

Then beaten foam flew round about ;

Then all the mighty floods were out.

XVI.

So farre, so fast, the eygre drave.

The heart had hardly time to beat,

Before a shallow, seething wave

Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet :

THOVGHT ANALYSIS. 211

The feet had hardly time to flee
Before it brake against the knee,
And all the world was in the sea.

XVII.

Upon the roofe we sate that night,

The noise of bells went sweeping by ;

I marked the lofty beacon-light

Stream from the church-tower, red and high,

A lurid mark and dread to see ;

And awesome bells they were to mee,

That in the dark rang " Enderby."

XVIII.

They rang the sailor lads to guide

From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ;

And I — my sonne was at my side,

And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ;

And yet he moaned beneath his breath,

" O come in life, or come in death !

0 lost! my love, Elizabeth."

And didst thou visit him no more ?

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare ;
The waters laid thee at his doore,

Ere yet the early dawn was clear.
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace,
The lifted sun shone on thy face,
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.

XX.

That flow strewed wrecks about the grass,
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea ;

A fatal ebbe and flow, alas !

To manye more than myne and mee;

But each will mourn his own, she saith,

And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

XXI.

1 shall never hear her more
By the reedy Lindis shore,

212 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

''Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling,
Ere the early dews be falling ;
I shall never hear her song,
"Cusha! Cusha!" all along
Where tha sunny Lindis floweth,

Goeth, floweth ;
From the meads where melick groweth,
When the wate-r winding down,
Onward floweth to the town. jean ingelow.

First Stanza. — What is a bdjry toiverf Why pull now,
if they never pulled before ? What was the cause of this
excitement? Give a brief sketch of the author of this
poem. What is a poem ? Is blank verse poetry ? How
does prose differ from either ? Define ply, changes, and swells.
Explain the term Brides of Enderhy. How shall the words in
quotation in the stanza be read as compared with those not
quoted?

Second Stanza. — Give the meaning of stolen tyde.
What message did the bells let fall ? Who tells this ? What
are mews, and peewits f Give the meaning of pied, and of old
sea-wall. What does the word millions modify ? In what style
should this stanza be read ? Locate the rhetorical pauses in
the last two lines.

Third Stanza. — Give the meaning of daifs golden death.
What does dark modify ? What and where is Lindis f Which
direction was Elizabeth from her mother as indicated by the
fifth line of this stanza ?

Fourth Stanza. — What is meant by Cusha f How
should this word be given ? Upon what syllable of Cusha
does the rhythm of this line place the accent? Define
rhythm. Do dews fall ? What may be learned of the
Lindis river from the fifth line ? Define meads and melick.

Fifth Stanza. — Give the etymology of cowslip. What
is meant by lAghtfootf What is parsley f What does it
modify? How is this stanza supposed to be given ? Should
it be sung according to any set music ? In what sense may
a stanza be called a song?

THO UGHT ANAL YSIS. 213

Sixth Stanza. — Does the Lindis ordinarily flow
swiftly ? What caused the rush of waters on this occasion ?
Which direction were they rushing? Define stanza, verse,
paragraph.

Seventh Stanza. — Substitute some word for mote.
Give the meaning of good miles. Define country side and
eventide. What may be here learned of the geography of
this region?

Eighth Stanza. — Define swanherds, sedges, and golden
breath. Explain the first and second lines. The message
was kindly in what sense? Pronounce mavis. Why should
it be used in this connection ?

Ninth Stanza. — Why should some look up into the
sky ? Why look along the Lindis to the goodly vessels ?
Give the meaning of lordly. What steeple is meant here?
Why should they look there? Spell the word Imuers pho-
netically. What is another term for tune of Enderby?

Tenth Stanza. — Where is Mablethorpe? Explain the
second and third lines. What did those people think of a
red ivestf Are we to understand that pirates were actually
being pursued at this moment ? Answer the last line. What
rate, force, pitch, and manner does this stanza require?

Eleventh Stanza. — Give the meaning of welkin^ mighty
and main. Give a brief history of Elizabeth.

Tw^elfth Stanza. — Give the meaning of apace. What
may be learned of the magnitude of the flood in lines three and
four? What is meant here by straight? Explain the varia-
tions of rate, force, pitch, and quality of voice required by
the various parts of this stanza.

Thirteenth Stanza. — Spell bairns phonetically, and
give its meaning. Define marked and lea. Compare So,
Enderby! with the Brides of Enderby, in pitch, force, volume,
and quality.

Fourteenth Stanza. — Pronounce and define eygre and
crest. In this stanza is the flight in volume a crescendo, or
diminuendo? Where does it begin, and end?

214 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

Fifteenth Stanza. — How could Lindis press back-
ward? Give the significance of <re?/i6/m^, and shook. Give
the meaning of amaine. Explain the fourth line. What is
meant by were outf How high were these walls? What
were they sometimes called? What are they called in
America ? Is there any flight of force in this stanza ? De-
scribe it.

Sixteenth Stanza. — How does this stanza move, in
comparison with the preceding ? Is there any stanza in this
poem that requires more rapid rate than this? Select two
or more stanzas that are to be read most rapidly. Select as
many that require full volume, high pitch, and subdued
voice.

Seventeenth Stanza. — Give the meaning of beacon-
light. What church tower is here meant? Define lurid and
awesome. Justify the spelling of me with two e's.

Eighteenth Stanza. — Whei;e should rhetorical pauses
be made in the first two lines? Give the meaning of ruddy.
How should the first clause of the next to the last line com-
pare with the last clause of the same line, in pitch and qual-
ity ? How should these last two lines be given as compared
with the lines just preceding?

Nineteenth Stanza. — Define and pronounce bairns,
and sho7ie. In what rate, and with what pitch, force, and
quality should this stanza be read ?

T"wentieth Stanza. — Pronounce strewed, and saith.
Who is speaking here? Should this stanza depart materially
from the preceding in style of delivery ?

Tw^enty-first Stanza. — How should the call of Cuslia
here compare with the same call earlier in the poem ? Why
should there be any difference ?

PART XL

Oratorical Selections.

ETHICAL.

RAIN ON THE ROOF.

When the humid shadows hover

Over all the starry spheres,
And the melancholy darkness

Ge^itly weeps in rainy tears,
What a bliss to press the pillow

Of a cottage-chamber bed,
And lie listening to the patter

Of the soft rain overhead !

Every tinkle on the shingles

Has an echo in the heart;
And a thousand dreamy fancies

Into busy being start,
And a thousand recollections

Weave their air-threads into woof,
As I listen to the patter

Of the rain upon the roof.

Now, in memory, comes my mother,

As she used in years agone,
To regard the darling dreamers

Ere she left them till the dawn ;
O, I feel her fond look on me,

As I list to this refrain
Which is played upon the shingles

By the patter of the rain.

215

216 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Then my little seraph-sister,

With the wings and waving hair,
And her star-eyed cherub-brother —

A serene, angelic pair —
GHde around my wakeful pillow,

With their praise or mild reproof,
As I listen to the murmur

Of the soft rain on the roof.

And another comes, to thrill me

With her eyes' delicious blue j
And I mind not, musing on her,

That her heart was all untrue ;
I remember but to love her

With a passion kin to pain.
And my heart's quick pulses quiver

To the patter of the rain.

Art hath naught of tone or cadence

That can work with such a spell
In the soul's mysterious fountains.

Whence the tears of rapture well,
As that melody of Nature,

That subdued, subduing strain,
Which is played upon the shingles

By the patter of the rain.

COATES KINNEY.

PRAYING FOR PAPA.

A MAN who had been walking for some time in the
downward path, came out of his house, and started down
town for a night of carousal with some old companions he had
promised to meet. His young wife had besought him to
spend the evening with her, and had reminded him of the
time when evenings passed in her company were all too short.
His little daughter had clung about his knees, and coaxed in
her pretty, willful way for "papa" to tell her some bed-time
stories; but habit was stronger than love for wife and child,
and he went his way.

But when he was a few blocks distant from his home, he

ETHICAL. 217

found that in changing his coat he had forgotten to remove
his wallet ; and as he could not go out on a drinking bout
without money, he hurried back, and crept softly past the
windows of the little house, in order that he might steal in
and obtain it without running the gauntlet of either questions
or caresses.

But something stayed his feet ; there was a fire in the
grate — for the night was chilly — and it lit up the little parlor,
and brought out in startling effects the pictures on the walls.
But these were as nothing to the pictures on the hearth.
There, in the soft glow of the firelight, knelt his child at the
mother's knee, its small hands clasped in prayer, its fair head
bowed ; and as its rosy lips uttered each word with distinct-
ness, the father listened, spell-bound :

" Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep ;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take."

Sweet petition ! The man himself, who stood there with
bearded lips shut tightly together, had often said that prayer
at his mother's knee. Where was that mother now? The
sunset gates had long ago unbarred to let her through. But
the child had not finished ; he heard her say, * ' God bless
mamma;" then there was a pause, and she lifted her troubled
blue eyes to her mother's face.

**God bless papa," prompted the mother, softly.

*'God bless papa," lisped the little one.

"And — please send papa home sober," said the mother.

** And — please — send — papa — home — sober."

Mother and child sprang to their feet in alarm when the
door opened so suddenly ; but they were not afraid when they
saw papa's beaming face. That night, when little Mamie
was being tucked up in bed after such a romp with papa,
she said in the sleepiest and most contented of voices :

" Mamma, God answers 'most as quick as the telegraph,
does n't he?" ap

218 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

THE SEVEN DECADES OF MAN.

The first ten years of human existence are years of dreams,
of aimless, ceaseless action, of marvelous mental and physical
growth. Starting with so little stock, how rapid the acquisi-
tion, how amazing the unfolding! How pliant, how in-
nocent, how happy is wont to be the first decade of life I

II.

During these years the bud of boyhood bursts into the
full-blown bloom of man. During these years countless am-
bitions have their birth. To these years all things seem at-
tainable. Through these years the blood burns, the nerves
tingle, the eyes sparkle, the step is elastic, and hope rides
high. The spirit, borne on the wings of imagination, soars
into the sublimest heights. To this decade no barrier seems
insurmountable. To the infinite faith of youth the future is
unbounded. This is an age which fights imaginary battles,
wins imaginary victories, meets with no reverses, and brooks
no peer within its sphere. The closing of this decade finds
youth happy in heart, quick in motion, colossal in egotism,
deaf to advice, blind to self-defects, free from self-reproach,
and wholly self-sufiicient.

III.

These are kaleidoscopic years. The pulse beats at its
full. The tide runs high, even to the brim of the banks of
the river of life. If now the passions take their sway, the
banks of temperance are overflowed, the levees of prudence
are battered down, and the dikes of caution are swept away.
Happy he whose conscience survives the flood ! That saved,
he has a hand at the helm that may lead him back into the
channel of upright moral life ; that lost, when the waters
recede, his little bark will strand in the low and marshy mire
of immorality.

ETHICAL, 219

IV.

This decade bids adieu to many joys and hopes, to many
thrills and lurings on, to many playful sports and bubblings
up, to many castles in the air and uncompleted plans. It
has left behind it many a heart-ache and many a mistake.
By the merits and the faults, by the resolutions kept and
broken, by all that has gone before, the fourth decade should
profit. These are the years that lie nearest to man's full
maturity ; and if, with the years before, they are lived aright,
their close finds man in the prime of his physical and intel-
lectual power. This is the age which should pre-eminently
profit by the experience of the past, guiding man into safer
paths and wiser ways.

. V.

These are the years of the golden harvest-home. Seeds
of knowledge early sown have now developed into the full
grown grain. Bread cast upon the waters during the first
fresh flush of life may now be gathered in. The tree stands
strong and high, broad-bowed and grand in manhood's full
estate. Life is wont in this decade to touch its topmost
physical and intellectual limit.

VI.

The current of life begins to slacken ; the pulse is not so
full; the step is not so sturdy; the stride is not so strong
nor long ; the zenith has been passed ; the shadow is falling
to the east; the sun is dropping to the west. These are
years of retrospection. As the step begins to falter and the
eyes begin to fade, the mind begins to wander backward o'er
the track of by-gone days. These are years when men are
prone to form comparisons, and the yicrn is almost always made
to suflfer beside its rival then. All things go to show that
man in the sixth decade has passed into the latter half of
the circle of life, and that, should he live the allotted span
or threescore years and ten, he will have touched his
starting point.

220 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

VII.

The shades are growing longer to the east. The sun at
every dip is seen more nearly to approach the western horizon.
The leaves, for some time seared, are falling fast. The
boughs begin to shrink. The circulation fails. The trunk
bends before the blast of years. The sun sets. Dusk
arrives. The stars of promise shine. The golden bowl is
broken ; and the circle is complete.

* VIRGIL A. PINKLEY,

GRADATIM.

Heaven is not gained at a single bound ;

But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,

And we mount to its summit round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true,

That a noble deed is a step towards God,
Ivifting the soul from the common sod

To purer air and broader view.

We rise by things that are 'neath our feet,

By what we have mastered of good and gain,
By the pride deposed and the passion sl^in,

And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,

When the morning calls us to life and liglit;
But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night

Our lives are trailing the sordid dust.

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray ;

And we think that we mount the air on wings
Beyond the recall of sensual tilings,

While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings for the angels, but feet for the men !

We may borrow the wings to find the w^ay ;

We may hope and resolve, and aspire and pray,
But our feet must rise, or we fall again.

ETHICAL. 221

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls ;
But the dreams depart, and the vision falls,

And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound ;

But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, •

And we mount to its summit round by round.

J. G. HOLLAND.

I^AUGHTER.

I SAID, and I say again, no day can be so sacred but that
the laugh of a child will make the holiest day more sacred
still. Strike with hand of fire, O weird musician, thy harp
strung with Apollo's golden hair; fill the vast cathedral
aisles with symphonies sweet and dim, deft toucher of the
organ keys; blow, bugler, blow, until thy silver notes do
touch the skies with moonlit waves, and charm the lovers
wandering on the vine-clad hills, — but know, your sweetest
strains are discords all, compared with childhood's happy
laugh, the laugh that fills the eye with light and every heart
with joy ! O rippling river of life, thou art the blessed
boundary-line between the beasts and man, and every way-
ward wave of thine doth drown some fiend of care ! O
laughter, divine daughter of joy, make dimples enough in
the cheeks of the world to catch and hold and glorify all the
tears of grief! r. g. ingersoll.

THE MODEL AMERICAN BOY.

A MODEL American boy !

The pride of his parents, their joy ;

The staff of their life.

No factor of strife —
A manly American boy.

222 ELOCUTION AND ORATOkY.

A never-will-slnrk— this boy !

No-fear-of-the-work— this boy !
So busy and bright,
A sight to dehght —

This sturdy American boy !

A stranger-to-faii— this boy !

Not slow-as-a-snail— this boy !
Not one of the shoddy
Nor big busy-body —

Refreshing American boy !

No shamming-nor-show — this boy !

No bluster-and-blow — this boy !
No sting in his tongue,
His praise should be sung —

All praise this American boy.

A know-his-own-mind — this boy !

A heart-that-is-kind — this boy !
His aim ever high,
" I '11 try " in his eye —

Ambitious American boy !

A free-from-all-guile — this boy !

Not all-for-the-style— this boy !
He 's seeking just now
The why and the how —

Progressive American boy!

A lover-of-light — this boy !

Because-he-does-right — this boy :
He 's making his mark —
Not out on a lark —

Far-seeing American boy!

Not-a-bit-of-a-dude— this boy !

Hates-all-that-is-lewd — this boy.
He rises in might,
Defending the right —

Much needed American boy !

An honor-the-law— this boy!

Not-given-to-jaw — this boy !
His voice is for peace —
His kind should increase —

All greet this American boy!

ETHICAL. 223

Remarkably sage— this boy;
Ahead of his age— this boy;

He 's good to the old,

Not simply for gold —
A pattern for every boy !

A temperate youth — this boy ;
A teller-of-truth — this boy ;

Tobacco and rum

To him never come —
Clear-headed American boy !

He knows they 're a curse — this boy ;

That they drain health and purse — this boy;

That they cling like a chain

To body and brain —
Long live this American boy !

He 's one of the few — this boy ;
In love he is true— this boy ;

No breaker of hearts —

Not one of the smarts^—
Young Queen, you can lean on this boy.

A model American boy!
An ever-full fountain of joy!

I 'm sure you '11 agree,

In saying with me,
He 's a model American boy.

VIRGIL A. PINKLEY.

THE STUDENT.

" Poor fool ! " the base and soulless worldling cries,

" To waste his strength for naught, to blanch his cheek,

And bring pale death upon him in his prime.

Why did he not to pleasure give his days.

His nights to rest, and live while live he might?"

What is 't to live ? To breathe the vital air.

Consume the fruits of earth, and doze away

Existence ? Never ! this is living death ;

'Tis brutish life, base groveling. E'en the brutes

Of nobler nature live not lives like this.

224 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y.

Shall man, then, formed to be creation's lord.
Stamped with the impress of divinity, and sealed
With God's own signet, sink below the brute ?
Forbid it, Heaven ! it can not, must not be !

O, when the mighty God from nothing brought
This universe ; when at his word the light
Burst forth, the sun was set in heaven,
And earth was clothed in beauty ; when the last,
The noblest w^ork of all, from dust he framed
Our bodies in his image ; when he placed
Within its temple-shrine of clay, the soul,
The immortal soul, infused by his own truth, —
Did he not show, 'tis this which gives to man
His high prerogative ? Why, then, declare
That he who thinks less of his worthless frame.
And lives a spirit, even in this world.
Lives not as well, lives not as long, as he
Who drags out years of life, without one thought,
One hope, one wish, beyond the present hour ?

How shall we measure life ? Not by the years.
The months, the days, the moments, that we pass
On earth. By him whose soul is raised above
Base worldly things, whose heart is fixed in heaven
His life is measured by that soul's advance.
Its cleansing from pollution and from sin,
The enlargement of its powers, the expanded field
Wherein it ranges, till it glows and burns
With holy joys, with high and heavenly hopes.

When in the silent night, all earth lies hushed
In slumber, when the glorious stars shine out,
Each star a sun, each sun a central light
Of some fair system, ever wheeling on
In one unbroken round, and that again
Revolving round another sun, while all,
Suns, stars, and systems proudly roll along
In one majestic ever-onward course
In space uncircumscribed and limitless, —
O, think you then the undebased soul
Can calmly give itself to sleep — to rest?

ETHICAL. 225

And it is joy to muse upon the written page,

Whereon are stamped the gushings of the soul

Of genius ; where, in never-dying hght,

It glows and flashes as the lightning's glare ;

Or where it burns with ray more mild, more sure,

And wins the soul, that half would turn away

From its more brilliant flashings. These are hours

Of holy joy, of bliss so pure that earth

May hardly claim it. Let his lamp grow dim,

And flicker to extinction ; let his cheek

Be pale as sculptured marble, and his eye

Lose its bright luster, till his shrouded frame

Is laid in dust. Himself can never die !

His years, 'tis true, are few, his life is long;
For he has gathered many a precious gem ;
Enraptured, he has dwelt where master minds
Have poured their own deep musings, and his heart
Has glowed with love to Him who framed us thus,
Who placed within this worthless tegument
The spark of pure divinity which shines
With light unceasing.

Yes, his life is long;
Long to the dull and loathsome epicures ;
Long to the slothful man, the groveling herds
Who scarcely know they have a soul within ;
Long to all those who, creeping on to death,
Meet in the grave, the earth-worm's banquet-hall,
And leave behind no monuments for good.

SEED-SOWING.

Sow the seed of soothing kindness.

To dispel the gloom and pain ;
Sow bright words of warmth and welcome.

That o'er earth good-will may reign ;
Sow upon a soil prolific

That shall bear an hundred-fold,
Choking out the thorns and briers.

Turning weeds to stalks of gold.
15

226 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Scorn thon not to sow, moreover,

On the fields less rich in loam,
Should it bear not many measures,

It will have its harvest-home.
If the sower will but hearken,.

He will hear what God will keep —
Whether good or whether evil,

What ye sow that ye shall reap.

Though the soil be scant and sandy,

And the rocks be thick and keen,
With the hand of faith sow broadly —

Some stray soil may lie unseen ;
This may nourish seed sufficient

To bring harvest-time around ;
And the hand of thrift may garner

From the uninviting ground.

What though way-side fowls fly over,

You can cover well the seed ;
What though tares by Satan scattered

Should arise in evil greed ! —
Wait, if must be, till the harvest

Kipens grain and tares in turn ;
Then the grain thou mayest gather.

And the tares, may'st bind and burn.

Sow the seeds of love and mercy,

Worthy work for angel hands !
Sympathy, and truth, and justice,

Fitting theme for heavenly bands !
Sow good-will among thy neighbors,

Reap reward for thee in store ;
On the sower that is faithful

Blessings be ior evermore.

VIRGIL A. PINKLEY.

STAR OF THE EVENING.

Star of the evening,

Glory on high,
Queen of the beautiful,

Gem of the sky ;

ETHICAL. 227

Light of the traveler,

Seeking for rest;
Ever thus peacefully
Look from the west.

Eyes that are watching,

Gaze upon thee ;
Eyes that are weary,

Waiting for me ;
Joy of the wanderer,

Evermore shine,
Smiling I gaze on thee,

Smile thou on mine.

FLORUS B. PLIMPTON.

A PSALM OF LIFE.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream !
For the soul is dead that slumbers.

And things are not what they seem.
Life is real ! Life is earnest !

And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest.

Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle :

Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ;

Let the dead Past bury its dead.
Act — act in the living Present —

Heart within, and God o'erhead.

228 • ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footsteps on the sands of time, —

Footsteps, that perhaps another.
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother.
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing.
With a heart for any fate ;

Still achieving, still pursuing.
Learn to labor and to wait.

LONGFELLOW,

BEREAVED.

He walked the earth with downcast eyes,
In which are sorrow and the pain
That softens in heart-easing rain.

The tumult of the busy world,
Its noisy strife and toil he hears ;
It falls upon unheeding ears.

For what to him are greed and gain,
Who, mourning like the woodland dove.
Broods o'er the vacant nest of love ?

FLORUS B. PLIMPTON.

THE SNOW ANGEL.

The sleigh-bells danced that winter night ;

Old Brattleborough rang with glee ;
The windows overflowed with light ;

Joy ruled each hearth and Christmas-tree.
But to one the bells and mirth were naught :
His soul with deeper joy was fraught.

ETHICAL. 229

He waited until the guests were gone ;
He waited to dream his dream alone ;
And the night wore on.

Alone he stands in the silent night ;

He piles the snow in the village square ;
With spade for chisel, a statue white

From the crystal quarry rises fair.
No light, save the stars, to guide his hand,
But the image obeys his soul's command.

Tlie sky is draped with fleecy lawn ;

The stars grow pale in the early dawn ;
But the lad toils on.

And lo ! in the morn the people came

To gaze at the wondrous vision there ;
And they called it "The Angel," divining its name,

For it came in silence and unaware.
It seemed no mortal hand had wrought
The uplifted face of prayerful thought ;

But its features wasted beneath the sun ;

Its life went out ere the day was done ;
And the lad dreamed on.

And his dream was this: In the years to be

I will carve the angel in lasting stone ;
In another land, beyond the sea,

I will toil in darkness, Avill dream alone ;
While others sleep I will find a way
Up through the night to the light of day.

There 's nothing desired beneath star or sun

Which patient genius has not won ;
And the boy toiled on.
The years go by. He has wrought with might,

He has gained renown in the land of art ;
But the thought inspired that Christmas night

Still kept its place in the sculptor's heart ;
And the dream of the boy, that melted away
In the light of the sun that winter day.

Is embodied at last in enduring stone,

Snow Angel in marble— his purpose won ;
And the man toils on.

WALI.ACE BRUCE,

230 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

BETTER THAN GOI.D.

Better than gold in the miser's grasp ;
Better than gold in the mean man's clasp;
Better than gold which the rich man hoards;
Better than perishing gold affords, —

Is charity with open hand,

Extending aid throughout the land ;

Yea, better than the miser's gold

Is charity — a thousand-fold.

Better than gold is the word of cheer,
Banisliing far from the heart the tear;
Better than gold is a kindly deed.
Bettering man in the hour of need.

And better far a cheerful life.

Than gold obtained through toil and strife;

A word of cheer is wealth untold,

And better than the miser's gold.

Better than gold is the wealth we reap.

Garnered from knowledge that 's broad and deep ;

Better than gold is a cultured mien,

Sweetening life from a source unseen.

And better far than gold refined
Is wisdom gleaned to bless mankind ;
A knowledge deep is wealth untold,
And better far than miser's gold.

Better than gold is a conscience clear,
Knowing not sorrow, remorse or fear ;
Coming to few as a happy lot,
Oftener found in the poor man's cot

Than in the homes of the rich and great,

Or in the halls of high estate.

A conscience clear is joy untold,

And better than the miser's gold.

Better than all that is born of gold.
Better is health by a thousand fold ;
Better is' virtue, and hope, and rest.
Better is love, as a faithful guest.

ETHICAL. 231

To have a heart that's warm within ;
To Uve a Hfe unstained by sin ;
To dare the right with courage bold^
Is better far than hoarding gold.

VIRGIL A. PINKLEY.

IF WE KNEW.

If we knew the woe and heartache

Waiting for us down the road ;
If our lips could taste the wormwood ;

If our backs could feel the load, —
Would we waste the day in wishing

For a time that ne'er can be ?
Would we wait with such impatience

For our ship to come from sea ?

If we knew the baby-fingers

Pressed against the window-pane
Would be cold and stifi" to-morrow,

Never trouble us again,
Would the bright eyes of our darling

Catch the frown upon our brow?
Would the print of rosy fingers

Vex us then as they do now ?

Ah ! these little ice-cold fingers !

How they point our memories back
To the hasty words and actions

Strewn along our backward track !
How these little hands remind us,

As in snowy grace they lie.
Not to scatter thorns, but roses,

For our reaping by and by.

Strange we never prize the music

Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown ;
Strange that we should slight the violets

Till the lovely flowers are gone ;
Strange that summer skies and sunshine

Never seem one-half so fair
As when winter's snowy pinions

Shake their white down in the air.

232 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Let us gather up the sunheams

Lying all around our path ;
Let us keep the wheat and roses,

Casting out the thorns and chaff;
Let us find our sweetest comfort

In the blessings of to-day ;
With the patient hand removing

All the briers from our way.

SNOW-FI.AKES.

Again the gates of heaven's laboratory are ajar. The
fresh snow-flakes, wrought into wondrous forms of geo-
metric grace and crystalline beauty, soft and pure, and
white as the down from an angel's wings, are lazily, lan-
guidly falling.

It snows ! All eyes are gazing ; all hearts feel a new
emotion. The phenomenon is an old one, and yet it is new.
But few suns have set, and fewer moons have waned, since
earth lay asleep in her ermine of snow; yet the days are
many, and the moons are long, if measured by the vicissi-
tudes of men, or the transformations of Nature, since earth
awoke from her winter dream, and donned the blooming
robes of beauteous spring.

Germs have grown, and buds have burst, and blossoms
have bloomed into fruitage, since the snow-flakes fell before;
and a spring of buds and bird-songs, a summer of roses and
rainbows, an autumn of golden sheaves and harvest-homes
and joyous hearts, have gleamed in the verdant valley be-
tween the old snow-drifts and the new.

Waves of sadness and billows of gladness have rolled al-
ternately over human hearts, as threatening storm-clouds have
lowered, and the bright bows of promise and of hope gilded
their sable folds.

These flossy flakes of falling snow, how eloquent they are
of sad and joyous memories of the past, and how prophetic

ETHICAL. 233

of the future ! What treasures they are to hearts that hope ;
what harbingers of woe to those that despair !

They mirror forth the bright visions of social glee around
the glowing hearth, and **in the frosty air of night," beneath
the brilliant, beaming stars. They echo the melody of joy-
ous carols around the Christmas-tree^ and the glad voices
of merriment, commingled with the wild music of the jin-
gling bells.

But pleasure will not always rule the hour; with the
major notes of joy must sometimes be mingled the minor
tones of woe ; and the voice of festivity will anon be hushed
by the pitiful wail from hovels of squalor and want, crying
for bread.

" Poor sufferer! thy sorrows thy God only knows;
'T is a most bitter lot to be poor when it snows ! "

O, may the favored ones, on whom blessings are showered
in the falling snow, in the midst of their festivity, remember
the poor with their bounty, and offer up in their behalf the
warm orisons of supplicating hearts to that God " who tem-
pereth the winds to the shorn lamb."

Though the falling of snow may hide from our view all
verdure and bloom, and lock up in the cold embraces of
death the fairest forms of earth, yet ' ' for us all some sweet
hope lies deeply buried from human eyes."

Earth, in her majestic march around the sun, will swiftly
whirl in a giddy waltz from Scorpio to Taurus again, and
by all the shining constellations between.

The snow-mounds will melt in the genial warmth of the
vernal sun, and all nature will be resurrected again to a
new and beautiful life.

"Winter will leave us when spring-time appears;
April will meet us with smiles and with tears ;
Bright, joyous May will come skipping along;
June, with her roses, will join the glad throng."

It will be summer-time by and by. peronda.

234 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y.

SANDAI^PHON.

Have you read in the Talmud of old, '
In the legends the Eabbins have told

Of the limitless realms of the air,
Have you read it,— the marvelous story
Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory,

Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer?
How, erect, at the outermost gates
Of the city Celestial he waits.

With his feet on the ladder of light
That, crowded with angels unnumbered.
By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered

Alone in the desert at night ?
The Angels of Wind and of Fire
Chant only one hymn, and expire

With the song's irresistible stress ;
Expire in their rapture and wonder,
As harp-strings are broken asunder

By music they throb to express.
But serene in the rapturous throng.
Unmoved by the rush of the song.

With eyes unimpassioned and slow,
Among the dead angels, the deathless
Sandalphon stands, listening breathless

To sounds that ascend from below ; —
From the spirits on earth that adore ;
From the souls that entreat and implore

In the fervor and passion of prayer;
From the hearts that are broken with losses,
And weary with dragging the crosses

Too heavy for mortals to bear.

And he gathers the prayers as he stands.
And they change into flowers in his hands,

Into garlands of purple and red ;
And beneath the great arch of the portal,
Through the streets of the City Immortal

Is wafted the fragrance they shed.
It is but a legend, I know, —
A fable, a phantom, a show

Of the aucieiit Rabbinical lore ;

ETHICAL. 235

Yet the old mediaeval tradition,
The beautiful, strange superstition,

But haunts me and holds me the more.
When I look from my window at night,
And the welkin above is all white,

All throbbing and panting with stars.
Among them majestic is standing
Sandalphon the angel, expanding

His pinions in nebulous bars.
And the legend, I feel, is a part
Of the hunger and thirst of the heart.

The frenzy and fire of the brain.
That grasps at the fruitage forbidden,
The golden pomegranates of Eden,
To quiet its fever and pain,

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

WAINAMOINEN'S HARP-SONGS.

FROM THE KALEVALA, THE EPIC POEM OF FINLAT^D.

Near the oven slept a blind man ;
Rousing from his couch of slumber,
Spake the wizard from his corner:
"Cease at once this wretched playing,
Make an end of all this discord ;
It benumbs mine ears for hearing,
Racks my brain, despoils my senses,
Robs me of the sweets of sleeping.
If the harp of Suomi's people
True delight can not engender.
Can not bring the notes of pleasure,
Can not sing to sleep the aged,
Cast the thing upon the waters.
Sink it in the deep sea-eddies ;
Take it back to Kalevala,
To the home of him that made it,
To the hands of its creator."

Thereupon the harp made answer,
To the blind man sang these measures:
" Shall not fall upon the waters,
Shall not sink beneath the billows ;
I will play for my creator,

236 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Sing in melody and concord
In the fingers of my master."

Carefully the harp was carried
To the artist that had made it,
To the hands of its creator,
To the feet of Wainamoinen.

Thereupon the ancient minstrel,
The eternal wizard-singer,
Laves his hands to snowy whiteness,
Sits upon the rock of joyance.
On the stone of song he settles,
On the mount of silver clearness,
On the summit, golden colored ;
Takes the harp by him created,
In his hands the harp of fish-bone ;
With his knee the arch supporting,
Takes the harp-strings in his fingers.
Speaks these words to those assembled :
" Hither come, ye Northland people,
Come and listen to my playing,
To the harp's entrancing measures.
To my songs of joy and gladness."

Wainamoinen touched the harp-strings,
Deftly plied his skillful fingers
To the strings that he had fashioned ;
Now was gladness rolled on gladness,
And the harmony of pleasure
Echoed from the hills and mountains;
Added singing to his playing.
Out of joy did joy come welling,
Now resounded marvelous music,
All of Northland stopped and listened.
All the creatures of the forest,
All the beasts that haunt the woodlands,
On their nimble feet came bounding.
Came to listen to his playing,
Came to hear his songs of joyance.
Leaped the squirrels from the branches,
Merrily from birch to aspen ;
Climbed the ermines on the fences,
O'er the plains the elk-deer bounded,
And the lynxes purred with pleasure.

ETHICAL. 237

Wolves awoke in far-off swamp-lands,
Bounded o'er the marsh and heather;
And the bear his den deserted,
Left his lair within the pine-wood.
Settled by a fence to hearken,
Leaned against the listening gate-ways;
But the gate-ways yield beneath him.
Now he climbs the fir-tree branches.
That he may enjoy and wonder,
Climbs and listens to the music
Of the harp of Wainamoinen.

Tapiola's wisest senior,
Metsola's most charming landlord.
And of Tapio, the people,
Young and aged, men and maidens,
Flew like red-deer up the mountains.
There to listen to the playing,
To the harp of Wainamoinen.
Tapiola's wisest mistress.
Hostess of the glen and forest,
Robed herself in blue and scarlet.
Bound her limbs with silver ribbons,
Sat upon the woodland-summit,
On the branches of the birch-tree,
There to listen to the playing,
To the high-born hero's harping.
To the songs of Wainamoinen.

All the birds that fly in mid-air.
Fall like snow-flakes from the heavens.
Fly to hear the minstrel's playing,
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen.
Eagles in their lofty eyrie.
Hear the songs of the enchanter ;
Swift, they leave their unfledged young ones.
Fly and perch around the singer ;
From the heights the hawks descending,
From the clouds down swoop the falcons.
Ducks arise from inland waters,
Swans come gliding from the marshes ;
Tiny finches, green and golden.
Fly in flocks that darken sunlight,
Come in myriads to listen,

238 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Perch upon the head and shoulders
Of the charming Wainamoinen,
Sweetly singing to the playing
Of the ancient bard and minstrel.
And the daughters of the welkin,
Nature's well-beloved daughters,
Listen all in rapt attention ;
Some are seated on the rainbow,
Some upon the crimson cloudlets,
Some upon the dome of heaven.

In their hands the Moon's fair daughters
Hold their weaving-combs of silver ;
In their hands the Sun's sweet maidens
Grasp the handles of their distaffs,
Weaving with their golden shuttles,
Spinning from their silver spindles,
On the red-rims of the cloudlets.
On the bow of many colors.
As they hear the minstrel playing,
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen,
Quick they drop their combs of silver,
Drop their spindles from their fingers,
And the golden threads are broken,
Broken are the threads of silver.

All the fish in Suomi-waters
Hear the songs of the magician,
Come on flying fins to listen
To the harp of Wainamoinen.
Come the trout with graceful motion.
Water-dogs with awkward movements.
From the water-cliffs the salmon ;
From the sea-caves come the whiting,
From the deeper caves, the bill-fish ;
Come the pike from beds of sea-fern ;
Little fish with eyes of scarlet.
Leaning on the reeds and rushes,
With their heads above the surface,
Come to hear the harp of joyance,
Hear the songs of the enchanter.

Ahto, master of the waters,
Ancient king with beard of sea-grass,
Lifts his head above the billows.

ETHICAL. 239

In a boat of water-lilies
Gliding to the shore in silence,
Listens to the wondrous singing,
To the harp of Wainanioinen ;
These the words the sea-king utters:
" Never have I heard such playing,
Never heard such strains of music,
Never since the sea was fashioned,
As the songs of this enchanter,
This sweet singer, AVainamoinen."

Sotko's daughters of the blue-deep,
Sisters of the wave-washed ledges,
On the colored strands are sitting.
Smoothing out their sea-green tresses
With their combs of molten silver.
With their silver-handled brushes,
Brushes forged with golden bristles.
When they hear the magic playing.
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen,
Fall ttieir brushes on the billows.
Fall their combs with silver handles.
To the bottom of the waters ;
Unadorned their heads remaining.
And uncombed their sea-green tresses.

Comes the hostess of the waters.
Ancient hostess robed in flowers.
Rising from her deep sea-castle,
Swimming to the shore in wonder,
Listens to the minstrel's playing.
To the harp of Wainamoinen.
As the magic tones re-echo,
As the singer's song out-circles.
Sinks the hostess into slumber.
On the rocks of many colors,
On her watery couch of joyance ;
Deep the sleep that settles o'er her.

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel.
Plays one day, and then a second ;
Plays the third from morn till even.
There is neither man nor hero.
Neither ancient dame, nor maiden.
Not in Metsola a daughter,

240 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Whom he does not touch to weeping;
Weep the young, and weep the aged,
Weep the mothers, weep the daughters.
Weep the warriors and heroes,
At the music of his playing,
At tlie songs of the magician.
Wainamoinen's tears come flowing,
Welling from the master's eyelids ;
Pearly tear-drops coursing downward,
Larger than the whortleberries.
Finer than the pearls of ocean,
Smoother than the eggs of moor-hens,
Brighter than the eyes of swallows.
As the tear-drops fall and mingle.
Form they streamlets from the eyelids
Of the master of magicians;
Coursing on, and coursing ever.
To the blue mere's sandy margin,
To the deeps of crystal waters,
Lost among the reeds and rushes.

Spake at last the sweet- toned singer:
" Is there one in all this concourse,
One in all this vast assembly.
That can gather up my tear-drops
From the deep, pellucid waters?"

Thus the younger heroes answered,
Thus the sage and bearded seniors :
"There is none in all this concourse.
None in all this vast assembly,
That can gather up thy tear-drops
From the deep, pellucid waters."

Spake again wise Wainamoinen:
•* He that gathers up my tear-drops
From the deeps of crystal waters.
Shall receive a beauteous plumage."

Came a raven, flying, croaking,
And the minstrel thus addressed him :
" Bring, 0 raven, bring my tear-drops
From the crystal lake's abysses !
I will give thee beauteous feathers,
Recompense for needed service."

But the raven failed his master.

ETHICAL. 241

Came a duck upon the waters,
And the h^o thus addressed him:
"Bring, 0 water-bird, my tear-drops;
Often thou dost dive the deep sea , .
Sink thy bill upon the bottom
Of the waters thou dost travel ;
Dive again ray tears to gather,
I will give thee beauteous feathers,
Recompense for golden service."

Thereupon the duck departing.
Hither, thither swam and circled.
Dived beneath the foam and billow,
Gathered Wainamoinen's tear-drops
From the blue sea's pebbly bottom,
From the deep, pellucid waters ;
Brought them to the great magician,
Beautifully formed and colored.
Glistening in the silver sunshine,
Glimmering in the golden moonlight ;
Many-colored as the rainbow,
Fitting ornaments for heroes.
Jewels for the maids of beauty ;
This the origin of sea-pearls.
And the sea-duck's beauteous plumage.

J. M. CRAWFORD.

WATER.

Rev Paul Denton, a Methodist missionary, had an-
nounced to an audience in Texas that on a certain day
there would be *'a rousing barbecue, the best of liquor, and
of gospel." The barbecue came, but no liquor being offered,
the preacher was asked: "Where is the liquor you prom-
ised us?" The missionary, seizing a goblet of water, made
the following impromptu reply: '^ Here is the liquor which
God, the Eternal, brews for all his children ! Not in the
simmering still, over smoking fires, choked with poisonous
gases, and surrounded by the stench of sickening odors, and

rank corruptions, doth your Father in heaven prepare the

242 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

precious essence of life — pure cold water; but in the green
glade and grassy dell where the red-deer wanders, and the
child loves to play — there God brews it; and down, down
in the deepest valleys, where the fountains murmur and the
rills sing ; and high up the tall mountain-tops, where the
naked granite glitters like gold in the sun, where the storm-
clouds brood, and the thunder-storms crash; and away far
out on the wide, wide sea, where the hurricanes howl music,
and the waves roar the chorus, sweeping on in the march
of God — there he brews it, that beverage of life, health-
giving water ! And everywhere it is a thing of beauty ;
gleaming in the dew-drop ; singing in the summer rain ;
shining in the ice-gem, till the trees seem turned into living
jewels ; spreading a golden veil over the setting sun, or a
w^hite gauze over the midnight moon ; sporting in the cata-
ract, sleeping in the glacier, dancing in the hail-shower,
folding its bright snow-curtains softly above the wintry world,
and weaving the many-colored rainbow, that seraph's zone of
the sky, whose warp is the rain-drop of earth, whose woof
is the sunbeam of heaven, all checkered over with celestial
flowers by the mystic hand of refraction — still always it is
beautiful, that blessed cold water! No poison bubbles in its
brink ! Its foam brings no madness nor murder ! No blood
stains its limpid glass! Pale widows and starving orphans
shed no burning tears in its clear depths ! No drunkard's
shrieking ghost from the grave curses it in words of eternal
despair! But everywhere, diffusing all around, life, vigor,
and happiness, it is the purest emblem of the Water of Life,
of which, if a man drink, he shall never thirst. Speak
out, my friends; would you exchange it for the demon's
drink — alcohol?" A shout, like the roar of a tempest,
answered: "No!"

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 243

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE.

A LITERARY NIGHTMARE.

Will the reader please to cast his eye over the follow-
ing verses, and see if he can discover any thing harmful

in them?

" Conductor, when you receive a fare,
Punch in the presence of the passenjare !
A blue trip-slip for an eight-cent fare,
A buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare,
A pink trip-slip for a three-cent fare,
Punch in the presence of the passenjare !

CHORUS :

Punch, brothers, punch ! punch with care!
Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! "

I came across these jingling rhymes in a newspaper, a
little while ago, and read them a couple of times. They
took instant and entire possession of me. All through break-
fast they went waltzing through my brain ; and when, at last,
I rolled up my napkin, I could not tell whether I had eaten
any thing or not. I had carefully laid out my day's work
the day before — a thrilling tragedy in the novel which I am
writing. I went to my den to begin my deed of blood. I
took up my pen ; but all I could get it to say was, "Punch
in the presence of the passenjare." I fought hard for an
hour, but it was useless. My head kept humming, "A blue
trip-slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip-slip for a six-cent
fare," and so on and so on, without peace or respite. The
day's work was ruined ; I could see that plainly enough. I
gave up, and drifted down town, and presently discovered
that my feet were keeping time to that relentless jingle.
When I could stand it no longer I altered my step. But it
did no good; those rhymes accommodated themselves to the

244 ELOCUTION 4NP ORATORY.

new step, and went on harassing me just as before. I
returned home, and suffered all the afternoon ; suffered all
through an unconscious and unrefreshing dinner; suffered,
and cried, and jingled all through the evening ; went to bed
and rolled, tossed, and jingled right along, the same as ev^er;
got up at midnight, frantic, and tried to read ; but there was
nothing visible upon the whirling page except "Punch!
punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " By sunrise I was
out of my mind, and every body marveled and was distressed
at the idiotic burden of my ravings: "Punch! O, punch!
punch in the presence of the passenjare ! "

Two days later, on Saturday morning, I arose, a tottering
wreck, and went forth to fulfill an engagement with a valued

friend, the Rev. Mr. , to walk to the Talcott Tower, ten

miles distant. He stared at me, but asked no questions.

We started. Mr. talked, talked, talked, as is his wont.

I said nothing; I heard nothing. At the end of a mile,
Mr. said :

"Mark, are you sick? I never saw a man look so hag-
gard and worn and absent-minded. Say something; do!"

Drearily, without enthusiasm, I said: "Punch, brothers!
punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare!"

My friend eyed me blankly, looked perplexed, then said :

"I do not think I get your drift, Mark. There does
not seem to be any relevancy in what you have said — cer-
tainly nothing sad ; and yet — may be it was the way you
said the words — I never heard any thing that sounded so
pathetic. What is "

But I heard no more. I was already far away with my
pitiless, heart-breaking "blue trip-slip for an eight-cent fare,
buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare, pink trip-slip for a three-
cent fare ;^ punch in the presence of the passenjare." I do
not know what occurred during the other nine miles. How-
ever, all of a sudden, Mr. laid his hand on my shoulder

and shouted :

" O, wake up! wake up! wake up! Don't sleep all

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 245

day ! Here we are at the Tower, man ! I have talked
myself deaf, and dumb, and blind, and never got a re-
spouse. Just look at this magnificent autumn landscape !
Look at it ! look at it ! Feast your eyes on it ! You have
traveled ; you have seen boasted landscapes elsewhere.
Come, now, deliver an honest opinion. What do you say
to this?"

I sighed wearily, and murmured:

*'A buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip-slip for a
•i:hree-cent fare, punch in the presence of the passenjare."

Rev. Mr. stood there, very grave, full of concern

apparently, and looked long at me; then he said:

*'Mark, there is something about this that I can not
understand. Those are about the same words you said
before. There does not seem to be any thing in them, and
yet they nearly break my heart when you say them. Punch
in the — how is it they go?"

I began at the beginning and repeated all the lines. My
friend's face lighted with interest. He said :

*'Why, what a captivating jingle it is! It is almost
music, it flows along so nicely. I have nearly caught
the rhymes myself. Say them over just once more, and then
I'll have them, sure."

I said them over. Then Mr. said them. He mads

one little mistake, which I corrected. The next time, and
the next, he got them right. Now a great burden seemed
to tumble from my shoulders. That torturing jingle departed
out of my brain, and a grateful sense of rest and peace de-
scended upon me. I was light-hearted enough to sing ; and
I did sing for half an hour straight along, as we went jog-
ging homeward. Then my freed tongue found blessed speech
again, and the pent-up talk of many a weary hour began to
gush and flow. It flowed on and on, joyously, jubilantly,
until the fountain was empty and dry. As I wrung my
friend's hand at parting, I said :

"Haven't we had a royal good time! But now I

246 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

remember, you haven't said a word for two hours. Come,
come, out with something ! "

The Rev. Mr. turned a lack-luster eye upon me,

drew a deep sigh, and said, without animation, without
apparent consciousness:

"Punch, brothers! punch with care! Punch in the
presence of the passenjare ! "

A pang shot through me as I said to myself: '' Poor fel-
low, poor fellow ! he has got it now."

I did not see Mr. for two or three days after

that. Then, on Tuesday evening, he staggered into my
presence, and sank dejectedly into a seat. He was pale,
worn ; he was a wreck. He lifted his faded eyes to my face
and said :

"Ah, Mark, it was a ruinous investment that I made in
those heartless rhymes. They have ridden me like a night-
mare, day and night, hour after hour, to this very moment.
Since I saw you I have suffered the torments of the lost.
Saturday evening I had a sudden call by telegraph, and took
the night train for Boston. The occasion was the death of a
valued old friend, who had requested that I should preach
his funeral sermon. I took my seat in the cars and set
myself to framing the discourse. But I never got beyond
the opening paragraph ; for then the cars began their * clack-
clack-clack ! clack-clack-clack ! ' and right away those odious
rhymes fitted themselves to that accompaniment. For an
hour I sat there, and set a syllable of those rhymes to every
separate and distinct clack the car-wheels made. Why, I
was as fagged out then as if I had been chopping wood all
day. My skull was splitting with headache. It seemed to
me that I must go mad if I sat there any longer ; so I
undressed and went to bed. I stretched myself out in my
berth, and — well, you know what the result was. The thing
went right along, just the same. 'Clack-clack-clack, a blue
trip-slip, clack-clack-clack, for an eight-cent fare ; clack-
clack-clack, a buff trip-slip, clack-clack-clack, for a six-cent

^^ fare—

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 247

fare — and so on, and so on, and so on — ^unch in the presence
of the passenjare ! ' Sleep ? Not a single wink ! I was
almost a lunatic when I got to Boston. Do n't ask me about
the funeral. I did the best I could ; but every solemn indi-
vidual sentence was meshed and tangled and woven in and
out with 'Punch, brothers! punch with care! punch in the
presence of the passenjare.' And the most distressing thing
was tnat my delivery dropped into the undulating rhythm of
those pulsing rhymes, and I could actually catch absent-
minded people nodding time to the swing of it with their
stupid heads. And, Mark, you may believe it or not, but
before I got through, the entire assemblage were placidly
bobbing their heads in solemn unison, mourners, undertaker,
and all. The moment I had finished, I fled to the anteroom
in a state bordering on frenzy. Of course it would be my
luck to find a sorrowing and aged maiden aunt of the de-
ceased there, who had arrived from Springfield too late to
get into the church. She began to sob, and said :

" 'O, O, he is gone, he is gone; and I didn't see him
before he died ! '

** 'Yes !' I said, ' he is gone, he is gone, he is gone — O,
will this suffering never cease?'

You loved him then ! O, you, too, loved him ! '
O — him! Yes — O yes, yes. Certainly — certainly.
Punch — punch — O, this misery will kill me ! O, leave me,
madam ! In the name of all that is generous, leave me to
my madness, my misery, my despair ! — a buff trip-slip for a
six-cent fare, a pink trip-slip for a three-cent fare — punch
in the presence of the '"

Thus murmuring faint and fainter, my friend sank into
a peaceful trance, and forgot his sufferings in a blessed
respite.

How did I finally save him from the asylum ? I took
him to a neighboring university, and made him discharge
the burden of his persecuting rhymes into the eager ears of
the poor, unthinking students. How is it with them, now?

248 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

The result is too sad to tell. Why did I write this article?
It was for a worthy, even a Doble purpose. It was to warn
you, reader, if you should come across those merciless rhymes,
to avoid them — avoid them as you would a pestilence !

MARK TWAIN.

ARTBMUS WARD'S MORMON LECTURE.

ADAPTED.

I DO n't expect to do great things here ; but I have
thought that if I could make money enough to buy me a
passage to New Zealand I should feel that I had not lived
in vain.

I do n't want to live in vain. I 'd rather live in Chicago,
or here. But I wish when the Egyptians built this hall they
had given it a little more ventilation.

I really do n't care for money. I only travel round to
see the world and to exhibit my clothes. These clothes I
have on were a great success in Utah.

How often do large fortunes ruin young men ! I should
like to be ruined, but I can get on very well as I am.

I am not an artist, yet I have a passion for pictures. I
have had a great many pictures, photographs, taken of my-
self. Some of them are very pretty, rather sweet to look at
for a short time ; and, as I said before, I like them.

I could draw on wood at a very tender age. When a
mere child I once drew a small cart-load of raw turnips
over a wooden bridge. The people of the village noticed
me. I drew their attention. They said I had a future be-
fore me. Up to that time I had an idea it was behind me.

Time passed on. It always does, by the way. You may
possibly have noticed that tiifle passes on. It is a kind of
way time has.

I became a man. I have n't distinguished myself at all
as an artist, but I have always been more or less mixed up

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 249

with art. I have an uucle who takes photographs, and I
have a servant who takes any thing he c^n get his hands on.

When I was in Rome — Rome in New York State, I
mean — a distinguished sculpist wanted to sculp me. But I
said, *'No." I saw through the designing man.

Fond remembrance often makes me ask: ''Where are
the boys of my youth ? " I assure you this is not a conun-
drum. Some are amongst you here, some in America, some
are in jail.

Hence arises a most touching question, " Where are the
girls of my youth ? " Some are married — some would like to be.

0 my Maria ! Alas ! she married another. They fre-
quently do. I hope she is happy, because I am. Some
people are not happy. I have noticed that.

A gentleman friend of mine came to me one day with
tears in his eyes. I said: ''Why these weeps?" He said
he had a mortgage on his farm, and wanted to borrow two
hundred dollars. I lent him the money, and he went away.
Some time after, he returned with more tears. He said he
must leave me forever. I ventured to remind him of the
two hundred dollars he borrowed. He was much cut up.
I thought I would not be hard upon him, so told him I
would throw off one hundred dollars. He brightened, shook
my hand, and said: "Old friend, I won't allow you
to outdo me in liberality; I'll throw off the other hundred."

This story hasn't any thing to do with my lecture, I
know ; but one of the principal features of my lecture is
that it contains so many things that do n't have any thing
to do with it.

