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Set up and electrotyped. Published December, 1913. 

Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., TJ.S.A* 











The importance of good training in oral English receives 
more ready recognition by educators to-day than ever it 
did before. With the revolt against mechanical and stilted 
elocution has come the realization that without skilful in- 
struction and well directed practice, pupils cannot develop 
that "correctness and precision in the use of the mother 
tongue^' which is one of the most apparent marks of an 
educated man. 

The effectiveness of instruction in oral English, as in most 
other subjects, is greatly increased by the use of a practical 
text-book. It is the purpose of this volume to emphasize the 
value of training in oral English, that pupils may know from 
the outset for what they are working; to outline graded 
lessons in enunciation and pronunciation with illustrations 
enough for definite assignments without resorting to other 
sources; to indicate how the speaking voice may be improved 
by appropriate exercises and proper use; to explain and illus- 
trate the most important principles of expression in a man- 
ner likely to impress High School pupils; to point out the 
relation of oral reading to conversation and public speaking; 
and to furnish appropriate selections which are unhackneyed, 
interesting and of literary merit. 

The arrangement and scope of the lessons in enunciation 
and pronunciation will be of great assistance to teachers in 
helping pupils to overcome foreign accents, for the diagrams 
indicate the position of the vocal organs in producing each 


consonant sound, the sentences for drill give every consonant 
sound with all (or approximately all) its possible combina- 
tions with other consonants, the vowel sounds are described, 
copiously illustrated, and reviewed by lists of words to test 
the pupils^ abiUty to recognize them, and words commonly 
mispronounced are classified according to the errors usually 
made in speaking them. 

A special effort has been made to include good selections 
from the works of modern authors, and to secure variety by 
culling extracts from history, biography, science, essays, 
fiction, verse and the drama. The purpose has not been to 
compile a collection of '^pieces to speak,'' but, as many of 
the selections are well adapted to that purpose, the book 
will be useful to those desiring something new for public 
recitation. As short stories have a prominent place, the 
book will prove of service in literature classes when the short 
story and its treatment are discussed. 

In preparing this volume I have been conscious of the 
great debt of gratitude I owe to my former instructors, 
and to speciaHsts whose works have been helpful. It is 
impossible to give credit to whom credit is due in all cases, 
but I wish to acknowledge my especial indebtedness to 
Dr. Charles W. Emerson and Professor Charles W. Kidder 
of the Emerson College of Oratory, Boston, Mass., to Pro- 
fessor S. H. Clark of Chicago University, to Dr. Guy Carleton 
Lee of Johns Hopkins University, to Dr. Naomi Norsworthy 
and Professor Herbert Vaughn Abbott of Columbia Univer- 
sity, to Emily M. Bishop, Arthur Edward Phillips and 
Samuel Arthur King. 

Having chosen selections for this book from many sources, 
I desire to express my deep sense of obligation to the authors 
(or their representatives) and publishers for their generous 
and courteous permission to reprint selections protected by 


their copyrights. Acknowledgement of permission is made 
in connection with every such selection. 

My sincere thanks are extended to Frederick H. Law, 
chairman of the department of English at Stuyvesant High 
School, for his kindness in criticising the manuscript. 

William Palmer Smith. 
New York City, N. Y. 
June, 1913 




The Value op Oral English 3 

The Divisions of Oral English 6 

Formal Elements in Oral English 10 

Position 10 

Breathing 12 

Enunciation 15 

Pronunciation 46 

Intellectual Elements in Oral English 78 

The Study of Models 78 

The Selection of a Topic 85 

Practice 93 

Vocabulary 95 

Grasp of the Subject 98 

Emotional Elements in Oral English 99 

Emotional Expression 99 

Feeling the Pulse of the Audience 101 

Ability to Hold the Audience 102 

Perception of Vocal Effects 103 

A Flexible and Responsive Voice 107 

Technical Elements in Oral English 112 

Vocal Expression 112 

Physical Response 144 

The Preparation of Oral English Assignments 148 

How to Prepare a Reading Lesson 148 

How to Prepare a Selection for Public Presentation 149 

How to Prepare an Original Speech 150 

How to Prepare a Debate 151 




Selections fob Practice 

VitaUty ^^^^ 

The Breaking of Pommers A. Conan Doyle 159 

The Finish of Patsy Barnes Paul Laurence Dunbar 164 

The Story of the Breeze Miguel Zamacms 169 

Escape from Prison S. Weir Mitchell 171 

The Race of Life Oliver Wendell Holmes 176 

Song of the Chattahoochee Sidney Lanier 177 

Log Driving Stewart Edward White 179 

When Tuhps Bloom Henry van Dyke 183 

May Flowers Theodosia Garrison 184 

The Eagle's Song Richard Mansfield 185 

Falstaff 's Valor JVilliam Shakespeare 186 

A Silly Old Man George R. Sims 190 

Under the Sign of the Golden Shoe Alfred Noyes 191 

The Electric Tram Alfred Noyes 193 

When I Go Out on my Wheel Alfred James Waterhouse 194 

Relative Values 

How Wendell Philhps Became an Anti-slavery Reformer, 

Mary A. Livermore 197 

America, The Crucible of God Israel Zangwill 200 

Hymn to the North Star William Cullen Bryant 202 

The Swan Creek Church Opened Ralph Connor 203 

The Sea Bryan Waller Proctor 206 

Scene From ''Little Women" (Louisa M. Alcott), 

Dramatized by Marion DeForest 208 

The Case of Fatty Simon Jesse Lynch Williams 211 

Griggsby's Station James Whitcomb Riley 213 

A Lodging for the Night Robert Louis Stevenson 215 

The Man with his Hat in his Hand Clark Howell 219 

A Court Lady Elizabeth Barrett Browning 221 

Self-assertion in Speech Benjamin Franklin 223 

Second Fiddle Richard Burton 224 

Lincoln, the Man of the People Edwin Markham 225 



The Story of Philip Nolan Edward Everett Hale 227 

The Path to Peace William Howard Taft 231 

Loyalty Newell Dwight Hillis 232 

Said Abdallah Homer Davenport 234 


Sergeant Vaughan as a Fireman Jacob A. Riis 239 

The Death of the Dauphin Alphonse Daudet 241 

A Vision of American History Henry Watterson 243 

Marguerite John Greenleaf Whittier 245 

A Passion in the Desert Honore de Balzac 246 

A Night among the Pines Robert Louis Stevenson 250 

Tall-stoy George Ade 253 

A Royal Marauder Charles G. D. Roberts 256 

The Passing of Captain Jewett George W. Cable 259 

Burial of Dundee William Edmondstoune Aytoun 262 

Rescued from the Stadthouse Tower Charles Reade 266 

The Miracle of the Peach-Tree Maurice Hewlett 270 

Antelope the Sioux Scout C. Alexander Eastman 274 

Pirates Alfred Noyes 277 

Nandi Lion Hunting Theodore Roosevelt 278 

The King's Tragedy Dante Gabriel Rossetti 282 


At Abbotsford with Scott Washington Irving 291 

A Morning in a Village of Central Africa Herbert Ward 293 

Sea Ice and Icebergs John Tyndall 296 

Struggling for an Education Booker T. Washington 298 

Standards of Success Brander Matthews 300 

The Premiere of ''She Stoops to Conquer" . . . F. Frankfort Moore 302 

The Italian in England Robert Browning 305 

Getting Started as a Lawyer Paul Leicester Ford 310 

Where Edible Birds' Nests are Gathered H, Wilfred Walker 313 

John Brown's Last Speech James Redpath 316 

Consecration to Country Abraham Lincoln 318 

Henry Hudson's Last Voyage Henry van Dyke 319 

Sidney Carton's Sacrifice (Charles Dickeng), 

Dramatized by Freeman Wills 324 



The Discovery of the North Pole Robert E. Peary 326 

As Men Should Leonard B. Kendall 329 

American Integrity Charles Evans Hughes 331 

Climbing to a Steeple-top Cleveland Moffett 333 

Extract from Inaugural Address Woodrow Wilson 336 




Good Oral English an Element of Success. — Every high 
school pupil should take as much interest in improving his 
oral English as he does in developing his body, for both 
are closely related to success in life. The man with little 
physical endurance, sees his stronger neighbors outdo him 
in efficient work and length of service. In a similar way, 
the man with a poor command of oral EngHsh, is compelled 
to see his rivals of better address win friends, secure positions, 
and gain promotions that he cannot attain. Skill in the use 
of the mother tongue is, therefore, a valuable asset to a 
man as well as a mark of his education. This being true, 
boys and girls cannot afford to persist in habits of speech 
that continually place them at a disadvantage. 

The Value of a Good Oral Use of English 

Advantages at School. — The advantages that result from 
a good command of oral English begin to manifest them- 
selves very early. At school there is frequently recurring 
evidence that it pays to cultivate good habits of speech. 
In the mathematics class a boy may be able to work out a 
certain problem; but if his slovenly speech hinders him from 
making a satisfactory explanation, he cannot be credited 
with understanding it. A declension in German may be 
spoiled by faulty articulation, an answer to a question in 
English, by mispronunciation, and a statement of how to 


,4 ';.;,':.'.•; : ORAL ENGLISH 

care for a plane in joinery may be made incomprehensibU 
by awkward sentences. Other things being equal, the stu- 
dent with a fair command of spoken EngUsh will always 
outrank his classmate who has careless habits of speech. 

Advantages in Social Relations. — Then, too, in meeting 
people in a social way a boy or girl finds it a great advan- 
tage to be able to talk well. Wherever one goes, he will 
make some kind of impression upon the people he meets. 
Whether this impression be favorable or not, will depend 
upon his general appearance, manners and conversation. 
Through his conversation he will reveal himself most, as 
it is easy to tell by the way he talks whether a boy is gentle- 
manly or ungentlemanly, modest or conceited, painstaking 
or careless, intelligent or ignorant. 

The boy who carefully brushes his coat and combs his 
hair, but never tries to poHsh his speech, uses poor judgment; 
so does the girl who is fastidious regarding the colors of her 
dress, but makes no effort to soften the strident tones of her 
voice. Among people of real refinement slovenly speech and 
harsh voices are as unwelcome as slovenliness or lack of 
harmony in dress. 

Advantages in Business. — ^Desirable as it is to be able 
to use oral English well in social relations, it is many times 
more so in business. Correct written English for business 
purposes has been much emphasized by textbooks and 
teachers; and its importance has not been exaggerated. But 
it is time that oral English, anticipating business needs, 
should receive more attention. 

As soon as a candidate applies in person for a position, 
he is judged by his spoken Enghsh. No matter how excellent 
a letter of application he may have written, if he makes a 
poor impression in a personal interview with his prospective 
employer, his chances of securing the position are small. 


No employer wishes a secretary with a high pitched, irritat- 
ing voice; a mumbling clerk whose spoken words are seldom 
understood; a hesitating, stammering assistant who cannot 
answer inquiries promptly and briefly; a diffident salesman 
who cannot explain the superiority of goods and persuade a 
deliberating customer to buy; or a superintendent, dis- 
courteous in speech, who offends patrons and drives them 

We are obliged to admit that business people are more 
often judged by their spoken words than they are by their 
written ones; and that awkward conversation, slovenly 
utterance, incorrect pronunciation and disagreeable voices 
all count against them. Knowing this, all farseeing boys 
and girls will use much care in forming their habits of speech, 
in order that their spoken English may always be a help and 
never a hindrance to them in business. 

Essential for Public Speaking. — ^Besides these every 
day advantages that come from a good command of oral 
English — advantages that should be more often pointed 
out to the youth of our country than they are — there also 
results a better equipment for public speaking. To speak 
in public one must have confidence in himself, and confidence 
comes from the realization that one has something to say 
and can say it well. In a country such as ours, where demo- 
cratic institutions impose many responsibilities upon the 
individual citizen, men are expected to participate in many 
pubhc gatherings by voicing their convictions. We have 
political assemblies, business organizations, religious meet- 
ings, social clubs, athletic associations, leagues, circles and 
societies without number. In all of these, mutual interests 
must be discussed, and plans for new activities advocated; 
so there is always a demand for the person who can think 
upon his feet and state his ideas definitely and clearly. Such 


a man, if he is upright and sincere, will become influential 
among his associates — a leader among men. 

Permanency of Attainments in Spoken English. — The 
ability to use oral English effectively, cannot be attained 
suddenly, neither can it be assumed and cast aside like a 
garment. It must be developed gradually in the individual. 
A boy never becomes a good baseball player unless he is 
faithful in practice and heeds the advice of his coach; similarly 
without repeated efforts to read and speak well, and atten- 
tion to the criticisms of his instructor, no pupil can hope to 
improve his vocal expression. There must be rightly di- 
rected and persistent effort if one wishes to improve his 
spoken English; but whatever proficiency is attained in 
this direction becomes a part of a man's stock in trade for 
life. The retention of the art of speaking, unlike vocal and 
instrumental music, does not depend upon practice. It is 
always at command — a permanent accomplishment. 


How the Divisions are Related. Oral English includes 
(1) conversation J (2) reading aloud and (3) public speaking. 
In all of these the same organs of speech, the same words, 
and similar varieties of tone and physical response, are em- 
ployed. Conversation and public address are most alike. 
Indeed, no distinct line of demarcation can be drawn be- 
tween them, because formal conversation with a score or 
more of listeners has the semblance of public address, and 
a public address delivered in an intimate manner to a small 
audience has the semblance of conversation. Generally 
speaking, however, conversation is intimate and informal, 
as contrasted with the dignity of public address. Ability 
to converse well results partly from one's individual attain- 


ments, and partly from the stimulus of the occasion or of 
those who listen. We all know that we talk better with 
certain people than with others, for some seem to call forth 
our best. We may be sure, then, that ease and skill in con- 
versation come not only from a well rounded development, 
but also from the cultivation of worthy associates. Reading 
aloud is distinctly interpretive. The reader tries to impress I 
his audience with what the author's sentences mean to him. 
Sometimes conversationalists and public speakers really 
do a very similar thing, for they quote, paraphrase, or sum- 
marize what they have read or heard. There are plenty of 
people who would like to become skillful in conversation or 
public speaking, but they scorn reading aloud. They do not 
appreciate that reading aloud is the very best kind of train- 
ing for the other forms of oral English. 

Poor Spoken English Results from Little Reading 
Aloud. — ^We are called a harsh voiced, slovenly-spoken gen- 
eration, that depreciates the proud oral traditions of the past. 
The reason often assigned for this decay in our manner of 
speech, is that we so generally neglect reading aloud. Bead- 
ing aloud does not have the place it once had in the curricu- 
lum of our schools; and the family is no longer a reading 
circle, as in the days of our grandfathers. We snatch books 
and magazines and devour them in sohtude, as a dog grabs a 
bone and retires to a corner for a solitary feast. We pay a 
dear price for our silent reading, because we miss much of 
the beauty and form of literature and language. 

The Cause Suggests a Remedy. — By considering the 
cause of our deficiency in spoken English, we have found 
a remedy for it. Some one has said, "Set almost any one 
to reading a book aloud, and mark the degraded wretched- 
ness of his utterance. Keep him at it, and mark the inevi- 
table improvement in his speech." 


The Complexity of Oral Reading. — Audible reading is one 
of the most complex subjects we study. In the reading of a 
single sentence, various physical and mental states may be 
manifested, while enunciation, pronunciation, accuracy, time, 
pitch, force, quaUty and other elements are wonderfully com- 
bined. To improve in oral reading, then, we must know what 
elements contribute to good reading aloud, and find out in 
which of these elements we are weak. The weak points being 
known, efforts should be directed to strengthen them. 

The following table indicates the most important elements 
of good reading aloud, and compares these items with the 
most important elements of good spoken English. It is 
readily seen that both call forth the same physical control, 
the same vocal powers, the same attention to expression, the 
same effort to hold the audience and similar mental activities. 
For this reason, cultivating one's power in oral reading will 
at the same time cultivate his EngHsh in conversation or in 
public speaking. 



(Interpreting the thought of another) (Expressing one's own thought) 

I. The Formal Elements 

1. A good position 1. A good position 

2. Proper control of breath 2. Proper control of breath 

3. Distinct enunciation 3. Distinct enunciation 

4. Approved pronunciation of 4. Approved pronunciation of 

words words 

II. Intellectual Elements 

1. Accuracy — not omitting or 1. Facility in oral composition 

changing words 

2. Appreciation of grammatical 2. Application of grammatical 

relations rules 



3. A vivid imagination to pic- 

ture scenes described 

4. Mental grasp of the author's 


5. Familiarity with many words 5. 

Vivid mental pictures with 
ability to describe them 

Vital, original thought di- 
rected to serve the au- 
dience, the occasion and 
the speaker's purpose 

Abihty to use many words 

III. Emotional Elements 

to the 1 

1. Emotional response 

author's thought 

2. Emotional sensitiveness 

which feels the pulse of the 

3. Ability to impress the hearers 

with the author's thought 
and hold their attention 

4. An acute ear — keen percep- 

tion (natural or acquired) 
of vocal effects 

to the 

Emotional response 
speaker's thought 

2. Emotional sensitiveness 

which feels the pulse of t-he 

3. Ability to impress the hearers 

with the speaker's own 
thought and hold their 

4. An acute ear — keen percep- 

tion (natural or acquired) 
of vocal effects 

IV. Technical Elements 

Vocal expression — a man- 
agement of the voice by 
time, pitch, force and qual- 
ity which will make the 
vocal effects harmonize 
with the author's thought 

Physical response to the 
author's thought in facial 
expression, bearing and 

1. Vocal expression — a man- 

agement of the voice by 
time, pitch, force and qual- 
ity which will make the 
vocal effects harmonize 
with the speaker's thought 

2. Physical response to the 

speaker's thought in facial 
expression, bearing and 


Having analyzed good oral reading into its component 
elements, and compared them with the elements of good 
speech, the next step is to consider each of the elements in 
turn, that we may find out how it contributes to excellence 
in reading aloud and efficiency in speech, and how one may 
improve his reading and speech by strengthening that par- 
ticular element. 


Effect of Position upon Voice. — The position assumed 
in reading or speaking should always be considered, because 
it affects the voice, the speaker himself and his audience. 
The voice is a quick reporter of physical conditions: for a 
lifeless tone of voice results from taking a lazy position, a 
squeezed tone from cramping the chest and throat, and an 
animated tone from standing alert. By the poise of the 
head the tone is given general direction. Bow the head, 
and you aim the tone at the floor; raise the chin, and you 
send it toward the ceiling. A marksman aims his rifle in the 
direction he wishes the charge to travel. We should aim 
the voice where we wish it to go. 

Effect of Position upon the Reader or Speaker. — In a 
good position a reader (or speaker) is less Hkely to be self- 
conscious and ill at ease. He forgets that he has hands and 
feet, and feels stronger and more confident. With broadened 
chest, he gives his lungs an opportunity to breathe freely 
and easily, so that he can swing through a long sentence 



with no nervous gaspings for fresh suppHes of air. From such 
a position, the speaker can easily make a transition to an- 
other position, or enforce his thought by gesture. If then 
reading or speaking is prolonged, he will be less fatigued at 
the close, than he would have been had he persisted in bad 
positions throughout his reading or discourse. 

Effect of Speaker's Position upon the Audience. — As 
soon as a speaker steps upon a platform, the auditors an- 
ticipate the character of his address from his walk, and his 
position in sitting or standing. If he slouches across the 
stage and slumps into a seat, they are likely to be more or 
less prejudiced against him from the first. A bad, early 
impression of this kind may be overcome, but only with 
great difficulty. If a speaker persists all through his lec- 
ture in certain mannerisms, such as leaning over a table or 
running his fingers through his hair, the audience cannot 
help thinking more about his actions, than they do about 
what he says. Self control on the part of the speaker in 
manner and bearing tends to concentrate the minds of the 
audience upon what is being read or discussed; and any ec- 
centricities that detract from this poise are always reflected 
in the character of the attention given by the listeners. 

Directions for a Good Standing Position in Reading or 
Speaking. — Exercises given in gymnasia for securing a 
correct standing position are famihar to all teachers and 
most pupils, and can be introduced in the oral English class 
at the discretion of the teacher. The following directions 
suggest the most important points to be observed. 

1. Stand in a wide awake manner. 

2. Place the weight of the body upon one foot. 

3. Rest the other foot lightly upon the floor. 

4. See that the weight of the body is directly over the ball of 

the supporting foot. 


5. Hold the head erect, but avoid making the muscles of the 

neck rigid. 

6. Keep the shoulders even, and move them upward and back- 

ward enough to broaden the chest, but not far enough to 
narrow the back. 

7. Raise the chest, as when taking a deep breath. 

8. Hold the book in the left hand, if reading. 

9. Let the right hand and arm hang passively at the side, except 

when needed to turn the pages. 
10. When without a book, allow both arms to remain passively at 
the sides that they may be ready any instant to reinforce 
the thought by gesture. 

Can you give a good reason for complying with each of the 
above directions? 


Methods of Breathing. — The control of the breath has 
an important effect upon reading or speaking. Breathing 
properly makes the voice stronger and more agreeable in 
quality, diminishes the amount of effort on the part of the 
reader (or speaker), and promotes the health of the throat 
and vocal organs. 

There are three methods of breathing: 

1. Thoracic or chest breathing when the air is drawn into 
and forced from the lungs by the raising and lowering of the 
chest, accompanied usually by a similar movement of the 

2. Costal or rib breathing when breathing is accomplished 
by the movement of the lower ribs, and the action of the 
muscles between them. 

3. Abdominal breathing when the muscles of the abdomen 
perform the work of emptying and filling the lungs. 

Correct Breathing. — To breathe correctly, one should 
combine the costal and abdominal methods: inhaling and 


exhaling the air through the nose and not through the mouth. 
By combining the costal and abdominal methods of breath- 
ing, a large volume of air can be stored in the lung cavity, 
and as a result a full, round tone can be produced. 

Control of Breath. — To control the breath well is the 
next consideration. Only sufficient breath to produce the 
words should be allowed to pass the lips. If too much breath 
is allowed to escape while speaking, the tones become breathy, 
the vocalization seems labored, the sentences are chopped 
by too frequent breathing and in extreme cases there may 
be audible gasping for breath. 


In all breathing exercises inhale and exhale through the nostrils, 
and not through the mouth. 

1. Take a good standing position with the weight on both feet. 
Rise on the toes an instant to see that the weight is directly over the 
balls of the feet. While inhaling, raise the arms slowly to a horizon- 
tal position; then move them upward till you can lock the thumbs 
above the head. Exhaling slowly, lower the arms reversing the 
movement, till they are in position at the sides. 

2. Place the base of the hands upon the lower ribs with the fingers 
pointing directly forward and the palms parallel. Inhaling slowly, 
force the hands as far apart as possible, by the outward movement 
of the lower ribs and the muscular wall of the chest. Keeping the 
hands in the same position, push against the lower ribs during ex- 
piration, until the hands are as near to each other as extreme con- 
traction of the chest wall will bring them. Repeat the exercise. 

3. Without the aid of the hands on the floating ribs, breathe 
deeply and deliberately, and endeavor to secure as free a movement 
of the lower ribs as was attained in exercise number two. 

4. Inhaling deliberately, at the same time lower the head directly 
backward. Exhaling in a like manner, raise the head to its usual 
position. Repeat the exercise. 


5. Take a full, deep breath. Holding the air in the lungs, percuss 
the chest lightly with clenched fists. This will force the air into all 
the cells of the lungs to the very apexes. 


1. Fill the lungs well with air; then hum with the lips closed, using 
only enough breath to produce the tone. Stop when obliged to 
breathe again. 

2. After a full inflation of the lungs, give the sound of s, economiz- 
ing the breath in order to continue the sound as long as convenient 
with one breath. 

3. Having filled the lungs to their capacity, see how far you can 
count without taking another breath. 

4. Vary the previous exercise by endeavoring to repeat the alpha- 
bet several times, without taking more air into the lungs. 

5. Pack the lungs with air, then purse the lips as in whistling. 
Exhale very gradually, producing a faint whistling tone, until the 
supply of air is exhausted. Repeat, timing yourself with a watch, 
to see for how many seconds you can give the whistling tone. 

6. Practice reading the following paragraph, striving to use as 
few breaths as possible. 

But when eloquence is something more than a trick of art, or 
a juggle with words; when it has a higher aim than to tickle the ear, 
or to charm the imagination as the sparkling eye and dazzling scales 
of the serpent enchant the hovering bird; when it has a higher in- 
spiration than that which produces 'Hhe sounding brass and tinkling 
cymbar' of merely fascinating speech; when it is armed with a 
thunderbolt of powerful thought, and winged with lofty feeling; 
when the electric current of sympathy is established, and the orator 
sends upon it thrill after thrill of sentiment and emotion, vibrating 
and pulsating to the sensibihties of his hearers, as if leir very heart 
strings were held in the grasp of his trembling finger • when it strips 
those to whom it is addressed of their independence, invests them 
with its own life, and makes them obedient to a strange nature, 
as the mighty ocean tides follow the path of the moon; when it 
divests men of their peculiar qualities and affections, and turns a 
vast multitude into one man, giving to them but one heart, one 
pulse, and one voice, and that an echo of the speaker^s, — then, 


indeed, it becomes not only a delight, but a power, and a power 
greater than kings or military chieftains can command. 

William Matthews.* 


It is impossible to deal with the topics of enunciation and 
pronunciation without first considering the vocal apparatus 
and the elements of our English speech. 

The Vocal Apparatus 

The Human Voice like a Musical Instrument. — The 

human voice is Hke a wind instrument. The lungs corre- 
spond to the bellows, the vocal cords to the strings, and the 
resonant chambers (the nares, pharynx, mouth, and trachea) 
to a sounding board or box. The column of air rising from 
the lungs during expiration causes the vocal cords to vibrate. 
Their vibrations produce a tone, high or low, according to 
their taut or lax condition, and the tone is enlarged or re- 
echoed by the resonant chambers. If the vocal apparatus in- 
cluded nothing else, we could give only humming tones on 
the various pitches of the scale. But the tone can be molded 
by the organs of articulation; namely, the lips, teeth, tongue, 
and palate. This enables us to produce a great variety of 
sounds simply by changing the adjustment of these organs, 
and making the mold through which the tone passes into 
different shapes. 

The Number of Vowel and Consonant Elements in Eng- 
lish. — In speaking English, we adjust the organs of artic- 
ulation into enough different positions to produce twenty- 
five distinct vowel sounds (including diphthongs, but 
omitting obscure sounds) and twenty-six distinct consonant 
sounds. Other languages have some sounds that do not 

^ Reprinted by permission of Scott, Foresman & Co. 


occur in ours, so the human vocal instrument is capable of 
making more sounds than are found in our language. 

Elements op Language 

The most common division of the elements of English 
speech is into vowels and consonants. Vowels are produced 
by the tone passing freely through the open mouth. Con- 
sonants are formed by the tone passing through the mouth 
when it is obstructed by some adjustment of the lips, teeth, 
tongue or palate. Compare the formation of A with that 
of B, D and hard G. 

The elements of language according to sounds are divided 
into tonics, subtonics and atonies. The tonics are clear, open, 
unobstructed tones. All vowels and diphthongs belong to 
this class. The subtonics are undertones, or modified tones in 
which the voice is modified by the organs of articulation, 
instead of passing freely through the open mouth. The 
atonies are sounds without tone or voice. They are breath- 
ings modified by the organs of articulation. 

Consonant sounds, when considered according to formation, 
are divided into labials, linguals and palatals. Labials are 
the consonant sounds formed chiefly with the lips. Linguals 
are the consonant sounds formed chiefly by the action of 
the tongue. Palatals are the consonant sounds formed chiefly 
by the aid of the palate. Cognates are two consonant sounds 
formed by similar positions of the organs of articulation, 
one of which is a subtonic and the other an atonic. B and P 
are cognates. 

The following table of English elements will assist the 
pupil in learning to distinguish English vowel and consonant 
sounds according to sound, and the consonants according 
to formation. 










Labials ^ 

V vivid 



, Wwild 




W (some- 


R press 


L likely 

L flame 

Y (some- 


T tight 

^ times) 


J judge 

Linguals ' 

CH child 




TH thin 




ZH azure 

^ SH shun 






NG ring 




A third sound of R known as Glide R is the sound of R as 
it occurs immediately after a vowel, as in dare, garnety fear, 
hurlj etc. 

Y itself never is an atonic sound, but as the initial sound 
of long U is Yy we get the effect of atonic Y in the word tune 
just as we have atonic R in press and atonic L inflame. 

Notice that H has no cognate. 
I Good Enunciation Essential to Good Oral English. — 
tOne of the prime essentials of good oral English is distinct 
enunciation. The entire purpose of conversation, reading or 
public speaking is defeated, if the speaker does not make 
himself clearly heard. Such a speaker or reader might better 
remain silent; for people cannot feel otherwise than im- 
patient, insulted and bored when compelled to strain their 


ears trying to understand a speaker's half articulated sen- 

Good Enunciation Defined. — Good enunciation is the 
utterance of elementary sounds by precise and accurate 
movements of the organs of articulation, so that the sounds 
are clear cut in form and distinctly audible. 

Aids to Good Enunciation 

As aids to good enunciation, one should aim to 
1. control the breath well, that breathy utterance may 
be avoided 
V 2. secure a free movement of the lower jaw, that the tone 
may escape through a well opened mouth 

3. gain mobility of the lips 

4. retain the tongue in the mouth, that lisping may not 
\ mar speech 

5. focus the tone in front of the face, not in the mouth 

or throat 

6. develop resonance of voice, that there may be no 


7. utter words with such a degree of promptness, that 

there may be no suggestion of drawling them 

8. shun the habit of rapid utterance, and the running of 

words together 

9. pronounce beginning and final consonants with es- 

pecial care 

10. give subtonic consonants their full value, that they 

may not become atonies 

11. train the organs of articulation to take an accurate 

position for each consonant element. 
Enunciation Allied with the Utterance of Consonants. — 
It is evident that enunciation depends largely upon the 

Place the Fingers Upon the Throat 


manner in which consonant sounds are uttered; while pro- 
nunciation is more intimately related to the production of 
vowel sounds. For this reason, some knowledge of the 
formation of the various consonant sounds, with drill upon 
those sounds taken alone and in various combinations, 
proves helpful in gaining better habits of enunciation. 

B and P 

Recall the difference in formation between vowels and 

Give an illustration of each. 

How are consonants divided according to formation? 

Illustrate each class. 

To which class do B and P belong? 

With the fingers upon the throat near the voice box 
(see illustration), pronounce the words book and pound, and 
compare ,the production of B and P, 

Watch one of your classmates while he pronounces the 
same two words, and note the action of his lips for B and P, 

In what way are B and P alike? 

In what respect are they different? 

Practice reading the following sentences, taking care to 
enunciate the consonants B and P accurately. 

Whisper the sentences with exaggerated lip action, and 
then speak them in the clearest possible conversational tone. 

B ''The brute bullet broke through the brain that could think 

for the rest.^^ 

B Bettie Botta bought a bit of butter. "But," she said, 

''this butter's bitter; if I put it in my batter, it will make 



my batter bitter; but a bit of better butter will mak^ 
my bitter batter better." 

Position for B 

1. Nares 

2. Palate 

3. Roof of Mouth 

4. Upper Gum 

5. Upper Lip 

6. Lower Lip 

7. Point of Tongue 

8. Top of Tongue 

9. Back of Tongue 

10. Epiglottis 

11. Esophagus 

12. Vocal chords vibrating 

BD The robed scribe scrubbed and rubbed the ribbed board. 

BL Cable blamed the bleak blast for his bhghted blooms. 

BR Brayton brought his bride brown brocades and bright, brazen 

BZ Gibbs broke two ribs when caught between the hubs of 
the cabs. 

BLD He was so humbled, because he had gambled and lost, that 
he trembled and stumbled on the pebbled walk and was 

BLZ Mr. Bumble's footman stumbles about the stables, quib- 
bles and squabbles over baubles, and doubles his trou- 

P Pittsburgh's portly pitcher practiced putting parabolas past 

the plate, and promptly paralyzed Painesville's opposing 

PL good planter! Please pluck a platter of plump plums 
from the plentiful plot on the plateau. 

PN Sharpen your ax, deepen the groove in the misshapen aspen 
branch, and then tie it with a hempen rope. 



PR The prosaic priest's pronounced reproof of imprudent pranks, 
provoked the profligate and profane to protest. 

PS He strips the shops, ships over the deeps heaps of grapes, 
scollops, caps, tops, and whips and hopes while he sleeps 
to escape the cops. 

PT Accepting the adept's advice, I leapt 
from the ground, crept to the knoll, 
whipt my field glass from its case 
and swept with rapt gaze the cloud- 
capped mountains. 

PTH Who knows the depth of the sea? 

PLD As the current rippled along, the men 
grappled and toppled into the tide. 

PLZ Mr. Popple's apples are worth many 

PND When the new market opened, the 

rivalry sharpened and prices cheap- Position for P 

PNZ If nothing happens, the pod opens when it ripens. 

PST Much time has elapsed, but still thou dipp'st thy spoon 
daintily and sipp'st thy tea leisurely. 



Pronounce the word aim, observing how the sound of M 
is made. 

According to formation, what kind of a consonant is Mf 

With the fingers on the throat, pronounce the word again. 
To which division according to sound, does it belong? 

Compare the way M is made with the way you make the 
sounds of B and P. 

Pronounce cah, cap and am, noticing how you finish the 
three consonant sounds ending those words. You will ob- 


serve that the lips are separated in finishing the sounds of 
B and P, but remain together for M. 

Try to prolong these three sounds. 
How does M differ from the two other 
sounds in this exercise? 

Prolong the sound of M again, ob- 
serving its peculiar resonance. Where 
does the resonance seem to come from? 
M is sometimes called a nasal ele- 
ment. Can you tell why it is so 

Use the following sentences for prac- 
Position for M tice, until you can make M in any 
combination, with accurate lip action, good resonance 
and distinctness. 

M Milwaukee's museum manager mustered mammoth mam- 
mals, mischievous monkeys, embalmed mummies, mounted 
mink, minute mollusks, a mysterious mermaid and many 
more amazing marvels. 

MD The plumed knight, famed for unnamed deeds, was ashamed 
that he had roamed about unarmed. 

MF Doctor Humphrey's experiment on the lymph was a great 

MP From the camp, we saw the humpbacked tramp limp toward 
the swamp and slump down in the hemp near a stump. 

MZ In his dreams, he seems to leave his rooms and roams among 
the tombs. 

MPS Under the crimson lamps, the imp thumps the table, and 
trumps the chump's card. 

MPT The unkempt man, when promptly told by the judge that 
he was not exempt from the law, jumped forward and 

MTH No warmth could warm him. 




F and i^ ' 

Pronounce the word van. Describe the position of the lips 
while producing the sound of V. 

Pronounce the word fame. Compare the position of the 
lips in making F with the position required for V. 

What are V and F according to formation? 

Position for V 

Position for F 

With the fingers on the throat, give the sound of V and 
then the sound of F. What are V and F according to sound? 

Can these two sounds be prolonged? What other con- 
sonant sound have we considered that can be prolonged? 

V and F occur in a variety of combinations. Master them 
all by a correct position of the lower lip against the upper 
teeth, and by plenty of practice. 

V A vagrant and voluble ventriloquist visited five velvet- 
vested vergers, and voijchsafing imitative ventures on the 
veranda, he raved like a violent votary vilifying vicious 
vixens, vulgar vagabonds and vile vandals. 

VD When the depraved and unnerved man revived, he heaved a 
sigh and said he believed he had been deceived. 


VL The frfvolous group of cavalry reveled as they traveled along 
the level, graveled road, and were uncivil to the naval cadet 
at the hovel. 

VN Stephen had driven eleven miles to New Haven with seven 
witnesses, but even then the sloven was proven a craven. 

VZ We, ourselves, read how the elves from the caves having 
seized the loaves from the shelves, made dives into the 
waves; while the wives following them with gyves lost 
their lives. 

VW It was near the reservoir that the knight did his devoir. 

VLD We marveled at the patient sister deviled by the dishevelled 
idiot, who only driveled and sniveled as he unraveled her 

VST Believ'st thou that if thou leav^st home and liv'st among 
strangers, thou reliev^st thyself of responsibility? 

F The French frigates facing the foreign foe and fearing to 
fight the famous fleet, fired frequent, futile fusilades and 
fled over the flood. 

FL The flag floats and flutters on the staff, the tent flap flops 
flauntingly, and a flock of flickers fleck and flit in their 
flight, as Floyd muffles his flute and flatters flaxen haired 

FN Stiffen your fingers, and place a hyphen in the word between 
roughen and orphan. 
You will deafen me, if you do not soften your voice more 

FR Frenches freak friend frequented the fraternity on Fridays, 
until Fred freezingly frowned at his freshness and frankly 
called him a fraud. 

FS From the roofs of the town, we saw the bailiff^s skiff laden 
with heavy stuffs flounder on the reefs near the cliffs. 

FT Bereft of the gift and cut adrift to shift alone, the daft and 
crafty fellow oft committed deft thefts and forged drafts. 

FLD Our guide shuffled through the corridor, and led us to a close 
room where men scuffled and we nearly stifled; but we re- 
mained until the rifled loot was raffled off. 

FLZ The hag muffles herself in a dress of ruffles that baffles descrip^ 
tion, shuffles along the street, and snuffles at trifles. 