1 met a man in Oregon who had n't any teeth, not a
tooth in his head; yet that man could play on the bass-
drum better than any man I ever met. He kept a hotel.
They have queer hotels in Oregon. I remember one where
they gave me a bag of oats for a pillow. I had nightmares,
of course. In the morning the landlord said: "How do
you feel, old boss, hay?" I told him I felt my oats.

250 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

I went to Great Salt Lake City by way of California. I
went to California on the steamer Ariel.

When I reached the Ariel, at pier No. 4, New York, I
found the passengers in a state of great confusion about
their things, which were being thrown around by the ship's
porters in a manner at once damaging and idiotic. So great
was the excitement, ray fragile form was smashed this way,
and jammed that way, till finally I was shoved into a state-
room which was occupied by two middle-aged females, who
said: ** Base man, leave us; O, leave us!" I left them;
O, I left them !

I here introduce a great work of art. It is an oil paint-
ing, done in petroleum. It is by the Old Masters. It was
the last thing they did before dying. They did this, and
then they expired.

Some of the greatest artists in town come here every
morning before daylight wdth lanterns to look at it. They
say they never saw any thing like it before, and they hope
they never shall again.

When I first showed this picture in New York, the audi-
ence were so enthusiastic in their admiration of it that they
called for the artist ; and when he appeared, they threw brick-
bats at him.

The Overland Mail Coach is a den on wheels in which
we were crammed for ten days and ten nights. Those of
you who have been in the penitentiary, and stayed there
any length of time, as visitors, can realize how I felt.

The actors of the Mormon theater are all amateurs, who
charge nothing for their services.

You must know that very little money is taken at the
doors of their theaters. The Mormons mostly pay in grain
and all sorts of articles.

The night I gave my little lecture there, among my re-
ceipts were corn, flour, pork, cheese, chickens — on foot and
in the shell. One family went in on a live pig.

I dislike to speak about it, but it was in Utah that I

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 251

made the great speech of my life. I wish you could have
heard it. I have a fine education. Perhaps you may have
noticed it. I speak four different languages : Maine, New
York, California, and Pennsylvania. My parents sold a
cow, and sent me to college when I was quite young. I
wish you could have heard that speech, however. If Cicero —
he 's dead now ; he has gone from us — but if old Ciss could
have heard that effort, it would have given him the rinder-
pest. I'll tell you how it was. There were stationed in
Utah two regiments of United States troops, the 21st from
California, and the 37th from Nevada. The 21-sters asked
me to present a stand of colors to the 37-sters, and I did it
in a speech so abounding in eloquence that they came near
shooting me on the spot.

Brigham Young had two hundred wives. Just think of
that! Oblige me, ladies and gentlemen, by thinking of
that. That is, he had eighty actual wives, and was spiritu-
ally married to one hundred and twenty more.

So we may say he had two hundred wives. He loved
not wisely, but two hundred well. He was dreadfully
married. He was the most married man I ever saw in
my life.

I saw his mother-in-law while I was there. I can't ex-
actly tell you how many there is of her, but it 's a good deal.
It strikes me that one mother-in-law is about enough to
have in a family, unless you 're very fond of exci cement.

By the way, Shakespeare indorses polygamy. He speaks
of the Merry Wives of Windsor. How many wives did
Mr. Windsor have?

Brother Kimball is a gay and festive cuss of some sev-
enty summers, or some 'ers thereabout. He has one thou-
sand head of cattle and a hundred head of wives.

Mr. Kimball had a son, a lovely young man, who was
married to ten interesting wives. But one day, while he
was absent from home, these ten wives went out walking
with a handsome young man, which so enraged Mr. Kim-

252 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR F.

ball's son — which made Mr. Kimball's son so jealous — that
he shot himself with a horse-pistol.

The doctor who attended him, a very scientific man, in-
formed me that the bullet entered the inner parallelogram
of his diaphragmatic thorax, superinducing membranous
hemorrhage in the outer cuticle of his basiliconthamaturgist.
It killed him, I should have thought it would.

I hope his sad end will be a warning to all young wives
who go out walking with handsome young men.

Mr. Kimball's son is now no more. He sleeps, beneath
the Cyprus, the myrtle, and willow. He died by request.

I regret to say that efforts were made to make a Mormon
of me while I was in Utah. It was leap-year when I was
there, and seventeen young widows, the wives of a deceased
Mormon, offered me their hearts and hands. I called on
them one day, and taking their soft white hands in mine,
which made eighteen hands altogether, I found them in tears.

And I said : ' ' Why is this thus ! What is the reason of
this thusness?"

They hove a sigh — seventeen sighs of different size.
They said : " O, soon thou wilt be gonested away!"

I told them that when I got ready to leave a place I
wen tested.

They said: ''Doth not like us?"

I said: *'I doth, I doth ! "

I also said: "I hope your intentions are honorable, as
I am a lone child, my parents being far, far away."

They then said : " Wilt not marry us?"

I said : " O no ; it can not was."

Again they asked me to marry them, and again I de-
clined, when they cried: " O, cruel man! This is too
much ! O, too much ! "

I told them that it was on account of the muchness that
I declined.

I was told in my youth to seize opportunity. I once
tried to seize one. He was rich. He had diamonds on.

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 253

As I seized hira, he knocked me down. Since then I have
learned that he who seizes opportunity sees the penitentiary.
I will seize this opportunity to close my lecture.

ARTEMUS WARD.

PLATONIC LOVE.

I HAD sworn to be a bachelor; she had sworn to be a maid ;
For we quite agreed in doubting whether matrimony paid;
Besides we had our higher loves: fair science ruled my heart,
And she said her young affections were all wound up in art.

So we laughed at those wise men, who say that friendship can

not live
'Twixt man and woman, unless each has something more to give ;
We would be friends, and friends as true as e'er were man and man ;
I 'd be a second David, and she Miss Jonathan.

We scorned all sentimental trash — vows, kisses, tears, and sighs ;
High friendship, such as ours, might well such childish arts despise ;
We liked each other — that was all, quite all there was to say;
So we just shook hands upon it, in a business sort of way.

We shared our secrets and our joys, together hoped and feared ;
With common purpose sought the goal that young Ambition reared ;
We dreamed together of the days, the dream-bright days to come;
We were strictly confidential, and we called each other "chum."

And many a day we wandered together o'er the hills ;
I seeking bugs and butterflies, and she the ruined mills
And rustic bridges, and the like, that picture-makers prize
To run in with their waterfalls, and groves, and summer skies.

And many a quiet evening, in hours of silent ease,

We floated down the river, or strolled beneath the trees ;

And talked in long gradation, from the poets to the weather.

While the western skies and my cigar burned slowly out together.

Yet through it all no whispered word, no tell-tale glance or sigh,
Told aught of warmer sentiment than friendly sympathy ;
We talked of love as coolly as we talked of Nebula?,
And thought no more of being one than we did of being three.

254 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

" Well, good-bye, chum ! " I took her hand, for the time had come

to go ;
My going meant our parting — when to meet we did not know.
I had lingered long, and said farewell with a very heavy heart ;
For although we were but friends, 'tis hard for honest friends to

part.

"Good-bye, old fellow! don't forget your friends beyond the sea,
And some day, when you 've lots of time, drop a line or two to me."
The words came lightly, gayly ; but a great sob, just behind,
Welled upward with a story of quite a different kind.

And then she raised her eyes to mine— great liquid eyes of blue,
Filled to the brim and running o'er, like violet cups of dew ;
One long, long glance, and then I did, what I never did before ;
Perhaps the tears meant friendship, but I 'm sure the kiss meant
more. william b. terrett.

ARCHIE DEAN.

Would you laugh, or would you cry?
Would you break your heart and die,
If you had a dashing lover
Like my handsome Archie Dean,
Arid should go to Kittie Carrol,
Who has money, so they say —
And with eyes love-lilled as ever.
Win her heart, that 's like a feather, —
Prithee, tell me, would you cry,
And grow very sad and die ?

II.

Always, in the old romances
That dear Archie read to me,
There was always sure to be
One sweet maiden with a lover
Who was never, never true ;
And when they were widely parted,
Then she died, poor broken-hearted —
Say, would you, if you were me ?

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE 255

True,

Love him, love him, 0 how true !

But see, my eyes are bright.

And my lips and cheeks are red

(Archie Dean put that in my head),

And I do n't know what to do,

Whether to lie down and weep

Till the red is faded out.

And my eyes are dull and dim.

Maybe blind, and all for him

(I could do it, I 've no doubt) ;

Or loop up my pretty hair

With the brightest knots of ribbon,

And the very sweetest roses.

And go to the village fair,

Where he '11 be with Kittie Carrol,

And will see me dance the wildest

With some bonnie lad that 's there.

Just to show how much I care.

IV.

Archie Dean ! Archie Dean !

'T is the sweetest name I know.

It is writ on my heart, but o'er it now

Is drifting the cold snow.

Archie Dean! Archie Dean!

There 's a pain in my heart while I speak ;

I wonder if always the thought of your name

Will make me so saddened and weak.

Archie Dean! Archie Dean!

I remember that you said

Your name should be mine, and I should be

The happiest bride e'er wed.

I little thought of a day like this.

When I could wish I were dead.

But there goes the clock, the hour is near

When I must be off to the fair ;

I '11 go and dance and dance and dance

With the bonny lads who are there,

In my dress of blue with crimson sash,

Which he always liked to see.

256 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

I '11 whirl before him as fast as I can ;

I '11 laugh and chatter — yes, that is mj- plan —

And I know that before the morn

He '11 wish that Kittle Carrol had never been born

And if he should happen to get the chance

For saying how heartily sorry he is

For having been false to me he loves true,

I w on't hear a word that he says, would you ?

What you 'd better do, Jennie Marsh—
Break your heart for Archie Dean ?
Jennie Marsh ! Jennie Marsh !

Not a bit.
'T is the very thing he 's after.
He would say to Kittie Carrol,
With careless, mocking laughter,
Here 's a pretty little chick,
Who has died for love of me ;

Tis a pity !
But what is a man to do
When the girls beset him so?
If he gives a nosegay here ;
If he call another dear ;
If he warbles to a third

A love ditty, —
Why, the darling little innocents
Take it all to heart.

Alack-a-day !
Ah ! she was a pretty maiden ;
But really, when we parted —
Well she died for love of me,
Kittie Carrol. Do n't you see
You are giving him to Kittie
Just as sure as sure can be.
'T is the way he takes to woo her.
By slyly showing to her,
What a dashing, slashing beau is at her feet.
Now if I were a man,
Jennie Marsh ! Jennie Marsh!
If I only were a man

For a day—

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 257

(I 'ni a maiden, so I can 't
Always do just what I want) —
But if I were a. man, I 'd say,
Archie Dean, Go to thunder!
But Jennie, charming Jennie,

You 're a tender httle woman.
And I expect you '11 say that is

So shockingly inhuman ;
But when you 're at the f«r
Do n't flirt too far with honny lads,

Because, perhaps, you '11 rue it ;
And do not dance too merrily,

Because he may see through it ;
And do n't put on an air as if

You 're mortally offended ;
You '11 be a feather in his cap,

And then your game is ended.
And if, with Kittie on his arm.

You meet him on the green.
Do n't agonize your pretty mouth

With Mr. Arthur Dean;
But every throb of pride or love

Be sure to stifle,
As if your intercourse with him

Were but the merest trifle ;
And make believe, w-ith all your might,

You 'd not care a feather
For all the Carrols in the world.

And Archie Deans together.
Take this advice, and get him back.

My darling, if you can ;
But if you can 't — why, right about,

And take another man.

VI.

What I did.
I went to the fair wdth Charlie —

With ^landsome Charlie Green,
Who has loved me many a year,

And vowed his loving with a tear —
A tear of the heart, I mean.

But I never gave a smile to him
17

258 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Until to-night,
When full in sight

Of Kittle Carrol and Archie Dean.
Now Archie knows that Charlie has

A deal of money, and has lands,
And his wealth is little to him
Without my heart and hand.
So I smiled on Charlie,
And I danced with Charlie,
When I knew that Archie's eyes
Were fixed on me as in a trance.
And w^hen Archie came to me.
As 1 was sure he would,
Do you think I dropped my eyes,
With a glad surprise ?
No, no, indeed !
That would not do.
Straight I looked into his face,
With no broken-hearted grace.
O, he could not see my pain —
And I told him he must wait

A little while
Till I had danced with Charlie Green;

Then I cast a smile
On Harry Hill and Walter Brown.
He did not go to Kittle Carrol,
Who was sitting all alone,
Watching us with flashing eyes,
But he slowly turned away
To a corner in the dark.
And although my heart w^as aching,
And very nigh to breaking,

It was quite a bit of fun

Just to see him standing there
Watching me. O, Archie Dean,

What a picture of despair !
Why not hie to Kittle Carrol?

She has money, so they say,
And has held it out for lovers

Many and many a w^eary day.
She is rather plain I know^—
Crooked nose and reddish hair —

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 259

And her years are more than yours.
Archie Dean ! Archie Dean !
Hie away to Kittie Carrol ;

Ask her out to dance with you,
Or she '11 think that y^u are fickle

And your vows of love untrue,
And ma3'be you '11 get the initten ;

Then, ah then, what will you do ?

IV.

Well, he sighed at me, and I laughed at him,

As we danced away together.
He pressed my hand, but I heeded not,

And whirled off like a feather.
He whispered something about the past.

But I told him it was vain
For him to vow. I had no faith

To pledge with him again.
His voice was sad and thrilling and deep,

And my pride flew away,
And left me to weep,

And when he said he loved me most true,
And ever should love me,
'Yes, love only you," he said,
I could not help trusting Archie,

Say, could you? gail Hamilton

A NEW CURE FOR RHEUMATISM.

One day, not a great while ago, Mr. Middlerib read a
paragraph copied from a German paper, which is an ac-
cepted authority on such points, stating that the sting of a
bee was a sure cure for rheumatism, and citing several re-
markable instances in which people had been perfectly cured
by this abrupt remedy.

He read the article several times, and pondered over it.
He understood that the stinging must be done scientifically
and thoroughly. The bee, as he understood the article, was
to be gripped by the ears and set down upon the rheumatic

260 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

joint, and held there until it stung itself stingless. He had
some misgivings about the matter. He knew it would hurt.
He hardly thought it could hurt any worse than the rheu-
matism, and it had been so many years since he had been
stung by a bee that he had almost forgotten what it felt
like. He had, however, a general feeling that it would
hurt some. But desperate diseases required desperate reme-
dies, and Mr. Middlerib was willing to undergo any amount
of suffering if it would cure his rheumatism.

He contracted with Master Middlerib for a limited sup-
ply of bees. There were bees and bees, humming and buz-
zing about in the summer air, but Mr. Middlerib did not
know how to get them. He felt, however, that he could
safely depend upon the instincts and methods of boyhood.
He knew that if there was any way in heaven or earth
whereby the shyest bee that ever lifted a two hundred-
pound man off the clover, could be induced to enter a wide-
mouthed glass bottle, his son knew that way.

For the small sum of one dime Master Middlerib agreed
to procure several ; to wit, six bees, age not specified ; but
as Mr. Middlerib was left in uncertainty as to the race, it
was made obligatory upon the contractor to have three of
them honey, and three humble, or, in the generally accepted
vernacular, bumble bees. Mr. Middlerib did n/)t tell his son
what he wanted those bees for, and the boy went off on his
mission with his head so full of astonishment that it fairly
whirled. Evening brings all home, and the last rays of the
declining sun fell upon Master Middlerib with a short, wide-
mouthed bottle comfortably populated with hot, ill-natured
bees, and Mr. Middlerib, and a dime. The dime and the
bottle changed hands. Mr. Middlerib put the bottle in his
coat pocket, and went into the house, eying every body he
met very suspiciously, as though he had made up his mind
to sting to death the first person that said **bee" to him.
He confided his guilty secret to none of his family. He hid
his bees in his bedroom, and as he looked at them just

HUMORO US AND DELINEA TIVE. 261

before putting them away, he half wished the experiment was
safely over. He wished the imprisoned bees did n't look so
hot and cross. With exquisite care he submerged the bottle
in a basin of water, and let a few drops in on the heated in-
mates, to cool them off.

At the tea-table he had a great fright. Miss Middlerib,
in the artless simplicity of her romantie nature, said :

" I smell bees. How the odor brings up that article "

But her father glared at her, and said, with superfluous
harshness :

** Hush up ! You do n't smell bees."

Whereupon Mrs. Middlerib asked him if he had eaten
any thing that disagreed with him, and Miss Middlerib said :
" Why, pa!" and Master Middlerib smiled and said nothing.

Bed-time came at last, and the night was warm and sul-
try. Under various false pretenses, Mr. Middlerib strolled
about the house until every body else was in bed, and then
he sought his room. He turned the night-lamp down until
its feeble rays shone dimly as a death-light.

Mr. Middlerib disrobed slowly — very slowly. When at
last he was ready to go lumbering into his peaceful couch,
he heaved a profound sigh, so full of apprehension and grief
that Mrs. Middlerib, who was awakened by it, said if it gave
him so much pain to come to bed, perhaps he had better sit
up all night. Mr. Middlerib checked another sigh, but said
nothing, and crept into bed. After lying still a few moments,
he reached out and got his bottle of bees.

It was not an easy thing to do, to pick one bee out of a
bottle full, with his fingers, and not get into trouble. The
first bee Mr. Middlerib got was a little brown honey-bee that
would n't weigh half an ounce if you picked him up by the
ears, but if you lifted him by the leg, as Mr. Middlerib did,
would weigh considerable. Mr. Middlerib could not repress
a groan.

** What's the matter with you?" sleepily asked his wife.

It was very hard for Mr. Middlerib to say; he only

262 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

knew his temperature had risen to one hundred and ninety-
seven on the end of his thumb. He reversed the bee and
pressed the warlike terminus of it firmly against his rheu-
matic knee.

It did n't hurt so badly as he thought it would.

It did n't hurt at all !

Then Mr. Middlerib remembered that when the honey-
bee stabs a human foe, it generally leaves its harpoon in the
wound, and the invalid knew then the only thing the bee
had to sting with was doing its work at the end of his thumb.

He reached his arm out from under the sheet, and dropped
his disabled atom of rheumatism liniment on the carpet.
Then, after a second of blank wonder, he began to feel
around for the bottle, and wished he knew what he had done
with it.

In the meantime strange things had been going on.
When he caught hold of the first bee, Mr. Middlerib, for rea-
sons, drew it out in such haste that for the time he forgot all
about the bottle and its remedial contents, and left it lying
uncorked in the bed. In the darkness there had been a
quiet but general emigration from that bottle. The bees,
their wings clogged with the water Mr. Middlerib had poured
upon them to cool and tranquilize them, were crawling aim-
lessly about over the sheet. While Mr. Middlerib was feel-
ing around for it, his ears were suddenly thrilled and his
heart frozen by a wild, piercing scream from his wife.

Mr. Middlerib sat bolt upright in bed. His hair stood
on end. The night was very warm, but he turned to ice in
a minute.

*' Where, O, where," he said, with pallid lips, as he felt
all over the bed in frenzied haste, *' where in the world are
them confounded bees?"

And a large ''bumble," with a sting as pitiless as the
finger of scorn, just then alighted between Mr. Middlerib's
shoulders, and went for his marrow, and said calmly: " Here
is one of them,"

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 263

And Mrs. Middlerib felt ashamed of her feeble screams
when Mr. Middlerib threw up both arms, and with a howl
that made the windows rattle, roared :

"Take him off! O, land of Scott! somebody take
him off! "

And when a little honey-bee began tickling the sole of
Mrs. Middlerib's foot, she shrieked that the house was be-
witched, and immediately went into spasms.

The household was aroused by this time. Miss Middle-
rib, and Master Middlerib, and the servants, were pouring
into the room, adding to the general confusion, by howling
at random and asking irrelevant questions, while they gazed
at the figure of a man, a little on in years, pawing fiercely
at the unattainable spot in the middle of his back, while he
danced an unnatural, wicked-looking jig by the dim light
of the night-lamp. And while he danced and howled, and
while they gazed and shouted, a navy-blue wasp, that Master
Middlerib had put in the bottle for good measure and va-
riety, and to keep the menagerie stirred up, had dried his
legs and wings with a corner of the sheet, and after a pre-
liminary circle or two around the bed, to get up his motion
and settle down to a working gait, fired himself across the
room ; and to his dying day, Mr. Middlerib will always be-
lieve that one of the servants mistook him for a burglar and
shot him. No one, not even Mr. Middlerib himself, could doubt
that he was, at least for the time, most thoroughly cured of
rheumatism. His own boy could not have carried himself
more lightly or with greater agility. But the cure was not
permanent, and Mr. Middlerib does not like to talk about it.

R. J. BURDETTE. -

THE BORE.

Again I hear the creakijig step !

He 's rapping at the door !
Too well I know the boding sound

That ushers in a bore,

264 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y.

I do not tremble when I meet
The stoutest of my foes ;

But Heaven defend me from the friend
Who comes, but never goes.

He drops into my easy-chair,

And asks about the news ;
He peers into my manuscript,

And gives his candid views.
He tells me where he likes the line.

And where he 's forced to grieve ;
He takes the strangest libqrties.

But never takes— his leave.

He reads my daily papers through

Before I 've seen a word ;
He scans the lyric that I wrote

And thinks it quite absurd.
He calmly smokes my best cigar.

And coolly asks for more ;
He opens every thing he sees,

Except — the entry door.

He talks about his fragile health.

And tells me of his pains;
He suffers from a score of ills

Of which he ne'er complains ;
And how he struggled once with death

To keep the fiend at bay.
On themes like those away he goes.

But never goes — away !

He tells me of the captious words,

Some shallow critic wrote.
And every precious paragraph

Familiarly can quote.
He thinks the writer did me wrong.

He 'd like to run him through !
He says a thousand pleasant things.

But never says — adieu.

Whene'er he comes, that dreadful man,

Disguise it as I may,
I know that like an autumn rain.

He '11 last throughout the day.

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 265

In vain I speak of urgent tasks,

In vain I scowl and pont ;
A frown is no extinguisher,

It does not — put him out.

I mean to take the knocker off,

Put crape upon the door.
Or hint to John that 1 am gone

To stay a month or more.
I do not tremble when I meet

The stoutest of my foes ;
But Heaven defend me from the friend

Who never, never goes! j. g. saxe.

RIDING ON THE RAIL.

Singing through the forests, rattling over ridges,
Shooting under arches, rumbling over bridges,
Whizzing through the mountains, buzzing o'er the vale,-
Bless me ! this is pleasant, riding on the rail !

Men of different stations in the eye of Fame,
Here are very quickly coming to the same ;
High and lowly people, birds of every feather,
On a common level, traveling together !

Gentlemen in shorts, blooming very tall ;
Gentlemen at large, talking very small ;
Gentlemen in tights, with a loosish mien';
Gentlemen in gray, looking very green !

Gentlemen quite old, asking for the news ;
Gentlemen in black, with a fit of blues ;
Gentlemen in claret, sober as a vicar ;
Gentlemen in tweed, dreadfully in liquor !

Stranger on the right looking very sunny,
Obviously reading something very funny.
Now the smiles are thicker — wonder what they mean?
Faith, he 's got the Knickerbocker Magazine !

Stranger on the left, closing up his peepers ;
Now he snores amain, like the Seven Sleepers ;
At his feet a volume gives the explanation,
How the man grew stupid from " association ! "
23

266 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Ancient maiden lady anxiously remarks
That there must be peril 'mong so many sparks ;
Roguish-looking fellow, turning to the stranger,
Says 't is his opinion she is out of danger !

AVoman with her baby, sitting vis a vis ;
Baby keeps a-squalling, woman looks at me ;
Asks about the distance — says 'tis tiresome talking,
Noises of the cars are so very shocking !

Market woman, careful of the precious casket,
Knowing eggs are eggs, tightly holds her basket ;
Feeling that a smash, if it came, would surely
Send her eggs to pot rather prematurely.

Singing through the forests, rattling over ridges.
Shooting under arches, rumbling over bridges.
Whizzing through the mountains, buzzing o'er the vale.
Bless me! this is pleasant, riding on the rail!

JOHN G. SAXE.

SONGS OF THK NIGHT.

It was the Cedar Rapids sleeper. Outside it was as dark
as the inside of an ink-bottle. lo the sleeping-car people
slept. Or tried it.

Some of them slept like Christian men and women,
peacefully, sweetly, and quietly.

Others slept like demons, malignantly, hideously, fiend-
ishly, as though it was their mission to keep every body else
awake.

Of these the man in lower number three was the worst.

We never heard any thing snore like him. It was the
most systematic snoring that was ever done, even on one of
these tournaments of snoring, a sleeping-car. He didn't
begin as soon as the lamps were turned down and every
body was in bed. O no! There was more cold-blooded
diabolism in his system than that. He waited until every
body had had a taste of sleep, just to see how nice and
pleasant it was; and then he broke in on their slumbers

HUMORO US AND DELINEA TI VE. 267

like a winged, breathing demon, and they never knew what
peace was again that night.

He started out with a terrific "G-r-r-rt!" that opened
every eye in the car. We all hoped it was an accident,
however ; and trusting that he would n't do it again, we all
forgave him. Then he blasted our hopes and curdled the
sweet serenity of our forgiveness by a long-drawn " Gw-a-
h-h-hah ! " that sounded too much like business to be ac-
cidental. Then every head in that sleepless sleeper was
held off the pillow for a minute, waiting in breathless sus-
pense to hear the .worst; and the sleeper in ** lower three"
went on in long-drawn, regular cadences, that indicated
good staying qualities, '*Gwa-a-a-h! Gwa-a-a-a-h! Gah way-
way! Gahwaywah ! Gahwa-a-ah ! "

Evidently it was going to last all night ; and the weary
heads dropped back on the sleepless pillows, and the swear-
ing began. It mumbled along in low, muttering tones, like
the distant echoes of a profane thunder-storm. Pretty soon
"lower three" gave us a little variation. He shot off a
spiteful "Gwook! " which sounded as though his nose had
got angry at him, and was going to strike. Then there was
a pause, and we began to hope he had either awakened from
sleep or strangled to death; nobody cared very particularly
which. But he disappointed every body with a guttural
''Gurchoch!"

Then he paused again for breath, and when he had ac-
cumulated enough for his purpose he resumed business with
a stentorious " Kowpf ! "

He ran through all the ranges of the nasal gamut ; he
went up and down a very chromatic scale ^of snores ; he ran
through intricate and fearful variations, until it seemed that
his nose must be out of joint in a thousand places. All
the night, and all night through, he told his story.

"Gawoh! gurrah! g-r-r-r ! Kowpff! Gaw-aw-wah ! gaw-
alihah ! gwock ! gwarrt! gwah-h-h-11-whoof ! "

Just as the other passengers had consulted together how

268 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

they might slay him, moruing dawned, and ** lower number
three " awoke. Every body watched the curtain to see what
manner of man it was that had made that beautiful sleep-
ing-car a pandemonium. Presently the toilet was com-
pleted, the curtains parted, and "lower number three"
stood revealed.

Great guns ! It was a fair young girl with golden hair,
and timid, pleading eyes, like a hunted fawn's.

BURLINGTON HAWKEYE.

SAM'S LETTER.

I WONDER who w-wote me this letter. I thuppose the b-best
way to f-find out ith to open it and thee. {Opens letter.)
Thome lun-lunatic hath w-witten me this letter. He hath
w-witten it upthide down. I wonder if he th-thought I
wath going to w-wead it sthanding on my head. 0, yeth,
I thee ; I had it t-t-turned upthide down. '* Amewica."
Who do I know in Amewica? I am glad he hath g-given
me hith addwess anyhow. O, yeth, I thee, it ith from
Tham. I alwaths know Tham's handwiting when I thee hith
name at the b-bottom of it. '*My dear bwother — " Tham
alwayths called me bwother. I-I thuppose iths because hith
m-mother and my mother wath the thame woman, and we
never had any thisters. When we were boyths we were
ladths together. They used to ge-get off a pwoverb when
they thaw uth com-coming down the stweet. It ith vewy
good, if I could only think of it. I can never wecoUect
any thing that I can 't we-wemember. Iths — it iths the early
bir-bird — iths the early bir-bird that knowths iths own
father. What non-nonthense that iths! How co-could a
bir-bird know iths own father? Iths a withe — iths a withe
child — iths a withe child that geths the wom. T-that's not
wite. What non-nonthense that iths ! No pa-pawent would
allow hiths child to ga-gather woms. Iths a wyme. Iths
fish of-of a feather. Fish of a fea — What non-nonthense I

HUMORO US AND DELINEA Tl VE. 269

for fish do n't have feathers. Iths a bir-bird — iths b-birds of
a feather — b-birds of a feather flock together. B-birds of a
feather! Just as if a who-who-whole flock of b-birds had
only one f-feather. They'd all catch cold, and only one
b-bird c-could have that f-feather, and he'd fly sidewithse.
What con-confounded nonthense that iths ! Flock to-to-
gether! Of courthse th-they'd flock together. Who ever
her-heard of a bird being such a f-fool as to g-go into a
c-corner and flo-flock by himself? "I wo-wote you a letter
thome time ago — " Thath 's a lie ; he d-did n't wi-wite me
a letter. If he had witten me a letter he would have posted
it, and I would have g-got it ; so, of courthse, he did n't post
it, and then he did n't wite it. Thath 's easy. O, yeths, I
thee : *' but I dwopped it into the poth-potht-office forgetting
to diwect it." I wonder who the d-dic-dickens got that letter.
I wonder if the poth-pothman iths gwoin' awound inquiring
for a f-fellow without a name. I wonder if there iths any
fel-fellow without any name. If there iths any fel-fellow
without any name, how doeths he know who he iths him-
thelf? I-I wonder if thuch a fellow could get mawaid. How
could he ask hiths wife to take hiths name if he h-had no
name ? Thath's one of thothse things no fellow can f-find
out. " I have just made a startling dithcovery." Tham's
alwayths d-doiug thom thing. " I have dithcovered that my
mother iths — that m-my mother iths not my m-mother ;
that a — the old nurse is my m-mother, and that you are not
my b-bwother, and a — tha-that I was changed at my birth."
How c-can a fellow be changed at hith b-birth ? If he iths
not himthelf, who iths he ? If Tham's m-mother is not hith
m-mother, and the nurthse iths hith mother, and Tham
ith n't my bwother, who ami? That's one of thothse
things that no fel-fellow can find out. ** I have p-purchased
an ethstate som-where — " Doth n't the id-idiot know
wh-where h-he has bouth it? O, yeths : " on the bankths of
the M-M-Mithithippi." B-Bankths of the M-Mithithippi I
The B-Bauk of the M-Mithithippi must be vewy accommo-

270 ELOCUTION AND ORA TORY.

datiug or it would n't let Tham have the money to buy bia
estate with.

** I am mawied" — I thuppose it was his m-mother-in-law's
bank that let Tham have the money to b-buy his estate with.
So Tham 's got a wife ! Tham always wath lucky gettin' things
he hadn't any uthe for. *' We w-went away on a stearaah
acwoth the ocean on our w-weddiug*twip, and we got wecked,
and w-were catht away on a waft, and we floated awound
with our feet hanging in the watah, and other amuthements,
living on such things as we c-could pick up — tharde'nes,
oysters, ice cweam, owanges, and other canned goods that
were floating awound. When that was all gone we w-went
back to our estate on the M-Mithithippi and lived on that."
What nonthense ! How could he get ice cweam on a w-waft
in the m-middle of the ocean! In cans? "I am stuck" —
Bwother Tham 's g-gone ! Bwother Tham 's no more ! "lam
stuck on the farm " — Why in the Duthe did n't he thay it
all on the thame page ?

(remodeled and arranged for recitation by VIRGIL A. PINKLEY.)

THE OWL CRITIC.

" Who stuffed that white owl ! " No one spoke in the shop.
The barber was busy, and he could n't stop ;
The customers, waiting their turn, were all reading
The Daily, the Herald, the Post, little heeding
The young man who blurted out such a blunt question,
Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion ;
And the barber kept on shaving.

" Do n't you see, Mister Brown," cried the youth with a frown,

'* How wrong the whole thing is, how preposterous each wing isj

How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is;

In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis!

I make no apology ; I 've learned owl-eology,

I 've passed-days and nights in a hundred collections,

And can not be blinded to any deflections

Arising from unskillful fingers that fail

To stuff" a bird rightrfrom his beak to his tail.

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 271

Mr. Brown ! Mr. Brown ! Do take that bird down,
Or you '11 soon be the laughing-stock all over town ! "
And the barber kept on shaving.

" I 've studied owls and other night fowls,
And I '11 tell you what I know to be true :
An owl can not roost with his limbs so unloosed.
No owl in the world ever had his claws curled,
Ever had his legs slanted, ever had his bill canted,
Ever had his neck screwed into that attitude —
Can 't do it, because 't is against all bird laws.
Anatomy teaches, ornithology preaches.
An owl has a toe that can H turn out so !
I've made the white owl my study for years.
And to see such a job almost moves me to tears !
Mister Brown, I 'm amazed you should be so gone crazed
As to put up a bird in that posture absurd !
To look at that owl really brings on a dizziness ;
The man who stuffed him do n't half know his business! "
And the barber kept on shaving.

" Examine those eyes ; I 'm filled with surprise
Taxidermists should pass oflT on you such poor glass ;
So unnatural they seem, they 'd make Audubon scream,
And John Burroughs laugh, to encounter such chaflf.
Do take that bird down, have him stuffed again. Brown ! "
And the barber kept on shaving.

" With some saw-dust and bark, I could stuff in the dark
An owl better than that. I could make an old hat
Look more like an owl than that horrid fowl,
Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather;
In fact, about him there 's not one natural feather."

Just then with a wink and a sly, normal lurch.
The owl very gravely got down from the perch,
Walked round and regarded his fault-finding critic
(Who thought he w^as stuffed) with a glance analytic,
And then fairly hooted, as if he should say :
"Your learning's at fault this time any way;
Do n't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.
I 'm an owl ; you 're another. Sir Critic, good-day ! "
And the barber kept on shaving.

JAMES T. FIELDS.

272 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

PYRAMUS AND THISBE.

This tragical tale, which they say is a true one,

Is old ; but the manner is wholly a new one.

One Ovid, a writer of some reputation,

Has told it before in a tedious narration ;

In a style, to be sure, of remarkable fullness.

But which nobody reads on account of its dullness.

Young Peter Pyramus — I call him Peter,
Not for the sake of the rhyme or the meter,
But merely to make the name completer —
For Peter lived in the olden times.
And in one of the worst of pagan climes
That flourish now in classical fame,
Long before either noble or boor
Had such a thing as a Christian name.
Young Peter, then, was a nice young beau
As any young lady would wish to know ;
In years, I ween, he was rather green ;
That is to say, he was just eighteen —
A trifle too short, a shaving too lean.
But " a nice young man " as ever was seen,
And fit to dance with a May-day queen !

Now Peter loved a beautiful girl

As ever ensnared the heart of an earl

In the magical trap of an auburn curl —

A little Miss Thisbe, who lived next door

(They slept, in fact, on the very same floor,

With a wall between them, and nothing more—

Those double dwellings were common of yore),

And they loved each other, the legends say.

In that very beautiful, bountiful way,

That every young maid and every young blade

Are wont to do before they grow staid,

And learn to love by the laws of trade ;

But (alack-a-day, for the girl and boy ! )

A little impediment checked their joy.

And gave them awhile the deepest annoy ;

For some good reason, which history cloaks,

The match did n't happen to please the old folks !

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 273

So Thisbe's father and Peter's mother

Began the young couple to worry and bother,

And tried their innocent passion to smother,

By keeping the lovers from seeing each other!

But who ever heard of a marriage deterred,

Or even deferred,

By any contrivance so very absurd

As scolding the boy and caging the bird?

Now Peter, who was n't discouraged at all

By obstacles such as the timid appall,

Contrived to discover a hole in the wall,

Which was n't so thick, but removing a brick

Made a passage — though rather provokingly small.

Through this little chink the lover could greet her.

And secrecy made their courting the sweeter.

While Peter kissed Thisbe, and Thisbe kissed Peter —

For kisses, like folks with diminutive souls,

Will manage to creep through the smallest of holes !

'T was here that the lovers, intent upon love.

Made a nice little plot to meet at a spot,

Near a mulberry-tree, in a neighboring grove ;

For the plan was all laid by the youth and the maid.

Whose hearts, it would seem, were uncommonly bold ones,

To run off and get married in spite of the old ones.

In the shadows of evening, as still as a mouse.

The beautiful maiden slipped out of the house,

The mulberry-tree impatient to find;

While Peter, the vigilant matrons to blind,

Strolled leisurely out, some minutes behind.

While waiting alone by the trysting-tree,

A terrible lion, as e'er j^ou set eye on,

Came roaring along quite horrid to see,

And caused the young maiden in terror to flee,

(A lion 's a creature whose regular trade is

Blood — and "a terrible thing among ladies,")

And losing her veil, as she ran from the wood,

The monster bedabbled it over with blood.

Now Peter arriving, and seeing the veil
All covered o'er and reeking with gore.
Turned, all of a sudden, exceedingly pale.
And sat himself down to weep and to wail—
18

274 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

For, soon as he saw the garment, poor Peter

Made up his mind in very short meter

That Thisbe was dead, and the Hon had eat her!

So breathing a prayer, he determined to share

The fate of his darhng, "the loved and the lost,"

And fell on his dagger, and gave up the ghost !

Now Thisbe returning, and viewing her beau

Lying dead by her veil (which she happened to know),

She guessed in a moment the cause of his erring ;

And, seizing the knife that had taken his life.

In less than a jiffy was dead as a herring.

J. Q. SAXE.

UNCI.E TOM AND THE HORNETS.

There is an old woman on Catharine Street who de-
lights to find a case that all the doctors have failed to cure,
and then go to work with herbs, and roots, and strange
things, and try to effect at least an improvement. A few
days ago she got hold of a girl with a stiff neck, and she of-
fered an old negro named Uncle Tom Kelly fifty cents to go
to the woods and bring her a hornet's nest. This was to be
steeped in vinegar, and applied to the neck. The old man
spent several days along the Holden Road, and yesterday
morning he secured his prize and brought it home in a bas-
ket. When he reached the Central Market he had a few
little purchases to make, and after getting some tea at a
grocery, he placed his basket on a barrel near the stove, and
went out to look for a beef-bone.

It was a dull day for trade. The grocer sat by the
stove, rubbing his bald head. His clerk stood at the desk,
balancing accounts; and three or four men lounged around,
talking about the new party that is to be founded on the
ruins of Democracy. It was a serene hour. One hundred
and fifty hornets had gone to roost in that nest for the win-
ter. The genial atmosphere began to limber them up. One
old veteran opened his eyes, rubbed his legs, and said it was

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 275

the shortest winter he had ever known in all his hornet
days. A second shook off his lethargy and seconded the
motion, and in five minutes the whole nest was alive, and
its owners were ready to sail out and investigate. You
do n't have to hit a hornet with the broad side of an ax to
make him mad. He 's mad all over all the time, and he
does n't care a picayune whether he tackles a humming-
bird or an elephant.

The grocer was telling one of the men that he and
General Grant were boys together, when he gave a sudden
start of surprise. This was followed by several other starts.
Then he jumped over a barrel of sugar, and yelled like a
Pawnee. Some smiled, thinking he was after a funny
climax ; but it was only a minute before a solemn old
farmer jumped three feet high and came down to roll over
a job-lot of washboards. Then the clerk ducked his head
and made a rush for the door. He did n't get there. One
of the other men, who had been looking up and down to
see what could be the matter, felt suddenly called upon to
go home. He was going at the rate of forty miles an
hour, when he collided with the clerk, and they rolled on
the floor. There was no use to tell the people in that
store to move on. They could n't tarry to save 'em. They
all felt that the rent was too high, and that they must vacate
the premises. A yell over by the cheese-box was answered
by a war-whoop from the show-case. A howl from the
kerosene barrel, near the back door, was answered by wild
gestures around the show-window.

The crowd went out together. Uncle Tom was just
coming in with his beef-bone. The old man laid around
in the slush until every body had stepped on him all they
wanted to, and then he sat up and asked : " Hev dey got
de fiah all put out yit ? "

Some of the hornets sailed out doors to fall by the way-
side, and others waited around on top of barrels, and bas-
kets, and jars, to be slaughtered. It was half an hour

276 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

before the last one was disposed of, and then Uncle Tom
walked in, picked up the nest, and said :

" Mebbe dis will cure de stiffness in dat gal's neck, jist
de same, but I tell you I 'ze got banged, an' bumped, an' sot
down on 'till it will take a hull medical college all winter
long to git me so I kin jump off a street kyar ! "

DETROIT FREE PRESS.

SHE WOULD BE A MASON.

The funniest thing I ever heard,
The funniest thing that ever occurred,
Is the story of Mrs. Mehitable Byrde,
Who wanted to be a Mason.

Her husband, Tom Byrde, a Mason true —
As good a Mason as any of you ;
He is tyler of Lodge Cerulean Blu3,
And tyles and delivers the summons due —
And she wanted to be a Mason, too,
This ridiculous Mrs. Byrde.

She followed round, this inquisitive wife.

And nagged him and teased him half out of his life;

So to terminate this unhallowed strife,

He consented at lasi to admit her.
And first, to disguise her from bonnet and shoon.
This ridiculous lady agreed to put on
His breech — ah ! forgive me — I meant pantaloons ;

And miraculously did they fit her.

The lodge was at work on the Master's degree,
The light was ablaze on the letter C ;
High soared the pillars J and B.
The officers sat like Solomon, wise ;
The brimstone burned amid horrible cries ;
The goat roamed wildly through the room ;
The candidate begged them to let him go home;
And the devil himself stood up at the east.
As broad as an alderman at a feast.
When in came Mrs. Byrde.

HUMORO US AND DELINK A TIVE. 277

O, horrible sounds! O, horrible sight!

Can it be that IMasons take delight

In spending thus the hours of night ?

Ah ! could their wives and daughters know

The unutterable things they say and do,

Their feminine hearts would burst with woe !

But this is not all my story.
Those Masons joined in a hideous ring,
The candidate howling like every thing,
And thus in tones of death they sing

(The candidate's name was Morey) :
" Double, double, toil and trouble.
Fire burn and cauldron bubble ;
Blood to drink and bones to crack,
Skulls to smash and lives to take.
Hearts to crush and souls to burn ;
Give old Morey another turn ! "

The brimstone gleamed in lurid flame,
Just like a place we will not name ;
Good angels, that inquiring came
From blissful courts, looked on with shame

And tearful melancholy.
Again they dance, but twice as bad,
They jump and sing like demons mad;

The tune is far from jolly:
" Double, double, toil and trouble.
Fire burn and cauldron bubble ;
Blood to drink and bones to crack.
Skulls to smash and lives to take.
Hearts to crush and souls to burn ;
Give old Morey another turn ! "

Trembling with horror stood Mrs. Byrde,
Unable to speak a single word.
She staggered and fejl in the nearest chair.
On the left of the junior warden there.
And scarcely noticed, so loud the groans,
That the chair was made of human bones.
Of human bones ! On grinning skulls
That ghastly throne of horror rolls ;
Those skulls, the skulls that Morgan bore;
Those bones, the bones that Morgan wore.

278 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

His scalp across the top was flung,
His teeth around the arms were strung.
Never in all romance was known
Such uses made of human bone.

There came a pause— a pair of paws
Reached through the floor, up sliding-doors,
And grabbed the unhappy candidate !
How can I, without tears, relate
The lost and ruined Morey's fate?
She saw him sink in a fiery hole,
She heard him scream, " My soul ! My soul !
While roars of fiendish laughter roll,

And, drown the yells for mercy :
" Double, double toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble ;
Blood to drink and bones to crack,
Skulls to smash and lives to take.
Hearts to crush and souls to burn ;
Give old Morey another turn ! "

The ridiculous woman could stand no more,
She fainted and fell on the checkered floor,
'Midst all the diabolical roar.
What then, you ask me, did befall
Mehitable Byrde ? Why, nothing at all-
She dreamed she had been in a Mason's hall.

JAMES L. LAUGHTON.

NICODBMUS DODGE.

When I was a boy in a printing-office in Missouri, a
loose-jointed, long-legged, tow-headed, jeans-clad, countrified
cub of about sixteen lounged in one day, and without re-
moving his hands from the depths of his trowsers pockets
or taking off his faded ruin of a slouch hat, whose broken
rim hung limp and ragged about his eyes and ears like a
cabbage-leaf, stared indiflferently around, then leaned his hip
against the editor's table, crossed his mighty brogans, aimed
at a distant fly from a crevice in his upper teeth, laid him
low, and said, with composure:

''Whar's the boss?"

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 279

*'I am the boss," said the editor, following this curious
bit of architecture wonderingly along up to his clock-face
with his eye.

" Don't want anybody fur to learn the business, 't ain't
likely?"

"Well, I don't know. Would you like to learn it?"

" Pap 's so po' he cai n't run me no mo', so I want to git
a show somers if I kin, 't ain't no difFunce what; I'm
strong and hearty, and I do n't turn my back on no kind of
work, hard nur soft."

"Do you think you would like to learn the printing
business ? "

"Well, I don't re'ly k'yer what I do learn, so's I git
a chance fur to make my way. I'd jist as soon learn
print'n 's any thing."

"Can you read?"

"Yes; middlin'."

"Write?"

" Well, I've seed people could lay over me thar."

"Cipher?"

" Not good enough to keep store, I do n't reckon ; but to
as far as twelve times twelve I ain't no slouch. T' other side
of that is what gits me."

"Where is your home?"

"I'm f m old Shelby."

"What's your father's religious denomination?"

"Him? O, he's a blacksmith."

" No, no. I don't mean his trade. What's his religious
denomination ? "

" O, I did n't understand you befo'. He's a Freemason."

" No, no ; you do n't get my meaning yet. What I mean
is, does he belong to any Church?"

" Now you 're talkin' ! Could n't make out what you was
a tryin' to git through yo' head no way. B'long to a Church !
Why, boss, he 's ben the pizenest kind of a Free-will Baptis'
for forty year. They ain'j; no pizener ones 'n what he is.

280 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Mighty good man, pap is. Every body says that. If they
said any diifruut they would n't say it whar I wuz ; not much
they wouldn't."

"What is your own religion?"

''Well, boss, you've kind o' got me thar, and yit you
hain't got me so mighty much nuther. I think 't if a feller
he'ps another feller when he's in trouble, and don't cuss,
and don't do no mean things nur nothin' he ain't no busi-
ness to do, he aint runnin' no resks; he's about as saift as
if he b'longed to a Church."

"But suppose he did do mean things, what then?"

"Well, if he done 'em a purpose, I reckon he wouldn't
stand no chance; he oughtn't to have no chance, any way,
I'm most certain sure 'bout that."

"What is your name?"

" Nicodemus Dodge.''

"I think maybe you'll do, Nicodemus. We'll give you
a trial, any way."

"All right."

"When would you like to begin?"

"Now."

So within ten minutes after we had first glimpsed this
nondescript he was one of us, and with his coat off and
hard at it.

Beyond that end of our establishment which was furthest
from the street was a deserted garden, pathless, and thickly,
grown with the bloomy and villainous "jimpson" weed and
its common friend, the stately sunflower. In the midst of
this mournful spot was a decayed and aged little frame
house, with but one room, one window, and no ceihng ; it
had been a smoke-house a generation before. Nicodemus
was given this lonely and ghostly den as a bed-chamber.

The village smarties recognized a treasure in Nicodemus
right away — a butt to play jokes on. It was easy to see that
he was inconceivably green and confiding. George Jones
had the glory of perpetrating the, first joke on him; he gave

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 281

him a cigar with a fire-cracker in it, and winked to the
crowd to come. The thing exploded presently, and swept
away the bulk of Nicodemus's eyebrows and eyelashes. He
simply said :

"I consider them kind of seeg'yars dangersome," and
seemed to suspect nothing. The next evening Nicodemus
waylaid George, and poured a bucket of ice-water over him.

One day, while Nicodemus w^as in swimming, Tom
McEh'oy "tied" his clothes. Nicodemus made a bonfire
of Tom's, by w^ay of retaliation.

A third joke was played upon Nicodemus a day or two
later. He walked up the middle aisle of the village Church
Sunday night with a staring hand-bill pinned between his
shoulders. The joker spent the remainder of the night,
after church, in the cellar of a deserted house ; and Nico-
demus sat on the cellar door till toward breakfast time, to
make sure that the prisoner remembered that if any noise
were made some rough treatment would be the consequence.
The cellar had two feet of stagnant water in it, and was
bottomed with six inches of soft mud.

Before a very long time had elapsed, the village smarties
began to feel an uncomfortable consciousness of not having
made a very shining success . out of their attempts on the
simpleton from ''old Shelby." Experimenters grew scarce
and chary. Now the young doctor came to the rescue.
There was delight and applause when he proposed to scare
Nicodemus to death, and explained how he was going to
do it. He had a noble, new skeleton — the skeleton of the
late and only local celebrity, Jimmy Finn, the village
drunkard ; a grisly piece of property which he had bought
of Jimmy Finn himself, at auction, for fifty dollars, under
great competition, when Jimmy lay very sick in the tan-
yard, a fortnight before his death. The fifty dollars had
gone promptly for whisky, and had considerably hurried up
the change of ownership in the skeleton. The doctor would
put Jimmy Finn^s skeleton in Nicodemus's bed. This was

282 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y.

done about half-past ten in the evening. About Nicodemus's
usual bed-time — midnight — the village jokers came creeping
stealthily through the jimpson-weeds and sunflowers toward
the lonely frame den. They reached the window, and
peeped in. There sat the long-legged pauper on his bed,
dangling his legs contentedly back and forth, and wheezing
the music of " Camptown Races" out of a paper-overlaid
comb, which he wae pressing against his mouth. By him lay
a new jewsharp, a new top, a solid India-rubber ball, a hand-
ful of painted marbles, five pounds of "store" candy, and
a well-gnawed slab of gingerbread as big and as thick as a
volume of sheet music. He had sold the skeleton to a trav-
eling quack for three dollars, and was enjoying the result.

MARK TWAIN.

GUESSING NATIONAI.ITIKS.

As Harris and I sat, one morning, at one of the small
round tables of the great Hotel Schweitzerhof in Lucerne,
watching the crowd of people, coming, going, or breakfasting,
and at the same time endeavoring to guess where such and
such a party came from, I said:

"There is an American party."

"Yes; but name the State."

I named one State, he named another. We agreed upon
one thing, however ; that the young girl with the party was
very beautiful and very tastefully dressed. But we disagreed
as to her age. I said she was eighteen ; Harris said she was
twenty. The dispute between us waxed warm, and I finally
said, with a pretense of being in earnest :

"Well, there is one way to settle the matter; I will go
and ask her."

Harris said, sarcastically: "Certainly; that is the thing
to do. All you need to do is to use the common formula
over here : go and say, ' I am an American ! ' Of course she
will be glad to see you."

HUMOROUS AND DELINK A Tl VE. 283

Then he hinted that perhaps there was no great danerer
of my venturing to speak to her.

I said : *' I was only talking ; I did n't intend to approach
her, but I see that you do not know what an intrepid person
I am. I am not afraid of any woman that walks. I will
go and speak to this young girl."

The thing I had in mind was not difficult. I meant to
address her in the most respectful way, and ask her to pardon
me if her strong resemblance to a former acquaintance of
mine was deceiving me ; and when she should reply that the
name I mentioned was not the name she bore, I meant to
beg pardon again, most respectfully, and retire. There would
be no harm done. I walked to her table, bowed to the gen-
tleman, then turned to her, and was about to begin my little
speech, when she exclaimed : "I knew I wasn't mistaken ; I
told John it was you ! John said it probably was n't, but I
knew I was right. I said you would recognize me presently
and come over; and I'm glad you did, for I shouldn't have
felt much flattered if you had gone out of this room without
recognizing me. Sit down, sit down. How odd it is! you
are the last person I was ever expecting to see again."

This was a stupefying surprise. It took my wits clear
away, for an instant. However, we shook hands cordially
all around, and sat down. But truly this was the tightest
place I ever was in. I seemed to vaguely remember the
girl's face, now ; but I had no idea where I had seen it
before, or what name belonged with it. I immediately tried
to get up a diversion about Swiss scenery, to keep her from
launching into topics that might betray that I did not know
her ; but it was of no use, she went right along upon matters
which interested her more :

**0 dear! what a night that was, when the sea washed
the forward boats away! Do you remember it?"

'*0 don't I?" said I; but I didn't. I wished the sea
had washed the rudder and the smoke-stack and the captain
away, then I could have located this questioner.