FST He that snuff'st, scoff'st and laugh'st at the unfortunate, is 
worse than he that rebuff'st a friend. 

FTH The fifth of the month was Richard's twelfth birthday. 

FTS He commits no thefts and accepts no gifts; but sleeps in lofts 
where the snow often sifts in forming drifts, and the wind 
when it shifts chills him with drafts. 

W and WH 

Name the labials studied in the last three lessons. 

Pronouncing the word war, observe the movement neces- 
sary to produce the sound of W. To what class does W be- 
long according to formation? Apply the usual test (placing the 
fingers on the throat) and tell what W is according to sound. 

Position for WH 

Pronounce what, noting how WH is formed. Here we have 
two consonants standing for the sound that we make and 

Pronounce whey, whelp and whinyard. With what sound 
does WH begin? Notice that the combination Is really HW 
instead of WH in all such words. 


To what class does WH belong according to form? To 
what class according to sound? 

Can W and WH be prolonged? 

Do W and WH illustrate cognates? Name all the cognates 
that are labials. 

Note. W is never immediately followed by any consonant sound; 
because WH is really pronounced HW, and words like wrong, wrought 
and wrestle have the W silent. 

W Will Willie win Wilmington's wingmanship wallet? WiUie will. 
Worn and wan with worry, wayward Walter wakened, washed 
wearily, w^elcomed the waiter with warm waffles, went wan- 
dering widely wishing for work; but while walking, wended 
his way to widow William's waxworks, where wags and wit- 
less women waste their wages. 

Note. People familiar with certain foreign languages, have difficulty 
with the English W, substituting for it the sound of F. In such cases, 
the following paragraph with both W and V occurring frequently, gives 
good practice for differentiating the two sounds. 

W and V On Wednesday we took a vender's wagon, and ventured 
on our way west from Vanwert. We voted to wire ahead for 
warm viands at Waverley. When we arrived at Waverley, 
we viewed a vacant looking hotel with a wide veranda. 
There a vulgar woman wondered why we vexed her with 
extra work; and later a vivacious wench, as a waitress, 
served us with warm veal, wilted vegetables, vanilla wafers, 
very vile wine and vermicious walnuts. 

Note. Frequently we hear WH pronounced exactly like TF, as 
wither for whither, warf for wharf, etc. Practice on the following sen- 
tences, till you are positive you do not make this error. 

WH (HW) What whim led White Whitney to whittle, whistle and 
whimper near the wharf where the floundering whale did 
wheel and whirl? 

While wheeling wheat to the wharf, Whipple Whitmore 
whetted with whiffs of whiskey, whipped and whacked his 
white mare until she wheezed and whinnied. 
He did not say bad wig, care whether, long weal and proud 
whale; but mad whig, fair weather, strong wheel and loud wail. 



Observe the action of the vocal organs in producing L, 
as in the word land. Notice the position of the point of the 
tongue, and how the voice passes at the sides. Compare L 
in land with L in fled. 

What other consonants are made with the point of the 
tongue in a similar position? 

Position for L Position for L as in 


Classify L in the word land according to formation and 

Classify L in the word fled according to formation and 

Can the sound of L be prolonged? 

Drilling on the sound of L in its various combinations, will 
aid in securing muscular control of the tongue. 

L A lively, little linnet lives in our leafy locust, and lilts love 
lyrics at my lattice. 

LB The priest wearing an alb, used a simile about a bulb. 


LD When the bold child spoiled the gold and jeweled shield and 
was scolded, he wailed and howled wildly and sprawled 
about the field. 

LF The elf, sylph and wolf met at the gulf to divide their pelf. 

LK Skulk near the pen, and touch the young elk's silk-like fur. 

LM If the elm tree fall, it will overwhelm the settler's shanty. 

LN Helen had stolen to the pier and fallen into the sullen and 
swollen tide. 

LP Before help came, the Indian whelp took the scalp and rushed 
away over the kelp. 

LS Do nothing to convulse the patient, or else the report of his 
pulse will be false. 

LT It was not my fault that the dolt of a colt made a halt when 
I dealt him a blow that he felt. 

LV Even if the problem involve twelve hours of work, he will 
delve away and solve it. 

LZ The donkey toils over the hills carrying the mails for miles, 
then fools with his driver and soils his coat as he rolls in 
the sandy holes. 

LCH See the water belch forth into the gulch. 

LDZ He builds air castles, folds his arms and holds that all the 
world's hopes are his. 

LFT The city of Delft has never been in danger of being engulfed. 

LKS The bulks of the hulks were above water. 

LKT Has the cow been milked? 

LMD His grief overwhelmed him. 

LMZ Where did the helmsman lose his films? 

LPS In the Alps we heard the yelps of Colp^s dog. 

LPT He gulped down a big drink, and then sculped his initials in 
the limestone. 

LST " Then if thou f all'st, Cromwell ! 
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr." 

LTH It was inexcusable for a man of wealth to live in such filth 
and lose his health. 



LTS Most adults see the results of petty faults. 

LVD James evolved a new method by which the problem could be 

LVZ The wolves knocked down the ax helves from the shelves. 



R really has three sounds. First, the regular consonant R, 
a subtonic characterized by a burring or rolling sound in the 
throat, as in rowdy, hrown and reel. Second, the atonic R, 

Position for ii^ as in 

Position for R as in 

much softer than the first Ry occurring when R follows an 
atonic consonant and precedes a vowel, as in pride, trip and 
free. Third, glide R, following a vowel in the same syllable, 
as in arm, affirm and answer. 

Note. When the consonant R is followed by H, as in rhetoric, rhuharh 
and rhyme, the H is silent. Consonant R is never immediately followed 
by any other consonant. 

Classify R according to formation. Drill on the following 
sentences as exercises for attaining perfect command of R 


in its various forms and combinations. Trilling E is a good 
exercise for securing control of the tongue. 

R (subtonic) Reviewing the rippling river and rough rocks, the 
rambling ruin rises, redolent of romance, with ranging 
recesses now a retreat for rabbits, and ramparts a roost 
for ravens and rooks. 

R (atonic) Throughout the spring, the shrewd French trapper fre- 
quently proved his prowess to the treacherous tribes by 
thrilling the crafty creatures with his crack shooting. 

R (glide) Wiring at the pier for a touring car, the chauffeur whirled 
us northward until, near the Singer tower, a sharp report 
made us aware of a punctured tire. 

RB While walking and conjugating a verb, Clara tore her dress 
on a barb. 

RD On the third day, we crossed a ford to the laird^s yard, where 
we sat on a hard board and heard a long-haired bard. 

RF The dwarf with the bright scarf left the turf for the wharf 
to watch the surf. 

RG Then we saw our first iceberg. 

RK Lurk in the dark and mark if the clerk shirk his work. 

RM Before the alarm of the storm on that warm day at the farm, 
the swarm was out of harm. 

RN Mr. Horn from the tavern scorned the corn at the northern 
side of the barn. 

RP The birds of the thorp usurp the shade trees, and chirp with 
sharp notes. 

RS DeMars gathers numbers of barbers, grocers, traders, 
loungers and idlers; and tells them his fears about la- 
borer's hours. 

RT On the alert, Robert darted after the runaway horse and 
cart with a smart spurt, but tripped and was hurt. 

RV You deserve to starve, if you lose your nerve and swerve 
from your ideal. 

RBD The horse was not disturbed when tightly curbed. 

RBS With her orbs dilated, she absorbs the beauty of the suburbs, 


RDS Edward's story of the birds and leopards accords with that 
of the guards. 

RKD He marked the way the dog barked, jerked his head back 
and smirked. 

RKS Old Dierks works in the parks, and smirks when he harks to 
a lark's song. 

RMD Julian termed himself a poet, charmed a few society people 
and wormed himself into favor. 

RND Although Henry was warned that he had not earned his wages 
and would be turned away, yet he was unconcerned. 

RNS Orphan Mary churns the butter, turns the griddle-cakes, 
adorns thej^oom with ferns, darns socks, draws patterns, 
learns to sew and earns her board and keep. 

RTH It was worth the earth to see the mirth of our friend from 
the North on the Fourth. 

RVD The inscription was preserved where it was carved on the 
curved surface. 

RVS The chief deserves credit as long as he preserves order on 
the wharves. 

* Z) and T 

Observing yourself in a mirror, pronounce the word did 
slowly, noting how the organs of articulation produce the 
sound of D, 

To what class of consonants according to formation, does 
D belong? Apply the usual test, and then tell what it is 
according to sound. 

Pronounce the word tight Compare the production of 
the consonant T with the way you produced D. Classify T 
according to formation and according to sound. 

Can the sounds of D and T be prolonged? How do you end 
the sounds of D and Tf 



What are cognates? Wliat is the cognate of D? 
The consonants D and T are often slighted; and, some- 
times, even omitted in speech. Practice on the following 

Position for D 

Position for T 

sentences, until you give D and T their full value in the 
various combinations, especially at the end of syllables or 

D The determined Doctor, doubting the duke's daring de- 

fense, demanded that Dean Dorchester discuss the deed 
in debate; but the Dean declined, deciding that the dis- 
charge of his duties admitted no digression. 

DL You addle-brained, idle baby just out of the cradle, don't 
twiddle your thumbs; but tighten that girdle, and hold 
this horse by the bridle while I straddle the saddle. 

DN When the warden laden with a wooden box and emboldened 
by the leaden sky, widened the garden gate, the maiden 
hidden by a tree suddenly screamed, causing him to drop 
his burden. 

DR The droll druggist, dead drunk and drenched by the driving 
drizzle, dropped into a drawing room chair to drowse and 
dreamed of dreadful dragons. 

DZ Tell the maids that the brown stain made on the goods by 
strange liquids, needs only suds to remove it. 

DW Dwight, the dwindling dwarf, dwells in Dwightville. 


DLD He has been so dandled and coddled since he first toddled, 
that he has dawdled his time away, and dwindled and 
spindled into naught. 

DLZ Carrying his toy fiddles in two bundles, he fondles his pet 
poodles, carelessly paddles through puddles, and peddles 
candles, handles, needles and medals. 

DST When thou said'st amidst the officers that thou feared'st 
no enemy, thou did'st lie. 

DTH For the hundredth time he told her the width of a breadth 
of carpet. 

DTHS The widths of the breadths varied from one and seven 
eighths to one and eleven hundredths yards. 

T A tutor who tooted the flute, 

Tried to teach two young tooters to toot; * 

Said the two to the tutor, 

^^Is it harder to toot, or 

To tutor two tooters to toot?" 

To-day the tactless and taciturn lecturer tabulated tedious 
technical terms about tadpoles; till ten tantalized at- 
tendants lost their tempers and left the tent. 

TL The only sounds in the kitchen were the prattle of the chil- 
dren on the settle, the hum of the kettle, the drone of a 
beetle, the subtle song of the gentle, little woman at the 
loom, and the rattle of the shuttle. 

TN The instructor remarked, "I do not wish to dishearten you; 
but if you will shorten your theme, brighten it by figures, 
lighten it by omitting heavy words, and sweeten it with 
an optimistic point of view, you will improve what you 
have written on The Observance of the Lenten Season." 

TR True to traditional traits, the tribe treated the trapper with 
tributes of truce, and tramped triumphantly through a 
treeless tract, tooting trumpets. 

TS He writes of his mates' treats, the cool nights, his feats on 
different dates, aeroplane flights and seats at the theatre. 

TW Tell the twaddling twins that the tweezers will twitch the 
twisted twine in twain in a twinkling. 

TLD Nettled at the intrusion, the officer battled with the strangel 
and throttled him. 



TLZ He startles nobody, when he prattles of titles and battles. 

TST If thou fight^st thy brother and put'st him to shame, thou 
surely hat'st him. 



Pronounce the word sun, giving attention to the action of 
the organs of articulation in producing the sound of N. 

To what class of consonants accord- 
ing to formation, does N belong? To 
what class according to sound? 

Compare the production of the sound 
of N with that of D. In what par- 
ticulars are they alike? 

Compare N with T, In what respect 
are they similar? In what are they 

Compare N with M, What is the 
similarity between the two? 

Position for A^ 

N Nobody knew my noble neighbor's name till November 
ninth, when Nicholas North, a native of Natchez, nomi- 
nated him for naval inspector. 

ND In a second, my friend kindly attended the blind man round 
the winding path to the grand stand, where he could hear 
the blending notes of the band. 

NJ Without a cringe, the conjurer lunged and caught the orange, 
singed it in a flame, and plunged it in water. 

NS In the presence of the audience, the singer's diffidence changed 
to assurance; and his entrancing cadences won intense 

NT The president is pleasant and gallant with acquaintances, 
patient and lenient with servants, blunt and pointed with 
verdant agents, and dauntless and valiant as a hunter. 


NZ Along the lanes, through tangled vines and over stones and 
dunes, they hurried with prunes, buns, beans, and wines 
for the men in the mines. 

NCH The Frenchman flinching not an inch, clenched his fists and 
punched the blenching leader of the bunch, then munched 
his lunch undisturbed on a bench. 

NDZ The doctor bends over the man on the sands, pounds his 
chest, sounds his lungs and winds thin bands around the 
wounds on his hands. 

NST He never winced while the arm was lanced and the wound 
rinsed, but afterward he bounced from his chair against 
the surgeon and denounced him. 

NTH At Corinth, the jacinth blooms in the seventh month. 

NTS The jaunty count sent us quaint prints of giants, saints, 
merchants, tenants, agents, infants, knight errants and 

J and CH 

Pronounce very slowly the words joy^ gem and cage. Pro- 
nounce slowly the sound of J alone. 

To what class of consonants according to formation, does 
J belong? Can you describe the action of the tongue in pro- 
ducing it? 

J is the most difficult consonant sound yet considered, be- 
cause it is really the combination of D and ZH, the tongue 
taking the position for D and quickly changing to the posi- 
tion for ZH to complete the sound. 

Applying the usual test, state to what class of consonants 
according to sound, J belongs. 

CHj the cognate of J, is, of course, a combination of two 
consonant elements with the same tongue positions as those 
used to produce J; but as the vocal cords do not vibrate in 


forming CHj we conclude that the component sounds must 
be T and SH. 

Note. / is never followed by a consonant sound, so it does not pre- 
sent diflficulties of combinations with other consonant sounds. CH fol- 
lowed by L, as in the word chlorine^ or CH followed by R, as in the word 
chronic, is pronounced like K, so difficulties of combining CH with other 
consonant sounds are, also, eliminated. 

Practice the following exercises for clean-cut enunciatioji. 

J The jocund judge and jolly jurists joined in the general jubilee, 
jeering and joking like jesters. 

G like J The GeneraPs son studied geography, geometry and Ger- 
man at Geneva, and proved to be a genuine genius. 

CH When the Chancellor with his chariot and charger appeared, 
the crowd cheered, the church chimes played and the children 
in the chapel chanted. 


Z and aS 

As a review, name three labial sounds. Tell what each is 
according to sound. Mention the cognate of each. 

Give a list of the lingual sounds already studied, and clas- 
sify them. 

Pronounce the word say. Classify the sound of S accord- 
ing to formation and sound. Describe the position of the 
tongue in forming the sound. Can the sound be prolonged? 

Pronounce the word zone. In what two ways is the sound 
of Z like the sound of Sf Contrast the sound of Z with the 
sound of S, 

Note. Control the breath well in producing these two elements to 
avoid a strong hissing sound which is very objectionable. Be sure to 
take the correct position of the tongue to avoid Usping. 



Position for Z 

Position for S 

S Stephen Sharp, the Sergeant, sought the six sailors, and 
saluting said: "Stop spending seconds senselessly, secure 
sufficient supphes, swing the stern from shore and speedily 
straighten sails; for this ship sails soon." 

SF While traveling to see the sphinx on the other side of the 
sphere, he fell and injured his sphenoid bone. 

SK Scorning the risk, Scott skated past the obehsk on the scal- 
ing ice, then screamed to scare his comrades. 

SL The slaves hustling from the castle, slipped and slid on the 
sHghtly sloping slippery slabs. 

SM The smoldering fire smoked, till everything in the room was 
smeared with smudge and smelled smutty. 

SN When the dog sniffing the air, snarled and snapped, the snob 
snatched his hat and sneaked away. 

SP Spaulding's spouse speaks splendid Spanish, and spends 
many specimens of specie for sparkling spangles. 

ST The organist from the western coast and the chemist dressed 
in his best vest, joined the guests at whist. 

SW The swarthy swain, sweating and swearing, swiftly switched 
the swine for swallowing swiped swill. 

SKS Their tasks were to clean up the husks, and move the flasks 
and casks. 


SKT The boys basked in the sun till the farmer asked them to 
load the husked corn, then they whisked off their hats and 
frisked about. 

SKW In the squalor of the square, the squinting squaws squealed 
and squabbled, but were squelched by the squad. 

SLD At first the strange dog bristled with importance, but after 
he had tussled and wrestled with Prince, he hustled away. 

SND The nurse hastened to the prostrate man, unfastened his 
coat, loosened his collar and hstened to his heart. 

SNZ The masons saw the bison feeding in the basins, where the 
dew moistens the air and glistens in the sunlight. 

SPL It was splendid fun to see the splenetic splint-maker splash 
and splurge and splutter in the waves, when the spliced 
rope broke. 

SPR In spring, every sprinkle helps the spruce to spread its 
sprightly sprays and sprawling sprouts. 

SPS Cleopatra lisps a prayer, as she grasps the asps and clasps 
them to her breast. 

STS At their annual feasts, the dentists and their guests enjoy 
the roasts, quench their thirsts, and laugh at jests and 

Z With noisy zithers, the zealous zouaves easily teased the 
zebra in the zoo. 

ZD The old soldier raised his head and gazed in a pleased, dazed 
way, as the bullets whizzed by, then closed his eyes and 

ZL The drizzle made Hazel Teazle^s party a fizzle. 

ZM In a spasm of sarcasm, the coach of the debating team stated 
that the leader's definitions of Americanism, despotism 
and imperialism were open to criticism. 

ZN Minus his reason, the sailor climbed the mizzen-mast, shout- 
ing ^ treason, treason. '^ 

ZLD He bamboozled his friends, embezzled their money, puzzled 
the police, dazzled the loafers and guzzled the funds away. 


ZLZ Without his muzzle's restraint, the puppy tousles the coat 
and tears it to frazzles. 

ZNZ At all seasons, poisons are kept from the denizens of prisons. 

TH and TH 

TH varies in sound according to the vowel and consonant 
elements with which it is combined. 

Compare the sound of TH in the word thin with the sound 
of TH in the word then. How does the first TH differ from 
the second THf 

Position for ?¥? Position for TH 

Suhtonic Atonic 

Classify TH in then according to formation and sound. 
Classify TH in thin according to formation and sound. Can 
these sounds be prolonged? 

Note. In producing these two sounds the tip of the tongue should 
touch both the upper and lower teeth, but it should not protrude between 



Compare the position of the tongue for TH with the 
position necessary to produce the sounds of S and Z. 

TH (subtonic) Hither and thither in the heather, the Hthe brothers 
bothered their father and mother. 

THM With the rhythm of the music in his ears, he could not work 
the logarithm problem. 

TH (atonic) The author's thoughtful thesis on the theory of 
theosophy, thrilled the thousands that thronged the 

THR The thrifty three threaded through the throng threatening 
to throttle the thrilling thrusters. 

THS Whatever you grasp of earth's mirths and wealths, death's 
hand snatches away. 

THW Thwart him, before he thwacks you. 


ZH and SH 

What is the cognate of B? of V? of W? of D? of CH? of 
Sf of TH in then? 

Position for ZH 

Position for SH 

Observe your own articulation, as you pronounce slowly 
the word shell What is SH according to formation? Com- 


pare the way you make the sound of SH in shell with the 
way you make the sound of S in saiL Can you describe the 
difference in the position of the tongue for the two elements? 
(Compare the diagrams of the tongue positions for the two 

Classify SH according to formation. Can the sound be 

What is the cognate of SH? Give the sound of the cognate. 
The words azure and treasure are examples of words contain- 
ing this sound. Can you give other illustrations? 

ZH The detective said, ^'Now I am at leisure, it gives me pleasure 
to inform you that the disclosure of the embrasure was 
what led to the seizure of the usurer's treasure." 

SH The shepherd washed his sheep in the shallows, and sheared 
them in the shadows of the shanty. 

SHR Dressed in shreds, she shrugged her shoulders and shrank 
back by the shriae, as the blast shrilled and shrieked. 

SHT Edward gnashed his teeth, lashed his horse and dashed up 
the street; because he wished to be first. 

G and K 

The deaf and dumb learn to understand what other people 
are saying, by watching the muscular action accompanying 
speech. What class of consonant elements do you think 
would be easiest for them to distinguish in this way? What 
class do you think would be most difficult for them to dis- 

Pronounce the word gay deliberately. Classify hard G 
according to formation and sound. 

Describe the action of the tongue and soft palate in pro- 
ducing the sound. Can you prolong the sound? 



Pronounce the word key slowly. Classify K according tC 
formation and sound. Compare it with hard G regarding 
prolongation. What other consonants end with an explo- 
sion of breath like Kf 

What other consonant sometimes has the same sound 
as Kf 

Position for Hard G 

Position for K 

G (hard) From the gallery, the guests gazed at the garden, gaudy 
and fragrant with green grass, gay geraniums, great morn- 
ing glories, glaring foxgloves, gleaming grapes and all the 
gorgeousness of a gardener's art. 

GD During the forenoon, we lugged boards, rigged a raft, nagged 
the gardener, begged mother for cookies and jigged on the 

GL Gliding to the window, the Globe reporter glossed the 
glazed glass with his glove, and glared out at the giggling 

GR The grandee gradually grew greedy and gruff, grudging the 
grant of his green grove to grouse hunters, and greeting all 
groups with graceless grumbles. 

GZ Coggswell hates prigs, brags that he wears rags, and tramps 
his legs off in bogs to lug home slugs, frogs and bugs. 


Note. X has no sound of its own, but is either a combination of GZ 
or KS. 

X (like GZ) Reexamining the example, David grasped its exact 
meaning, and was exasperated to think he had exhausted 
so much time in useless exertion. 

GW That Guelph spoke his native language most languidly. 

GLD The traveller haggled with the officer over the smuggled 
goods, till he boggled the whole affair and struggled in vain. 

GLZ O^er the tangles of the dingles the eagles soar, 
And bugles' notes in melody pour. 

K "Cupid and my Campaspe played 
At cards for kisses; Cupid paid.'' 

KL The clown clad in a clumsy cloak and clinging to a club, 
clutched the clamoring clerk and clapped him into a clothes 

KN If you darken the room and beckon the children away, I 
reckon he will not waken. 

KR Crippled by crowding creditors and crazed by the crisis, the 
critic crept across Cr^^stal creek to the crag and cried. 

KS Without tricks or jokes, I tell you these tracks lead past the 
stacks and over the rocks to the home of Mike's folks. 

X (like KS) Roxanna, the little vixen, coaxed the tutor to excuse 
her from the exercise; because she had unwittingly ex- 
changed her lexicon for a treatise on expansion. 

KT The gang knocked at the door, attacked the watchman, 
sacked the house, packed up the booty and streaked away; 
but were tracked, checked and locked up for their rash act. 

KLZ My uncle's pleasure over the new buckles, was evidenced by 
chuckles, the wrinkles about his mouth and the way he 
struck his knuckles together. 

KND He reckoned if he quickened his pace, he could reach the 
hotel before the clouds thickened. 

KNZ The fever victim weakens and sickens every time he wakens. 

KST When the manager coaxed her to remain another week, she 
mixed the candies and boxed them. 



Note. Q is always followed by C/, and is sounded like K or KW. 

Q (like K) The critique and coquette by oblique methods, piqued 
the unique clique on their ability to play the antique games 
of croquet and piquet. 

QU (like KW) Quoting a quaint quotation, the queer quaker 
quickly quelled the quarrel, and requested the quibblers 
to quit that quarter quietly. 



Pronounce deliberately the word ring. What two conso- 
nants in the word seem to unite in one sound? 

Classify NG according to formation 
and sound. In what two respects is 
NG like hard Gf How does it differ 
from K? How does it differ from both 
hard G and Kf 

What other consonant elements have 
marked nasal resonance like NGf Give 
the sound of each with careful atten- 
tion to accurate position of the vocal 
organs in producing it. 

N sometimes is sounded like NG, as 
in anxious, ink, anchor and conquer. 

NG The livelong day, the strong young hireling, feeling no pang 
swung along with the throng and sang the king's song. 

NGD The wronged prisoner sentenced to be hanged, banged the 
door of his cell and longed to be in the thronged street. 

NGK The cranky monk did not think to thank the banker for his 
drink and bunk. 

NGST skylark! thou spring'st from the earth, but wing'st and 
sing'st in the air as if thou belong'st amongst the clouds. 

NGTH The length of their time of service will be according to their 

Position for NG 



Y and H 

Give a complete list of the labial subtonies mentioning 
the cognate of each. 

Give a complete list of the lingual atonies naming the cog- 
nate of each. 

Mention a pair of cognates that are palatals. 

Pronounce the word yet Look at the diagram, and de- 
scribe the position of the vocal organs in producing the sound 
of Y. 

Classify the consonant Y according to formation and 

Note. Y is classed as a palatal, because the top of the tongue articu- 
lates with the hard palate. F is a consonant only at the beginning of 
a word or syllable. 

Position for Y 

Position for H 

Give an example of F as a vowel. 

Pronounce the word how. Notice that H seems to be only 
an expulsion of breath with the throat open. 

Compare the diagram of the position of the vocal organs 
for H with that for F. 


When Y is followed by a consonant as in ypsilifornij it be* 
comes a vowel; so we have no consonant combinations with 
Y. H is never followed by a consonant, therefore no drills 
in consonant combinations can be given for that element. 

Y Yesterday, under the yew in yonder yard, your Yankee young- 
sters yelled that they yearned for a yacht. 

H The hermit^s hut had a hearth heaped with hewn hickory, a ham- 
mock hitched to high hooks, a hinged hutch holding ham, hash, 
haddock and wild hare, a huge hamper heavy with hammers, 
helmets, harpoons, horns and a harp, hides hanging by holes, 
and two heaving hounds on heaps of hay. 




Diacritical Marks are the symbols used to designate the 
various sounds of vowels and consonants. The following is 
a list of the diacritical marks with the name of each. 


A caret 


^ tilde or wave 


j_ suspended bar 


, cedilla 

Note. In this book the diacritical markings of Webster's New Inter- 
national Dictionary are employed; because they are more generally 
used than those of other dictionaries for indicating the pronunciation 
of words, they are pertinent in most cases without rewriting the word, 
they are somewhat less confusing, and, therefore, more easily learned. 

Long Vowel Sounds 

The vowels in English are A, E, I, 0, C/, and sometimes 
W and F. The long sound of vowels is indicated by a dash 
above the vowel, called a macron. 



Rule for Pronunciation. — Long vowel sounds in English 
are pronounced exactly as they are spoken in the alphabet, 
except Y which is pronounced like long I, 

























Note. W never has a long or short vowel sound. 















Some of the long vowel sounds in the following words are 
often mispronounced. Can you pronounce each of them as 
indicated by the diacritical marks? 

gra' tis il lume' bron chi' tis 

ye^r' ling yolk Dan' ish 

grim' y ap pa ra' tus car' bine 

al ly' Tu^s' day 

pa' tron cho' rus 
a wry' a' pri cot 


Short Vowel Sounds 

No rule can be given for pronouncing short vowel sounds 
in English. They are learned most easily by taking a key 



word for each vowel. The following are suggested as key 
words: for short A, catch; short E, ten; short 7, kids; short 0, 
from; short U and short Y, gully. The five words make a 
nonsense phrase, Catch ten kids from gully, that may help 
in remembering them. The short sound of vowels is indicated 
by a curved line above the vowel called a breve. 









































Pronounce the short vowel sounds correctly in the follow- 
ing words: 

rep' til^ 

pS,s' sage 

h5v' el 

grS,n' a ry 


Slip' pie 

po' em 

bi' cy cle 

kef tie 


syr' up 

en' gin^ 

par mis try 

sem' i-cir cle 

oint' ment 

Review the long and short sounds of vowels, by telling 
how the following words should be pronounced, and how 
every vowel should be marked to indicate its sound. What 
vowels are silent? 













































Italian and 

Broad A 

The sound of Italian A is ah, and it is indicated by two 
dots above the vowel called a dieresis. 

The sound of broad A is aw. It is indicated by a dieresis 
below the vowel. 















Note. In certain localities, people erroneously substitute Italian A 
for broad A in such words as taught, water, caught, daughter, etc. 

Avoid common errors, and less preferred pronunciations 
by giving to the vowels ui the following words the sounds 


cal' dron 

lai/gh' ter 

al' der 

fi na' le 

fa^' cet 

lai/n' dry 

par frey 

gaunt' let 

be cavfse 

aim' ond 

sai/' cer 

jai/n' dice 

pal' try 




The following words illustrate long and short vowel sounds, 
Italian A, and broad A. As a review, mark each vowel with 
the proper diacritical mark, and cancel silent vowels and 
silent consonants. 









































Short Italian and Short Broad A 

As the name indicates, short Italian A is similar to the 
full Italian A, except that it is less prolonged. It occurs 
when the vowel A constitutes or ends an unaccented syllable; 
and is preferred in syllables ending in sk^ ff, ft, th, ss, sp, st, 
nee, ntj and nd. It is marked with a semi-dieresis above the 

Short broad A has the same sound as short 0. It is marked 
with a semi-dieresis below the vowel. 





yag' a bond 


A mer' i ca 



wan der 


qug,n ti ty 


squg,d ron 



Practice pronouncing the words in the following list as 
they are marked, to accustom yourself to these preferred 

um brel la 

squ^r or 

last ing 

wg,f fle 

ad vance 

quaid rat ic 

al ge bra 

w^l rus 

glass y 


sar sa pa ril' la 

was (not wuz) 

mas ter 



Review the sounds taken in this and the previous lessons, 
by marking the vowel sounds in the list of words given below. 
Cancel all silent letters. 











































Circumflex A and E 

Circumflex A always precedes the consonant R, and 
passes to that element with what is known as a glide. 
The sound of circumflex A, as nearly as it can be pro- 
nounced by itself, is air. It is marked with a caret above 
the vowel. 

Circumflex E is identical with circumflex A in sound, and 
is marked in the same way. 












Note. There are very few words containing the sound of circum' 

Practice the pronunciation of the words given below. 

p4r' ent 
gar' ish 

mo' hair 
heir' ess 

sol i taire' 

deb o nai'r' ap par' ent 
laird scdre crow 

Mark the vowel sounds in the review list below, canceling 
all silent letters. 










































When E has the sound of long ^, it is marked with a ma- 
cron below the vowel. 

When I has the sound of long Ej it is marked with a dieresis 
above the vowel. 













Apply these two sounds in the pronunciation of the words 
in the next Hst. 

cliqi/^ bla se' vis a vi^' neg U ge^ has til^' 

pi' br6c){ me le^' gab er dine' ca f e' s6m bre' ro 

tet^ a tet^' de bri^' e clai'r' hei'' n^tis pas se' 

Mark the vowel sounds in this review list, and cancel silent 











































Ey I and Y marked with a tilde or wave, are identical in 
sound. This is another vowel sound gliding to jR, and is 
best pronounced by the syllable er. 

























Note. There are but few words containing Y with this sound, 
ply this sound in pronouncing the following words. 

ker' nel ster' ling squir' rel third cir'cu lat^ 

sub merg^' bird ser' pent first girl 

Hyr' can skir' mish sher' bet her' mit con vers^' 

Note. Sometimes A and have this particular sound as in the words 
liar and factor. In such cases the A or is marked with a tilde. 

Words for Review of Vowel Sounds 









































Long and Short 00 

The sound of long 00 is like the in the word who, and it 
is marked with a macron above the double vowel. 

The sound of short 00 is like the in the word wolf, and 
it is marked with a breve above the double vowel. 



LONG 00 














Note. A common error is to substitute short 00 for long 00, as in 
the word roof. 

Apply these sounds in the following words: 

coop' er 

buf f oon' pa poose' 

schoon' er 

lam poon' 

car toon' 

ty phoon' school' book dra goon' 


foot' stool 

oo' long sham poc 

)' la goon' 

CO coon' 

Words for Review of Vowel Sounds 












































The diphthongs in English are 01, OY, OC/ and OW. 
The diphthongs 01 and OY are combinations of the sounds 
of broad A and short I. 



The diphthongs OU and OW are combinations of the 
sounds of Italian A and long 00. 















Note. TF is a vowel only when it is a part of a diphthong. Y is a 
vowel when it is a part of a diphthong, and when it has a sound of /. 

All the vowels in English except E are really diphthongs, 
for they start with one sound and end with another. By 
saying A very slowly, you will notice that it begins with the 
sound of A and ends with the sound of E, 

Pronounce the diphthongs accurately in the following 

r(ou)t gF§f (ou)r p(oi)^n' ant se' p(oy) s(ou)r 

ch(ow) ch(ow) all(oy)' vic^' r(oy) gr(oi)n v(ou)chsaf§!' 
h(oi)st l(ow)' er y ty' ph(oi)d sur' l(oi)n b(oi)s' ter ous 

Words for Review of Vowel. Sounds 












































Circumflex and U 

Circumflex is like broad A in sound. It is marked with a 
caret above the vowel. 

Circumflex U is similar in sound to E, I and Y when 
marked with a wave. The circumflex U is marked with a 
















When is sounded like short C/, it is marked with a semi- 
dieresis above the vowel. 







Apply these three sounds in the pronunciation of the fol- 
lowing words. 

pilr' port 


btir' sar 

mon' grel 

pAr su^' 

noth' ing 

de mtir' 

cor' nice 

plov' er 


pom' mel 

stir' g^fon 


lor gnette' 

gor' mand 




FOR Review 

OF Vowel Sounds 












































LIKE 00 

When or [/ is sounded like long 00, it is indicated by a 
dieresis below the vowel. 

When or ?7 is sounded like short 00, it is indicated by a 
semi-dieresis below the vowel. 















Apply these sounds in the pronunciation of the following 

rQijt tin^' 
boi/ quet' 
CQi/' ri er 

crup' per 
WQjfst' ed 
sil hQi/ eif4' 

ca no^' 
dru' id 

ruth' less 
ru by 
bru net/^' 

mirth' f ul 




Words for Review of Vowel Sounds 





pear tree 




































Long Vowel Sounds in Unaccented Syllables 

Any long vowel sound occurring in an unaccented syllable, 
is less prominent in pronunciation than a long vowel sound 
in an accented syllable. To indicate this distinction, long 
vowel sounds in unaccented syllables are marked with a 
suspended bar above the vowel. 

Contrast the long vowel sounds in unaccented syllables 
below, with the long vowel sounds in accented syllables. 









Mon' day 


pro f an^' 

en clos^' 

vir lag^ 

bil' lows 

in san^' 

con dol^' 

de mand' 

H nite' 

up he^v^' 


e vent' 

grad' ti ate 

be li€v^' 

re f us^' 

di am' e ter 

hy e' na 

sub lim^' 



ty phoon' 





Pronounce long vowel sounds in unaccented syllables 
accurately in the following words: 

morf gag^ 

voy' ag$? ig no ra' 

mus re mors^' 

re cur' 

Fri' day 

u surp' a e' ri al 

bro cad^' 

lit' er a tur$! 

de plorjJ' 

ma' gi his' to ry 



na' tur§? 

Words for Review 

OF Vowel Sounds 
































prima doima 



















































Note. Only consonants that have more than one sound are consid- 
ered in this series of lessons. 


Hard and Soft C 

There are but two sounds of C: ^ namely; the hard sound 
like Ky and the soft sound like S. The former is marked with 
a macron across the consonant, and the latter with a cedilla 
below the consonant. 


€old givil 

are gypress 

ethics glange 

picture forge 

accord agid 

action gertain 

Hard and Soft G 

G has two sounds. Palatal (?, as in the word gig^ is called 
the hard sound; and lingual G, as in the word rage, is known 
as the soft sound. The first is marked with a macron over 
the consonant, and the second with a semi-dieresis above the 

hard q soft g 

gay gem 

glad stingy 

argue large 

muggy ginger 

iceberg judge 

eg^ midget 

^ In a few words C has the sound of Z or SH, as in discern and ocean. 



Mark the two sounds of C, and the two sounds of G cor* 
rectly in the following words : 










































Sounds oi 

^ CH 

CH has three sounds: like K, SH and TCH. When it 
sounds like K, it is indicated with a macron across the C. 
The other two sounds have no diacritical markings. 




















Sounds of N 



N has two sounds: its common sound as in niney and like 
NG as in ink. The common sound is never marked. N like 



NG is indicated by a macron below the consonant, or by 
prolonging the final stroke of the n, thus, r]. 















Review the consonant sounds already studied by means of 
the following list of words : 










































SuBTONic, Atonic 

AND Glide R 

There are three different sounds of R, none of which is 
indicated by diacritical marking. Regular consonant R 
occurs at the beginning of a word or syllable, or after a sub- 
tonic. Aspirate R occurs immediately after an atonic. Glide 
R occurs immediately after a vowel or diphthong. 






















Sounds of S 


S has four sounds; like S, like Z, like SHj and like ZH. 
When S sounds like Z it is marked with a suspended bar 
below the consonant. The other sounds have no markings. 





