284 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

*'And don't you remember how frightened poor Mary
was, and how she cried?"

*' Indeed I do!" said I. "Dear me, how it all comes
back ! "

I fervently wished it would come back, but my memory
was a blank. The wise way would have been to frankly
own up ; but I could not bring myself to do that, after the
young girl had praised me so for recognizing her ; so I went
on, deeper and deeper into the mire, hoping for a chance
clue but never getting one. The Unrecognizable continued,
with vivacity :

**Do you know, George married Mary, after all?"

*'Why, no! Did he?"

** Indeed he did. He said he did not believe she was
half as much to blame as her father was, and I thought he
was right. Did n't you ? "

**0f course he was. It was a perfectly plain case. I
always said so."

" Why, no, you didn't; at least that summer."

*'0 no! not that summer. No, you are perfectly right
about that. It was the following winter that I said it."

* * Well, as it turned out, Mary was not in the least to
blame; it was all her father's fault; at least his and old
Darley's."

It was necessary to say something, so I said :
** I always regarded Darley as a troublesome old thing."
"So he was; but then they always had a great affec-
tion for him, although he had so many eccentricities. You
remember that when the weather was the least cold he would
try to come into the house."

I was rather afraid to proceed. Evidently Darley was
not a man. He must be some other kind of an animal ;
possibly a dog ; may be an elephant. However, tails are
common to all animals, so I ventured to say:

* * And what a tail he had ! "

♦ ' One ! He had a thousand I '*

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 285

This was bewildering. I did not quite know what to say,
so I only said :

'* Yes, he was pretty well fixed in the matter of tails."

"For a negro, and a crazy one at that, I should say he
was," said she.

It was getting pretty sultry for me. I said to myself:
** Is it possible she is going to stop there, and wait for me
to speak? If she does, the conversation is blocked. A
negro with a thousand tails is a topic which a person can
not talk upon fluently and instructively without more or less
preparation. As to diving rashly into such a vast subject "

But here, to my gratitude, she interrupted my thought
by saying:

" Yes, when it came to tales of his crazy woes, there was
simply no end to them if any body would listen. His own
quarters were comfortable enough, but when the weather
was cold, the family was sure to have his company ; nothing
could keep him out of the house. But they always bore it
kindly because he had saved Tom's life, years before. You
remember Tom?"

'* O, perfectly. Fine fellow he was, too."

*'Yes; and what a pretty little thing his child was!"

** You may well say that. I never saw a prettier child."

*' I used to delight to pet it and dandle it and play
with it."

^' So did I."

'* You named it. What was that name? I can't call it
to mind."

It appeared to me that the ice was getting pretty thin
here. I would have given something to know what the
child's sex was. However, I had the good luck to think of
a name that would fit either sex, so I brought it out :

" I named it Frances."

"From a relative, I suppose? But you named the
one that died ; one that I never saw. What did you call
that one?"

286 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

I was out of neutral names, but as the child was dead
and she had never seen it, I thought I might risk a name
for it, and trust to luck, therefore I said :

" 1 called that one Thomas Henry."

She said, musingly :

*' That is very singular — very singular."

I sat still and let the cold sweat run down. I was in a
good deal of trouble, but I believed I could worry through
if she would n't ask me to name any more children. I won-
dered where the lightning was going to strike next. She
was still ruminating over that last child's title, but presently
she said :

" I have always been sorry you were away at the time;
I would have had you name my child."

* ' Your child ! Are you married ? "

" I have been married thirteen years."

*' Christened, you mean ?"

"No, married. The youth by your side is my son."

" It seems incredible, even impossible. I do not mean
any harm by it, but would you mind telling me if you are
any over eighteen ? that is to say, will you tell me how old
you are?"

** I was just nineteen the day of the storm we were talk-
ing about. That was my birthday."

That did not help matters much, as I did not know the
date of the storm. I tried to think of some non-committal
thing to say, to keep up my end of the talk, and render ray
poverty in the matter of reminiscences as little noticeable as
possible, but I seemed to be about out of non-committal
things. I was about to say, "You haven't changed a bit
since then," but that was risky. I thought of saying, " You
have improved ever so much since then," but that would
not answer, of course. I was about to try a shy at the
weather, for a saving change, when the girl slipped in ahead
of me and said : " How I have enjoyed this talk over
those happy old times ; have n't you ? "

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 287

" I never liave spent such a half hour in all my life be-
fore!" said I, with emotion; and I could have added, with
a near approach to truth, *' and I would rather be scalped
than spend another one like it." I was grateful to be
through with the ordeal, and was about to make my good-
byes and get out, when the girl said :

"But there is one thing tliat is ever so puzzling to me."

"Why, what is that?"

** That dead child's name. What did you say it was?'

Here was another balmy place to be in ; I had forgotten
the child's name ; I had n't imagined it would be needed
again. However, I had to pretend to know, any way, so I
said :

"Joseph William."

The youth at my si^ corrected me, and said :

"No; Thomas Henry."

I thanked him, in words, and said, with trepidation :
"O, yes ; I was thinking of another child that I named ;
I have named a great many, and I got them confused ; this
one was named Henry Thompson "

" Thomas Henry," calmly interposed the boy.

I thanked him again — strictly in words — and stammered
out:

"Thomas Henry — yes, Thomas Henry was the poor
child's name. I named him for Thomas — er — Thomas Car-
lyle, the great author, you know ; and Henry — er — er —
Henry the Eighth. The parents were very grateful to have
a child named Thomas Henry.

"That makes it more'singular than ever," murmured my
beautiful friend.

"Does it? Why?"

" Because when the parents speak of that child now, they
always call it Susan Amelia."

That spiked my gun. I could not say any thing. I was
entirely out of verbal obliquities ; to go further would be to
lie, and that I would not do ; so I simply sat still and suf-

288 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

fered ; sat mutely and resignedly there, and sizzled, for I
was being slowly fried to death in my own blushes. Pres-
ently the enemy laughed a happy laugh, and said :

" I have enjoyed this talk over old times, but you have
not. I saw very soon that you w-ere only pretending to
know me; and so as I had wasted a compliment on you in
the beginning, I made up my mind to punish you. And I
have succeeded pretty well. I was glad to see that you
knew George and Tom and Darley, for I had never heard of
them before and therefore could not be sure that you had ;
and I was glad to learn the names of those imaginary chil-
dren, too. One can get quite a fund of information out of
you if one goes at it cleverly. Mary and the storm, and the
sweeping away of the forward boats, were facts ; all the rest
was fiction. Mary was my sister ; her full name was
Mary . Now do you remember me ? "

" Yes," I said ; " I do remember you now ; and you are
as hard-hearted as you were thirteen years ago in that ship,
else you would n't have punished me so. You have n't
changed your nature nor your person, in any way at all;
you look just as young as you did then, you are just as
beautiful as you were then, and you have transmitted a deal
of your comeliness to this fine boy. There ; if that speech
moves you any, let's fty the flag of truce, with the under-
standing that I am conquered and confess it."

All of which was agreed to and accomplished on the spot.

MARK TWAIN.

ARTEMUS WARD'S PANORAMA.

PROGRAM.

Every night, except Saturday, at 8. Doors open at 3 ;
Artemus opens at half-past seven. Reserved seats 75 cents.
Gen. Ad. $1.25. Front seats free. Those who sit nearest
the speaker will be paid a premium. Children charged
double price. Infants in arms will be used in the orchestra.

HUMOROUS AND BELINEATIVE. 289

Artemus Ward delivered lectures before all the crowned
heads of Europe — ever thought of delivering lectures.

During the vacation the hall has been carefully swept
out, and a new door-knob has been added to the door.

Mr. Artemus Ward will call on the listeners at their
homes, and explain any jokes in his lecture which they may
not understand.

A person of long experience will take care of bonnets,
cloaks, hats, coats, etc., and will see that they are not re-
turned. The auditors will leave their money with Mr.
Ward, who will take care that it gets safely into Canada.

Nobody must say that he likes this lecture unless he
wishes to be thought eccentric ; and nobody must say that
he does 'nt like it unless he really is eccentric. P. S. — This
requires thinking over, but it will amply repay the effort.

The panorama used to illustrate Mr. Ward's lecture is
rather worse than panoramas usually are.

Soldiers on the battle-field will be admitted to this enter-
tainment as the curtain falls on the last joke.

TESTIMONIALS.
" Mr. Artemus Ward :

" My Dear Sir, — My wife was dangerously afflicted for over
sixteen years. She w^as so weak that she could not lift a tea-spoon
to her mouth. But in a fortunate moment she commenced read-
ing one of your lectures. She got better at once. She gained
strength so rapidly that she lifted the cottage piano quite a dis-
tance from the floor, and let it fall on her mother-in-law, with
W'hom she had had some trouble. There are a number of mar-
ried men out here who wish to introduce your lectures into their
family. If you need any more recommendations, you can get all
you want at two shillings, the price I charge for this one.
" I am, sir, yours truly, and so is my wife."

A correspondent of a distinguished journal speaks thus
of Mr. Ward's power as an orator : —

"It was a grand scene, Mr. Artemus Ward standing on
the platform, talking ; many of the audience sleeping tranquilly

290 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

in their seats; others leaving the room and not returning ; others
weeping bitterly at some of his jokes, — all, all formed a most im-
pressive scene. And when he announced that he would never
lecture in that town again, the applause was absolutely deafening."

INTRODUCTION.

First appearance of Artemus Ward, who will be greeted
with great applause. When quiet has been restored, the
lecturer will present a rather frisky prologue of about ten
minutes in length, and of nearly the same width. It, perhaps,
is n't necessary to speak of the depth.

THE LECTURE.

You are entirely welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to my
little picture-shop. I can give you a better idea of my
lectures by opening a picture-shop, and therefore I open one.

If you should be dissatisfied with any thing in this lecture,
I will admit you free to one in New Zealand. Any re-
spectable cannibal will direct you. This shows that I can
forgive as well as forget.

I am not an artist. I don't paint myself — though per-
haps I would if I were a middle-aged single lady. Your
applause is embarrassing. I am a modest man. A dis-
tinguished sculpist once wanted to sculp me. But I said,
"No." I saw through the designing man. My model once
in his hands, he would have flooded the market with my
busts. This would be more than I could stand, and I
would have to return to my home — where my creditors are.

I like art. I admire dramatic art, although I failed as
an actor. It was in my school days. The play was the
''Ruins of Pompeii." I played the Ruins. Although I
played that part better, perhaps, than I could have played
any thing else, yet it was not a very successful impersona-
tion ; but it was better than the ''Burning Mountain." He
was a poor Vesuvius.

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 291

As a manager I was rather more successful than as an
actor. Some years ago I engaged a celebrated Living Amer-
ican Skeleton for a tour through Australia. He was the
thinnest man I ever saw. He was a splendid skeleton. It
is a long voyage, you know, to Australia, and to my utter
surprise the skeleton had no sooner got out to sea than he
commenced eating in the most horrible manner. He had
never been on the ocean before, and he said it agreed with
him. I thought so! I never saw a man eat so much in
my life — beef, mutton, pork ! — and between meals he was
often discovered behind barrels eating hard-boiled eggs ! The
result was that when we reached Melbourne this infamous
skeleton weighed sixty-four pounds more than I did !

At first I thought I was ruined. But I wasn't. My
genius as a manager asserted itself, and I took him on
another long sea-voyage, and when I got him to San Fran-
cisco I exhibited him as a Fat Man.

This story has n't any thing to do with my lecture, I
know ; but one of the principal features of my lecture is that
it contains so many things that do n't have any thing to do
with it.

I like music. I can't sing. As a singist I am not a.
success. I am saddest when I sing. So are those who hear
me. They are sadder even than I am. The other night a
silver-voiced young man came under my window and sang,
** Come where my love lies dreaming." 1 did n't go. I
found music very soothing when I lay ill with fever in
Utah — and I was very ill. I was fearfully wasted. My
lace was hewn down to nothing. And on one of those dis-
mal days a Mormon lady used to sing a ballad commencing :
"Sweet bird, do not flyaway!" I told her I wouldn't.
She played the accordion divinely — accordingly I was pleased.

THE PICTURES.

We will now put the panorama to work. The first pic-
ture we present, as you perceive, is a view of the California

292 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

steamship. Large crowds of citizens on the wharf, who ap-
pear entirely willing that Artemus Ward shall go. ''Bless
you, sir!" they say; "don't hurry about coming back.
Stay away for years, if you want to ! " It was very touching.

Disgraceful treatment of the passengers, who are obliged
to go forward to smoke pipes, while the steamer is allowed
two smoke-pipes amid-ships. Your applause at this point
was wholly unexpected.

I will now offer for your inspection a picture of Virginia
City, the wild young metropolis of the new Silver State.
Fortunes are made there in a day. There are instances on
record of young men going there without a shilling, poor
and friendless, yet by energy, intelligence, and a careful dis-
regard to business, have been enabled to leave, owing hun-
dreds of dollars.

This is a picture of the great desert at night. It is a
dreary waste of sand. The sand is n't worth saving, however.

This is the Mormon theater. The Mormons mostly pay
in grain and all sorts of articles. The night I gave my lec-
ture there, among my receipts were corn, flour, pork, cheese,
chickens (on foot and in the shell). One family tried to go
in on a live pig, but my agent repulsed that family. The
'* Lady of Lyons" was produced a short time since, but failed
to satisfy the Mormon audience, on account of there being
but one Pauline in it. It was presented the next night with
fifteen Paulines in the cast, and was a perfect success. Some
of these Mormons have large families. I lectured one night
by invitation in a Mormon village, and during the day I
rashly gave a leading Mormon an order admitting himself
and family. They filled the hall to overflowing. It was a
great success, but I did n't get any money. I saw this man's
mother-in-law. I can 't exactly say how many there were
of her, but it was a good deal. I should think one mother-
in-law was about enough to have in a family, unless you are
very fond of excitement.

This being a view of the west side of Main Street, it is

HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 293

naturally a view of the west side of Main Street. We do not
ask or expect any applause for that.

You will now observe the Endowment House, where the
Mormon is initiated into the mysteries of his faith. His
religion is singular, and his wife is plural. This is Brigham
Young and his wives. The pretty girls of Utah mostly
marry Young. See ?

Here is a picture of the Great Salt Lake. I know of
no greater curiosity than this inland sea of thick brine.
They say a Mormon farmer once drove forty head of cattle
into it, and they came out first-rate pickled beef.

This sparkling water-fall is the Laughing Water alluded
to by Mr. Longfellow, in his Indian poem, " Higher Water."
You notice the higher water up there?

Those of the audience who are not offended with Artemus
Ward are cordially invited to call upon him, often, at his
fine new house in Brooklyn. It is on the right hand side as
you cross the ferry, and may be easily distinguished from
the other houses by its having a cupola and a mortgage on
it. I was once told to seize opportunity. I seized one and
he knocked me down. I have since learned that he who
seizes opportunity sees the penitentiary. I will seize this
opportunity to close my lecture.

ABRIDGED BY VIRGIL A. PINKLEY.

REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE.

SOLILOQUY OF AN OLD MAN.

This world is but a charnel-house of woe ;

Of bruised and bleeding hearts that silent mourn.

Each day the tomb of buried memories,

Which, like unshrived ghosts arise,

Haunting the mind ; and, as they come

294 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

And go, they tell of disappointed hopes ;

Of expectations high, raised e'en to heaven,

Then dashed remorselessly to earth ;

Of labor lost ; of nnrequited love ; ^

Of misspent time which, rightly used, had led

To fortune or to fame ; of friends, now gone,

Who would have loved us, but whose love we spurned ;

Who yet will burst upon our solitude.

And stand beside us, with strange, yearning look,

As if to tell us something that they know.

Yet can not give it speech. Ah ! who shall say

He is not haunted thus, with ghosts of things

That might have been, but never can be now ?

A skeleton there is in every house,

But veiled and kept from prying eyes.

Each heart well knows its secret bitterness,

And strangers meddle not, but pass it by,

All conscious, yet pretending not to know.

But when the veil is rudely torn aside.

And the grim specter stands, as 't were, impaled

Before the gaze of all, and we are chained

And bound before it, wrung~with agony.

We bow the head and cry : " O Lord, how long! "

Our friends look on with sadly pitying eye ;

A tear is all that they can give to this,

A life-long misery, which no human power

Can soften or remove ; this poisoned cup.

Which drink we must, alone, the very dregs ;

This worm, which slowly draws the sap of life ;

This daily dying, and the funeral car

Ever at our door.

Tempests which fright and ruin may be borne.

For sunshine follows quick ; with hearts relieved,.

We gather up the wreck and soon forget.

Death comes and takes away a much-loved friend ;

We mourn the loss, but time heals up the wound.

Welcome healthful cares that brace the mind ;

Life's grand struggle glorified by hope ;

Battle fierce upon the field of glory ;

Park clouds, with silver fringe and blue beyond,

REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 295

Welcome ! But brooding clouds that will not break,

That have no silver lining and no form,

Oppress the wearied spirit, and destroy

The very love of life ; and the soul sighs

For some sharp storm whose lightnings may dispel

The heavy gloom, and once again restore

The light of hope, the roseate hues of life.

O Hope ! sweet consolation long denied ;
Come, now, and let thy beaming smile
Gladden again this bruised and broken heart.

0 Faith ! I lift my hands and eyes to thee.
Kaise me, I pray, and give me strength to bear.
In vain I call, nor Faith nor Hope reply ;
They are but names, and not the source of joy.
But lo ! a still small voice from out the cloud :
"My son, be still and know that I am God,
And I alone ; besides me there is none.

1 try thee for thy good, and when I see
My face reflected, then full well I know
The gold is purified ;• and not till then."

I heard, and as I listened, now there came,

A softened feeling stealing o'er my soul ;

A passive resignation to His will

Who spake from out the cloud. And then I said:

"Thy will, O Lord, be done ! "

It came at last. The storm for which I sighed

Burst in relentless fury on my head.

And I was cast full prone upon a rock.

I swooned ; and when I lifted up my eyes,

And looked once more upon the sea of life.

The barque in which with joy I 'd sailed, was gone ;

Companions of my youth all swallowed up

In one wild gurge ; and nothing now was left

But crested billows breaking on the rock

With mournful sound, the requiem of the lost.

Away to seaward drifted fast the cloud.

Broken in horrid mist before the wind ;

But overhead one speck of deep-blue sky.

And in the west one ray of golden light

296 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

Just piercing through the cloud, as if the sun
Would smile a benediction on the wreck
The storm had made.

• • • • •
Now years have passed ; the wounded heart has healed,
But not the broken life ; for naught but death
Can wipe the memory out of those sad days.
Another bark has spread its glancing sail
Upon the sea of life, whose weaves are calm,
And favoring breezes waft it gladly on ;
And many other ships are round about,
From out of which there greet my ear at times
The songs of joy and youthful merriment.
But I sail on alone. And now I think
The haven of my rest can not be far.
E'en now I see its highlands looming up
Blue in dim distance, and the summer sun
Has set beneath the waves. From out the depths
The heavens are lighted up with fervid glow.
Across the rainbow hues, peacefully there rest
Empurpled clouds, bordered with burnished gold,
The broken remnants of a by-gone storm.

'Tis so with me. My cloud has lifted, too,
Eevealing now a future bright with hope.
Across the vision there are shadows still —
Sad memories of the past, but lighted up
With deep abysmal rays. And novv^ I know
The lesson He would teach and I would learn.

What would this sunset be without the clouds
That mar its clearness, and yet add the grace ?
And what would be the sunset of our lives .
Without the hallowed memories that relieve
The radiance of an eternal light beyond ?

C. R. BROOKE.

RESIGNATION.

There is no flock, however watched and tended.

But one dead lamb is there ;
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended.

But has one vacant chair.

REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE, 297

The air is full of farewells to the dying,

And mournings for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,

Will not be comforted !

Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions

Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions

Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ;

Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad funereal tapers.

May be Heaven's distant lamps.

There is no death ! What seems so is transition ;

This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,

Whose portal we call death.

She is not dead — the child of our affection —

But gone into that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,.

And Christ himself doth rule.

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,

By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution.

She lives, whom we call dead.

Day after day we think what she is doing

In those bright realms of air ;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing.

Behold her grown more fair.

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken

The bond which nature gives.
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken.

May reach her where she lives.

Not as a child shall we again behold her ;

For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her.

She will not be a child ;

298 ELOCUTION AND ORATOEY.

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,

Clothed with celestial grace ;
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion

Shall we behold her face.

And though at times, impetuous with emotion

And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,

That can not be at rest, —

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling

We may not wholly stay ;
By silence sanctifying, not cbncealing,

The grief that must have way.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

MAC-O-CHEH.

How many a vanished hour and day

Have sunlight o'er me shed
Since last I saw these w^aters play

Along their pebbly bed!
The bird-bent bough above them swings,

The waves dance bright below, ■
From the hazel near the cat-bird sings.

As in long years ago.

O'er blue-edged heights and sunlit plain

Soft falls the purple noon,
On rustling corn and waving grain.

On stream and still lagoon ;
Hard by the brook the blackbird trills,

The glossy-coated crow
Croaks hoarsely on the breezy hills,

As in long years ago.

The falcon, like a censer swung,

Circles the blue above.
The quail is calling to her young.

While cooes the mournful dove ;
The elder bloom, by road and stream,

Lies heaped like drifted snow,
The meadow birch nods to its dream,

As in long years ago.

REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 299

The drowsy bee on laden wings,

Voices the dreamy day ;
The squirrel chatters as he swings,

While screams the restless jay;
The mild-eyed cattle, slow and grave,

Swish in the shaded pool,
Where hoarse frogs croak, and tall flags wave,

And clear springs bubble cool.

And now, as in that far-off time,

The village sounds are dear,
The cry of children, and the chime

Of bells, break on the ear ;
My playmates then are bearded men ;

The men wax old and slow,
Or sleep within God's silent glen,

Where broods the long ago.

I may not sing my eyes so dim,

I may not sing the change
That wrought upon my soul within,

Its sadness, still and strange ;
Nor here by fragile flower and stream,

Eepeat the well-worn lay,
How we the fleeting shadows seem,

Immortal substance they.

But ah ! these trees, and birds, and skies,

And scented flowers' bloom,
Are all to me as one who lies

Hid in a hollow tomb,
Where murmurs of a busy world

Sift through the creviced stt)ne.
And, like a leaf but half unfurled.

Leaves all the tale unknown.

Round every life an Eden lies.

In golden glow of youth.
When romance tints with tender dyes

The solemn page of truth ;
When newer being thrills the heart

To young love's magic hand,
And as awake from dreams we start,

To gaze on fairy land.

300 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y.

What deeper blue the skies assume,

What tints the earth takes on ;
What roseate hues our paths illume,

A moment, then 't is gone !
And back we turn to earth again —

Back to its weary strife ;
Yet through all sorrow, sin, and pain.

One vision sweetens life.

DONN PIATT.

THE ARCHBISHOP AND GIL BI,AS.

A MODERNIZED VERSION.

I DO n't think I feel much older ; I 'm aware I 'm rather gray,

But so are many young folks ; I meet 'em every day.

I confess I 'm more particular in what I eat and drink ;

But one's taste improves with culture ; that is all it means, I think.

Can you read as once you used to f Well, the printing is so bad,
No young folks' eyes can read it like the books that once we had.
Are you quite as quick of hearing f Please to say that once again.
Do nH I use plain words, your Reverence f Yes, I often use a cane ;

But it 's not because I need it, — no, I always liked a stick ;
And as one might lean upon it, 'tis as well it should be thick.
O, I 'm smart, I 'm spry, I 'm lively ; I can walk — yes, that I can —
On the days I feel like walking, just as well as you, young man !

Do uH you get a little sleepy after dinner every day f

AVell, I doze a little sometimes ; but that always was my way.

Don't you cry a little easier than some twenty years agof

Well, my heart is very tender ; but I think 't was always so.

DonH you Jind it sometimes happens that you cartH recall a name f
Yes : I know such lots of people ; but my memory 's not to blame.
What ! you think my memory 's failing ! Pshaw ! it 's j ust as clear,

I know —
Why, I remember things that happened more than sixty year ago.

Is not your voice a little trembly ? My hand ! Well may be, now

and then,
3ut I write as well as ever with a good old-fashioned pen:

REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 301

It 's the new pens make the trouble, — not at all my finger-ends,—
That is why my hand looks shaky when I sign for dividends.

Do n't you stoop a little walking f It 's a way I 've always had ;
I 've always been round-shouldered ever since I was a lad.
DonH you hate to tie your shoe-strings f Yes, I own it — that

is true.
Do n't you tell old stories over f I am not aware I do .

Do n't you stay at home of evenings f Do n't you love a cushioned seat

In a comer by the fireside, with your slippers on your feet f

Don't you wear tvarm, fleecy flannels f Don't you muffle up your

throat f
Do n't you like to have one help you when you 're putting on your coat f

Do nH you like old books you 've dogseared you can 't remember when f
Do n't you call it late at nine o'clock, and go to bed at ten f
How many cronies can you count of all you used to know
Who called you by your Christian name some fifty years ago f

How look the prizes to you, that used to fire your brain f
You 've reared your mound — how high is it above the level plain f
You 've drained the brimming golden cup that made your fancy reel ;
You 've slept the giddy potion off, — now tell us how you feel !

You 've watched the harvest ripening till every stem was cropped ;

You 've seen the rose of beauty fade till every petal dropped ;

You 've told your thought, you 've done your task, you 've tracked your

dial round,
— I backing down ! Thank Heaven, not yet ! I 'm hale and brisk

and sound.

And good for many a tussle, as you shall live to see ;

My shoes are not quite ready yet, — do n't think you 're rid

of me!
Old Parr was in his lusty prime when he was older far :
And who can tell but I shall live to beat old Thomas Parr?

Ah well, — I know, — at every age life has a certain charm !

You 're going f Come, permit me, please, I beg you 'II take my arm.

I take your arm! Why take your arm? I think you're very

bold,—
I 'm old enough to walk alone,— but not so very old !

O. W. HOLMES.

802 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y,

NAPOLEON.

A LITTLE while ago I stood by the tomb of the first Na-
poleon— a magDificeot tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a
dead deity ; and here was a great circle, and in the bottom
there, in a sarcophagus, rested at last the ashes of that rest-
less man. I looked at that tomb, and I thought about the
career of the greatest soldier of the modern world. As I
looked, in imagination I could see him walking up and down
the banks of the Seine, contemplating suicide. I could see
him at Toulon ; I could see him at Paris, putting down the
mob ; I could see him at the head of the army of Italy ; I
could see him crossing the bridge of Lodi, with the tricolor
in his hand ; I saw him in Egypt, fighting battles under the
shadow of the Pyramids ; I saw him returning ; I saw him
conquer the Alps, and mingle the eagles of France with the
eagles of Italy; I saw him at Marengo; I saw him at Aus-
terlitz ; I saw him in Russia, where the infantry of the snow
and the blast smote his legions, when death rode the icy winds
of winter. I saw him at Leipsic; hurled back upon Paris;
banished; and I saw him escape from Elba, and retake an
empire by the force of his genius. I saw him at the field of
Waterloo, where fate and chance combined to wreck the for
tunes of their former king. I saw him at St. Helena, witt
his hands behind his back, gazing out upon the sad and
solemn sea; and I thought of all the widows he had made, of
all the orphans, of all the tears that had been shed for his
glory; and I thought of the woman, the only woman who
ever loved him, pushed from his heart by the cold hand of
ambition. And I said to myself, as I gazed, I would rather
have been a French peasant, and worn wooden shoes, and
lived in a little hut with a vine running over the door, and
the purple grapes growing red in the amorous kisses of the
autumn sun; I would rather have been that poor French
peasant, to sit in my door, with my wife knitting by my side,
and my children upon my knees, with their arms around my

REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 303

neck; I would rather have lived and died unnoticed and
unknown except by those who loved me, and gone down to
the voiceless silence of the dreamless dust; I would rather
have been that French peasant than to have been that im-
perial impersonation of force and murder who covered Europe
with blood and tears. r. g. ingersoll.

OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY'S.

Wasn't it pleasant, 0 brother mine,
In those old days of the lost sunshine
Of youth — when the Saturday's chores were througlf,
And the Sunday's wood in the kitchen, too.
And we went visiting, " I and you,
Out to old Aunt Mary's ? "

It all comes back so clear to-day,
Though I am as bald as you are gray ;
Out by the barn-lot and down the lane
We patter along in the dust again,
As light as the tips of the drops of rain.
Out to old Aunt Mary's.

We cross the pasture, and through the wood
Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood.
Where the hammering red-heads hopped awry,
And the buzzard raised in the open sky.
And lolled and circled as we went by,
Out to old Aunt Mary's.

And then in the dust of the road again ;
And the teams we met and the countrymen ;
And the long highway with the sunshine spread
As thick as butter on country bread,
And our cares behind and our hearts ahead,
Out to old Aunt Mary's.

I see her now in the open door,
Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er
The clap-board roof. And her face — O me!
Wasn't it good for a boy to see?
And wasn't it good for a boy to be
Out to old Aunt Mary's ?

304 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

And O, my brother, so far away,
This is to tell you she waits to-day
To welcome us. Aunt Mary fell
Asleep this morning, whispering: "Tell
The boys to come." And all is well
Out to old Aunt Mary's,

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

AUX ITALIKNS.

^At Paris it was, at the opera there ;

And she looked like a queen in a book that night,
AVith the wreath of pearl in her raven hair,
And the brooch on her breast so bright.

Of all the operas that Verdi wrote.

The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore ;

And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note,
The souls in purgatory.

The moon on the tower slept soft as snow ;

And who was not thrilled in the strangest way,
As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low,

Non ti scordar di me f

The emperor there, in his box of state,

Looked grave ; as if he had just then seen

The red flag wave from the city gate,

Where his eagles in bronze had been.

The empress, too, had a tear in her eye;

You 'd have said that her fancy had gone back again
For one moment, under the old blue sky.

To the old glad life in Spain.

Well, there in our front-row box we sat

Together, my bride betrothed and I ;
My gaze was fixed on my opera-hat.

And hers on the stage hard by.

And both were silent, and both were sad ;

Like a queen, she leaned on her full white arm,
With that regal, indolent air she had;

So confident of her charm !

REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 305

I have not a doubt she was thinking then
Of her former lord, good soul that he was,

Who died the ricliest and roundest of men,
The Marquis of Carabas.

I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven,
Through a needle's eye he had not to pass ;

I wish him well for the jointure given
To my lady of Carabas.

Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love

As I had not been thinking of auglit for years,

Till over my eyes there began to move *

Something that felt like tears.

I thought of the dress that she wore last time,

When we stood 'neath the cypress-trees together,

In that lost land, in that soft clime,
In the crimson evening weather ;

Of that muslin dress — for the eve was hot —

And her warm white neck in its golden chain ;

And her full soft hair, just tied in a knot,
And falling loose again ;

And the jasmine flower in her fair young breast —
O, the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine flower I —

And the one bird singing alone in his nest ;
And the one star over the tower.

I thought of our little quarrels and strife,

And the letter that brought me back my ring ;

And it all seemed then, in the waste of life,
Such a very little thing !

For I thought of her grave below the hill.

Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands over ;

And I thought: " Were she only living still,
How I could forgive her and love her ! "

And I swear, as I thought of her thus, in that hour,

And of how, after all, old things are best,
That I smelt the smell of that jasmine flower

Which she used to wear in her breast.

It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet,

It made me creep, and it made me cold !
20

306 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Like the scent that steals from the crumbhng sheet
Where a mummy is half unrolled.

And I turned and looked : she was sitting there,
In a dim box over the stage ; and drest

In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair,
And that jasmine in her breast!

I was here, and she was there ;

And the glittering horse-shoe curved between ;
From my bride bethrothed, with her raven hair

And her sumptuous scornful mien,

To my early love with her eyes downcast,
And over her primrose face the shade —

In short, from the future back to the past —
There was but a step to be made.

My thinking of her, or the music's strain,

Or something which never will be expressed,

Had brought her back from the grave again.
With the jasmine in her breast.

She is not dead, and she is not wed !

But she loves me now, and she loved me then !
And the very first word that her sweet lips said,

My heart grew youthful again.

The Marchioness there, of Carabas,

She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still ;
Anvi but for her— well, we '11 let that pass ;

She may marry whomever she will.

But I will marry my own first love.

With her primrose face ; for old things are best,
And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above

The brooch in my lady's breast.

The world is filled with folly and sin,

And Love must cling where it can, I say ;

For Beauty is easy enough to win,
But one is n't loved every day.

And I think, in the lives of most women and men,

There 's a moment when all would go smooth and even,

If only the dead could find out w^hen
To come back and be forgiven.

REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 307

But 0, the smell of that jasmine-flower !

And O, that music! and O, tlie way
That voice rang out from the donjon tower,

Non ti scordar di me,

Non ti scordar di me !

ROBERT BULWER LYTTON.

THE AINO LEGEND.

FROM THE KALEV'ALA, THE EPIC OF FINLAND.

Waiting long, the wailing Aino
Thus at last soliloquizes:
" Unto what can I now liken
Happy homes and joys of fortune ?
Like the waters in the rivers,
Like the waves in yonder lakelet,
Like the billows seaward flowing.
Unto what, the biting sorrow
Of the child of cold misfortune?
Like the spirit of the sea-duck.
Like the icicle in winter,
Water in the well imprisoned.

" Often roamed my mind in childhood,
When a maiden free and merry.
Happily through fen and fallow ;
Gamboled on the meads with lambkins,
Lingered with the ferns and flowers,
Knowing neither pain nor trouble.
Now my mind is filled with sorrow.
Wanders through the bog and stubble.
Wanders weary through the brambles.
Roams throughout the dismal forest,
Till my life is full of darkness.
And my spirit white with anguish.
Better had it been for Aino,
Had she never seen the sunlight,
Or, if born, had died an infant.
Had not lived to be a maiden
In these days of sin and sorrow.
Underneath a star so luckless.

308 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Better had it been for Aino,

Had she died upon the eighth day,

After seven nights had vanished ;

Needed then but little linen,

Needed but a little coffin,

And a grave of smallest measure ;

Mother would have mourned a little,

Father, too, perhaps a trifle,

Sister would have wept the day through.

Brother might have shed a tear-drop ;

Thus had ended all the mourning."

Thus poor Aino wept and murmured,
Wept one day, and then a second,
Wept a third ^rom morn till even,
AVhen again her mother questioned:
" Why this weeping, fairest daughter?
Darling daughter, why this grieving?"

Thus the tearful maiden answered :
"Therefore do I weep and sorrow,
Hapless maiden, all my life long,
Since poor Aino thou hast given,
Since thy daughter thou hast promised,
To the ancient Wainamoinen,
Comfort to his years declining.
Prop to stay him when he totters ;
In the storm, a roof above him ;
In his home, a cloak around him.
Better far if thou hadst sent me,
Sank me in the salt sea-surges.
To become the whiting's sister,
And the friend of perch and salmon ;
Better far to ride the billows,
Swim the sea-foam as a mermaid,
And the friend of nimble fishes,
Than to be an old man's solace,
Prop to stay him when he totters,
Hand to stay him when he trembles.
Arm to guide him when he falters.
Strength to give him when he weakens;
Better be the whiting's sister.
And the friend of perch and salmon,
Than an old man's slave and darling."

REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 309

Ending thus, she left her mother,
Straightway hastened to the mountain,
To the store-house on the summit ;
Opened there the box, the largest ;
From the box six lids she lifted,
Found therein six golden girdles.
Silken dresses, seven in number;
Choosing such as pleased her fancy,
She adorned herself as bidden,
Robed herself to look her fairest,
Gold upon her throbbing temples,
In her hair the shining silver,
On her shoulders purple ribbons,
Bands of blue around her forehead.
Golden cross, and rings, and jewels.
Fitting ornaments to beauty.

Now she leaves her many treasures.
Leaves the store-house on the mountain.
Filled with gold and silver trinkets,
Wanders over field and fallow.
Over stone-fields waste and barren.
Wanders on through fen and forest.
Through the fir-fields vast and cheerless,
Wanders hither, wanders thither.
Singing, careless, as she wanders.
This her mournful song and echo :
" Woe is me, my life hard-fated!
Woe to Aino, broken-hearted !
Torture racks my heart and temples ;
Yet the sting would not be deeper,
Nor the pain and anguish greater.
If beneath this weight of sorrow.
In my saddened heart's dejection,
I should yield my life forever.
Now, unhappy, I should perish.
Lo! the time has come for Aino
From this cruel world to hasten.
To the kingdom of Tuoni,
To the realm of the departed,
To the isle of the hereafter.

" Weep no more for me, 0 father ;
Mother, dear, withhold thy censure,

310 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Lovely sister, stay thy tear-drops ;
Do not mourn me, dearest brother.
When I sink beneath the sea-foam,
Make my home in sahnon-grottoes,
Make my bed in crystal waters,
Water-ferns my couch and pillow."

All day long poor Aino wandered,
All the next day, sad and weary.
So the third, from morn till even,
Till the cruel night enwrapped her.
As she reached the sandy margin,
Reached the cold and dismal sea-shore ;
Sat upon the rock of sorrow,
Sat alone in cold and darkness.
Listened only to the music
Of the winds and rolling billows,
Singing all the dirge of Aino.
All night long the weary maiden
Wept and wandered on the border,
Through the sand and sea-washed pebbles.

As the day dawns, looking round her,
She beholds three water-maidens,
On a headland jutting seaward,
Water-maidens three in number.
Sitting on the wave-lashed ledges,
Swimming now upon the billows.
Now upon the rocks reposing.
Quick the weeping maiden, Aino,
Hastens there to join the mermaids,
^ Winsome daughters of the waters.

Weeping Aino, now disrobing.
Lays aside with care her garments,
Hangs her silk-robes on the alders,
Drops her gold-cross on the sea-shore,
On the aspen hangs her ribbons ;
On the rocks, her silken stockings;
On the grass, her shoes of deer-skin ;
In the sand her shining necklace.
With her rings and other jewels.

Out at see a goodly distance.
Stands a stone of rainbow-colors.
Glittering in the silver sunshine.

REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE 311

Toward it springs tlie hapless maiden,
Thither swims the lovely Aino,
Up the standing-stone has clambered,
Wishing there to rest a moment,
Rest upon the rock of beauty ;
When upon a sudden, swaying
To and fro among the billows.
With a crash and roar of waters,
Falls the stone of many colors,
Falls upon the very bottom
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea.
With the stone of rainbow colors
Falls the luckless maiden, Aino,
Clinging to its craggy edges,
Sinking far below the surface,
To the homes of the sea-daughters.

Thus the weeping maiden vanished,
Thus poor Aino left her tribe-folk.
Singing as the stone descended,
Chanting thus as she departed :
" Once to swim I sought the sea-side,
There to sport among the billows ;
With the stone of many colors
Sank poor Aino to the bottom
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,
Like a pretty song-bird, perished.
Never come a-fishing, father,
To the borders of these waters,
Never during all thy life-time,
As thou lovest daughter Aino.

" Mother dear, I sought the sea-side.
There to sport among the billows ;
With the stone of many colors,
Sank poor Aino to the bottom
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,
Like a pretty song-bird, perished.
Never mix thy bread, dear mother,
With the blue-sea's foam and waters,
Never during all thy life-time,
As thou lovest daughter Aino.

" Brother dear, I sought the sea-side.
There to sport among the billows ;

312 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

With the stone of many colors,
Sank poor Aino to the bottom
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,
Like a pretty song-bird, perished.
Never bring thy prancing war-horse.
Never bring thy royal racer,
Never bring thy steeds to water,
To the borders of the blue-sea.
Never during all thy life-time,
As thou lovest sister Aino.

" Sister dear, I sought the sea-side.
There to sport among the billows ;
With the stone of many colors.
Sank poor Aino to the bottom
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,
Like a pretty song-bird, perished.
Never come to lave thine eyelids
In this rolling wave and sea-foam.
Never during all thy life-time,
As thou lovest sister Aino.
All the waters of the blue-sea
Shall be blood of Aino's body ;
All the fish that swim these waters
Shall be Aino's flesh forever ;
All the willows on the sea-side
Shall be Aino's ribs hereafter ;
All the sea-grass on the margin
Will have grown from Aino's tresses."

Thus at last the maiden vanished,
Thus the lovely Aino perished.

J. M. CRAWFORD.

THE WHISTI.B OF THE QUAII,.

In the heart of the dusty city,

As I threaded a crowded street,

'Mid the city's din and clamor.

And the scorching glare and heat.

It rang out somewhere above me.
Clear and loud and sweet.

I lifted my eyes in wonder,
I lifted my heart in joy ;

REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 313

Ef^rly listening heads were turned,

" 'T is surely a clever toy —
Some skillful mocking songster,

Or a happy, whistling boy."

Again ! ah, never human

Held such a sound in his throat,

And if but a mocking songster.
He hath caught a perfect note.

And the crowding roofs and the people
Away from around me float.

0 wide, green summer fields that lie
Under a blue and sunny sky.

Where white clouds slowly sail !
Your silence to my heart doth speak,

1 feel your breezes on my cheek,

At the whistle of the quail :
" So sweet! so sweet! "
The whistle of the quail.

The breeze that stirs the yellow wheat,
With rustling whispers vague and sweet;

The hum of bees that trail
O'er plenteous gold along — I hear
All sounds of summer, soft and clear

In the whistle of the quail :
" So sweet! so sweet ! "

The whistle of the quail.

0 cool, dark nooks 'neath bending trees,
Soft grass where I might lie at ease,

And dream and watch the frail
White butterflies flit past ! I see
And long for you when comes to me

The whistle of the quail :
" So sweet ! so sweet ! "

The whistle of the quail.

The breath of fruitful, upturned soil,
Of mint and subtle pennyroyal ;

All lowly things that vale
And hill are rich in— wrap me round,

314 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Sweet summer sights and scents and sounds,
At the whistle of the quail :
"So sweet! so sweet!"
The whistle of the quail.

MARY S. PA DEN.

HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC.

A ROYAI. PRINCESS.

I, A PRINCESS, king-descen3ed, decked with jewels, gilded drest,

Would rather be a peasant who lulls her babe to rest,

For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west.

Two and two my guards behind, two and two before,
Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore ;
Me, poor dove, that must not coo,— eagle, that must not soar.

All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow
Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow
That are costly, out of season as the seasons go.

All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace
Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place —
Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face.

Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end ;

My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend —

O my father ! 0 my mother ! have you ne'er a friend ?

My father counting up his strength, sets down with equal pen

So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men ;

These for slaughter, these for labor, with the how and when.

Some to work on roads, canals; some to man his ships;
Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips;
Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips.

Once it came into my heart, and whelmed me like a flood,
That these, too, are men and women, human flesh and blood ;
Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like
mud.

HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 3l5

Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay ;
On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of gray ;
My father, frowning at the fare, seemed every dish to weigli.

I sat beside them, sole princess, in my exalted place ;
My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais ;
A mirror showed me I looked old and haggard in the face.

It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon.

Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known;

They laugh by day, they sleep by night ; — ah me ! what is a throne ?

Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept;

My ladies loosed my golden chain ; meantime I could have wept

To think of some in galling chains, whether they waked or slept.

I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on ;

They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon ;

They lit my shaded silver-lamp, and left me there alone.

A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said :
" Men are clamoring, women, children, clamoring to be fed ;

Men, like famished dogs, are howling in the streets for bread."

•

I strained my utmost sense to catch the words, and mark :

"There are families out grazing, like cattle in the park;

A pair of peasants must be saved, even if we build an ark."

A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way;
One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day ;
One was my youngest maid, as sweet and white as cream in May.

Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp ;

Voices said : " Picked soldiers have been summoned from the

camp
To quell these base-born ruflBans who make free to howl and

stamp."

"Howl and stamp?" one answered. "They made free to hurl

a stone
At the minister's state-coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown."
"There's work, then, for soldiers; for this rank crop must be

mown."

"After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh.
"If bread's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff."
" While I 've a loaf, they 're welcome to my blessing and the
chaff."

316 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

These passed. The king: stand up. Said my father with a

smile :
" Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile ;
She 's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?"

He, too, left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait ? —
I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate, —
Or shall I work the last gold-stitch into my veil of state?

Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene? —
There 's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between, —
Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen ?

Again I caught my father's voice in sharp word of command;
" Charge ! " a clash of steel. " Charge again, the rebels stand.
Smite and spare not, hand to hand ; smite and spare not, hand
to hand."

There swelled a tumult at the gate, high voices waxing higher;
A flash of red reflected-light lit the cathedral spire ;
I heard a cry for fagots, then I heard a yell for fire.

Now this thing will I do, while my mother tarrieth :

I will take my fine-spun gold, buf not to sew therewith ;

I will take my gold and gems, and rainbow fan and wreath ;

With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my hand,

I will go down to this people, will stand face to face,— will stand

Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land.

They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give ;
I, if I perish, perish ; they to-day shall eat and live ;
I, if I perish, perish ; that 's the goal I half conceive :

Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and show
The lesson I have learned, which is death, is life, to know.
I, if I perish, perish ; in the name of God I go.

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.

WILLIAM TEIvIv ON FREEDOM.

Ye crags and peaks, I 'm with you once again !
I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
To show they still are free. Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,

HEROIC AND PA TRIOTIC. 3 1

And bid your tenant welcome to his home !
I 'm with you once again ! I call to you
With all my voice ! I hold my hands to you,
To show they still are free.

Once Switzerland was free ! With what a pride
I used to walk these hills, — look up to heaven,
And bless God that it was so ! It was free —
From end to end, from cliff to lake 't was free !
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks,
And plow^ our valleys, without asking leave ;
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow
In very presence of the regal sun !
How happy was 1 in it then ! I loved
Its very storms. Ay ; often have I sat
In my boat at night, when midw^ay o'er the lake
The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge
The wind came roaring,— I have sat and eyed
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head,
And think I had no master save his own.

On yonder jutting cliff, o'ertaken there
By the mountain blast, I 've laid me flat along,
And while gust followed gust more furiously.
As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink.
And I have thought of other lands, whose storms
Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just
Have wished me there, — the thought that mine was free
Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head,
And cried in thralldom to that furious wind.
Blow on ! This is the land of liberty ! knowles.

BAY BII.I.Y.

*TwAS the last fight at Fredericksburg —

Perhaps the day you reck.
Our boys, the T^venty-second Maine,

Kept Early's men in check ;
Just where Wade Hampton boomed away

The fight went neck-and-neck.

318 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

All day we held the weaker wing,

And held it with a will;
Five several stubborn times we charged

The batter}^ on the hill,
And five times beaten back, re-formed,

And kept our columns still.

At last from out the center fight
Spurred up a general's aid.

"That battery must silenced be! "
He cried, as past he sped.

Our colonel simply touched his cap,
And then, with measured tread,

To lead the crouching line once more
The grand old fellow came.

No wounded man but raised his head,
And strove to gasp his name,

And those who could not speak nor stir,
"God blessed him" just the same.

For he was all the world to us,

That hero gray and grim ;
Right well he knew that fearful slope

We 'd climb with none but him,
Though while his white head led the way

We 'd charge hell's portals in.

This time we were not half-way up.
When, midst the storm of shell,

Our leader, with his sword upraised.
Beneath our bayonets fell.

And, as we bore him back, the foe
Set up a joyous yell.

Our hearts went with him. Back we swept.

And when the bugle said,
" Up, charge, again ! " no man was there

But hung his dogged head.
'* We 've no one left to lead us now,"

The sullen soldiers said.

HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 319

Just then, before the laggard line,

The colonel's horse we spied —
Ray Billy, with his trappings on,

His nostrils swelling wide,
As though still on his gallant back

The master sat astride.

Right royally he took the place

That was of old his wont,
And with a neigh, that seemed to say

Above the battle's brunt,
" How can the Twenty-second charge

If I am not in front ? "

Like statues we stood rooted there,

And gazed a little space;
Above that floating mane we missed

The dear familiar face ;
But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire,

And it gave us heart of grace.

No bugle call could rouse us all

As that brave sight had done;
Down all the battered line we felt

A lightning impulse run ;
Up. up the hill we followed Bill,

A nd captured every gun !

And when upon the conquered height

Died out the battle's hum,
Vainly 'mid living and the dead

We sought our leader dumb ;
It seemed as if a specter steed

To win that day had come.

At last the morning broke. The lark

Sang in the merry skies
As if to e'en the sleepers there

It said, awake, arise !
Though naught but that last trump of all

Could ope their heavy eyes.

320 ELOCUTION A ND ORA TOR Y.

And then once more, with banners gay,
Stretched out the long brigade ;

Trimly upon the furrowed field
The troops stood on parade.

And bravely 'mid the ranks were closed
The gaps the fight had made.

Not half the Twenty-second's men
Were in their place that morn.

And Corporal Dick, who j-ester-noon
Stood six brave fellows on,

Now touched my elbow in the ranks,
For all between were gone.

Ah ! who forgets that dreary hour

When, as with misty eyes,
To call the old familiar roll

The solemn sergeant tries ?
One feels that thumping of the heart

As no prompt voice replies.

And as, in faltering tone and slow.

The last few names were said,
Across the field some missing horse

Toiled up with weary tread ;
It caught the sergeant's eye, and quick

Bay Billy's name was read.

Yes ! there the old bay hero stood,

All safe from battle's harms,
And ere an order could be heard,

Or the bugle's quick alarms,
Down all the front, from end to end,

The troops presented arms !

Not all the shoulder-straps on earth

Could still our mighty cheer.
And ever from that famous day.

When rang the roll-call clear.
Bay Billy's name was read, and then

The whole line answered, " Here! "

FRANK H. GASSAWAY.

HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 321

THE MAIDEN MARTYR.

A TROOP of soldiers waited at the door;
A crowd of people gathered in the street ;
Aloof a little from them bared sabers gleamed,
And flashed into their faces. Then the door
Was opened, and two women meekly stepped
Into the sunshine of the sweet May-noon,
Out of the prison. One was weak and old,
A woman full of tears and full of woes ;
The other -was a maiden in her morn,
And they were one in name, and one in faith.
Mother and daughter in the bond of Christ,
That bound them closer than the ties of blood.

The troop moved on ; and down the sunny street

The people followed, ever falling back

As in their faces flashed the naked blades.

But in the midst the women simply went

As if they two were walking, side by side,

Up to God's house on some still Sabbath morn ;

Only they were not clad for Sabbath-day,

But, as they went about their daily tasks,

They went to prison, and they went to death,

Upon their Master's service.

On the shore
The troopers halted ; all the shining sands
Lay bare and glistering ; for the tide had drawn
Back to its farthest margin's weedy mark,
And each succeeding wave, with flash and curve,
That seemed to mock the sabers on the shore.
Drew nearer by a hand-breadth. " It will be
A long day's work," murmured those murderous men
As they slacked rein. The leader of the troops
Dismounted, and the people passing near
Then heard the pardon proffered, with the oath
Renouncing and abjuring part with all
The persecuted, covenanted folk.
But both refused the oath : " Because," they said,
" Unless with Christ's dear servants we have part,
We have no part with him."
21

322 ELOCUTION AND ORAtORy.

On this they took
The elder Margaret, and led her out
Over the sUding sands, the weedy shidge,
The pebbly shoals, far out, and fastened her
Unto the farthest stake, already reached
By every rising wave, and left her there ;
And as the waves crept round her feet, she prayed
" That He would firm uphold her in their midst.
Who holds them in the hollow of His hand."

The tide flowed in. And up and down the shore
There paced the provost and the Laird of Lag —
Grim Grierson — with Windram and with Graham ;
And the rude soldiers, jesting with coarse oaths,
As in the midst the maiden meekly stood,
Waiting her doom delayed, said " she would turn
Before the tide — seek refuge in their arms
From the chill waves." But ever to her lips
There came the wondrous words of life and peace:
•* If God be for us, who can be against ? "
" Who shall divide us from the love of Christ ? "
'* Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature."