Words for Review of Consonant Sounds 



























• mission 

















TH has two sounds, one vocal and the other aspirate. 
Vocal TH is marked with a macron across the consonants. 
















Vocal and Aspirate X 

Vocal X sounds like GZ, and aspirate X like KS, Vocal X 
is marked with a suspended bar below the consonant. 


aspirate X 













Words for Review 

OF Consonant Sounds 











































What is Accent? — It is necessary to consider accent *n 
connection with pronunciation. In accenting a syllable 
of a word, one gives greater force and a different pitch to that 
syllable, than he does to the other syllables of the word. For 
all practical purposes, however, it is merely a matter of speak- 
ing the syllable on a higher pitch. If a pupil has difficulty 
in placing an accent, and is told to strike a higher note with 
the syllable, he will generally get it correct at the first trial. 
The melody of certain sentences may lower accented syllables 
in pitch, but in single words the accented syllables are always 
raised in pitch. 

Primary and Secondary Accents. — In words of three 
or more syllables, two accents are employed, the stronger 
being called the primary accent, and the weaker the second- 
ary accent. The secondary accent is distinguished from the 
primary by a lighter mark of accent; e. g., as' pi ra' tion: or, as 
in some dictionaries, by two lighter lines; e. g., con'' tra diet'. 
Certain dictionaries mention tertiary accent, but it is very 
difficult to estimate the degree of accent beyond the sec- 

There are many pairs of words in English spelled the same, 
but accented differently to distinguish the noun from the 
7erb; as an' nex, annex'; the noun from the adjective; as 
com' pact, com pact'; or the adjective from the verb; as 
per' feet, per feet'. 

Can you accent each of the following words as indicated, 
tell what part of speech it is, and use it correctly in a sentence? 

ab' sent, ab sent' di' gest, di gest' 

ab' stract, ab stract' dis' count, dis count' 

ac' cent, ac cent' ex' tract, ex tract' 

af ' fix, af fix' fer' ment, fer ment' 



al' ter nate, al ter' nate 
at' tri bute, at trib' ute 
aug' ment, aug ment' 
Au' gust, au gust' 
cem' ent, ce ment' 
col' lect, col lect' 
com' pound, com pound' 
con' Crete, con crete' 
con' fine, con fine' 
con' flict, con flict' 
con' sort, con sort' 
con' test, con test' 
con' tract, con tract' 
con' trast, con trast' 
con' verse, con verse' 
con' vert, con vert' 
con' vict, con vict' 
con' voy, con voy' 
des' cant, des cant' 
de' tail, de tail' 
re' tail, re tail' 
so' journ, so journ' 
sub' ject, sub ject' 
su' pine, su pine' 

fre' quent, fre quent' 

in' cense, in cense' 

in' crease, in crease' 

in' suit, in suit' 

ob' ject, ob ject' 

per' fume, per fume' 

per' mit, per mit' 

prec' e dent, pre ced' ent 

pre' fix, pre fix' 

prem' ise, pre mise' 

pres' ent, pre sent' 

prod' uce, pro duce' 

prog' ress, pro gress' 

proj' ect, pro ject' 

pro' test, pro test' 

quar' an tine, quar an tine' 

rec' ord, re cord' 

ref ' use, re fuse' 

re' gress, re gress' 

rep' ri mand, rep ri mand' 

sur' vey, sur vey' 

tor' ment, tor ment' 

trans' fer, trans fer' 

trans' port, trans port' 


What Good Pronunciation Includes. — Good pronuncia- 
tion includes dividing a word into its proper syllables, plac- 
ing the accent on the right syllable, and giving to vowels and 
consonants their correct sounds. 

Dictionaries are Records of Language Development. — 
The dictionaries are our standards for pronunciation. Yearly 
editions are necessary, because our language undergoes 
certain changes from year to year. New words come into 
current use, and some words with the growth of the language, 


develop a different meaning, spelling or pronunciation. In 
a word, the dictionaries are records of the usage of well 
educated people — the best use of English. English is our 
language and is intimately associated with our country. Let 
us respect both of them. 

Results from the Study of Phonetics. — The graded les- 
sons in vowel and consonant sounds, if well mastered, will 
acquaint the pupil with many of his own errors in pronuncia- 
tion, cultivate his ear to distinguish shades of vowel and 
consonant sounds, and train his organs of speech to greater 
accuracy in articulation. 

The purpose of the following lists of words is to call atten- 
tion to the correct pronunciation of some words that are 
frequently mispronounced. At the same time the various 
kinds of mispronunciation to which we are liable, may be 

I. Words that are mispronounced by a wrong division of 
the syllables. Pronounce each one carefully. 

an tip' o des eq' ui ta ble 

ar tif i cer gla di' o lus 

be nef i cent ho me op' a thy 

bo' na fi' de hy per' bo le 

cam pa ni' le ir rep' a ra ble 

clem' a tis joe' und 

com' pro mise lam' en ta ble 

dec' ade mu nic' i pal 

de co' reus mol' e cule 

de men' stra tive pho tog' ra phy 

dep' ri va tion prel' ate 

des' pi ca ble qui e' tus 

def ' i cit rev' o ca ble 

di as' to le si' ne cure 

di shev' el te leg' ra phy 
ep i zo of ic 



II. Words that are mispronounced by inserting extra 
syllables or letters, such as elum for elrrij and sawr for saw. 
Drill on the list. 






























III. Words that are mispronounced by omitting syllables 
or letters. This is a very common error; for we often hear 
gometry for geometry, intrest for interest and many careless 
omissions of the same kind. Are you sure you can pronounce 
each of the following words correctly? 







































































IV. Words frequently mispronounced by placing the 
accent on the wrong syllable. Pronounce each of the follow- 
ing taking pains to place the accent where it should be in 
each word. 

ab do' men 

con' tu me ly 

ly ce' um 

ab' ject 

CO te rie' 

mau so le' um 

ac cli' mate 

dem ni' a cal 

mis' chie vous 

a cu' men 

dis course' 

mu se' um 

ad dress' 

di van' 

ob' li ga to ry 

a dept' 

ep' och 

or' de al 

ad' mir a ble 

ex' qui site 

or' tho e py 

a dult' 

fi nance' 

py ram' i dal 

al bu' men 

gar' ru lous 

re search' 

a' li as 

gon' do la 

re source' 

al lop' a thy 

gri mace' 

re fut' a ble 

au to mo' bile 

her cu' le an 

ro bust' 

bra va' do 

ho ri' zon 

su per' flu ous 

brig' and 

im' pi ous 

ti rade' 

bi fur' ca ted 

im' po tent 

trav' erse 

car' i ca ture 

in com' pa ra ble 

trib' une 

cer' e bral 

in dis' pu ta ble 

va ga' ry 

chas' tise ment 

in' dus try 

ve' he ment 

chauf f eur' 

in ex' pli ca ble 

ve' hi cle 

CO ad ju' tor 

in ter' po late 

vi ra' go 

com' bat ant 

in qui' ry 

ver bose' 

com man dant' 

jo cose' 

V. Words that are often pronounced with wrong or 



unpreferred vowel sounds, 

Try to master the entire 

S-c qui Ss^^' 
a' er 6 plan^ 
a me' na bl^ 
ap pend 1 ci' tis 
a quS,t' ic 
&s' phS,lt 
at' ti tud§! 
ay (yes) 
a^^ (forever) 

dis ere' tion (shtin) 

dis' trict 


d5c' i\^ 

draught (draft) 

drom' e da ry 

en core (an' kor) 

ex t6l' 

f ai' €^n 


gen' u in^ 

gen S al' 6 g5^ 

ha' rem 

hom^' ly 

h5s' tn^ 

hur ra)l' 

hy p6c' ri sy 

im pla' ca bl^ 

ju' gtl lar 


le*' sure (zhur) 

h' €hen 

m^r' i tim§! 

me di o' €r^ 


5f ' Hc^ 



bi 6g' ra phj^ 

€a da' ver 

caout chouc (koo' chook) 


c5ch' 1 ne^l 

con' jtiT er 

c5n sti tu' tion (shtin) 


c6r' al 

cu' 1! nS, ry 

cti' p6 la 

da' is 


VI. Words that are often pronounced with wrong or un- 
preferred consonant sounds. Accustom yourself to the con- 
sonant sounds indicated. 

or' 6 tiind 

p^n 6 ra' ma 

pSn e gyr' ic 

pa' th6s 

pS-r' a s6l 

ped' al (noun) 

pe' dal (adj.) 

pe' 6 ny 

pret ty (prif ty) 

pr6c' ess (noun) 

pr5g' ress (noun) 



ric 6 ghef 

sSc ri le' gi-^iis 

si' mul ta' ne ^lis 


sough ing (suf ' ing) 

sta' ttis 

strych' nin^ 

tab' er na cl^ 

tas' sel 

vaude ville (vod' vill 

/res' fl4:: 

as so' ci ate (shi at) 
an' ch6 vy 
arch' an ggl 

ar' chi tect 

as get' i gigm 

^ux il' ia ry (ag ?il' ya r^) 



black guard (bl^g' ard) 

bian' kSt 

eel lo (cher lo) 


chaise (shSz) 

€hi me' ra 

c6n' quer 

des' ig nat^ 

des' til to ry 

douche (doosh) 

fa gad^' 

g)(er' kin 

g!b' ber 

gib' ber ish 

gib' bet 

gy' rat^ 


h6r' o log^ 


I6n gev' 1 if 
me§' mer i§m 
mi rage (razh'^ 
15g' a rlthm 

pS,n' to mim^ 
pla' gi'a ri§m 
re gime (zhem') 
sac' ri fice (fiz) 
sphere (sfer) 
spin' ag^ 
sub p^e' na 
suf fice (fIz') 
tran' qi/n 
\X §tirp' 

vie ar (vik' er) 
vis or (viz' er) 

VII. Words of this list are sometimes mispronounced by 
sounding silent letters. Do you make errors of this kind in 
pronouncing the following words? 


































A sacrilegious son of Belial who suffered from bronchitis, hav- 
ing exhausted his finances, in order to make good the deficit, 
resolved to ally himself to a comely, lenient, and docile young lady 
of the Malay or Caucasian race. He accordingly purchased a 
caUiope and a coral necklace of a chameleon hue, and securing a 
suite of rooms at a principal hotel, he engaged the head waiter as 
his coadjutor. He then dispatched a letter of the most unexcep- 
tional caligraphy extant, inviting the young lady to a matinee. 
She revolted at the idea, refused to consider herself sacrificable to 
his desires, and sent a polite note of refusal, on receiving which he 
procured a carbine and a bowie knife, said that he would now forge 
letters hymeneal with the queen, went to an isolated spot, severed 
his jugular vein and discharged the contents of his carbine into his 
abdomen. The debris was removed by the coroner. 

A Visit to the Deering High School 

A member of the executive board started out in blithe spirits to 
visit the Deering High School. He heard the soughing of the wind 
through the trees. Glancing backward he saw a boy on the side- 
walk vigorously working the pedals of his bicycle and evidently 
enjoying the pedal exercise. Stepping aside, he gave him the pre- 
cedence, though thinking it might be establishing a bad precedent 
to allow cycling on the sidewalk. The boy touched the visor of his 
cap in polite salute and rode on. He soon met a doctor who in- 
formed him that he had patients ill with bronchitis, appendicitis, 
and a case of diphtheria with the parotid gland badly affected. He 
said his horse seemed very docile, but he was overworked as his 
other had an attack of epizootic. He would buy another but the 
status of his finances was such that it would leave a deficit in his 
cash account. 

A canine pet of huge size met him as he passed along. He soon 
observed in the distance an object approaching that resembled a 
caUiope escorting the pageantry of a circus. It proved to be an 
automobile with a party in jocund spirits on their way to attend a 
vaudeville performance. 

He reached the school before recess and met the principal in the 
recess of the building. In the library he saw one young lady read- 
ing the poems of Felicia Hemans; another was deeply absorbed in a 
romance. One was writing an essay on the Resources of Maine, 
and her companion was looking up Palestine on the map. A young 


man of robust physique was preparing an address on orthoepy and 
orthoepical subjects. He had reached the finale of his writing. He 
was asked to read his address but he rephed with a grimace that he 
was not ready to do that. 

The chemical laboratory seemed well supplied with needed ap- 
paratus. One of the boys drew water from a faucet and colored it 
with cochineal. Another went to the pharmacist for benzine, 
strychnine, iodine, cocaine, iodide of potassium, calcined plaster, 
shellac, peroxide of hydrogen, carmine ink, fulminic powder, and 
arseniureted powder. The glittering facets of an amethyst gem, 
worn by one of the young ladies, caught the eye of the committee. 
In the Greek class the teacher was discoursing on the indirect dis- 
course and on the errors often made in pronunciation. The class 
in algebra was comparing the similarity of algebra to arithmetic and 
also solving complex, simultaneous equations. The teacher of ex- 
pression was discussing accent and drilling her class to accent the 
proper syllable. They were reading the following: "I contemplate 
often a plethoric, peremptory, sacrilegious, invalid inmate, who 
seems acclimated though enervated. He, according to the legend, 
is an aspirant for the fame of a conjurer. He holds in his hand a 
vase illustrated by a distich from a Latin satire." 

The teacher of the physical geography class had made a collection 
of caoutchouc, cochineal, apricots, syrup strained through a colander 
ready for culinary use, spinach, and bananas. In the geometry 
class he heard the two sides alternate in demonstrating the equality 
of alternate angles. The class in civil government seemed much 
interested in municipal problems. They were planning to perfect 
an organization to conduct a town meeting in accordance with the 
usages of our modern civilization. 

The students were courteous in their manners and observant of 
the etiquette of the school. 

The N. E. A. Alphabet 

Many educators and philologists have felt the need of 
more scientific symbols for the accurate denotation of the 
sounds heard in English speech. To meet this need a com- 
mittee of experts worked for several years formulating such 
an alphabet, and reported the results of their labors to the 
National Education Association in 1911. The alphabet 
was adopted by the association, and is known as the N. E. A. 


Alphabet. As yet it has not been much tested, is not well 
understood, and is waiting adoption by text-books and dic- 
tionaries. However, as this alphabet, or a modification of 
it, is likely to receive some recognition, the following com- 
parative table is submitted for the use of those that are 

Roman Script Names Key-words Webster Markings 



66 a^ 





a «, 


a in unaccented 



CLo CUty 

aisle, find 




CLuy a^a/ 

out, thou 

(ou) (ow) 



d a. 





^T ^ 





£ I 






L^ cJi/ 












G^ ^ 





t^ ^ey 



a = a, as in ask. a 

1 = w , as in habit, senate (indicating a weakening toward i in v^^V)^ 

a = --, as in final, atom (indicating a weakening toward u in hut). 



Roman Script 


1 Key-words 

Webster Markings 


ef fee 
gl (not ji) go 







. J^ 




i J ^ 




i^ sJ-U^.^i.t4^ 




' Ir, 


je) jaw 

j org 



ki (or 

ke) kin 

k or c 


• :£/ 





"» 7?v ^}o^ 





n /Z^ /7^^ 





»3 77 ^^2x 



^ or n 

« ,r 


« 6?_ o- 



i & a- 



' (9' <^ 



1 This denotes the guttural nasal heard in sing, singer. It is a 
simple sound, not a compound of n and g. The ng of finger is com- 
posed of q + g (fin'gar), the nk of hank of q + k (bai]k). 


ei ei 





Webster Markings 

(oi) (oy) 


er (or 

ar) rat 





J ^ 



s or g 





















C,/^^ .-^^i^ 




00 -"^^ 


00, Q or u 
00, Q or ^ 




u, g, i, or y 



'^ ^ 

ev (or vi) van 




V^ -^ 







yi yes 
ez (or zi) zest 


z or § 



? 7 





Acquirements by Imitation Determine the Needed Trains 
ing. — ^Facility in oral composition comes from imitation, 
training and practice. A child learns to talk by imitating 
the speech of those about him. Later when he attends school, 
what he has acquired by imitation determines what his 
training should be. If he has formed habits of speech by 
imitating good models, he can frame sentences with some 
degree of ease, and has comparatively nothing to unlearn. 
If on the other hand, as is often the case, he comes to school 
hampered with bad habits of speech acquired by imitating 
unworthy models, some of his first training should be aimed 
at eliminating his bad habits of speech and substituting 
better ones in their stead. 

The Value of Ideals in Oral Composition. — ^The school, 
therefore, should furnish good models of oral composition 
for its pupils. School years are the years of ideals, for. 
at school, boys and girls gain their standards of howj 
things should be done. Their ideals of good oral composi4 
tion may be influenced by the conversation of teachers, by 
debates at literary society meetings, or by a visitor's remarks 
to the assembled school. Their ideals of how things may be 
well said, are also affected by what they hear others read, 
or what they read themselves. A short story from a good 
author gives them a new conception of how effectively a 
story may be told; and paragraphs from authors like Irving 
or Lamb show them how interesting common things may 
be made by apt description. 



Why are Many Pupils Weak in Oral Composition?— 

Because reading good literature, and, especially reading it 
aloud, gives models for oral composition, we have one of the 
strongest pleas for more attention to expr.essive reading in 
our schools. English teachers generally admit that their 
pupils have comparatively little facility in oral composition. 
Many students can speak only a few sentences upon a topic, 
and some only a few halting words. This is not always be- 
cause they have nothing to say, for Professor James has ex- 
plained that it is possible to have some knowledge of things, 

' and yet be unable to express it. The cause lies in the fact 
that they have given little attention to how ideas are clothed 
effectively in words. 

Interpretive Reading of Good Literature Gives Ideals 
for Oral Composition. — Even a well advanced pupil, asked 
to describe some street character he has seen, will do it 
lamely enough. But after reading aloud Lamb's essay '^The 
Praise of Chimney Sweepers,^' and trying again, he shows 
great gain in command of his sentences. Do you wish to 
become more fluent in conversation? Read aloud from many 
authors, trying to discover their methods of marshalling 
sentences into pleasing narration, telling description, or 
forcible argument; and then try to emulate their excellences 
in your own oral composition. Do you wish to acquire more 
ease in wielding sentences for some form of public speaking? 
Study, and memorize passages from the speeches of Phillips, 

■Webster, Hoar, Roosevelt and others. Grasp the spirit. of 
the speech, get the swing of the sentences, dehver them as 

j if they were your own, until you feel that you know what 
constitutes a well plirased address. Then put your energies 
upon your original speech, with the assurance that you will 
realize for yourself in proportion to your ideal, your effort 
and your practice. 


Accuracy in Reading 

Accurate reading, that is, reading exactly what is written 
or printed, bears a very definite and important relation to 
excellent delivery. To some this may seem a superfluous 
matter in a discussion of oral English. If inaccurate reading 
were characteristic of young pupils only, we might leave it out 
of consideration here. The fact is that inaccuracy mars the 
reading of some well advanced pupils and its evil effects are 
very noticeable in the efforts of many public speakers. Small 
words are misplaced, syllables are changed, and other words 
are substituted for those in the book. These errors play 
havoc with the author's thought and may become habitual. 
They are more serious than the occasional slips to which 
all are liable. 

How to Remedy Inaccurate Reading. — There is but one 
way to deal with inaccurate reading. Every individual 
case should be diagnosed to ascertain the cause of the failing. 
It may result from nervousness, poor eyesight, weak grasp 
of the author's thought or from other conditions. If the 
cause be found and removed, wholly or in part, the reading 
will show a proportionate improvement. 

Appreciation of Grammatical Relations 

How Knowledge of Grammar Contributes to Oral Read- 
ing. — A certain understanding of grammatical relations 
is essential to the best reading aloud. Without such an 
appreciation of sentence structure, the reader's words will 
be monotonous and dull, and the thought obscured. With 
this appreciation the reader will seem to seize and make 
prominent the grammatical core of each sentence, and re- 
duce to subsidiary places the less important modifying 
phrases and clauses. 


Cultivation of Grammatical Appreciation in Reading 
Aloud. — A better appreciation of grammatical structm-e as 
related to oral reading, can be readily cultivated by the 
pupil. If he will ask himself such questions as: What are 
the verbs that go with that subject? What is the principal 
clause of that sentence? Which clauses are subordinate? 
What does this clause modify? and the Hke, he will prob- 
ably change his reading, so that there will be a better dis- 
crimination of thought values, resulting in a more varied 
and pleasing dehvery and a clearer expression of ideas. 
Similar questions are a resource of the teacher who finds a 
pupil needing that kind of spur. 

Application of Grammatical Rules in Spoken English. — 
In spoken English the violation of grammatical rules always 
mars what is said. It is often argued that some brilliant 
talkers and even public speakers make mistakes in grammar. 
True; but their success in each case is not because they ignore 
grammatical laws, but in spite of this handicap — they have 
excellences that somehow make up for it. 

Common Grammatical Errors. — ^The most common gram- 
matical errors are made in case forms of nouns and pronouns, 
the tense forms of verbs, the agreement of subject and verb, 
and the agreement of pronouns with their antecedents. It 
is exceedingly important that early attention be given to 
the points of sentence structure, because acquiring correct 
grammatical habits will later secure unconscious conformity 
ito these rules. 

Supply correct verb forms in the following sentences, and 
give a reason in a well-worded statement for your choice in 
each case. 

1. The row of spectators very quiet. 

2. He the work yesterday that I told him to do. 

3. This is one of the most important questions that come up, 


4. I should have to the circus, if I had been well. 

5. Four months^ interest due to-day. 

6. Dickens is one of the best writers who won fame as si 


7. It look like rain. 

8. I am writing to him so that he be ready in time. 

9. He meant to the letter last Monday. 

10. General Adams with his whole family invited to the 


11. The cows under the trees in the meadow. 

12. Please the bowl upon the table. 

Supply correct pronouns in the following sentences. 

1. Either John or Harry will let you look on book. 

2. Girls like are not good company. 

3. Every one must be responsible for own books. 

4. They met Robert and (first person) in the corridor. 

5. are you going to vote for? 

6. Nobody but a fool would have left money in such a place. 

7. I am positive it was (third person). 

8. Do you remember (first person) speaking to you about your 


9. Everyone except you and (first person) has gone to church. 

10. I can run as fast as (third person, singular). 

11. Many a sailor has lost life at sea. 


What Imagination Contributes to Reading Aloud. — ^'It 

is pretty certain/' says Clifford Harrison, 'Hhat ninety people 
out of every hundred who read a book to themselves do not 
see one half of what the author saw, when he wrote the pages.'' 
There is no doubt that this lack of imagination is the cause 
of much poor reading aloud, for one cannot express what he 
does not see himself. The author can give only his words 
in black and white, he cannot give his mental pictures. To 
appreciate the author, the reader must have the answering 
imagination to recreate in his own mind the scenes described. 


If a reader can do this, he raises himself in some degree to 
the plane of the author, and by interpretive reading he may 
do the same service for his listeners. 

Practical Value of a Developed Imagination. — An active 
imagination is indispensable in many professions. The land- 
scape gardener, looking at a stony, ugly field, sees its possi- 
bilities in his imagination and transforms it into an attrac- 
tive park; the architect, knowing his building site and ma- 
terials, forms his plan in his mind, and then makes a draft 
of it on paper; the scientist, finding a bone in the earth, con- 
structs a model of the extinct animal to which it belonged; 
the author, noting how the people of his mental vision behave 
under different conditions, puts them in a novel; and the 
inventor, understanding some of the phenomena of elec- 
tricity, makes experiments suggested by the theories he has 
worked out in imagination, and gives us wireless telegraphy. 
So the speaker who can imagine scenes and conditions in 
clear details is more likely to speak of them well, to realize 
the interests of his auditors and thereby compel their atten- 

Helps for Developing the Imagination. — If your imagina- 
tion is prolific, rejoice that you have that upon which so 
much pleasure and success depend; but if your imagination 
does not illuminate literature for you, and flash picture upon 
picture before your mind, welcome illustrated books, the 
making of diagrams and free hand drawings, the dramatiza- 
tion of incidents, the representation of scenes in tableaux 
and dialogue or any other devices your teacher of reading 
may employ to help you develop this wonderful faculty. 
Then your imagination will have, as Ingersoll puts it, ^'a 
stage within the brain, whereon he sets all scenes that lie 
between the morn of laughter and the night of tears, and 
where the players body forth the false and true, the joys 


and griefs, the careless shallows, and the tragic depths of 
human life." 

Mental Grasp of the Author^ s Thought 

No Vital Reading Without Vital Thinking. — In order 
to have vital reading, it is absolutely necessary to have vital 
thinking first. Good oral reading is extracting thought 
from a written or a printed page, and vocahzing it in suqh 
a manner that the listener understands the same thought. 
If a reader gets little or no thought from a paragraph, his 
reading becomes a mechanical process of pronouncing words. 
This is unworthy of the name of reading. But if a reader 
thinks and understands deeply, subtle changes will creep 
into his voice expressing his thought, for the voice is a 
natural reporter of mental states. 

Effect of Weak Thinking Upon Study. — ^Psychologists 
tell us that any mental action may be intensified by an ef- 
fort of the will. It is this intensified mental action that is 
needed to improve the oral reading in our public schools; 
it is needed, too, for silent reading. During a study period 
one pupil lacks mental energy to concentrate on a piece of 
literature and dig out its treasures of thought; another list- 
lessly reads a page of history half a dozen times, when two 
readings with the mind concentrated should be sufficient 
to prepare the lesson; and a third wrestles long with a prob- 
lem in mathematics, until he suddenly comprehends a condi- 
tion of the statement that has not dawned upon him before, 
and then solves it in five minutes. 

Valuable Mental Training Results from Vital Oral Read- 
ing. — Grasping the author's thought, therefore, is the most 
important of all the elements of good reading aloud, and 
it should receive proportionate attention. Periods are well 
spent that are devoted to arousing the minds of pupils as a 


means to better oral reading. If pupils are induced to quicken 
their insight into what an author has written, and to control 
the thought of others to some extent by expressing what 
they understand, reading will give as valuable training 
as any subject taught in school. More than that, what- 
ever a pupil gains in mental alertness in the reading class, 
will be exactly the training he most needs to help him prepare 
his other subjects. 

Note to Teachers. Use all possible devices to stimulate your stu- 
dents to better thinking in the reading class. Take time, occasionally, 
to have a pupil tell the gist of a paragraph or stanza before he reads it 
aloud. Again, after a pupil has read, question him upon the part he 
has not made clear, and test what he has added to his original thought 
by a second reading. Another device is to have the class close their 
books during a pupil's reading, and when he has finished, question the 
pupils as to what ideas were not brought out by the reader; then re- 
quest a second reading that the sense of the paragraph may be more 
fully given. It should be an inspiration to any pupil to know that if 
he really comprehends his reading selections, he can think and tell 
others the very same thoughts that once surged through the brains 
of Shakespeare or Dickens, of Webster or Lincoln. 


Next in importance to the cultivation of ideals for oral 
composition, is the choice of subjects. Too difficult topics 
are discouraging, and may cause one to lose confidence in 
himself and deter him in later efforts. Care should be 
taken to select topics that are interesting and within one^s 
experience. One of the simplest exercises in oral composition 
is to give verbal reports of interesting incidents from books, 
short stories or poems that you have read or have heard others 
read. Reports of every day experiences, such as: '^what I 
saw on the way to school this morning,'^ or '^what we did 
in the manual training class yesterday/' are topics that all 
pupils can talk about. 


The Purposes of Public Speaking 

If you already have acquired some facility in oral com- 
position, you will be interested in making your efforts in oral 
composition conform to the various purposes in public speak- 
ing. By comparing various talks and addresses that you 
have heard, you can soon determine what the purposes of 
public speaking are. 

The Purpose of Diversion. — When you heard Eli Perkins 
discuss ''Why We Laugh," you were smiling and laughing at 
his illustrations throughout the hour and were highly amused. 
His purpose, we may conclude, was entertainment or Diver- 

The Purpose of Instruction. — Your Latin teacher's ex- 
planation of how Csesar built his bridge, was an effort to 
make the various stages in the construction of the bridge 
clear to you. He wished you to comprehend it, so his pur- 
pose was Instruction. 

The Purpose of Impression. — Homer Davenport's story 
of "Said Abdallah" roused your sympathy for the home- 
sick little Bedouin boy, and your admiration for his faithful- 
ness to his new master. Your emotions were stirred. Mr. 
Davenport's purpose, therefore, was to make an Impression. 

The Purpose of Conviction. — Professor Brander Mat- 
thew's talk on "Simplified Spelling" made you realize how 
silent letters and strange spelling in English confuse a for- 
eigner. He convinced you that a general adoption of simpli- 
fied spelling would make EngHsh an easier language to learn 
and would increase its usage. His purpose was belief or 

The Purpose of Persuasion. — Your father's talk urging 
you to use care in choosing your associates, not only made you 
believe that his advice was good, but also made you resolve 
to cultivate worthy companions. Your father hoped to 


influence your conduct, to get you to act differently; his 
purpose was Persuasion. 

Subservient and Ultimate Purpose. — ^These make Five 
Purposes in Public Speaking. Under these all talks, speeches, 
sermons and orations, whether addressed to one or to thou- 
sands, may be classified. It is true that some speeches com- 
bine several of these purposes, but a thoughtful analysis 
will generally show that one is the ultimate purpose, while 
the others are so many steps that lead to it. A speaker 
may use Diversion to gain the attention of his audience, 
then gradually lead into arguments for belief or Conviction, 
and close with an appeal to individual interests which makes 
Persuasion his ultimate purpose. 

Note. This classification of the purposes of public speaking is 
taken from *' Effective Speaking '^ by Arthur Edward Phillips, and is 
used by special permission. 

The Purposes in Public Speaking Illustrated.— The fol- 
lowing brief selections illustrate the various purposes of 
public speaking and they will guide students who attempt 
to speak with any of these five purposes in mind. 


How To Make A Million Dollars. From "Literary Lapses." By 
Stephen Leacock ^ 

You know, many a man realizes late in life that if when a boy 
he had known what he knows now, instead of being what he is he 
might be what he won't; but how few boys stop to think that if 
they knew what they don't know instead of being what they will 
be, they wouldn't be? These are awful thoughts. 

At any rate, IVe been gathering hints on how it is they do it. 

One thing Fm sure about. If a young man wants to make a 
million dollars he's got to be mighty careful about his diet and his 
living. This may seem hard. But success is only achieved with 

^ Reprinted by permission of the author. 


There is no use in a young man who hopes to make a million dol- 
lars thinking he's entitled to get up at 7.30, eat force and poached 
eggs, drink cold water for lunch, and go to bed at 10 p. m. You can't 
do it. I've seen too many millionaires for that. If you want to be 
a millionaire you mustn't get up till ten in the morning. They 
never do. They daren't. It would be as much as their business is 
worth if they were seen on the street at half-past nine. 


What Is a Boss? From "The Honorable Peter Sterling." By Paul 
Leicester Ford ^ 

Are there not friends whose advice or wish would influence you? 
Well, that is the condition which creates the so-called boss. In 
every community ther^ are men who influence more or less the rest. 
It may be that one can only influence half a dozen other intimates. 
Another may exert power over fifty. A third may sway a thousand. 
One may do it by mere physical superiority. Another by a friendly 
manner. A third by being better informed. A fourth by decep- 
tion or bribery. A fifth by honesty. Each has something that 
dominates the weaker men about him. 

Take my ward. Burton is a prize-fighter, and physically a splen- 
did man. So he has his little court. Driscoll is a humorist, and 
can talk, and he has his admirers. Sloftky is popular with the 
Jews, because he is of their race. Burrows is a pohceman, who is 
liked by the whole ward, because of his kindness and good-nature. 
So I could go on telling you of men who are a little more marked 
than the rest, who have power to influence the opinions of the men 
about them, and therefore have power to influence votes. That is 
the first step in the ladder. Each of the men I have mentioned can 
usually affect an average of twenty-five votes. 

But now we get another rung of the ladder. Here we have Den- 
nis, and such men as Blunkers, Denton, Kennedy, Schlurger and 
others. They not merely have their own set of followers, but they 
have more or less power to dominate the little bosses of whom I 
have already spoken. Take Dennis for instance. He has fifty 
adherents who stick to him absolutely, two hundred and fifty who 
listen to him with^ interest, and a dozen of the smaller bosses, who 
pass his opinions to their followers. So he can thus have some 
effect on about five hundred votes. 

^ Reprinted by the courtesy of Henry Holt & Co. 


A Beautiful Sunset. By Samuel S. Cox 

What a stormful sunset was that of last night! How glorious 
the storm, and how splendid the setting of the sun! We do not 
remember ever to have seen the like on our round globe. The scene 
opened in the west with a whole horizon full of golden impenetrable 
lustre, which colored the foliage and brightened every object in 
its own rich dyes. 

The colors grew deeper and richer until the golden lustre was 
transformed into a storm cloud, full of finest lightning, which leaped 
in dazzling zigzags all round and over the city. The wind arose 
with fury, the slender shrubs and giant trees made obeisance to its 
majesty. Some even snapped before its force. The strawberry 
beds and grass plots "turned up their whites" to see Zephyrus 
march by. 

As the rain came, and the pools formed, and the gutters hurried 
away, thunder roared grandly, and the fire bells caught the excite- 
ment and rung out with hearty chorus. The south and east received 
the copious showers, and the west all at once brightened in a long, 
polished belt of azure, worthy of a Sicilian sky. 

Presently a cloud appeared in the azure belt in the form of a cas- 
tellated city. It became more vivid, revealing strange forms of peer- 
less fanes and alabaster temples, and glories rare and grand in this 
mundane sphere, reminding us of Wordsworth's splendid verse in 
his "Excursion'': 

"The appearance instantaneously disclosed 
Was of a mighty city — boldly say 
A wilderness of building, sinking far. 
And self withdrawn into a boundless depth, 
Far sinking into splendor — without end." 


The Real World. From "The Habit of Immortality." By Lyman 

Abbott ^ 

We live in two worlds: a world that we can see and hear and 
touch and a world that is invisible, inaudible, intangible. The 
invisible world is the important world, the real world, the enduring 

^ Reprinted by permission of The Outlook Co. 


The invisible makes the home. It is made not by stone or brick 
or wood, but by faith and hope and love binding together husband 
and wife, parents and children. The cynic sneers at love in a cot- 
tage, but love in a cottage makes a home, which hate in a palace 
can never make. 

The invisible makes the school. Laboratories, libraries, dormi- 
tories, refectories, do not make a school. A millionaire can never 
make a school. One of the greatest schools the world has ever seen, 
one whose influence outlasts the centuries, had neither laboratory, 
library, nor dormitory. It was the school which Plato taught in 
the grove at Athens. 

The invisible makes the nation. The nation is not made great, 
it is not made rich, it is not made at all, by mines and forests and 
prairies and water powers. These all existed in America four cen- 
turies ago, and America was not a great nation. Great men make 
a nation great; and the qualities that make men great are invisible. 
We see their effects but the qualities we do not see. 

The invisible makes commercial prosperity possible. For com- 
mercial prosperity is built upon credit; and credit is faith in the 
honesty of our fellow-men; and honesty is invisible. It has neither 
form, nor color, nor odor, nor sound. We cannot see it, nor hear it, 
nor smell it, nor touch it. There are to-day men serving out their 
allotted terms in State's prison who a few months ago owned a rail- 
way or a bank or a factory, who had money invested, employees 
at their beck and call, and friends subservient to them, men of 
energy and enterprise and financial shrewdness, but who lacked 
honesty. And for lack of that invisible honesty, they are bankrupt 
alike in property, in reputation, and in character. 

We are apt to think that the real is the material and the imma- 
terial is the unreal. But that is not true. The reverse is true. The 
invisible is the real. 


The Value of Physical Exercise. By William Gilbert Anderson ^ 

As a business venture, it will pay any man to exercise. The 
effort required to throw off the feeling of lassitude and dullness 
experienced by a busy, tired man is greater than that which is 
needed to make him rise from his desk and exercise for only a few 
minutes. The throbbing temples, aching head, irritable condition, 

^ Reprinted by permission of the author. 


and flushed face are too well known; they are the unwelcome asso- 
ciates of the hard worker because he allows them to be. 

It makes no difference what the calling of a man may be, he can- 
not make headway in this busy world without using the body and 
mind. Whatever his profession, he must use the brain in connec- 
tion with the servants of the brain, the muscles. A well developed 
mind that has to do with healthy contractile tissues will accomplish 
more than the same mind that can call on only poor muscles. The 
evidence of the most learned and cautious men bears witness to 
this. We cannot get good work out of tired servants, nor can we 
build strongly and beautifully with poor material. The business 
man who wants to accomplish the greatest amount of good with the 
energy at his disposal can only go so far as his capabilities will per- 
mit; one step beyond this dead line and he collapses. 

As an investment, a gilt-edged investment, every energetic worker 
should pay attention to the health of the body and mind. 

No stock company will make a greater return for money invested 
than will exercise. No dividends will equal those that come to a 
man who cares for the human economy. That man will do better 
work, more thorough work, and make more money, who will keep 
the machinery of the body in good order; he will live longer, will 
enjoy life, and be a more agreeable companion to those about him. 

Forms of Composition Employed for the Five Purposes 
in Public Speaking. — Pupils who are familiar with the terms 
narration, description, exposition and argumentation can 
decide readily which of these forms of composition is likely 
to be used in attaining each of the purposes of public speak- 
ing. Tabulated it would be something like this: 


Diversion usually attained by Narration and description 
Instruction attained by Exposition 

Impression usually attained by Narration and description 
Conviction attained by Argumentation 

Persuasion attained by Argumentation with an appeal to 

personal interests 

Topics for Oral Composition 

No arbitrary or complete list of topics for oral composition 
can be given; for each teacher must choose his subjects ac- 


cording to the advancement, needs and experience of his 
pupils. Current events and changing interests at school 
constantly furnish fresh topics for oral composition. The 
following lists may be suggestive. 


1. How I earned my first dollar. 

2. What I did on election night. 

3. An incident in camp. 

4. My narrow escape. 

5. My visit to the zoo. 

6. An automobile ride. 

7. How I entertained my cousin. 

8. My funny mistake. 

9. A day on a farm. 
10. My mascot. 


1. Directions for making' a tennis court. 

2. How our athletic association raises money. 

3. Why I dislike "The Last of the Mohicans" ('or some othel 


4. How the Titanic might have been saved. 

5. How a public playground should be conducted. 

6. Why I liked the play "The Dawn of a To-morrow" (substi- 

tute any play). 

7. How our fire drill is conducted. 

8. How to prepare a mathematics lesson. 

9. How to prepare fish for cooking. 
10. How to start fire without matches. 


1. The park on a hot afternoon. 

2. The park after a snow storm. 

3. A fireman's bravery. 

4. The bootblack's dilemma. 

5. Hovenden's picture "Breaking Home Ties." 

6. A fearful storm. 

7. A cowardly act. 

8. The menace of a dirty street. 

9. When baffled, fight better. 
10. An unknown hero. 



1. This school should have a longer recess. 

2. Two half holidays per week would be better for our school 

than one whole holiday. 

3. It is better for pupils to own their own school books than to 

have them furnished by the city. 

4. The height of city buildings should be regulated by law. 

5. Two years spent in traveling is a better preparation for life 

than four years at college. 

6. People that litter the parks with papers and rubbish should 

be fined. 

7. When the seats of a trolley car are filled, no more passengers 

should be allowed to enter the car. 

8. Every pupil of this school should belong to the athletic asso- 


9. The discipline of this school should be in the hands of the 

pupils not the teachers. 
10. A large class does better work in any subject that a small one. 


1. My need of a new overcoat (to my father). 

2. Why I should have two weeks more of vacation (to my 

3. A lawyer's plea to the jury in behalf of the prisoner. 

4. Why I wish to go to college (to my parents). 

5. What you gain by joining a literary club. 

6. A class president's plea to his class for regular attendance at 

7. Why you should vote for James Prince as president of the 
athletic association. 

8. A plea for new skates (to my father). 

9. Value of an encyclopedia (agent to customer). 
10. Why you should read the New York Times. 


Practice a Prime Essential to Attainments in Oral Com- 
position. — Good models and suitable topics, requisite as 
they are, will avail little toward facility in oral composition 
unless supplemented by well directed and persistent prac- 


tice. By individual criticisms, the teacher can help pupils 
to hear themselves as others hear them, and he can keep 
ever before them, the criteria of clearness, force and vivid- 
ness; but the larger part of the work, must be done with the 
co-operation of the pupils. Even in schools where oral Eng- 
lish is scheduled for five periods per week, only a fraction 
of that time can be devoted to oral composition; so, if a pupil 
wishes to realize what he is capable of attaining in this phase 
of the work, he must necessarily seize all possible oppor- 
tunities for painstaking practice in oral composition. 

Opportunities for Practice. — At school there are individual 
recitations and open discussions in nearly every class period, 
there are literary and debating societies desiring members, 
there are announcements to be made to classes or the 
whole student body, there are candidates to be nominated 
and advocated as officers of the Athletic Association or some 
other organization, there are minutes before school, during 
the lunch period or after school when you can talk with your 
fellow students or your teachers, there are sometimes visi- 
tors who wish to learn about the school, there are public 
debates and public speaking contests; at home your parents, 
your brothers and sisters and your guests will be interested 
in an account of what you are doing at school, of various 
school activities, of what you have read, of something you 
or some of your friends have done; at the homes of your 
friends stories and bits of news may be told and many topics 
brought into conversation; in your town or city there are 
literary clubs and social circles in which you can participate. 
These, and many more are opportunities for you to practice 
oral composition. If you ignore them and persist in hap- 
hazard oral composition whenever you speak, the fraction 
of time spent in an oral English class cannot avail you 
much; but if you improve them trying to say well whatever 


you say, you can multiply many times the facility you gain 
in oral composition. 


Familiarizing pupils with new words is essentially the 
work of primary grades; but inasmuch as pupils never cease 
to meet strange words, it is evident that some attention 
should be given to this phase of reading wherever the sub- 
ject is taught. 

Acquiring New Words Depends upon Individual Eflfort. — 
A competent teacher by his example, by precept and by 
encouragement, can often help a pupil to enlarge his vo- 
cabulary; but he cannot do the work alone. The pupil 
must be untiring in his use of a dictionary, looking up the 
pronunciation and meaning of words that are new to him. 
An excellent scheme is to place such words in a notebook, 
indicating their pronunciation and jotting down brief defini- 
tions. By reviewing these words occasionally, the pupil 
will find that many of them have become familiar to him 
and do not need more attention. 

Our Two Vocabularies. — ^Every person has two vocabu- 
laries: one that he uses in conversation, writing, or perhaps 
in some form of public speaking; and a second and larger 
vocabulary that he comprehends when listening to a speaker 
or reader, or when reading himself. To become proficient 
in conversation or in public speaking, this vocabulary of use 
must be enlarged imtil it more nearly includes the vocabulary 
of comprehension. The pupil can do tliis for himself, by mak- 
ing it a point to use every day in conversation, certain words 
from his notebook. 

Study of Synonyms, Antonyms. — Another source of great 
profit to a student desiring to become skillful in the use of 
words, is a careful study of synonyms, antonyms and Eng- 


lish idioms. A knowledge of synonyms will give a finer 
perception of the exact significance of words, and greater dis- 
crimination in their use. For example; one should know 
that there is a distinction between the words generation and 
age. Generation means the mass of persons living at one 
period; while age refers to a period of time, is a broader term 
and may include many generations. The words are used 
properly in the following quotations. 

" In the fourth generation they shall come hither again." Genesis. 

"No age will come, in which the American Revolution will appear 
less than it is — one of the greatest events in human history." Web- 

Thoughtful consideration of antonyms will give a sense of 
fitness in selecting words for contrasting ideas, balanced* 
sentences and sometimes for parallel constructions. For 
instance one should have sufficient sense of fitness in the use 
of words to realize that the word commencement is not as 
appropriate to use as the antonym of the word ending, as 
beginning is. How would commencement sound in the sen- 
tence, '^I am the beginning and the ending, the first and the 

Study of Idioms. — Familiarity with English idioms gives 
a grasp of the content of many phrases in current use, which 
otherwise would be meaningless. To the foreigner especially, 
our idioms are most perplexing. Having learned and used a 
common word, he is astonished when he finds in some phrase 
the same word with no possibility of its ordinary significance. 
The following are illustrations of English idiomatic usage. 
One cannot be said to have a good command of spoken Eng- 
lish, unless he can understand and use such phrases. 

" Luck doesn^t express it — you're in clover , knee-deep." Howells, 
"I will speak daggers to her; but will use none." Shakespeare. 


"My brother will come by stage next Wednesday week." Dickens. 

"I dropped in to say ^How are you^f" Cooper. 

You caught a cold last night and it's worse to-night. 

"He was still the most interesting of men and of clergymen — 
'playing first fiddle in all societies.^' Craik. 

"A fig for your bill of fare ; show me your bill of company .'' Swift. 

"I had finished my education. So I left Paris, and went home to 
rest on my oars." Reade. 

"The first dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to himself 
that he would stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer 
him, and help him, and bear his burdens.'^ Hughes. 

"If Mr. Dillon had said that such an outrage as this was nothing 
but the turning of the tables on the atrocities of the penal code, we 
should not have blamed him." Spectator. 

"Nay, very likely Mrs. Bute Crawley thought her act was quite 
meritorious, and plumed herself upon her resolute manner of per- 
forming it." Thackeray. 

A Small Vocabulary Limits Progress in Oral English.— 

If a pupil is lazy and will not consult a dictionary, give at- 
tention to the explanations of words by his classmates and 
teacher, or question his elders regarding the meaning of 
words, he cannot expect to read intelligently. He will be- 
tray his ignorance by hesitating over words and mispro- 
nouncing them. If he guesses at a pronunciation and hap- 
pens to get it right, the empty tone with which he utters it, 
will tell the alert listener that he gets no thought from it. 
To become a good talker or a public speaker will be still 
more hopeless for such a pupil, because appropriate words 
are necessary for the clear expression of ideas. A good com- 
mand of words must be worked for; it never comes by in- 



Thought Processes in Reading Aloud Stimulate Thought 
in Spoken English. — It is almost superfluous to state what 
has already been suggested, that learning to find the deeper 
meaning in a paragraph or stanza of literature for the pur- 
pose of better oral reading, has a tendency to increase the 
vigor of one^s thinking when he is speaking his own thoughts. 
This is one more argument in favor of oral reading as train- 
ing for skill in conversation or public speaking. 

Secret of Vigorous Thought Before an Audience. — In 
listening to various public speakers, we often wonder at 
the ease with which they think while standing before an 
audience; especially is this true, when we hear a man speak 
well who has been called upon unexpectedly. We should 
remember, however, that it is an impossibihty for a man to 
talk eloquently upon a subject that he does not understand; 
and that the speaker whose flow of thought we admire, is 
really only thinking and teUing the audience what he has 
previously said wholly or in part to some other audience, 
or, at least, has thought out more or less thoroughly at dif- 
ferent times. It is true that some people have much more 
tact than others in weaving together an extemporaneous 
address, but tact cannot be rehed upon to make successful 
speeches. It is ample preparation, alone, that gives a speaker 
perfect command of his thoughts before an audience, and 
no great speech was ever made without it. Alexander Hamil- 
ton once remarked, ^^Men give me credit for genius. All 
the genius I have lies in this; when I have a subject in hand, 
I study it profoundly.'' And Webster confessed that it was 
the experience of twenty years that enabled him to make 
his reply to Hayne. 


Emotional Expression Universally Understood. — It is 

always a high compliment to a reader or speaker when his 
auditors say of him, "That man feels what he says." Gen- 
uine feeling or emotion on the part of a speaker brings an 
immediate response from his audience, for feeling is a subtle 
and universal language. There can be no substitute for it 
in delivery. Learning and affectation have scorned it, and 
tried to supplant it, but have always failed. 

The Experience of Actors. — It is true that some actors 
who mimic the outward appearances of emotion, declare they 
feel no emotion at all. But Mr. William Archer, in his book 
entitled, "The Anatomy of Acting," states that emotions 
master the actor whenever he plays well; and Forbes Robert- 
son says, "I suffer from fatigue in proportion to the amount 
of emotion I have been called upon to go through, and not 
from physical exertion." We are led to conclude, then, that a 
speaker with little feeling, or one who believes that he gains 
self-control and dignity by suppressing his feelings, cannot 
become truly effective with audiences. 

The Relation of Feeling to Imagination. — ^Many people 
have taken it for granted that there can be no feeling with- 
out imagination. This is not necessarily true. For in the 
case of a child hearing or even repeating the words of a nur- 
sery rhyme, he may have little or no appreciation of the 
thought content and no mental pictures in his imagination, 
but the sound of the words, the rhythm and the rhyme arouse 



in him emotions of pleasure. But the higher forms of emo- 
tion, with which we are concerned — a reader's ability to feel 
with his author, to understand various types of men, and to 
appreciate the point of view of his auditors — are all depend- 
ent upon imagination. However, a good imagination does 
not always insure depth of feeling, for the degree of emotional 
intensity stimulated by the imagination varies greatly in 
different people. 

How the Emotions Affect Delivery. — The emotions af- 
fect the quality of the voice, so that with normal conditions, 
a change of emotion produces a change in the vocal quality. 
The speaker with little feeling or the one who restrains his 
emotions, is likely to be a monotonous and tiresome speaker, 
while the man of feeling will have a variety in tone color 
which ^' rings true" and holds attention. The emotions 
also have their expression in the face, gesture and bearing of 
the speaker. Thus by physical expression, the man of feel- 
ing again reinforces his message, and has an added power 
over his audience. 

Cultivation of the Emotional Nature. — The idea that 
to stifle all emotion is an evidence of strength in character, 
and to cultivate feeling a confession of weakness, is rapidly 
passing. Most people now admit that a right development 
of the emotional nature increases our enjoyment of litera- 
ture, art and music, broadens our sympathies and makes 
us responsive members of society. Our own lives are evi- 
dence that the repression of undesirable emotions and the 
expression of the better feelings, has a direct bearing upon 
character. How important, therefore, that the emotional 
life of the pupil should have some attention at school! 
Teacher and pupil may work together for this end in 
the oral English class. Some people are much more 
limited in emotional experience than others. A pupil of 


this type will grasp the thought of a selection, and have 
some mental pictures, but his feelings will be little aroused^ 
Intensifying the imagination and recalling emotional ex- 
periences may help to excite the emotions in such a case, but 
often physical stimuli are the only means of increasing the 
emotional response. If possible dramatizations, scenes, ta- 
bleaux, responsive work, pantomimes, imitations and games 
should then be introduced. By these devices the non- 
emotional individual may quicken his emotional nature in 
such a way as to contribute to his success in reading aloud 
or speaking. 


Knowing an Audience by Emotional Sensitiveness. — 

A reader or speaker should realize the effect of his words 
upon his audience. This he can know to some extent by 
watching and listening for signs of attention or inattention, 
approval or disapproval. But the sensitive speaker feels 
more of the atmosphere of an audience than his eye or ear 
can tell him. He can detect by emotional sensitiveness the 
sympathetic or critical attitude of an audience, and their 
responsiveness or unresponsiveness to his address. 

Weakness of Speakers Lacking Emotional Sensitiveness, 
' — Some speakers seem to have little or no emotional sensi- 
tiveness before an audience. They take no cue from their 
auditors, and never change their tactics. A speaker of this 
type, a well known banker, recently addressed a school of 
East Side boys. He talked in platitudes about the sin of 
dying rich. Unfortunate as he was in the choice of a topic, 
he might have redeemed himself, had he appreciated how 
restless his listeners were, and changed his theme to some 
phase of banking business or anything from his experience 
which the average boy would be interested to hear about. 


But he talked on serenely for forty-five minutes, evidently, 
never realizing that the boys were disgusted and bored, and 
that they heaved siglis of relief when he finished. He faced 
an opportunity, but lost it because he had not enough sensi- 
tiveness to feel the status of his audience. 

Feeling the Pulse of an Audience Helps a Speaker. — 
A speaker who studies his audience always has a peculiar 
power. If his hearers are cordial, he feels at ease and is 
stimulated to do his best; if they are cold and reserved, 
he knows that he has something to overcome and directs 
his efforts accordingly; if he drops a misstatement, he feels 
its effect in time to make a correction; and if his address has 
accomplished its purpose, he is aware of that and can bring 
his remarks to a close. Macaulay says of Horace Walpole, 
that he 'influenced his age because he was influenced by 
his age." Therefore, when a speaker's sense of the temper 
of his audience helps to determine the character of his ad- 
dress, we may say of him, that he is able to influence his 
audience because he is influenced by his audience. 

Learning to Feel the Pulse of an Audience. — It is evi- 
dently worth while for a reader or speaker to be susceptible 
to the atmosphere of his audience. How, then, can a person 
become so? There is but one way to cultivate this suscepti- 
bility. The person must have practice in speaking before 
audiences. He must expect to feel and respond to the temper 
of his audiences, even though they be small, until impres- 
sions received from his auditors are made to contribute to his 
success as a reader or speaker. 


Ability to Hold an Audience an Intangible Element.— 

The ability to impress one's hearers and hold their atten- 
tion, is one of the most subtle and intangible of all the ele- 


ments contributing to excellence in conversation, oral read- 
ing or public speech. We quickly recognize when a speaker 
has it or lacks it, but to define it or analyze it is a difficult 

Establishing an Intimate Relation Between Speaker 
and Audience. — The speaker who has this ability comes 
frankly to his audience, he wins their confidence, he breaks 
down all barriers, he feels the atmosphere of his audience 
(as one feels the atmosphere of an individual), he reads their 
thoughts, he adapts his speech to their point of view and the 
occasion, he interests them, he rivets their attention, and, in 
short, he becomes master of the situation. 

Noble Qualities of Manhood Contribute to the Speaker's 
Power. — ^An approach to this power may be attained by 
studying people and audiences, by carefully considering the 
purpose of every speech, by avoiding digressions, by pre- 
serving originality, by discriminating well in the use of illus- 
trations, by shunning tediousness, by cultivating tact in 
adjusting one's self to new circumstances and by using 
common sense. But such efforts alone cannot compass the 
orator's spell. Many people mention personal magnetism, 
as the mysterious factor which supplements these things. 
Call it that, if you choose, but it is something more than that. 
It springs from the integrity of the speaker, from his sym- 
pathy with people and from the concentration of his powers 
for noble ends. ^^ The greatest thing in oratory is the orator.'' 


Acute Hearing Results in Superior Vocal Control. — 

*^The real and only power that rules in the art of singing is 
the perception of sound," says an authority on vocal music. 
Perception of sound rules, too, in the art of good speaking, 
for whatever conception of sound is held in the mind will 


be manifested in the speaking voice. The deaf who learn 
to speak, have no conception of sound except what they 
associate with the mechanical processes of producing it, 
hence their monotonous and vapid utterance. In the voices 
of children it is easy to discern qualities similar to those 
which they hear at home or in the school room — obviously 
the effect of the children's conception of sound upon their 
own vocal efforts. The voices of the best actors are often 
revelations of delightful tone color, because all their training 
contributes to a high conception of expressive speaking. 

The Ear can be Cultivated by Hearing Good Oral Eng- 
lish. — There is always some conception of the sound of well- 
spoken English in the mind of the normal individual, but 
the conception varies according to the personal experience — • 
according to what the individual has heard. For the person 
who has heard little refined English, there can be nothing 
more helpful than listening attentively to good reading, con- 
versation and speaking. You should cultivate, then, a finer 
appreciation of vocal effects in spoken English by hearing as 
many good readers, conversationalists and public speakers 
as you can, for your own speech will be improved in propor- your appreciation of the vocal command exemplified 
in others. 

Note to Teachers. Some teachers contend that an instructor in 
oral English should never read for his pupils, lest he lead them to lose 
their individual interpretations through imitation. It is well to remem- 
ber in this connection, that many pupils hear little or no good reading, 
and have no conception of its sound and charm. Therefore, it is often 
wiser and more pedagogical to help the pupils by reading for them. 

What is a "Good Ear"?— To have a ''good ear" for 
music means that the person grasps musical compositions 
readily, and holds them in his mind so that he can reproduce 
them easily and accurately. To have a ''good ear" for oral 


English, is to be able to distinguish subtle vowel and con- 
sonant sounds and varieties of expressive elements in de^ 
livery, and to evince a command of them in speech. Some 
people naturally have a better ear than others, are very sus- 
ceptible to auditory impressions, just as certain people are 
natural visualists, very susceptible to impressions received 
by the eye. But the ear can be cultivated, making it possible 

I for nearly everyone to enlarge his conception of vocal effects 

iand improve his oral English by so doing. 

Focus Attention on Your Ideal in Vocal Effects. — In the 
process of working for better spoken English by cultivating 
the ear, the best results are accomplished by centering at- 
tention upon the sounds and effects, as such, and avoiding 
attempts at the exact physical and mechanical processes 
employed in the production. Does a child imitating the 
grunt of a pig or the whistle of a steam engine, stop to think 
how to do it? Or does the humorist mocking the mincing 
speech of a dude or the sonorous tone of a priest, plan how 
he controls his throat? Both the child and the humorist 
achieve the results they wish, and illustrate the truth of the 
principle that the end and not the means should be the ob- 
ject of thought in correlating ear training and voice culture. 
The Oral English Class an Opportunity for Ear Training. 
— The cultivation of the ear is incidental to nearly every 
phase of the work in an oral English class. Vocal exercises, 
drill in phonetic sounds, practice in enunciation, criticism 
of pronunciation, reading or speaking before the class, fol- 
lowing the teacher's suggestions for improved expression, 
listening to the work of classmates and giving attention 
to the speech or reading of the teacher, are all opportunities 
to train the ear. 

An Untrained Ear a Great Handicap. — Many a pupil 
is hampered in all his work, because his ear is dull. On« 


schoolboy was pronounced weak-minded by most of his 
teachers, because he could not talk, spell, or write English 
as his classmates did. He could not sing the scale correctly. 
A painstaking teacher discovered that he did not hear sounds 
accurately. He was not deaf, but he did not discern final 
consonant sounds, and did not always hear articles, preposi- 
tions and conjunctions when people spoke or read. Conse- 
quently he reported only what he heard, omitting many 
final consonants, articles, prepositions and conjunctions 
both in conversation and in composition. The teacher 
gave attention to cultivating his ear, until he could sing the 
scale correctly, and detect sounds which before had been 
to him vague or unrecognized. Then all his schoolwork 
gradually became that of a normal pupil of his age. No 
doubt hundreds of pupils can improve the character of their 
work, not only in oral English but in other subjects as well, 
by cultivating their sense of hearing. 

An Acute Ear Gives an Ideal and a Gauge for Oral 
English. — A fine perception of vocal effects is an advan- 
tage to a pupil in two ways. It gives him an ideal to- 
ward which he may work, and enables him to realize what 
he can already do. By thinking how he delivered a selec- 
tion yesterday, how he makes it sound to-day, and how he 
wishes to make it sound, he can gauge his progress and com- 
pare what he has already accomplished with his ideal. The 
human voice yields largely what is demanded of it, just as 
a violin gives forth only wretched notes when in the hands 
of a novice, but responds with thrilling strains when an artist 
draws the bow. Form a high conception of how you would 
like your oral English to sound, by training your ear; then 
insist that your discriminating ear help you acquire more 
clearness, strength and beauty in the use of your voice in 



The American Voice. — ^Americans are much criticised foi 
their harsh and strident voices. We have to admit that there 
is much ground for the criticism. Every day we hear squeezed, 
rasping, throaty, nasal or high pitched voices and are aware 
that they get ^^ on our nerves. '' We recognize, too, the potent 
influence of agreeable voices when we hear them. But, as a 
nation, we have not yet realized that it is worth while to 
cultivate our voices. Now that we are awake to the fact 
that bodily health should be cultivated, it is to be hoped 
that the culture of the voice will be considered next, for the 
correct use of the voice brings a healthier condition of the 
throat and vocal organs, and relieves nervous strain upon 
both the speaker and the listener. Some kind of training is 
as necessary for the development of a good voice, as pruning 
and fertilizing are for the production of better apples on an 
apple tree. 

The Cultivated Voice is Expressive. — Without some 
training for the voice, there can be no approach to adequate 
expression. Untrained, the voice is generally monotonous. 
It tires the listener, and reveals few distinctions in thought 
or feeling. But if the human vocal instrument be tuned by 
appropriate exercises, it will become mellow and flexible, 
revealing the speaker's thought and emotion in the language 
of tone. 

The Cultivated Voice is More MusicaL — The untrained 
voice is less musical and agreeable to the ear, because it 
does not make the most of the subtonics or vocal consonants 
of our language. Many times even, we hear vocal conso- 
nants converted into aspirates, or into vocal consonants that 
cannot be prolonged, as for example; wid for withj suptrad 
for subtract^ spinach for spinaj. Most aspirate elements 


cannot be prolonged, and are, therefore, unmusical sounds. 
All nasal consonants and many vocal consonants can be 
prolonged and consequently give musical qualities to the 
voice in the same way that the vowels and diphthongs do. 
A comparison of the vocal effects produced by reading the 
sentences of the following groups, will convince any one 
that the vocal and nasal consonants contribute much beauty 
of tone quality to spoken English. 

Sentences Containing Aspirate Consonants 

1. Fat Hugh caught eight white fish. 

2. Pitt stopped to speak what he thought. 

3. What steps at sea such fast ships take! 

Sentences Containing Vocal Consonants 

1. The rider of the zebra was glad the gold was his. 

2. The warrior beguiled the day with rare ballads. 

3. The dray dragged the boy over the bridge. 

Sentences Containing Nasal Consonants 

1. Stern and stanch he stands with his gun on his arm. 

2. Many men, cheered by the throng, are marching and singing 

3. The unknown man, sunburned and brown, maintained fine 
command in the game. 

Practice of Vocal Exercises. — ^To secure the best results 
in practicing vocal exercises, one needs the help of a com- 
petent teacher. But any one can make some progress by a 
judicious use of exercises. Care should be taken not to strain 
or overtax the voice. 


I. For giving the tone proper direction, and securing re- 
sponse from the resonant chambers, practice the following 


exercises on the eight pitches of a scale best suited to the 
compass of the voice. 

1. ring, ring, ring. 

2. Sing, King! 

3. m, m, m, m. 

4. n, n, n, n. 

5. Produce a humming tone with the lips closed. 

6. too, too, too. 

II. For fronting the tone (bringing it out of the throat) 
try these exercises, first in an ordinary tone of voice, and then 
on the various pitches of the scale. 

1. men, men, men. 5. redeem, redeem, redeem. 

2. Repeat number one rapidly. 6. moonbeam, moonbeam. 

3. dean, dean, dean. 7. hi nonny no, hi nonny no! 

4. bim, bim, bim. 8. believe, believe, believe. 

III. For relieving tension and securing free muscular ac- 
tion of the lips, work on the following exercises using a con- 
versational tone of voice. It will do no harm to exaggerate 
the action of the lips. 

1. ku, x; ku, ah; ku, x; ku, ah. 5. boomerang, boomerang. 

2. edee, edo; edee, edo; edee, edo. 6. anemone, anemone. 

3. raw beet, raw beet, raw beet. 7. bool a bool ah! 

4. momentum, momentum, momen- 8. wa hoo, wa hoo! 


IV. For gaining free action of the tongue, practice this 
group of exercises. 

1. la, la, la, la, la, la. 

2. Repeat the above very rapidly. 

3. lil, lol, lah; lil, lol, lah. 

4. Trill r. 

5. d6tty, doty; d6tty, doty; dSttJ^, doty. 

V. For quality of tone and a careful moulding of the ele 


ments, practice the following exercises on all the pitches of 
the scale. 

1. nom, n5m, nom. (Make the well rounded and full.) 

2. nam, nem, mm, nom, num. (Give distinct form to each vowel.) 

3. o, ah, e; o, ah, e. 

4. too, o, ah; too, o, ah. 

5. la, la, le, li, lo, lu. 

6. ba, be, bl, bo, bu. 

7. nu, no, na, na, na, ne, ne, nl. 

VI. For quality, flexibility of voice and projection of tone, 
use some of the following quotations as exercises. Practice 
them on as many different pitches of the scale as the voice 
can take without straining. Vary the exercises by practicing 
them in arpeggios. 

1. While still young tune your tongue. 

2. Thy longing brings him home. 

3. The bowmen twang their strings. 

4. Calm and peaceful is my sleep. 

5. Now let us sing,^'Long live the King." 

6. ''Green grow the rushes 0!" 

7. ''Come," said the solemn sounding drum. 

8. "He trod the ling like a buck in spring." 

9. " They bound him strong with leathern thong.'' 

10. "Alms, for the love of Allah!" 

11. Oh, give me a home by the sounding sea! 

12. There are two elms forming an arch of green. 

13. I see a dancing star and a long moonbeam. 

14. "There is a man sky-true, sword-strong and brave to look 


15. "If only I could borrow a rainbow from to-morrow!" 

16. "The world is so full of a number of things, 

I'm sure we should all be as happy as kingSc" 


17. "Solemnly, mournfully, dealing its dole, 

The curfew bell is beginning to toll.'' 

18. "For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee." 

19. " Sing as we float along ; 

Sing as the tide grows strong." 

20. "Kentish Sir Byng stood for his king." 

21. "My soul to-day is far away, 

Sailing the Vesuvian Bay." 

22. "Melancholy! Melancholy! 

I've no use for you, by Golly!" 

23. "Marching along, fifty score strong. 

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song." 

24. "The cattle are grazing, 

Their heads never raising. 
There are forty feeding like one." 

25. "The one worth while. 

Is the one who will smile 

When everything goes dead wrong." 

26. "My castles are the king's alone 

From turret to foundation stone, 
The hand of Douglas is his own." 

27. "Is there nothing winging. 

Nothing, nothing, flinging 
Its warm, wild heart away?" 

28. "Saddle! saddle! saddle! 

Redden spur and thong. 
Ride like the mad tornado. 
The track is lonely and long," 

29. "Time is very long 

Without a song; 
Year long is the day 
With love away." 



Vocal Expression Defined. — ^Vocal expression is the rev- 
elation of thought and feeling by modulations of the voice. 
Wonderful as the human voice is in the production of vowel 
and consonant sounds, it is still more wonderful in its range 
of expression resulting from various combinations of the 
elements of force, time, pitch and quality. The next step is 
to consider each of these four criteria. 


Force is easily recognized in speaking and reading, even 
by untrained ears. However, it should not be confused with 
mere loudness for a big empty voice is not a forceful one. 
Force manifests the ^^ degree of mental energy,'' and forceful 
reading is that in which clear thought predominates and 
compels attention. 


Emphasis Defined. — We emphasize thoughts when we use 
a different degree of force, a different pitch, a change of 
time (especially by pauses), or by a contrasting quality. 
Emphasis may be defined then, as the prominence given 
to a word, phrase or clause in reading or speaking to make 
the meaning clear. The following rules are not exhaustive, 
but may serve as aids to pupils in analyzing thought and 
relating it to utterance. 




I. The subject and predicate of a sentence are generally 

1. Two firemen appeared and ascended the ladder. 

2. Three hours later, the Spanish fleet was completely destroyed, 

II. Words expressing new ideas are emphatic. 

1. ^'I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with 
you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, 
nor pray with you.'^ 

III. Words expressing a contrast of ideas are emphatic. 

1. ^'The former target was now removed and a fresh one of the 
same size placed in its room.'' 

2. ^^I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I 

3. "The cynic puts all human actions into only two classes —  
openly bad and secretly bad." 

IV. Words repeated to enforce a statement are emphatic. 

"The matter with him? What, indeed, could invest human 
flesh with such terrors — what but this? He was — he is — let me 
shriek it in your ear — a bore — a Bore! of the most malignant type; 
an intolerable, terrible, unmitigated BORE!" 

V. Any part of speech may sometimes be emphatic, but 
articles, conjunctions and prepositions are least likely to 
require emphasis. 

1. I agree with the honorable gentleman. 

2. Without praise, he is discouraged; with it, he becomes over 

3. This is the place for jolly campers. 

4. "Not Liberty first, and Union afterward: but Liberty and 
Union, now and forever, one and inseparable!" 

Carefully analyze the following sentences for their con- 


tent, and try to express it by reading each sentence aloud 
What rule for emphasis does each sentence illustrate? 

Every Woman: Now, Youth, behold! 

Here's Poverty. Let's question her, and see 
If Wealth or Poverty the kindlier be. 

(To Truth disguised as a beggar) 
Old woman, of thy wisdom, prithee, tell us 
What is true happiness? Where can it be found? 

Truth: A myth — a mocking mirage. A poet's dream. 
The fleeting substance of a maniac's scheme. 
A will-o'-the-wisp is happiness. When sought, 
'Tis ever out of reach; 'tis never caught. 
A timid, hunted hare — in its pursuit 
Woman becomes a wanton, man a brute. 
Yet happiness shall surely come apace 
To those who take no pleasure in the chase. 
I tell thee — warn thee, Everywoman, Youth, 
If happiness thou seekest, follow Truth. 

Walter Browne: Everywoman. 
Reprinted by permission of Mrs. Walter Browne and Henry W. Savage. 

That is the doctrine you've inherited from our forefathers, and go 
on heedlessly proclaiming far and wide — the doctrine that the mul- 
titude, the vulgar herd, the masses, are the pith of the people — ^that 
they are the people — that the common man, the ignorant, unde- 
veloped member of society has the same right to condemn and to 
sanction, to counsel and to govern, as the intellectually distinguished 

Henrik Ibsen: An Enemy of the People. 
Reprinted by permission of Walter H. Baker and Co. 

''These are bitter words, sir Knight," said Prince Edward with 
an angry frown. 

''And they come from a bitter heart," answered the unknown 
knight. "A true Frenchman's words may well be bitter, for bitter 
is his lot and bitter his thoughts as he rides through his thrice 
unhappy country." 

A. CoNAN Doyle: The White Company. 

It is easy to sit in the sunshine and preach to the man in the 


Burr, at first, was agreeably attracted to Hamilton, whose radiant 
disposition warmed his colder nature; but when he was forced to 
accept the astounding fact that Hamilton had prepared himself 
for the bar in four months, digesting and remembering a mountain 
of knowledge that cost other men the labor of years, and had pre- 
pared a manual besides, he experienced the first convulsion of that 
jealousy which was to become his controlling passion in later years. 

Gertrude Atherton: The Conqueror. 

The same dualism underlies the nature and condition of man. 
Every excess causes a defect; every defect an excess. Every sweet 
hath its sour; every evil its good. Every faculty which is a re- 
ceiver of pleasure has an equal penalty put on its abuse. It is to 
answer for its moderation with its life. For every grain of wit 
there is a grain of folly. For everything you have missed, you have 
gained something else; and for everything you gain, you lose some- 
thing. If riches increase, they are increased that use them. If the 
gatherer gathers too much, nature takes out of the man what she 
puts into his chest; swells the estate, but kills the owner. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson: Compensation, 

You think if you lived in the olden days you^d be a Caesar or an 
Alexander. But you wouldn't. You'd be a Nero — a Nero! Sink 
my self-respect to the extent of marrying into your family! Never! 
I am going to Washington without your aid. I am going to save 
my father if I have to go on my knees to every United States Sena- 
tor. I'll go to the White House; I'll tell the president what you are! 
Marry your son? No, thank you! No! thank you! 

Charles Klein: The Lion and the Mouse. 
Reprinted by permission of G. W. Dillingham Co. 

In conquering races the men, they say, are superior to the women, 
Jin conquered races the women to the men. 

John Galsworthy. 

A mile behind is Gloucester town 
Where the fishing fleets put in, 
A mile ahead the land dips down 
And the woods and farms begin. 
Here, where the moors stretch free 
In the high blue afternoon. 
Are the marching sun and talking sea, 
And the racing winds that wheel and flee 
On the flying heels of June. 


Over the shelf of the sandy cove 

Beach-peas blossom late. 

By copse and cHff the swallows rove 

Each caUing to his mate. 

Seaward the sea-gulls go, 

And the land-birds all are here; 

That green-gold flash was a vireo, 

And yonder flame where the marsh-flags grow 

Was a scarlet tanager. 

William Vaughn Moody: Gloucester Moors. 
Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Co. 

The young man took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. 
It was a good handkerchief, a good brow, and the young man waa 
good to look at. 

O. Henry: His Courier. 

When Prue and I are most cheerful, and the world looks fair — we 
talk of our cousin the curate. When the world seems a little cloudy, 
and we remember that though we have lived and loved together 
we may not die together — we talk of our cousin the curate. When 
we plan little plans for the boys and dream dreams for the girls — 
we talk of our cousin the curate. When I tell Prue of Aurelia, whose 
character is every day lovelier — we talk of our cousin the curate. 
There is no subject which does not seem to lead naturally to our 
cousin the curate. 

George William Curtis: Prue and I. 

The noise and dust of the conflict may hide the real question 
at issue. Europe may think, some of us may, that we are fighting 
for forms and parchments, for sovereignty and a flag. But really 
the war is one of opinions; it is Civihzation against Barbarism; it is 
Freedom against Slavery. The cannon shot against Fort Sumter 
was the yell of pirates against the Declaration of Independence; the 
war-cry of the North is the echo of that sublime pledge. The result 
IS as sure as the throne of God. I believe in the possibility of jus- 
tice, in the certainty of union. Years hence, when the smoke of 
this conflict clears away, the world will see under our banner all 
tongues, all creeds, all races, — one brotherhood, — and on the bank 
of the Potomac, the genius of Liberty, robed in light, broken chains 
under feet, and an olive branch in her hand. 

Wendell Phillips: The War of Liberty. 

It was through the Declaration of Independence that we Americans 
acknowledged the eternal inequality of man. For by it we aboUshed 


a cut-and-dried aristocracy. We had seen little men artificially 
held up in high places, and great men artificially held down in low 
places, and our own justice-loving hearts abhorred this violence to 
human nature. Therefore, we decree that every man should thence- 
forth have equal liberty to find his own level. 

Owen Wister: The Virginian. 

Tf learn to speak off-hand in public, speak in your own room, 
privately, ten minutes every day, on some subject, to yourself. 
Don't experiment in public. It is an awful infliction. 

Newman Hall. 

Suffice it to say, he stayed — he stayed — he STAYED! — five mortal 
weeks; refusing to take hints when they almost became kicks; driv- 
ing our friends from us, and ourselves almost to distraction. 