From the crowd
A woman's voice cried a very bitter cry —
**0 Margaret! My bonnie, bonnie Margaret!
Gie in, gie in ; my bairnie, dinna ye drown ;
Gie in, and tak' the oath ! "

The tide flowed in ;
And so wore on the sunny afternoon;
And every fire went out upon the hearth,
And not a meal was tasted in the town that day.
And still the tide was flowing in.
Her mother's voice yet sounding in her ear.
They turned young Margaret's face toward the sea,
Where something white was floating— something
White as the sea-mew that sits upon the wave ;
But as she looked it sank ; then showed again ;
Then disappeared ; and round the shore
And stake the tide stood ankle-deep.

HEROIC A ND PA TRIO TIC, 823

Then Grierson,
With cursing, vowed that he wouhl wait no more,
And to the stake the soldier led her down, '
And tied her hands ; and round her slender waist
Too roughly cast the rope ; for Windram came
And eased it, while he whispered in her ear:
" Come, take the test, and ye are free! "
And one cried: " Margaret, say God save the King! "
" God save the King of his great grace," she answered,
But would not take the oath.

And still the tide flowed in,
And drove the people back, and silenced them.
The tide flowed in, and rising to her knees.
She sang the psalm, " To Thee I lift my soul ; "
The tide flowed in, and rising to her waist,
" To Thee, my God, I lift my soul," she sang.
The tide flowed in, and rising to her throat.
She sang no more, but lifted up her face,
And there was glory over all the sky,
And there was glory over all the sea —
A flood of glory — and the lifted face
Swam in it till it bowed beneath the flood.
And Scotland's Maiden Martyr w^ent to God.

GUILTY OR NOT GUII.TY.

She stood at the bar of justice,

A creature wan and wild,
In form too small for a woman,

In features too old for a child ;
For a look so worn and pathetic

"Was stamped on her pale young face,
It seemed long years of suffering

Must have left that silent trace.

"Your name," said the judge, as he eyed her

With kindly look yet keen —
" Is Mary McGuire, if you please sir."

"And your age?"— "I am turned fifteen."

324 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

" Well, Mary," and then from a paper
He slowly and gravely read,

"You are charged here — I'm sorry to say it-
With stealing three loaves of bread.

You look not like an offender,

And I hope that you can show
The charge to be false. Now, tell me,

Are you guilty of this, or no?"
A passionate burst of weeping

Was at first her sole reply ;
But she dried her eyes in a moment,

And looked in the judge's eye.

"I will tell you just how it was, sir:

My father and mother are dead,
And my little brother and sisters

Were hungry, and asked me for bread.
At first I earned it for them

By working hard all day ;
But somehow times were bad, sir,

And the work all fell away.

T could get no more employment;

The weather was bitter cold,
The young ones cried and shivered —

(Little Johnny 's but four years old)—
So, what was I to do, sir?

I am guilty, but do not condemn,
I took— 0 was it stealing?—

The bread to give to them."

Every man in the court-room—

Gray-beard and thoughtless youth-
Knew, as he looked upon her,

That the prisoner spake the truth.
Out from their pockets came kerchiefs ;

Out from their eyes sprung tears;
And out from old faded wallets

Treasures hoarded for years.

The judge's face was a study—
The strangest you ever saw.

As he cleared his throat and murmured
Something about the law.

HEROIC AND PA TRIOTIC. 325

For one so learned in such matters,

So wise in dealing with men,
He seemed, on a simple question,

Sorely puzzled just then.

But no one blamed him or wondered,

When at last these words they heard :
"The sentence of this young prisoner

Is, for the present, deferred."
And no one blamed him or wondered

When he went to her and smiled,
And tenderly led from the court-room,

Himself, the guilty child.

THE OLD SCHOOLMASTER.

He sat by his desk at the close of the day,

For he felt the weight of his many years ;
His form was bent, and his hair was gray,

And his eyes wore dim with the falling tears.
The school was out, and his task was done.

And the house seemed now so strangely still,
As the last red beam of the setting sun

Stole silently over the window-sill, —

Stole silently into the twilight gloom ;

And the deepening shadow fell athwart
The vacant seats, and the vacant room,

And the vacant place in the old man's heart ;
For his school had been all in all to him,

Who had wife, nor children, nor land, nor gold;
But his frame was weak, and his eyes were dim,

And the fiat was issued at last: "Too old."

He bowed his head on his trembling hands

A moment, as one might bend to pray :
" ' Too old,' they say, and the school demands

A wiser and younger head to-day.
'Too old! too old! ' these men forgot.

It was I who guided their tender years ;
Their hearts were hard, and they pitied not

My trembling lips and my falling tears.

326 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

• Too old : too old ! ' It was all they said.

I looked in their faces one by one ;
But they turned away, and my heart was lead.

Dear Lord, it is hard, but thy will be done."
The night stole on, and a blacker gloom

Was over the vacant benches cast;
The master sat in the silent room,

But his mind was back in the days long past.
And the shadows took, to his tear-dimmed sight,

Dear, well-known forms, and his heart was thrilled
With the blessed sense of its delight.

For the vacant benches were all well filled ;
And he slowly rose at his desk, and took

His well-worn Bible, that lay within.
And he said, as he lightly tapped the Book :

*It is the hour; let school begin."

And he smiled, as his kindly glances fell

On the well-beloved faces there —
John, Eob, and Will, and laughing Nell,

And blue-eyed Bess, with the golden hair;
And Tom, and Charley, and Ben, and Paul,
• Who stood at the head of the spelling class, —

All in their places ; and yet they all

Were lying under the grave-yard grass.

He read the Book, and he knelt to pray,

And he called the classes to recite,
For the darkness all had rolled away

From a soul that saw by an inward light.
With words of praise for a work of care.

With kind reproof for a broken rule,
The old man tottered, now here, now there,

Through the spectral ranks of his shadow schooL
Thus all night long, till the morning came,

And darkness folded her robe of gloom,
And the sun looked in, with his eye of flame.

On the vacant seats of the silent room.
The wind stole over the window-sill,

And swept through the aisles in a merry rout,
But the face of the master was white and still ;

His work was finished, and school was out.

l,Ee O. HARRIS.

HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 327

WHO KISSED AWAY THE TEAR?

Is ANY THING stranger than the human heart? Nature
sends a frail, green vine creeping across the earth to reach
a grim wall and cover its ugliness ; to reach a dead branch,
and cover it with life. We bless nature as we see these
things, and yet we do not realize that human hearts are
ever doing the same. One day, months ago, a rosy-faced
child, looking from a window, saw a queer old man go limp-
ing past. It tapped on the pane, and the old man looked up.
The sight of that sweet face opened his old heart, and he
went on his way feeling richer than for many a month past.
He was the grim wall; the child was the green vine. He
passed again, and again the child was at the window, and
for days and weeks they never missed seeing each other. At
each meeting the vine crept nearer to the wall; the wall ap-
peared less grim and forbidding. One day the "wall" laid
aside his hat for a better one. Another day he had a new
coat. Again he was clean-shaved, and the "vine" scarcely
recognized him. No one knew the old man; but he knew
that he was feeling the influence of the vine.

A week ago as the old man passed he missed the face at
the window. Was he too early or too late? He lingered
and looked, and seemed lost. It was the same next day; but
a kind heart pitied him, and sent out word that the child
was sick. The green vine had reached the wall only to be
blighted. Two days more, and there was crape on the door.
The child was dead. It had fallen asleep in death without
a struggle, knowing nothing of the grand hereafter, but
having no fear. On its pale che^k was a tear — a single
tear, which glistened like a diamond. No hand dared wipe
that tear away. It seemed a tie between the present and
the past — the living and the dead..

" Please can I see the — the child ! " It was the old man —
the grim wall — who knocked timidly at the door and spoke
thus. They knew him by sight, and they led him into th^

328 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

room where the vine lay dead. He stood over the coffin for
a moment, lips quivering and eyes full of tears, and then
he bent over and kissed the face which would watch for him
no more. When he had gone, they looked for the tear. He
had kissed it away! Old and poor and unknown, he had
reaped a treasure such as all the millions of the world could
not buy. dktroit free press.

DRAMATIC.

MARY'S NIGHT-RIDK.

Mary Richling, the heroine of the story, was the wife
of John Richling, a resident of New Orleans. At the break-
ing out of the Civil War she went to visit her parents in
Milwaukee. About the time of the bombardment of New
Orleans, she received news of the dangerous illness of her
husband, and she decided at once to reach his bedside, if
possible. Taking with her her baby daughter, a child of
three years, she proceeded southward, where, after several
unsuccessful attempts to secure a pass, she finally determined
to break through the lines.

About the middle of the night Mary Richling was sitting
very still and upright on a large, dark horse that stood
champing his Mexican bit in the black shadow of a great
oak. Alice rested before her, fast asleep against her bosom.
Mary held by the bridle another horse, whose naked saddle-
tree was empty. A few steps in front of her the light of the
full moon shone almost 'straight down upon a narrow road
that just there emerged from the shadow of woods on either
side, and divided into a main right-fork and a much smaller
one that curved around to Mary's left. Off in the direction
of the main fork the sky was all aglow with camp-fires.
Only just here on the left there was a cool and grateful
darkness.

DRAMATIC. 329

She lifted her head alertly. A twig crackled under a
tread, and the next moment a man came out of the bushes at
the left, and without a word took the bridle of the led-horse
from her fingers, and vaulted into the saddle. The hand that
rested for a moment on the cantle as he rose grasped a "navy
six." He was dressed in plain " homespun," but he was the
same who had been dressed in blue. He turned his horse,
and led the way down the lesser road.

" If we'd of gone three hundred yards further, we 'd a run
into the pickets. I went nigh enough to see the videttes
settin' on their bosses in the main road. This here ain't no
road; it just goes up to a nigger quarters. I've got one
o' the niggers to show us the way."

"Where is he?" whispered Mary; but before her com-
panion could answer, a tattered form moved from behind a
bush a little in advance, and started ahead in the path, walk-
ing and beckoning. Presently they turned into a clear, open
forest, and followed the long, rapid, swinging strides of the
negro for nearly an hour. Then they halted on the bank
of a deep, narrow stream. The negro made a motion for
them to keep well to the right when they should enter the
water. The white man softly lifted Alice to his arms, directed
and assisted Mary to kneel in her saddle, with her skirts
gathered carefully under her, and so they went down into
the cold stream, the negro first, with arms outstretched
above the flood; then Mary, and then the white man, or
let us say plainly the spy, with the una wakened child on
his breast. And so they rose out of it on the farther side
without a shoe or garment wet, save the rags of their
dark guide.

Again they followed him, along a line of stake-and-rider
fence, with the woods on one side, and the bright moonlight
flooding a field of young cotton on the other. Now they
heard the distant baying of house-dogs, now the doleful call
of the chuckwill's-widow, and once Mary's blood turned
for an instant to ice at the unearthly shriek of the hoot-owl

330 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y.

just above their heads. At length they found themselves
in a dim, narrow road, and the negro stopped.

"Dess keep dish yer road fo' 'bout half mile, an' you
strak 'pon de broad, main road. Tek de right, an' you go
whar yo' fancy tak you. Good-bye, miss. Good-bye, boss;
don't you fo'git you promise tek me thoo to de Yankee,
when you come back. I feered you gwine fo'git it, boss."

The spy said he would not, and they left him. The half
mile was soon passed, though it turned out to be a mile and
a half, and at length Mary's companion looked back as they
rode single file with Mary in the rear, and said softly:
''There's the road."

As they entered it and turned to the right, Mary, with
Alice in her arms, moved somewhat ahead of her companion,
her indifferent horsemanship having compelled hira to drop
back to avoid a prickly bush. His horse was just quicken-
ing his pace to regain the lost position, when a man sprang
up from the ground on the farther side of the highway,
snatched a carbine from the earth, and cried: "Halt!"

The dark* recumbent forms of six or eight others could
be seen, enveloped in their blankets, lying about a few red
coals. Mary turned a frightened look backward, and met
the eye of her companion.

"Move a little faster," said he, in a low, clear voice.
As he did so, she heard him answer the challenge, as his
horse trotted softly after hers.

"Don't stop us, my friend; we're taking a sick child to
the doctor."

"Halt, you hound!" the cry rang out; and as Mary
glanced back, three or four men were leaping into the
road. But she saw also her companion, his face suffused
with an earnestness that was almost an agony, rise in his
stirrups with the stoop of his shoulders all gone, and wildly
cry: "Go!" She smote the horse, and flew. Alice awoke,
and screamed.

The report of a carbine rang out and went rolling, away

DRAMATIC. 331

iu a thousand echoes through the wood. Two others followed
in sharp succession, and there went close by Mary's ear the
waspish whine of a minnie-ball. At the same moment she
recognized — once, twice, thrice — just at her back where the
hoofs of her companion's horse were clattering, the tart
rejoinder of his navy six.

'*Go! lay low! lay low! cover the child!" But his
words were needless. With head bowed forward and form
crouched over the crying child, with slackened rein and flut-
tering dress, and sun-bonnet and loosened hair blown back
upon her shoulders, with lips compressed, and silent prayers,
Mary was riding for life and liberty, and her husband's
bed-side.

"Go on! Go on ! They're saddling up! Go! Go!
We 're going to make it ! we 're going to make it ! Go-o-o ! "

And they made it ! george w. cable.

THE OLD WOMAN'S RAILWAY-SIGNAlv.

The most effective working-force in the world in which
we live is the law of kindness. From time immemorial,
music has wonderfully affected all beings, reasoning or un-
reasoning, that have ears to hear. The prettiest idea and
simile of ancient literature relates to Orpheus playing his
lyre to animals listening in intoxicated silence to its strains.
Well, kindness is the music of good-will to men and beasts;
and both listen to it with their hearts, instead of their ears ;
and the hearts of both are affected by it in the same way,
if not to the same degree. Volumes might be Avritten, filled
with beautiful illustrations of its effect upon both. The music
of kindness has not only power to charm, but even to trans-
form, both the savage breast of man and beast ; and on this
harp the smallest fingers in the world may play heaven's
sweetest tunes on earth.

332 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Some time ago we read of an incident in America that
will serve as a good illustration of this beautiful law. It
was substantially to this effect : A poor, coarse-featured old
woman lived on the line of the Baltimore and Ohio Railway,
where it passed through a wild, unpeopled district in West-
ern Virginia. She was a widow, with only one daughter
living with her in a log hut, near a deep, precipitous gorge
crossed by the railway bridge. Here she contrived to sup-
port herself by raising and selling poultry and eggs, adding
berries in their season, and other little articles for the
market. She had to make a long, weary walk of many
miles to a town where she could sell her basket of produce.
The railway passed by her house to this town; but the ride
would cost too much of the profit of her small sales ; so she
trudged on generally to the market on foot. The conductor,
or guard, came finally to notice her traveling by the side of
the line, or on the footpath between the rails ; and being a
good-natured, benevolent man, he would often give her a
ride to and fro without charge. The engine-man and brake-
man also were good to the old woman, and felt that they
were not wronging the interest of the railway company by
giving her these free rides.

And soon an accident occurred that proved they were
quite right in this view of the matter. In the wild month
of March the rain descended, and the mountains sent down
their rolling, roaring torrents of melted snow and ice into
this gorge, near the old woman's house. The flood arose
with the darkness of the night, until she heard the crash of
the railway bridge, as it was swept from its abutments, and
dashed its broken timbers against the craggy sides of the
precipice on either side. It was nearly midnight. The rain
fell* in a flood ; and the darkness was deep and howling. In
another half hour the train would be due. There was no
telegraph on the line, and the stations were separated by
great distances. What could she do to warn the train
against the awful destruction it was approaching ? She had

DRAMATIC, 333

hardly a tallow candle in her house ; and no light she could
make of tallow or oil, if she had it, would live a moment in
that tempest of wind and rain. Not a moment was to be
lost; and her thought was equal to the moment. She cut
the cords of her only bedstead, and shouldered the dry
posts, head-pieces, and side-pieces. Her daughter followed
her with their two wooden chairs. Up the steep embank-
ment they climbed, and piled all of their household furniture
upon the line, a few rods beyond the black, awful gap,
gurgling with the roaring flood. The distant rumbling of
the train came upon them just as they had fired the well-
dried combustibles. The pile blazed up into the night, throw-
ing its red, s waling, booming light a long way up the line.
In fifteen minutes it would begin to wane; and she could
not revive it with green, wet wood. The thunder of the
train grew louder. It was within five miles of the fire.
Would they see it in time? They might not put on the
brakes soon enough. Awful thought ! She tore her red
woolen gown from her in a moment, and tying it to the
end of a stick, ran up the line, waving it in both hands,
while her daughter swung around her head a blazing chair-
post a little before. The lives of a hundred unconscious
passengers hung on the issue of the next minute. The
ground trembled at the old woman's feet. The great red eye
of the engine showed itself coming round a curve. Like as
a huge, sharp-sighted lion coming suddenly upon a fire, it
sent forth a thrilling roar, that echoed through all the wild
heights and ravines around. The train was at full speed,
but the brakemen wrestled at their leverage with all the
strength of desperation. The wheels ground along on the
heated rails slower and slower, until the engine stopped at
the roaring fire. It still blazed enough to show them the
beetling edge of the black abyss into which the train and all
its passengers would have plunged into a death and destruc-
tion too horrible to think of, had it not been for the old
woman's signal.

334 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Kinduess is the music of good-will to meu ; and on this
harp the smallest fingers in the world may play heaven's
sweetest tunes on earth. elthu burritt.

THE LAST HYMN.

The Sabbath-day was ending in a village by the sea,
The uttered benediction touched the people tenderly,
And they rose to face the sunset in the glowing, lighted west,
And then hastened to their dwellings for God's blessed boon
of rest.

But they looked across the waters, and a storm was raging there;
A fierce spirit moved above them— the wild spirit of the air ;
And it lashed and shook and tore them, till they thundered,

groaned, and boomed ;
And alas for any vessel in their yawning gulfs entombed !

Very anxious were the people on that rocky coast of Wales
Lest the dawns of coming morrows should be telling awful tales,
When the sea had spent its passion and should cast upon

the shore
Bits of wreck and swollen victims, as it had done heretofore.

With the rough winds blowing round her. a brave w^oman

strained her eyes,
And she saw along the billows a large vessel fall and rise ;
O, it did not need a prophet to tell what the end must be !
For no ship could ride in safety near that shore on such a sea.

Then the pitying people hurried from their homes, and thronged

the beach.
0, for power to cross the waters and the perishing to reach !
Helpless hands were wrung for sorrow, tender hearts grew cold

with dread,
And the ship urged by the tempest, to the fatal rock-shore sped.

" She has parted in the middle ! 0, the half of her goes down !
God have mercy I Is His heaven far to seek for those who drown? '*
Lo ! when next the white, shocked faces looked with terror on

the sea,
Only one last clinging figure on a spar was seen to be.

Dramatic, 335

Nearer to the trembling watchers came the wreck tossed by the

wave,
And the man still clung and floated, though no power on earth

could save.
** Could we send him a short message ? Here 's a trumpet.

Shout away ! "
'T was the preacher's hand that took it, and he wondered what

to say.

Any memory of his sermon? Firstly? secondly? Ah no!

There was but one thing to utter in the awful hour of woe;

So he shouted through the trumpet: **Look to Jesus! Can

you hear ? "
And "Ay, ay, sir !" rang the answer o'er the waters loud and clear.

Then they listened. "He is singing, * Jesus, lover of my soul ! *"
And the winds brought back the echo, " While the nearer

waters roll ; "
Strange, indeed, it was to hear him, " Till the storm of life

is past,"
Singing bravely from the waters, " 0, receive my soul at last ! '*

He could have no other refuge. " Hangs my helpless soul on Thee ;
Leave, ah, leave me not." The singer dropped at last into the sea ;
And the watchers, looking homeward through their eyes with

tears made dim,
Said; " He passed to be with Jesus in the singing of that hymn."

MARIANNE FARNINGHAM.

A SECOND TRIAL.

It was Commencement at one of our colleges. The peo-
ple were pouring into the church as I entered it, rather
tardy. Finding the choice seats in the center of the audience-
room already taken, I pressed forward, looking to the right
and to the left for a vacancy. On the very front row of
seats I found one.

Here a little girl moved along to make room for me,
looking into my face with large gray eyes, whose brightness
was softened by very long lashes. Her face was open and
fresh as a newly blown rose before sunrise. Again and again

836 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

I found my eyes turning to the rose-like face, and each time
the gray eyes moved, half-smiling, to meet mine. Evidently
the child was ready to "make up" with me. And when,
with a bright smile, she returned my dropped handkerchief,
and I said, "Thank you!" we seemed fairly introduced.
Other persons, now coming into the seat, crowded me quite
close up against the little girl, so that we soon felt very well
acquainted.

" There 's going to be a great crowd," she said to me.

" Yes," I replied ; " people always like to see how school-
boys are made into men."

Her face beamed with pleasure and pride as she said :

" My brother's going to graduate; he's going to speak.
I've brought these flowers to throw to him."

They were not greenhouse favorites; just old-fashioned
domestic flowers, such as we associate with the dear grand-
mothers; "but," I thought, "they will seem sweet and
beautiful to him for little sister's sake."

" That is my brother," she went on.

"The one with the light hair?" I asked.

" O no," she said, smiling and shaking her head in in-
nocent reproof; "not that homely one; that handsome one
with brown, wavy iiair. His eyes look brown, too; but
they are not — they are dark-blue. There ! he 's got his
hand up to his head now. You see him, do n't you?"

In an eager way she looked from me to him, and from
him to me, as if some important fate depended upon my
identifying her brother.

"I see him," I said. "He's a very good-looking
brother."

"Yes, he is beautiful," she said, with artless delight;
"and he's so good, and he studies so hard. He has taken
care of me ever since mamma died. Here is his name on
the programme. He is not the valedictorian, but he has an
honor, for all that."

I saw in the little creature's familiarity with these tech-

DRAMATIC. 337

nical college terms that she had closely identified herself
with her brother's studies, hopes, and successes.

*' His oration is a real good one, and he says it beauti-
fully. He has said it to^ me a great many times. I 'most
know it by heart. O ! it begins so pretty and so grand.
This is the way it begins," she added, encouraged by the in-
terest she must have seen in my face : " Amid the permuta-
tions and combinations of the actors and the forces which
make up the great kaleidoscope of history, we often find
that a turn of Destiny's hand ' "

" Why, bless the baby! " I thought, looking down into
her bright, proud face. I can 't describe how very odd and
elfish it did seem to have those long words rolling out of the
smiling, infantile mouth.

As the exercises progressed, and approached nearer and
nearer the effort on which all her interest was concentrated,
my little friend became excited and restless. Her eyes
grew larger and brighter, two deep-red spots glowed on her
cheeks.

"Now, it's his turn," she said, turning to me a face in
which pride and delight and anxiety seemed about equally
mingled. But when the overture was played through, and
his name was called, the child seemed, in her eagerness, to
forget me and all the earth beside him. She rose to her
feet and leaned forward for a better view of her brother, as
he mounted to the speaker's stand. I knew by her deep
breathing that her heart was throbbing in her throat. I
knew, too, by the way her brother came up the steps and to
the front that he was trembling. The hands hung limp ;
his face was pallid, and the lips blue as with cold. I felt
anxious. The child, too, seemed to discern that things were
not well with him. Something like fear showed in her face.

He made an automatic bow. Then a bewildered, strug-
gling look came into his face, then a helpless look, and then
he stood staring vacantly, like a somnambulist, at the waiting
audience. The moments of painful suspense went by, and

.22

338 ELOCUTION AND OnATOHY.

still he stood as if struck dumb. I saw how it was ; lie had
been seized with stage-fright.

Alas ! little sister ! She turned her large, dismayed eyes
upon me. "He's forgotten it,"* she said. Then a swift
change came into her face ; a strong, determined look ; and
on the funeral-like silence of the room broke the sweet,
brave, child-voice :

*' 'Amid the permutations and combinations of the actors
and the forces which make up the great kaleidoscope of his-
tory, we often find that a turn of Destiny's hand ' "

Every body about us turned and looked. The breathless
silence ; the sweet, childish voice, the childish face, the long,
unchildlike words, produced a weird effect. But the help
had come too late ; the unhappy brother was already stagger-
ing in humiliation from the stage. The band quickly struck
up, and waves of lively music rolled out to cover the defeat.

I gave the little sister a glance in which I meant to show
the intense sympathy I felt ; but she did not see me. Her eyes,
swimming with tears, were on her brother's face. I put my
arm around her, but she was too absorbed to heed the ca-
ress, and before I could appreciate her purpose, she was on
her way to the shame-stricken young man sitting with a face
like a statue's.

When he saw her by his side the set face relaxed, and a
quick mist came into his eyes. The young men got closer
together to make room for her. She sat down beside him,
laid her flowers on his knee, and slipped her hand in his.

I could not keep my eyes from her sweet, pitying face.
I saw her whisper to him, he bending a little to catch her
words. Later, I found out that she was asking him if he
knew his ' * piece " now, and that he answered yes.

When the young man next on the list had spoken, and
while the band was playing, the child, to the brother's great
surprise, made her way up the stage steps, and pressed
through the throng of professors and trustees, and distin-
guished visitors, up to the college president.

t)RAMATia 339

" If you please, sir," she said with a little courtesy, ''will
you and the trustees let my brother try again ? He knows
his piece now."'

For a moment the president stared at her through his
gold-bowed spectacles, and then, appreciating the child's pe-
lition, he smiled on her, and went down and spoke to the
young man who had failed.

So when the band had again ceased playing, it was

briefly announced that Mr. would now deliver

nis oration — ''Historical Parallels."

A ripple of heightened and expectant interest passed
over the audience, and then all sat stone still, as though fear-
mg to breathe, lest the speaker might again take fright. No
danger ! The hero in the youth was aroused. He went at
his "piece" with a set purpose to conquer, to redeem him-
self, and to bring the smile back into the child's tear-
stained face. I watched the face during the speaking.
The wide eyes, the parted lips, the whole rapt being said
that the breathless audience was forgotten, that her spirit
was moving with his.

And when the address was ended with the ardent aban-
don of one who catches enthusiasm in the realization that
he is fighting down a wrong judgment and conquering a
sympathy, the effect was really thrilling. That dignified
audience broke into rapturous applause ; bouquets, intended
for the valedictorian, rained like a tempest. And the child
who had helped to save the day — that one beaming little
face, in its pride and gladness — is something to be forever
remembered. sarah winter kellogg.

ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST.

The scene opens with a view of the great Natural Bridge
in Virginia. There are three or four lads standing in the
channel below, looking up with awe to that vast arch of un-
hewn rocks which the Almighty bridged over those ever-

340 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

lasting hutments, "when the morning stars sang together."
The little piece of sky spanning those measureless piers is
full of stars, although it is midday. It is almost five hun-
dred feet from where they stand, up those perpendicular
bulwarks of limestone to the key of that vast arch, which
appears to them only of the size of a man's hand. The
silence of death is rendered more impressive by the little
stream that falls from rock to rock down the channel. The
sun is darkened, and the boys have uncovered their heads,
as if standing in the presence-chamber of the Majesty of the
whole earth. At last this feeling begins to wear away;
they look around them, and find that others have been there
before them. They see the names of hundreds cut in the
limestone hutments. A new feeling comes over their young
hearts, and their knives are in their hands in an instant.
*' What man has done, man can do," is their watchword,
while they draw themselves up, and carve their name a foot
above those of a hundred full-grown men who have been
there before them.

They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion,
except one. This ambitious youth sees a name just above
his reach — a name which will be green in the memory of the
world when those of Alexander, Caesar, and Bonaparte shall
rot in oblivion. It was the name of Washington. Before
he marched with Braddock to that fatal field he had been
there and left his name a foot above any of his predecessors.
It was a glorious thought to write his name side by side with
that of the Father of his Country. He grasps his^knife with
a firmer hand, and clinging to a little jutting crag, he cuts
a niche into the limestone, about a foot above where he
stands; he then reaches up and cuts another for his hands.
T is a dangerous adventure ; and, as he draws himself up
carefully to his full length, he finds himself a foot above
every name chronicled in that mighty wall. While his com-
panions are regarding him with concern and admiration, he
cuts his name in wide capitals, large and deep, into that

BBAMATia 341

flinty album. His knife is still in his hand, and strength in
his sinews, and a new-created aspiration in his heart. Again
he cuts another niche, and again he carves his name in larger
capitals. This is not enough; heedless of the entreaties of
his companions, he cuts and climbs again. He measures his
length at every gain he cuts. The voices of his friends wax
weaker and weaker, till their words are finally lost on his
ear. He now for the first time casts a look beneath him.
Had that glance lasted a moment more, that moment would
have been his last. He clings with a convulsive shudder to
his little niche in the rock. His knife is worn half-way to
the haft. He can hear the voices of his terror-stricken com-
panions below. What a moment ! what a meager chance to
escape destruction! There is no retracing his steps. It is im-
possible to put his hands into the same niche with his feet
and retain his slender hold a moment. His companions
instantly perceive this new and fearful dilemma. He is
too high to ask for his father and mother, his brothers
and sisters. But one of his companions anticipates his
desire. Swift as the wind he bounds down the channel,
and the situation of the fated boy is told upon his father's
hearthstone.

Minutes of almost eternal length roll on, and there are
hundreds standing in that rocky channel and hundreds on
the bridge above, all holding their breath, and awaiting the
fearful catastrophe. The poor boy hears the hum of new and
numerous voices, both above and below. He can just dis-
tinguish the tones of his father, who is shouting with all the
energy of despair : "William! William! don't look down!
Your mother, and Henry and Harriet are all here praying
for you ! Do n't look down ! Keep your eye toward the
top ! " The boy did n't look down. His eye is fixed like a
flint towards heaven, and his young heart on Him who reigns
there. He grasps again his knife. He cuts another niche,
and another foot is added to the hundreds that remove him
from the reach of human help from below. How carefully

342 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

he uses his wasting blade! How anxiously he selects the
softest places in that vast pier ! How he avoids every flinty
grain ! How he economizes his physical powers, resting a
moment at each gain he cuts! How every motion is
watched from below! There stand his father, mother,
brother, and sister on the very spot where, if he falls, he
will not fall alone.

The sun is half-way down in the west. The lad has
made fifty additional niches in that mighty wall. Fifty more
must be cut before the longest rope can reach him. His
wasting blade strikes again into the limestone. The boy is
emerging painfully, foot by foot, from under that lofty arch.
Spliced ropes are ready in the hands of those who are lean-
ing over the outer edge of the bridge above. Two minutes
more and all must be over. The blade is worn to the last
half-inch. The boy's head reels ; his eyes are starting from
their sockets. His last hope is dying in his heart; his
life must hang on the next gain he cuts. That niche is
his last.

At the last faint gash he makes, his knife — his faithful
knife — falls from his little nerveless hand, and ringing along
the precipice, falls at his mother's feet. An involuntary
groan of despair runs like a death-knell through the channel
below, and all is still as the grave. At the height of nearly
three hundred feet the devoted boy lifts his hopeless heart,
and closes his .eyes to commend his soul to God.

'T is but a moment — there ! one foot swings ofl"— he is
reeling — trembling — toppling over into eternity! Hark! a
shout falls on his ear from above ! The man who is lying
with half his length over the bridge has caught a glimpse
of the boy's head and shoulders. Quick as thought the
noosed rope is within reach of the sinking youth. With a
faint, convulsive effort the swooning boy drops his arms into
the noose. Darkness comes over him, and with the words
God — mother — whispered on his lips just loud enough to be
heard in heaven — the tightening rope lifts him out of his

DRAMATIC, 343

last shallow niche. Not a lip moves while he is dangling over
that fearful abyss; but when a sturdy Virginian reaches
down and draws up the lad and holds him up in his arms
before the tearful, breathless multitude, such shouting— such
leaping and weeping for joy — never greeted the ear of a
human being so recovered from the yawning gulf of eternity.

ELIHU BURRITT.

THE BEI.I.S.

ABRIDGED.

Hear the sledges with the bells —
Silver bells !
What a world of merriment their melody foretells I
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

In the icy air of night !
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight ;
Keeping time, time, time.
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells.
Bells, bells, bells —
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Hear the mellow wedding bells —
Golden bells !
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells !
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight
From the molten-golden notes.
And all in tune ! —
0, from out the sounding cells.
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells !
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future ! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels

344 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells —
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells !

Hear the loud alarum bells —
Brazen bells !
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells !
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire.
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire!
Leaping higher, higher, higher.
O, the bells,. bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear, it fully knows,
By the twanging
And the clanging.
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells.
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells —
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells —
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells !

Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron bells !
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright.
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.

DRAMATIC. 345

And the people— ah, the people!
They that dwell up in the steeple,

All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,

In that muffled monotone.
Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone.
They are neither man nor woman ;
They are neither brute nor human—

They are ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls ;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls.

Keeping time, time, time,

To the throbbing of the bells—

To the sobbing of the bells ;

As he knells, knells, knells, —

To the rolling of the bells, —

To the tolling of the bells,
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

EDGAR A. POE.

THE LAST DAYS OF HERCULANKUM.

There was a man,
A Roman soldier, for some daring deed
That trespassed on the laws, in dungeon low
Chained down. His was a noble spirit, rough,
But generous, and brave, and kind.

He had a son ; it was a rosy boy,

A little, faithful copy of his sire

In face and gesture. From infancy the child

Had been his father's solace and his care.

Every sport
The father shared and heightened. But at length
The rigorous law had grasped him, and condemned
To fetters and to darkness.

The captive's lot
He felt in all its bitterness; the walls
Of his deep dungeon answer'd many a sigh

346 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

A nd heart-heaved groan. His tale was known, and touched

His jailer with compassion ; and the boy,

Thenceforth a frequent visitor, beguiled

His father's lingering hours, and brought a balm

With his loved presence, that in every wound

Dropped healing.

But in this terrific hour
He was a poisoned arrow in the breast
Where he had been a cure. With earliest morn
Of that first day of darkness and amaze,
He came. The iron door was closed — for them
Never to open more ! The day, the night,
Dragged slowly by ; nor did they know the fate
Impending o'er the city.

Well they heard
The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath.
And felt its giddy rocking; and the air
Grew hot at length, and (hick ; but in his straw
The boy was sleeping; and the father hoped
The earthquake might pass by ; nor would he wake
From his sound rest the unfearing child, nor tell
The dangers of their state.

On his low couch
The fettered soldier sank, and with deep awe,
Listened to the fearful sounds. With upturned eye,
To the great gods he breathed a prayer ; then strove
To calm himself, and lose in sleep awhile
His useless terrors. But he could not sleep ;
His body burned with feverish heat; his chains
Clanked loud, although he moved not; deep in earth
Groaned unimaginable thunders ; sounds,
Fearful and ominous, arose and died,
Like the sad moanings of November's wind
In the blank midnight.

Deepest horror chilled
His blood that burned before ; cold, clammy sweats
Came o'er him ; then, anon, a fiery thrill
Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk,
And shivered as in fear; now upright leaped,
As though he heard the battle-trumpet sound,

DRAMATIC. 347

And longed to cope with death. He slept at last —
A troubled, dreamy sleep. Well had he slept
Never to waken more ! His hours are few,
But terrible his agony.

Soon the storm
Burst forth ; the lightnings glanced ; the air
Shook with the thunders. They awoke ; they sprung
Amazed upon their feet. The dungeon glowed
A moment as in sunshine, and was dark ;
Again, a flood of white flame fills the cell,
Dying away upon the dazzled eye,
In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound
Dies, throbbing, ringing in the ear. Silence,
And blackest darkness !

With intensest awe
The soldier's frame was filled ; and many a thought
Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind.
As underneath he felt the fevered earth
Jarring and lifting, and the massive walls
Heard harshly grate and strain ; yet knew he not.
While evils undefined and yet to come
Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless wound
Fate had already given.

Where, man of woe!
Where, wretched father, is thy boy ? Thou call'st
His name in vain: he can not answer thee.

Loudly the father called upon his child :

No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously

He searched their couch of straw ; with headlong haste

Trod round his stinted limits, and low bent.

Groped darkling on the earth : no child was there.

Again he called; again, at farthest stretch

Of his accursed fetters, till the blood

Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes

Fire flashed ; he strained, with arm extended far,

And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch

Though but his idol's garment.

Useless toil !
Yet still renewed ; still round and round he goes.
And strains, and snatches, and with dreadful cries

348 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y.

Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now:
He plants against the wall his feet ; his chain
Grasps ; tugs witli giant strength to force away
The deep-driven staple ; yells and shrieks with rage:
And, like a desert lion in the snare,
Raging to break his toils, to and fro bounds.
But see ! the ground is opening; a blue light
Mounts, gently waving, noiseless ; thin and cold
It seems, and like a rainbow-tint, not flame ;
But hy its luster, on the earth outstretched,
Behold the lifeless child ! His dress is singed ;
And o'er his face serene a darkened line
Points out the lightning's track.

The father saw,
And all his fury fled ; a dead calm fell
That i'nstant on him ; speechless, fixed, he stood ;
And, with a look that never wandered, gazed
Intensely on the corse. Those laughing eyes
Were not yet closed ; and round those ruby lips
The wonted smile returned.

Silent and pale
The father stands ; no tear is in his eye ;
The thunders bellow, but he hears them not;
The ground lifts like a sea, — he knows it not ;
The strong walls grind and gape ; the vaulted roof
Takes shapes like bubbles tossing in the wdnd.
See ! he looks up and smiles ; for death to him
Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace
Be given, 't were still a sweeter thing to die.

It will be given. Look ! how the rolling ground.
At every swell, nearer and still more near.
Moves toward his father's outstretched arms his boy.
Once he has touched his garment ; how his eye
Lightens with love, and hope, and anxious fears!
Ha! See! he has him now! he clasps him round,
Kisses his face, puts back the curling locks
That shaded his fine brow ; looks in his eyes, —
Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands;
Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont
To lie when sleeping, and resigned awaits
Undreaded death.

DUAMATia ''^49

And dcatl) came soon, and swift,
And pangless. The huge pile sank down at once
Into the opening earth. Walls— arches— roof—
And deep foundation-stones— all— mingling— fell !

EDWIN ATHERTON.

THE DUMB SAVIOR.

[abridged.]

Ho, MoRO ! Moro, my dog, where are you ?

Moro ! He has gone ! He has left me —

The last, the only friend. Forsaken by him —

By the one living thing that clung to me

When the storm stripped my life, who followed me

Through cold, and hunger, and wild, weary tramp

On the bleak highways. So, at last he 's gone!

Lured by the smell of Athol's savory meats,

The warmth of Athol's hearth.

A n hour ago,
When I met Athol yonder in the street,
He said with insolent pity in his look :
" Sell me that dog. He taxes you too sore
To feed him. Here's his price."

Sell you my dog!
Sell you the one thing that keeps alive in me
A spark of trust in any thing on earth ?
Never ! Your gold has bought all that was mine —
My lands, my home, my friends, my promised bride.
It can not buy my dog ! He would not go !
Your chains could never hold him 1 He would leave
Your juicy meats to come and share my crust.
Put up your gold ! It can not buy my dog.
** We 'II see," he said, and turned upon his heel —
The low-born insolent ! His gold had bought
My old proud home, my flattering friends, the graves
Of my dead sires ; ay, even her, my love.
With eyes as blue as heaven, as full of truth
(I would have sworn so once) as heaven of stars.
How I loved her ! How I trusted her !
How her voice thrilled me on that summer night
When, with her hand in mine, she said :

850 ELOCUTION AND OUATOTtY,

" I love you not
For laurels or for gold, but for yourself,
Your own proud manhood, and your faithful heart."
These were her words. Just Heaven, that lips so fair
Could utter words so false ! Not care for gold !
'T was all she cared for. When it was swept away,
Her love went with it. All my faith went, too ;
And whelmed in black despair I fled the place. I cried
" I stand alone, with not one living thing
To care what doom despair may drive me to."
But as I spoke a soft head touched my knee,
A warm tongue lapped my hand. Dumb sympathy
Of the poor brute ! My faithful dog had broke
His chain to follow^ me.

My faithful dog!
Ha, ha ! There is no faith in man or beast
Upon this hollow globe. My dog is gone.
Yonder in Athol's home that once was mine,
He followed him, lured by his bait of food.
The craven-hearted wretch ! True, he was starved,
But so am 1. Yet I spurned Athol's gold,
Offered as a price for him. Well, he is gone !
Why did I come back here ? I know too well.
I came, poor fool, to look upon t4ie ground
Her footsteps pressed. Perchance she loved me still?
Perchance I 'd find her pale of cheek and pined
With weeping for the outcast she still loved ?
Ah, fool ! Why, never in the days gone by,
Did her cheek blossom with so rich a rose
As glowed on it to-night. How proud she looked
In those far-trailing robes of moonlit silk ;
The rubies glittering on the foam-white hand
That lay on Athol's arm ! She did not see me.
He saw me! Athol, proud, triumphant Athol,
Who told me that I had no bread to feed
My dog, awhile before. He knew me now !
He bent his head and whispered in her ear.
And broke into a mocking laugh, w^hile she
Arched her white neck and smiled with scorn-curved lips.
Hark to the music ! She is dancing now.
How the tall windows blaze ! Fair forms flash by,
Whirling like brilliant blossoms in the mad

DRAMATIC. 351

Maelstrom of melody. Yes, they dance ! They feast !

My dog feasts yonder in the halls

My proud ancestors reared. And I — I stand

Beneath the mocking stars and freezing skies,

Deserted, friendless, gnawed by hunger pangs.

Curses on them ! If there be a hell —

When earth is hell enough— I 'd brave its fires

A thousand years for leave to crush them,

And make them suffer as I suffer now.

Why should I suffer ? There 's one refuge still :

When life grows torture we can shake it off.

Death beckons us with shadowy hand, and points

To the abyss of nothingness and rest.

Rest ! Is it rest ? What if the fever-dream

Of life goes on beyond the grave ?

It is too mad a doubt. The dead are dead.

The hour for dotard's dream is past !

And yet my mother's prayers, her cradle hymns —

Away, these memories ! They shall not hold me back

From the abyss of death, let death be what it may.

Here I hold the key to its mysteries.

This solves the doubt ; this breaks the fever-dream ;

This lays a palsying spell on blood and limb

And burning brain — and lo ! the wild dream is done.

Scorn, poverty, cold, hunger are no more.

No more keen pangs when friends prove treacherous,

When the last dumb friend forsakes.

Dance on ! feast on! I shall not heed you now.

Stare at me, mystic heaven, in cold rebuke ;

Safe sits your God on high.

Tracing the shining paths of whirling worlds.

What cares he for one burning human heart?

Yet he gives death. It is the best he gives.

For this I thank him, and I greet thee— Death,

Dark essence of the poppy, kiss my lips,

And steal their breath forever. Earth, farewell.

Ha ! What is this ? Who dares to grasp my ar« ?

Moro, my dog! Have you come back, ray dog?

Come back from Athol's food and fire to me ?

Why do you pluck my sleeve ?

What is this you 've laid here at my feet ?

Why, bread! You 've brought me bread?

352 ELOCVTION AND ORATORY.

'T was for this you left me, tlien ?

You sought to save me, and I thought— I thought —

Forgive me, Moro. I have wronged you, dog.

What if I 've wronged my fellow-men as well !

If there 's such depth of love

And sacrificing pity in a brute,

Can man be wholly callous? I w'ill hope.

My dog, you have saved me. I will live ; nay more,

I wdll shake off this lethargy of despair ;

This spell of the Demon Drink, that bade me

Drown my woe in its accursed nepenthe.

From this hour that chain is broken.

Faith and hope come back

Like a bright flood of sunshine. .

No, my dog, you would have died with me ;

You shall not starve.

Here we will share this bread as sacrament.

For this my pledge : By yon far-shining stars,

And by my mother's grave on yonder hill,

And by your dumb yet faithful love, my friend,

I will not sink in numbing gloom again.

Upon the ruins of the past 1 '11 build the future fabric,

I will hope, trust, work, and win once more

A place among my fellows-men. maky e. bryan.

RIZPAH.

The long, bright day of harvest toil is past,

The fragrant sheaves are bound, the reapers gone;

Slowly from out the west the yellow rays

Of ripening sunshine die, hushed song and jest ;

And from the sacrifice by priestly hands

Sweet, spicy incense, like a voiceless prayer,

Floats upon perfumed wings to Mercy's throne.

Down cloudy pathway walks the coming night.

Casting mysterious shadows in her way —

Shadows that fill each sense with vague alarm.

More frightful for their very nothingness.

Look ! how the shrinking moon creeps up the skies.

Holding with trembling hand her silver lamp,

DRAMATIC. 353

Hiding her face behind a filmj^ veil,
As if she dared not look upon the sight
Of the dread something which her light reveals.
See! see! On Gibeah's Hill, what phantoms rise,
Swinging and swaying idly to and fro,
Against the mantle of the startled night,
Like nameless terrors creeping through a dream !
Great God ! these shapes are men !
Men — with stony eyeballs looking down,
Soulless and lifeless, into other eyes —
Eyes full of mother-love gone mad with woe ;
Rizpah, her poor, gray tresses all unbound,
Each nerve and muscle held by mighty will,
Fearless in all her agony of love,
Guarding her precious dead against the vultures.
And look how grief and dread have marked her face
With awful lines of passionate despair!
Hark! how the frenzied voice disturbs the night!
"Back! back! ye shall not touch one shining hair.
Nor fan the poor, dead cheeks with poisonous wings.
A mother watches o'er her precious sons —
Mine own ! mine own ! why, alas ! do I,
Still cumber earth's fair ways, while ye must die
In all the strength of manhood's lusty glow ?
My sons ! my sons !

0 patient God ! was ever sight like this ?
Is it a dream ? Still I wake, ere while

Wake to their living glance, and touch, and smile.
They were my babes once ; they used to lie
Cooing sweet answers to the lullaby

1 sang to put them to their cradle rest.
Listen ! upon the night-winds, clear and low,
Come fragments of that song of long ago.

'T was thus I sung — a foolish little strain;
Yet babes and mothers love such music well ;
E'en now its cadence soothes my restless brain.
I think I hear the angels sing it ; who can tell ?
My children loved it so in twilight gray.
'Tis twilight now. Alas! and where are they?
Listen :

'Sleep! sleep! the south-wind blows;

Bluebell and baby, bee and rose ;
23

354 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

The tide ebbs, the tide flows;
Night comes, but night goes, —
Sleep ! sleep ! ' "
Thus night and day her wild, sad watch went on,
And none could win her from her loving task.
At last the barley-sheaves were gathered home ; •
And once again the dry skies rained soft tears.
As if in sorrow for her tearless woe.
And pitying Heaven made man more pitiful.
King David's heart grew tender at the sight;
And, filled with wonder at her mighty love,
He took her precious dead with reverent hands,
Enfolded them with costly cerements.
And gave them sepulcher with kindred dust.
Then Rizpah's work was finished. She arose,
Folded her sackcloth tent and went her way,
Down through the valley to her childless home ;
Poor, waiting Rizpah !
After many days death came to her.
How slowly does he come when hearts are breaking-
And are waiting to break —
As if he grudged the comfort of a grave !
*T was twilight in the harvest-time again ;
She seemed to slumber, when she clasped her arms,
As if she held a baby at her breast,
And sung this fragment of a cradle-song :

"Sleep! the south-wind softly blows;

The tide ebbs, the tide flows;

Night comes, but night goes, —
Sleep! sleep!"
Then Rizpah slept. lucy blinn.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

'TwAs in the prime of summer time.

An evening calm and cool.
And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school ;
Tljere were some that ran, and some that leapt

Like troutlets in a pool.

DRAMATIC. 355

Away tliey sped vvitli gamesome minds,

And souls untouched by sin ;
To a level mead they came, and there

They drave the wickets in.
Pleasantly shone the setting sun

Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,

And shouted as they ran,
Turning to mirth all things of earth,

As only boyhood can ;
But the usher sat remote from all,

A melancholy man !

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze;
For a burning thought was in his brow.

And his bosom ill at ease;
So he leaned his head on his hands, and read

The book between his knees !

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside ;
For the peace of his soul he read that book

In the golden eventide ;
Much study had made him very lean,

And pale, and leaden-eyed

At last he shut the ponderous tome ;

With a fast and fervent grasp
He strained the dusky covers close,

And fixed the brazen hasp:
" 0 God, could I so close my mind,

And clasp it with a clasp! "

Then leaping on his feet upright,

Some moody turns he took ;
Now up the mead, then down the mead,

And past a shady nook ;
And lo ! he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book !

" My gentle lad, what is 't you read-
Romance or fairy fable ?

356 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

Or is it some historic page

Of kings and crowns unstable?"

The young boy gave an upward glance —
"It is 'The Death of Abel.'"

The usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain;

Six hasty strides beyond the place,
Then slowly back again ;

And down he sat beside the lad,
And talked with him of Cain.

He told how murderers walked the earth,
Beneath the eurse of Cain —

With crimson clouds before their eyes.
And flames about their brain ;

For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain !

"And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth.
Their pangs must be extreme —

Woe, woe, unutterable woe —

Who spill life's sacred stream !

For why ? Methought last night, I wrought
A murder in a dream !

One that had never done me wrong —

A feeble man, and old —
I led him to a lonely field ;

The moon shone clear and cold ;
Now here, said I, this man shall die,

And I will have his gold !
Two sudden blows with a ragged stick.

And one with a heavy stone.
One hurried gash with a hasty knife—

And then the deed was done;
There was nothing lying at my foot,

But lifeless flesh and bone !
Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone.

That could not do me ill ;
And yet I feared him all the more

For lying there so still ;
There was a manhood in his look

That murder could not kill !

DRAMATIC. 357

And lo ! the universal air

Seemed lit with ghastly flame ;
Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes,

Were looking down in blame :
I took the dead man by the hand,

And called upon his name !

0 God ! it made me quake to see

Such sense within the slain !
But when I touched the lifeless clay,

The blood gushed out amain !
For every clot a burning spot

Was scorching in my brain !
And now from forth the frowning sky,

From the heaven's topmost height,

1 heard a voice — the awful voice

Of the blood-avenging sprite :

* Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead,

And hide it from my sight ! '

I took the dreary body up.

And cast it in a stream —
A sluggish water, black as ink.

The depth was so extreme.
My gentle boy, remember this

Is nothing but a dream !

Down went the corse with a hollow plunge.

And vanished in the pool ;
Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,

And washed my forehead cool ;
And sat among the urchins young,

That evening in the school !

0 heaven ! to think of their white souls.

And mine so black and grim !

1 could not share in childish prayer.

Nor join in evening hymn:
Like a devil of the pit I seemed,

'Mid holy cherubim !
And Peace went with them one and all,

And each calm pillow spread;
But Guilt was my grim chamberlain

That lighted me to bed,

358 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

And drew my midnight curtains round,
With fingers bloody red !

• All night I lay in agony,

From weary chime to chime,

With one besetting horrid hint,
That racked me all the time —

A mighty yearning, like the first
Fierce impulse unto crime !

One stern tyrannic thought that made
All other thoughts its slave ;

Stronger and stronger every pulse
Did that temptation crave —

Still urging me to go and see
The dead man in his grave!

Heavily I rose up — as soon

As light was in the sky —
And sought the black, accursed pool

With a wild, misgiving eye ;
And I saw the dead in the river bed,

For the faithless stream was dry.

Merrily rose the lark, and shook
The dew-drop from its wing ;

But I never marked its morning flight,
I never heard it sing ;

For I was stooping once again
Under the horrid thing.

With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,

I took him up and ran,
There was no time to dig a grave

Before the day began ;
In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves,

I hid the murdered man !

And all that day I read in school,
But my thought was otherwhere ;

As soon as the midday task was done.
In secret I was there :

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
And still the corse was bare !

DRAMATIC. ^^od

Then down I cast me on my face,

And first began to weep,
For I knew my secret then was one

That earth refused to keep;
Or land or sea, though he should be

Ten thousand fathoms deep !

O God ! that horrid, horrid dream

Besets me now awake !
Again, again, with dizzy brain,

Tlie human hfe I take ;
And my red right hand grows raging hot,

Like Cranmer's at the stake.

And still no peace for the restless clay

Will wave or mold allow ;
The horrid thing pursues my soul —

It stands before me now ! "
The fearful boy looked up, and saw

Huge drops upon his brow !

That very night, while gentle sleep

The urchin's eyelids kissed.
Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,

Through the cold and heavy mist ;
And Eugene Aram walked between.

With gyves upon his wrist.

HOOD.

CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT.