John T. Trowbridge: Fred Trover's Little Iron-Clad, 
Reprinted by permission of the author. 


Significance of Time in Oral Reading or in Speech. — A 

reader or speaker indicates his mental estimate of words, 
phrases and clauses by the time he gives them in utterance. 
An instructor, explaining a difficult lesson, does it deliberately, 
indicating by his manner of speech that he considers the 
lesson important; but in talking with an acquaintance about 
the weather, he uses a much more rapid rate of utterance, 
indicating that he considers it relatively unimportant. 

Time in Reading or Speech Similar to Time in Music. — 
Time in reading or speech is similar in significance to time 
in music, and may be designated in the same way as fast, 
moderate or slow^ 

Fast time is an appropriate expression of lively, joyous 
and excited moods, or sometimes of unimportant ideas. 

Slow time is an appropriate expression of sentiments that 
are characterized by calmness, sympathy, pathos, reverence, 
awe and admiration, or of ideas that are important. 

Moderate time is an appropriate expression of our more 
common thoughts and feelings. 


Read the following quotations aloud, noticing what kinds 
of time give the best expression of the thought. 

The two teams came together in a mass and for an instant there 
seemed to be no movement either way.^ Then the mass began turn- 
ing and revolving about itself, and in another moment it went 
down. There were players on both sides of the goal line; the referee, 
blowing his whistle, began pulling fellows off the pile, and both sides 
were already claiming that it was or that it was not a touch-down, 
when as a matter of fact no one knew. But when the bottom was 
reached, Skilton was found lying there with the ball six inches 
across the line. 

Ward and Banks hauled him to his feet, while Brewster and Mc- 
Neal turned somersaults, and the others of the team pranced round 
shaking hands and pounding one another on the back. And on the 
side lines the first deafening yell and cheer had been supplanted 
by the regular, snappy shout, ^^Skil-ton, Skil-ton, Skil-ton!'' over 
and over again. 

Arthur Stanwood Pier: The Game with St. John^s, 
Reprinted by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. 

Let me use an illustration. We infer from the flint implements 
recently found in such profusion all over England and in other 
countries, that they were produced by men, and also that the Pyra- 
mids of Egypt were built by men, because, as far as our experience 
goes, nothing but men could form such implements or build such 
Pyramids. In like manner, we infer from the phenomena of light 
the agency of waves, because, as far as our experience goes, no 
other agency could produce the phenomena. 

John Tyndall. 
Reprinted by permission of D. Appleton & Co. 

Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books. 
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. 


"From the west there sounded the harsh gong of a fire engine 
which was pounding rapidly down the car tracks. It came, rocking 
in a whirlwind of galloping horses and swaying men. The crowd 
on the street broke into a run, streaming along the sidewalk in 
the wake of the engine. The architect woke from his dead thoughts 
and ran with the crowd. Two, three, four blocks, they sped toward 
the lake, which curves eastward at this point, and as he ran the 


street became strangely familiar to him. The crowd turned south 
along a broad avenue that led to the park. Some one cried: "There 
it is! IVs the hotel!'' 

Robert Herrick: The Common Lot, 

Let me play the fool: 
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; 
And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice 
By being peevish? 

Shakespeare: The Merchant of Venice. 

Away! away! o'er the sheeted ice, 

Away, away we go; 
On our steel bound feet we move as fleet 

As deer o'er the Lapland snow. 
What though the sharp north winds are out. 

The skater heeds them not — 
'Midst the laugh and the shout of the jocund rout, 

Grey winter is forgot. 

Let others choose more gentle sports, 

By the side of the winter hearth; 
Or 'neath the lamps of the festal halls, 

Seek for their share of mirth; 
But as for me, away! away! 

Where the merry skaters be — 
Where the fresh wind blows, and the smooth ice glows. 

There is the place for me. 

Ephraim Peabody: A Skating Song. 

Oh the long and dreary Winter! 
Oh the cold and cruel Winter! 
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 
Froze the ice on lake and river, 
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper • 
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape. 
Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
Through the forest, round the village. 

Henry W. Longfellow: The Song of Hiawatha. 
Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Co. 


The common street climbed up against the sky, 
Gray meeting gray; and wearily to and fro 
I saw the patient, common people go, 
Each with his sordid burden trudging by. 
And the rain dropt; there was not any sigh 
Or stir of a live wind; dull, dull, and slow 
All motion; as a tale told long ago 
The faded world; and creeping night drew nigh. 

Then burst the sunset, flooding far and fleet, 
Leavening the whole of life with magic leaven. 
Suddenly down the long, wet glistening hill 
Pure splendor poured — and lo! the common street 
A golden highway into golden heaven. 
With the dark shapes of men ascending still. 

Helen Gray Cone: The Common Stred, 
Reprinted by permission of the author. 


Subordination in Reading or Speaking Explained.— 

Subordination in reading or speaking is gliding over a word, 
phrase or clause to give little prominence to unimportant 
and minor ideas. One may observe that a speaker often 
subordinates a clause by using a milder form of force, a lower 
pitch and a more rapid rate than he employs for the rest of 
a sentence. Generallj^, parenthetical and explanatory ex- 
pressions, and ideas that are already known to the audience 
should be subordinated. 

Analyze the thought of the following excerpts to discover 
what is relatively unimportant; then read them aloud, mak- 
ing sure that your voice reports your estimate of both the 
important and the unimportant ideas. 

"Then come, if you will, and listen — stand close beside my knee — 
To a tale of a Southern city, proud Charleston by the sea." 

What does he find? — ^let me ask you who went to your homes 
eager to find, in the welcome you had justly earned, full payment 
for four years' sacrifice — what does he find when, having followed 


the battle-stained cross against overwhelming odds, dreading death 
not half so much as surrender, he reaches the home he left so pros- 
perous and beautiful? 

Henry W. Grady. 
Reprinted by permission of E. D. Shurter. 

The plain house in which he lived — severely plain, because the 
welfare of the suffering and the slave were preferred to book, and 
picture, and every fair device of art; the house to which the north star 
led the trembling fugitive, and which the unfortunate and the friend- 
less knew — the radiant figure passing swiftly through these streets, 
plain as the house from which it came, regal with a royalty beyond 
that of kings — the ceaseless charity untold — the strong, sustaining 
heart — the sacred domestic affection that must not here be named — 
the eloquence which, like the song of Orpheus, will fade from living 
memory into a doubtful tale — the surrender of ambition, the con- 
secration of a life hidden with God in sympathy with man — these, 
all these, will live among your immortal traditions, heroic even in 
your heroic story. 

George William Curtis: Eulogy on Wendell Phillips, 

But we listened, as all boys in their better moods will listen (aye, 
and men too, for the matter of that), to a man whom we felt to be, 
with all his heart, and soul, and strength, striving against whatever 
was mean, and unmanly, and unrighteous in our little world. 

Thomas Hughes. 

On the noon of the fourteenth of November, 1743 or 1744, I 

forget which it was, just as the clock had struck one, Barbara S , 

with her accustomed punctuality, ascended the long, rambling stair- 
case, with awkward interposed landing-places, which led to the 
office, or rather a sort of box with a desk in it, whereat sat the then 
treasurer of (what few of our readers may remember) the old Bath 
Theatre. All over the island it was the custom, and remains so I 
believe to this day, for the players to receive their weekly stipend 
on the Saturday. It was not much that Barbara had to claim. 

Charles Lamb: The Essays of Elia. 

On May mornings her slender figure, which looked as if it might 
suddenly snap off at the waist, might be seen in the garden, hang- 
ing clothes out to dry, or stooping above the vegetables; while Mac- 
Creedy watched her in a possessive manner from the cottage door- 
way. When he was out it was she who would pull the ferry-boat 
over, and, after landing the passengers, remain motionless, bowed 
over her sculls, staring at them, as though loth to lose the sound of 


their footsteps; then she would pull slowly back across the swirl ol 
silver-brown water, and, tying up the boat, stand with her hand 
shading her eyes. 

John Galsworthy: A Miller of Dee, 
Reprinted by permission of Charles Scribner^s Sons. 

"Why do you lead such a solitary life?'' asked a friend of Michael 
Angelo. "Art is a jealous mistress,'' replied the artist; "she re- 
quires the whole man." During his labors at the Sistine Chapel, 
according to Disraeli, he refused to meet anyone, even at his own 

Orison Swett Marden: One Unwavering Aim. 

Philip look'd, 
And in their eyes and faces read his doom; 
Then, as their faces drew together, groan'd, 
And slipt aside, and like a wounded life 
Crept down into the hollows of the wood; 
There, while the rest were loud in merrymaking, 
Had his dark hour unseen, and rose and past 
Bearing a lifelong hunger in his heart. 

Alfred Tennyson: Enoch Arden. 

There is scarce any thoughtful man or woman, I suppose, but 
can look back upon his course of past life, and remember some point, 
trifling as it may have seemed at the time of the occurrence, which 
has nevertheless turned and altered his whole career. 

William M. Thackeray: Henry Esmond. 

I have been sometimes thinking, if a man had the art of second 
sight for seeing lies, as they have in Scotland for seeing spirits, how 
admirably he might entertain himself in this town by observing the 
different shapes, sizes and colors of those swarms of lies which buzz 
about the heads of some people, like flies about a horse's ears in 

Jonathan Swift: The Art of Political Lying. 

For my part, as soon as I had left the foresail run, I threw my- 
self flat on the deck, with my feet against the narrow gunwale of 
the bow, and my hands grasping a ring-bolt near the foot of the 
foremast. It was mere instinct that prompted me to do this — which 
was undoubtedly the very best thing I could have done — ^for I was 
too much flurried to think. 

For some moments we were completely deluged, I say, and all 


this time I held my breath and clung to the bolt. When I could 
stand it no longer I raised myself upon my knees, still keeping hold 
with my hands, and thus got my head clear. Presently our little 
boat gave herself a shake, just as a dog does in coming out of the 
water, and thus rid herself, in some measure, of the seas. 

Edgar Allan Poe: A Descent into the Maelstrom. 


Good Grouping Contributes to Clearness of Thought. — 

When reading or speaking there is always a tendency to 
divide the words into groups. Taking breath, giving atten- 
tion to the punctuation, or considering the thought, will re- 
sult in grouping. It is true that the thought or sense group 
and the punctuation group often coincide; but as this is not 
always true, grouping according to the thought should be 
given the preference. Breathing can be so controlled that 
breath is always taken before or after a thought group; 
punctuation marks can be ignored when so doing makes the 
thought clearer; and for the same reason, pauses can be 
made where there is no punctuation at all. 

Difficulty in Grouping Words Well when Reading Poetry. 
— Many pupils experience difficulty in reading poetry. They 
group the words according to the metrical feet, or make a 
group of each line. These habits can be overcome by giv- 
ing more attention to the meaning, and trying to make it 
so clear that others cannot help understanding it. 

Use the following excerpts for practice in analysis of 
thought, and practice in reading aloud to express the thought 
by appropriate grouping. 

Ah, ancient mill, still do I picture o'er 

Thy cob webbed stairs and loft and grain-strewn floor; 

Thy door, — like some brown, honest hand of toil, 

And honorable with service of the soil, — 

Forever open; to which, on his back 

The prosperous farmer bears his bursting sack, 


And while the miller measures out his toll, 
Again I hear, above the cogs' loud roll, — 
That makes stout joist and rafter groan and sway, — 
The harmless gossip of the passing day: 
Good country talk, that says how so-and-so 
Lived, died, or wedded: how curculio 
And codling-moth play havoc with the fruit. 
Smut ruins the corn and blight the grapes to boot: 
Or what is news from town: next county fair: 
How well the crops are looking everywhere: — 
Now this, now that, on which their interests fix, 
Prospects for rain or frost, and politics. 
^ While, all around, the sweet smell of the meal 
' Filters, warm-pouring from the rolling wheel 
Into the bin; beside which, mealy white. 
The miller looms, dim in the dusty light. 

Madison Cawein: The Old Water-MilL 

To give to the noblest thoughts the noblest expression, to pene- 
trate the souls of men, and make them feel as if they were new 
creatures, conscious of new powers and loftier purposes; to cause 
truth and justice, wisdom and virtue, patriotism and religion to 
appear holier and more majestic things than men had ever dreamed 
of before; to delight as well as to convince; to charm, to win, to 
arouse, to calm, to warn, to enlighten, to persuade — this is the func- 
tion of the orator. Brander Matthews. 

Upon the Forest-side in Grasmere Vale 
There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name; 
An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb. 
His bodily frame had been from youth to age 
Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen, 
Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs, 
And in his Shepherd's calling he was prompt 
And watchful more than ordinary men. 
Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds, 
Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes, 
When others heeded not. He heard the South 
Make subterraneous music, like the noise 
Of Bagpipers on distant Highland hills. 

William Wordsworth: Michael, 

As he pressed on the plain turned to woods once more in the 
region of Wilverley Walk, and a cloud swept up from the south, 


with the sun shining through the chinks of it. A few great drops 
came pattering down, and then in a moment the steady swish of a 
brisk shower, with the dripping and the dropping of the leaves. 

A. Con AN Doyle. 

'Tis night upon the lake. Our bed of boughs 
Is built where, high above, the pine tree soughs. 
'Tis still — and yet what woody noises loom 
Against the background of the silent gloom! 
One well might hear the opening of a flower 
If day were hushed as this. A mimic shower 
Just shaken from a branch, how large it sounded, 
As 'gainst our canvas roof its three drops bounded! 
Across the rumpling waves the hoot-owFs bark 
Tolls forth the midnight hour upon the dark. 
What mellow booming from the hills doth come? — 
The mountain quarry strikes its mighty drum. 

Richard Watson Gilder: The Voice of the Pine. 
Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Co. 

Last night I dreamed a dream of you. I thought you came 
And caught my hands in yours and said my name 

Over and over, till my soul was stirred 

With that fine ecstacy that some wild bird 
May know when first he feels the blossoming 
And the keen rapture of the glad new spring. 
Almost to-day I fear to meet your eyes 
Lest I should find them suddenly grown wise 

With knowledge of my heart; almost I fear 

To touch your hand lest you should come too near 
And startled, dazed by some fierce inner light. 
We both should cry, ''I dreamed a dream last night!'' 

Theodosia Garrison: Illumination, 
Reprinted by permission of Mitchell Kennerley. 

Oh, say, Jim Crow, 
Why is it you always go 
With a gloomy coat of black 
The year long on your back? 
Why don't you change its hue, 
At least for a day or two. 
To red or green or blue? 
And why do you always wear 


Such a sober, sombre air, 
As glum as the face of Care? 
I wait for your reply, 

And into the peaceful pause 
There comes your curious, croaking cry, — 
^^Oh, because! ^cause! ^cause!'' 
Clinton Scollard: Jim Crow from ''The Lyric Bough." 
Reprinted by permission of the author and Messrs. Sherman, French 
and Co. 

The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, 

Burn'd on the water; the poop was beaten gold; 

Purple the sails, and so perfumed that 

The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver 

Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke and made 

The water which they beat to follow faster. 

As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 

It beggared all description: she did He 

In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold of tissue, 

O'er-picturing that Venus where we see 

The fancy outwork nature: on each side her 

Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 

With divers-colored fans, whose wind did seem 

To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool. 

And what they undid did. 

William Shakespeare: Antony and Cleopatra, 


How Pauses are Related to Time. — Pauses have a marked 
effect upon time in reading or speaking. Frequent and 
long pauses retard the time, while few and short pauses ac- 
celerate the time. Pauses are not mere silence, but are 
instants when the thought of one group of words is carried 
over to that of another group, showing the relation between 
them. No mechanical process of stopping at punctuation 
marks, or following the old rule of counting four at a period, 
two at a semi-colon and one at a comma, will fill pauses with 
meaning. Pauses should come naturally from a reader^s or 
speaker's effort to express thought clearly and impressively. 


Rhetorical Pauses. — Pauses are related to emphasis, be- 
cause a pause before or after an idea, or in both places is 
frequently the best way of emphasizing it. Such pauses 
as are made for the sake of emphasis or clearness and do 
not coincide with any marks of punctuation, are called 
rhetorical pauses. 

Practice the following examples, giving the clearest pos- 
sible grouping of thought. Notice what use you make of 
the rhetorical pause. 

He finds his house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves free, 
his stock killed, his barn empty, his trade destroyed, his money 
worthless; his social system, feudal in its magnificence, swept away; 
his people without law or legal status; his comrades slain, and the 
burdens of others heavy upon his shoulders. 

Henry W. Grady: The New South. 
Reprinted by permission of E. D. Shurter. 

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings; 
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 


With no friend but his sword, and no fortune but his talents, he 
(Napoleon) rushed into the hsts where rank, and wealth, and genius 
had arrayed themselves and competition fled from him as from the 
glance of destiny. He knew no motive but interest — he acknowl- 
edged no criterion but success — he worshipped no God but ambi- 
tion, and with an Eastern devotion he knelt at the shrine of his 

Charles Phillips. 

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward. 
Never doubted clouds would break. 

Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, 
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake. 

Robert Browning: Asolando. 

Great news this for that fierce old country, whose trade for a 
generation had been war, her exports archers and her imports 

A. CoNAN Doyle, 


His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles, 
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate, 
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart, 
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. 

William Shakespeare: Two Gentlemen of Verona, 

A fair and luminous mind creates a body after its own image. 
With health and a soul, nor man nor woman can be other than 
beautiful, whatever the features. The most potent charm is that 
of expression. As the moonlight clothes the rugged and jagged 
mountains so a noble mind transfigures its vesture. 

Bishop John L. Spalding: Opportunity, 
Reprinted by permission of A. C. McClurg and Company. 

He was a worshipper of liberty, a friend of the oppressed. A 
thousand times I have heard him quote these words: "For Justice 
all place a temple, and all seasons, summer." He believed that hap- 
piness was the only good, reason the only torch, justice the only 
worship, humanity the only religion, and love the only priest. He 
added to the sum of human joy; and were every one to whom he 
did some loving service to bring a blossom to his grave, he would 
sleep to-night beneath a wilderness of flowers. 

Robert G. Ingersoll: At His Brother^ s Grave, 
Reprinted by permission of C. P. Farrell. 

On the following day the attack was made, but it was unsuc- 
cessful. The whole state was now alarmed, and all the frontier 
settlers left alive had flocked to the larger and more protected towns. 
It had also developed during the day that there was a pretty large 
party of Sioux who were ready to surrender, thereby showing that 
they had not been party to the massacre nor indorsed the hasty 
action of the tribe. 

C. Alexander Eastman: Old Indian Days, 
Reprinted by permission of Doubleday Page & Co. 

To recreate in your own brain the imagery of a poem is to be- 
come in some degree a poet yourself. 

Bliss Perry. 

thou king, the Most High God gave Nebuchadnezzar thy father 
the kingdom, and greatness, and glory, and majesty: and because 
of the greatness that he gave him, all the peoples, nations, and lan- 
guages trembled and feared before him: whom he would he slew, 


and whom he would he kept alive; and whom he would he raised up, 
and whom he would he put down. 

Daniel, V 18-19. 

Be calm in arguing, for fierceness makes error a fault and truth 

George Herbert. 


Variety of Pitch in the Speaking Voice. — The average 
compass of the human voice in reading or speaking is more 
than an octave, yet we think little of pitches of the voice 
except in singing. We are more conscious of pitch when lis- 
tening to a voice that is abnormally high, low or monotonous, 
than when hearing a voice with good range. Saying a sen- 
tence and then humming it, will convince any one that won- 
derful changes in pitch are constantly used in reading and 
speaking. Notice the changes in pitch in these lines from 
Browning's Herve Riel. 

" Here's the English at our heels ; would you have them take in tow 
All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow. 
For prize to Plymouth Sound?" 

The Melody of Sentences. — The changes in pitch used 
in a sentence, make the melody of that sentence; and the 
melody varies with the thought that is conveyed. If John 
Doe meets tw^o classmates who have attended a literary 
society meeting, and inquires, ^^Did you have a good de- 
bate to-day, boys?", one might say, ^^I think so," indicating 
frankly that, in his opinion, it was a good debate, the other 
might say, "I think so," virtually saying, it was fair, but 
uninteresting and an awful bore. The words are the same 
in both instances, but the melody in each case tells the boy's 
real thought. So in reading, different people will give about 
the same melody to a sentence, if they apprehend the same 


thought in it; but failure to grasp the meaning will give a 
wrong melody. 

Keys Occur in Speech as in Music. — Besides the melody 
of sentences, it may be observed that sometimes low pitches 
predominate in the voice, and we say the person is speaking 
in a low key; at other times, high pitches predominate, and 
we say he is speaking in a high key. Here, again, the changes 
in pitch are caused by mental states; for when one is reflec- 
tive or self -controlled, his condition of mind is manifested 
in low keys of voice, but if he becomes excited over some- 
thing or loses his self-control, this is evidenced in high keys. 

Awake, awake! — 
Ring the alarum-bell. — Murther and treason! — 
Banquo and Donalbain! — Malcolm! awake! 
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
And look on death itself! up, up, and see 
The great doom's image! — Malcolm! Banquo! 
As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites. 
To countenance this horror. Ring the bell. 

William Shakespeare: Macbeth. 

lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree! 
Too lively glow the lilies light, 
The varnished holly's all too bright, 
The May-flower and the eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than mine; 
But, lady, weave no wreath for me, 
Or weave it of the cypress-tree. 

Sir Walter Scott: The Cypress Wreath 

Hallo! — ^What? Where, what can it be 
That strikes up so deliciously? 

1 never in my life — what? no! 
That little tin box playing so? 
It really seemed as if a sprite 

Had struck among us swift and light, 
And come from some minuter star 
To treat us with his pearl guitar. 


Hark! It scarcely ends the strain, 

But it gives it o'er again, 

Lovely thing! and runs along 

Just as if it knew the song, 

Touching out, smooth, clear and small, 

Harmony, and shake, and all: 

Now upon the treble lingering, 

And at last upon the close 

Coming with serene repose. 

^ Leigh Hunt: On Hearing a Little Musical Box. 
Reprinted by permission of E. P. Button and Company. 

The weather, for many a day and night, has been so wet that the 
trees seem wet through, and the soft loppings and prunings of the 
woodman's ax can make no crash or crackle as they fall. The deer, 
looking soaked, leave quagmires, where they pass. The shot of a rifle 
loses its sharpness in the moist air. The view from my Lady Ded- 
lock's own windows is alternately a lead-colored view, and a view 
in Indian ink. The vases on the stone terrace in the foreground 
catch the rain all day; and the heavy drops fall, drip, drip, drip, 
by day and night, upon the broad flagged pavement, called, from 
old time, the Ghost's Walk. 

Charles Dickens: Bleak House, 

Bury the Great Duke 

With an empire's lamentation, 

Let us bury the Great Duke 

To the noise of the mourning of a mighty nation. 

Mourning when their leaders fall, 

Warriors carry the warrior's pall, 

And sorrow darkens hamlet and hall. 

Where shall we lay the man whom we deplore? 
Here, in the streaming London's central roar. 
Let the sound of those he wrought for, 
And the feet of those he fought for, 
Echo round his bones forevermore. 

Lead out the pageant: sad and slow. 
As fits a universal woe. 
Let the long, long procession go, 
And let the sorrowing crowd about it grow, 
And let the mournful martial music blow; 
The last great Englishman is low. 
Alfred Tennyson: Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington. 


Meanwhile the criers were calling the defendant at the four 
corners of the lists. '^Oyes! Oyes! Oyes! Richard Drayton, duke 
of Nottingham, come to this combat in which ye be enterprised to 
discharge your sureties this day before our liege, the king, and to 
encounter in your defence Henry Mansfield, knight, the challenger. 
Oyes! Oyes! Oyes! Let the defendant come!'' 

The portals are open, the white road leads 

Through thicket and garden, o'er stone and sod. 
On, up! Boot and saddle! Give spurs to your steeds! 
There's a city beleagured that cries for men's deeds, 
For the faith that is strength and the love that is God! 
On through the dawning! Humanity calls! 

Life's not a dream in the clover! 
On to the walls, on to the walls, 
On to the walls, and over! 

Hermann Hagedorn: A Troop of the Guard. 
Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Co. 

^^The order I have ever given in war, I give now: we war against 
the leaders of evil, not against the hapless tools, — we war against 
our oppressors, not against our misguided brethren. Strike down 
every plumed crest, but when the strife is over spare every common 
man ! Hark ! while I speak, I hear the march of your foe ! Up stand- 
ards! — blow trumpets! — And now, as I brace my bassinet, may God 
grant us all a glorious victory, or a glorious grave. On, my merry 
men! show these London loons the stout hearts of Warwickshire 
and Yorkshire. On, my merry men! A Warwick! A Warwick!" 
Edward Bulwer=Lytton: The Last of the Barons, 

Hardly had the Raven flown away, when out from their habita- 
tion in the moss, the flowers and the grass, trooped a legion of 
fairies, — yes, right there before the old poet's eyes appeared, as if 
by magic, a mighty troop of the dearest little fays in all the world. 
, Each of these fairies was about the height of a cambric needle. 
The lady fairies were, of course, not so tall as the gentlemen fairies, 
but all were of quite as comely figure as you could expect to find 
among real folk. They were quaintly dressed; the ladies wearing 
quilted silk gowns and broad brim hats with tiny feathers in them, 
and the gentlemen wearing curious little knickerbockers, with silk 
coats, white hose, ruffled shirts and dainty cocked hats. 

Eugene Field : The Fairies of Pesth. 
Reprinted by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. 



Inflections defined. — ^An inflection is a quick glide ol 
the voice over several successive notes of the scale. It occurs 
upon emphasized words, and if the word has more than 
one syllable, upon the accented syllable of that word. There 
are three inflections; the falling, rising and circumflex. 

Falling Inflection. — The falling inflection shows that a 
positive assertion is made, or that a thought is complete. 

1. He has made a mistake, he is wrong, entirely wrong. 

2. They drove the first line back upon the second, the second 
back upon the third and there they died. 

3. "Speak, what trade art thou?'' 

Note. Observe that an interrogative sentence having the force of a 
command, is expressed with a falling inflection. 

Rising Inflection. — The rising inflection indicates doubt, 
uncertainty or pleading or that a thought is incomplete. 

1. I think it's true, but I'm not sure. 

2. "0, speak to me no more; 
These words like daggers enter in mine ears: 
No more, sweet Hamlet." 

3. When a fireman climbs a wall with his scaling ladder, and de- 
scends under the weight of a fainting woman; when he makes a 
bridge of his back that those in peril may walk over him to safety; 
when he hangs by his legs from a roof and swings one man after 
another from a window below out of danger to his side; when strapped 
to his seat on his engine, turning a corner at full speed, he over- 
turns the engine to save an old apple woman from being run down, 
we cheer him, — we give him medals, we make much of him in the 
pubhc prints. 

Jacob A. Riis: Heroes Who Fight Fire 
Reprinted by permission of the author. 

Circumflex Inflection. — The circumflex inflection com- 
bines a rising and a falling glide, or a falling and a rising, as 


the case may be. It indicates sarcasm or a complex state oi 

1. Oh, yes! he's a, fine ball player. 

2. Good morning, are you up for all day? 

3. "I am not bound to please thee with my answer." 

4. "Look at his togs, Fagin!" said Charley, putting the light so 
close to his new jacket as nearly to set him on fire. "Look at his 
togs, — superfine cloth, and the heavy-swell cut! Oh, my eye, what 
a game! And his books, too; nothing but a gentleman, Fagin!" 

"Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear," said the Jew, 
bowing with mock humility. "The Artful shall give you another 
suit, my dear, for fear you should spoil that Sunday one. Why 
didn't you write, my dear, and say you were coming? We'd have 
got something warm for supper." 

Charles Dickens: Oliver Twist, 

Grasp the spirit of the following passages, then try to 
voice it as you read the lines. Read the lines a second time 
observing what use you make of inflections. 

I said in my heart, "I am sick of four walls and a ceiling. 

I have need of the sky. 

I have business with the grass. 

I will up and get me away where the hawk is wheeling, 

Lone and high. 

And the slow clouds go by. 

I will get me away to the woods. 

The dogwood calls me, and the sudden thrill 

That breaks in apple blooms down country roads 

Plucks me by the sleeve and nudges me away. 

The sap is in the boles to-day, 

And in my veins a pulse that yearns and goads." 

Richard Hovey: Spring. 
Reprinted by permission of Duffield and Company. 

"'Why, where are you goin' to?' the appointee of the Crown 
asks after a while. 

"'Well, my home port's Gloucester.' 
'Gloucester? That's in the States, isn't it?' 



"'What!' I says. 

" ' Yes, yes, I think IVe heard of it, Captain. Oh, dear me, yes— 
a fishin' village, but I don't remember seein' it on any map.' 

"Well, I could have hove him over where he stood — a fishin' 
village! Village! There, thinks I, is another of them that imagines 
that in Gloucester the fishermen live in little huts on the beach and 
every evenin' after putting out the cat, we takes a lantern and 
looks our little boats over, and, maybe with the wife and the chil- 
dren to help, hauls 'em a foot or two higher on the beach so the 
flood tide won't float 'em off durin' the night. Village! And not 
on the map! 'why, you pink-haired tea-drinker,' I came near sayin' 
'Gloucester's all over the map.' But I didn't. I did say, though, 
' Gloucester's the greatest fishin' port in the world,' a bit warm may 

James Brendan Connolly: The Crested Seas. 
Reprinted by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. 

Are we not then called upon by the highest duties to our country, 
to its free institutions, to posterity, and to the world, to rise above 
all local prejudices and partialities, to discard all collateral questions, 
to disregard every subordinate point, and in a general spirit of 
compromise and concession, uniting heart and hand to preserve 
for ourselves the blessings of a free government, wisely, honestly, 
and faithfully administered, and as we received them from our 
fathers, to transmit them to our children? Should we not justly 
submit ourselves to eternal reproach, if we permitted our indiffer- 
ences about mere men to bring defeat and disaster upon our cause? 
Our principles are imperishable, but men have but a fleeting exis- 
tence, and are themselves liable to change and corruption during 
its brief continuance. 

Henry Clay: Public Spirit in Politics. 

The landlord pointing to the new arrival, said: — 

" This is the driver I been expectin' ! He'll take you. This man" 
— he now pointed to me — "wants to go to the college at 7.30." 

"He'll have to get somebody else. I got to take Dick Sands over 
to Millwood Station; his mother's took bad again." 

"What Dick Sands?" came a voice from the other side of the 

"Why, Dick Sands," replied the driver in a positive tone. 

"Not Dick Sands?'' The voice expressed not only surprise but 

"Yes, DICK SANDS," shouted the driver in a tone that carried 


with it his instant intention of breaking anybody's head who doubted 
the statement. 

"That so? When did he git out?" 

"Oh, a month back." 

F. HoPKiNSON Smith: Dick Sands Convict, 
Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Co. 

Brutus. What, Lucius! ho! — 
I cannot, by the progress of the stars. 
Give guess how near to day. — Lucius, I say! — 
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. — 
When, Lucius, when? Awake, I say! What, Lucius! 

Lucius, (entering) Caird you, my lord? 

Brutus. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius; 
When it is lighted, come and call me here. 

Lucius. I will, my lord. 

William Shakespeare: Julius Ccesar, 

From a certain point of view, you both may be in the right. 

"It seems to me, reverend father, that the small morsels which 
you eat, together with this holy but somewhat thin beverage, have 
thriven with you marvellously. You appear a man more fit to 
win the ram at a wrestling match, or the ring at a bout at quarter- 
staff, or the bucklers at a sword-play, than to linger out your time 
in this desolate wilderness, saying masses, and living upon parched 
pease and cold water." 

Sir Walter Scott: Ivanhoe. 

Solness — So that is it, is it? Halvard Solness is to see about re- 
tiring now! To make room for younger men! For the very young- 
est, perhaps ! He must make room. Room ! Room ! 

Brovik — ^Why, good heavens! there is surely room for more than 
one single man — 

Solness — Oh, there's not so very much room to spare either. But, 
be that as it may — I will never retire! I will never give way to 
anybody! Never of my own free will. Never in this world will I 
do that! 

Henrik Ibsen: The Master Builder, 
Reprinted by permission of Walter H. Baker & Co. 

Well, Stover, come a little nearer. Take the seat between Stone 
and Straus. Straus will be better able to take his little morning 
nap. A little embarrassed, Stover? Dear me! I shouldn't have 


thought that of you. Sit down now and — try to put a little gingei 
into the class, Stover. Now for a bee-ootiful recitation. Splendid 
spring weather — yesterday was a cut; of course you all took the 
hour to study conscientiously — eager for knowledge. Fifth and 
Sixth rows go to the board. 

Owen Johnson; The Varmint. 
Reprinted by permission of Doubleday Page & Co. 

Sopyright, 1910. 

^^What!" said Mrs. Gamp, "you bage creetur, have I know'd 
Mrs. Harris five-and-thirty year, to be told at last that there ain^t 
no sech a person livinM But well mayn't you believe there's no 
sech a creetur, for she wouldn't demean herself to look at you, and 
often has she said,when I have made mention of your name, which, 
to my sinful sorrow, I have done, *What, Sairey Gamp! debage 
yourself to her!^ Go along with you!" 

"I'm a goin', ma'am, ain't I?" said Mrs. Prig. 

"You had better, ma'am," said Mrs. Gamp. 

"Do you know who you're talking to, ma'am?" inquired her 

"Aperiently to Betsey Prig. Aperiently so, / know her. No one 
better. Go along with you ! ' ' 

"And you was a going to take me under you!" cried Mrs. Prig. 
"Foii was, was you? Oh how kind! Why deuce take your im- 
perence, what do you mean?" 

"Go along with you!" said Mrs. Gamp. "I blush for you." 

"You had better blush a little for yourself, while you are about 
it!" said Mrs. Prig. 

Charles Dickens: Martin Chuzzlewit. 

Some morning when the roar of March winds is no more heard 
in the tossing woods, but along still brown boughs a faint, veil-like 
greenness runs; when every spring, welling out of the soaked earth, 
trickles through banks of sod unbarred by ice; before the red of apple- 
buds becomes a sign in the low orchards, or the high song of the 
thrush is pouring forth far away at wet pale-green sunsets, the 
sower, the earliest sower of the hemp, goes forth into the fields. 

James Lane Allen: The Reign of Law. 

"The books belong to the old gentleman," said Oliver, wringing 
his hands; "to the good, kind, old gentleman who took me into his 
house, and had me nursed, when I was near dying of fever. Oh, 
pray send them back; send him back the books and money. Keep 
me here all my life long; but pray, pray send them back. He'U 


think I stole them; the old lady: all of them who were so kind to 
me: will think I stole them. Oh, do have mercy upon me, and 
send them back!" 

Charles Dickens: Oliver Twist. 

Some day I think he will know and I wonder what he will think 
of me then. 

Maurice Maeterlinck. 

She cried: "For the dear love of Him who gave 
His life for ours, my child from bondage save, 
My beautiful, brave first-born, chained with slaves 
In the Moor's galley, where the sun-smit waves 
Lap the white walls of Tunis!" "What I can 
I give," Tritemius said, — " my prayers." "0 man 
Of God!" she cried, for grief had made her bold, 
"Mock me not so; I ask not prayers, but gold; 
Words cannot serve me, alms alone suffice; 
Even while I plead, perchance my first-born dies!" 

John G. Whittier: The Gift of Tritemius, 
Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Co. 


What is Quality of Voice? — We refer to the quality of 
tone when we say of a voice, it is pure, clear, rich, sympa- 
thetic, harsh, full, metallic, nasal, or resonant. It is quality 
that gives individuality to voices; and it is control of the 
varieties of quality that enables an actor to simulate the 
voice of fear, aw^e, defiance, love and the whole gamut of 
feeling; and to play many different roles. 

As the quality of tone from a violin string depends upon 
the size, shape and texture of its resonant chamber, the 
violin box, so the quality of a voice depends upon the shape 
and size of the resonant chambers of the voice — ^the nares, 
pharynx, mouth and trachea — and the condition of the 
walls a,nd membraneous linings of these cavities. 

Control of Quality. — The shape and size of the nares and 
trachea are practically fixed, but the pharynx and mouth 
may be changed by various adjustments of the tongue and 


soft palate. The quality of voice in each individual is, there- 
fore, partly fixed and partly changeable. Because it is partly 
fixed, we recognize the voice of a friend, although he may 
utter a groan, or shout in an ecstacy of joy; and because it is 
partly changeable, his every emotion is manifested by subtle 
changes in quality, so that even when he reads aloud, the 
feelings aroused in him by the literature are expressed in 
tones. Some people, of course, have command of a much 
greater variety in quality of tone than others, because the 
changes in the quality of the individual voice are always in 
direct proportion to the emotional temperament of the in- 
dividual and the responsiveness of his voice. 

Cultivation of Variety and Richness of Tone Quality. — 
The man of feeling is a man of imagination. A vivid imagina- 
tion causes emotions, and emotions result in variety of 
tone quality; thus the development of the expressive element 
known as quality depends, primarily, upon the cultivation 
of the imagination — an essential of good oral English already 
discussed. It depends, also, upon a second essential of the 
best oral English previously presented, namely, a flexible 
and responsive voice. In short, the end of all vocal culture 
should be to secure better quality of tone. As a prominent 
teacher has reiterated: 'Hhe first aim in the cultivation of 
the voice, is quality; the second aim in the cultivation of the 
voice, is quality, and the third aim in the cultivation of the 
voice, is QUALITY!'' 