England's sun was slowly setting o'er the hills so far away.
Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day ;
And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair ;
He with step so slow and weakened, she with sunny, floating hair ;

He with sad bowed head, and thoughtful, she with lips so cold

and white,
Struggling to keep back the murmur, " Curfew must not ring

to-night."
"Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old.
With its walls so dark and gloomy— walls so dark and damp and

cold-"

360 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

"1 've a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die

At the ringing of the curfew, and no earthly help is nigh.

Cromwell .will not come till sunset," and her face grew strangely
white,

As she spoke in husky whispers: "Curfew must not ring to-
night."

"Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton — every word pierced her
young heart

Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly poisoned dart—

" Long, long years I 've rung the curfew from that gloomy shad-
owed tower

Every evening, just at sunset,- it has told the twilight hour.

I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right ;
Now I'm old I will not miss it; girl, the curfew rings to-night! "
Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her

thoughtful brow,
And within her heart's deep center, Bessie made a solemn vow.

She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh,
"At the ringing of the curfew Basil Underwood must die."
And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large

and bright-
One low murmur, scarcely spoken — " Curfew must not ring to-
night!"

She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old

church door,
Left the old man coming slowly paths he 'd trod so oft before ;
Not one moment paused the maiden, but with cheek and brow

aglow,
Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and

fro.

Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of
light,

Upward still, her pale lips saying: "Curfew shall not ring to-
night."

She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great
dark bell.

And the awfu"* gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to
hell.

DRAMATIC. 361

See, the ponderous tongue ia swinging, 't is the hour of curfew

now,
And the sight lias chilled lier hosom, stopped her breath and

paled her brow.
Shiill She let it ring? No, never! her eyes flash with sudden

light,
As she springs and grasps it firmly — " Curfew shall not ring
to-night ! "

Out she swung, far out, the city seemed a tiny speck below ;
There, twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to

and fro;
And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the

bell),
And he thought the twilight curfew rang young Basil's funeral

knell.

Still the maiden clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and

white,
Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating — "Curfew shall not

ring to-night! "
It was o'er — the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped

once more
Pirmly on the damp old ladder, where for hundred years before

Human foot had not been planted ; and what she this night had

done
Should be told in long years after. As the rays of setting sun
Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires with heads of white
Tell their children why the curfew did not ring that one sad

night.

O'er the distant hills came Cromwell. Bessie saw him, and her

brow.
Lately M'hite with sickening terror, glows with sudden beauty

now.
At his foot she told her story, showed her hands all bruised and

torn ;
And her sweet young face so haggard, with a look so sad and

worn.
Touched his heart with sudden pity — lit his eyes with misty

light;
" Go, your lover lives ! " cried Cromwell ; " curfew shall not ring

to-night," ANONVMoys.

362 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

THE FIREMAN'S PRAYER.

It was in the gray of the early moruiug, in the season of
Lent. Broad Street, from Fort Hill to State Street, was
crowded with hastening worshipers, attendants on early mass.
Maidens, matrons, boys, and men jostled and hurried on
toward the churches ; some with countenances sincerely sad,
others with apparent attempts to appear in accord with the
somber season ; while many thoughtless and careless ones
joked and chatted, laughed and scuffled along in the hurry-
ing multitude. Suddenly a passer-by noticed tiny wreaths
and puffs of smoke starting from the shingles of the roof
upon a large warehouse. The great structure stood upon
the corner, silent, bolted, and tenantless; and all the win-
dows, save a small round light in the upper story, were
closely and securely covered with heavy shutters. Scarcely
had the smoke been seen by one, when others of the crowd
looked up in the same direction, and detected the unusual
occurrence. Then others joined them, and still others fol-
lowed, until a swelling multitude gazed upward to the roof,
over which the smoke soon hung like a fog; while from
eaves and shutter of the upper story, little jets of black
smoke burst suddenly out into the clear morning air. Then
came a flash, like the lightning's glare, through the frame of
the little gable window, and then another ; brighter, ghastlier,
and more prolonged. " Fire ! " " Fire ! " screamed the throng,
as, moved by a single impulse, they pointed with excited
gestures toward the window. Quicker than the time it takes
to tell, the cry reached the corner, and was flashed on mes-
senger wires to tower and steeple, engine and hose-house,
over the then half-sleeping city. Great bells with ponderous
tongues repeated the cry with long strokes ; little bells, with
sharp and spiteful clicks, recited the news; while half-con-
scious firemen, watching through the long night, leaped upon
engines and hose-carriages, and rattled into the street.

Soon the roof of the burning warehouse was drenched

DRAMATIC. 363

with floods of water, poured upon it from the hose of many
engines; while the surging multitude in Broad Street had
grown to thousands of excited spectators. The engines
puffed and hooted ; the engineers shouted ; the hook-and-ladder
boys clambered upon roof and cornice, shattered the shut-
ters, and burst in the doors. But the wooden structure was
a seething furnace throughout all its upper portion ; while
the water and ventilation seemed only to increase its power
and fury.

'* Come down ! Come down ! Off that roof! Come out
of that building ! " shouted an excited man in the crowd,
struggling with all his power in the meshes of the solid mass
of men, women, and children in the street. " Come down !
For God's sake, come down ! The rear store is filled with
barrels of powder ! "

''Powder! Powder!" screamed the engineer through
his trumpet. "Powder!" shouted the hosemen. "Pow-
der!" called the brave boys on roof and cornice. "Pow-
der ! " answered the trumpet of the chief. " Powder ! "
"Powder!" "Powder!" echoed the men in the burning
pile ; and from ladder, casement, window, roof, and cornice,
leaped terrified firemen with pale faces and terror-stricken
limbs.

" Push back the crowd ! " " Kun for your lives ! Run !
Run ! Run ! " roared the trumpets.

But, alas ! the crowd was dense, and spread so far through
cross streets and alleys, that away on the outskirts, through
the shouts of men, the whistling of the engines, and the roar
of the heaven-piercing flames, the orders could not be heard.
The frantic beings in front, understanding their danger,
pressed wildly back. The firemen pushed their engines and
their carriages against the breasts of the crowd ; but the
throng moved not. So densely packed was street and square,
and so various and deafening the noises, that the army of
excited spectators in the rear still pressed forward with irre-
sistible force, unconscious of danger, and regarding any out-

364 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

cry as a mere ruse to disperse them for convenience' sake.
The great mass swayed and heaved like the waves of the
sea ; but beyond the terrible surging of those in front, whose
heart-rending screams half drowned the whistles, there was
no sign of retreat. As far as one could see, the streets were
crowded with living human flesh and blood.

''My God! My God!" said the engineer in despair.
" What can be done ? Lord have mercy on us all I What
can be done?"

'' What can be done? I'll tell you what can be done,"
said one of Boston's firemen, whose hair was not yet sprinkled
with gray. " Yes, bring out that powder! And 1 'm the
man to do it. Better one man perish than perish all. Fol-
low me with the water, and, if God lets me live long enough,
I '11 have it out."

Perhaps, as the hero rushed into the burning pile, into a
darkness of smoke and a withering heat, he thought of the
wife and children at home, of the cheeks he had kissed in
the eveniug, of the cheerful good-bye of the prattling ones,
and the laugh as he gave the "last tag;" for as he rushed
from the hoseman, who tied the handkerchief over his mouth,
he muttered : " God care for my little ones when I am
gone." Away up through smoke and flame and cloud to
the heights of heaven's throne, ascended that prayer, '*God
care for my little ones when I am gone," and the Mighty
Father and the Loving Son heard the fireman's petition.

Into the flame of the rear store rushed the hero, and
groping to the barrels, rolled them speedily into the alley,
where surged the stream from the engines ; rushing back
and forth with power superhuman, in the deepest smoke,
while iron darts flashed by him in all directions, penetrating
the walls, and piercing the adjacent buildings. But as if his
heroic soul w^as an armor-proof, or a charm impenetrable,
neither harpoon nor bomb, crumbling timbers nor showers
of flaming brands, did him aught of injury, beyond the
scorching of his hair and eyebrows, and the blistering of his

DRAMATIC, 365

hands and face. 'T was a heroic deed. Did ever field of
battle, wreck, or martyrdom, show a braver? No act in all
the list of song and story, no self-sacrifice in the history of
the rise and fall of empires, was nobler than that, save one,
and then the Son of God himself hung bleeding on the cross.

RUSSELL H. CONWELL.

THE CHARIOT RACE.

[From " Ben-Hur :" Special permission of Harper Brothers. Scene, Antioch ;
time, Christ's ministry. Abridged and rearranged for recitation by Virgil A.

PiNKLEY.]

The trumpet sounds short and sharp. Forth from each
stall, like missiles in a volley from so many guns, rush the
six fours. The competitors are now under full view
from nearly every part of the pavilion. Yet the race
is not begun. They have first to reach successfully the
chalked line. The perils of this trial the spectators know
thoroughly, and they breathlessly watch for the result. Each
driver looks first for the rope, then for the coveted inner
line. So, all six aiming at the same point and speeding
furiously, a collision seems inevitable. Quick the eye, steady
the hand, and unerriug the judgment this moment requires.

The competitors have started, each on the shortest line,
for the position near the wall. The fours reach the rope to-
gether. The trumpeter blows the signal. The judges drop
the rope, and not an instant too soon, for the hoof of one of
Messala's horses strikes it as it falls. Nothing daunted,
Messala shakes out his long lash, loosens the reins, leans for-
ward, and, with a triumphant shout, takes the inner wall.

"Jove with us! Jove with us!" shouts all the Roman
faction in a frenzy of delight. As Messala turns in, the lion's
head at the end of his axle, catches the foreleg of the Athe-
nian's right-hand charger, flinging the horse over against his
mate. Both stagger, struggle, and lose their headway. The
thousands hold their breath with horror.

Messala speeds on. The Corinthian is the only contestant

366 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

on the Atlieuian's right, and to that side the latter tries to
turn his broken four; and then, as ill-fortune would have
it, the wheel of the Byzantine, who was next on his left,
strikes the tail-piece of his chariot, knocking his feet from
under him. There is a crash, and the unfortunate Athenian
falls under the hoofs of his own steeds. Every bench upon
which there is a Greek is vocal with execrations and prayers
for vengeance.

On sweeps the Corinthian, on the Byzantine, on the
Sidonian.

Ben-Hur, seeing the collision, draws to the right, and
darting across the trails of his opponents, takes the course on
the outside, neck and neck with Messala.

'*A thousand shekels on Ben-Hur! " cries Sanballat, a
wealthy Hebrew. * ' A thousand shekels on the Jew ! "

But the Romans pay no heed, for they are all yelling
' ' Messala ! Messala ! Jove with us ! "

Ben-Hur is coursing freely forward, neck and neck with
Messala. The two are nearing the second goal. A successful
turn at this point is the most telling test of the charioteer.
A hush falls over all the circus. At this critical moment,
Messala, whirling his lash with practiced hand, gives the
Arabs of Ben-Hur a cut the like of which they had never
known. Sideward spring the affrighted Arabs, and sideward
lurches the car. Involuntarily, down from the balcony bursts
the indignant cry of the spectators.

Where obtained Ben-Hur the mighty grip which helps
him now so well? Where but from the oar with which so
long he fought the sea ? He keeps his footing, and gives his
four free rein, and calling to them in soothing voice, tries ^
merely to guide them round the dangerous turn ; and before
the fever of the people has time to abate, he regains the
mastery.

Three rounds are concluded. Still Messala holds the in-
side position ; still Ben-Hur moves with him side by side ;
still the other competitors follow as before. In the fifth

DRAMATIC '^67

round the Sidoniau siicceeas in securing a position beside
Ben-Hur but loses it directly.

Gradually the speed quickens, gradually the blood of the
competitors warms with their work.

"A thousand shekels on Ben-Hur!" cries Sanballat.
There is no response. "A talent! Five talents! Ten talents!
Twenty talents on the Jew ! "

Messala, now, has reached his utmost speed. Ben-Hur is
losing ground. The joy of the Messala faction knows no
bounds. They clap their hands and howl with glee, and
accept every offer Sanballat makes.

The last round is being run. The home-stretch is reached.
Ben-Hur is closing up the gap. See ! he now holds a place
at the tail of his enemy's car. Messala, fearful of losing his
position, hugs the stony wall with perilous clasp; a foot to the
left, and he had been dashed to pieces. Only a few hundred
yards away are fame, fortune, promotion, and a triumph
made ineffably sweet by his hate of the Jew.

The people draw a long breath, for the final crisis is at hand.

Ben-Hur leans over his Arabs, and gives them the reins.
Out flies the many-folded lash in his hand, and over the
backs of the startled steeds it writhes and hisses and hisses
and writhes again and again. Though it fall not, there are
both sting and menace in its quick report. Instantly not
one, but the four as one, answer with a leap that lands them
alongside the Roman's car.

"Ben-Hur! Ben-Hur!" shouts the throng. ** Speed thee,
Jew ! Take the wall ! Now, or never ! "

Ben-Hur is as one transformed, and above the clamor of
the race is heard his ringing voice as he urges on his steeds
with words they understand: ''On, Atair ! On, Rigel !
What, Antares! dost thou linger now? Oho, Aldeberan !
Victory ! Well done ! Home to-morrow — home ! ' T is done !
'T is done! Ha, ha! Steady! Steady! So-ho!"

The last goal is turned and Ben-Hur has won the race.

LEW WALLACE.

368 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

DIALECT.

THE FUNERAI,.

I WAS walking in Savannah

Past a church decayed and dim,
When there slowly through the window

Came a plaintive funeral hymn ;
And a sympathy awakened,

And a wonder quickly grew,
Till I found myself environed

In a little negro pew.

Up at front a colored couple

Sat in sorrow almost wild ;
On the altar was a coffin,

In the coffin was a child.
I could picture him when living —

Curly hair, protruding lip ;
And had seen perhaps a thousand

In my hurried Southern trip.

But no baby ever rested

In the soothing arms of death,
That had fanned more flames of sorrow

With its little fluttering breath ;
And no funeral ever glistened

With more sympathy profound,
Than was seen within the tear-drops

In the eyes of those around.

Rose a sad old colored preacher

At a little wooden desk,
With a manner grandly awkward,

With a countenance grotesque,
And he said : " Now don' be weepin'

Fo' dis little bit o' clay ;
Fo' de little boy dat libed dah,

He dun gone an run away.

He was doin' berry finely,

En' he 'presheate your lub ;
But his shoah 'nuflf Faddah want him
In de big house up abub.

DIALECT. 369

Now he did n' gib you dat baby

By a hundred tousiind mile
He jess tink you need some sunshine

En' he len' him fo' a while
En' he let you keep en' lub him

Till yo' hahts was bigger grown,
En' dese silbah tears you 'se sheddin'

Is jess de interes' on de loan.

Heah 's yo' udder pretty cheelen ;

Don' be makin' it appeah
Dat yo' lub got saht o' 'nopolized

On dis little fellow heah !
Don' pile up too much yo' sah'o

On dah little mental shelbes,
So 's to kindah set em wonderin'

If da's no account deraselbes.

Jess you 'tink, you poah deah mo'nahs

Creepin' 'long oah saho's way,
What a blessed little picnic

Dis yah baby 's got to-day.
Yoah good faddahs an' good muddahs

Crowd de little fellow roun'
In the angel-tended gahden

Ob de big plantazhun groun' !

En' da ask him: 'Was yoah feet soah?'

En' take off his little shoes,
En' da' wash him en' da' kiss him,

En' da' say : * Now what 's de nooz ? '
Den de Lawd dun loose his tongue,

Den de little fellow say :
*A11 our folks down in de valley

Tries to keep de heabenly way.'

En' his eyes da' -brightly spa'kle

At de pretty tings he view,
Den a teah come en' he whisper —

* But I want my pah'yents too.'
Den de angel chief moosishan

Teach dat bov a little song,
24

370 ELOCUTION AND ORATOHY.

Says: 'If only da' be fait'ful

Da' will soon be comin' 'long.*

En' he '11 get an eddication

Dat '11 proberbly be wo'th
Seberal times as much as any

You could gib him heah on yar'th.
He '11 be in the Lawd's big school-house

Widout no contempt ah feah,
While dah's uo end to de bad tings

Might hab happened to him heah.

So, my poah dejected mo'nahs,

Let yo' hahts wid Jesus ress,
En' don' go ter critercizin'

Dat ah Wun wat knows de bess.
He hab gib us many comforts,

He hab right to take away.
To de Lawd be praise en' glory

Now and ebber. Let us pray."

WILL CARLETON.

UNCLE DANIEL'S APPARITION AND PRAYER.

The following, from "The Gilded Age," by Mark Twain and Charles
Dudley Warner, represents a family emigrating from Eastern Tennessee into
Missouri. The subjects of this sketch had never before been out of sight of the
Knobs of East Tennessee.

Whatever the lagging, dragging journey may have
been to the rest of the emigrants, it was a wonder and de-
light to the children, a world of enchantment; and they
believed it to be peopled with the mysterious dwarfs and
giants and goblins that figured in the tales the negro slaves
were in the habit of telling them nightly by the shuddering
light of the kitchen fire.

At the end of nearly a week of travel, the party went
into camp near a shabby village, which was caving, house
by house, into the hungry Mississippi. The river astonished
the children beyond measure. Its mile-breadth of water

DIALECT. 371

seemed an ocean to them in the shadowy twilight, and the
vague ribbon of trees on the further shore the verge of a
continent which surely none but they had ever seen before.

"Uncle Dan'l" (colored), aged forty; his wife, "Aunt
Jinny," aged thirty, "young Miss" Emily Hawkins, "young
Mars" Washington Hawkins, and "young Mars" Clay, the
new member of the family, ranged themselves on a log after
supper, and contemplated the marvelous river and discussed
it. The moon rose and sailed aloft through a maze of
shredded cloud-wreaths; the somber river just perceptibly
brightened under the veiled light ; a deep silence pervaded
the air, and was emphasized, at intervals, rather than broken,
by the hooting of an owl, the baying of a dog, or the muf-
fled crash of a caving bank in the distance.

The little company assembled on the log were all children
(at least in simplicity and broad and comprehensive igno-
rance), and the remarks they made about the river were in
keeping with their character ; and so awed were they by the
grandeur and the solemnity of the scene before them, and
by their belief that the air was filled with invisible spirits
and that the faint zephyrs were caused by their passing
wings, that all their talk took to itself a tinge of the super-
natural, and their voices were subdued to a low and reverent
tone. Suddenly Uncle Dan'l exclaimed :

" Chil'en, dah 's sumfin a comin' ! "

All crowded close together, and every heart beat faster.
Uncle Dan'l pointed down the river with his bony finger.

A deep coughing sound troubled the stillness, way toward
a wooded cape that jutted into the stream a mile distant.
All in an instant a fierce eye of fire shot out from behind
the cape, and sent a long, brilliant pathway quivering
athw^art the dusky water. The coughing grew louder and
louder, the glaring eye grew larger and still larger, glared
wilder and still wilder. A huge shape developed itself out
of the gloom, and from its tall duplicate horns dense volumes
of smoke, starred and spangled with sparks, poured out and

872 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

went tumbliug away into the farther darkness. Nearer and
nearer the thing came, till its long sides began to glow with
spots of light, which mirrored themselves in the river and
attended the monster like a torchlight proQ^ssion.
** What is it ! O, what is it. Uncle Dan'l?"
With deep solemnity the answer came:
''It's de Almighty! Git down on yo' knees!"
It was not necessary to say it twice. They were all
kneeling in a moment. And then w'hile the mysterious
coughing rose stronger and stronger, and the threatening
glare reached farther and wider, the negro's voice lifted up
its supplications :

" O Lord, we 's ben mighty wicked, an' we knows dat we
'zerve to go to de bad place ; but, good Lord, deah Lord, we
aint ready yit, we aint ready ; let dese po' chil'en hab one
mo' chance, jes' one mo' chance. Take de ole niggah if you' s
got to hab somebody. Good Lord, good deah Lord, we
do n't know whah you 's a gwine to, we do n't know who
you 's got yo' eye on ; but we knows by de way you 's a
comin', we knows by de way you's a tiltin' along in yo'
charyot o' fiah, dat some po' sinner's a gwine to ketch it.
But, good Lord, dese chil'en do n't 'blong heah ; dey 's f 'm
Obedstown, whah dey don't know nuffin, an' you knows yo'
own sef dat dey ain't 'sponsible. An', deah Lord, good Lord,
it aint like yo' mercy, it aint like yo' pity, it aint like yo'
long-sufferin' lovin'-kindness for to take dis kind o' 'vantage
o' sich little chil'en as dese is when dey 's so many ornery
grown folks, chuck full o' cussedness, dat want's roastin'
down dah. O Lord, spah de little chil'en ; do n't tar de
little chil'en away f 'm dey frens, jes' let 'em off jes' dis once,
and take it out 'n de ole niggah. Heah I is. Lord, heah I

is! De ole niggah 's ready, Lord, de ole "

The flaming and churning steamer was right abreast the
party, and not twenty steps away. The awful thunder of a
mud- valve suddenly burst forth, drowning the prayer, and as
suddenly Uncle Dan'l snatched a child under each arm, and

DIALECT. 373

scoured into the woods with the rest of the pack at his heels.
And then, ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep dark-
ness and shouted (but rather feebly) :

♦' Heah I is. Lord, heah I is ! "

There was a moment of throbbing suspense, and then, to
the surprise and comfort of the party, it was plain that the
august presence had gone by, for its dreadful noises were
receding. Uncle Dan'l headed a cautious reconnoissance in
the direction of the log. Sure enough " the Lord" was just
turning a point a short distance up the river, and while they
looked the lights winked out and the coughing diminished by
degrees, and presently ceased altogether.

"H'wsh! Well, now dey 's some folks says dey aint
no 'ficiency in prah. Dis chile would like to know whah
we'd a ben now if it war n't fo' dat prah? Dat's it.
Dat's it!"

" Uncle Dan'l, do you reckon it was the prayer that saved
us?' said Clay.

** Does I reckon f Do n't I hioiv it ? Whah was yo' eyes ?
Wa n t de Lord jes' a comin' chowy eHOw% CHOW, an' a goin'
on turrible ; an' do de Lord carry on dat way, but dey 's
surafin do n't suit him ? An' war n't he a lookin' right at dis
gang heah, an' war n't he jes' a reachin' for 'em ? An' d' you
spec' he gwyne to let 'em oif 'dout somebody ast him to do
it? No, indeedy!"

" Do you reckon he saw us, Uncle Dan'l ?"

*' De law sakes, chile, did n*t I see him a lookin' at us?"

*' Did you feel scared, Uncle Dan'l?"

*'iVb, sah! When a man is 'gaged in prah he aint 'fraid
o' nuffin — dey can 't nuffin tetch him."

" Well, what did you run for?"

" Well, I — I — Mars Clay, when a man is under de in-
fluence ob de sperit he do-no what he's 'bout — no, sah; dat
man do-no what he 's 'bout. You mout take an' tah de head
off'n dat man, an' he would n't scasely fine it out. Dah 's de
Hebrew chil'en dat went frough de fiah ; dey was burnt con-

374 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

sidable — ob eoase dey was ; but dey did n*t know nuffin 'bout
it — heal right up agin ; if dey'd ben gals dey'd missed dey
long haah (hair), may be, but dey would n't felt de burn/*

"/don't know but what ihey were girls. I think they
were."

**Now, Mars Clay, you knows better 'n dat. Sometimes
a body can 't tell whedder you 's a sayin' what you means, or
whedder you's a sayin' what you don't mean, 'case you says
'em bofe de same way."

*' But how should I know whether they were boys or
girls?"

"Goodness sakes. Mars Clay, don't de good book say?
'Sides, do n*t it call 'em de Se-brew chil'en ? If dey was
gals would n't dey be de she-brew chil'en ? Some people dat
kin read do n't 'pear to take no notice when dey dx) read."

"Well, Uncle Dan'l, I think that My! here comes

another one up the river ! There can 't be twol"

" We gone dis time — we done gone dis time, sho' ! Dey
aint two. Mars Clay — dat 's de same one. De Lord kin 'pear
eberywhah in a second. Goodness, how de fiah an' de smoke
do belch up ! Dat mean business, honey. He comin' now
like he fo'got sumfin. Come 'long, chil'en, time you's gwyne
to roos'. Go 'long wid you — ole Uncle Dan'l gwyne out in
de woods to rastle in prah ; de ole niggah gwyne to do what
he kin to sabe you agin."

He did go to the woods and pray; but he went so far
that he doubted himself if the Lord heard him when he
went by.

JIMMY BUTLER AND THE OWL.

TwAS in the summer of '46 that I landed at Hamilton,
fresh as a new pratie just dug from the ould sod, and wid
a light heart and a heavy bundle I sot off for the township
of Buford, tiding a taste of a song, as merry a young fellow

DIALECT. 375

as iver took the road. Well, I trudged on and on, past many
a plisint place, pleasin' myself wid the thought that some
day I might have a place of my own, wid a world of chickens
and ducks and pigs and childer about the door ; and along
in the afternoon of the sicond day I got to Buford village.
A cousin of me mother's, one Dennis O'Dowd, lived about
sivin miles from there, and I wanted to make his place that
night, so I inquired the way at the tavern, and was lucky
to fiud a man who was goin' part of the way an' would
show me the way to find Dennis. Sure he was very kind
iudade, an' when I got out of his wagon he pointed me
through the wood and tould me to go straight south a mile
an' a half, and the first house would be Dennis's.

**An' you've no time to lose now," said he, ''for the sun
is low, and mind you don't get lost in the woods."

"Is it lost now," said I, " that I'd be gittin', an' me
uncle as great a navigator as iver steered a ship across the
thrackless say! Not a bit of it, though I'm obleeged to ye
for your kind advice, and thank yiz for the ride."

An' wid that he drove off an' left me alone. I shouldered
me bundle bravely, an' whistling a bit of time for company
like, I pushed into the bush. Well, I went a long way over
bogs, and turnin' round among the bush an' trees till I began
to think I must be well-nigh to Den^jis's. But, bad cess to
it ! all of a sudden I came out of the woods at the very
identical spot where I started in, which I knew by an ould
crotched tree that seenoed to be standin' on its head and
kickin' up its heels to make divarsion of me. By this time
it was growin' dark, and as there was no time to lose, I
started in a second time, determined to keep straight south
this time and no mistake. I got on bravely for a while, but
och hone ! och hone ! it got so dark I could n't see the
trees, and I bunaped me nose and barked me shins, while the
miskaties bit me hands and face to a blister ; an* after
tumblin' and stumblin' around till I was fairly bamfoozled, I
sat down on a log, all of a trimble, to think that I was lost

376 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

intirely, an' that maybe a lion or some other wild craythur
would devour me before morning.

Just then I heard somebody a long way off say, " Whip
poor Will!" "Bedad," sez I, "I'm glad it isn't Jamie
that's got to take it, though it seems it's more in sorrow than
in anger they are doin' it, or why should they say, ' poor
Will?* an' sure they can't be Injin, haythin, or naygur,
for it 's plain English they 're afther spakin*. Maybe they
might help me out o' this," so I shouted at the top of my
voice: "A lost man!" Thin I listened. Prisently an
answer came.

«*Who? Whoo? Whooo?"

"Jamie Butler, the waiver!" sez I, as loud as I could
roar ; an' snatchin' up me bundle an* stick, I started in the
direction of the voice. Whin I thought I liad got near the
place I stopped and shouted again, "A lost man!"

" Who ! Whoo 1 Whooo ! " said a voice right over my head.

" Sure," thinks I, '* it's a mighty quare place for a man
to be at this time of night ; maybe its some settler scrapin'
sugar off a sugar-bush for the children's breakfast in the
mornin'. But where 's Will and the rest of them?" All
this wint through me head like a flash, an' thin I answered
his inquiry.

"Jamie Butler, the waiver," sez I; " and if it wouldn't
inconvanience yer honor, would yez be kind enough to
step down and show me the way to the house of Dennis
O'Dowd ? "

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!" sez he.

" Dennis O'Dowd," sez I, civil enough ; " and a dacent
man he is, and first cousin to me own mother."

"Who! Whoo! Whooo?" sez he again.

" Me mother! " sez I ; "and as fine a woman as iver peeled
a biled pratie wid her thumb-nail, and her maiden name
was Molly McFiggin."

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!"

"Ye good-for-nothin' blaggurd naygur, if yiz don't come

DIALECT. 377

down and show me the way this min't, I 'II climb up there
and break every bone in your skin, ye spalpeen, so sure as
me name is Jimmy Butler ! "

** Who ! Whoo ! Whooo ! " sez he, as impident as iver.

I said niver a word, but layin' down me bundle, and
takin' me stick in me teeth, I began to climb the tree.
Whin I got among the branches I looked quietly around till
I saw a pair of big eyes just forninst me.

" Whist," sez I, *' and I '11 let him have a taste of an Irish
stick," and wid that I let drive and lost me balance, an'
came tumblin' to the ground, nearly breakin' me neck wid
the fall. Whin I came to me sinsis I had a very sore head
wid a lump on it like a goose-egg, and half of me Sunday
coat-tail torn off iutirely. I spoke to the chap in the tree,
but could git niver an answer, at all, at all.

Sure, thinks I, he must have gone home to rowl up his
head, for by the powers I did n't throw me stick for nothin'.

Well, by this time the moon was up and I could see a
little, and I detarmined to make one more effort to reach
Dennis's.

I wint on cautiously for a while, an' thin I heard a bell.
** Sure," sez I, "I'm comin' to a settlement now, for I hear
the church-bell." I kept on toward the sound till I came
to an ould cow wid a bell on. She started to run, but I was
too quick for her, and got her by the tail and hung on,
thinkin' that maybe she would take me out of the woods.
On we wint, like an ould country steeple-chase, till, sure
enough, we came out to a clearin' and a house in sight wid
a light in it. So, leavin' the ould cow puffin' an' blowin' in
a shed, I wint to the house, and as luck would have it,
whose should it be but Dennis's.

He gave me a raal Irish welcome, and introduced me to
his two daughters — as purty a pair of girls as iver ye clapped
an eye on. But whin I tould him me adventure in the
woods, and about the fellow who made fun of me they all
laughed and roared, and Dennis said it was an owl.

378 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

''An ouldwhat?'' sez I.

**Why, an owl, a bird," sez he.

*'Do you tell me now?" sez I. "Sure it's a quare
country and a quare bird."

And thin they all laughed again, till at last I laughed
myself, that hearty like, and dropped right into a chair be-
tween the two purty girls, and the ould chap winked at me
and roared again.

Dennis is me father-in-law now, and he often yet delights
to tell our children about their daddy's adventure wid
the owl. ANON.

BROTHER WATKINS.

We have the subjoined discourse, delivered by a South-
ern divine, who had removed to a new field of labor. To
his new flock, on. the first day of his ministration, he gave
some reminiscences of his former charge, as follows :

" My beloved brethering, before I take ray text, I must
tell you about my parting with my old congregation. On
the morning of last Sabbath I went into the meeting-house
to preach my farewell discourse. Just in front of me sot the
old fathers and mothers in Israel ; the tears coursed down
their furrowed cheeks; their tottering forms and quivering
lips breathed out a sad — * Fare ye well, Brother Watkins —
ah ! ' Behind them sot the middle-aged men and matrons ;
health and vigor beamed from every countenance; and as
they looked up I could see in their dreamy eyes — ' Fare ye
well, Brother Watkins — ah ! ' Behind them sot the boys and
girls that I had baptized and gathered into the Sabbath-
school. Many times had they been rude and boisterous, but
now their merry laugh was hushed, and in the silence I
could hear — ' Fare ye well. Brother Watkins — ah ! ' Around,
on the back seats, and in the aisles, stood and sot the colored
brethering, with their black faces and honest hearts, and as I
looked upon them I could see a — ' Fare ye well, Brother Wat-

DIALECT. 379

kins — ah ! ' When I had finished my discourse, and shaken
hands with the brethering — ah ! I passed out to take a last
look at the old church — ah ! the broken steps, the flopping
blinds, and moss-covered roof, suggested only — ' Fare ye well,
Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I mounted my old gray mare, with
my earthly possessions in my saddle-bags, and as I passed
down the street, the servant girls stood in the doors, and
with their brooms waved me a — ' Fare ye well, Brother
Watkins — ah ! ' As I passed out of the village, the low wind
blew softly through the waving branches of the trees, and
moaned — * Fare ye well. Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I came
down to the creek, and as the old mare stopped to drink, I
could hear the water rippling over the pebbles a — ' Fare ye
well. Brother Watkins — ah ! ' And even the little fishes, as
their bright fins glistened in the sunlight, I thought, gath-
ered around to say, as best they could — ' Fare ye well.
Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I was slowly passing up the hill,
meditating upon the sad vicissitudes and mutations of life,
when suddenly out bounded a big hog from a fence-corner,
with aboo ! aboo ! and I came to the ground, with my sad-
dle-bags by my side. As I lay in the dust of the road, my
old gray mare run up the hill, and as she turned the top,
she waved her tail back at me, seemingly to say — ' Fare ye
well. Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I tell you, my brethering, it
is affecting times to part with a congregation you have been
with for over thirty years — ah ! " john b. gough.

I.OOKOUT MOUNTAIN, 1863— BEUTELS-
BACH, 1880.

Yah, I shpeaks English a leetle; berhaps you shpeaks petter
der German."
"No, not a word." — "Veil den, Meester, it hardt for me to
be oonderstandt.

380 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

I vos drei yahr in your coontry, I fights in der army mit Sher-
man—
Twentieth lUinois Infantry — fightin' Joe Hooker's com-
mandt."

" So you 've seen service in Georgia— a veteran, eh ? " *' Veil I
tell you
Shust how it vos. I vent ofer in sixty, und landt in Nei-
York;
I shpends all mine money, gets sick, und near dies in der Hos-
piddal Bellevue ;
Ven I gets petter I tramps to Cheecago to look for some
vork."

"Pretty young then, I suppose?" " Yah, svansig apout ; und
der beoples
Yot I goes to for to ask for vork dey have none for to geef ;
Efery von laughs ; but I holds my head up just so high as der
steeples.
Only dot var comes along, or I should have die, I belief."

" Ever get wounded ? I notice you walk rather lame and un-
steady.
Pshaw! got a wooden leg, eh? What battle? At Lookout?
do n't say !
I was there, too—wait a minute, your beer-glass is empty already.
Call for another. There! tell me how 'twas you got wounded
that day."

" Veil, ve charge ope der side of der mountain, der sky vas all
shmoky und hazy ;
Ve fight all day long in der clouds, but I nefer get hit until
night —
But — I do n't care to say moucli apout it. Der poys called me
foolish und crazy,
Und der doctor vot cut ofe my leg, he say, ' Goot ' — dot it
serf me shust right.

" But I dinks I vood do dot thing over again, shust der same,
und no matter
Vot any man say."—" Well, let 's hear it; you need n't mind
talking to me,

• DIALECT. 381

For I was there, too, as I tell you, and Lor! how the bullets did
I)atter
Around on th.at breastwork of boulders that sheltered our
Tenth Tennessee."

" So ? Dot vos a Tennessee regiment charged upon ours in de
efening,
Shust before dark ; und dey yell as dey charge, und ve geef
a hurrah ;
Der roar of der guns, it vas orful." "Ah! yes, I remember,
'twas deafening,
The liottest musketry firing that ever our regiment saw."

" Und after ve drove dem back, und der night come on, I listen,
Und dinks dot I hear somepody a calling, a voice dot cried :

* Pring me some vater, for Gott's sake ! ' I saw his pelt-blate
glisten
Oonder der moonlight, on der barapet, shust outside.

I dhrow my canteen ofer to vare he lie, but he answer

Dot his left hand vos gone, und his right arm broke mit a
fall;
Den I shump ofer, und give him to drink; but shust as I ran, sir,
Bang ! come a sharpshooter's pullet,, and dot 's how it vos —
dot is all."

" And they called you foolish and crazy, did they ? Him you
befriended —
The reb., I mean — what became of him? Did he ever come
round ? "
" Dey tell me he crawl to my side, und call till his strength vos
all ended,
Until dey come out mit der stretchers, und carry us from
der ground.

But pefore ve go, he ask me my name, und says he: 'Yacob
Keller,
You loses your leg for me, und some day, if both of us leefs,
I shows you I do n't forget,' — but he must have died, de poor
feller.
I nefer hear ofe him since. He do n't get veil, I beliefs.

Only I alvays got der saddisfackshun ofe knowin' —

Shtop ! vot 's der matter? Here, take some peer, you 're vite
as a sheet —

882 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Shteady ! your hand on my shoulder! my gootness ! I dinks you
vas goin'
To lose your senses avay und fall right off mit der seat.

" Geef me your handts. Vot ! der left von gone ? Und you vos
a soldier
In dot same battle ?— a Tennessee regiment ?— dot 's mighty
queer —
Berhaps, after all, you 're—" " Yes, Yacob, God bless you, old
fellow, I told you
I 'd never— no, never forget you. I told you I 'd come, and
I'ln here.'" gkorge l. catlin.

THE SHIP OF FAITH.

A CERTAIN colored brother had been holding forth to his
little flock, upon the ever-fruitful topic of faith, and he
closed his exhortation about as follows:
■^ "My bruddren, ef yous gwine to git saved, you got to
git on board de ship ob faith. I tell you, my bruddren,
dere ain't no odder way. Dere ain't no gitten up de back
stairs, nor goin' 'cross lots ; you can't do dat away, my brud-
dren, you got to git on board de ship ob faith. Once 'pon
a time dere was a lot ob colored people, an' dey was all
gwine to de promised land. Well, dey knowed dere want
no odder way for 'em to do but to git on board de ship ob
faith. So dey all went down an' got on board, de ole gran-
faders, an' de ole granmudders, an' de pickaninnies, an' all
de res' ob 'em. Dey all got on board 'ceptin' one mons'us
big feller; he said he's gwine to swim, he was. 'Wy!'
dey said, 'you can't swim so fur like dat. It am a power-
ful long way to de promised land!' He said, 'I kin swim
anywhar, I kin. I git board .no boat, no, 'deed ! ' Well,
my bruddren, all dey could say to dat poor disluded man
dey could n't git him on board de ship ob faith, so dey
started off. De day was fair ; de w^in' right ; de sun shinin',
an' ev'ryt'ng b'utiful ; an' dis big feller he pull off his close

PIALECT, 38.*^

and pluuge in de water. Well, he war a powerful swimmer,
dat man, 'deed he war ; he war dat' powerful he kep*
right 'long side de boat all de time ; he kep' a hollerin' out
to de people on de boat, sayin' : ' What you doin' dere, you
folks, brilin' away in de sun ; you better come doWn here in
de water, nice an' cool down here.' But dey said: 'Man
alive, you better come up here in dis boat while you got a
chance.' But he said: 'No, indeedy! I git aboard no
boat; I'm havin' plenty fun in de water.' Well, bimeby,
my bruddren, what you tink dat pore man seen? A horri-
ble, awful shark, my bruddren; mouf wide open, teef more'n
a foot long, ready to chaw dat port man all up de minute
he catch him. AVell, when he seen dat shark, he begin to
git awful scared, an' he holler out to de folks on board de
ship: 'Take me on board, take me on board, quick!' But
dey said : ' No, indeed ; you would n't come up here when
you had an invite, you got to swim now.'

" He look over his shoulder, an' he seen dat shark a-comin',
an' he let hisself out. Fust it was de man an' den it was de
shark, and den it was de man agin, dat way, my bruddren,
plum to de promised land. Dat am de blessed troof I'm
a-tellin' you dis minute. But what you t'ink was a-waitin'
for him on de odder shore when he got dere? A liornhley
mvful lion, my bruddren, was a-stan'in' dere on de shore,
a-lashin' his sides wid his tail, an' a-roarin' away fit to devour
dat pore nigger de minit he got on de shore. AVell, he war
powerful scared den, he" did n't know what he gwine to do.
If he stay in de water de shark eat him up ; if he go on de
shore de lion eat him up ; he dunno what to do. But he put
his trust in de Lord, an' went for de shore. Dat lion he
give a fearful roar, an' bound for him; but, my bruddren, as
sure as you live an' breeve, dat horrible, awful lion he jump
clean obeir dat pore feller's head into de water; an' de shark
eat de lion. But, my bruddren, don't you put your trust in
no sich circumstance; dat pore man he done git saved, but I
tell you de Lord ain't a-givine to furnish a lion for evei'y nigger!"

384 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

ON THE vSHORKS OF TENNESSEE.

" Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompey,

In the sunshine bright and strong,
For this world is fading, Pompey —

Massa won't be with you long ;
And I fain would hear the south wind

Bring once more the sound to me
Of the wavelets softly breaking

On the shores of Tennessee.

Mournful though the ripples murmur,

As they still the story tell,
How no vessels float the banner

That I 've loved so long and well,
I shall listen to their music.

Dreaming that again I see
Stars and 8tripes on sloop and shallop

Sailing up the Tennessee.

And, Pompey, while old Massa 's waiting
For death's last dispatch to come.

If that exiled starry banner

. Should come proudly sailing home,

You shall greet it, slave no longer —
Voice and hand shall both be free

That shouts and points to Union colors
On the w'aves of Tennessee ! "

" Massa 's berry kind to Pompey ;

But ole darkey 's happy here,
Where he 's tended corn and cotton

For 'ese many a long-gone year.
Over yonder Missis 's sleeping —

No one tends her grave like me ;
Mebbe she would miss the flowers

She used to love in Tennessee.

Tears like she was watching IVTassa,
If Pompey should beside him stay;

Mebbe she 'd remember better

How for him she used to pray ;

DIALECT. 385

Telling him that 'way up yonder

AVhite as snow his soul would be,
If he served the I^ord of heaven

While he lived in Tennessee."

Silently the tears were rolling

Down the poor old dusky face,
As he stepped behind his master.

In his long-accustomed place.
Then a silence fell around them,

As they gazed on rock and tree
Pictured in the placid waters

Of the rolling Tennessee ; —

Master, dreaming of the battle

Where he fought by Marion's side,
When he bid the haughty Tarleton

Stoop his lordly crest of pride ;
Man, remembering how yon sleeper

Once he held upon his knee,
Ere she loved the gallant soldier,

Ralph Yervair, of Tennessee.

Still the south- wind fondly lingers

'Mid the veteran's silvery hair ;
Still the bondman, close beside him,

Stands behind the old arm-chair,
With his dark-hued hand uplifted.

Shading eyes, he bends to see
Where the woodland, boldly jutting.

Turns aside the Tennessee.

Thus he watches cloud-born shadows

Glide from tree to mountain crest,
Softly creeping, aye and ever,

To the river's yielding breast.
Ha! above the foliage yonder

Something flutters wild and free !
"Massa! Massa! Hallelujah!

The flag 's come back to Tennessee I "

" Pompey, hold me on your shoulder,

Help me stand on foot once more,
That I may salute the colors

As they pass my cabin door.
25

386 ELOCUTION AND OR A TORY.

Here 's the paper signed that frees you,
Give a freeman's shout with me —

* God and Union ! ' he our watchword
Evermore in Tennessee ! "

Then the trembhng voice grew fainter,

And the limbs refused to stand ;
One prayer to Jesus— and the soldier

Glided to the better land.
When the flag went down the river

Man and master both were free ;
While the ring-dove's note was mingled

With the rippling Tennessee.

E. L. BEERS.

:the lost sheep.

De massa ob de sheepfol',

Dat guard de sheepfol' bin,

Look out in de gloomerin' meadows
AVhar de long night-rain begin —

So he call to de hirelin' shepa'd,

Is my sheep, is dey all come in?

0, den says de hireling shepa'd :

Der's some dey's black and thin,

And some, dey 's po' ol' wedda's,
But de res' dey 's all brung in,
But de res' dey 's all brung in.

Den de massa ob de sheepfol',

Dat guard de sheepfol' bin,
Goes down in de gloomerin' meadows,

Whar de long night-rain begin —
So he le' down de ba's ob de sheepfol',

Callin' sof ', Come in. Come in.

Callin sof, Come in, Come in.

Den up t'ro' de gloomerin' meadows.

T'ro' de col' night-rain and win',
And up t'ro' de gloomerin' rain-paf

Whar de sleet fa' pie'cin' thin,

DIALECT. 387

De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol'

Dey all colnes gadderin' in.
De po' los' sheep ob de slieepfol'

Dey all comes gadderin' in.

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 door-
way, and waited for the appearance of her son and heir
above the edge of the hill on which her cabin stood.

The crown of a ragged straw hat surmounting a dusky
face first appeared, followed by a pair of shoulders covered
with a nondescript shirt; then, as he climbed the incline,
there rose gradually to his mother's view a pair of large and
heavy trousers in an advanced state of dilapidation ; and drag-
ging slowly along, as if unwilling to follow the body, two
bare, black feet; and thus, fully revealed from top to toe,
came a solemn and dirty little darkey.

His mother's eyes rested on him with a sparkle of in-
dignation in them.

*' 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 fur to go down to old Mass' Cunnin'ham's wid dose
tings. Take 'em to de young city man boardin' dar, and tell
him dese is his clean close dat your 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

388 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

loses dat fifty cents, 1 11 break yore bones, chile, when you
comes home. You heah dat?"

George Washington nodded. He never exhausted him-
self in unnecessary speech. He was a strange, silent child,
with a long, solemn face and chronic toothache, or jawache,
for he never appeared without a white rag tied up over
his ears, and terminating in two flopping ends of equal
length on the top of his head — an adornment that gave
him the look of an aged rabbit, black in the face and gray
in the ears.

On the present occasion, his mother freshened up his
toilet by tying another rag around his jaws, and giving him
the basket containing the "young city man's" beautifully
laundried linen, and a final injunction to be careful, started
him safely oflT.

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 reveled 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 ex-
pression 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 he lifted the
linen to its place, and trudged on.

The young folks at ''Mass' Cunningham's" sent him to

DIALECT. 389

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 do n't you dare, you little vagabond !
ever bring such looking things to me again ! "

Slowiy 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 round, 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 doorway,
called after him: "Be keerful, George Washiu'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
w^as 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 middle of 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

390 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

came teariog round that, and ou 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.

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 mudder. 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,

DIALECT. 391

"Dey sed you was a hearo, George Washin'ton, but you
is your 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.

ABRroGED FROM YOUTH'S COMPANION.

DOT LEEDI^E YAWCOB STRAUSS.

I HAF von funny leedle poy

Vot gomes schust to my knee,
Der queerest schap, der Greatest rogue

As efer you dit see.
He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings

In all barts off der house.
But vot off dot? He was mine son,

Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He get der measles und der mumbs,

Und eferyding dot's out ;
He sbills mine glass of lager bier.

Foots schnuff indo mine kraut ;
He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese —

Dot vas der roughest chouse ;
I 'd dake dot vrom no oder poy

But leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,

Und cuts mine cane in dwo
To make der schticks to beat it mit—

Mine cracious, dot vas drue !
I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart

He kicks oup sooch a touse ;
But nefer mind — dar poys vas few

Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.

He asks me questions sooch as dese :
Who baints mine nose so red ?

Who vos it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt
Vrom der hair ubon mine hed ?

392 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp

Vene'er der glim I douse ?
How gan I all dese dings eggsblain

To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss?

I somedimes dink I schall go vild
% Mit sooch a grazy poy,

TJnd vish vonce more I gould haf rest

Und beaceful dimes enshoy.
But ven he vas ashleep in ped,

So quiet as a mouse,
I prays der Lord, '' Dake anydings,

But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss."

CHARLES F. ADAMS.

DOT BABY OFF MINE.

Mine cracious ! Mine cracious ! shust look here und see

A Deutscher so habby as habby can pe.

Der beoples all dink dat no prains I haf got,

Vas grazy mit trinking, or someding like dot ;

Id vas n't pecause I trinks lager und vine,

Id vas all on aggount off dot baby off mine.

Dot schmall leedle vellow, I dells you vas qveer;
Not mooch pigger roundt as a goot glass off beer,
Mit a bare-footed hed, und nose but a schpeck,
A mout' dot goes most to der pack off his neck,
Und his leedle pink toes mit der rest all combine
To gife sooch a charm to dot baby off mine.

I dells you dot baby vas von off der poys,

Und beats leedle Yawcob for making a noise ;

He shust has pecun to shbeak goot I'^nglish, too,

Says " mamma,' und "bapa," und somedimes "ah— goo ! "

You do n'd find a baby den dimes out off nine

Dot vos qvite so schmart as dot baby off mine.

He grawls der vloor ofer, und drows dings aboudt,

Und poots efryding he can find in his mout' ;

He dumbles der shtairs down, und falls vrom his chair,

Und gifes mine Katrina von derrible sckare;

Mine hair shtands like shquills on a mat borcubine

Yen I dinks off dose pranks off dot baby off mine.

DIALECT. 393

Dere vos someding, you pet, I don'd likes pooty veil;

To hear in der nighdt-dimes dot young Deutscher yell,

TTnd dravel der ped-room midout many clo'es,

Yhile der chills down der shpine off mine pack quickly goes ;

Dose leedle shimnasdic dricks vas n't so fine,

Dot I cuts opp at nighdt mit dot baby off mine.

Veil, deese leedle schafers vas goin' to pe men,
Und all off dese droubles vill peen ofer den ;
Dey vill vare a vhite shirt vront inshted off a bib,
Und vould n't got tucked oop at nighdt in deir crib-
Veil ! veil ! ven I 'm feeple und in life's decline,
May mine oldt age pe cheered py dot baby off mine !

CHARLES F. ADAMS.

DOT LEEDLE LOWEEZA.

How DEAR to dis heart vas mine grandshild, Loweeza I

Dot shveet leedle taughter off Yawcob, mine son !
I nefer vas tired to hug und to shqueeze her

Vhen home I gets back, und der day's vork vas done.
Vhen I vas avay, O, I know dot she miss me.

For vhen I come homevards she rushes bell-mell,
Und pools oup dot shveet leedle mout' for to kiss me —

Her " darling oldt gampa " dot she lofe so veil.

Katrina, mine frau, she could not do mitout her,

She vas sooch a gomfort to her day py day ;
Dot shild she make efry von habby aboudt her.

Like sunshine she drife all dheir droubles avay ;
She holdt der vool yarn vhile Katrina she vind it,

She pring her dot camfire bottle to shmell ;
She fetch me mine bipe, too, vhen I do n'd can find it,

Dot plue-eyed Loweeza dot lofe me so veil.

How shveet, vhen der toils off der veek vas all ofer,

Und Sunday vas come mit its quiet and rest,
To valk mit dot shild 'mong der daisies und clofer,

Und look at der leedle birds building dheir nest!
Her pright leedle eyes how dhey shparkle mit bleasure,

Her laugh it rings oudt shust so clear as a pell ;
I dink dhere vas nopody haf sooch a treasure

A3 dot shmaU Loweeza, dot lofe me so veil.

394 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y.

Vhen vinter vas come, mit its coldt, shtormy veddher,

Katrina und I ve musdt sit in der house
Und dalk of der bast, by de fireside togedder,

Or play mit dot taughter off our Yawcob Strauss.
Oldt age mit its wrinkles pegins to remind us

Ve gannot shtay long mit our shildren to dwell ;
But soon ve shall meet mit der poys left pehind us,

Und dot sliveet Loweeza, dot lofe us so veil.

CHARLES F. ADAMS.

MINE KATRINE.

You vould n't dink mine frau.
If you shust look at her now,
Vhere der wrinkles on her prow

Long haf been ;
Vas der fraulein blump und fair,
Mit der vafy flaxen hair,
Who did vonce mine heart enshnare ;

Mine Katrine.

Der dime seems shord to me'
Since ve game acrosd der sea,
To der gountry off der free

Ve 'd nefer seen ;
But ve hear de beople say
Dhere vas vork und blendy bay,
So I shtarted righd away

Mit Katrine.

0, der shoy dot filled mine house
Vhen dot goot oldt Toctor Krauss
Brought us leedle Yawcob Strauss,

Sh veet und clean ;
Vhy, I do n'd pelief mine eyes
Vhen I look, now, mit surbrise,
On dot feller, shust der size

Off Katrine!

Den " dot leedle babe off mine,"
He vas grown so tall und fine ;
Shust so sdrait as any pine
You efer seen ;

DIALECT. 395

Und der beoples all agree
Soocli fine poys dey nefer see.
Dey looks mooch more like me
As Katrine.

Veil, ve haf our eriefs und shoys,
Und dhere 's naught our lofe destroys,
Bud I miss dose leedle poys

Dot used to been ;
Und der tears vill somedime sdart,
Und I feels so sick at heart,
Ven I dinks I soon musd part

From Katrine.

Oldt Time vill soon pe here,
Mit his sickle und his shpear,
Und vill vhisper in mine ear

Mit sober mien :
" You must coom along mit me,
For id vas der Lord's decree ;
Und von day dose poys you '11 see,

Und Katrine." chakles f. adams.

SCHNEIDER SEES I.EAH.

I VANT to dold you vat it is, dot 's a putty nice play.
De first dime dot you see Leah, she runs cross a pridge, mit
some fellers chasin' her mit putty big shtics. Dey ketch her
right in de middle of der edge, und der leader (dot's de
villen), he sez of her, "Dot it's better ven she dies, und dot
he coodent allow it dot she can lif." Und de oder fellers
hollers out, *'So ve vill;" "Gife her some deth;" ''Kill
her putty quick;" "Shmack her of der jaw," und such
dings; und'chust as dey vill kill her, de priest says of dem,
"Dond you do dot," und dey shtop dot putty quick. In
der nexd seen, dot Leah meets Rudolph (dot's her feller) in
de voods. Before dot he comes in, she sits of de bottom
of a cross, und she dond look putty lifely, und she says:
*' Rudolph, Rudolph, how is dot, dot you dond come und

396 ELOCUTION AND' ORATORY.

see about me ? You did n't shpeak of me for tree days long.
I vant to dold you vot it is, dot aiut some luf. I do n'd
like dot." Veil, Rudolph he do n'd vas dere, so he coodent
sed soraetings. But ven he comes in she dells of him dot
she lufs him orful, und he says dot he guess he lufs her
orful too, und vants to know vood she leef dot place, und
go oud in some oder country mit him. Und she says, **I
told you I vill ; " und he says, " Dot 's all right ;" und he tells
her he vill meet her soon, und dey vill go vay dogedder. Den
he kisses her und goes oud, und she feels honkey dory bout dot.
Veil, in der nexd seen, Rudolph's old man finds oud all
about dot, und he dond feel putty goot ; und he says of
Rudolph, ''Vood you leef me, und go mit dot gal?" und
Rudolph feels putty bad. He do n'd know vot he shall do.
Und der old man he says, "I dold you vot I'll do. De
skoolmaster (dot's de villen) says dot she might dook some
money to go vay. Now, Rudolph, my poy, I '11 gif de skool-
master sum money to gif do her, und if she do n'd dook dot
money, I'll let you marry dot gal." Ven Rudolph hears
dis, he chumps mit joyness, und says: "Fader, fader, dot's
all righd. Dot 's pully. I baed you anydings she voodeut
dook dot money." Veil, de old man gif de skoolmaster de
money, und dells him dot he shall offer dot of her. Veil,
dot pluddy skoolmaster comes back und says dot Leah dook
dot gold right avay, ven she did n't do dot. Den de old
man says, "Didn't I told you so?" und Rudolph gets so
vild dot he svears dot she can 't haf someding more to do
mit him. So ven Leah vill meet him in de voods, he do n'd
vas dere, und she feels orful, und goes avay. Bime-by she
comes up to Rudolph's house. She feels putty bad, und she
knocks of de door. De old man comes oud, und" says : ** Got
oud of dot, you orful vooman. Do n'd you come round after
my poy again, else I put you in de dooms." Und she says:
*' Chust let me see Rudolph vonce, und I vill vander avay."
So den Rudolph comes oud, und she vants to rush of liis
^rms, but dot pluddy fool voodent allow dot. He chucks

DIALECT. 397

her avay, und says: ''Don'd you touch me uf you please,
you deceitfulness gal." I dold you vat it is, dot looks ruff
for dot poor gal. Und she is extonished, und says : ** Vot is
dis aboud dot?" Und Rudolph, orful mad, says: *'Got
oudsiedt, you ignomonous vooman." Und she feels so orful
she coodent said a vord, und she goes oud.

Afterwards, Rudolph gits married to anoder gal in a
shurch. Veil, Leah, who is vandering eferyveres, happens
to go in dot shurch-yard to cry, chust at de same dime of
Rudolph's marriage, which she do n'd know someding aboud.
Putty soon she hears de organ, und she says dere is some
beeples gitten married, und dot it vill do her unhappiness
goot if she sees dot. So she looks in de vinder, und ven
she sees who dot is, my graciousness, do n'd she holler, und
shvears vengeance ! Putty soon Rudolph chumps oud indo
der shurch-yard to got some air. He says he do n'd feel
putty goot. Putty soon dey see each oder, und dey had a
orful dime. He says of her: "Leah, how, how is dot you
been here?" Und she say mit big scornfulness : "How is
dot, you got cheek to talk of me afder dot vitch you hafe
done?" Den he says: "Veil, vot for you dook dot gold,
you false-hearted leetle gal?" Und she says: "Vot gold is
dot? I didn't dook some gold." Und he says: "Do n'd
you dold a lie aboud dot?" She says, slowfully : "I dold
you I didn't dook some gold. Vot gold is dot?** Und den
Rudolph tells her all aboud dot, und she says, "Dot is a
orful lie. I did n't seen some gold ; " und she adds mit
much sarkasmness: "Und you beliefed I dook dot gold?
Dot's de vorst I efer heered. Now, on accound of dot, I
vill give you a few gurses." Uud she svears mit orful voices
dot Mister Kain's gurse should git on him, und dot he coodent
never git any happiness eferyvere, no matter vere he is.
Den she valks off. Veil, den a long dime passes avay, und
den you see Rudolph's farm. He has got a nice vife, und a
putiful leetle child. Putty soon Leah comes in, being shased,
as ushual, by fellers mit shticks. She looks like she didn't

398 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

ead someding for two monds. Rudolph's vife send? off dot
mop, und Leah gits avay again. Den dot nice leetie child
comes oud, und Leah comes back; und ven she sees dot
child, do n'd she feel orful aboud dot, und she says mit
affectfulness, "Come here, leedl^ child, I vooden'd harm
you ; " und dot nice leedle child goes righd up, und Leah
grabs her in her arms, und gries, und kisses her. O, my
graciousness, do n'd she grie aboud dot !

Und den she says vile she gries: "Leedle childs, do n'd
you got some names?" Und dot leedle child sh peaks oud so
nice, pless her leedle hard, und says: **0 yes! My name
dot 's Leah, und my papa tells me dot I shall pray for you
efery nighd." O, my goodnessness ! do n'd Leah gry orful
ven she hears dot. I dold you vat it is, dot's a shplaindid
ding. Und quick comes dem tears in your eyes, und you
look up ad de vail, so dot nobody can 'd see dot, und you
make oud you do n'd care aboud it. But your eyes gits
fulled up so quick dot you could n'd keep dem in, und de
tears comes down of your face like a shnow-storm, und den
you do n'd care not'iug if efery body sees dot. Und Leah
kisses her, und gries like dot her hard's broke, und she
dooks off dot gurse from Rudolph und goes avay. De child
den dell her fader und muder aboud dot, und dey pring her
back. Den dot mop comes back und vill kill her again ; but
she exposes dot skoolmaster — dot villain — und dot fixes him.
Den she falls down in Rudolph's arms, und your eyes gits
fulled up again, und you can'd see someding more. You
could n't help dot any vay. Und if I see a gal vot do n'd gry
in dot piece, I vood n't marry dot gal. Schneider.

SETTING A HEN.

Meester Verris, — I see dot mosd efferypoty wrides
someding for de chicken babers nowtays, und I tought praps
meppe I can do dot too, as I wride all apout vat dook blace

DIALECT. 399

mit nie lasht summer ; you kuow — odor of you dond know,
deu I dells you — dot Katrina (dot is mine vrow) und me, ve
keep some shickens for a long dime ago, und von tay slie
sait to me: ''Sockery" (dot is mein name), " vy dond you
put some of de aigs unter dot olt plue hen shickens; I dinks
she vants to sate." '* Veil," I sait, '' meppe I guess I vill ; "
so I bicked out some uf de best aigs und dook um oud do de
parn fere de olt hen make her nesht in de side of de hay-
mow, pout five six veet up ; now, you see, I nefer vas ferry
big up und town, but I vos putty pig all de vay around in
de mittle, so I kood n't reach up dill I vent und get a parrel
do stant on ; veil, I klimet on de parrel, und ven my hed
rise up by de nesht, dot olt hen gif me such a bick dot
my nose runs all ofer my face mit plood, und ven I todge
pack dot plasted olt parrel he preak, und I vent town ker-
shlam ; I did n't tink I kood go insite a parrel pefore, put
dere I vos, und I fit so dite dot I kood n't get me oud efier-
way; my fest vos bushed vay up my unter arm-holes. Ven I
fount I vos dite shtuck, I holler " Katrina ! Katrina ! " und
ven she koom und see me shtuck in de parrel up to my arm-
holes, mit my face all plood und aigs, she shust lait town on
de hay und laft und laft, till I got so mat I sait, '* Vot you
lay dare und laf like a olt vool, eh? Vy dond you koom
bull me oud?" und she set up und sait, "O vipe off your
chin, und bull your fest town ; " den she lait back und laft
like she vood shblit herself more as efer. Mat as I vas, I
tought to myself, Katrina, she sbeak English pooty goot, put
I only sait mit my cratest dignitude, " Katrina, vill you bull
me oud dis parrel?" und she see dot I look booty red, so she
said, "Uf course I vill, Sockery ; " den she lait me und de
parrel town on our site, und I dook holt de door sill, und
Katrina she bull on de parrel, but de first bull she mate I
yellet: "Donner und blitzen, shtop dat; dere is nails in de
parrel ! " You see de nails bent town ven I vent in, but ven
I koom oud dey schticks in me all de vay rount; veil, to

400 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y.

make a short shtory long, I dold Katrina to go nnd dell
nayper Hausman to pring a saw imd saw me dis parrel off;
veil, he koom, und he Hke to shblit himself mit laf too, but
he roll me ofer und saw de parrel all de vay around off,
und I get up mit half a parrel around my vaist; den
Katrina she say, *' Sockery, vait a little till I get a battern
uf dat new oferskirt you haf on ; " put I did n't sait a vort.
I shust got a nife oud und vittle de hoops off, und shling dot
confountet olt parrel in de voot-pile.

Pimeby, ven I koom in de house Katrina, she sait so soft
like: ''Sockery, don'd you goin' to but some aigs under dot
olt plue hen?" Den I sait in my deepest woice, ''Katrina,
uf you efer say dot to me again, I'll got a pill uf wriding
from de lawyer from you," und I dell you she did n't say
dot any more. Veil, Mr. Verris, ven I shtep on a parrel
now, I do n'd shtep on it, — I get a pox. sockery.

THEOLOGY IN THE QUARTERS.

Now, I 's got a notion in my head dat when you come to die,
An' Stan' de 'zamination in de cote-house in de sky,
You'll be 'stonished at de questions dat de angel's gwine to ax
When he gits you on de witness stan' an' pin you to de fac's ;

'Cause he '11 ax you mighty closely 'bout your doin's in de night.
An' de water-milion question's gwine to bodder you a sight!
Den your eyes '11 open wider dan dey eber done befo',
AVhen he chats you 'bout a chicken-scrape dat happened long ago!

De angels on de picket-line erlong de Milky Way
Keeps a-watchin' what you're dribin' at, an' hearin' what you say ;
No matter what you want to do, no matter whar you's gwine,
Dey's mighty ap' to find it out an' pass it 'long de line ; ,

An' of'en at de meetin', when you make a fuss an' laugh,
Why, dey send de news a-kitin' by de golden telegraph ;

DIALECT. 401

Den de angel in de orfis, what's a-settin' by de gate,
Jes' reads de message wid a look an' claps it on de slate !

Den you better do your juty well, an' keep your conscience clear,
An' keep a lookin' straight ahead an' watchin' whar you steer ;
'Cause arter while de time '11 come to journey from de Ian',
An' dey'll take you way up in de a'r an' put you on de stan' ;
Den you '11 hab to listen to de clerk, and answer mighty straight,
Ef you ebber 'spec' to trabble froo de alaplaster gate !

J. A. MACON.

PADDY'S EXCELSIOR.

'T WAS growing dark so terrible fasht,
Whin through a town up the mountain there pashed
A broth of a boy, to his neck in the shnow ;
As he walked, his shillalah he swung to and fro.
Saying : " It 's up to the top I 'm bound for to go,
Be jabbers!"

He looked mortal sad, and his eye was as bright
As a fire of turf on a cowld winther night;
And niver a word that he said could ye tell
As he opened his mouth and let out a yell :
" It 's up till the top of the mountain I '11 go,
Onless covered up wid this bodthersome shnow,
Be jabbers ! "

Through the windows he saw, as he thraveled along,
The light of the candles, and fires so warm
But a big chunk of ice houng over his head ;
Wid a shnivil and groan, " By St. Patrik ! " he said,
** It 's up to the very tiptop I will rush,
And then if it falls, it 's not meself it '11 crush,
Be jabbers ! "

" Whisht a bit," said an owld man, whose head was as white
As the shnow that fell down on that miserable night ;
" Shure, ye'll fall in the wather, me bit of a lad,
For the night is so dark and the walkin' is bad."
Bedad ! he 'd not lisht to a word that was said.
But he 'd go till the top, if he went on his head.
Be jabbers !

402 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY .

A bright, buxom young girl, such as loikes to be kissed,
Axed him wouldn't he stop, and how could he resist?
So, shnapping his fingers and winking his eye,
While shmiling upon her, he made this reply :
" Faith, I meant to kape on till I got to the top,
But, as yer swate self has axed me, I may as well shtop
Be jabbers!"

He shtopped all night and he shtopped all day —
And ye musn't be axing whin he did go away ;
Fur wouldn't he be a bastely gossoon
To be laving his darlint in the swate honey-moon ?
When the owld man has peraties enough, and to spare,
Shure he moight as well shtay if he 's comfortal)le there,
Be jabbers !

SUNDAY FISHIN'.

Heyo ! you niggers, dah, I like ter know
Wut dat you up to yere ! Well, toe be sho I
Ef you ain't fishin' on de good Lawd's day,
Des like you done gone clah forgit de way
Up to de meetin'-'ouse ! Yere, come erlong
Er me, en I '11 show you de place you b'long.

I tells you wut, boys, dish yere chile is had

Speunce er Sunday fishin', en he glad

Dat he 's alive ! De las' time dat I broke

De Sabbaf-day dis way, it wa'n't no joke —

You heered me now ! Dat wuz de time, you know,

I ketched de debble, en I thought, fer sho,

Dat he 'd ketch me !

You see, dish yere de way
It wuz: I tuck my pole one Sabbaf-day
En went down to de river, at de place
Wut I kep' baited, up above de race.

Dey useter be a little dogwood-tree

Up on de bank, jess big ernough fer me

To set en fish in ; en I useter clime

Into it alluz in high- water time.

It growed right on de steep bank's aidge, en lent

'Way out above de water. W'en I went

DIALECT. 403

Up dab dat day dc muddy ribber den

Had riz en oberflowed 'bout nine or ten

Feet fum de bank, en so I tuck en role

My breeches up, en waded wid my pole

Out to de tree, en clime into de fawk,

En 'gin ter fish. 'Twa' nt long 'fo' my cawk

Duckt clear outer sight ;

Den I felt de pole jerk mos' away.

I belt on to dat pole, but ' twa'n't no mortal use—
Dat fish wuz boun' to make sump'n come loose.
I had a monstrous strong, big cat-fish line.
En so I tuck en fix my legs, en I twine
Em roun' dat tree en froze on to de pole,
Termint to swing 'twell sump'n loos' der hoi'.

But Laws-a-massy, ' twan't no yethly use ;

Fo' long I felt dat are tree a-givin' loos' ;

En treckly down she come, sho' enough, kerflop,

Into de bilin' water, me on top,

Yes, sir, right in de ribber; den dat thing

Wut I done ketched, hit gib a sudden swing,

En 'way hit tuck straight down de stream, wid me

Er follerin' atter, a settin' on de tree !

Sakes, how we trabbled ! en *z we rolled along,

Hit struck me all to wunst sump'n 'uz wrong

Erbout dat fish ! He wuz a pow'ful sight

Too peart.

De fus' thing wut I thought I better do

Wuz tu'n aloose dat pole ; but, thinks I, " Shoo

I could n't fool him dat away, en he

Mout tu'n loose, too, en grab aholt er me."

Putty quick
I seed out in de river, rigjfit ahead,
Joe Taylor's fish-trap, en de good Lawd led
Us long up side it, en you mighty right,
I jumpt on to it mighty free en light ;
En Mr. Smarty Nick, wid his ole tree,
Sailed on, a-thinkin' still he haulin' me!
Dat 's wut de matter !

Niggers, dat de way
I quit dis fishin' on^e Sabbgf-day.

404 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

Dah aint no pole ermong yo' all I 'd tech;
En if you aint a-hankerin' to ketch
Sump'n you did n't barg'n for, I lay
You better put dem hooks en lines away.

Fer members uv de Church, dish yere gits me!
Uv all de owdacious doin's I ever see,
Dis tak'n' de Sabbaf-day in vain's de wuss
Fer mortifyin' de morals uv — You Gus!
Look at dat bite you got ! Law bless de Lam',
He 's a joedahter ! Look out dah, doe jam
Dat pole up dah! You trine, peahs like to me,
To knock de fish fum ofi" dat 'simmon-tree.

Now look ! Doe jerk dat way ! Law love my soul,
You gwiner lose 'im ! Yere, gimme dat pole ;
I '11 show you how to Ian' 'im! Stiddy, now—
Pulls like a cat-fish. Hit 's de boss, I vow!
Des wait a minute; one mo' pull is boun'
To git 'im. Dah he is, safe on de groun'.

Haint he a whopper, dough ! Hoo-wee ! I lay
Y' all dat ah fish dis blessid day 'ull weigh
'Bout forty — Laws-a-massy ! ef I aint
Done broke de Sabbaf 'fo' I knowed it! - 'Taint
No use to laugh— you reckon I wuz gwine
Ter let dat fish take off dis pole en line ?

ANONYMOUS.

IMPERSONATION.

EVENING AT THE FARM.

Over the hill the farm-boy goes ;
His shadow lengthens along the land,
A giant staff in a giant hand ;
In the poplar-tree, above the spring.
The katydid begins to sing ;

The early dews are falling ;
Into the stone-heap darts the mink;
The SM^allows skim the river's brink ;

IMPERSONATION. 405

And home to the woodland fly the crows,
When over the hill the farm-boy goes,
Cheerily calling,

" Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! co' I "
Farther, farther, over the hill,
Faintly calling, calling still,

"Co', boss! co', boss! co' ! co' ! co' ! "
Into the yard the farmer goes,
With grateful heart, at the close of day ;
Harness and chain are hung away ;
In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plow ;
The straw 's in the stack, the hay in the mow,

The cooling dews are falling;
The friendly sheep his welcome bleat.
The pigs come grunting to his feet.
The whinnying mare her master knows,
When into the yard the farmer goes,
His cattle calling :

"Co', boss! co', boss! co' ! co' 1 co' ! "
While still the cow-boy, far away.
Goes seeking those that have gone astray —

" Co', boss 1 co', boss ! co' ! co' ! "

Now to her task the milkmaid goes ;

The cattle come crowding through the gate.

Lowing, pushing, little and great ;

About the trough, by the farm-yard pump.

The frolicksome yearlings frisk and jump.

While the pleasant dews are falling ;
The new milch-heifer is quick and shy.
But the old cow waits with tranquil eye.
And the white stream into the bright pail flows,
When to her task the milkmaid goes,

Soothingly calling:
" So, boss ! SO; boss ! so ! so ! so ! "
The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool,
And sits and milks in the twilight cool,
Saying, "So! so, boss! so! so!"

To supper at last the farmer goes;
The apples are pared, the paper read.
The stories are told, then all to bed.
Without, the crickets' ceaseless song

406 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Makes shrill the silence all night long ;

The heavy dews are falling.
The housewife's hand has turned the lock;
Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock ;
The household sinks to deep repose,
But still in sleep the farm-boy goes,
Singing, calling:

'' Co', boss ! co', boss! co' ! co' ! co' ! "
And oft the milkmaid, in her dreams,
Drums in the pail Avith the flashing streams,

Murmuring, " So, boss ! so ! "

J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

THE CHARCOAL MAN.

Though rudely blows the wintry blast,
And sifting snows fall white and fast,
Mark Haley drives along the street.
Perched high upon his wagon-seat;
His somber face the storm defies,
And thus from morn till eve he cries :

'' Charco' ! charco' ! "
While echo faint and far replies :

''Hark, 0! hark, O!"
*' Charco' ! " — " Hark, O !"— such cheery sounds
Attend him on his daily rounds.

The dust begrimes his ancient hat.

His coat is darker far than that ;

'T is odd to see his sooty form

All speckled with the feathery storm;

Tet in his honest bosom lies

Nor spot, nor speck, though still he cries :

"Charco'! charco'!"
And many a roguish lad replies :

''Ark, ho ! ark, ho ! "
" Charco' ! " " Ark, ho ! " — such various sounds
Announce Mark Haley's morning rounds.

Thus all the cold and wintry day
He labors much for little pay ;
Yet feels no less of happiness
Than many a richer man, I guess,

IMPERSONATION, 407

When through the shades of eve he spies
The light of his own home and cries :

" Charco' ! charco' ! "
And Martha from the door replies ;

" Mark, ho ! Mark, ho ! "
"Charco' ! " " Mark, ho ! "—such joy abounds
When he has closed his daily rounds.

The hearth is warm, the fire is bright,

And while his hand, washed clean and white,

Holds Martha's tender hand once more,

His glowing face bends fondly o'er

The crib wherein his darling lies,

And in a coaxing tone he cries:

" Charco' ! charco' ! "
And the baby with a laugh replies :

"Ah, go! ah, go!"
" Charco' ! " "Ah, go ! "—while at the sounds
The mother's heart with gladness bounds.

Then honored be the charcoal man I

Though dusky as an African,

'T is not for you, that chance to be

A little better clad than he.

His honest manhood to despise.

Although from morn till eve he cries :

"Charco'! charco'!"
While mocking echo still replies :

"Hark, O! hark, 0 ! "
" Charco' ! " " Hark, O ! "—long may the sounds
Proclaim Mark Haley's daily rounds !

J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

THE SPANISH DUEI..

Near the city of Sevilla,
Years and years ago.
Dwelt a lady in a villa
Years and years ago ;
And her hair was black as night,
And her eyes were starry bright ;

408 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Olives on her brow were blooming,

Roses red her lips perfuming,

And her step was light and airy

As the tripping of a fairy ;

When she spoke, you thought, each minute,

'T was the thrilling of a linnet !

Orphaned both of sire and mother

Dwelt she in that lonely villa,
Absent now her guardian brother

On a mission from Sevilla.
Skills it little now the telling

How I wooed that maiden fair ;
Tracked her to her lonely dwelling.

And obtained an entrance there.

Ah ! that lady of the villa !

And I loved her so,
Near the city of Sevilla,

Years and years ago.

Ay de mi ! — Like echoes falling

Sweet and sad and low,
Voices came at night, recalling

Years and years ago.

Seated half within a bower.

Where the languid evening breeze

Shook out odors in a shower

From oranges and citron-trees,

Sang she from a romancero,

How a Moorish chieftain bold

Fought a Spanish caballero
By Sevilla's walls of old ;

How they battled for a lady,

Fairest of the maids of Spain ;

How the Christian's lance, so steady.

Pierced the Moslem through the brain.

Then she ceased— her black eyes moving,
Flashed, as asked she with a smile :

"Say, are maids as fair and loving —
Men as faithful, in your isle?"

IMPERSONATION. 409

" British maids," I said, " are ever

Counted fairest of the fair ;
Like the swans on yonder river

Moving with a stately air.

Wooed not quickly, won not lightly —

But, when won, forever true ;
Trial draws the bond more tightly ;

Time can ne'er the knot undo."

"And the men?"— "Ah! dearest lady,

Are — quien sabe? — who can say?
To make love they 're ever ready,

Where they can and where they may ;
Fixed as waves, as breezes steady

In a changeful April day —
Como brisas, como rios,
No se sabe, sabe Dios."

"Are they faithful?"— "Ah! quien sabe?

Who can answer that they are ?
While we may, we should be happy."

Then I took up her guitar,
And I sang in sportive strain.
This song to an old air of Spain.

"QUIEN SABE."

" The breeze of the evening that cools the hot air.
That kisses the orange and shakes out thy hair,
Is its freshness less welcome, less sweet its perfume,
That you know not the region from which it is come?
Whence the wind blows, where the wind goes.
Hither and thither and whither— who knows ?

Who knows?
Hither and thither— but whither— who knows?

The river forever glides singing along.
The rose on the bank bends adown to its song ;
And the flower, as it listens, unconsciously dipd,
Till the rising wave glistens and kisses its lips.

410 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

But why the wave rises and kisses the rose,

And why the rose stoops for those kisses— who knows ?

Who knows?
And away flows the river— but whither— who knows ?

Let me be the breeze, love, that wanders along

The river that ever rejoices in song ;

Be thou to my fancy the orange in bloom,

The rose by the river that gives its perfume.

Would the fruit be so golden, so fragrant the rose.

If no breeze and no wave were to kiss them ? Who knows ?

Who knows ?
If no breeze and no wave were to kiss them ? Who knows ? "

As I sang the lady listened,

Silent save one gentle sigh ;
When I ceased, a tear-drop glistened

On the dark fringe of her eye.

Then my heart reproved the feeling

Of that false and heartless strain,
Which I sang in words concealing

What my heart would hide in vain.

Up I sprang. What words were uttered

Bootless now to think or tell ;
Tongues speak wild when hearts are fluttered,

By the mighty master spell.

Words half-vague and passion-broken,

Meaningless, yet meaning all
That the lips have left unspoken,

That we never may recall.

" Magdalena, dearest, hear me,"

Sighed I, as I seized her hand —
" Hola, Seiior! " very near me,

Cries a voice of stern command.

And a stalwart caballero

Comes upon me with a stride.
On his head a slouched sombrero,

A toledo by his side.

IMPERSONATION, 411

From his breast he flung his capa

With a stately Spanish air ;
On the whole, he looked the chap a

Man to slight would scarcely dare.

" Will your worship have the goodness

To release that lady's hand?"
" Sefior," I replied, '' this rudeness

I am not prepared to stand.

Magdalena, say " — the maiden,

With a cry of wild surprise,
As with secret sorrow laden,

Fainting, sank before my eyes.

Then the Spanish caballero

Bowed with haughty courtesy,
Solemn as a tragic hero,

And announced himself to me :

" Senor, I am Don Camillo
Guzman Miguel Pedrillo
De Xymenes y Ribera

Y Santallos y Herrera

Y de Rivas y Mendoza

Y Quintana y de Rosa

Y Zorilla y "— " No more, sir,

'T is as good as twenty score, sir,"

Said I to him, with a frown;
" Mucha bulla para nada,
No palabras, draw your 'spada ;
If you 're up for a duello
You will find I 'm just your fellow —

Senor, I am Peter Brown ! "

By the river's brink that night,

Foot to foot in strife,
Fought we in the dubious light

A fight of death or life.
Don Camillo slashed my shoulder ;
With the pain I grew the bolder ;

Close, and closer still I pressed !
Fortune favored me at last ;
I broke his guard, my weapon passed

Through the caballero's breast.

412 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Down to the earth went Don Camillo
Guzman Miguel Pedrillo
De Xymenes y Ribera

Y Santallos y Herrera

Y de Rivas y Mendoza

Y Quintana y de Rosa

Y Zorilla y — One groan,
And he lay motionless as stone.
The man of many names went dow^n,
Pierced by the sword of Peter Brown !

Kneeling down I raised his head;
The caballero faintly said :
" Senor Ingles, fly from Spain
With all speed, for you have slain
A Spanish noble, Don Camillo
Guzman Miguel Pedrillo
De Xymenes y Ribera

Y Santallos y Herrera

Y de Rivas y Mendoza

Y Quintana y de Rosa

Y Zorilla y " — He swooned
"With the bleeding of his wound.
If he be living still or dead,

I never knew, I ne'er shall know.
That night from Spain in haste I fled,
Years and years ago.

Oft when autumn eve is closing,

Pensive, puffing a cigar,
As I sit alone, reposing,
Musing half, and half a-dozinj^,

Comes a vision from afar
Of that lady of the villa
In her satin-fringed mantilla,
And that haughty caballero
With his capa and sombrero,
And I vainly keep revolving

That long-jointed, endless name;
'T is a riddle past my solving

Who he was, or whence he came.
Was he that brother home returned ?
Was he some former lover spurned ?

IMPERSONATION. 413

Or some family fiance
That the lady did not fancy ?
Was he any one of those ?
Sabe Dios. Ah ! God knows !

Sadly smoking my manilla,

Much I long to know
How fares the lady of the villa

That once charmed me so,
When I visited Sevilla

Years and years ago.
Has she married a Hidalgo?
Gone the way that ladies all go
In those drowsy Spanish cities,
Wasting life — a thousand pities —
Waking up for a fiesta
From an afternoon siesta,
To " Giralda " now repairing.
Or the Plaza for an airing;
Does she walk at evenings ever
Through the gardens by the river?
Guarded by an old duenna
Fierce and sharp as a hyena,
With her goggles and her fan,
Warning ofi" each wicked man ?
Is she dead or is she living?
Is she for my absence grieving?
Is she wretched? is she happy?
Widow, wife, or maid ? Quien sabcf

J. I. WALLER.

THE OLD MAN IN THE MODEL CHURCH.

Well, wife, I 've found the model church ! I worshiped there

to-day !
It made me think of good old times, before my hairs were gray ;
The meetin'-house was fixed up more than they were years ago,
But then I felt, when I went in, it was n't built for show.

The sexton did n't seat me away back by the door ;
He knew that I was old and deaf, as well as old and poor;
He must have been a Christian, for he led me boldly througli
The long aisle of that crowded church to find a pleasant pew.

414 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

1 wish you 'd heard the singin' ; it liad the old-time ring ;

The preacher said, with trumpet voice: "Let all the people

sing! "
The tune was " Coronation," and the music upward rolled,
Till I thought I heard the angels striking all their harps of gold.

My deafness seemed to melt away ; my spirit caught the fire ;
I joined my feeble, trembling voice with that melodious choir.
And sang as in my youthful days: " Let angels prostrate fall ;
Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown him Lord of all."

I tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that hymn once more ;
I felt like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpse of shore ;
I almost wanted to lay down this weather-beaten form, *

And anchor in that blessed port, forever from the storm.

The preachin' ? AVell I can 't just tell all that the preacher said ;
I know it was n't written ; I know it was n't read ;
He had n't time to read it, for the lightnin' of his eye
Went flashin' 'long from pew to pew, nor passed a sinner by.

The sermon was n't flowery ; 't was simple gospel truth ;
It fitted poor old men like me ; it fitted hopeful youth ;
'T was full of consolation for weary hearts that bleed;
'T was full of invitations to Christ, and not to creed.

How swift the golden moments fled within that holy place !
How brightly beamed the light of heaven from every happy face !
Again I longed for that sweet time when friend shall meet with

friend ;
" When congregations ne'er break up, and Sabbath has no end."

I hope to meet that minister — that congregation, too —

In that dear home beyond the stars that shine from heaven's

blue ;
I doubt not I '11 remember, beyond life's evenin' gray,
That happy hour of worship in that model church to-day.

Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought — the victory soon be won;
The shinin' goal is just ahead ; the race is nearly run ;
O'er the river we are nearin', they are throngin' to the shore.
To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no more.

JOHN H. YATES.

IMPERSONATION. 415

THE OLD MAN AND JIM.

Old man never had much to say,

'Ceptin' to Jim ;
And Jim was the wildest boy he had,

And the old man jes' wrapped up in him !
Never heerd him speak but once
Er twice in my life— and first time was
When the army broke out, and Jim he went,
The old man backin' him, for three months.
And all 'at I heerd the old man say
AVas, jes' as we turned to start away :

"Well, good-bye, Jim;

Take keer of yourse'f "

'Feared like he was more satisfied

Jes' lookin' at Jim,
And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see?

'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him !
And over and over I mind the day
The old man came and stood round in the way
While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim,
And down at the depot a-heerin' him say :

" Well, good-bye, Jim ;

Take keer of yourse'f ! "

Never was nothin' about the farm

Disting'ished Jim ;
Neighbors all uset to wonder why

The old man 'peared wrapped up in him ;
But when Cap Biggler he writ back

'At Jim was the bravest boy we had
In the whole dern regiment, white or black,

And his fightin' good as his farmin' bad —
'At he had led, with a bullet clean

Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag
Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen.
The old man wound up a letter to him
'At Cap read to us, 'at said : " Tell Jim

Good-bye ,

And take keer of hisse'f ! "

416 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Jim come back jes' long enough

To take the whim
'At he 'd Uke to go back in calvery —

And the old man jes' wrapped up in him ?
Jim 'lowed 'at he 'd had sich luck afore,
Guessed he 'd tackle her three years more.
And the old man gave him a colt he 'd raised,

And follered him over to Camp Ben Wade,
And laid around fer a week er so,

Watchin' Jim on dress-parade —
Tel finally he rid away,
And last he heerd was the old man say :

" Well, good-bye, Jim ;

Take keer of yourse'f ! "

Tuk the papers, the old man did,

A-watchin' fer Jim —
Fully believin' he 'd make his mark

Some way — jes' wrapped up in him!
And many a time the word 'u'd come
'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum —
At Petersburg, fer instance, where
Jim rid right into their cannons there,
And tuk 'em, and p'inted 'em t' other way
And socked it home to the boys in gray
As they skooted fer timber, and on and on —
Jim a lieutenant and one arm gone.
And the old man's words in his mind all day:

" Well, good-bye, Jim ;

Take keer of yourse'f ! "

Think of a private, now perhaps.

We '11 say like Jim,
'At 's dumb clean up to the shoulder-straps —

• And the old man jes' wrapped up in him ! —
Think of him — with the war phim' through,
And the glorious old Red-white-and-blue
A-laughin' the news down over Jim
And the old man bendin' over him —
The surgeon turnin' away with tears
'At had n't leaked fer years and years —
* As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to

His father's, the old voice in his ears:
" Well, good-bye, Jim ;

Take keer of yourse'f! "

JAMES WIIITCOMB UILEY.

IMPERSONA TION. 41 7

TOMMY TAFT.

On the first day of March it was, that Tommy Taft had
been unquietly sleeping in the forenoon, to make up for a
disturbed night. The little noisy clock, that regarded itself
as the essence of a Yankee, and ticked with immense alac-
rity and struck in the most bustling and emphatic manner;
this industrious and moral clock began striking whir-r-r, one;
whir-r-r, two; whir-r-r, three (Tommy jerked his head a lit-
tle, as if something vexed him in his sleep) ; whir-r-r, four ;
whir-r-r, five; whir-r-r, six ("Keep still, will ye? let me
alone, old woman! confound your medicine"); whir-r-r,
seven; whir-r-r, eight ("God in heaven! as sure as I
live," said Tommy, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure
that they saw aright) ; whir-r-r, nine ; whir-r-r, ten !
Then, holding out his arms with the simplicity of a child,
his face fairly glowing with joy, and looking now really
noble, he cried : ' * Barton — my boy. Barton — I knew you
would n't let the old man die and not help him ! I knew
it! I knew it!"

After the first surprise of joy subsided. Tommy pushed
Barton from the edge of his bed. *' Stand up, boy; turn
round! There he is! Now I'm all right. Got my pilot
aboard ; sealed orders ; ready to sail the minit the haAVser 's
let go."

After a few words about his return from the West, his
health and prospects, the old man returned to the subject
that seemed to lie nearest his heart. '* They've all had a
hand at me, Barton. There 's twenty firms in this town that
is willin' to give a feller sailin' orders, when they see he 's
out'ard bound. But I am an old salt — I know my owners ! '*
said Tommy, with an aflfectionate wink at Barton. "Ah,
Day hoy, you 're back again ; it 's all right now. Do n't you
let me go wrong. I want you to tell me just where you 're
goin', and I'll bear right up for that port. You know,
Barton, I never cheated you when you was a boy. I took

418 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

care of ye, and never told you a lie in my life, and never
got you in a scrape. You wo n't cheat an old man now,
will ye?"

It was all that Barton could do to maintain his self-
possession. Tears and smiles kept company on his face.
"My dear old Tommy, we won't part company. We're
both bound to the same land. God will, I fervently hope,
for Christ's sake, forgive all our sins, and make us meet for
everlasting life."

*'Amen!" roared out the old man. "Go on. You
really believe in it ? Come here. Barton ; sit down on the
edge of the bed, look me in the face, and no flummery. Do
you really believe that there's another world?"

"I do, Tommy; I believe it in my very soul."

"That's enough. I believe it, too, jest as sartin as if a
shipmate had told me about an island I'd never seen, but
he had. Now, Barton, give me the bearin's of 't. D'ye
believe that there 's a Lord that helps a poor feller to it ? "

"I do. Christ loves me and you, and all of us. He
saves all who trust in him."

" He do n't stand on particulars, then? He won't rip up
all a feller's old faults, will he? Or, how's that? Don't
you ease up on me, Barton, just to please me; but tell me
the hardest on 't. I believe every word you say."

Barton's own soul had traveled on the very road on whfch
Tommy was now walking, and remembering his own experi-
ence, he repeated to Tommy these words: "He will turn
again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our
iniquities; and thou wilt cast aH their sins into the depths
of the sea." (Micah vii, 19.)

"Now, that's to the p'int. Barton. The Lord will tumble
a feller's sins overboard like rubbish, or bilge- water and the
like, when a ship is in the middle of the ocean ? Well, it
would puzzle a feller to find 'em agin after that. Is that
all ? I 'm to report to him ? "

"Yes, Tommy; you are to report to God."

IMPERSONATION. 419

" Barton, ^vould ye jest as lief do me a little favor
OS not?"

''What is it, Taft?"

*' Would ye mind sayin' a little prayer for me — it makes
no difference, of course — but jest a line of introduction in a
foreign port sometimes helps a feller amazingly."

Barton knelt by the bedside and prayed. Without re-
flecting at the moment on Uncle Tommy's particular wants,
Barton was following in prayer the line of his own feelings,
when suddenly he felt Tommy's finger gently poking his
head. "I say, Barton, ain't you steerin' a p'int or two off
the course ? I do n't seem to follow you." A few earnest,
simple petitions followed, which Taft seemed to relish.
^*Lord, forgive Tommy Taft's sins! ('Now you've hit it,'
said the old man, softly.) Prepare him for thy kingdom.
(' Yes, and Barton, too ! ') May he feel thy love, and trust
his soul in thy sacred keeping. ('Ah, ha! that's it; you're
in the right spot now.') Give him peace while he lives.
('No matter about that; the doctor '11 give me opium for
that! go on.') And, at his death, save his soul in thy
kingdom, for Christ's sake. Amen!"

" Amen ! But did n't you coil it away rather too quick ?
Now, Barton, my boy, youVe done a good thing. I've been
waitin' for you all winter, and you did n't come a minit too
soon. I 'm tired now ; but I want to say one thing. Barton,
when I'm gone, you won't let the old woman suffer? She 's
had a pretty hard time of it with me. I knew you would.
One thing more. Barton," said the old man, his voice sinking
almost to a whisper, as if speaking a secret from the bottom
of his soul, "Barton, you know I never had much money.
I never laid up any — could n't. Now you won't let me come
on to the town for a funeral ; will ye ? I should hate to be
buried in a pine coffin, at town expense, and have folks
laugh that did n't dare open their head to me when I was
round town ! "

Barton could not forbear smiling as the old man, growing

420 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

visibly feebler every hour, went ou revealing traits which his
sturdy pride had covered when he was in health.

''And, Barton, I wish you'd let the children come when
I 'm buried. They '11 come, if you '11 jest let 'em know,.
Always trust the children. And," pain here checked his
utterance for a moment, " let 's see — what was I saying? O,
the children. I do n't want nothin' said. But if you 'd jest
as lief let the children sing one of their hymns, I should
relish it."

The color came suddenly to his cheek, and left as sud-
denly. He pressed his hand upon his heart, and leaned his
head further over on his pillow, as if to wait till the pang
passed. It seemed long. Barton rose and leaned over him.
The old man opened his eyes, and, with a look of ineffable
longing, whispered : " Farewell ! "

A faint smile dwelt about his mouth ; his face relaxed
and seemed to express happiness in its rugged features. But
the old man was not there. "Without sound of wings or
footfall he had departed on his last journey.

BEECHER.

THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.

Let me lie down,
Just here in the shade of this cannon-torn tree ;
Here, low on the trampled grass, where I may see
The surge of the combat ; and where I may hear
The glad cry of victory, cheer upon cheer ;

Let me He down.

0, it was grand !
Like the tempest we charged, in the triumph to share;
The tempest— its fury and thunder were there ;
On, on, o'er intrenchments, o'er living and dead.
With the foe under foot and our flag overhead—

O, it was grand !

Weary and faint.
Prone on the soldier's couch ; ah ! how can I rest
With this shot-shattered head and saber-pierced breast ?

IM PERSONA TION. 42 1

Comrades, at roll-call, when I shall be sought,
Say I fought till I fell, and fell where I fought,
Wounded and faint.

O, that last charge !
Right through the dread hell-fire of shrapnel and shell ;
Through without faltering — clear through with a yell ;
Right in their midst, in the turmoil and gloom.
Like heroes we dashed at the mandate of doom ;

O, that last charge !

It was duty !
Some things are worthless, and some others so good.
That nations who buy them pay only in blood ;
For Freedom and Union each man owes this part,
And here I pay my share all warm from my heart,

It is duty !

Dying at last!
My mother, dear mother, with meek, tearful eye,
Farewell ! and God bless you, forever and aye!
O, that I now lay on your pillowing breast,
To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first prest.

Dying at last !

I am no saint;
But, boys, say a prayer. There 's one that begins,
"Our Father," and then says, "Forgive us our sins;"
Do n't forget that part, say that strongly, and then
I '11 try to repeat it, and you '11 say, " Amen ! "

Ah ! I 'm no saint.

Hark ! there 's a shout.
Raise me up, comrades ! We have conquered, I know ! —
Up, on my feet, with my face to the foe !
Ah! there flies the flag, with its star-spangles bright.
The promise of glory, the symbol of right !

Well may they shout !

I'm mustered out.
O, God of our fathers, our freedom prolong.
And tread down rebellion, oppression, and wrong!
O, land of earth's hope, on thy blood-reddened sod,
I die for the Nation, the Union, and God !

I 'm mustered out.

422 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

THE DRIVER'S CHRISTMAS.

**Yes, sir, it is a pleasant time, as you say, for many
folks, and it is a good work for those who have their fill of
happiness and to spare, to look them up that are less fortu-
nate. It seems now to me as if I never want to hear of
Christmas and its pleasures, without wishing myself dead !

"You see it's only one man's experience, but there's
plenty like it in the world. No, I do n't mind telling you ;
it can 't make it any harder. Kitty — that 's my wife, sir —
and I were young and strangers when we came out West to
start in life, and she was kind of delicate and not used to
roughing it, while I was a farmer's son and was more accus-
tomed to hard fare. I never could tell how Kitty loved me
first, or why she ever loved me at all, poor girl; but we were
in love with each other from the time we attended the difeu!cfc
school together, and I was only too happy when she really
promised to be my wife; and, though her folks were unwilling
and looked for some city chap to make a lady of her — she
was one always, God bless her — we were married at last
with their full consent, and came West to live.

'* May be you have heard of misfortune following a man,
sir ; well, I was that man. We had enough between us to
start a neat little business, and were getting on nicely, when,
in one night, it all burned down, and not a penny of insur-
ance. Then I got a situation in a store, and baby Kitty was
born and died, and that made my wife low-spirited, and she
was not over-strong ; and last winter, you will remember, was
a hard one. I wanted her to go home and stay a bit, and
be nursed well by her folks ; but my dear girl smiled, and
put one thin arm around my neck, and asked, * Do you want
me to go, Dick?' and I saw she had cast in her lot with me
for better or for worse, and it did seem as if it was all worse."

There was a long silence, during which the driver flicked
the ears of the leaders with his whip, and looked sad and
thoughtful, and the passenger on the box wondered if he

IMPERSONATION. 428

would get home in time for Christmas, and if the driver wa«
hurrying for him or on his own account to meet Kitty, and
he said at last :

** You got out of the woods all right, did you?"

" O, it was about last Christmas I was telling you, sir
wasn't it? At least, that's what led to it. Well, just as I
was getting on my feet again, I took down with rheumatic
fever, and for two mouths I never walked a step, and all
that time Kitty took care of me. When I got up I noticed
the furniture was all gone but the bed I lay on, a table, and
stove, and Kitty was as thin as a ghost. There never was
such a brave little girl. She declared she would not ask for
help from strangers; and as to writing home of her trouble,
she never would do it. I knew, sir, some help must be had,
and I wrote a plain statement of the case to my father, and
asked for money enough to help me start fresh, and I didn't
tell Kitty. It broke my heart to see her looking so Avretched,
and her love and care for me were like a reproach ; but I
got out at last, and then, sir, she took to her bed just worn
out. The first day I was able to be on the street I went to
the man that owns these horses, and the proprietor of the
biggest livery in town, and said to him :

*' * For God's sake, give me a job ! '

*' I knew him a little, you see, and if he had guessed I was
hard up he'd have helped me sooner; but that was my pride.

"*Come down to-morrow evening and I'll talk to you,'
he said, and I knew then he'd help me on my feet again.

"The next day Kitty slept most of the day, but when it
came time to go out I roused her up a bit to tell her what
I was going for. She smiled kind of sad, and put her thin
arms — O, so thin they were — round my neck.

"'Dear old fellow!' she said, 'you've had a hard time
of it; kiss me, Dick, and tell me again that you love me!'

"That went through my heart like a knife; but I
smoothed her curls back from her white forehead, and told
ber to cheer up, better times were coming,

424 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

***What day is this?' she asked, kind of solemn-like.

** * It's the day before Christmas,' I said, ' and I'm going
to have a feast to-night when I come back. It's Christmas
Eve, and you shall hang up your stocking, Kitty ; wait and
see what I '11 bring back to you ! '

' * She smiled a little and reached both hands around my
neck.

*' * Kiss me good-night,' she said, * or good-bye ! '

'''I'll kiss you for luck, my baby,' I cried, 'and now
just go to sleep till I get back with the good things I'm
going after.*

" She lay looking at the moonlight, and I drew the thin
old quilt and her own shawl close about her to keep her
warm — for there was hardly a coal of fire left — and went out
whistling to keep her courage up, and my own too. I went
first to the post:office, where the evening mail was being dis-
tributed to a crowd — letters, presents; something, it seemed,
for every body, but for me there was nothing. The livery
proprietor was my only hope. What if he failed ?

" Well, sir, he did not; he gave me work to begin on the
next week when I was stronger, and he handed me a week's
pay in advance. On my way back something prompted me
to look in at the post-office again, and there was my letter;
it had been overlooked in the hurry, and my father had
sent me what I asked for, with a line of good cheer besides.
I was nearly crazy with joy and excitement; but I stopped
long enough to fill a basket with good things and to order
more for the next day. When I got home our poor room
was all in a glory with the moonlight, and that and the bells
ringing made it so solemn that I quieted down into a feeling
of thankfulness, and I did n't wait to get a light, but went
and sat down on the bed by Kitty, and said :

"'Wake up, my girl! Our luck has changed. I've
got work and money, and our troubles are all over, Kitty,
darling. Wake up, pet, and see what I've brought you' —
and — and •"

IMPERSONATION. 425

**Well!" said the passenger, drawing a long breath, as

the man paused, "go on; and — and "

" Kitty was dead, sir ! " MRS. m. l. rayne.

THE BLACKSMITH'S STORY.

Well, no! my wife ain't dead, sir, but I 've lost her all the same^
8he left me voluntarily, and neither was to blame.
It 's rather a queer story, and I think you will agree —
AVhen you hear the circymstances — 'twas rather rough on me.

She was a soldier's widow. He was killed at Malvern Hill;
And when I married her she seemed to sorrow for him still ;
But I brought her here to Kansas, and I never want to see
A better wife than Mary was for five bright years to me.

The change of scene brought cheerfulness, and soon a rosy glow
Of happiness warmed Mary's cheeks and melted all their snow.
I think she loved me some— I' m bound to think that of her, sir ;
And as for me — I can 't begin to tell how I loved her !

Three years ago the baby came our humble home to bless ;
r»nd then I reckon I was nigh to perfect happiness;
'T was hers— 't was mine ; but I 've no language to explain to you
How that little girl's weak fingers our hearts together drew !

Once we watched it through a fever, and with each gasping breath.
Dumb, with an awful, worldless woe, we waited for its death ;
And, though I 'm not a pious man, our souls together there.
For Heaven to spare our darling, went up in voiceless prayer.

And when the doctor said 'twould live, our joy what words

could tell?
Clasped in each other's arms, our grateful tears together fell.
Sometimes, you see, the shadow fell across our little nest.
But it only made the sunshine seem a doubly welcome guest.

Work came to me a plenty, and I kept the anvil ringing ;
Early and late you'd find me there a-hammering and singing;
Love nerved my arm to labor, and moved my tongue to song.
And though my singing wasn't sweet, it was tremendous strong!

426 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

One day a one-armed stranger stopped to have me nail a shoe,
And while I was at work we passed a compliment or two ;
I asked him how he lost his arm. He said 't was shot away
At Malvern Hill. "At Malvern Hill ! Did you know Robert May?"

"That's me," said he. "You, you!" I gasped, choking with

horrid doubt;
" If you 're the man just follow me; we '11 try this mj'stery out! "
With dizzy steps, I led him to Mary. God ! 'T was true !
Then the bitterest pangs of misery unspeakable I knew.

Frozen with deadly horror, she stared with eyes of stone,

And from her quivering lips there broke one wild, despairing

moan,
'T was he ! the husband of her youth, now risen from the dead ;
But all too late — and with bitter cry, her senses fled.

What could be done ? He was reported dead. On his return
He strove in vain some tidings of his absent wife to learn.
'T was well that he was innocent! Else I'd've killed him, too,
So dead he never would have riz till Gabriel's trumpet blew !

It was agreed that Mary then between us should decide,
And each by her decision would sacredly abide.
No sinner, at the judgment-seat, waiting eternal doom.
Could suffer what I did while waiting sentence in that room.

Rigid and breathless, there we stood, with nerves as tense as steel,
While Mary's eyes sought each white face, in piteous appeal.
God ! could not woman's duty be less hardly reconciled
Between her lawful husband and the father of her child ?

Ah ! how my heart was chilled to ice, when she knelt down and

said:
"Forgive me, John! He is my husband! Here! Alive! not

dead ! "
r raised her tenderly, and tried to tell her she was right;
But somehow, in my aching breast, the prisoned words stuck

tight !

"But, John, I can't leave baby"— "What! wife and child!"

cried I;
" Must I yield all ! Ah, cruel fate ! Better that I should die.
Think of the long, sad, lonely hours, waiting in gloom for me;
No wife to qheer me with her love — no babe to climb my knee I

IMPERSONATION. 427

And yet— you are her mother, and the sacred mother love
Is still the purest, tenderest tie that Heaven ever wove.
Take her ; but promise Mary— for that will bring no shame—
My little girl shall bear and learn to lisp her father's name ! "

It may be, in the life to come, I '11 meet my child and wife ;
But yonder, by my cottage gate, we parted for this life ;
One long hand-clasp from Mary, and my dream of love was done f
One long embrace from baby and my happiness was gone !

FRANK OLIVE.

THE FIvOOD AND THE ARK.

In the autumn of 1830 I attended a camp-meeting in
the interior of Georgia, and heard a sermon which I have
never been able to forget or describe.

The speaker had just been licensed, and it was his first
sermon. In person he was small, bullet-headed, of a fair,
sandy complexion ; and his countenance was indicative of
sincerity and honesty. He was taking up the Bible in
regular order for the first time in his life, and had gotten as
far as the history of Noah, the Ark, the Flood, etc. Besides,
"just before his conversion, he had been reading Goldsmith's
'Animated Nater ; ' and the two together, by the aid and
assistance of the Sperit, had led him into a powerful train
of thinking as he stood at his w^ork-bench, day in and day
out." The text was: "As it was in the days of Noah, so
shall the coming of the Son of man be ; " and he broke out
into the following strain :

"Yes, my bretherin, the heavens of the windows was
opened-ah, and the floods of the g-r-e-a-t deep kivered the
waters-ah; and there was Shem, and there was Ham, and
there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah.