Quality as a Criterion of Reading or Speaking. — If a 
reader or speaker's voice is monotonous in quality during 
delivery, it indicates that he needs some kind of vocal train- 
ing, that he does not think his thoughts at the time of ut- 
terance, or that he has little imagination and feeling. A 
wrong quality in the voice indicates lack of vocal control, a 
wrong thought or a wrong feeling. 


Yield to the imagination in reading the following ex- 
cerpts. Do not strive for any particular quality of voice, 
but note the vocal effects when the feeling is strong. 

Meantime, Mr. Brocklehurst, standing on the hearth with his 
hands behind his back, majestically surveyed the whole school. 
Suddenly his eye gave a blink, as if it had met something that either 
dazzled or shocked its pupil; turning, he said in more rapid accents 
than he had hitherto used: ^^Miss Temple, Miss Temple, what — what 
is that girl with curled hair? Red hair, ma'am, curled all over?" 
And extending his cane he pointed to the awful object, his hand 
shaking as he did so. 

''It is Julia Severn," replied Miss Temple, very quietly. 

''Juha Severn, ma'am! And why has she, or any other, curled 
hair? Why, in defiance of every precept and principle of this house, 
does she conform to the world so openly — here in an evangelical, 
charitable establishment — as to wear her hair one mass of curls?" 

''Julia's hair curls naturally," returned Miss Temple, still more 

"Naturally! Yes, but we are not to conform to nature: I wish 
these girls to be the children of Grace: and why that abundance? 
I have again and again intimated that I desire the hair to be ar- 
ranged closely, modestly, plainly. Miss Temple, that girl's hair 
must be cut off entirely; I will send a barber to-morrow." 

Charlotte Bronte: Jane Eyre, 

Under the wide and starry sky, 
Dig the grave and let me lie. 
Glad did I live and gladly die, 
And I laid me down with a will. 

This be the verse you grave for me: 
Here he lies where he longed to be; 
Home is the sailor ^ home from the sea. 
And the hunter home from the hill. 

Robert Louis Stevenson: Requiem. 

When we hear Uncle Sidney tell 

About the long-ago 
An' old, old friends he loved so well 

When he was young — My-oh! — 
Us children all wish we^d 'a' bin 

A-livin' then with Uncle, — so 
We could a-kindo' happened in 

On them old friends he used to know! — 


The good, old-fashioned people — 
The hale, hard-working people — 
The kindly country people 
'At Uncle used to know! 
James Whitcomb Riley: The Good Old-fashioned People. 
Reprinted by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. 

How many a time have I 
Cloven, with arm still lustier, breast more daring, 
The wave all roughened; with a swimmer's stroke 
Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair, 
And laughing from my lip the audacious brine, 
Which kissed it like a wine cup, rising o'er 
The waves as they arose, and prouder still 
The loftier they uplifted me: and oft. 
In wantonness of spirit, plunging down 
Into their green and glassy gulfs, and making 
My way to shells and seaweed, all unseen 
By those above, till they waxed fearful; then 
Returning with my grasp full of such tokens 
As showed that I had searched the deep; exulting 
With a far dashing stroke, and drawing deep 
The long-suspended breath, again I spurned 
The foam which broke around me, and pursued 
My track like a sea-bird. — I was a boy then. 

Lord Byron: The Two Foscari, 

He gave us all a good-bye cheerily 

At the first dawn of day; 
We dropped him down the side full drearily 

When the light died away. 
It's a dead, dark watch that he's a-keeping there, 
And a long, long night that lags a-creeping there, 
Where the trades and the tides roll over him 

And the great ships go by. 

He's there alone with the green seas rocking him 

For a thousand miles around; 
He's there alone with dumb things mocking him, 

And we're homeward bound. 
It's a long, lone watch that he's a-keeping there. 
And a dead, cold night that lags a-creeping there, 
While the months and the years roll over him 

And the great ships go by. 


I wonder if the tramps come near enough — 

As they thrash to and fro, 
And the battleship's bells ring clear enough 

To be heard down below; 
If through all the lone watch that he's a-keeping there, 
And the long, cold night that lags a-creeping there 
The voices of the sailor-men shall comfort him 

When the great ships go by. 

Henry Newbolt: ''Messmates'' from The Island Race. 
Reprinted by permission of the John Lane Company. 

Then, like a charge of ten thousand lancers, come the wind and 
the rain, their onset covered by all the artillery of heaven. The 
lightnings leap, hiss, and blaze; the thunders crack and roar; the 
rain lashes; the waters writhe; the wind smites and howls. For five, 
for ten, for twenty minutes, — ^for an hour, for two hours, — the sky 
and the flood are never for an instant wholly dark, or the thunder 
for one moment silent; but while the universal roar sinks and swells, 
and the wide vibrant illumination shows all things in ghostly haK- 
concealment, fresh floods of lightning every moment rend the dim 
curtain and leap forth; the glare of day falls upon the swaying wood, 
the reeling, bowing, tossing willows, the seething waters and the 
whirling rain; then all are dim ghosts again, while a peal, as if the 
heavens were rent, rolls off around the sky, comes back in shocks 
and throbs, and sinks in a long roar that before it can die is swal- 
lowed up in the next flash and peal. 

George W. Cable: Bonaventure, 
Reprinted by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. 

Richard Talbot — Look you, old Rickby; this is not the first time. 
Charm all the broomsticks in town, if you like; bewitch all the 
tables and saucepans and mirrors you please; but gull no more 
money out of young girls. Mind you! We're not so enterprising 
in this town as at Salem; but — it may come to it! So look you 
sharp! I'm not blind to what's going on here. 

Goodby Rickby — Not blind. Master Puritan? Oho! You can see 
through all my counterfeits, can ye? So ! you would scrape all the 
wonder out'n the world, as I have scraped all the meat out'n my 
punkin-head yonder! Aha! wait and see! Afore sundown, I'll send 
ye a nut to crack, shall make your orthodox jaws ache. Your serv- 
ant, Master Deuteronomy! 

Percy W. Mackaye : The Scarecrow. 

Mateo Falcone felt the earth with the butt of his gun, and found 
it soft and easy to dig. The place seemed suitable to his purpose. 


"Fortunato, go up to that big rock." 

The child did as he was told, and then knelt. 

"Say your prayers." 

"Father, my father, do not kill me." 

"Say your prayers!" repeated Mateo in a terrible voice. 

The child, stammering and sobbing, recited the Pater and the 
Credo. The father responded Amen in a loud voice at the end of 
each prayer. 

"Are those all the prayers you know?" 

"Father, I know the Ave Maria too, and the litany my aunt 
taught me." 

"It is very long, but never mind." 

The child finished the litany in a stifled voice. 

"Have you done?" 

"0 father, have mercy! forgive me! I will not do it again! I 
will beg my cousin the Corporal ever so hard that Gianetto may 
be pardoned!" 

He was still speaking; Mateo had cocked his gun, and took aim, 
saying: "May God forgive you!" 

The child made a desperate effort to get up, and embrace his 
father's knees; but he had not the time. Mateo fired, and Fortunato 
fell stone-dead. 

Pkosper Mi^rim^^e: Mateo Falcone. 

While thus employed, Gerard was busy about the seated corpse, 
and, to his amazement, Denys saw a luminous glow spreading 
rapidly over the white face. 

Gerard blew out the candle. And on this the corpse's face shone 
still more like a glow-worm's head. 

Denys shook in his shoes, and his teeth chattered. 

"What in Heaven's name is this?" he whispered. 

"Hush! 'tis but phosphorous. But 'twill serve." 

"Away! they will surprise thee." 

Charles Reade: The Cloister and the Hearth. 

"I am not dehrious, nor have I been so at all. Don't you beheve 
that if they say so. I am only in great misery at what I have done: 
and that, with the weakness, makes me seem mad. But it has not 
upset my reason. Do you think I should remember all about my 
mother's death if I were out of my mind? No such good luck. 
Two months and a half, the last of her life, did my poor mother 
live alone, distracted and mourning because of me; yet she was un- 
visited by me, though I was living only five miles off. Two months 
and a half — ^seventy-five days did the sun rise and set upon her in thai 


deserted state which a dog didn't deserve! Poor people who had 
nothing in common with her would have cared for her, and visited 
her had they known her sickness and loneliness; but I, who should 
have been all to her, stayed away like a cur.'' 

Thomas Hardy: The Return of the Native* 

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: 
'^Bedad, yer a bad 'un! 
Now turn out yer toes! 
Yer belt is unhooket, 
Yer cap is on crooket, 
Ye may not be dhrunk, 
But, be jabers, ye look it! 
Wan — ^two! 
Wan — two! 
Ye monkey-faced divil, I'll jolly ye through! 
Wan — two! — 
Time! Mark! 
Ye march hke the aigle in Cintheral Parrk!" 

Robert W. Chambers: The Recruit. 
Reprinted by permission of the author and D. Appleton and Company. 


Physical Response Enforces Speech. — ^How often do we 
hear some one say, ''I couldn't see the speaker^s face, and 
that spoiled the address for me!'' As auditors, we always 
like to see the reader or speaker because the face and bear- 
ing of an able speaker reinforce what he says. The Reverend 
John Watson had this in mind when he said, '^The voice of 
the competent speaker is not so much sound merely, but is 
so much music with subtle intonations and delicate modula- 
tions; his pronunciation of a word is a commentary upon it, 
his look as he speaks a translation of it J' 

Physical Response to Thought is Natural. — In his work 
on psychology. Professor William James affirms that, ''all 
mental states (no matter what their character as regards 
utility may be) are followed by bodily activity of some sort.'' 
It is true that the response is often inconspicuous, but it is, 


nevertheless, natural that there should be some bodily 
change. So people that inhibit their physical responses to 
their thoughts, not only make themselves appear like wooden 
Indians, but, also, defy nature. 

The Error of Making Elaborate Gestures. — On the other 
hand, readers and speakers who plan elaborate gestures, 
also defy nature; for they ignore her gentle promptings, and 
substitute spectacular movements that they mistake for 
manifestations of eloquence, but which the ^^ judicious'* 
know are abominable gyrations, usually born of a desire to 
*^show off.'' These spectacular efforts may generally be 
classed under the head of descriptive gestures. A descrip- 
tive gesture is a bodily movement that pictures what the 
words describe. 

Descriptive Gestures Illustrated. — These descriptive ges- 
tures are the pitfall, not only of most amateur speakers and 
actors, but of many people who ought to know better. If 
the words tell of some personal action, like ringing a bell, 
whipping a horse, waving a handkerchief or even bowing the 
head or advancing a step, inartistic speakers employ descrip- 
tive gestures to depict these actions. If the action of in- 
animate things, like floating clouds, arching trees, pelting 
rain or tossing waves is mentioned, they persist in accom- 
panying the words with an effort to point out the objects 
definitely or describe the actions in pantomime, and some 
would even attempt to tell about an aching heart or an an- 
guished soul by acting it out. 

The Widespread Teaching of Descriptive Gestures is 
Lamentable. — Incredible as it may seem, the teaching of 
these ridiculous descriptive gestures is widespread in our 
schools, both public and private. Pupils from the kinder- 
garten to the college are, in many cases, actually being 
taught to make such gestures. This is the most lament- 


able thing about the whole matter; for when such instruc- 
tion is given, we cannot wonder that educators have doubts  
about the benefits of courses in elocution and public speaking. 

When it is Right to Use Descriptive Gestures. — It is true 
that descriptive gestures have their place in expression. 
They are often necessary to make clear and definite what is 
complicated or vague, and they are always legitimate in 
humor and burlesque, for that is their particular province. 

Self-Manifestive Gestures. — Another kind of gesture to 
be avoided, is the self-manifestive gesture. A self-mani- 
festive gesture is one which reveals some personal char- 
acteristic of the speaker and has no relation whatever to 
what is being quoted or spoken. The girl who fumbles with 
the lace on her gown evidences her own nervousness and 
not her feeling about the poem she is reciting. The preacher 
who rotates his right fist in his left palm during the first 
part of his sentence, and then raises the right hand and 
quickly extends it toward his audience with open palm later 
in his sentence, only betrays the fact that he was pitcher on 
the base-ball nine when he was at college, and does nothing 
that reinforces his spoken word. These are examples of self- 
manifestive gestures. 

Sympathetic Gestures Defined and Illustrated. — Sym- 
pathetic gestures are movements that show the reader or 
speaker's sympathy with what he is reading or saying. They 
often suggest actions, but do not imitate them. If I say, 
'Hhe man grabbed the gold chain and broke it asunder,^' 
accompanying the words by a movement as if actually 
clutching a chain with clenched fists, and then suddenly 
partuig them, I am using descriptive gesture; but if I only 
extend my hands forward in prone position and quickly sep- 
arate them, I am using a sympathetic gesture. Again, if I 
state, "I saw the clouds rest on a lonely hill," and at the 


same time point and look in a definite direction, I am using 
a descriptive gesture; but if I keep my eyes on my audience 
and sweep the arm out in a general way when uttering the 
clause, the gesture becomes sympathetic. 

Emotionally Manifestive Gestures Defined and Illus- 
trated. — Emotionally manifestive gestures are movements 
resulting from the speaker's emotions that have been 
aroused by the literature he is interpreting, or (in case of an 
original speech) by the stimulus of his own thoughts. For 
example, a person reading the lines, '^McGrath's fellow fire- 
men yelled to him not to attempt the rescue, for it was too 
hazardous, '^ might almost unconsciously clench his hands 
as he pictured to himself the tension of the situation. This 
would be an emotionally manifestive gesture. 

Hindrances and Helps to Expression by Gesture. — Henry 
Ward Beecher once defined oratory as, *^The art of influenc- 
ing conduct with truth sent home by all the resources of a 
living man." Certainly gesture is one of man's most potent 
resources in public address, and because it is so, more at- 
tention should be given to its cultivation. The greatest 
hindrance to adequate expression by gesture, is self-con- 
sciousness. Some people who gesture easily and naturally 
in conversation, become like statues, or else are the personi- 
fication of awkwardness before an audience. The only way 
to make the body a truly expressive agent, and overcome 
self-consciousness, is to free the muscles by appropriate 
exercises, gain abandon by means of pantomimes, imita- 
tions and scenes, practice before imaginary audiences and ap- 
pear before real audiences whenever there is an opportunity. 

Note. The classification of gestures presented in this chapter is used 
by special permission of Mrs. Emily M. Bishop who has discussed the 
subject so well in her treatise entitled, ''Interpretative Forms of Lit* 


1. Read the selection through to get an impression of it 
as a whole. 

2. Read the selection deliberately, looking up the meaning 
and pronunciation of unfamiliar words, and digging out the 
thought of difficult passages. 

3. Decide for yourself what the author had in mind as the 
central idea or purpose of the selection. For instance, in 
Clark Howeirs speech, ^^The Man With His Hat in His 
Hand," the central idea may be worded: The man with his 
hat in his hand is a type of American patriotism. 

4. If possible, learn whether there are incidents in his- 
tory or in the author's life that aid in understanding the 

5. Imagine the situations depicted, as if you were to draw 
some illustrations for the selection. 

6. Read all or at least parts of the selection aloud to 
ascertain if your own voice reveals what you see in the 

7. If the piece contains dialogue, imagine how real people 
would say the lines; if it contains fine description or argu- 
ment, imagine how a good speaker would deliver those 

8. Practice reading parts of the selection in different ways, 
until you attain a manner of delivery which your ear ap- 
proves as true to the purpose of the selection. 




1. Choosing a selection 

Select from a good author something that you consider suited 
to your ability, your purpose, your prospective audience, and the 

II. Studying the selection 

L Read the selection carefully. 

2. If you are in doubt about the meaning and pronunciation of 
any words in the selection, consult a dictionary. 

3. If the selection is an excerpt, read the entire poem or book to 
become familiar with the setting. 

4. Read any review, criticism or other work that may broaden 
your conception of the selection. 

5. Formulate your opinion of the author's purpose, and write a 
statement of it in a single sentence. 

6. Consider carefully to what form of literature the selection 
belongs, whether drama, essay, monologue, etc., and determine 
what latitude or restriction its form entails upon your delivery of it. 

7. Imagine the situations, until the selection is made more real 
by your mental pictures. 

III. Memorizing the selection 

1. The first steps toward memorizing the selection have been 
taken while studying it. 

2. Read the whole selection aloud several times. 

3. Think the selection through, grouping the minor incidents 
about the principal ones. 

4. Recall as best you can, the words of the most important pas- 

5. If you are to give the selection without the book, memorize 
it verbatim by reading a passage and then testing your memory of 
that passage. When the various passages are learned, test your 
memory of the entire selection. 

IV. Rehearsing the selection 

1. Make your studying and memorizing of the selection contrib- 
ute to the appropriate delivery of it. 

2. Listen to your own vocal effects and work toward your ideal 
of how the selection sbould sound. 


3. By concentrating on the selection, and responding freely to 
your thought and emotions, gain some physical as well as vocal 
expression in your delivery. 

4. Practice before a mirror that your eye may judge of your 
bearing and physical response. 

5. Ask some competent friend or a coach to criticise your work. 


Choose a suitable topic by considering your : 

1. purpose 

2. prospective audience 

3. occasion 

II. Gather material by making notes from: 

1. reading 

2. conversing with well-informed people 

3. carefully reflecting upon the topic 

III. Plan an outline including : 

1. an introduction to 

a. overcome prejudice, if there is any, of the audience 

b. state the purpose of the speech, or 

c. arouse the good will of the audience toward the speaker 
and their interest in his topic 

2. the body of the speech to 

a. discuss the points essential for developing the topic 

b. present points in a systematic order 

c. emphasize points by forceful illustrations 

d. adapt the discussion of points to the prospective audience 

3. a conclusion which may 

a. dispose of objections 

b. summarize points discussed 

c. emphasize the central idea, or 

d. take the form of an exhortation 

IV. Write out, or think out, the speech. 

Some insist that they cannot do their best by writing out a speech. 
If you are positive that you are more successful without the writing 


than with it, that, of course, is the best method for you. But for 
most people, and especially the inexperienced, writing out the 
speech insures the best results. 

V. Correct the speech by applying the following tests : 

1. Is it adapted to the audience? 

2. Is it suited to the occasion? 

3. Is it likely to be tedious in length or matter? 

4. Is it expressed in good English? 

5. Is it clear? 

6. Is it forceful? 

7. Does it sound well when read? 

VI. Rewrite the speech, if necessary. 

VII. Rehearse the speech. 

To read a speech from the manuscript is likely to make a poor 
impression upon an audience, while to memorize it word for word 
is a laborious task, and may result in an awkward pause if there is 
a lapse of memory. In spite of these limitations, some well known 
speakers use one or the other of these two methods successfully. 
It is generally conceded, however, that speaking from a written or 
mental brief is much the best method to follow, for it makes the 
speaker more self-reliant and gives him confidence in his abihty 
to think before an audience. 

1. Prepare a brief of the speech. 

2. Read the manuscript of the entire speech aloud several times. 

3. With brief in hand, practice aloud until you can say approxi- 
mately what you have written in the manuscript. 

4. Practice for the best effect in delivery, allowing your own ear 
to be your critic. 

5. Practice before a mirror that you may criticise your own 
bearing and gesture. 

6. Obtain the assistance of some competent critic or a coach. 


Debating is such a helpful and interesting means of at- 
taining better thinking, better composition and better spoken 
English, that a few hints regarding the preparation of debates 
will contribute to the purpose of this volume. Before advis- 


ing how to prepare a debate, there are certain terms used in 
debating which need to be defined. 

Stating the Question is wording the topic for debate. The 
favorite form is that of a resolution, e. g. Resolved: That 
territorial expansion is detrimental to the United States. 
The question should always be stated by the first speaker 
in a debate. 

Clearing Ground is explaining the meaning and extent of 
the grounds for discussion, and showing that the discussion 
of other phases of the topic would be irrelevant to the ques- 
tion. The first speaker should clear the ground. 

Shifting Ground is to change one's attitude toward the 
question — to take up a line of argument inconsistent with 
one's former argument, the argument of one's colleague, or 
with the interpretation of the question accepted by the rival 
teams prior to the actual debate. 

Begging the Question is accepting some premise as though 
it had been proved to be true, when no proof has been pre- 
sented to establish it. 

Burden of Proof refers to the principle that he who makes 
an assertion must prove it. The burden of proof, therefore, 
is generally incumbent upon the affirmative speakers. They 
must select the particular evidence that will establish the 
truth of their assertions and make that their argument. 

A Premise is a proposition, the truth of which being es- 
tablished, leads to some other truth as a conclusion. 

A Syllogism is a logical form of argument consisting of 
two premises and a conclusion, e. g. The property of the 
city should be protected from vandals. Flowers and shrubs 
in our parks are city property. Therefore, the flowers 
and shrubs in our parks should be protected from 


Kinds of Positive Argument 

1. From Authority: the citation of expert evidence from 
specialists whose opinions are likely to be accepted. 

For example: 

Some of the simpler forms recommended by the Simplified Spell- 
ing Board merit adoption. More than one half are preferred by 
Webster's dictionary, more than six tenths by the Century dic- 
tionary, and two thirds by the Standard dictionary. Nearly all 
the rest are allowed by all these dictionaries as alternative spellings 
in good usage. 

2. Antecedent Probability: (a priori) suggesting a prob- 
able cause which led to known conditions as a result. 

For example: 

A man commits suicide, his books show a marked decrease in 
business, therefore, business depression drove him to his rash act. 

A cyclone overwhelms a western town, only one house remains 
standing, therefore, it was better built than any other in town. 

3. Real Evidence: (a posteriori) examples of things ac- 
tually seen or done which appear to be the results of existing 
conditions operating as causes. 

For example: , 

A man ill with indigestion takes a certain remedy, he then re- 
covers, therefore, the remedy is a good one. 

Under municipal control of street railways, the city of Cleveland 
is able to reduce the fare on street railways from five to three cents, 
therefore, municipal control of street railways should be adopted in 
other cities. 

4. Pure Reason : process of reasoning from facts that are 
self evident or truths that seem proved, as premises, to cer- 
tain inferences, as logical conclusions. 

For example: 

The Gold Standard means dearer money; dearer money means 
cheaper property; cheaper property means harder times; harder 


times means more people out of work; more people out of work 
means more people destitute; more people destitute means more 
people desperate; more people desperate means more crime. 

William J. Bryan. 

Refutation of the Four Kinds of Argument 

1. When your opponents quote from authorities, question 
the ability or impartiality of those authorities. If possible, 
show that the opinion of the authority mentioned would be 
much respected in another field, but that it has little weight 
in reference to the subject under discussion. If they give 
exact quotations from some authority, endeavor to show that 
the quotation out of its context, does not represent the au- 
thority fairly. 

2. If your opponents use arguments of antecedent proba- 
bility, emphasize the fact that their points are mere theory, 
and proceed to show how weak and incomplete they are. 
Suggest that some other cause might have produced the ef-- 
fect, or helped to produce it. 

3. Should your opponents resort to illustrations as real 
evidence, endeavor to prove that there is not necessarily 
a cause and effect relationship, and that the circumstances 
they mention might have come about without the condi- 
tions which they assume to be causes. 

4. In case your opponents employ arguments of pure 
reason, question the premises. 

Actual Preparation of a Debate 
I. Choosing a question. 

1. Choose a question that has some vital interest. 

2. Choose a question that admits of fair arguments on both sides. 


II. Gather materials by making notes from: 

1. reading 

2. conversing with well-informed people 

3. carefully reflecting upon the topic . v 

III. Make a brief of your debate including : 

1. an introduction to 

a. state the question 

b. define the question 

c. clear the ground 

d. indicate what constitutes the burden of proof 

e. arouse the good will of the audience toward the speaker 
and their interest in the question 

2. the discussion to 

a. present three or four main points 

b. embody each point in the kind of argument best suited to ifc 

c. estabhsh the truth of points by adequate proof 

d. relate each point to the main issue 

e. anticipate your opponents^ arguments by deciding what 
kinds of refutation will be required 

f . deal with the points in the order of sequence and climax 

3. a conclusion to 

a. refute points of opponents 

b. summarize the points discussed 

c. unify the whole discussion 

IV. Write out or think out the debate. 

See note on writing out speeches, under the preparation of an 
original speech. 

V. Correct the debate by applying the following tests : 

1. Is it clear? 

2. Is it logical? 

3. Is it well organized? 

4. Is it expressed in good EngHsh? 

5. Is it exaggerated? 

6. Is it fair both to your opponents and to yourself? 

7. Does any part of it beg the question? 

8. Is it tedious in length or matter? 

9. Does it sound well when read? 


VI. Rewrite the debate if necessary. 

VII. Rehearse the debate. 

1. Prepare notes from which to speak. 

2. Read the manuscript of the entire speech aloud several times. 

3. With notes in hand, practice aloud until you can say approxi- 
mately what you have written in the manuscript. 

4. Practice for the best effect in delivery, allowing your own ear 
to be your critic. 

5. Practice before a mirror that you may criticise your own bear- 
ing and gesture. 

6. Obtain the assistance of some competent critic or coach. 

Cautions for Debaters 

To conform with parliamentary usage, do not refer to the 
participants in the debate by their names, but say, my 
opponent, my colleague, the first speaker on the affirmative, 

Avoid extreme sarcasm, wit, smartness and flippancy in 
debate. They are not argument and will prejudice the judges 
and audience against you. 

Use an understatement rather than an exaggeration, it 
makes your argument seem more fair. 



Well directed efforts to read expressively should accom- 
pany the mastering of the mechanics of speech and the cul- 
tivating of the voice. The first step towards expressive de- 
livery is learning to put life and vigor into one^s reading. 
Let your hearers know by the tones of your voice that you 
have a whole-hearted interest in the selection you are read- 
ing, and that you are eager to share with them what you 
enjoy. Strive especially to attain this element of expres- 
sion in reading the following selections. 


Abridged from Sir Nigel. By A. Conan Doyle 

The monks of Waverley Abbey distrained a splendid Arabian horse from 
Franklin Aylward in discharge of a debt. The horse was turned loose in the 
meadow of the cloister where his wild behavior terrified all the good brothers. 
A group of the monks climbed the wall of the meadow, the better to see 
some of their servants try to bridle the animal. 

Fetlock deep in the lush grass there stood the magnificent horse, such 
a horse as a sculptor or a soldier might thrill to see. His color was a 
light chestnut, with mane and tail of a more tawny tint. Seventeen 
hands high, with a barrel and haunches which bespoke tremendous 
strength, he jBned down to the most delicate lines of breed in neck and 
crest and shoulder. He was indeed a glorious sight as he stood there, 
his head craned high, and his flashing eyes turning from side to side 
in haughty menace and defiance. 

Scattered round in a respectful circle, six of the Abbey servants and 
foresters, each holding a halter, were creeping toward him. The horse, 
having chased one of his enemies to the wall, remained so long snorting 
his contempt over the coping that the others were able to creep up from 
behind. Several ropes were flung, and one noose settled over the proud 
crest. In an instant the creature had turned and the men were flying 
for their lives; but he who had cast the rope lingered. The man saw 
the great creature rise above him. Then with a crash the fore feet fell 
upon him and dashed him to the ground. 

On the road which led to the old manor-house a youth had been 
riding. His mount was a sorry one, and his patched tunic presented no 
very smart appearance. Cracking his whip joyously, he cantered 
down the Tilford Lane, and thence observed the comedy in the field 
and the impotent efforts of the servants of Waverley. 

Suddenly, however, as the comedy turned swiftly to black tragedy, 

^ Reprinted by permission of the author. 


this passive spectator leaped off his pony, over the stone wall and flew 
across the field. Looking up from his victim, the great yellow horse 
saw his other enemy approach, and dashed at the newcomer. The 
little man flung up his metal-headed whip, and met the horse with 
a crashing blow upon the head, repeated again with every attack. The 
horse drew off, glared with wonder at this masterful man, and then 
trotted round in a circle, snorting in rage and pain. The man passed 
on to the wounded forester, raised him in his arms, and carried him 
to the wall, where a dozen hands were outstretched to help him over. 
Then the young man also climbed the wall, smiling back with cool 
contempt at the yellow horse. 

As he sprang down, a dozen monks surrounded him to thank or 
to praise him. 

"Bear the wounded forester to the hospital," commanded the Father 
Abbot. "And now about this terrible beast who still gazes and snorts 
at us, what shall we do with him?" 

"Here is Franklin Aylward," said one of the brethren. "The horse 
was his, and doubtless he will take it back to his farm." 

But the red-faced farmer shook his head at the proposal. "Not I, 
in faith!" said he. "The beast hath chased me twice around the pad- 
dock; it has nigh slain my boy Samkin. He comes no more to Crooks- 
bury farm." 

"And he stays no more here," said the Abbot. "Brother sacrist, 
you have raised the Devil, and it is for you to lay it again." 

"That I will most readily," cried the sacrist. "Here is Wat with 
his arbalist and a bolt in his girdle. Let him drive it to the head through 
this cursed creature, for his hide and his hoofs are of more value than 
his wicked self." 

A brown old woodman stepped forward with a grin of pleasure. 
Fitting a bolt on the nut of his taut crossbow, he leveled it at the fierce, 
disheveled head. His finger was crooked on the spring, when a blow 
from a whip struck the bow upward and the bolt flew harmless over 
.the Abbey orchard, while the woodman shrank abashed from Nigel 
Loring's eyes. 

"Keep your bolts for your weasels!" said he. "Would you slay such 
a horse as a king might be proud to mount, and all because a country 


franklin, or a monk, or a monk's varlet, has not the wit nor the hands 
to master him?" 

The sacrist turned swiftly on the Squire. "The Abbey owes you an 
offering for this day's work. If you think so much of the horse, you 
may desire to own it. With the holy Abbot's permission it is in my 
gift and I bestow it freely upon you." 

"I take your gift, monk," said Nigel, "though I know well why it 
is you give it. Yet I thank you, for I have ever yearned for a noble 
horse. How is the horse called? " 

"Its name," said the franklin, "is Pommers. I warn you that none 
may ride him, for many have tried, and the luckiest is he who has only 
a staved rib to show for it." 

"I thank you for your rede," said Nigel, "and now I see that this 
is indeed a horse which I would journey far to meet. I am your man 
Pommers, and you are my horse, and this night you shall own it or I 
will never need horse again." 

While he spoke the young Squire had climbed on to the top of the 
wall, his bridle hanging from one hand and his whip grasped in the 
other. With a fierce snort, the horse made for him instantly; but again 
a heavy blow from the whip caused him to swerve, and even at the in- 
stant of the swerve, Nigel bounded into the air and fell with his legs 
astride the horse. For a minute, with neither saddle nor stirrups, and 
the beast ramping and rearing, he was hard pressed to hold his own. 
His legs were like two bands of steel welded on to the arches of the 
great horse's ribs, and his left hand was buried deep in the tawny 

Pommers, amazed to find the rider still upon his back, swelled into 
greater fury. In his untamed heart there rose the furious resolve to 
dash the life from this clinging rider, even if it meant destruction to 
beast and man. He looked round for death. On one side of the field 
was a building presenting a flank unbroken by door or window. The 
horse stretched into a gallop, and headed straight for that craggy wall. 
Would Nigel spring off? To do so would be to bend his will to that of 
the beast beneath him. Cool and quick the man slipped his short 
mantle from his shoulders and lying forward along the creature's back 
cast the cloth over the horse's eyes. 


When those eyes were suddenly shrouded in unexpected darkness 
the amazed horse came to a dead stop. Its purpose all blurred in its 
mind, the horse wheeled round, tossing its head until the mantle slipped 
from its eyes. But what was this new outrage which had been inflicted 
upon it? What was this defiling bar of iron which was locked hard 
against its mouth? What were these straps which galled the tossing 
neck? In those instants of stillness ere the mantle had been plucked 
away Nigel had slipped the snaffle between the champing teeth, and 
deftly secured it. 

Pommers' heart rose high and menacing at the touch. He loathed 
this place, the people, all and everything which threatened his freedom. 
Let him away to the great plains where freedom is. He turned with 
a rush, and one deer-like bound carried him over the four-foot gate. 
They were in the water-meadow now, and the rippling stream twenty 
feet wide gleamed in front of them. The yellow horse gathered his 
haunches imder him and flew over like an arrow. Under the hanging 
branch of the great oak-tree on the farther side the great horse passed. 
He had hoped to sweep off his rider, but Nigel sank low with his face 
buried in the flying mane. 

Do what he would, the man clung fast. Over Hankley Down, 
through Thursley Marsh, with the reeds up to his mud-splashed withers, 
down by the Nutcombe Gorge, slipping, blundering, bounding, on went 
the horse. No marsh-land could clog him, no hill could hold him back. 
Up the long ascent of Fernhurst he thundered as on the level, and it 
was not imtil he had flown down Henley Hill, and the castle tower of 
Midhurst rose over the coppice in front, that the eager outstretched 
neck sank a Httle on the breast, and the breath came quick and fast. 
Look where he would, his eyes could catch no sign of those plains of 
freedom which he sought. 

And yet another outrage! It was bad that this creature should still 
cling so tight upon his neck, but now he would even go to the intoler- 
able length of checking him and guiding him on the way that he would 
have him go. There was a sharp pluck at his mouth, and his head was 
turned north once more. As well go that way as another. He would 
soon show this man that he was unconquered, if it strained his sinews 
and broke his heart to do so. Back then he flew up the long ascent. 


Would he ever get to the end of it? He was white with foam and caked 
with mud. His eyes were gorged with blood, his mouth open and 
gasping. On he flew down Sunda}^ Hill until he reached the deep Kings- 
ley Marsh at the bottom. No, it was too much! Flesh and blood 
could go no farther. As he struggled out from the reedy slime, he 
slowed the tumultuous gallop to a canter. 

Oh, crowning infamy! Was there no limit to these degradations? 
He was no longer even to choose his own pace. Since he had chosen to 
gallop so far at his own will he must now gallop farther still at the will 
of another. A spur struck home on either flank. A stinging whip-lash 
fell across his shoulder. He bounded his own height in the air at the 
pain and shame of it. On he flew and on. But again his limbs trembled 
beneath him, and yet again he strove to ease his pace, only to be driven 
onward bj^ the faUing lash. 

He saw no longer where he placed his feet, he cared no longer whither 
he went, but his one mad longing was to get away from this torture 
which clung to him and would not let him go. He had won his way to 
the crest of Thursley Down, when his spirit weakened, his giant strength 
ebbed out of him, and with one deep sob the yellow horse sank among 
the heather. So sudden was the fall that Nigel flew forward over his 
shoulder, and the beast and man lay prostrate and gasping. 

The young Squire was the first to recover, and kneeling by the over- 
wrought horse he passed his hand gently down the foam-flecked face. 
The red eye rolled up at him; but it was wonder not hatred, a prayer 
and not a threat, which he could read in it. As he stroked the reeking 
muzzle, the horse whinnied gently and thrust his nose into the hollow 
of his hand. It was enough. It was the end of the contest, the accept- 
ance of new conditions by a chivalrous foe from a chivalrous victor. 

"You are my horse, Pommers,'^ whispered Nigel, and he laid his 
cheek against the craning head. "I know you, Pommers, and you 
know me, and with the help of Saint Paul we shall teach some other 
folks to know us both. Now let us walk together as far as this moorland 
pond, for indeed I wot not whether it is you or I who need the water 



Abridged from The Strength of Gideon. By Paul, Laurence Dunbar 

His name was Patsy Barnes, and he was a denizen of Little Africa. 
By all the laws governing the relations between people and their names, 
he should have been Irish — ^but he was not. He was colored, and very 
much so. 

His mother, Eliza Barnes, had found her way to Little Africa when 
she had come North from Kentucky. She was a hard-working, honest 
woman, and day by day bent over her tub, scrubbing away to keep 
Patsy in shoes and jackets, that would wear out so much faster than 
they could be bought. She wanted him to go to school. She had the 
notion that he might become something better, something higher than 
she had been. 

But for him school had no charms; his school was the cool stalls 
in the big livery stable near at hand; the arena of his pursuits its saw- 
dust floor; the height of his ambition to be a horseman. 

A man goes where he is appreciated; then could this slim black boy 
be blamed for doing the same thing? He was a great favorite with the 
horsemen, and picked up many a dime or nickel for dancing and singing, 
or even a quarter for warming up a horse for its owner. He was not to 
be blamed for this, for, first of all, he was born in Kentucky, and had 
spent the very days of his infancy about the paddocks near Lexington, 
where his father had sacrificed his life on account of his love for horses. 
The little fellow had shed no tears when he looked at his father's bleed- 
ing body, bruised and broken by the fiery young two-year-old he was 
trying to subdue. Patsy did not sob or whimper, though his heart 
ached, for over all the feeling of his grief was a mad, burning desire to 
ride that horse. 

His tears were shed, however, when, actuated by the idea that times 
would be easier up North, they moved to Dalesford. Then, when he 
learned that he must leave his old friends, the horses and their masters, 
whom he had known, he wept. They had been living in Dalesford for 

^ Copyright, 1900, by Dodd, Mead & Company, and reprinted by per- 
mission of these publishers. 


a year nearly, when hard work and exposure brought the woman down 
to bed with pneumonia. They were very poor— too poor even to call in 
a doctor, so there was nothing to do but to call in the city physician. 
Now this medical man had too frequent calls to Little Africa, and he did 
not like to go there. So he was very gruff when any of its denizens 
called him, and it was even said that he was careless of his patients. 

Patsy's heart bled as he heard the Doctor talking to his mother: 

^^Now, there can't be any foolishness about this," he said. '* You've 
got to stay in bed and not get yourself damp." 

''How long you think I got to lay hyeah, doctah?" she asked. 

"I'm a doctor, and not a fortune-teller," was the reply. "You'll 
lie there as long as the disease holds you." 

"But I can't lay hyeah long, doctah, case I ain't got nuffin' to go on." 

"Well, take your choice; the bed or the boneyard." 

Eliza began to cry. 

"You needn't sniffle," said the doctor; "I don't see what you people 
want to come up here for anyhow. Why don't you stay down South 
where you belong?" 

Patsy was angry. His eyes were full of tears that scorched him and 
would not fall. The memory of many beautiful and appropriate oaths 
came to him; but he dared not let his mother hear him swear. Oh! to 
have a stone — to be across the road from that man! 

When the physician walked out. Patsy went to the bed, took his 
mother's hand, and bent over shamefacedly to kiss her. The little 
mark of affection comforted EHza unspeakably. The mother-feeUng 
overwhelmed her in one burst of tears. Then she dried her eyes and 
smiled at him. 

"Honey," she said; "mammy ain' gwine lay hyeah long. She be all 
right putty soon." 

"Nevah you min'," said Patsy with a choke in his voice. "I can do 
somep'n, an' we'll have anothah doctah." 

" La, listen at de chile; what kin you do? " 

"I'm goin' down to McCarthy's stable and see if I kin git some 
horses to exercise." 

A sad look came into Eliza's eyes as she said: "You bettah not go, 
Patsy; dem hosses'U kill you yit, des lak dey did yo' pappy." 


But the boy was obdurate, and even while she was talking, put oi? 
his ragged jacket and left the room. 

Patsy did get horses to exercise, and it was with a king^s pride that 
he brought home his first considerable earnings. They were small 
yet, and would go for food rather than a doctor, but Eliza was inordi- 
nately proud, and it was this pride that gave her strength and the de- 
sire of life to carry her through the days approaching the crisis of her 
disease. As Patsy saw his mother growing worse, he became con- 
vinced that the doctor was not helping her. She must have another. 
But the money? 

That afternoon, after his work with McCarthy, found him at the 
Fair-grounds. The spring races were on, and he thought he might get 
a job warming up the horse of some independent jockey. He hung 
around the stables, listening to the talk of the men he knew and some 
he had never seen before. Among the latter was a tall, lanky man, 
holding forth to a group of men. 

"No, suh," he was saying to them generally, "I'm goin' to withdraw 
Black Boy, because thaih ain't nobody to ride him as he ought to be 
rode. I haven't brought a jockey along with me, so I've got to depend 
on pick-ups. If I could ride myself I'd show 'emf" 

A little later Patsy was gazing into the stall at the horse. 

"What are you doing thaih?" called the owner to him. 

"Look hyeah, mistah," said Patsy, "ain't that a bluegrass hoss?" 

"Of co'se it is, an' one of the fastest that evah grazed." 

"I'll ride that hoss, mistah." 

"What do you know 'bout ridin'?" 

"I used to gin'ally be' roun' Mistah Boone's paddock in Lexington, an' — 

"Aroun' Boone's paddock — what! Look here, little nigger, if you 
can ride that hoss to a winnin' I'll give you more money than you ever 
seen before." 

"I'll ride him." 

Patsy's heart was beating very wildly beneath his jacket. That 
horse. He knew that glossy coat. He knew that raw-boned frame and 
those flashing nostrils. That black horse there owed something to the 
orphan he had made. 

Somehow out of odds and ends, his owner scraped together a suit 


and colors for Patsy. The colors were maroon and green, a curious 
combination. But then it was a curious horse, a curious rider, and a 
more curious combination that had brought them together. 

Long before the time for the race Patsy went into the stall to become 
better acquainted with the horse. The animal turned his wild eyes 
upon him and neighed. He patted the long, slender head, and grinned 
as the horse stepped aside as gently as a lady. 

''He sholy is full o' ginger," he said to the owner, whose name he 
had found to be Bracket t. 

''He'll show 'em a thing or two," laughed Brackett. 

When the bell sounded and Patsy went out to warm up, he felt as if 
he were riding on air. Some of the jockeys laughed at his get-up, but 
there was something in him — or under him, maybe — that made him 
scorn their derision. He saw a sea of faces about him, then he saw no 
more. Only a shining white track loomed ahead of him, and a restless 
steed was cantering with him around the curve. Then the bell called 
him back to the stand. 

They did not get away at first, and back they trooped. A second 
trial was a failure. But at the third they were off in a line as straight 
as a chalk mark. There were Essex and Firefly, Queen Bess and Mos- 
quito, galloping away side by side, and Black Boy a neck ahead. Patsy 
knew the family reputation of his horse for endurance as well as fire, 
and began riding the race from the first. Black Boy came of blood 
that would not be passed, and to this his rider trusted. At the eighth 
the line was hardly broken, but as the quarter was reached Black Boy 
forged a length ahead, and Mosquito was at his flank. Then, like a 
flash, Essex shot out ahead under whip and spur, his jockey standing 
straight in the stirrups. 

The crowd in the stand screamed; but Patsy smiled as he lay low 
over his horse's neck. He knew that Essex had made his best spurt. 
His only fear was for Mosquito, who hugged and hugged his flank. They 
were nearing the three-quarter post, and he was tightening his grip on 
the black. Essex fell back; his spurt was over. The whip fell unheeded 
on his sides. The spurs dug him in vain. 

Black Boy's breath touches the leader's ear. Thej'' are neck and 
neck — nose to nose. The black stallion passes him. 


Another cheer from the stand, and again Patsy smiles as they turn 
into the stretch. Mosquito has gained a head. The colored boy 
flashes one glance at the horse and rider who are so surely gaining upon 
him, and his lips close in a grim line. They are half-way down the 
stretch, and Mosquitoes head is at the stallion's neck. 

For a single moment Patsy thinks of the sick woman at home and 
what this race will mean to her, and then his knees close against the 
horse's sides with a firmer dig. The spurs shoot deeper into the steaming 
flanks. Black Boy shall win; he must win. The horse that has taken 
away his father shall give him back his mother. The stallion leaps 
away like a flash, and goes under the wire — a length ahead. 

Then the band thundered, and Patsy was off his horse, very warm 
and very happy, following his mount to the stable. There, a little 
later, Brackett found him. He rushed to him, and flung his arms 
around him. 

"You httle imp," he cried, "you rode like you were kin to that hoss! 
We've won! We've won!" And he began sticking banknotes at the 
boy. At first Patsy's eyes bulged, and then he seized the money and 
got into his clothes. 

"Goin' out to spend it?" asked Brackett. 

"I'm goin' for a doctah fu' my mother," said Patsy, "she's sick." 

"Don't let me lose sight of you." 

"Oh, I'll see you again. So long," said the boy. 

An hour later he walked into his mother's room with a very big 
doctor, the greatest the druggist could direct him to. The doctor left 
his medicines and his orders, but, when Patsy told his story, it was 
Eliza's pride that started her on the road to recovery. Patsy did not 
tell his horse's name. 



From The Jesters. By Miguel Zamacois 

A breeze one day, abroad on fun or mischief bent, 
Entered a castle grim, traversed the battlement, 
And on the terrace found, sitting and spinning there, 
A maiden of sixteen, blue eyed, with golden hair. 

Blue were her eyes, and soft as the young sky at dawn. 
Or the waves of the lake the breeze had crossed that morn, 
And as th' intruder loosed a strand of golden hair 
The maid looked up and laughed, so sweet, so chaste, so fair, 
That the breeze, who till then had kissed and whirred away 
Over the trees and far, fickle until to-day, 
Knew that this time his heart was bound and tethered there 
To that child of sixteen, blued-eyed, with golden hair. 
For the fair maid had won, won all unconsciously, 
A lover without a name and whom she could not see. 
While the breeze loved to love, and for no royal throne 
Would have exchanged his right to love her thus unknown. 

Then, as he could not bring her flowers all abloom, 

The butterflies he'd waft in shoals into her room 

From forest glades and fields, from near and far, and they 

Blue, yellow, red, and green, a quivering bouquet. 

He blew into her hair, be jeweled it, and then, 

When he grew jealous, swiftly blew them out again. 

The scent of new-mown hay he brought in from the fields, 

From ev'ry bush and flower what each of sweetest yields, 

Marjoram, meadow-sweet, and sage he carried there. 

For the maid of sixteen, blue-eyed, with golden hair. 

Sometimes he'd wander off, down into far Provence, 
And from the fairest lands of the fair land of France 

^ Reprinted by permission of Brentano's. 


He would come laden back with orange blossoms' breath, 
Which he had stolen e'er men crushed the blooms to death. 
For all that ailed the maid he found a ready cure; 
Were the day stormy, he would fetch her air more pure 
From snowy mountain-tops, and if she were cold, why, 
His own love blew so warm he warmed her easily. 

When she was reading in works of old bard or sage. 
The breeze was waiting there to help her turn the page. 
And when at night she slept in her white-curtained bed, 
He'd venture till he touched his darling's golden head. 
And, drunken with the joy forbidden, dare to sip 
A kiss that maddened him from the child's smiling lip. 

One day, alas! there came a lord of Aquitaine 
To woo and win the maid. He came and came again, 
And the unhappy breeze howled in his mad despair. 
Gone the maid of sixteen, blue-eyed, with golden hair, 
Handsome the swain and rich, strong in his manhood's spring, 
Blushes, a whispered word, the chaplain, and a ring. 
What, when a wooer's young, rich, and has all to please, 
What, against such a man, can the most perfumed breeze? 

Off went the breeze, and rushed heartbroken, desire-torn. 

Into the desert, where, anguished, alone, forlorn. 

He gathered strength to rush back with unwonted might. 

Battle the castle walls, howl, the unhappy wight, 

As though his storm-tossed soul could in the noise find peace, 

Or, with a whirl of rage, could his poor heart release. 

And when the sexton old rang out the marriage bell 

So fiercely blew that he tolled a funeral knell. 

So that no flow'rs should deck the couple's bridal way, 

Every rose-bush he swept into sad disarray. 

Murdering all the blooms he had caressed of old, 

For the sixteen-year bride, blue-eyed, with hair of gold. 

Off and away the breeze, sweeping a weary world. 
Off and away he went, misery tossed and whirled, 


Came back in two years' time, back to the castle old, 

Where dwelt the sweet young wife, blue-eyed, with hair of gold; 

Back to the castle grim, and in a cradle there 

Found a wee baby girl, blue-eyed, with golden hair. 

Gently and softly blew, turning the child's toy mill. 

Eager to win a smile where he had come to kill; 

Turning the tiny mill as he had kissed of old 

The mother's sweet blue eyes and hair of burnished gold, 

Then sank to endless rest under the mother's chair. 

To dream of her blue eyes and of her golden hair. 


Abridged from Hugh Wynne. By Dr. S. Weir Mitchell 

Hugh Wynne is the son of an austere Quaker residing in Philadelphia 
at the time of the American Revolution. John Wynne, the father, is a Tory, 
but Hugh is influenced by his Aunt Gainor who makes a rebel and a patriot 
of him. Before joining the army Hugh becomes much enamored with a 
capricious young lady named Darthea Peniston. Arthur Wynne, his cousin, 
is an officer in the British army and his hated rival. During the battle of 
Germantown, Hugh is seriously wounded and taken prisoner. He and other 
disabled prisoners are driven to Walnut Street Prison, Philadelphia, called 
by the English the Provost. Of his experiences there, Hugh Wynne gives 
the following account. 

My heart fell within me as I looked up at the gray stone walls and 
grated windows. The door soon closed behind a hundred of us. With 
fifteen others, I was shut up in a room about twenty-two feet square. 
I was carried and laid down by two soldiers in a corner of the bare room. 
After an hour had gone by, I called a fellow prisoner, a Virginia captain 
named Richard Delaney, and asked him to lift and ease my hurt leg. 
He was quick to help and tender. In a few minutes we came to know 
each other, and thus began a friendly relation. 

A surgeon dressed my wounds for a month, and then I saw him no 
more. I set myself to seeing how I could keep my health. I talked 
with my unlucky fellow prisoners, and ate the vile food dealt out to us, 

^ Reprinted by permission of The Century Company. 


I felt sure that before long some one would hear of me and bring relief 
None came. The scoundrel in charge of the prison was a Captain Cun- 
ningham, a great, florid, burly, drunken brute. He no doubt sold our 
rations, for in December we once passed three days on rye bread and 
water, and one day we had no food. 

But for the Virginian, Richard Delaney, I should not be alive to-day. 
Death was busy among the starving men, and we saw every day hasty 
burials in the potter's field. I was attacked with a burning fever. For 
how long I know not I lay on the floor in the straw, miserably rolling 
from side to side. Then I lost consciousness, and knew no more for 
many days. When I came to a knowledge of myself, I found Delaney 
caring for me. About the end of January, Delaney, seeing me better and 
able to sit up a Httle, told me this strange story. 

While I was ill and unconscious, a British officer had come to inspect 
the prison. "He came over and stood just here,'' said Delaney, ''he 
looked down on you for so long that I thought he must be sorry for us. 
He asked me to pull the blanket from your face. I did so, as he seemed 
afraid to touch it. As for you, you were saying 'Darthea' over and 
over; but who is Darthea, the Lord knows. After standing awhile, the 
officer said in a queer way and very deliberately, 'it was a pity, but it 
was of no use; you would die.' I told him — " 

Breaking in on Delaney, I said, "Who was this man? What did he 
look like?" 

"He was tall, very dark, and had a scar over the left eye." 

"Did he have a way of standing with half -shut eyes, and his mouth 
a little open?" 

"Certainly. Why, Wynne, you must know the man." 

"I do — I do. He is my cousin." 

It did seem to me, as I lay still, in much distress of body, that no man 
could be so cruel as Arthur Wynne had shown himself. Time had 
gone by, and he had done nothing. Months since he had warned me 
that I had everything to dread from his enmity, if I persisted in writing 
to Darthea. Assuredly he had been as good as his word. I thought how 
impossible it must ever be to hate a man enough to do as Arthur Wynne 
had done. I kept thinking of the hour when my cousin and I should 
meet, and as I fed this animal appetite I won fresh desire to live. He 


must have learned later that I was still alive. It looked worse and 
worse as I thought about it, until Delaney, hearing me talk of nothing 
else, told me I would go mad if I let myself dwell longer upon it. Thus 
wisely counselled, I set it aside. 

By the beginning of February, I was greatly improved and fast gain- 
ing strength. One day I awakened with a fresh and happy thought in 
my mind. I thought I suddenly saw a way to let the sweet outside 
world know I was alive. At first I used to think of a chaplain as a 
resource, but I never saw one. Being now able to move about a little, 
I had noticed in the yard a fat Romanist priest, who was allowed to 
bring soup or other food to certain prisoners. I soon learned that, 
because Cunningham was of the Church of Rome, those who were of 
his faith were favored. Indeed, now and then, certain gray-clad sisters 
also brought supplies; but this was rare. 

That day in the yard I drew near to the priest, but saw Cunningham 
looking on, and so I waited with the patience of a prisoned man. 

It was quite two weeks before my chance came. Passing near to a stout 
old Sister of Charity, I said quietly: 

''I have friends who would help me. For God's love, see my aunt, 
Miss Wynne in Arch street, across from the Meeting.'' 

''I will do your errand," she said. 

"Others have said so, sister, and have lied to me." 

"I will do it," she said. "And if she is away?" 

I thought of my father. He seemed my natural resource, but my 
cousin would be there. Finally I said, " If she is not in town, then Miss 
Darthea Peniston, near by. If you fail me, I shall curse you while I 

"I will not fail you. Why should you poor prisoners be so ill used? 
Trust me." 

Two days later a turnkey came and bade me follow him. I went with 
an eager heart. As I questioned the man, he said there was an order for 
a lady to see me. Now at this time my hair was a foot long, and no 
way to shear it. We had taken the blankets of the dead, and made us 
coats by tearing holes through which to thrust our arms. My costume 
troubled me a little. As he opened the door, I saw the good Sister of 
Charity in the hall, and then — who but Darthea? 


Seeing me in this blue blanket, all unshorn, and my beard covering 
my face. I wonder not that she fell back, saying there was some mistake. 

I cried out, ''Darthea! Darthea! Do not leave me. It is I! It is 
I, Hugh Wynne." 

" My God ! " she cried, '' It is Hugh ! It is ! it is ! '' At this she caught 
my lean yellow hand, and went on to say, ''Why were we never told? 
Your Aunt Wynne is away. Since we thought you dead, she has ordered 
mourning and is gone to her farm. But you are not dead, thank God! 
thank God ! I was but a day come home from New York, when this 
dear old sister came and told me. Just then Arthur came, and 1 told 
him of your misfortune. He was greatly shocked to hear it. He re- 
minded me that some while before he had told me that he had seen a 
man who looked like you in the jail, and was about to die. I never saw 
him so troubled." 

"Well he might be," thought I. 1 merely said, "Indeed?" But 1 
must have looked my doubt, for she added quickly: 

"Who could know you, Hugh Wynne?" 

"Darthea," I said, "you must not remain in this awful place. God 
knows how welcome you are, but — " 

"Oh," she cried, "I told Arthur that I would wait, but I could not, 
so I came with the sister. You will be helped, and an end put to this 
wickedness. Arthur will ask for a parole for you." 

"Darthea," I said hoarsely, "I have been here since early in October. 
I have been starved, frozen, maltreated in a hundred ways, but I can 
never take a parole. I will take my chance here." I think death had 
been preferable to a parole obtained for me by Arthur Wynne. 

Then I was struck with a thought which was like a physical pain. 
"O Darthea!" I cried, "you should never have come here. Go at 
once. Do not stay a minute. This is a house poisoned. Write me what 
else is to say, but go; and let me have some plain clothes from home, and 
linen and a razor and scissors and, above all, soap. But go! go!" 

"I will go when I have done. I came, because I am your friend, and 
this is the way I read friendship. Oh, I shall hear of it too. But let 
Arthur Wynne take care. I will write to you, and the rest you shall 
have; and now good-by." 

In two hours came a note with news of the war and from home. I 


learned that Washington was not dead. We had been told that he was. 
I heard, too, of Burgoyne's surrender, of the fall of the forts on the 
Delaware, of Lord Cornwallis gone to England, of failures to effect 

A few hours later came the turnkey. He fetched a portmantle just 
come, and an order to put me in a room alone. I left Delaney with 
sorrow, but hoped for some way to help him. In an hour I was clean 
for the first time in five months, neatly shaven, my hair somehow cut, 
and I in sweet linen and a good, plain gray suit. Then I sat down to 
think, the mere hope of escape making me weak. 

The next day I was ordered forth with a few others, and, luckilyj late 
in the afternoon. I covered my fine clothes with a blanket, and went 
out. In the yard, I saw the sister, to my delight, and perceived too, 
that the prisoners did not recognize me, decently shaven as I was. 
Only one thing held me back or made me doubt that I was close to 
liberty; I was so feeble that at times I staggered in walking. I knew, 
however, that when my new clothes became familiar in the jail my 
chance of escape would be over. I must take the present opportunity 
and trust to luck. 

My scheme I had clearly thought out. I meant, when in the yard, 
to drop the blanket cover, and coolly follow the sister, trusting to my 
being taken in my new garments, for a visitor. It was simple, and like 
enough to succeed if my strength held out. It was now dusk. A bell 
was rung, this being the signal for the gang of prisoners to go to their 
rooms. Falling back a little, I cast aside the blanket, and then follow- 
ing the rest, was at once in the hall, dimly lit with lanterns. It was some 
eighty feet long. Here I kept behind the group, and went boldly after 
the stout sister. No one seemed disposed to suspect the well-dressed 
gentleman in gray. I went by the turnkey, keeping my face the other 
way. I was now some fifteen feet from the great barred outer door. 
The two sentries stepped back to let the sister go by. 

Meanwhile the gatekeeper, with his back to me, was busy with his 
keys. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. A great lantern hung 
over it. 1 was aghast to see the wretch, Cunningham, just about to 
enter. He was sure to detect me. I hesitated, but the lookout into 
space and liberty was enough for me. The beast fell back to let the 


sister pass out. I dashed by the guards, upset the good woman, and, 
just outside the doorway, struck Cunningham in the face — a blow that 
had in it all the gathered hate of five months of brutal treatment. He 
fell back, stumbling on the broad upper step. I caught him a second 
full in the neck, as I followed. With an oath, he rolled back down the 
high steps, as I, leaping over him, ran across Walnut street. I darted 
through the open door of a cobbler ^s shop, and out at the back into a 
small yard, and over palings into an open space. Then through various 
streets, and soon home, friends and liberty were mine again. 


From The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table. By Oliver Wendell 


Nothing strikes one more, in the race of life, than to see how many 
give out in the first half of the course. ''Commencement day" always 
reminds me of the start for the ''Derby," when the beautiful high-bred 
three-year-olds of the season are brought up for trial. That day is 
the start, and life is the race. Here we are at Cambridge, and a class 
is just ''graduating." Poor Harry! he was to have been there toe, but 
he has paid forfeit; step out here into the grass behind the church; ah! 
there it is: — 

"hung lapidem posuerunt socii moerentes" 

But this is the start, and here they are, — coats bright as «ilk, and 
manes as smooth as eau lustrale can make them. Some of the best of 
the colts are pranced around, a few minutes each, to show their paces. 
What is that old gentleman crying about? And the old lady by him, 
and the three girls, what are they all covering their eyes for? Oh, that 
is their colt which has just been trotted up on the stage. Do they really 
think those little thin legs can do anything in such a slashing sweep- 
stakes as is coming off in these next forty years? Oh, this terrible gift 
of second-sight that comes to some of us when we begin to look through 
the silvered rings of the arcus senilis! 

Ten years gone. First turn in the race. A few broken down; two oi 

^ Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. 


three bolted. Several show in advance of the ruck. Cassock^ sl black 
colt, seems to be ahead of the rest; those black colts commonly get the 
start, I have noticed, of the others, in the first quarter. Meteor has 
pulled up. 

Twenty years. Second corner turned. Cassock has dropped from the 
front, and Judex, an iron-gray, has the lead. But look how they have 
thinned out! Down flat, — five, — six, — how many? They lie still 
enough! they will not get up again in this race, be very sure! And the 
rest of them, what a ^'tailing off!" Anybody can see who is going to 
win, — ^perhaps. 

Thirty years. Third corner turned. Dives, bright sorrel, ridden by a 
fellow in a yellow jacket, begins to make play fast; is getting to be 
the favorite with many. But who is that other one that has been length- 
ening his stride from the first, and now shows close up to the front? 
Don't you remember the quiet brown colt Asteroid, with the star in his 
forehead? That is he; he is one of the sort that lasts; look out for him! 
The black ^'colt" as we used to call him, is in the background, taking it 
easily in a gentle trot. There is one they used to call the Filly, on ac- 
count of a certain feminine air he had; well up, you see; the Filly is 
not to be despised, my boy! 

Forty years. More dropping off, — but places much as before. 

Fifty years. Race over. All that are on the course are coming in at 
a walk; no more running. Who is ahead? Ahead? What! and the 
winning post a slab of white or gray stone standing out from that turf 
where there is no more jockeying or straining for victory! Well, the 
world marks their places in its betting book; but be sure that these 
matter very little, if they have run as well as they knew how! 


By Sidney Lanier 

Out of the hills of Habersham, 

Down the valleys of Hall, 
I hurry amain to reach the plain. 
Run the rapid and leap the fall, 

* Reprinted by special arrangement with Charles Scribner's Sons. 


Split at the rock and together again, 
Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, 
And flee from folly on every side 
With a lover's pain to attain the plain 

Far from the hills of Habersham, 

Far from the valleys of Hall. 

All down the hills of Habersham, 

All through the valleys of Hall, 
The rushes cried Abide, abide, 
The wilful waterweeds held me thrall. 
The laving laurel turned my tide, 
The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay^ 
The dewberry dipped deep to work delay, 
And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide, 

Here in the hills of Habersham, 

Here in the valleys of Hall. 

High o'er the hills of Habersham, 

Veiling the valleys of Hall, 
The hickory told me manifold 
Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall 
Wrought me her shadowy self to hold. 
The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, 
Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign, 
Said, Pass not, so cold, these manifold 

Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, 

These glades in the valleys of HalL 

And oft in the hills of Habersham, 

And oft in the valleys of Hall, 
The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone 
Did bar me a passage with friendly brawl, 
And many a luminous jewel lone 
— Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist, 
Ruby, garnet and amethyst — 
Made lures with the lights of streaming stone 


In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, 
In the beds of the valleys of Hall. 

But oh, not the hills of Habersham, 

And oh, not the valleys of Hall 
Avail: I am fain now to water the plain. 
Downward the voices of Duty call — • 
Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main. 
The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn. 
And a myriad flowers mortally yearn. 
And the lordly main from beyond the plain 

Calls o'er the hills of Habersham, 

Calls through the valleys of Hall. 


Abridged from The Blazed Trail. By Stewart Edward White 

About the fifteenth of April the attention of the lumber-jacks be- 
came strained. Every day the mounting sun made heavy attacks on 
the snow. The river began to show more air holes, occasional open 
places. About the centre the ice looked worn and soggy. Some one 
saw a flock of geese high in air. Then came rain. 

One morning early. Long Pine Jim came into the men's camp bearing 
a huge chunk of tallow. This he softened at the hot stove and began 
to swab liberal quantities of it on his spiked river shoes. 

'* She's comin', boys," said he. 

He donned a pair of woolen trousers that had been chopped off at 
the knee, thick woolen stockings, and the river shoes. Then he walked 
over to the corner to select a peavey from the lot the blacksmith had 
just put in shape. A peavey is like a cant-hook except that it is pointed 
at the end. Thus it can be used either as a hook or a pike. 

At the same moment Shearer, a foreman, appeared in the doorway. 
"Come on, boys, she's on!" said he sharply. "She'll be down on us 
before we know it!" 

* Copyright 1902 by Doubleday Page and Company, and reprinted by 
special arrangement with these publishers. 


The opening of the portal admitted a roar of sound. The freshet 
was abroad forceful with the strength of a whole winter's accumulated 
energy. The men heard it and their eyes brightened with the lust of 
battle. They cheered. 

Already the ice cementing the logs together had begun to weaken. 
The ice had wrenched and tugged savagely at the locked timbers until 
they had, with a mighty effort, snapped asunder the bonds of their 
hibernation. Now a narrow lane of black rushing water pierced the 
roll ways, to boil and eddy in the consequent jam three miles below. 

At the bank of the river, Thorpe, the manager, rapidly issued his 
directions. The affair had been all prearranged. To the foremen he 
assigned their tasks, calling them to him one by one, as a general calls 
his aids. 

"Moloney," said he to a big Irishman, "take your crew and break 
that jam. Then scatter your men down to within a mile of the pond, 
and see that the river runs clear. KerHe, your crew can break rollways 
with the rest until we get the river fairly filled, and then you can move 
on down-stream as fast as you are needed. Scotty, you will have the 

At once the signal was given to Ellis, the dam watcher. Ellis and 
his assistants thereupon began to pry with long iron bars at the ratchets 
of the heavy gates. The chore-boy bent attentively over the ratchet- 
pin, lifting it delicately to permit another inch of raise, dropping it ac- 
curately to enable the men at the bars to seize a fresh purchase. The 
river's roar deepened. Through the wide sluiceways a torrent foamed 
and tumbled. Immediately it spread through the brush on either side 
to the limits of the freshet banks, and then gathered for its leap against 
the uneasy rollways. 

Along the edge of the dark channel the face of the logs seemed to 
crumble away. Farther in towards the banks where the weight of the 
timber still outbalanced the weight of the flood, the tiers grumbled and 
stirred, restless with the stream's calling. Far down the river, where 
Bryan Moloney and his crew were picking at the jam, the water in 
eager streamlets sought the interstices between the logs, gurgling ex- 
citedly like a mountain brook. The jam creaked and groaned in re- 
sponse to the pressure. From its face a hundred jets of water spurted 


into the lower stream. Logs up-ended here and there, rising slowly, 
like so many arms from the lower depths. 

The crew worked desperately. Down in the heap somewhere, two 
logs were crossed in such a manner as to lock the whole. They sought 
those logs. Thirty feet above the bed of the river six men clamped 
their peaveys into the soft pine; jerking, pulling, sliding the great logs 
from their places. Thirty feet below, under the threatening face, six 
other men coolly picked out and set adrift, one by one, the timbers 
not inextricably imbedded. From time to time the mass creaked, 
settled, perhaps even moved a foot or two; but always the practiced 
rivermen, after a glance, bent more eagerly to their work. 

Outlined against the sky, big Bryan Moloney stood directing his work. 
He knew by the tenseness of the log he stood on that, behind the jam, 
power had gathered sufficient to push the whole tangle down-stream. 
Now he was offering it the chance. Suddenly the six men below the 
jam scattered. Four of them, holding their peaveys across their bodies, 
jumped lightly from one floating log to another in the zigzag to shore. 
The other two ran the length of their footing, and, overleaping an open 
of water, landed heavily and firmly on the very ends of two small float- 
ing logs. In this manner the force of the jump rushed the little timbers 
end-on through the water. The two men were thus ferried to within 
leaping distance of the other shore. 

In the meantime a barely perceptible motion was communicating 
itself from one particle to another through the centre of the jam. The 
crew redoubled its exertions, clamping its peaveys here and there, 
apparently at random, but in reality with the most definite of purposes. 
A sharp crack exploded immediately underneath. There could no 
longer exist any doubt as to the motion, although it was as yet sluggish, 
glacial. The jam crew were forced continually to alter their positions, 
riding the changing timbers bent-kneed, as a circus rider treads his 
four galloping horses. 

Then all at once something crashed. The entire stream became 
alive. It hissed and roared, it shrieked, groaned and grumbled. At 
first slowly, then more rapidly, the very forefront of the center melted 
inward and forward and downward until it caught the fierce rush of the 
freshet and shot out from under the jam. Far up-stream, bristling and 


formidable, the tons of logs, grinding savagely together, swept for- 

The six men and Bryan Moloney — who, it will be remembered, were 
on top of the jam — worked until the last moment. When the logs 
began to cave under them so rapidly that even the expert rivermen 
found difficulty in ''staying on top,^' the foreman set the example of 
hunting safety. 

''She pulls, boys," he yelled. 

Then in a manner wonderful to behold, through the smother of foam 
and spray, the drivers zigzagged calmly and surely to the shore. 

All but Jimmy Powers. He poised tense and eager on the crumbhng 
face of the jam. Almost immediately he saw what he wanted, and with- 
out pause sprang boldly and confidently ten feet straight downward, 
to alight with accuracy on a single log floating free in the current. And 
then in the very glory and chaos of the jam itself he was swept down- 

After a moment the constant acceleration in speed checked, then com- 
menced perceptibly to slacken. At once the rest of the crew began to 
ride down-stream. Each struck the calks of his river boots strongly 
into a log, and on such unstable vehicles floated miles with the current. 
From time to time, as Bryan Moloney indicated, one of them went 
ashore. There, usually at a bend in the stream where the likelihood 
of jamming was great, they took their stands. When necessary, they 
ran out over the face of the river to separate a congestion likely to cause 

At noon they ate from the little canvas bags which had been filled 
that morning by the cookee. At sunset they rode other logs down 
the river to where their camp had been made for them. There they 
ate hugely, hung their ice-wet garments over a tall framework con- 
structed around a monster fire, and turned in on hemlock branches^ 

All night long the logs shpped down the moonlit current, silently, 
swiftly, yet without haste. From the whole length of the river rang 
the hollow boom, boom, boom, of timbers striking one against the other. 

The drive was on. 



By Henry Van Dyke 


When tulips bloom in Union Square, 
And timid breaths of vernal air 

Go wandering down the dusty town, 
Like children lost in Vanity Fair; 

When every long unlovely row 
Of westward houses stands aglow. 

And leads the eyes to sunset skies 
Beyond the hills where green trees grow; 

Then weary seems the street parade, 
And weary books, and weary trade: 
I'm only wishing to go a-fishing; 
For this the month of May was made. 


I guess the pussy-willows now 
Are creeping out on every bough 

Along the brook; and robins look 
For early worms behind the plough. 

The thistle-birds have changed their dun, 
For yellow coats to match the sun; 

And in the same array of flame 
The Dandelion ^how^s begun. 

The flocks of young anemones 

Are dancing round the budding trees: 

Who can help wishing to go a-fishing 
In days as full of joy as these? 

I think the meadow lark's clear sound 
Leaks upward slowly from the ground, 
^ Reprinted by special arrangement with Charles Scribner's Sons. 


While on the wing the blue-birds ring 
Their wedding bells to woods around. 

The flirting chewink calls his dear 
Behind the bush; and very near, 

Where water flows, where green grass grows 
Song-sparrows gently sing ^'Good cheer." 

And, best of all, through twilight's calm 
The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm. 

How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing 
In days so sweet with music's balm! 


'Tis not a proud desire of mine; 
I ask for nothing superfine; 

No heavy weight, no salmon great, 
To break the record, or my line. 

Only an idle little stream. 
Whose amber waters softly gleam, 

Where I may wade, through woodland shade, 
And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream: 

Only a trout or two, to dart 

From foaming pools, and try my art: 

'Tis all I'm wishing — old fashioned fishing, 
And just a day on Nature's heart. 

From The Joy o' Life. By Theodosia Garrison 

May flowers on the city street — 

A keen-faced vender sells, with eyes 
Fitted for coarser merchandise 

Than these pathetic bits of sweet 

That breathe of vague simplicities. 

* Reprinted by permission of Mitchell Kennerleyo 


May flowers on the city street — 

Here where the tide of traffic roars 

Against its narrow, crowded shores 
Where men go by with hurrying feet 

And barter swings its thousand doors. 

May flowers on the city street — 

Why, 'tis as though the young-eyed Spring 

Herself had come — an artless thing, 
A country lass, demure and neat — 

To smile upon us wondering. 

May flowers on the city street — 
Pink and white poetry abloom 
Here in this clamor, crush and gloom — 

A home thought in the battle's heat, 
A love-song in a sunless room. 

May flowers on the city street — 

For one poor coin behold I buy 

Springtime and youth and poetry, 
E'en in this sordid mart unmeet 

So many miles from Arcady. 


By Richard Mansfield 

The lioness whelped, and the sturdy cub 

Was seized by an eagle and carried up. 

And homed for a while in an eagle's nest, 

And slept for a while on an eagle's breast; 

And the eagle taught it the eagle's song: 

''To be staunch, and valiant, and free, and strong!'* 

The lion whelp sprang from the eyrie nest. 
From the lofty crag where the queen birds rest; 

^ Reprinted by permission of Mrs. Mansfield. 


He fought the king on the spreading plain, 
And drove him back o'er the foaming main. 
He held the land as a thrifty chief, 
And reared his cattle, and reaped his sheaf, 
Nor sought the help of a foreign hand. 
Yet welcomed all to his own free land! 

Two were the sons that the country bore 
To the Northern lakes and the Southern shore; 
And Chivalry dwelt with the Southern son. 
And Industry lived with the Northern one. 
Tears for the time when they broke and fought! 
Tears was the price of the union wrought! 
And the land was red in a sea of blood, 
Where brother for brother had swelled the flood! 

And now that the two are one again, 

Behold on their shield the word ''Refrain!" 

And the lion cubs twain sing the eagle's song: 

''To be staunch, and valiant, and free, and strong!" 

For the eagle's beak, and the lion's paw. 

And the lion's fangs, and the eagle's claw. 

And the eagle's swoop, and the lion's might. 

And the lion's leap, and the eagle's sight. 

Shall guard the flag with the word "Refrain!" 

Now that the two are one again! 


From King Henry the Fourth. By William Shakespeare 

Scene; The Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap. There are present Prince 
Hal, Poins, Jack Falstaff, Gadshill, Peto and others. 

PoiNs: Welcome, Jack, where hast thou been? 

Falstaff: A plague on all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! 
marry, and amen! — Give me a cup of sack, boy. (He drinks) Is there 
DO virtue extant? There live not three good men unhanged in England; 


and one of them is fat and grows old; God help the while! a bad world, 
I say. A plague of all cowards, 1 say still. 

Prince: How now, wool-sack! what mutter you? 

Falstaff: a king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom 
with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of 
wild-geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales! 

Prince: Why, you round old man, what's the matter? 

Falstaff: Are not you a coward? answer me that, — and Poins there? 

PoiNs: Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by Heaven, 
I'll stab thee. 

Falstaff: I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere I call thee 
coward; but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou 
canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who 
Bees your back; call you that backing your friends? A plague upon 
such backing! give me them that will face me. 

Prince: What's the matter? 

Falstaff: What's the matter! there be four of us here have ta'en 
a thousand pounds this morning. 

Prince: Where is it. Jack, where is it? 

Falstaff: Where is it! taken from us it is; a hundred upon poor 
fdur of us. 

Prince: What, a hundred, man? 