"And there was the elephant-ah, that g-r-e-a-t animal-ah,
of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater '-ah,
what is as big as a house-ah, and his bones as big as a tree-
ah, depending somewhat upon the size or the tree-ah, a-l-I
a-gwine into the ark-ab. And the heavens of the windows

428 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

was opened-ah, and the floods of the g-r-e-a-t deep kivered
the waters-ah ; and there was Shem, and there was Ham,
and there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah.

"And there was the hippopotamus-ah, that g-r-e-a-t ani-

mal-ah, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater'-

ah, what has a g-r-e-a-t horn-ah a-stickiu' right straight up out

of his forward-ah, six feet long, more or less-ah, depending

. somewhat oh the length of it-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah.

*'And there was the giraffe-ah, my bretherin, that ill-con-
trived reptile, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated
Nater'-ah, whose fore-legs is twenty-five feet long-ah, more
or less-ah, depending somewhat on the length of 'em-ah, and
a neck so long he can eat hay off the top of a barn-ah, de-
pending somewhat on the hithe of the barn-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine
into the ark-ah. And the heavens of the windows was
opened-ah, and the floods of the great deep kivered the
waters-ah; and there was Ham, and there was Shem, and
there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah.

"And there was the zebra, my bretherin-ah, that b-e-a-u-
t-i-f-u-1 animal, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Ani-
mated Nater'-ah, what has three hundred stripes a-runnin'
right straight around his body-ah, more or less-ah, depending
somewhat on the number of stripes-ah, and nary two stripes
alike-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah.

"Then there was the anaconder-ah, that g-r-e-a-t sarpint,
of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater'-ah,
what can swallow six oxens at a meal-ah, provided his ap-
petite don't call for less-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah.
And the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, and the
floods of the great deep kivered the waters-ah ; and there
was Shem, and there was Ham, and there was Japhet-ah,
a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah.

"And there was the lion, bretherin-ah, what is the king
of beasts, accordin' to Scripter-ah, and who, as St. Paul says-
ah, prowls around of a night like a roarin' devil-ah, a-seekin'
if he can't catch soraebody-ah ; a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah.

IMPERSONATION. 429

**Aud there was the antelope-ah, my bretherin, that frisky
little critter-ah, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Ani-
mated Nater'-ah, what can jump seventy-five foot straight
up-ah, and twice that distance down-ah, provided his legs
will take him that far-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. And
the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, and the floods of
the great deep kivered the waters-ah; and there was Shera,
and there was Ham, and there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine
into the ark-ah.

"They all came to his hand of their own accord-ah, and
Noer only had to head 'em in and fix 'em around in their
places-ah. Then he gathered up his own family, and the Lord
shut him in, and the heavens of the window's was opened-ah.

"Some of 'em, according to Goldsmith's 'Animated Nater'-
ah, was carnivorious, and wanted fresh meat-ah ; and some
was herbivorious, and wanted vegetable food-ah ; and some
was wormivorious, and swallowed live things whole-ah ; and
he had to feed everything accordin' to his nater. Hence
we view, my bretherin-ah, as the nater of the animals wasn't
altered by goin' into the ark-ah, some of 'em would roar,
and howl, and bark, and bray, and squeal, and blat, the
whole indurin' night-ah, a-drivin' sleep from his eyes, and
slumber from his eyelets-ah ; and at the first streak o' day-
light the last hoof of 'em would set up a noise accordin' to
his nater-ah.

" My bretherin, as it was in the days of Noer-ah, so shall
the coming of the Son of man be-ah. The world will never
be drowned agin-ah. It will be sot a-fire, and burnt up, root
and branch, with a fervient heat-ah."

WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN.

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouek and gobble of the struttin' turkey cock,
And the clackin' of the gulneys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence ;

430 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

O, it s then 's the time a feller is a feelin' at his best,

With the rising sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,

And he leaves the house bareheaded and goes out to feed the

stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock.

There 's something kind o' hearty-like about the atmosphere
When the heat of summer's over and the cooling fall is here.
Of course we n)iss the flowers and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds an' buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin', and the landscape tlirough the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the early autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock.
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock.

The husty, rusty russle of the tassels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn ;
The stubble in the furries — kind o' lonesome-like but still,
A preachin' sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill ;
The straw-stack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed ;
The bosses in their stall below, the clover overhead, —
O, it sets my heart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
AVhen the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock.

Then your apples all is gathered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor, in red and yellow heaps.
And your cider-makin 's over and your womern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and their souse and sausage

too;
I do n't know how^ to tell it — but if sich a thing could be
As the angels wantin^ hoordin\ and they 'd call around on me,
1 'd want to 'commodate 'em, all the whole endurin' flock.
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock.

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

THE DEACON'S STORY.

The solemn old bells in the steeple

Are ringin'. I guess you know why .'

No ? Well, then, I '11 tell you, though mostly
It 's wliispered about on the sly.

IMPERSONATION. 431

Some six weeks ago, a Chnroli meetin'
Was called — for — nobody knew what;

Bnt we went, and the parson was present,
And I do n't know who, or who not.

Some twenty odd members, I calc'late.

Which mostly was women, of course ;
Though I do n't mean to say aught ag'in 'em,

I 've seen many gatherin's look worse.
There, in the front row, sat the deacons,

The eldest was old Deacon Pryor ;
A man countin' fourscore and seven ;

And gin'rally full of his ire.

Beside him, his wife, countin' fourscore,

A kind-hearted, motherly soul ;
And next to her, young Deacon Hartley,

A good Christian man on the whole.
Miss Parsons, a spinster of fifty,

And long ago laid on the shelf,
Had wedged herself next ; and, beside her,

Was Deacon Monroe — that 's myself.

The meetin' was soon called to order.

The parson looked glum as a text ;
We gazed at each other in silence.

And silently wondered, "What next?"
Then slowly uprose Deacon Hartley ;

His voice seemed to tremble with fear.
As he said : " Boy and man you have known me,

My good friends, for nigh forty year ;

And you scarce may expect a confession

Of error from me ; but — you know.
My dearly loved wife died last Christmas ;

It 's now nearly ten months ago.
The winter went by long and lonely,

The spring hurried forward apace ;
The farm- work came on, and I needed

A woman about the old place.

The children were wilder than rabbits.
And still growin' worse every day ;

432 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

No help to be found in the village,
Although I was willin' to pay.

In fact, I was nigh 'bout discouraged
For every thing looked so forlorn ;

When good little Patience McAlpin

Skipped into our kitchen one morn.

She had only run in of an errand ;

But she laughed at our miserable plight,
And set to work, jist like a woman,

A-puttin' the whole place to right.
And though her own folks was so busy,

And illy her helpin' could spare,
She flit in and out like a sparrow.

And most every day she was there.

So the summer went by, sort of cheerful ;

But one night, my baby, my Joe,
Was restless and feverish, and woke me,

As babies will often, you know.
I was tired with my day's work, and sleepy,

And I couldn't no way keep him still;
So at last I grew angry and spanked him,

And then he screamed out with a will.

'T was just then I heard a soft rappin'

Away at the half-open door.
And then little Patience McAlpin

Stepped shyly across the white floor.
Says she: *I thought Josie was cryin',

I guess I 'd best take him away ;
I knew you 'd be gettin' up early

To go to the marshes for hay ;

So I stayed here to-night, to get breakfast;

I guess he '11 be quiet with me ;
Come, baby, kiss papa and tell him

What a nice little man he will be.'
She was bendin' low over the baby.

And saw the big tears on his cheek;
But her face was so near to my whiskers

I dars n't move, scarcely, or speak.

IMPERSONA TION. 433

Her arms were bo>h lioMin' the baby,

Her eyes by his shoulder were hid ;
But her month was so near and so rosy,

That— I kissed her— that 's just what I did ! "
Then down sat the tremblin' sinner :

The sisters they murmured, " For shame ! "
And "she should n't oughter a' let him ;

No doubt she was mostly to blame."

When slowly uprose Beacon Pry or :

" Now, brethren a«d sisters," he said—
And we knowed then that suthin' was coming,

And we sot as still as the dead —
" We 've heard Brother Hartley's confession,

And I speak for myself when I say :
'That if my wife was dead, and my children

Were all growin' worse every day ;
And if my house needed attention,

And Patience McAlpin had come.
And tidied the eluttered-up kitchen.

And made the place seem more like home;
And if I was worn out and sleepy.

And my baby wouldn't lie still.
But fretted and woke me at midnight.

As babies, we know, sometimes will ;
And if Patience came in to hush him,

And 't was all as our good brother sez —
I think, friends — I think I should kiss her,

And 'bide by the consequences.'

Then down sat the elderly deacon ;

The younger one lifted his face.
And a smile rippled over the meetin',

Like light in a shadowy place.
Perhaps, then, the matronly sisters

Remembered their far-away youth,
Or the daughters at home by their firesides,

Shrined each in her shy, modest truth ;
For their judgments grew gentle and kindly.

And — well — as I started to say,
The solemn old bells in the steeple

Are ringin' a bridal to-dav. n. s. emerson.

434 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

THE LITTLE STOW-AWAY.

" Would ye like to hear about it?"

I eagerly asseot; and the narrator, knocking the ashes
out of his pipe, folds his brawny arms upon the top of the
rail, and commences as follows :

* ' 'Bout three years ago, afore I got this berth as I 'm in
now, I was second engineer aboard a Liverpool steamer
bound for New York. There 'd been a lot of extra cargo
sent down just at the last minute, and we'd had no end of
a job stowin' it away, and that ran us late o' startin' ; so
that, altogether, you may think, the cap'n war n't in the
sweetest temper in the world, nor the mate neither; as for
the chief engineer, he was an easy-goin' sort of a chap, as
nothin' on earth could put out. But on the mornin' of the
third day out from Liverpool, he cum down to me in a pre-
cious hurry, lookin' as if somethiu' had put him out pretty
considerably.

'''Tom,' says he, 'what d'ye think? Blest if we ain't
found a stow-away.' That 's the name, you know, sir, as
we gives to chaps as hide theirselves aboard outward-bound
vessels, and gets carried out unbeknown to every body.

"'The dickens you have!' says L 'Who is he, and
where did you find him?'

"' Well, we found him stowed away among the cslsks
for'ard ; and ten to one we 'd never ha' twigged him at all,
if the skipper's dog had n't sniffed him out and begun barkin'.
Such a nice little mite as he is, too ! I could ha' most put
him in my baccy-pouch, poor little beggar! but he look to
be a good-plucked un for all that.'

"I didn't wait to hear no more, but up on deck like a
sky-rocket ; and there I did see a sight, and no mistake.
Every man-Jack o' the crew, and what few passengers we
had aboard, was all in a ring on the fo'c'stle, and in the
middle was the fust-mate, lookin' as black as thunder. Right

IMPERSONATION. 435

in front of him, looking a reg'lar mite among them big fel-
lers, was a little bit o' a lad not ten year old — ragged as a
scare-crow, but with bright, curly hair, and a bonuie little
face o' his own, if it had n't been so woeful thin and pale.
But, bless your soul ! to see the way that little chap held his
head up, and looked about him, you'd ha' thought the
whole ship belonged to him. The mate was a great hulkin'
black-bearded feller, with a look that 'ud ha' frightened a
horse, and a voice fit to make one jump through a key-hole;
but the young un war n't a bit afeard ; he stood straight up,
and looked him full in the face with them bright, clear eyes
o' his'n, for all the world as if he was Prince Halferd him-
self Folk did say arterwards" — lowering his voice to a
whisper — "as how he comed o' better blood nor what he
seemed ; and, for my part, I 'm rayther o' that way o' think in'
myself; for I never yet see'd a common street Harab — as
they calls them now — carry it off like him. You might ha'
heered a pin drop, as the mate spoke.

** ' Well, you young whelp,' says he, in his grimmest
voice, * what's brought you here?'

" * It was my step-father as done it,' says the boy, in a
weak little voice, but as steady as could be. ' Father 's
dead, and mother's married again, and my new father says
as how he won't have no brats about eatin' up his wages ;
and he stowed me away when nobody war n't lookin', and
guv me some grub to keep me goin' for a day or two till I
got to sea. He says I 'm to go to Aunt Jane, at Halifax ;
and here's her address.' And with that, he slips his hand
into the breast of his »hirt, and out with a scrap o' paper,
awful dirty and crumpled up, but with the address on it,
right enough.

" We all believed every word on 't, even without the pa-
per ; for his look, and his voice, and the way he spoke, was
enough to show that there war n't a ha'porth o' lyin' in his
whole skin. But the mate did n't seem to swallow the yarn
at all; he only shrugged his shoulders with a kind o' grin,

436 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

as much as to say, ' I 'ra too old a bird to ])e caught by
that kind o' chaff;' and then he says to him : ' Look here,
my lad, that's all very fine, but it won't do here. Some o'
these men o' mine are in the secret, and I mean to have it
out of 'em. Now, you just point out the man as stowed you
away and fed you, this very minute; if you don't, it'll be
the worse for you ! '

'' The boy looked up in his bright, fearless way (it did my
heart good to look at him, the brave little chap!) and says
quietly : ' I 've told you the truth ; I ain't got no more to say/

"The mate says nothin', but looks at him for a minute,
as if he 'd see clean through him ; and then he faced round
to the men, lookin' blacker than ever. * Reeve a rope to
the yard ! ' he sings out, loud enough to raise the dead ;
' smart now !'

"The men all looked at each other, as much as to say:
* What on earth 's a-comin' now ! ' But aboard ship, o' course,
when you 're told to do a thing, you 've got to do it ; so the
rope was rove in a jiffy.

" 'Now, my lad,' says the mate, in a hard, square kind
o' voice that made every word seem like fittin' a stone into
a wall, 'you see that 'ere rope? Well, I'll give you ten
minutes to confess ; and if you do n't tell the truth afore the
time 's up, I '11 hang you like a dog ! '

" The crew all stared at one another as if they could n't
believe their ears — I did n't believe mine, I can tell ye — and
then a low growl went among 'em, like a wild beast awakin'
out of a nap.

" ' Silence, there ! ' shouts the mate, in a voice like the
roar of a nor'easter. ' Stand by to run for'ard ! ' as he held
the noose ready to put it round the boy's neck. The little
feller never flinched a bit ; but there was some among the
sailors — big strong chaps, as could ha' felled an ox — as shook
like leaves in the wind. As for me, I bethought myself o'
my little curly-haired lad at home, and how it 'ud be if any
one was to go for to hang him ; and at the very thought

IMPERSONATION. ■ 437

on 't I tingled all over, and my fingers clinched theirselves
as if they was a-grippin' somebody's throat. I clutched hold
o' a hand-spike, and held it behind my back, all ready.

*' * Tom,' whispers the chief-engineer to me, ' d' ye think
he really means to do it ? '

"' I do n't know,' says I, through my teeth ; * but if he
does, he shall go first, if I swings for it ! '

'*I've been in many an ugly scrape in my time, but I
never felt 'arf as bad as I did then. Every minute seemed
as long as a dozen ; an' the tick o' the mate's watch, reg'lar,
pricked my ears like a pin. The men were very quiet, but
there was a precious ugly look on some o' their faces ; and I
noticed that three or four on 'em kep' edgin' for'ard to where
the mate was, in a way that meant mischief. As for me,
I 'd made up my mind that if he did go for to hang the poor
little chap, I 'd kill him on the spot, and take my chance.

"'Eight minutes,' says the mate, his great deep voice
breakin' in upon the silence like the toll o' a funeral bell.
*If you've got any thing to confess, my lad, you'd best out
with it, for ye 're time 's nearly up.'

" 'I've told you the truth,' answers the boy, very pale,
but as firm as ever. ' May I say my prayers, please ! '

'' The mate nodded, and down goes the poor little chap
on his knees and puts up his poor little hands to pray. I
could n't make out what he said — fact, my head was in sich
a whirl that I 'd hardly ha' knowed my own name — but I '11
be bound God heard it, every word. Then he ups on his
feet again, and puts his hands behind him, and says to the
mate quite quietly, ' I 'm ready ! '

"And then, sir, the mate's hard, grim face broke up all
to once, like I 've seed the ice in the Baltic. He snatched
up the boy in his arms, and kissed him, and burst out
a-cryin' like a child ; and I think there war n't one of us as
did n't do the same. I know I did for one.

" ' God bless you, my boy! ' says he, smoothin' the child's
hair with his great hard hand. ' You 're a true Englishman,

438 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

every inch of you ; you would n't tell a lie to save your life I
Well, if so be as yer father 's cast yer off, I '11 be yer father
from this day forth ; and if I ever forget you, then may
God forget me ! '

''And he kep' his word, too. When we got to Halifax,
he found out the little un's aunt, and gev her a lump o'
money, to make him comfortable ; and now he goes to see
the youngster every voyage, as reg'lar as can be ; and to see
the pair on 'em together — the little chap so fond of him, and
not bearin' him a bit o' grudge — it 's 'bout as pretty a sight
as ever I seed. And now, sir, axin' yer parden, it's time
for me to be goin' below; so I'll just bid you good-night."

ANON.

JUVENILE.

THE LITTLE HATCHET STORY.

And so, smiling, we went on.
"Well, one day, George's father "

"George who?" asked Clarence.

" George Washington. He was a little boy, then, just
like you. One day his father "

" Whose father ?" demanded Clarence, with an encour-
aging expression of interest.

"George Washington's; this great man we are telling
you of One day George Washington's father gave him a
little hatchet for a "

" Gave who a little hatchet?" the dear child interrupted
with a gleam of bewitching intelligence. Most men would
have got mad, or betrayed signs of impatience, but we
did n't. We know how to talk to children. So we went on :

"George Washington. His "

"Who gave him the little hatchet?"

"His father. And his father "

JUVENILE.

439

''Whose father?"

** George Washington's."

*' Yes, George Washington. And his father told him "

''Told who?"

" Told George."

" O yes, George."

And we went on, just as patient and as pleasant as you
could imagine. We took up the story right where the boy
interrupted, for we could see he was just crazy to hear the
end of it. We said :

"And he was told "

"George told him?" queried Clarence.

"No; his father told George "

"O!"

" Yes ; told him he must be careful with the hatchet "

" Who must be careful?"

" George must."

"O!"

"Yes; must be careful with his hatchet "

"What hatchet?"

"Why, George's."

"O!"

" With the hatchet, and not cut himself with it, or drop
it in the cistern, or leave it out in the grass all night.
So George went round cutting every thing he could reach
with his hatchet. And at last he came to a splendid apple-
tree, his father's favorite, and cut it down, and "

"Who cut it down?"

"George did."

"O!"

"But his father came home and saw it the first thing,
and "

"Saw the hatchet?"

"No; saw the apple-tree. And he said
down my favorite apple-tree ? ' "

Who has cut

440 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

♦'What apple-tree?"

''George's father's. And every body said they didn't
know any thing about it, and "

"Any thing about what?"

''The apple-tree."

"O!"

"And George came up and heard them talking about
it "

"Heard who talking about it?"

" Heard his father and the men."

"What were they talking about?"

"About this apple-tree."

"What apple-tree?"

" The favorite tree that George cut down."

" George who?"

" George Washington."

"O!"

" So George came up and heard them talking about it,
and he "

"What did he cut it down for?"

"Just to try his little hatchet."

"Whose little hatchet?"

" Why, his own, the one his father gave him."

"Gave who?"

" Why, George Washington."

"O!"

"So George came up, and he said: 'Father, I can not
tell a lie, I '"

"Who could nt tell a lie?"

"Why, George Washington. He said: 'Father, I can
not tell a lie. It was '"

"His father couldn't?"

"Why, no; George could n't."

"O! George? Oyes!"

" 'It was I cut down your apple-tree; I did— — '"

"His father did?"

JUVENILE. 441

"No, no; it was George said this."

''Said he cut liis father?"

"No, no, no; said he cut down his apple-tree."

" George's apple-tree."

" No, no ; his father's."

"O!"

"He said "

"His father said?"

" No, no, no; George said : ' Father, I can not tell a lie,
I did it with my little hatchet.' And his father said:
' Noble boy, I would rather lose a thousand trees than have
you tell a lie.'"

"George did?"

"No, his father said that."

" Said he 'd rather have a thousand apple-trees?"

"No, no, no; said he'd rather lose a thousand apple-
trees than "

' ' Said he 'd rather George would ? "

"No; said he'd rather he would than have him lie."

" O ! George would rather have his father lie?"

We are patient, and we love children, but, if Mrs. Ca-
ruthers had n't come and got her prodigy at that critical
juncture, we don't believe all Burlington could have pulled
us out of the snarl. And as Clarence Alencon de Marche-
mont Caruthers pattered down the stairs we heard him tell-
ing his ma about a boy who had a father named George, and
he told him to cut down an apple-tree, and he said he'd
rather tell a thousand lies than cut down one apple-tree.

R. J. BURDETTE.

A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR.

There was once a child, and he strolled about a good
deal, and thought of a number of things. He had a sister
who was a child too, and his constant companion. They
wondered at the beauty of the flowers; they wondered at the

442 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y.

height and blueness of the sky ; they wondered at the depth
of the water; they wondered at the goodness and power of
God, who made the lovely world.

They used to say to one another sometimes: Supposing
all the children upon earth were to die, would the flowers
and the water and the sky be sorry? They believed they
would be sorry. For, said they, the buds are the children
of the flowers, and the little playful streams that gambol
down the hillsides are the children of the water, and the
smallest bright specks playing at hide-and-seek in the sky
all night must surely be the children of the stars ; and they
would all be grieved to see their playmates, the children of
men, no more.

There was one clear-shining star that used to come out in
the sky before the rest, near the church-spire, above the
graves. It was larger and more beautiful, they thought,
than all the others, and every night they watched for it,
standing hand-in-hand at a window. Whoever saw it
first cried out: "I see the star." And after that, they
cried out both together, knowing so well when it would
rise, and where. So they grew to be such friends with it
that, before lying down in their bed, they always looked
out once again to bid it good-night; and when they were
turning round to sleep, they used to say: "God bless
the star ! "

But while she was still very young — O, very young! — the
sister drooped, and came to be so weak that she could no
longer stand in the window at night, and then the child
looked sadly out by himself, and when he saw the star,
turned round and said to the patient, pale face on the bed,
"I see the star!" and then a smile would come upon the
face, and a little weak voice used to say: "God bless my
brother and the star ! "

And so the time came, all too soon, when the child looked
out all alone, and when there was no face on the bed, and
when there was a grave among the graves not there before,

JUVENILE. 443

and wheu the star made long rays down toward him as he
saw it through his tears.

Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make
such a shining way from earth to heaven, that when the child
went to his solitary bed he dreamed about the star ; and
dreamed that, lying where he was, he saw a train of people
taken up that sparkling road by angels; and the star, open-
ing, showing him a great world of light, where many more
such angels waited to receive them.

All these angels, who were waiting, turned their beam-
ing eyes upon the people who were carried up into the
star ; and some came out from the long rows in which they
stood, and fell upon the people's necks, and kissed them
tenderly, and went away with them down avenues of light,
and were so happy in their company that, lying in his bed,
he wept for joy.

But there were many angels who did not go with them,
and among them one he knew. The patient face that once
had lain upon the bed was glorified and radiant, but his heart
found out his sister among all the host.

His sister's angel lingered near the entrance of the star,
and said to the leader among those who had brought the
people thither :

*' Is my brother come ? "

And he said: "No!"

She was turning hopefully away, when the child
stretched out his arms, and cried: "O, sister, I am here!
Take me ! " And then she turned her beaming eyes upon
him — and it w^as night; and the star was shining into the
room, making long rays down toward him as he saw it
through his tears.

From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the star
as the home he was to go to when his time should come ; and
he thought that he did not belong to the earth alone, but to
the star too, because of his sister's angel gone before.

There was a baby born to be a brother to the child, and

444 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

while he was so little that he never yet had spoken a word, he
stretched out his tiny form on his bed, and died.

Again the child dreamed of the opened star, and of the
company of angels, and the train of people, and the rows
of angels, with their beaming eyes all turned upon those
people's faces.

Said his sister's angel to the leader :

'' Is my brother come ? "

And he said : '* Not that one, but another ! "

As the child beheld his brother's angel in her arms, he
cried: " O, my sister, I am here! Take me!" And she
turned and smiled upon him — and the star was shining.

He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his books,
when an old servant came to him and said :

" Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on her
darling son."

Again at night he saw the star, and all that former
company. Said his sister's angel to the leader: ''Is my
brother come?"

And he said : " Thy mother ! "

A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, be-
cause the mother was reunited to her two children. And he
stretched out his arras and cried: '* O, mother, sister, and
brother, I am here ! Take me ! " And they answered him :
"Not yet ! " — And the star was shining.

He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning gray, and
he was sitting in his chair by the fireside, heavy with grief,
and with his face bedewed with tears, when the star opened
once again.

Said his sister's angel to the leader: **Is my brother

come r

And he said : "Nay, but his maiden daughter ! "

And the man who had been the child saw his daughter,

newly lost to him, a celestial creature among those three, and

be said: ** My daughter's head is on my sister's bosom, and

her arm is around my mother's neck, and at her feet is the

JUVENILE. 445

baby of old time, and I can bear the parting from hor.
God be praised."

And the star was shining.

Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once
smooth face was wrinkled, and his steps were slow and
feeble, and his back was bent. And one night as he lay
upon his bed, his children standing around, he cried, as he
cried so long ago : '' I see the star ! "

They whispered one to another: **He is dying." And
he said: '*I am. My age is falling from rae like a gar-
ment, and I move toward the star as a child. And O, my
Father, now I thank thee that it has so often opened to
receive those dear ones who await me ! "

And the star was shining; and it shines upon his grave.

CHARLES DICKENS.

A BASKET OF FLOWERS.

A FEW days afterward the Light of the Household went
forth into the poor places of the neighborhood and brought
in, one by one, shrinking children, with shabby garments
and shy glances ; little girls ungathered into schools, un-
taught of ignorant parents who were slaves of labor, to
whom was preached no gospel of salvation from idleness,
weakness, or vice. These, allured in unwillingly at first,
hard enough for a time to keep together, came at last into
this quiet chamber as to a holy shrine, sat earnestly at the
feet of a pale, patient teacher, and learned the ways of
truth and right. Day by day — for a few minutes only some-
times, sometimes for hours, according to her fluctuating
strength — she had them with her, and in the poor homes
where they belonged the mothers listened with a sort of awe
to the accounts of this pale lady, lying always on her couch,
covered with the w^hite, fleecy folds of her delicate work,
and giving out to little rapt listeners thoughts that would
abide with them all their lives.

446 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

After a while Christinas was drawing near, and one day
there was an interesting assemblage of these small scholars
in a room where one of them lived, and the subject of their
meeting was how to get a Christmas present for the crippled
teacher, and what it should be.

Strange and various -articles were proposed, to which
many objections were raised, principally by the little presi-
dent, who seemed to think her most important duty was to
keep the intended expenditure within the limits of the prob-
able amount, for which purpose she was obliged to do a good
many sums out loud. The puzzle was growing deeper, and
the likelihood of a decision seemed farther off than ever,
when Nettie Blane said, in her soft voice: "I know what
the lady loves more than any thing else, and that 's flowers !
Why, just here awhile ago, before it got so cold, I found a
bunch of wild posies growing alongside the road as I was
going to her house. They were just common things ; but I
picked them and took them to her, and you just ought to
have seen her over them ! Her face lit all up, she was so
pleased ; and do you know that for a minute she looked like
she never was sick at all ? and she kind of petted them with
her fingers, and thanked me so nice that I never was so glad
of doing any thing in my life ! "

'*And I know of a man who keeps a hot-house just out
of town," said the young president, "and he looks good-
humored and kind ; so may be he '11 give us something real
nice for what we '11 have to pay ! " And soon after, the
meeting dispersed.

The day before Christmas, as the big, burly, and rosy
owner of the conservatory just out of town was sorting his
choicest blooms for a large wedding which was to take place
in the evening, the door of the hot-house suddenly opened,
and a squadron of a dozen or more small girls entered in
solemn procession.

''Bless my soul ! " said the gardener, turning his blulf,
bright face toward them, *' what do you young ones want? "

JUVENILE. 447

For an instant they had stood quite still, looking about
them in wonder and delight; for the whole place was so filled
with rare and lovely blossoms that its atmosphere, color, and
profusion was like a concentration of the tropics.

''If you please, sir, we want to buy a basket of flowers."

The man dropped the two or three buds he held in his
hand, turned entirely around, and gave one steady look down
the whole line; he saw at once that they were not likely to
want flowers for themselves, and imagined that one or two
had been sent on a message, and that the rest had accom-
panied these.

" You — want— to — buy — " he said slowly.

" Yes, sir ; a basket of flowers, if you please."

"Who for? and why are there so many of you?"

"Well, sir, I will tell you. You see, sir, there's a dear
kind lady, and she is a cripple, and never gets off" a low
kind of bed she lays on, and works all the time the most
beautiful 'broidering flowers you ever seen. And she teaches
us ; so we thought we 'd like to give her a Christmas present,
and we've all saved up till we think we've got enough;
and because she never can go out to see any thing a-growing,
and just loves flowers like they were alive, we made up our
minds to take her some ; because we all gave something toward
it, we all came together about it ; and if you please, sir, we 'd
like as nice a basketful as you can make up for our money."

The rosy face bloomed out bright as one of his own blos-
soms; the round eyes grew wonderfully soft and moist, as
the big, burly man stooped and kissed the small speaker,
and said, with just a touch of huskiness in his voice :

" Well, you 're a blessed little party! You just go round,
all of you, and pick out what you 'd like to have, and I'll
fix them up for you ! " There was an immediate stir in the
young procession, and evident delight in this permission, and
an intention to put it instantly into practice, when the little
leader called out :

"Ain't those grand flowers very dear? You see, sir, we

448 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

do u't want any thing we can't pay for all right. We've
got this much money ; please to count it, sir, and see if it
will do ! " And she handed him a rather battered tin match-
box containing the accumulated contributions in small coins,
which had been gradually brought in as they were gained.

The big gardener by this time was too much touched
to keep quite calm. "Here," he said to the little leader,
''you count out this money, and tell me how much it is,
and I '11 do the best I can for it ! " And when he took a
basket and went round his hot-house collecting here and
there his simplest blooms, all these keen eyes watched him
in unbroken silence, and not one of them stirred a gaze from
his fingers as he laid in the moss, propped a superb, stain-
less lily in the center, and arranged round it with exquisite
taste violets and heart's-ease, and delicate, pure blossoms;
in breathless quiet they noted every flower that was woven
into its place, little thinking that these commoner plants
wdiich they were used to see in summer were almost as
costly as foreign growths in winter ; and it was not till the
whole was finished that they broke out into exclamations of
satisfaction.

" This must be a mighty good woman to make you love
her so ! " said the man as he handed over the basket to the
careful hold of the little leader.

"Good!" answered Nettie Blane; "she's a-most an
angel. It seems like she ought never to do any thing but
stand up close to the Throne with just such lilies in her
hand ! "

For Nettie's inmost heart was stirred by the flowers and
the occasion.

The big gardener looked at her a second as if he thought
she might have been a stray cherub herself.

" That's all your own gift," he said, pointing to the lily-
crowned basket ; " but would you mind taking her a little
present from me, too ? "

"It shall only be one flower."

JUVENILE. 449

He went roimd among his plauts to where bloomed one
magnificent blossom, the (mly one of its kind in the green-
house. He broke it from the stalk, and placed it in Nettie
Blane's hand. ** O, thank you ! " said Nettie's glad voice, " I
will give it to her with your compliments." And then the
big gardener kissed every one of them as they passed out,
and stood at his hot-house door, and watched the little pro-
cession as it wound out of sight with the little leader at
the head, carrying the basket of flowers.

SARAH B. STEBBINS.

WHAT THE LITTLE GIRL SAID.

I'm only a very little girl, but I think I have just as
much right to say what I want to about things as a boy. I
hate boys ; they 're so mean ; they grab all the strawberries
at the dinner-table, and never tell us when they're going to
have any fun. Only I like Gus Rogers. The other day Gus
told me he was going to let oflf some fireworks, and he let
Bessie Nettle and me go and look at them. All of us live
in a hotel, and his mother's room has a window with a bal-
cony, and it was there we had the fireworks, right on the
balcony. His mother had gone out to buy some crhm de lis
to put on her face, and he'd went and got eleven boxes of
lucifer matches, and ever so many pieces of Castile soap;
he stealed them from the housekeeper. Just when she was
going to put them in her closet, Gus went and told her Mrs.
Nettle wanted her directly a minute, and while she was
gone he grabbed the soap and the matches, and when she
came back w^e watched her, and she got real mad, and she
scolded Delia, that's the chambermaid, and said she knowed
she did it; and I was real glad, because when I was turning
somersets on my mother's bed, the other day, Delia slapped
me, and she said she was n't going to make the bed two times
to please me; then Bessie and me sticked the matches in

450 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

the soap like ten-piDs, and Gus fired them off, and they
blazed like any thing, and they made an awful smell, and
Gus went and turned a little of the gas on so's his mother
would think it was that.

We get our dinner with the nurses, 'cause the man that
keeps the hotel charges full price for children if they sit at
the table in the big dining-room. Once my mother let me
go there with her, and I talked a heap at the table, and a
gentleman that sat next to us said: "Little girls should be
seen and not heard." The mean old thing died last week,
and I was real glad, and I told Delia so, and she said if I
went and said things like that I couldn't go to heaven.
Much she knows about it. I would n't want to go if things
like she went there.

One day I went in the parlor and creeped under a sofa,
and there was n't any body there. They do n't let dogs or
children go in the parlor, and I think it's real mean; and
I creeped under the sofa, so's nobody could see me; and
Mr. Boyce came in and Miss Jackson. I don't like Miss
Jackson , she said one day childrens was a worse nuisance
than dogs was. And Mr. Boyce and Miss Jackson came and
sitted down on the sofa, and he said, '' O, Louisa, I love you
so much," and then he kissed her. I heard it smack. And
she said, '*0, Thomas, I wish I could believe you; don't
you never kiss anybody else?" and he said, "No, dearest,"
and I called out: " O, what a big story; for I saw him kiss
Bessie Nettle's nurse in the hall one night when the gas was
turned down." Didn't he jump up; you bet — Gus always
says you bet — and he pulled me out and tored my frock, and
he said, " O, you wicked child, where do you expect to go
for telling stories?" and I told him : " You shut up, I ain't
going anywhere with you." I wish that man would die like
the other did, so I do ; and I do n't care whether he goes to
heaven or not.

Gus Rogers's mother had a lunch party in her parlor,
and they had champagne, and they never gave him any,

JUVENILE. 451

and when his mother wasn't looking he found a bottle half
full on the sideboard, and he stealed it and took it in our
nursery, and Mary was n't there, and Gus and me drinked it
out of the glass Mary brushes her teeth in, and it was real
nice ; and we looked in Mary's wardrobe and finded her frock
she goes to church in, and Gus put it on, and Mary's bonnet,
too, and went in the hall, and we tumbled down and tored
Mary's frock, and made my nose bleed, and Gus said, " O,
there 's a earthquake," 'cause we could n't stand up, and you
should see how the house did go up and down, awful ; and
Gus and me laid down on the carpet, and the housekeeper
picked me up and tookt me to ray mother, and my mother
said, " O, my, whatever have you been doing?" and 1 said,
*'0 dear! I drinked champagne out of Gus Rogers's
mother's bottle in the glass Mary brushes her teeth in ; '^
and the housekeeper says, ''O, my goodness gracious, that
child's as tight as bricks;" and I said, "You bet, bully
for you ; " and then I was awful sick, and I have forgotten
what else. anon.

WORK, WORK AWAY.

Good advice for every one ;

Work, work away.
Soon the race of life is run ;

Work, work away.
Seize the moments as they fly,
Let your hopes mount ever high.
Keep this^ motto always nigh:

Work, work away.

Let no obstacles affright ;

Work, work away.
Soon will fall the shades of night;

Work, work away.
All our days are but a span.
Be then busy while you can,
Rest not under idle ban ;

Work, work away.

452 ELOCUTION AND OR A TORY.

Thougli the road be hard and rough,

Work, work away.
Every road is rough enough ;

Work, work away.
Life has much of Hght and love,
There is rest and peace above.
Guide us all, thou Heavenly Dove !

Work, work away,

VIRGIL A. PINKLEY.

THE ElyF-CHIIvD.

Little Orphant Annie 's come to our house to stay.
An' wash the cups an' saucers up an' brush the crumbs away.
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board an' keep >
An' all us other children, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' have the mostest fun,
A-list'nin' to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about.
An' the gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

She says they was a little boy who would n't say his pray'rs —
An' when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,
His mammy heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivers down, he wasn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby hole, an' press.
An' seeked him up the chimney-flue, an everywhere, I guess,
But all they ever found was thist his pants and roundabout —
An' the gobble-uns 'ill git you
Ef you
Do n't
Watch
Out!

An' one time a little girl 'ud alius laugh an' grin.

An' make fun of every one an' all her blood an' kin,

An' onc't, when they was " company," an' ole folks was there.

She mocked 'em, an' shocked 'em, an' said she did n't care!

JUVENILE. 453

An thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,

There was two great big black things standin' by her side,

An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what

she 's about !
An' the gobble-uns '11 git you
Ef you
Don't

Watch
Out!

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue.
An' the lamp-wick splutters, an' the wind goes woo-woo !
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray.
An' the lightnin' bugs in dew is all squelched away —
You better mind your parents, an' yer teachers fond and dear,
An' cherish them 'at love you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the poor an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the gobble-uns '11 git you
Ef you
Don't

Watch
Out!

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

THE BABY.

0, THIS is the way the baby came :

Out of the night as comes the dawn ;

Out of the embers as tlie flame ;

Out of the bud the blossom 's on.

The apple-bough that blooms the same
As in glad summers dead and gone —

With a grace and beauty none could name —

O, this is the way the baby came !

And this is the way the baby 'woke:
And when in deepest drops of dew

The shine and shadows sink and soak,

The sweet f'yes glimmered through and through

And eddyings and dimples broke
About the lips, and no one knew

454 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Or could divine the words they spoke —
And this is the way the baby 'woke !

And this is the way the baby slept :
A mist of tresses backward thrown

By quavering sighs where kisses crept,

With yearnings she had never known ;

The little hands were closely kept
About a lily newly blown —

And God was with her. And we wept ;

And this is the way the baby slept !

J. W. RILEY.

DIALOGUE.

SANDY MACDONALD'S SIGNAL.

'*Weel, Sandy, man; and how did ye like the sermon
the day?"

** Weel, it's rather a venturesome pint ter handle; but
if ye '11 forgie the freedom, I was jeest gaun to say that in
your discoorse the day — weel no gang any further than the
one the day — in the midst o' 't like, when ye was on the top
o' an illystration, it struck me that every noo and then — but
ye '11 not feel offended at w^hat I 'm gaun to say ? '*

*' Say away, man, and I'll tell ye after."

" I 'm comin' to the pint directly ; all I was gaun to say
was just this, that every noo and then in your discoorse the
day — I dinna say oftener than noo and then jeest occasion-
ally— it struck me there was may bee, frae time to time,
jeest a wee bit o' exaggeration."

' ' Exagger What, sir ? "

"There, there, there! I'll no say anither word I All
I meant to say was that ye jeest stretched the pint a
wee bit ! "

DIALOGUE. 455

"Stretched the pint! D'ye mean to say, sir, that I
tell lees?"

'* Well — a — but I did na gang sae far as that."

** Did ever ye hear the elders say that I exaggerated, or
stretched the pint?"

" I wadna say but what they hae, too."

" O! So the elders and the whole of ye call me a leer,
do ye ? Hau'd yer tongue, Sandy ; it 's my turn to speak
now. Although I 'ra your minister, still I 'm perfectly will-
ing to admit that I 'm a sinful, erring creature, like any one
o' ye ; but I 've been to colleges and seats of learning, and
I 've got some sense in my head ! At the same time, Sandy,
I am free to admit that I'm only a human being, and it's
just possible that being obleedged, Sawbath after Sawbath,
to expound the word to sic a doited set o' naturals — for if I
wasna to mak ilka thing as big as a ' barn door ' ye wadna
see it at a' — I say it's just possible I may have slippit into
a kind o' habit o' magnifying things ; and it 's a bad habit to
get into, Sandy, and it's a waur thing to be accused o' it;
and, therefore, Sandy, I call upon you, if ever you should
hear me say another word out o' joint, to pull me up then
and there."

*'Losh, sir, but how could I pull ye up i' the kirk?"

"Ye could make some kind o' noise."

"A noise i' the kirk?"

"Ay ! y'ere sitting down beneath me, so ye might put up
yer head and give a bit whustle [whistles] like that."

"A whustle? What! whustle i' the Lord's hoose o' the
Lord's-day ? "

" Ye needna make such a disturbance about it. I dinna
want ye to frighten the folk; but just a wee whustle, that
naebody but our two selves could hear."

"But would it na be an awful sin?"

"Hoots, man, does na the wind whustle on the Sawbath ? "

" Weel, if there's no harm in 't, I'll do my best."

So it was agreed between the two, that the first word of

456 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

exaggeration from the pulpit was to elicit the signal from
the desk below.

Next Sunday came ; and had the minister only stuck to
his sermon he would have had the laugh on Sandy. But it
was his habit always before the sermon to read a chapter
from the Bible, adding such remarks and explanations as he
thought necessary. He generally selected such chapters as
contained a number of ticklish points, so that his marvelous
powers of elucidation might be brought into play. On this
occasion he had chosen one that fairly bristled with diffi-
culties. It was the chapter describing Samson as catching
three hundred foxes, tying them tail to tail, setting fire-
brands in their midst, and starting them among the standing
corn of the Philistines. As he closed the description, he
shut the book and commenced to elucidate as follows :

**My dear freends, I dare say you have been wondering
in your minds how it was possible that Samson could catch
three hundred foxes. You or me couldna catch one fox, let
alone three hundred — the beasts run so fast. But lo and
behold ! here we have one single man, all by himself, catch-
ing three hundred of them ! Now, how did he do it? That's
the pint; and at first sight it looks a very ticklish pint; but
it's not so ticklish as it looks, my freends; and if you give
me your undivided attention for a few minutes, I '11 clear
away the whole difficulty, and make what now seems dark
and incomprehensible to your uninstructed minds as clear as
the sun in its noonday meridian.

''Well, then, we are told in the Scriptures that Samson
was the strongest man that ever lived ; and, furthermore,
we are told in the chapter next after the one we have been
reading, that he was a very polite man ; for when he was at
the house of Dagon, he bowed with ail his might, and if
some of you, my freends, would only bow with half your
might, it would be better for you. But although we are
told all this, we are not told that he was a great runner.
3ut if he catched three hundred foxes, he must have been a

DIALOGUE. 457

great ruuner. But, my dear freeuds, here 's the eloocidatiou
o' the matter. Ye '11 please bear this in mind, that although
we are not told he was the greatest runner, still, we 're not
told he wasna; and, therefore, I contend that we have a
perfect right to assume, by all the laws of logic and scientific
history, that he was the fastest runner that ever was born,
and this was how he catched the three hundred foxes.

"But after we get rid of this diificulty, my freends,
another crops up, — how in the world did he tie their tails
together.? Ah ! that's the question ; and it's the most ticklish
pint you or me has ever had to eloocidate. Common sense
is no good till 't ; no more is Latin, or Greek, or Hebrew,
either; no more is logic or moral philosophy, and I've
studied them all. But it 's a great thing for poor, ignorant
folk, like you, that there 's been great and learned men, like
myself, ye ken, that instead of going into the kirk, like me,
or into pheesic, like the doctor, or into law, like the lawyer,
they nave gone traveling into foreign parts.

"Now, among other places, some of these learned men
have traveled into Canaan, some into Palestine, and some
few into the Holy Land ; and these last-mentioned travelers
tell us that in these Oriental climes the foxes there are a
different breed o' cattle altogether from our foxes — that
they're great big beasts; and, what's the more astonishing
about them, and what helps explain the wonderful feat of
Samson, is that they have all got most extraordinary long
tails; in fact, these travelers tell us that these foxes' tails
are actually forty feet long [Sandy whistles] ; at the same
time I ought to mention that other travelers, and later ones
than the ones I 've just been speaking about, say that this
statement is rather an exaggeration on the whole, and that
their tails are never more than twenty feet long. [Sandy
whistles.]

" Before I leave this subject altogether, my freends, I
may just add that there's been a considerable diversity o'
opeeuion about the length o' these animals' tails, so that the

458 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

question has come to be regarded as a * sair pint.' One man,
ye see, says one thing, and another, another, and I 've spent
a good lot o' learned research in the matter myself, and after
examining one authority and another, and putting one against
the other, I have come to the conclusion that these foxes'
tails on an average are seldom more than ten feet long !
[Sandy whistles.]

** Sandy Macdonald ! I'll na tak' another inch off thae
foxes' tails, even gin ye should whustle every tooth out o'
your held ! " anon.

THE BRAKEMAN AT CHURCH.

On the road once more, with Lebanon fading away in
the distance, the fat passenger drumming idly on the win-
dow-pane, the cross passenger sound asleep, and the tall, thin
passenger reading *' General Grant's Tour Around the
World," and wondering why "Green's August Flower"
should be printed above the doors of "A Buddhist Temple
at Benares." To me comes the brakeman, and seating him-
self on the arm of the seat, says: **I went to church
yesterday."

"Yes?" I said, with that interested inflection that asks
for more. "And what church did you attend?"

"Which do you guess?"

"Some union mission church?"

"No. I don't like to run on these branch-roads very
much. I do n't often go to church, and when I do, I want
to run on the main line, where your run is regular and you
go on schedule time, and do n't have to wait on connections.
I do n't like to run on a branch. Good enough, but I
don't like it."

"Episcopal?"

"Limited express, all palace-cars, and two dollars extra
for seat, fast time, an^ only stop at big stations, Nice line,

DIALOGUE. 459

but too exhaustive for a brakemau. All train-men in uni-
form, conductor's punch and lantern silver-plated, and no
train-boys allowed. Then the passengers are allowed to talk
back at the conductor, and it makes them too free and easy.
No, I could n't stand the palace-cars. Rich road, though.
Do n't often hear of a receiver being appointed for that line.
Some mighty nice people travel on it, too."

''Universalist! "

" Broad gauge, does too much complimentary business.
Every body travels on a pass. Conductor does n't get a fare
once in fifty miles. Stops at flag-stations, and won't run
into any thing but a union depot. No smoking-car on the
train. Train-orders are rather vague though, and the train-
men do'n't get along well with the passengers. No, I don't
go to the Universalist, but I know some good men who run
on that road."

''Presbyterian?"

** Narrow gauge, eh? pretty track, straight as a rule;
tunnel right through a mountain rather than go around it ;
spirit-level grade ; passengers have to show their tickets be-
fore they get on the train. Mighty strict road, but the cars
are a little narrow ; have to sit one in a seat, and no
room in the aisle to dance. Then there is no stop-over
tickets allowed ; got to go straight through to the station
you 're ticketed for, or you can *t get on at all. When the
car is full, no extra coaches; cars built at the shop to hold
just so many, and nobody else allowed on. But you don't
often hear of an accident on that road. It 's run right up to
the rules."

*' May be you joined the Free Thinkers ? "

"Scrub road; dirt road-bed and no ballast; no time-
card, and no train-dispatcher. All trains run wild, and
every engineer makes his own time, just as he pleases.
Smoke if you want to ; kind of go-as-you-please road. Too
many side-tracks, and every switch wide open all the time,
■with the switchman sound asleep, and the target-lamp dead

460 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

out. Get on as you please, and get off when you want to.
Do n't have to show your tickets, and the conductor is n't
expected to do any thing but amuse the passengers. No,
sir. I was offered a pass, but I do n't like the line. I
do n't like to travel on a road that has no terminus. Do
you know, sir, I asked a division superintendent where that
road run to, and he said he hoped to die if he knew. I
asked hira if the general superintendent could tell me, and
he said he did n't believe they had a general superintendent,
and if they had he did n't know any thing more about the
road than the passengers. I asked him w^ho he reported to,
and he said ' nobody.' I asked a conductor who he got his
orders from, and he said he did n't take orders from any liv-
ing man. And when I asked the engineer who he got his
orders from, he said he'd like to see anybody give him
orders ; he 'd run the train to suit himself, or he 'd run it
into the ditch. Now you see, sir, I'm a railroad man,
and I do n't care to run on a road that has no time, makes
no connections, ruus nowhere, and has no superintendent.
It may be all right, but I've railroaded too long to under-
stand it."

"May be you went to the Congregational Church?"

"Popular road, an old road, too — one of the very oldest
in the country. Good road-bed and comfortable cars. Well-
managed road, too ; directors do n't interfere with division
superintendents and train orders. Road's mighty popular,
but it's pretty independent, too. Yes; did n't one of the
division superintendents down East discontinue one of the
oldest stations on this line two or three years ago? But it's
a mighty pleasant road to travel on — always has such a
pleasant class of passengers."

"Did you try the Methodist?"

" Now you 're shouting ! Nice road, eh ? Fast time and
plenty of passengers. Engines carry a power of steam, and
don't you forget it; steam-gauge shows a hundred, and

DIALOGUE. 461

enough all the time. Lively road ; when the conductor
shouts ' all aboard,' you can hear him at the next station.
Every train-light shines like a head-light. Stop-over checks
are given on all through tickets; passenger can drop off the
train as often as he likes, do the station two or three days,
and hop on the next revival train that comes thundering
along. Good, whole-souled, companionable conductors ; ain't
a road in the country where the passengers feel more at
home. No passes ; every passenger pays full traffic-rates
for his ticket. Wesleyanhouse air-brakes on all trains, too ;
pretty safe road, but I did n't ride over it yesterday.''

"Perhaps you tried the Baptist?"

*' Ah, ha ! she 's a daisy, is n't she? River road, beauti-
ful curves ; sweep around any thing to keep close to the
river; but it's all steel-rail and rock-ballast, single track all
the way, and not a side-track from the round-house to the
terminus. Takes a heap of water to run it, though ; double
tanks at every station, and there is n't an engine in the shops
that can pull a pound or run a mile with less than two
gauges. But it runs through a lovely country ; those river
roads always do; river on one side and hills on the other,
and it's a steady climb up the grade all the way till the run
ends where the fountain-head of the river begins. Yes, sir ;
I'll take the river road every time for a lovely trip; sure
connections and a good time, and no prairie-dust blowing in
at the windows. And yesterday, when the conductor came
around for the tickets with a little basket punch, I didn't
ask him to pass me, but I paid my fare like a little man —
twenty-five cents for an hour's run, and a little concert by
the passengers thrown in. I tell you, pilgrim, you take the
river road when you want "

But just here the long whistle from the engine announced
a station, and the brakeman hurried to the door, shouting :

' ' Zionsville ! The train makes no stops between here
and Indianapolis ! " r. j. burdette.

462 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

MARK TWAIN AND THE INTERVIEWER.

The nervous, dapper, "pert" young man took the chair
I offered him, and said he was connected with *'The Daily
Thunderstorm," and added :

''Hoping it 's no harm, I Ve come to interview you."

''Come to what?"

' ' Interview you."

"Ah! I see. Yes — yes. Um ! Yes — yes."

I was not feeling bright that morning. Indeed, my
powers seemed a bit under a cloud. However, I went to
the book-case, and, when I had been looking six or seven
minutes, I found I was obliged to refer to the young man.
I said :

"How do you spell it?"

"Spell what?"

"Interview."

' ' O, my goodness ! What do you want to spell it for ? "

" I do n't want to spell it ; I want to see what it means."

"Well, this is astonishing, I must say. I can tell you
what it means, if you — if you "

" O, all right! That will answer, and much obliged to
you, too."

" I n, m, t e r, fer, mter "

"Then you spell it with an IV'

"Why certainly!"

" O, that is what took me so long ! "

" Why, my dear sir, what did you propose to spell
it with ? "

"Well, I — I — I hardly know. I had the unabridged;
and I was ciphering around in the back end, hoping I might
tree her among ihe pictures. But it 's a very old edition."

"Why, my friend, they wouldn't have a pietiire of it

in even the latest e . My dear sir, I beg your pardon,

I mean no harm in the world ; but you do not look as — as —

DIALOOVE. 463

intelligeut as I expected you would. No harm,-^l mean
no harm at all."

*'0, don't mention it! It has often been said, and by
people who would not flatter, and who could have no induce-
ment to flatter, that I am quite remarkable in that way.
Yes — yes; they always speak of it with rapture."

** I can easily imagine it. But about this interview.
You know it is the custom, now, to interview any man who
has become notorious."

"Indeed! I had not heard of it before. It must be
very interesting. What do you do it with ? "

"Ah, well — well — well — this is disheartening. It ougM
to be done with a club, in some cases; but customarily it
consists in the inlerviewer asking questions, and in the inter-
viewed answering them. It is all the rage now. Will you
let me ask you certain questions calculated to bring out the
salient points of your public and private history ? "

*' O, with pleasure ; with pleasure. I have a very bad
memory; but I hope you will not mind that. That is to
say, it is an irregular memory, singularly irregular. Some-
times it goes in a gallop, and then again it will be as much
as a fortnight passing a given point. This is a great grief
to me." •

"O, it is no matter, so you will try to do the best
you can."

"I will. I will put my whole mind on it."

" Thanks ! Are you ready to begin ? "

" Ready."

Question. How old are you ?
Answer. Nineteen in June.

Q. Indeed ! I would have taken you to be thirty-five or
six. Where were you born?
A. In Missouri.

Q. When did you begin to write ?
A. In 1836.

Q. Why, how could that be, if you are only nineteen now?
A. I do n't know. It does seem curious, somehow.

464 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y.

Q. It does indeed. Whom do you consider the most remark-
able man you ever met?

A. Aaron Burr.

Q. But you never could have met Aaron Burr, if you are
only nineteen years

A. Now, if you know more about me than I do, what do you
ask me for?

Q. AVell, it was only a suggestion ; nothing more. How did
you happen to meet Burr?

A. AVell, I happened to be at his funeral one day ; and he
asked me to make less noise, and

Q. But, good heavens! If you were at his funeral, he must
have been dead ; and, if he was dead, how could he care whether
you made a noise or not ?

A. I don't know. He was always a particular kind of a
man that way.

Q. Still I do n't understand it at all. You say he spoke to
you, and that he was dead ?

A. I didn't say he was dead.

Q. But was n't he dead ?

A. Well, some said he was, some said he wasn't.

Q. But what do you think ?

A. 0, it was none of my business! It wasn't any of my
funeral.

Q. Did you However, we can never get this matter

straight. Let me ask about something else. What was the date
of your birth ?

A. Monday, October 31, 1693.

Q. What! Impossible! That would make you a hundred
and eighty years old. How do you account for that?

A. I don't account for it at all.

Q. But you said at first you were only nineteen, and now
you make yourself out to be one hundred and eighty. It is an
awful discrepancy.

Q. Why, have you noticed that? (Shaking hands.) Many a
time it has seemed to me like a discrepancy; but somehow I
couldn't make up my mind. How quick you notice a thing!

Q. Thank you for the compliment, as far as it goes. Had
you, or have you, any brothers or sisters?

A. Eh ! I— I— think so— yes— but I do n't remember.

Q. Well, that is the most extraordinary statement I ever
heard.

DIALOGUE. 465

A. Why, what makes you think that?

Q. How could I think otherwise? Why, look here! Who
is this a picture of on the wall? Isn't that a brother of yours?

A. O, yes, yes, yes! Now you remind me of it, that was
a brother of mine. That's William; Bill we called him. Poor
old Bill !

Q. Why, is he dead, then ?

A. Ah, well, I suppose so. We never could tell. There was
a great mystery about it.

Q. That is sad, very sad. He disappeared, then ?

A. Well, yes, in a sort of general way. We buried him.

Q. Buried him ! Buried him without knowing whether he
was dead or not?

A. 0 no! Not that. He was dead enough.

Q. Well, I confess that I can't understand this. If you
buried him, and you knew he was dead

A. No, no! We only thought he was.

Q. O, I see! He came to life again?

A. I bet he didn't!

Q. Well, I never heard any thing like this. Somebody was
dead. Somebody was buried. Now, where was the mystery?

A. Ah, that's just it! That's it exactly. You see we were
twins— defunct and I; and we got mixed in the bath-tub when
we were only two weeks old, and one of us was drowned. But
we did n't know which. Some think it was Bill ; some think it
was me.

Q. Well, that is remarkable. What do you think?

A. Goodness knows! I would give whole worlds to know.
This solemn, this awful mj'stery has cast a gloom over my whole
life. But I will tell you a secret now, which I never have
revealed to any creature before. One of us had a peculiar mark,
a large mole, on the back of his left hand ; that was me. That
child was the one that was drowned.

Q. Very well, then, I don't see that there is any mystery
about it after all.

A. You don't? well, / do. Any way, I do n't see how they
could ever have been such a blundering lot as to go and bury the
WTong child. But, 'sh ! do n't mention it where the family can
hear of it. Heaven knows they have heart-breaking troubles
enough without adding this.

Q. Well, I believe I have got material enough for the present ;
and I am very much obliged to you for the pains you have taken.

466 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

But I was a good deal interested in that account of Aaron Burr's
funeral. Would you mind telling me what particular circum-
stance it was that made you think Burr was such a remarkable
man?

A. O, it was a mere trifle ! Not one man in fifty would have
noticed it at all. AVhen the sermon was over and the procession
all ready to start for the cemetery, and the body all arranged
nice in the hearse, he said he wanted to take a last look at the
scenery ; so he got up and rode with the driver.

Then the youDg man reverently withdrew. He was very
pleasant company, and I was sorry to see him go.

AWFUI.I.Y LOVELY PHILOSOPHY.

A FEW days ago a Boston girl, who had been attending
the School of Philosophy at Concord, arrived in Brooklyn,
on a visit to a seminary chum. After canvassing thoroughly
the fun and gum-drops that made up their education in the
seat of learning at which their early scholastic efforts were
made, the Brooklyn girl began to inquire the nature of the
Concord entertainment.

"And so you are taking lessons in philosophy! How do
you like it?"

" O, it's perfectly lovely ! It's about science, you know,
and we all just dote on science."

**It must be nice. What is it about?"

"It's about molecules as much as any thing else, and
molecules are just too awfully nice for any thing. If there's
any thing I really enjoy it's molecules."

"Tell me about them, my dear. What are molecules?"

"O, molecules! They are little wee things, and it takes
ever so many of them. They are splendid things. Do you
know, there ain't any thing but what 's got molecules in it.
And Mr. Cook is just as sweet as he can be, and Mr.
Emerson too. They explain every thing so beautifully."

DIALOG UE. 467

"How I'd like to go there!" said the Brooklyn girl,
enviously.

" You 'd enjoy it ever so much. They teach protoplasm,
too, and if there is one thing perfectly heavenly it's proto-
plasm. I really don't know which I like best, protoplasm
or molecules."

"Tell me about protoplasm. I know I should adore it."

"'Deed you would. It's just too sweet to live. You
know it 's about how things get started, or something of that
kind. You ought to hear Mr. Emerson tell about it. It
would stir your very soul. The first time he explained
about protoplasm there was n't a dry eye in the house. We
named our hats after him. This is an Emerson hat. You
see the ribbon is drawn over the crown, and caught with a
buckle and a bunch of flowers. Then you turn up the side
with a spray of forget-me-nots. Ain't it just too sweet?
All the girls in the school have them."

"How exquisitely lovely ! Tell me some more science."

" O, I almost forgot about differentiation. I am really
and truly positively in love with differentiation. It's differ-
ent from molecules and protoplasm, but it 's every bit as nice.
And Mr. Cook! You should hear him go on about it. I
really believe he's perfectly bound up in it. This scarf is
the Cook scarf. All the girls wear them, and we named
them after him, just on account of the interest he takes in
diflferentiation."

" What is it, any way?"

"This is m.ull, trimmed with Languedoc lace — "

"I don't mean that; that other."

"O, differentiation! Ain' it sweet? It's got something
to do with species. It 's the way you tell one hat from an-
other, so you'll know which is becoming. And we learn all
about ascidians, too. They are the divinest things! I'm
absolutely enraptured with ascidians. If I only had an
ascidian of my own I wouldn't ask any thing else in the
world."

468 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

''What do they look like, dear? Did you ever see one?"
asked the Brooklyn girl, deeply interested.

" O no ; nobody ever saw one except Mr. Cook and Mr.
Emerson ; but they are something like an oyster with a reti-
cule hung on its belt. I think they are just heavenly."

"Do you learn any thing else besides?"

''O yes. We learn about common philosophy and logic,
and those common things like metaphysics; but the girls
don't care any thing about those. We are just in ecstasies
over differentiations and molecules, and Mr. Cook and
protoplasms, and ascidians and Mr. Emerson, and I really
do n't see why they put in those vulgar branches. If any
body besides Mr. Cook and Mr. Emerson had done it, we
should have told him to^ his face that he was too terribly,
awfully mean."

And the Brooklyn girl went to bed that night in the
dumps, because fortune had not vouchsafed her the advan-
tages enjoyed by her friend.

THE ElvOCUTlON APPLICANT.

" Be you Professor Blish ? "

"Be you the feller what's goin' to speak pieces this
evenin'?"

The Professor politely replied in the affirmative.

"Sho! You don't say so now!" she replied. " Well,
now, you do n't look much as if you could beat the school-
master down to our deestrick. Why do n't you raise a
mackintosh an' whiskers? I tell ye them goes a good ways
towards makin' a chap look as if he knowed sumthin'. My
darter, Meely, here, wants ter larn ter speak pieces like them
ere play-acter folks. I tell her that she can hold her own
with any on 'em now, but she wants ter go ahead on 'em all.
Ye see gals will be gals, an' about all on 'em in our dees-
trick have sot their caps for the school-master. He 's Deacon

DIALOGUE. 469

Crabtree's nephy that lives over ter Plymouth. My Meely,
here, has got the advantage of all of 'em, as the master
boards to our house. Meely has spoke pieces lots o' times
in school, but she wants ter get so she can jest take the
shine ofF'n all the rest on 'em."

The professor, being something of a wag, could not resist
the inclination to have a little fun at the good woman's ex-
pense, and in reply to her long tirade, he put on his inimi-
table Dutch face and said :

" Off a rollin' shtoue vas der root of all efil, and a settin'
hens vould catch der early vorm by chance der usual vay ;
alzo der early bird vould not got fat on moss ofer he do n't
had vorms, ain't it ? "

The woman gazed at him in open-mouthed wonder, while
Meely edged towards the door.

** My ! I did n't know you was an outlandisher, but you
hain't got them sayings right. Mister "

"Go! go! You question with a wicked tongue. 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 ! 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. 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. Good night — and when you are desirous to be
blessed, I '11 blessing beg of you."

"My! what a feller he is to run on! He acts most as
if he was crazy, Meely. You are mistaken, Mister; I hain't
married to a second husband ; 't was my sister Samantha,
that married her husband's brother, and that was Erastus
Cornwall. She married Jabe for her first husband — Jabe
Cornwall, an' he run off an' left her. Somebody found out
that I was a-comin' ter see ye, an' they 've tried ter set ye
agin me. I see how 't is, blast their picturs. Meely, you
shall learn ter speak pieces now if it costs me a dollar."

470 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Suddenly the expression on the face of the elocutionist
changed, and he became the veritable Yankee :

''Does the little, chatterin', sassy wren, no bigger 'n my
thumb, know more 'n men? Jest show me that, ur prove 't
a bat 's got more brains 'n 's in my hat, 'n I '11 back deown,
'n not tell then — "

"Massy! what does the man mean?"

"He calls me a sassy wren," whined Meely.

"Look a-here. Mister! I'll go right home and tell my
husband jes' how you 've treated me. I guess you '11 find out
who you 're a-talkin' to. My husband is one of the select
men, an' he's school agent in our deestrick ; he's "

" Mon Dieu, madame ! He been dead tree tousand year!
See ze lettaire writing by Christopher Colombo ; write eet
heemself — hees own handwriting all by heemself. O, Santa
Maria, zees ees ze bust, an' zees ees ze pedestal ! "

"My dear man, I'm sorry for ye. I see now what you
mean ; you ain't right in your head. You 've been on a bust,
an' feel as if you 'd been dead three thousand years. I 've
heard my husband say that he felt so once after he went to
a raisin', an' took a little too much rum an' merlasses.
You jist take a smart dose of lobelia tea, an' it'll make
ye as bright as a new pin. I see now that yer a French-
man, but I don't know but yer jest as good as a Yankee;
an' French teachers is the best, they say. I want my
darter — she 's smart, if I do say it — I want her ter be able
ter read with the best on 'em. She kin beat the Joneses

now, an

"Thim Hoolihan b'ys is all readers, but Teddy jist skins
'em all alive ! Wid their pennies an' paynuts an' marbles
ivery wan iv his pockets he'll fill be the twhist av
his wrist! An' sich tactics as Teddy knows Well to con-
thrive. They'd gladly thrade off their book larnin' for
Teddy's superior skill ! "

"Why, bless me, he's an Irishman, an* crazy at that I
Meely, les git right out of here."

DIALOG VE. 471

" Und zo dot, shool-meester did "kick dot lambs kvick owet,
But still dot lambs did loaf round on der outsides,
Und did shoo der flies mit his tail off patiently aboud,
Until Mary did come alzo from dot school-house owet,"

went OD the Professor.

*' You are mistaken, mother," said Meely ; " he 's a Dutch
gentleman. I don't like Dutch folks."

" What though on homely fare we dine.
Wear hoddin gray and a' that,
Gie fools their silks and knaves their wine,
A man 's a man for a' that ! "

*'0 yes; I suppose you're just as much a man as ef
you was an American. I believe in every body's havin,
their rights."

" I '11 have my hondl I will not hear thee speak! I will
have my bond, and therefore &peak no more ! "

** I have n't got no bond that belongs to you, and, as for
speakin', I '11 say what I please ! There ain't no man on this
American continent goin' ter tell me ter shet up, 'thout I
sass him back. You're a crazy, outlandish fool, an' I don't
want my darter to larn none o' sich doings."

*' This is a sorry sight! Methought I heard a voice cry :
''Sleep 710 more. Macbeth does murder sleep!' Whence is that
knocking ? What hands are here ! Ha ! they pluck out mine
eyes! Hence ! horrible shadow, unreal mockery, hence!'"

" Poor man, how bad his folks must feel. I wonder they
let him go round so alone. Come, Meely, I guess we 'II take
his advice, an' go home ; but I 'm sure I sha n't sleep a wink
this blessed night. Good-bye, mister. If I had any thing
to do with you, I should shave your head an' put on a blis-
ter ; blisters are powerful good in such cases."

ANON.

472 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS.

DAVID COPPERFIEIvD AND HIS CHII.D-WIFE.

With very few changes the following is an exact copy of the manuscript use<l
by Charles Dickens on his last tour of readings in America.

All this time I had gone on loving Dora harder than ever.
If I may so express it, I was steeped in Dora. I was satu-
rated through and through. I took night-walks to Norwood
where she lived, and perambulated round and round the
house and garden for hours together, looking through crev-
ices in the palings, using violent exertions to get my chin
above the rusty nails on the top, blowing kisses at the lights
in the windows, and romantically calling on the night to
shield my Dora, — I don't exactly know from what, — I sup-
pose from fire, perhaps from mice, to which she had a great
objection.

Dora had a discreet friend, comparatively stricken in
years, almost of the ripe age of twenty, I should say, whose
name was Miss Mills. Dora called her Julia. She was the
bosom friend of Dora. Happy Miss Mills !

One day Miss Mills said: ''Dora is coming to stay with
me. She is coming the day after to-morrow. If you would
like to call, I am sure papa would be happy to see you."

I passed three days in a luxury of wretchedness. At last,
arrayed for the purpose at a vast expense, I went to Miss
Mills's, fraught with a declaration. Mr. Mills was not at
home. I didn't expect he would be. Nobody wanted /ii??i.
Miss Mills was at home. Miss Mills would do.

I was shown into a room up-stairs, where Miss Mills and
Dora were. Dora's little dog Jip was there. Miss Mills
was copying music, and Dora was painting flowers. Wliat
were my feelings when I recognized flowers I had given her!

Miss Mills was glad to see me, and very sorry her papa was

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS. 473

not at home, though I thought we all bore that with forti-
tude. Miss Mills was conversatioual for a few minutes, and
then laying down her pen, got up and left the room.

I began to think I would put it off till to-morrow.

" I hope your poor horse was not tired when he got home
at night from that i)icnic," said Dora, lifting up her beauti-
ful eyes. " It was a long way for him."

I began to think I would do it to-day.

'' It was a loug way for him, for he had nothing to uphold
him on the journey."

" Wasn't he fed, poor thing?" asked Dora.

I began to think I would put it off till to-morrow.

"Ye — yes, he was well taken care of I mean he had
not the unutterable happiness that I had in being so near to
you."

"I don't know why you should care for being so near
me, or why you should call it a happiness. But, of course,
you do n't mean what you say. Jip, you naughty boy, come
here!"

I do n't know how I did it, but I did it in a moment.

I intercepted Jip. I had Dora in my arms. I was full of
eloquence. I never stopped for a word. I told her how I
loved her. I told her I should die without her. I told her
that I idolized and worshiped her. Jip barked madly all the
time. My eloquence increased, and I said, if she would like
me to die for her, she had but to say the word, and I was
ready. I had loved her to distraction every minute, day
and night, since I first set eyes upon her. I loved her
at that minute to distraction. I should always love her,
every minute to distraction. Lovers had loved before, and
lovers would love again ; but no lover had ever loved, might,
could, would, or should ever love, as I loved Dora. The
more I raved, the more Jip barked. Each of us in his own
way got more mad every moment.

Well ! well ! Dora and I were sitting on the sofa by and
by, quiet enough, and Jip was lying in her lap, winking

474 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

peacefully at me. It was off my mind. I was in a state of
perfect rapture. Dora and I were engaged.

Being poor, I felt it necessary the next time I went to see
my darling to expatiate on that unfortunate drawback. 1
soon carried desolation into the bosom of our joys — by ask-
ing Dora, without the smallest preparation, if she could love
a beggar.

"How can you ask me anything so foolish? Love a
beggar ? "

''Dora, my own dearest, I am a beggar!"

"How can you be such a silly thing as to sit there telling
such stories ? I '11 make Jip bite you, if you are so ridiculous."

But I looked so serious that Dora began to cry. She did
nothing but exclaim, O dear! O dear! and O, she
was so frightened ! And where was Julia Mills ? And O,
take her to Julia Mills ; and go away, please ! — until I was
almost beside myself.

I thought I had killed her. I sprinkled water on her
face; I went down on my knees; I plucked at my hair; I
implored her forgiveness ; I besought her to look up ; I rav-
aged Miss Mills's work-box for a smelling-bottle, and in my
agony of mind, applied an ivory needle-case instead, and
dropped all the needles over Dora.

At last I got Dora to look at me, with a horrified expres-
sion, which I gradually soothed until it was only loving, and
her soft, pretty cheek was lying against mine.

"Is your heart mine still, dear Dora?"

" O yes ! O yes! it's all yours. O, do n't be dreadful."

"My dearest love, the crust well earned — "

"O yes; but I do n't want to hear any more about
crusts. And after we are married, Jip must have a mutton-
chop every day at twelve, or he '11 die."

I was charmed with her childish, winning way, and I
fondly explained to her that Jip should have his mutton-chop
with his accustomed regularity.

When we had been engaged some half year or so, Dora

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS. 475

delighted me by asking me to give her that cookery-book I
had once spoken of. I brought the volume with me on my
next visit (I got it prettily bound first, to make it look less
dry and more inviting), and gave her a set of tablets, and a
pretty little pencil-case, and a box of leads, to practice house-
keeping with.

But the cookery-book made Dora's head ache, and the
figures made her cry. They would n't add up, she said. So
she rubbed them out, and drew likenesses of me and Jip all
over the tablets.

Time went on, and at last, here in this hand of mine, I
held the wedding license. There were the two names in the
sweet old visionary connection — David Copperfield and Dora
Spenlow ; and there in the corner was that parental institu-
tion, the Stamp Office, looking down upon our union ; and
there, in the printed form of words, was the archbishop of
Canterbury, invoking a blessing on us, and doing it as cheap
as could possibly be expected.

I doubt whether two young birds could have known less
about keeping house than I and my pretty Dora did. We
had a servant, of course. She kept house for us.

We had an awful time of it with Mary Anne.

Her name was Paragon. Her nature was represented to
us, when we engaged her, as being feebly expressed in her
name. She had a written character as long as a proclama-
tion, and according to this document could do everything of
a domestic nature that ever I heard of, and a great many
things that I never did hear of She had a cousin in the Life
Guards, with such long legs that he looked like the afternoon
shadow of somebody else. She was the cause of our first
little quarrel.

*' My dearest life," I said one day to Dora, *'do you think
that Mary Anne has any idea of time ?"

^'Why, Doady?"

"My love, because it's five, and we were to have dined at
four."

476 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY,

My little wife came and sat upon my knee, to coax me to
be quiet, and drew a line with her pencil down the middle
of my nose ; but I could n't dine off that, though it was very
agreeable.

"Don't you think, ray dear, it would be better for you
to remonstrate with Mary Anne ? "

' * O no, please ! I could n't, Doady ! "

''Why not, my love?"

"O, because I am such a little goose, and she knows
I am."

'* My precious wife, we must be serious sometimes. Come,
sit down on this chair, close beside me. Give me the pen-
cil! There! Now let us talk sensibly. You know, dear," —
what a little hand it was to hold, and what a tiny wed-
ding-ring it was to see! — "you know, my love, it is not
exactly comfortable to have to go out without one's dinner.
Now is it?"

"N-n-no!"

" My love, how you tremble ! "

"Because I know you're going to scold me."

"My sweet, I am only going to reason,"

" O, but your reasoning is worse than scolding! I
didn't marry to be reasoned with. If you meant to reason
with such a poor little thing as I am, you ought to have told
me so, you cruel boy ! "

" Dora, my darling ! "

"No, I am not your darling, because you must be sorry
that you married me, or else you would n't reason with me."

" Now, my own Dora, you must remember, I am sure,
that I was obliged to go out yesterday when dinner was half
over ; and that, the day before, I was made quite unwell by
being obliged to eat underdone veal in a hurry ; to-day I
do n't dine at all ; and I am afraid to say how long we waited
for breakfast, and theii the water did n't boil. I do n't mean
to reproach you, my dear, but this is not comfortable."

" 0, you cruel, cruel boy, to say I am a disagreeable wife ! "

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS. 477

•'Now, my clear Dora, you must know that I ueversaid that."

" You said 1 wasn't comfortable!"

" I said the housekeeping was not comfortable ! "

'' It 's exactly the same thing; and I wonder, I do, at your
making such ungrateful speeches, — when you know that the
other day, when you said you would like a little bit of fish,
I went out myself, miles and miles, and ordered it to sur-
prise you."

•'And it was very kind of you, my own darling; and I
felt it so much that I would n't on any account have men-
tioned that you bought a salmon, which was too much" for
two ; or that it cost one pound six, which was more than we
can afford."

*' You enjoyed it very much, and you said I was a mouse."

''And I'll say so again, my love, a thousand times!"

I said it a thousand times and more.

Everybody we had anything to do with seemed to cheat
us. Our appearance in the shop was a signal for the dam-
aged goods to be brought out immediately. If we bought a
lobster, it was full of water. All our meat turned out
tough, and there was hardly any crust to our loaves.

But we w^ere particularly unfortunate in our page, whose
principal function was to quarrel with the cook. AVe
wanted to get rid of him, but he was very much attached to
us, and would n't go, until one day he stole Dora's watch ;
then he went.

" I am very sorry for all this, Doady. Will you call me
a name I want you to call me?"

"What is it, my dear?"

"It's a stupid name, — Child-wife. When you are going
to be angry with me, say to yourself, ' It 's only my Child-
wife.' When I am very disappointing, say, ' I knew a long
time ago that she would make but a Child-wife.' When you
miss what you would like me to be, and what I should
like to be, and what I think I never can be, say, ' Still my
foolish Child-wife loves me.' For indeed I do."

478 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

I invoke the iDnocent figure that I clearly love to come
out of the mists and shadows of the past, and to turn her
gentle head towards me once again, and to bear witness that
she was made happy by what I answered.

CHAS. DICKENS.

ANNABElv I.KE.

It w^as many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea.
That a maiden there lived, whom yon may know

By the name of Annabel Lee ;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love, and be loved by me.

I was a child, and she was a child.

In this kingdom by the sea ;
But we loved with' a love that was more than love,

I and my Annabel Lee —
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago.

In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee ;
So tliat her high-born kinsmen came

And bore her away from me.
To shut her up in a sepulcher

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me.
Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know.

In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we, —
Of many far wiser than we ;

And neither the angels in heaven above,

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS. 479

Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so all the night-time I lie down by the side
Of my darling— my darling— uiy life and my bride.

In the sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

EDGAR A. POB.

SENATH'S SACRIFICE.

REARRANGED, ABRIDGED, AND ADAPTED BY VIRGIL A. PINKLEY.

Senath Martin was a poor girl, who worked in Pember-
ton Mill. She had a lover, Richard Cross, to whom she was
engaged. Discovering that his affections were drilling away
from her and centering on Del Ivory, a giddy, coquettish,
creature, she was trying to gain the courage to tell him that
she would release him from his engagement, when her anguish
was suddenly ended by the calamity of which I am now to
speak.

The city slumbered. Pemberton, mute and cold, frowned
dim in the gray of the dawn. The dawn gave way to day ;
the wind blew warm from the river ; the snows were melting ;
the factory bells chimed cheerily, and a few sleepers, in safe,
luxurious beds, were wakened by hearing the girls sing on
their way to their work.

The day wore away ; the snows began to harden ; the
winds blew chill ; the mill was felt to tremble. Senath said :
" I feel dizzy; I have lost a little sleep."

Del Ivory working beside her said : " How the mill shakes !
i wonder what it means ! " She stopped her looms. Some-
thing strange had happeued to her frame ! It jarred, buzzed,
snapped — the threads flew out of place.

480 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

"Curious!" said Seuatli, as she raised her eyes to vsee a
sight that froze her blood ; to see the solid ceiling gape above
her ; to see the walls and windows stagger ; to see iron pillars
reel. As the floor sank, she sprang forward, threw out her
arms, tripped in the gearing, swooned, and fell.

" At ten minutes before five on Tuesday, the tenth day of
January, eighteen hundred and sixty, the Pemberton Mill,
all of the seven hundred and fifty employes being at the time
on duty, fell to the ground."

This was the news that flashed along the telegraph wires,
sprang into large type in the newspapers, and passed from
lip to lip.

Senath's father, working in his shop some blocks away, felt
the rumble of the earth, and heard the heavy crash. He
took his stick, and limped out into the street. A vast'crowd
surged through it from end to end. White lips were count-
ing the mills — Pacific, Atlantic, Washington, Pemberton !
Where was Pemberton? Where Pemberton had blazed with
its lamps last night, and hummed with its iron lips this
noon, there was now to be seen naught but a cloud of dust,
black, ominous, horrible, puffing a hundred feet into the air.

When the dust had cleared away, what a sight appalled
the eye ! A network of rods and girders ; of beams, pillars,
stairways, gearing, roofing, ceiling, walls ; of wrecks of looms
and shafts ; of bruised and bleeding bodies ; with here a face
that you know, but can not reach ; there a familiar voice cry-
ing after you from — God knows where, you can not tell.

After a time Senath recovered from her swoon. A fire
which had been lighted at a distance to aid the citizens in
their work of rescue, cast a little gleam in through the debris
across her two hands, which lay clasped together at her side.

One of her fingers, she saw, was gone ; it was the finger
which held Dick's little engagement ring. A broad piece of
flooring that had fallen slantwise roofed her in, and saved her
from the mass of iron-work overhead. Fragments of looms,
shafts, and pillars were in heaps about. A little girl who

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS. 481

worked in her room — a mere child — was crying for her
mother. Del Ivory sat in a little open space, cushioned
about with reels of cotton. She had a shallow gash upon her
cheek. She was wringing her hands. On the other side of
the slanted flooring a woman prayed aloud. She had a little
baby at home. She was asking God to take care of it for
her. There was a pause. Senath listened long for the Amen,
but it was never spoken.

Senath now began to realize more fully the extent of her
injuries. She shut her lips, and folded her bleeding hands
together, but uttered no cry. She thought of her father; of
Dick ; of the bright little kitchen, set for three ; of the song
she had sung in the flush of the morning. Life — even her
life — grew sweet, now that it was slipping from her.

Del cried presently that they were cutting them out. The
glare of bonfires struck through the opening. Saws and axes
flashed. Voices grew distinct.

The opening broadened, brightened ; the sweet night wind
blew in ; the bright night sky shone through. Senath's heart
leaped within her. Out in the wind and under the sky she
should stand again, after all! Back ♦in the little kitchen,
where the sun shone, and she could sing a song, there would
yet be a place for her. She worked her head from under
the beam, and raised herself upon her elbow. At that moment
she heard the cry : " Fire ! Fire ! The ruins are on fire ! "

With the strength of desperation men worked to rescue
the scores of imprisoned people. A plank snapped ; a rod
yielded ; then a man with arms extended, shouted : " There's
time for one more ! God save the rest of you — I ca n't ! "

Del sprang; then stopped — even Del stopped ashamed,
and looked back at her crippled companion. Seeing this,
Senath sat up erect and said, with a heroism that was sublime:
*'Go, Del, and tell him I sent you with my love, and that
it is all right." And Del at the first word went.

Senath saw them draw her out. Somebody at work out-
side turned suddenly and caught her. It was Dick. The

482 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

love which he had fought so long broke over every barrier in
that hour. He kissed her again and again. He uttered a
cry at the blood upon her cheek, and with a face as white
as her own, he bore her away in his arms to the hospital.

Senath looked out through the glare and smoke. They
had left her tombed alive in that furnace, and gone their
happy way. Yet it gave her a curious sense of relief and
triumph. If this was all she could be to him, the thing
which she had done was right, quite right. God must have
known. She turned away, and shut her eyes. When she
opened them, neither Dick nor Del, nor crimsoned snow nor
sky was there — only smoke and fire. Her last hope fled.

But they had not given her up yet. In the still unburnt
rubbish at the right some one had wrenched an opening within
a foot of Senath's face. A tongue of flame leaped forth. A
fireman fainted in the glow.

''Give it up!" cried the crowd.* "It can't be done!
Fall back ! " At that moment was seen an old man tottering
along over the heated brick. He was a very old man_ His
gray hair blew about in the wind.

**I want my Senath! I want my little gal ! Can 't any-
body tell me where to find my little gal ? "

A rough-looking young fellow pointed in silence through
the smoke.

" I '11 have her out yet. I 'm an old man, but I can help.
She's my little gal, you see. Now, keep cheery, Senath;
your old father '11 git you out. Keep up good heart, child ! "

*' It 's no use, father; do n't feel bad, father. I do n't mind
it very much."

"No more you needn't, Senath, for it'll be over in a
minute. Do n't be downcast yet ! We '11 have you safe at
home afore you know it ! We '11 git at you now, sure ! "

Senath's voice rang out in song above the crackle and the
roar:

" We 're going home, we 're going home,
We 're going home to die no more."

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS.

483

"Senath!" cried the old man out upon the burning
brick. He was scorched now, from his gray hair to his
patched boots.

" To die no more, to die no more,
AVe 're going home to die no more."

" Senath, little Senath ! " Some one pulled him back, and
Senath's spirit went up in the flames.

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS.

CUDDLE DOON,

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht

Wi' muckle faucht an' din.
" O, try and sleep, ye waukrife rogues :

Your father's coming in."
They never heed a word I speak,

I try to gie a froon ;
But aye, I hap then up, an' cry,

" O, bairnies, cuddle doon ! "

Wee Jamie, wi' the curly heid —

He aye sleeps next the wa' —
Bangs up an cries, " I want a piece " —

The rascal starts them a'.
I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks —

They stop aw^ee the soun'—
Then draw the blankets up, and cry,

'' Noo, w-eanies, cuddle doon! "

But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab
Cries oot, fra 'neath the claes,
" Mither, mak' Tam gie ower at ance ;
He 's kittlin' w'i' his taes."
The mischief's in that Tam for tricks;

He 'd bother half the toon.
But aye I hap them up, and cry,
"O, bairnies, cuddle doon!"

At length they hear their father's fit ;
An' as he steeks the door,

484 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

They turn their faces to the wa',
While Tarn pretends to snore.

"Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks,
As he pits oflf his shoon.

"The bairnies, John, are in their beds.
An' lang since cuddled doon! "

An' just afore we bed oorsels,

We look at oor wee lambs.
Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck,

An' Rab his airm roun' Tam's.
I lift wee Jamie up the bed,

An' as I straik each croon,
I whisper, till my heart fills up,

" O, bairnies, cuddle doon ! "

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht

Wi' mirth that 's dear to me ;
But soon the big warl's cark an' care

Will quaten doon their glee.
Yet come what will to ilka ane.

May He who sits aboon
Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld,

" 0, bairnies, cuddle doon ! "

ALEXANDER ANDERSON.

GABRIEL GRUB.

In an old abbey town, a long, long while ago, there
officiated, as sexton and grave-digger, one Gabriel Grub.

A little before twilight, one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shoul-
dered his spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself
toward the old church-yard ; for he had a grave to finish by
next morning, and, feeling very low, he thought it might
raise his spirits, perhaps, if he went' on with his work at
once. As he wended his way up the ancient street, he saw
the cheerful light of the blazing fires gleam through the old
casements, and heard the loud laugh and cheerful shouts of
those who were assembled around them. All this was gall
and wormwood to the heart of Gabriel Grub ; and as groups

■

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS. 485

of children bounded out of the houses, and tripped across the
road, on their way to spend the evening in their Christmas
games, Gabriel smiled grimly, and clutched the handle of his
spade with a firmer grasp, as he thought of measles, scarlet-
fever, mumps, whooping-cough, and a good many other
sources of consolation beside.

In this happy frame of mind Gabriel strode along, until
he turned into the dark lane which led to the church-yard,
which was, generally speaking, a nice, gloomy, mournful
place, and he was not a little indignant to hear a young
urchin roaring out some jolly song about a merry Christmas
in this very sanctuary. 80 Gabriel waited till the boy came
up, and then pushed him into a corner, and rapped him over
the head with his lantern five or six times, just to teach him
to modulate his voice. And as the boy hurried away with
his hand to his head, singing quite a difi^erent sort of tune,
Gabriel Grub chuckled very heartily to himself, and entered
the church-yard, locking the gate behind him.

He took oflT his coat, set down his lantern, and getting
into the unfinished grave, worked at it for an hour or so
with right good will. But the earth was hardened with the
frost, and it was no very easy matter to break it up and
shovel it out; and although there w^as a moon, it was a very
young one, and shed little light upon the grave, which was
in the shadow of the church. At any other time these
obstacles would have made Gabriel Grub very moody and
miserable ; but he was so well pleased with having stopped
the small boy's singing that he took little heed of the scanty
progress he had made, and looked down into the grave,
when he had finished work for the night, with grim satisfaction.

**Ho! ho!" laughed Gabriel Grub, as he set himself
down on a flat tombstone, which was a favorite resting-place
of his, and drew forth his bottle; ''a coffin at Christmas —
a Christmas box. Ho ! ho ! ho ! "

"Ho! ho! ho!" repeated a voice, which sounded close
behind him.

486 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Gabriel paused in the act of raising the bottle to his lips,
and looked around. The bottom of the oldest grave about
him was not more still and quiet than the church-yard in the
pale moonlight. The frost glistened on the tombstones.
Not the faintest rustle broke the profound tranquillity of the
solemn scene. Sound itself appeared to be frozen up, all
was so cold and still.

** It was the echoes," said Gabriel Grub, raising the bottle
to his lips again.

* ' It was not" said a deep voice.

Gabriel started up, and stood rooted to the spot ; for his
eyes rested on a form which made his blood run cold.

Seated on an upright tombstone, close to him, was a
strange, unearthly figure, whom Gabriel felt at once was no
being of this world. His hat was covered with white frost,
and the goblin looked as if he had sat on that same tomb-
stone very comfortably for two or three thousand years. He
was sitting perfectly still ; his tongue was put out, as if in
derision ; and he was grinning at Gabriel Grub with such a
grin as only a goblin could grin.

'* It was not the echoes. What do you here on Christ-
mas eve ? "

"I came to dig a grave, sir," stammered Gabriel Grub.

" What man wanders among graves and church-yards on
such a night as this?"

" Gabriel Grub ! Gabriel Grub ! " screamed a wild chorus
of voices that seemed to fill the church-yard. Gabriel looked
round in affright; nothing was to be seen.

" What have you in that bottle?"

"Gin, sir," replied the sexton, trembling more than ever;
for he had bought it of the smugglers, and he thought that
perhaps his questioner might be in the revenue department
of the goblins,

' ' Who drinks gin in a church-yard on such a night as this ? "

"Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub I" exclaimed the wild
voices again.

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS. 487

The goblin leered maliciously at the terrified sexton, and
said:

''Well, Gabriel, what do you say to this?"

"It's — it's — very curious, sir, very curious; but I think
I '11 go back and finish my work, sir, if you please."

'' Work! what work?"

"The grave, sir; making the grave," stammered the
sexton.

" Who makes graves at a time when all other men are
merry, and takes a pleasure in in it?"

Again the mysterious voices replied, "Gabriel Grub!
Gabriel Grub ! "

"I'm afraid my friends want you, Gabriel; I'm afraid
my friends want you."

"Under favor, sir, I don't think they can, sir; they
do n't know me, sir. I do n't think the gentlemen have ever
seen me, sir."

"O yes, they have. We know the man with the sulky
face and the grim scowl that came down the street to-night,
throwing his evil looks at the children, and grasping his
burying spade the tighter. We know the man that struck
the boy, in the envious malice of his heart, because the boy
could be merry, and he could not. We know him. We
know him."

"I — I — am afraid I must leave you, sir."

"Leave us! Gabriel Grub going to leave us! Ho!
ho! ho!"

At that moment the goblin suddenly darted toward him,
laid his hand upon his collar, and sank with him through
the earth.

When Gabriel Grub had had time to catch his breath,
which the rapidity of his descent had, for the moment, taken
away, he found himself in what appeared to be a large
cavern, surrounded on all sides by crowds of goblins, ugly
and grim. In the center of the room, on an elevated seat,
was stationed his friend of the church-yard — the king of the

488 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

goblius, who said: '' Cold to-night, very cold. A glass of
something warm, here !"

At this command, a dozen goblins hastily disappeared,
and presently returned with a goblet of liquid fire, which
they presented to the king.

*'Ah!" said the goblin, whose cheeks and throat were
quite transparent, as he tossed down the flame, "this warms
one indeed. Bring a bumper of the same for Mr. Grub."

It was in vain for the unfortunate sexton to protest that
he Avas not in the habit of taking anything warm at night ; for
one of the goblins held him, while another poured the blaz-
ing liquid down his throat ; and the whole assembly screeched
with laughter as he coughed, and choked, and wiped away
his tears.

* ' And now show the man of misery and gloom a few of
the pictures from our great storehouse. Show them to
Gabriel Grub."

As the goblin said this, a thick cloud, which obscured the
farther end of the cavern, rolled gradually away, and dis-
closed, apparently at a great distance, a small' and scantily
furnished, but neat and clean apartment. A crowd of little
children were gathered round a bright fire, clinging to their
mother's gown and gamboling round her chair. The mother
occasionally rose, and drew aside the window-curtain, as if to
look for some expected object. A frugal meal was spread
upon the table, and an elbow-chair was placed near the fire.
A knock was heard at the door ; the mother opened it, and
the children crowded round her, and clapped their hands for
joy as their father entered. Then, as he sat down to his
meal before the fire, the children climbed about his knee, and
the mother sat by his side, and all seemed happiness and
comfort.

But a change came upon the view. Almost imperceptibly,
the scene was altered to a small bedroom, where the fairest
and youngest child lay dying ; the roses had fled from his
cheek, and the light from his eye; and even as the sexton

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS. 489

looked upon him, with an interest that he had never felt
before, the little one died.

"What do you think of thatf You miserable man!
Sliow him some more!"

At these words the cloud was again dispelled, and a rich
and beautiful landscape Avas disclosed to view. It was morn-
ing, the bright, balmy morning of summer ; the minutest
leaf, the smallest blade of grass, was instinct with life. Man
walked forth, elated with the scene, and all was brightness
and splendor.

Many a time the cloud went and came, and many a lesson
it taught to Gabriel Grub. He saw that men who worked
hard, and earned their scanty bread with lives of labor, were
cheerful and happy, and that to the most ignorant the
sweet face of nature was a never-failiug source of cheerful-
ness and joy. Above all, he saw that men like himself,
Avho snarled at the mirth and cheerfulness of others, were the
foulest weeds on the fair surface of the earth ; and, setting all
the good of the world against the evil, he came to the con-
clusion that it was a very decent and respectable sort of a
world after all.

No sooner had he reached this commendable conclusion,
than the cloud, which had closed over the last picture, seemed
to dissolve. One by one the goblins faded from his sight,
and as the last one disappeared, Gabriel awoke.

CHARLES DICKENS.

THE THREE BELLS.

This poem commemorates the memorable rescue of the crew of an American
vessel, sinking in mid-ocean. Captain Leigh ton. who commanded the English
sliip '• Three Bells," being unable to take the men off in the night and the storm,
stayed by them until morning, and daylight came none too soon, for they were
rescued just as the vessel took its last lurch and sank into the sea.

Beneath the low-hung niglit-cloud
That raked her splintering mast,

The good ship settled slowly ;
The cruel leak gained fast.

490 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Over the awful ocean

Her signal guns pealed out ;
Dear God ! was that thy answer

From the horror round about?

A voice came down the wild wind, —

"Ho! ship ahoy!" its cry:
" Our stout ' Three Bells ' of Glasgow

Shall stand till daylight by ! "

Hour after hour crept slowly,

Yet on the heaving swells
Tossed up and down the ship-lights, —

The hghts of the "Three Bells."

And ship to ship made signals ;

Man answered back to man ;
While oft, to cheer and hearten.

The "Three Bells" nearer ran.

And the captain from her taflrail

Sent down his hopeful cry:
"Take heart! hold on!" he shouted,

The ' Three Bells ' shall stand by ! "

All night across the waters

The tossing lights shone clear;

All night from reeling tafFrail

The " Three Bells " sent her cheer.

And when the dreary watches

Of storm and darkness passed,
Just as the wreck lurched under,

All souls were saved at last.

Sail on, "Three Bells," forever!

In grateful memory, sail !
Ring on, " Three Bells " of rescue,

Above the wave and gale !

And so, in night and tempest.

We hear tlie master's cry.
And, tossing through the darkness.

The lights of God draw nigh.

J. G. WHITTIEB.

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS. 491

THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH.

CHIRP THE FIRST.

The kettle began it ! Do n't tell me what Mrs. Peerybingle
said. I know better. Mrs. Peerybingle may leave it on
record to the end of time that she could n't say which of
them began it; but I say the kettle did. I ought to know,
I hope ! The kettle began it, full five minutes by the little
waxy-faced Dutch clock in the corner, before the cricket
uttered a chirp.

As if the clock had n't finished striking, and the convul-
sive little haymaker at the top of it, jerking away right and
left with a scythe in front of a moorish palace, had n't
mowed down half an acre of imaginary grass before the
cricket joined it at all !

Why, I am not naturally positive. Every one knows
that. I would n't set my own opinion against the opinion of
Mrs. Peerybingle, unless I were quite sure, on any account
whatever. Nothing should induce me. But this is a ques-
tion of fact. And the fact is, that the kettle began it, at
least five minutes before the cricket gave any sign of being
in existence. Contradict me, and I '11 say ten.

Let me narrate exactly how it happened. I should have
proceeded to do so in my very first word but for this plain
consideration — if I am to tell a story I must begin at the
beginning ; and how is it possible to begin at the beginning
without beginning at the kettle ?

It appeared as if there were a sort of match, or trial of
skill, you must understand, between the kettle and the
cricket. And this is what led to it, and how it came about.

The kettle was aggravating and obstinate. It would n't
allow itself to be adjusted on the top bar ; it would n't hear
of accommodating itself kindly to the knobs of coal ; it
would lean forward with a drunken air, and dribble, a very
idiot of a kettle, on the hearth. It was quarrelsome, and

492 ELOCUTION A^D ORATORY.

hissed and spluttered morosely at the fire. To sum up all,
the lid, resisting Mrs. Peerybingle's fingers, first of all turned
topsy-turvy, and then, with an ingenious pertinacity deserv-
ing of a better cause, dived sideways in — down to the very
bottom of the kettle. And the hull of the Boyal George
has never made half the monstrous resistance to coming out
of the water, which the lid of that kettle employed against
Mrs. Peerybingle before she got it up again.

It looked sullen and pig-headed enough, even then ; car-
rying its handle with an air of defiance, and cocking its
spout pertly and mockingly at Mrs. Peerybingle, as if it
said: '* I won't boil. Nothing shall induce me ! "

But Mrs. Peerybingle, with restored good-humor, dusted
her chubby little hands against each other, and sat down
before the kettle, laughing. Meantime the jolly blaze up-
rose and fell, flashing and gleaming on the little haymaker
at the top of the Dutch clock, until one might have thought
he stood stock still before the moorish palace, and nothing
was in motion but the flame.

He was on the move, however; and had his spasms, two
to the second, all right and regular. But his sufferings
when the clock was going to strike were frightful to behold ;
and, when a cuckoo looked out of a trap-door in the palace,
and gave note six times, it shook him, each time, like a spec-
tral voice — or like a something wiry, plucking at his legs.

Now it was, you observe, that the kettle began to spend
the evening. Now it was that the kettle, growing mellow
and musical, began to have irrepressible gurglings in its
throat, and to indulge in short vocal snorts, which it checked
in the bud, as if it hadn't quite made up its mind yet to be
good company. Now it was, that after two or three such
vain attempts to stifle its convivial sentiments, it threw off all
moroseness, all reserve, and burst into a stream of song so
cozy and hilarious as never maudlin nightingale yet formed
the least idea of.

So plain, too ! Bless you, you might have understood it

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS. 493

like a book. With its warm breatli gushing forth in a light
cloud, which merrily and gracefully ascended a few feet, theu
hung about the chimney-corner as its own domestic heaven, it
trolled its song with that strong energy of cheerfulness that
its iron body hummed and stirred upon the fire.

That this song of the kettle's was a song of invitation and
welcome to somelwdy out of doors — to somebody at that mo-
ment coming on towards the snug, small home and the crisp
fire — there is no doubt whatever. Mrs. Peerybingle knew it
perfectly as she sat musing before the hearth. It 's a dark
night, sang the kettle, and the rotten leaves are lying by the
way ; and above, all is mist and darkness ; and below, all is mire
and clay ; and there 's only one relief in all the sad and
murky air; and I do n't know that it is one, for it's nothing
but a glare of deep and angry crimson, where the sun and
wind together set a brand upon the clouds for being guilty
of such weather ; and the widest open country is a long dull
streak of black ; and there's hoar-frost on the finger-post, and
thaw upon the track; and the ice it isn't water, and the
water is n't free ; and you could n't say that anything is
what it ought to be; but he is coming, coming, coming!

And here, if you like, the cricket did chime in with a
chirrup, chirrup, chirrup of such magnitude, by way of
chorus, with a voice so astoundingly disproportionate to its
size, as compared with the kettle (size ! you could n't see
it!), that if it had then and there burst itself like an over-
charged gun, if it had fallen a victim on the spot and
chirruped its little body into fifty pieces, it would have
seemed a natural and inevitable consequence, for which it
had expressly labored.

The kettle had had the last of its solo performance. It
persevered with undiminished ardor ; but the cricket took first
fiddle, and kept it. Good heaven, how it chirped ! Its shrill,
sharp, piercing voice resounded through the house, and seemed
to twinkle in the outer darkness like a star. Yet they went
very well together, the cricket and the kettle. The burden

494 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

of the song was still the same; and louder, louder, louder
still, they sang it in their emulation.

The fair little listener lighted a candle, glanced at the
haymaker on the top of the clock, who was getting in a
pretty average crop of minutes ; and looked out of the win-
dow, where she saw nothing, owing to the darkness, but her
own face imaged in the glass. And my opinion is (and so
would yours have been), that she might have looked a long
way, and seen nothing half so agreeable. When she came
back and sat down in her former seat, the cricket and the
kettle were still keeping it up with a perfect fury of compe-
tition. The kettle's weak side clearly being, that he did n't
know when he was beat.

There was all the excitement of a race about it. Chirp,
chirp, chirp ! cricket a mile ahead. Hum, hum, hum — m — m !
kettle making play in the distance. Chirp, chirp, chirp !
cricket round the corner. Hum, hum, hum— m — m! kettle
sticking to him in his own way ; no idea of giving in.
Chirp, chirp, chirp ! cricket fresher than ever. Hum, hum,
hum — m — m ! Kettle slow and steady. Chirp, chirp, chirp !
cricket going in to finish him. Hum, hum, hum — m — ra;
kettle not to be finished. Until at last they get so jumbled
together, in the hurry-skurry, helter-skelter, of the match,
that whether the kettle chirped and the cricket hummed, or
the cricket chirped and the kettle hummed, or they both
chirped and both hummed, it would have taken a clearer
head than yours or mine to have decided with anything like
certainty. But, of this there is no doubt ; that the kettle and
the cricket, at one and the same moment, and by some power
of amalgamation best known to themselves, sent, each, his
fireside song of comfort streaming into a ray of the candle
that shone out through the window, and a long way down
the lane. And this light, bursting on a certain person who
approached it through the gloom, expressed the whole thing
to him, literally in a twinkling, and cried, " Welcome home,
old fellow ! Welcome home, my boy ! " chas. dickens.

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS. . 495

AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE.

As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone,
And muses on the faces of the friend sthat he has known,
So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,
I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.

The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise,
As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes.
And I light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke
Its fate with my tobacco, and to vanish in the smoke.

'T is a fragrant retrospection ; for the loving thoughts that start
Into being are like perfumes from the blossoms of the heart;
And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine.
When my truant fancies wander with that old sweetheart of mine.

Though I hear beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings.
The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings,
I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme
When care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream.

In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm

To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm,

For I find an extra flavor in memory's mellow wine

That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine.

A face of lily beauty and a form of airy grace
Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase,
And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes.
As glowing as the summer, and as tender as the skies.

I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress
She wore when I first kissed her, and she answered the caress
With the WTitten declaration, that as " surely as the vine
Grew round the stump, she loved me " — that old sweetheart of
mine.

And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand,
As we used to talk together of the future we had planned —
When T should be a poet, and with nothing else to do.
Would write the tender verses that she 'd set the music to.

When we should live together in a cozy little cot
Hid in the nest of roses, with a fairy garden spot,

496 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY.

Where the vines were ever fruited and the weather ever fine,
And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine.

When I should be her lover forever and a day,
And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden haii- was gray—
And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb,
They would not smile in heaven till the other's kiss had come.

But ah ! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair,

And the door is softly opened and my wife is standing there;

Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign.

To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine.

JAMES WniTCOMB RILEY.

NOTHIN' TO SAY.

Nothin' to say, my daughter ! Nothin' at all to say !
Gyrls that 's in love 1 've noticed, ginerly has their way !
Yer mother did, afore you, when her folks objected to me —
Yet here I am, and here you air ; and yer mother— where is she ?

You look lots like yer mother — purty much same in size ;
And about the same complected; and favor 'bout the eyes;
Like her too, about her living here, — because she could n't stay :
It'll most seem like you was dead— like her! but 1 hain't got
nothin' to say !

She left you her little Bible — writ her name acrost the page ;
And left her ear-bobs fer you, ef ever you come of age.
I 've alius kept 'em and gyuarded 'em ; but ef yer goin' away —
Nothin' to say, my daughter ! Nothin' at all to say !

You do n't rikollect her, I reckon ? No ; you was n't a year old then
And now yer— how old air you ? W'y, child, not twenty ! AVhen ?
And yer nex' birthday 's in Aprile? and you want to git married

that day ?
I wish 't yer mother was livin' ! but I hain't got nothing to say !

Twenty year! and as good a gyrl as parent ever found!

There 's a straw ketched onto yer dress -I '11 brush it off— turn

'round.
(Her mother was jes' twenty when us two run away ! )
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say !

JAMES WHITCOMB RIl.EY.

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