Falstaff: I am a rogue, if I were not at sword play with a dozen 
of them two hours together. I have scaped by miracle. I am eight 
times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler 
cut through and through; my sword hacked like a hand-saw — ecce 
signum! I never dealt better since I was a man; all would not do. A 
plague of all cowards! — Let them speak; if they speak more or less than 
truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness. 

Prince: Speak, sirs; how was it? 

Gadshill: We four set upon some dozen— 

Falstaff: Sixteen at least, my lord. 

Gadshill: And bound them. 

Peto: No, no, they were not bound. 

Falstaff: You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I am 
a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 


Gadshill: As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon 
us — 

Falstaff: And unbound the rest, and then come in the other. 

Prince : What, fought you with them all? 

Falstaff: All! I know not w^hat you call all; but if I fought not with 
fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or three and 
fifty upon old Jack, then am I no two-legged creature. 

Prince: Pray God you have not murthered some of them. 

Falstaff: Nay, that's past praying for; I have peppered two of 
them; two I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell 
thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a He, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou 
knowest my old ward; here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four 
rogues in buckram let drive at me — 

Prince: What, four? thou saidst but two even now. 

Falstaff: Four, Hal; I told thee four. 

PoiNs: Ay, ay, he said four. 

Falstaff: These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I 
made me no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, 

Prince: Seven? why there were but four even now. 

Falstaff: In buckram? 

PoiNs: Ay, four, in buckram suits. 

Falstaff: Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 

Prince: Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon. 

Falstaff: Dost thou hear me, Hal? 

Prince: Ay, and mark thee too. Jack. 

Falstaff: Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in 
buckram that I told thee of — 

Prince: So, two more already. 

Falstaff: Their points being broken, — 

PoiNs: Down fell their hose. 

Falstaff: Began to give' me ground: but I followed me close, 
came in foot and hand; and with a thought seven of the elev^ I 

Prince: monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two! 

Falstaff: But, as the devil would have it, three knaves in Kendal 


green came at my back and let drive at me; for it was so dark, Hal, 
that thou couldst not see thy hand. 

Prince: These lies are like their father that begets them; gross as 
a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained, greasy tallow- 
catch, — 

Falstaff: What, art thou mad? is not the truth the truth? 

Prince: Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green, 
when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? come, tell us your 
reason; what sayest thou to this? 

PoiNs: Come, your reason. Jack, your reason. 

Falstaff: What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the 
strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compul- 
sion! if reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a 
reason upon compulsion, I. 

Prince: I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this 
huge hill of flesh, — 

Falstaff: 'Sblood, you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat's 
tongue, — O for breath to utter what is like thee! — 

Prince: Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; and when thou 
hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this. 

PoiNs: Mark, Jack. 

Prince: We saw you four set on four and bound them, and were 
masters of their wealth. Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you 
down. Then did we two set on you four; and, with a word, out-faced 
you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you here in the 
house: and, Falstaff, you carried your guts away so nimbly, with as 
quick dexterity, and roared for mercy and still run and roared, as ever 
I heard bull calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword, as thou 
hast done, and then say it was in fight ! What trick, what device, what 
starting-hole, canst thou now find out to hide thee from this open and 
apparent shame? 

PoiNs: Come, let's hear. Jack; what trick hast thou now? 

Falstaff: By Heaven, I knew ye. Why, hear you, my masters; 
was it for me to kill the heir-apparent? Should I turn upon the true 
prince? why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware 
instinct; the lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great 


matter; I was now a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of 
myself and thee during my life; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true 
prince. But lads, I am glad you have the money. 


By George R. Sims 

'Mid all the nasty things that come to make our tempers smart, 

It's very nice in middle age to have a childish heart. 

To feel — although you've got a house, and taxes coming due — 

The little joys of early Hfe possess a charm for you. 

My boys and girls are growing up; I'm fifty in a day; 

And all the hair that time has left has turned a doubtful gray; 

And yet I jump and skip about and sing a song of glee, 

Because we're off to spend a month beside the sounding sea. 

Where I shall wear my holland clothes, and tuck them up and wade, 

And buy myself an air-balloon, a bucket and a spade. 

I've packed my box and corded it, and seen my boys to bed, 
And now I'm in the drawing-room and standing on my head; 
I really can't contain myself, I shout and rub my hands, — 
Oh, won't I build a castle with a moat upon the sands! 
I know this week I've lost a lot of money upon 'Change, 
I know the kitchen boiler's burst and spoilt the kitchen range, 
I know my wife declares she wants another hundred pounds. 
And I should weep and tear my hair, because I've ample grounds; 
But visions of to-morrow's bliss bid all my sorrows fade, — 
There's comfort in an air-balloon, a bucket and a spade. 

I ought to be a solemn chap, and dress in black, and frown, 
And do as other fathers do when going out of town; 
I ought to count the cost of it, and look extremely riled. 
And swear that all the packing-up will send me nearly wild. 
And when I reach the lovely sea I ought to take a seat. 
Or walk about a mile a day and grumble at the heat; 

^Reprinted by permission of George Routledge and Sons, London. 


But oh, I can't contain myself, I'm off my head with joy, 
And won't I get my trousers wet and be a naughty boy! 
For I shall wear my holland clothes, and tuck them up and wade, 
And buy myself an air-balloon, a bucket and a spade. 


From Tales of the Mermaid Tavern. By Alfred Noyes 

Note. Christopher (Kit) Marlowe, the dramatist, was the son of a 
cobbler and played about his father's shop in his boyhood. 

A cobbler lived in Canterbury 
— He is dead now, poor soul! — 
He sat at his door and stitched in the sun, 
Nodding and smiling at everyone; 
' For St. Hugh makes all good cobblers merry 

And often he sang as the pilgrims passed, 
" I can hammer a soldier's boot. 
And daintily glove a dainty foot. 
Many a sandal from my hand 
Has walked the road to Holy Land. 
Knights may fight for me, priests may pray for me, 
Pilgrims walk the pilgrim's way for me, 
I have a work in the world to do! 
— Trowl the howl, the nut-brown howl, 

To good St. Hugh!— 
The cobbler must stick to his last." 

And anon he would cry 
" Kit! Kit! Kit!" to his little son, 
" Look at the pilgrims riding by! 
Dance down, hop down, after them, run! " 
Then, like an unfledged linnet, out 
Would tumble the brave little lad, 

^ Copyright, 1913, by Frederick A. Stokes Company, and reprinted by their 


With a piping shout, — 

** O, look at them, look at them, look at them, Dad! 

Priest and prioress, abbot and friar, 

Soldier and seaman, knight and squire! 

How many countries have they seen? 

Is there a king there, is there a queen? 

Dad, one day, 

Thou and I must ride like this, 

All along the Pilgrim's Way, 

By Glastonbury and Samarcand, 

El Dorado and Cathay, 

London and Persepolis, 

All the way to the Holy Land!" 

Then shaking his head as if he knew. 
Under the sign of the Golden Shoe, 
Touched by the glow of the setting sun, 
While the pilgrims passed, 
The little cobbler would laugh and say; 
*' When you are old you will understand 
'Tis a very long way 
To Samarcand! 
Why, largely to exaggerate 
Befits not men of small estate, 
But — I should say, yes, I should say, 
'Tis a hundred miles from where you stand; 
And a hundred more, my little son, 
A hundred more, to Holy Land! ... 
I have a work in the world to do 
— Trowl the howl, the nut-brown howl, 

To good St. Hugh!— 
The cobbler must stick to his last." 


From The Enchanted Island. By Alfred Notes 

Bluff and burly and splendid 

Through roaring traffic-tides, 
By secret lightnings attended 

The land-ship hisses and glides. 
And I sit on its bridge and I watch and I dream 

While the world goes gallantly by, 
With all its crowded houses and its colored shops a-stream 

Under the June-blue sky, 
Heigh, ho! 

Under the June-blue sky. 

There's a loafer at the curb with a sulphur-colored pile 

Of " Lights! Lights! Lights! " to sell; 
And a flower-girl there with some liUes and a smile 

By the gilt swing-doors of a drinking hell. 
Where the money is rattling loud and fast, 

And I catch one ghmpse as the ship swings past 
Of a woman with a babe at her breast 

Wrapped in a ragged shawl; 
She is drinking away with the rest, 

And the sun shines over it all. 
Heigh, ho! 

The sun shines over it all! 

And a barrel-organ is playing, 

Somewhere, far away, 
Abide with me, and The world is gone a-maying, 

And What will the policeman say? 
There's a glimpse of the river down an alley by a church, 

And the barges with their tawny-colored sails, 

* Copyright, 1913, by Frederick A. Stokes and Company, and reprinted bj 
their permission. 


And a grim and grimy coal-wharf where the London pigeons perch 
And flutter and spread their tails, 

Heigh, ho! 
Flutter and spread their tails. 

O, what does it mean, all the pageant and the pity, 

The waste and the wonder and the shame? 
I am riding tow'rds the sunset through the vision of a City 

Which we cloak with the stupor of a name! 
I am riding through ten thousand tragedies and terrors. 

Ten million heavens that save and hells that damn; 
And the lightning draws my car towards the golden evening star; 

And — they call it only "riding on a tram," 
Heigh, ho! 

They call it only " riding on a tram." 


By Alfred James Waterhouse 

When I go out on my wheel, the world 
Goes scurrying past, as the Hand unfurled 
The leagues of hurrying brown and green; 
And I see the little white houses between 
The hedges and trees, and the air strikes hard 
On my lifted face, and the odor of nard, 
Of myrtle and roses, exalts like wine. 
As I ride on my wheel and the world is mine. 

When I go out on my wheel, the town 

Fades away — fades away into stretches of brown; 

And I hear the murmur of brooks that run 

Through the shady nooks till they greet the sun. 

And it's ho! oho! for the joy I feel 

As I ride, as I glide, on my steed of steel: 

And the day and its moments are all divine. 

As I ride on my wheel and the world is mine. 

^ Reprinted by permission of the author. 


When I go out on my wheel, I know 

That back to the toil and the grind I must go; 

But I do not mind as the moments fly, 

For the world is fair and its child am I. 

So it's ho! for the hedges that glide and glide, 

And it's ho! for the brooklets that hide and hide, 

And it's ho ! for the day with its smile benign, 

As I ride on my wheel and the world is mine« 


By varieties of emphasis in reading, we are able to make 
prominent what is important in a sentence and to put in the 
background what is least important. What is relatively 
important in a selection as a whole, should also be determined 
by painstaking analysis, and the reader's estimate of relative 
values expressed by a careful delivery. Preserve the balance 
and purpose of the following selections by attention to this 
principle in expressive delivery. 


By Mary A. Livermore 

It is possible to comprehend the character of Wendell Phillips only 
as he is seen against the dark background of slavery. He made his 
debut as an anti-slavery reformer, and he was known as an anti-slavery 
reformer from the time he began his w^ork until he was discharged by 
death from all work of an earthly character. 

Wendell Phillips was the son of the first mayor of Boston, and was 
born on Beacon Street. He was rich, and never knew the want of a 
dollar in his life. He had the beauty of a Greek Apollo in face and 
figure. He had the culture of Harvard College in his brains. He was 
the idol of the aristocrats of Boston. In his veins ran the same blood 
that flowed in the veins of Phillips Brooks, of Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
On every side Wendell Phillips was hedged about by the highest and 
noblest influences. 

It was a mob that sought to hang William Lloyd Garrison which 
gave Wendell Phillips to the cause of abolition. He saw Mr. Garrison, 
whom he did not know, with a rope about his waist, dragged through 
the streets of Boston. He said, "What is the matter with the fellow? " 

''Why, he is the anti-slavery leader, the editor of The Liberator j'^ 
answered a man at his elbow. 

''Why don't you call out the cadets, and put down this mob?'' de- 
manded Phillips. 

The man turned round and said, "You fool, don't you see it is the 
cadets that are trying to hang him?" 

The next day Wendell Phillips resigned from the cadets, and re- 
canted his oath to support the constitution of the United States; be- 
cause it could compel him to return fugitive slaves. So that mob gave 
the world Wendell Phillips. 

^ Reprinted by permission of the Emerson College Magazine. 



Soon after this incident, Elijah Lovejoy, who had gone to Illinois 
and started an anti-slavery paper, had his press destroyed, and thrown 
into the Mississippi River. He bought another, and that they de- 
stroyed. He got a third, and said, ''This paper my friends and I will 
defend with our lives!" That night a number of his friends stayed 
with him in the warehouse until late, after which, thinking all was safe, 
they went to their homes and left him with a few others. 

Hardly had they gone when there came a mob of the lowest, vilest, 
drunken ruffians one could imagine. They came out all armed ready 
for anything. The first salutation that the men in the warehouse heard, 
was the falling of stones that broke in every window. Immediately 
Lovejoy replied that there were men inside, all heavily armed that 
would take care of themselves and the press; but the throwing of stones 
continued. One of the ruffians set the roof on fire. Lovejoy came out 
on the roof, his figure clearly revealed, a splendid target, against the 
blazing conflagration. When he turned and again warned them, a well 
aimed shot was fired and he dropped dead. After that, it was impossible 
for a posse of officers to do anything with the mob until they were fully 

The story of this outrage went across the country on the wings of 
the wind. Everybody was saying, ''Are we white slaves? Have we 
a collar about our necks? May we not publish our own papers and 
say what we please?" Meetings were called all over the country in 
defense of free speech and free press. One was held in Faneuil Hall in 
defense of free speech and in opposition to slavery. Dr. Channing 
made the first speech. He spoke much about free speech, but very 
gingerly about slavery. Two other men followed and talked the same 
way. It seemed as if the crowded audience were all of one opinion. 
Suddenly there arose in the gallery James T. Austin. He said he was 
glad Lovejoy was shot; that he died as he deserved to die. He said the 
man who shot Lovejoy deserved to rank with the patriots of the Com- 
monwealth whose portraits looked down from the walls of Faneuil 

The excitement which followed was intense. The friends of Austin 
applauded to the echo, while the anti-slavery men hissed and groaned 
and the house resounded with cries. A young man was seen making his 


way through the immense crowd. He came up and faced the audience. 
Everybody was saying, ''Who is the handsome young fellow?" but there 
was a free masonry which made them believe he was not to side with 
Austin. Finally, a few of the men came on the platform and insisted that 
the young man should be heard. 

Wendell Phillips began. His voice was music; its fine modulations, 
as he talked in a conversational way, reached out to the remotest corners 
of the hall. Every one listened while he gave a vocal picture of the 
tragedy of the night which had brought about the meeting. As he went 
on with his graphic description they saw Love joy on the roof of the 
house; they heard the shots; they saw the whole horrible affair; they 
saw the low ruffians, those half savage men, as they came out from their 
lairs, bent on murder. When he reached the point where they were 
all horror stricken with the tragedy, as they had not been before, he 
said, *' When I heard the Attorney-General of Massachusetts class those 
drunken murderers with the patriots of the Commonwealth, I mar- 
velled, O Hancock, Adams, Otis and Quincy, that your pictured lips 
did not break out and rebuke this recreant slanderer of the noble dead! 
I marvelled that this cradle of liberty did not rock and heave again, and 
that the earth did not open and swallow him up for his profanity!'' 

If there was excitement before, there was pandemonium now. Phillips 
had won. The majority, standing on tiptoe, shouted, ^^Go on! Take 
nothing back!" while the other faction shouted, ''Throw him out! Sit 
down! Be quiet!" He stood there with his arms folded and let the 
mob howl itself out. Now he made his speech about slavery, and it was 
not gingerly. This was his debut as an anti-slavery reformer. It was 
a speech that held everybody breathless. He foretold the end of slavery. 
He pictured what it would be if it were allowed to grow. Everybody 
was spellbound; nobody hissed. 

The moment he finished he received a perfect ovation. He went 
out with the reputation of having made the greatest speech ever heard 
in the city of Boston. He went out poorer than the poorest beggar that 
goes from alley to alley to beg for food. He had killed every chance 
of political advancement he might ever hope to win; completely ostra- 
cised, nothing remained for him but to be a private citizen afterward. 

Have you ever read of a case like this? Here was a man twenty-six 


years old, an aristocrat, of a noble family, a graduate of Harvard, full 
of dreams and aspirations, who might have had anything he might ask 
for himself; yet he gave up society and descended, not only to the level 
of the common people, but lower than that, — to the depths of the pit 
digged by the American people for the black slave. He went there of 
his own accord, refusing everything, taking his stand by the side of 
that black slave of the South; and looking up calmly at the American 
government and the church and society, he said, ''I stand by this black 
slave. His cause and mine are one. Whatsoever ye do to him ye do 
unto me." There he stood calmly, steadfastly, enduring everything, 
foregoing everything, until at last the black man was raised to the level 
of the white man. 


From The Melting-Pot. By Israel Zangwill 

Scene. The living-room at the Quixanos home, Richmond Borougli, 
New York City. There are present Mendel and David Quixanos, uncle and 
nephew, the former a pianist and the latter a violinist and composer, al^o 
Vera Revendal, a settlement worker calling at the Quixanos home who has 
just learned that her letter mailed a week before to David, has not been de- 
livered to him. 

David: A letter for me! (He opens it eagerly, reads and smiles) Oh, 
Miss Revendal! Isn't that great! To play again at your settlement. 
I am getting famous. 

Vera: But we can't offer you a fee. 

David: A fee! I'd pay a fee to see all those happy immigrants you 
gather together, — Dutchmen and Greeks, Poles and Norwegians, Swiss 
and Armenians. If you only had Jews it would be as good as going to 
Ellis Island. 

Vera: What a strange taste! Who in the world wants to go to Ellis 

David: Oh, I love to go to Ellis Island to watch the ships coming 
in from Europe, and to think that all those weary, sea-tossed wanderers 
are feeling what I felt when America first stretched out her great mother* 
hand to me! 


Vera: Were you very happy? 

David: It was heaven. You must remember that all my life I had 
heard of America — everybody in our town had friends there or was 
going there or got money orders from there. The earliest game I played 
at was selling off my toy furniture and setting up in America. All my 
life America was waiting, beckoning, shining — the place where God 
would wipe away tears from off all faces. {He ends in a half-soh) 

Mendel: Now, now, David, don't get excited. 

David: To think that the skme great torch of liberty which threw 
its light across all the broad seas and lands into my little garret in Russia, 
is shining also for all those other weeping millions of Europe, shining 
wherever men hunger and are oppressed — 

Mendel (Soothingly): Yes, yes, David. Now sit down and — 

David: Shining over the starving villages of Italy and Ireland, over 
the swarming stony cities of Poland and Galicia, over the ruined farms 
of Roumania, over the shambles of Russia — 

Mendel {Pleading): David! 

David: Oh, Miss Revendal, when I look at our Statue of Liberty, 
I just seem to hear the voice of America crying: '' Come unto me all ye 
that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest — rest." 

Mendel: Don't talk any more — you know it is bad for you. 

David: But Miss Revendal asked — and I want to explain to her 
what America means to me. 

Mendel: You can explain it in your American symphony. 

Vera: You compose? 

David: Oh, uncle, why did you talk of — ? uncle always — my music 
is so thin and tinkling. When I am writing my American symphony, 
it seems like thunder crashing through a forest full of bird songs. But 
next day — oh, next day! 

Vera: So your music finds inspiration in America? 

David: Yes, in the seething of the Crucible. 

Vera: The Crucible? I don't understand! 

David: Not understand! You, the spirit of the settlement! Not 
understand that America is God's Crucible, the great Melting Pot 
where all the races of Europe are melting and re-forming! Here you 
stand, good folk, think I, when I see them at Ellis Island, here you 


stand in your fifty groups, with your fifty languages and histories, and 
your fifty blood hatreds and rivalries. But you won't be long like that, 
brothers, for these are the fires of God you've come to — these are the 
fires of God. A fig for your feuds and vendettas! Germans and French- 
men, Irishmen and Englishmen, Jews and Russians — into the Crucible 
with you all ! God is making the American. 

Mendel: I should have thought the American was made already—^ 
eighty millions of him. 

David: Eighty millions! Over a continent! Why, that cockleshell 
of a Britain has forty millions! No, uncle, the real American has not 
yet arrived. He is only in the Crucible, I tell you — he will be the fusion 
of all races, the coming superman. Ah, what a glorious Finale for my 
symphony — if I can only write it. 


By William Cullen Bryant 

The sad and solemn night 
Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires; 

The glorious host of light 
Walk the dark atmosphere till she retires; 
All through her silent watches, gliding slow, 
Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go. 

Day, too, hath many a star 
To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they: 

Through the blue fields afar, 
Unseen, they follow in his flaming way: 
Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim, 
Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him. 

And thou dost see them rise. 
Star of the Pole! and thou dost see them set. 

Alone, in thy cold skies, 
Thou keep'st thy old unwavering station yet, 

^ Reprinted by permission of D. Appleton and Company. 


Nor join'st the dances of that gUttering train, 
Nor dipp'st thy virgin orb in the blue western main. 

There, at morn's rosy birth, 
Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air, 

And eve, that round the Earth 
Chases the day, beholds thee watching there; 
There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls 
The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls. 

Alike, beneath thine eye. 
The deeds of darkness and of light are done; 

High toward the starlit sky 
Towns blaze, the smoke of battle blots the Sun; 
The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud. 
And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud. 

On thy unaltering blaze 
The half-wrecked mariner, his compass lost, 

Fixes his steady gaze. 
And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast; 
And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night, 
Aie glaa when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps right. 

And, therefore, bards of old. 
Sages and hermits of the solemn wood, 

Did in thy beams behold 
A beauteous type of that unchanging good, 
That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray 
The voyager of time should shape his heedful way. 


Abridged from The Sky Pilot. By Ralph Connor 

When Arthur Wellington Moore came to Swan Creek as a missionary, 
he was dubbed the "Sky Pilot." At first the rough cowboys and miners 

^ Copyrighted 1899, by Fleming H. Revell Co., and quoted by special 
permission. Must not be reprinted without permission. 


were slow to admit him to their confidence, but steadily he won his 
place with them till they came to count him as one of themselves. He 
rode the range with them, he slept in their shacks and cooked his meals 
on their tin stoves. It took them a long time to believe that the in- 
terest he showed in them was genuine and not simply professional. 
Then, too, from a preacher, they expected chiefly pity, warning and 
rebuke. The Pilot astonished them by giving them respect, admiration 
and open hearted affection. It was months before they could get oyer 
the suspicion that he was humbugging them. When once they did, 
they gave him back without knowing it, all the trust and love of their 
big generous hearts. 

When the Pilot set his heart upon building a church, few agreed with 
him; but finally Bronco Bill and some of his pals championed the cause 
and pledged themselves so handsomely, that it chagrined those who 
should have been first to subscribe. 

The building of the Swan Creek Church made a sensation in the 
country, and all the more that Bronco Bill was in command. "When 
I put up money I stay with the game," he announced; and stay he did 
to the great benefit of the work and to the delight of the Pilot, who was 
wearing his life out trying to do several men's work. It was Bill that 
organized the gangs for hauling stones for the foundations and logs for 
the walls, and it was Bill that assigned the various jobs to those volun- 
teering service. 

When near the end of the year, the Pilot fell sick. Bill nursed him 
like a mother and sent him off for rest and change, forbidding him to 
return till the church w^as finished, and visiting him twice a week. 

The day of the church opening came, as all days, however long waited 
for, will come — a bright, beautiful Christmas Day. The air was still 
and full of frosty light, as if arrested by a voice of command, waiting 
the word to move. The hills lay under their dazzling coverlets, asleep. 
Back of all the great peaks lifted majestic heads out of the dark forest 
and gazed with calm, steadfast faces upon the white, sunlit world. 
To-day, as the light filled the cracks that wrinkled their hard faces, 
they seemed to smile, as if the Christmas joy had somehow moved 
something in their old, stony hearts. 

The people were all there — farmers, ranchers, cowboys, wives and 


children — all happy, all proud of their new church, and now all expect- 
ant, waiting for the Pilot. As time passed on, Bill as master of cere- 
monies, began to grow uneasy. Then Indian Joe appeared and handed 
a note to Bill. He read it, grew gray in the face and passed it to me. 
Looking, I saw in poor, wavering lines the words, ''Dear Bill. Go on 
with the opening. Sing the Psalm, you know the one, and say a prayer, 
and oh, come to me quick, Bill. Your Pilot.'^ 

Bill gradually pulled himself together, announced in a strange voice, 
''The Pilot can't come," handed me the Psalm, and said; "Make them 

It was that grand Psalm for all hill peoples, "I to the hills will lift 
mine eyes," and with wondering faces they sang the strong, steadying 
words. After the Psalm was over the people sat and waited. Bill looked 
at the Hon. Fred Ashley, then at Robbie Muir, then said to me in a 
low voice; "Kin you make a prayer?" 

I shook my head, ashamed as I did so of my cowardice. 

Again Bill paused, then said; "The Pilot says ther's got to be a prayer. 
Kin anyone make one?" 

Again dead, solemn silence. 

Then Hi, who was near the back, said, coming to his partner's help; 
"What's the matter with you trying, yourself. Bill?" 

The red began to come up in Bill's white face. "'Tain't in my line. 
But the Pilot says ther's got to be a prayer, and I'm going to stay with 
the game." 

Then leaning on the pulpit, he said; "Let's pray," and began; "God 
Almighty, I ain't no good at this, and perhaps you'll understand if I 
don't put things just right. What I want to say is, we're mighty glad 
about this church, which we know it's you and the Pilot that's worked 
it. And we're all glad to chip in. But about the Pilot — I don't want 
to persoom — but if you don't mind, we'd like to have him stay — in fact, 
don't see how we kin do without him — look at all the boys here; he's 
just getting his work in and bringin 'em right along, and, God Almight}^, 
if you take him away it might be a good thing for himself, but for us — 
oh, God," the voice quivered and was silent. "Amen." 

Then someone, I think it was the Lady Charlotte, began "Our 
Father," and all joined that could join, to the end. For a f-ew moments, 


Bill stood up, looking at them silently. Then as if remembering his 
duty, he said; ''This here church is open. Excuse me." 

He stood at the door, gave a word of direction to Hi, who had fol- 
lowed him out, and leaping on his bronco shook him out into a hard 

The Swan Creek Church was opened. The form of service may not 
have been correct, but, if great love counts for anything and appealing 
faith, then all that was necessary was done. 

At the Pilot's funeral a few days later, his friends stood about in 
dumb groups in silent sympathy. The officiating clergyman during 
his remarks said: ''You all know better than I that his work among you 
will not pass away with his removal, but endure while you five, and 
now you must not grudge him his reward and his rest and his home." 

They laid the Pilot to rest out where the canyon he loved so well 
opened to the sunny, sloping prairie. There spring calls to the sleep- 
ing flowers, summoning them forth in merry troops till the canyon 
ripples with them. And lives are like flowers. In dying they abide not 
alone, but sow themselves and bloom again with each returning Spring. 
For often during the following years, as here and there I came upon 
those that companied with us in those Foothill days, I would catch a 
glimpse in word and deed and look of him we called, first in jest, but 
afterward with true and tender feeling we were not ashamed to own, 
our Sky Pilot. 


By Bryan Waller Proctor 

The sea! the sea! the open sea! 

The blue, the fresh, the ever free! 

Without a mark, without a bound. 

It runneth the earth's wide regions round; 

It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; 

Or like a cradled creature lies. 

I'm on the sea! I'm on the seal 
I am where I would ever be; 


With the blue above, and the blue below, 
And silence wheresoe'er I go; 
If a storm should come and awake the deep, 
What matters, I shall ride and sleep. 

I love, oh, how I love to ride 
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, 
When every mad wave drowns the moon, 
Or, whistles aloft his tempest tune, 
And tells how goeth the world below, 
And why the sou'west blasts do blow. 

I never was on the dull, tame shore, 
But I loved the great sea more and more. 
And backward flew to her billowy breast, 
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest; 
And a mother she was, and is, to me; 
For I was born on the open sea. 

The waves were white, and red the morn, 
In the noisy hour when I was born; 
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, 
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold; 
And never was heard such an outcry wild 
As welcomed to life the ocean-child ! 

I've lived since then, in calm and strife. 
Full fifty summers, a sailor's life. 
With wealth to spend, and power to range. 
But never have sought nor sighed for change; 
And Death, whenever he comes to me. 
Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea! 



Dramatized from Louisa M. Alcott's Story by Marion DeForest 

The father of the family, Mr. March, who, clergyman though he was, had 
joined the troops in the war, has been seriously wounded. "Marmee" — 
Mrs. March at once prepares to join him, but in view of the deficit in the 
domestic exchequer, Aunt March, that irascible, golden-hearted old spinster, 
is sent for to supply the wherewithal of travel. She appears with Meg, 
indignant, pausing for breath and complaining of rheumatism. 

Aunt March: Oh, my knee! Be careful! What's this, what's this 
I hear? March sick in Washington? Serves him right, serves him right. 
I always said it was absurd for him to go into the army, and perhaps 
next time he'll take my advice. 

Meg: Father did what he thought was right. Aunt March. 

Mrs. March: Won't you sit down. Aunt March? 

Aunt March: No, I won't sit down. A stronger man could have 
done more. Shouldn't have gone, shouldn't have gone. I knew he'd 
get fever or something; never did know how to take care of himself or 
his money. You needn't be begging me for help now if he had. He'd 
give his last dollar or the shirt off his back to the first man who asked 
him. Where would I be now if I'd done the same, I'd like to know? 

Mrs. March: I'm sorry to ask you for money. Aunt March, but 
I've nothing for the railroad journey. 

Aunt March: Of course not, of course not. You're just as bad as 
he is, and then expect me to come to the rescue. You may be willing 
to end your days in a poorhouse, but I'm not. I'm a sick old woman, 
and I need all I've got. 

Mrs. March: The money will be repaid, Aunt March. 

Aunt March: Humph! But when, I'd like to know. Such waste- 
fulness. {Turns to Meg.) Gallivanting off to Washington on a scare 
telegram. I can't afford such trips.- When you see my nephew, ask 
him what he means by going to the war, getting sick and then asking 
me to pull him out of the hole. What does he mean by it, I say, what 

^ Quoted by permission of William A. Brady. 


does he mean? Oh, oh! My knee! Why don't you ask me to sit down? 
Where's Josephine? She's the only practical one in this family. 

Meg: Jo went out to do some errands for mother. Laurie — 

Aunt March: Just as I thought. She is probably gadding about 
with that rattle-pated boy. It's not proper. 

Mrs. March: Jo is not with Laurie, Aunt March. 

Aunt March: So much the better. Oh, my knee! I'll never sleep 
to-night. Tell Josephine to come and read to me. I hope for good 
news of my nephew, but don't expect it. March never had much 
stamina. Good night. Oh! Here's the twenty-five you asked for, 
and a check for fifty. I know there are plenty of bills to pay. (Exit.) 

Meg: Oh, Marmee! I was afraid she wasn't going to give it to you 
after all. 

Mrs. March: I was sure she would, Meg. She has a kind heart, 
but is ashamed to show it, and I know she lo\es us all. {Beth and Amy 
come creeping down the stairs.) 

Beth: Marmee! 

Amy: Marmee, we were afraid to come down. She was a raging 

Meg: Oh, Amy, if you mean a volcano, why don't you say so? 

Beth: She was kind about the money, though! {Sound of someone 
stamping feet in hall.) That must be Jo. Lucky she missed Aunt March. 
{Hands Mrs. March an old-fashioned hair brooch.) Here's your brooch 
with father's hair in it, Marmee. I thought you'd want to wear it. 

Mrs. March: Thank you, dearie. {Enter Jo, hurriedly.) 

Jo: Saw Aunt March come out, so I dodged through the garden. 
I knew she wouldn't give us anything but advice, and from her face I 
guess you got that in large doses. Well, we're independent of her at 
any rate, Marmee, and — {putting roll of bills in her mother^ s lap) here's 
my contribution toward making father comfortable tod bringing him 

Mrs. March: My dear! Where did you get it? Twenty-five dol- 
lars? Jo, dear, I hope you haven't done anything rash? 

Jo.: No, it's mine honestly. 1 didn't beg, borrow or steal it, I only 
sold what was my own. {Takes off her hat, showing her head, closely 
cropped, like a boy^s. General outcry from all.) 


Mrs. March: Your hair, your beautiful hair! {Puts out her arms, 
Jo drops on her knees, head on mother^ s lap. Mrs. March kisses the shorn 

Meg: Oh, Jo, how could you? 

Amy: Your one beauty! 

Mrs. March : My dear, there was no need of this. 

Beth: She doesn't look like Jo, any more, but — I love her dearly 
for it. 

Jo.: It doesn't afifect the fate of the nation, so don't wail about it, 
Beth. It will be good for my vanity. I was getting proud of my wig. 
Besides, it will cool my brain. I'm satisfied. 

Mrs. March: But I am not, Jo, I know how willingly you sacri- 
ficed your vanity, as you call it, for your love; but, my dear, it wasn't 
necessary; Aunt March has helped us, and I'm afraid you'll regret it 
one of these days. 

Jo.: Oh, no, I won't. 

Meg: What made you do it? 

Jo.: Well, I was wild to do something for father, and I'd have sold 
the nose off my face for him, if anybody would have bought it. I've 
seen tails of hair marked forty dollars, not nearly as thick as mine. It 
was the only thing I had to sell, so I dashed into the shop and asked 
what they would give for it. 

Beth: I don't see how you dared! 

Jo.: Oh, he was a little man who looked as if he only lived to oil his 
hair. I told him in my topsy-turvy way what I wanted the money for. 
His wife said, ''Take it, Thomas, and oblige the young lady." 

Amy. Didn't you feel dreadfully when the first cut came? 

Jo.: Well, I did feel queer when I saw the dear old hair laid out on 
.the table. The woman gave me a little piece to keep. I'll give it to 
you, Marmee, to remember past glories by. 

Mrs. March: Thank you, dearie. 

Laurie: All ready? {As he enters, followed almost immediately hy 
Mr. Laurence and Mr. Brooke. Catching sight of Joe^s shorn head.) 
Jo, what the dickens have you done? Are you trying to make a porcu* 
pine of yourself? You look like — 

Meg: Hush, Laurie, don't say anything now. 


Mr. Laurence: Time to go, madam. The conveyance is here. 
(The girls gather around Mrs, March. Mr. Laurence stands at door look" 
ing at his watch.) 

Mrs. March: Children, I leave you to Hannah's care and Mr. 
Laurence's protection. Don't grieve and fret, but go on with your 
work as usual. Hope and keep busy. Remember that you can never 
be fatherless. Meg, dear, be prudent, watch over your sisters. Be 
patient, Jo, don't do anything rash to get despondent. {To Beth) Com- 
fort yourself with your music, dearie. Amy, help all you can and be 

By Jesse Lynch Williams 

Did you ever hear about the case of big, fatty Simon? He was laughed 
at. They called him Simple Simon. He was here in the early days of 
football, before the Rugby game had spread all over the country. He 
weighed about two hundred and eighty pounds, mostly fat, and I don't 
suppose he had ever seen a canvas jacket until the day he entered col- 
lege and waddled down to the field along with a lot of other green Fresh- 
men to look at the football practice. 

It interested him. He was so much interested that he paid no at- 
tention to the Sophomores who were guying him about his fat and his 
simplicity. "I should think that game would be fun," he said in a 
high, squeaky voice. ''I think I'll play," he announced to his class- 

''That's right," said they, chuckling at Simple Simon; ''just your 
game, old man." 

"Yes. You see I can't play many games," smiled Simon simply, 
trying to peep at his boots. 

"Tell the captain you are a candidate," said they chuckling. 

"Think I stand a chance?" 

"A chance? It's a dead cinch." 

"AU right," said Simple. "I will." And he did. 

* Reprinted by special arrangement with Charles Scribner's Sons. 


The captain looked him over and smiled. ''I don't believe we have 
any suit to fit you," he said kindly, ''but you come down to-morrow. 
That's the right spirit." 

The college along the side lines smiled audibly the next day when 
Simple Simon trotted out with the other men, or tried to, puffing and 
blowing, in a much-stretched sweater and a pair of breeches that had 
been opened in the rear to admit him. But he was accustomed to being 
a cause of amusement and did not mind. They laughed louder still 
when in the first scrimmage he was toppled over like a huge ninepin. 
''Did you feel the earth shake?" asked the humorist. 

The business-like captain yelled, "Line up, fellows!" The crowd 
roared; they saw Simon lying there on his back, flapping his arms and 
legs like an overturned turtle. He was not hurt — simply too fat. The 
next scrimmage the same thing happened. After that they reached 
over to pull him up as a matter of course. But with three or four more 
scrimmages Simple Simon had to retire, winded. A group of Sopho- 
mores guyed him as he waddled past to the field house. 

"It's a good game, though," he piped up to the trainer as soon as he 
got breath enough. 

"Are you coming out to-morrow?" he was asked when he came out 
of the shower bath. 

"You bet!" said he. 

Simple Simon kept it up. After the trainer had taken about thirty 
pounds off him he could last a full half, and could keep his feet for 
several minutes at a time. By and by he learned to get up alone. That 
was a proud day. The laughing crowds along the side lines cheered 

"You're a perfect corker. Simple," his chaffing classmates told him. 

"A regular Hector Cowan," said another. "You'll make the team 


"Aw! come off — you're trying to guy me, I believe," said Simple. 
He thought himself quite sophisticated by this time. But he grinned 
and kept on trying. "It's good sport, anyway," he said as he wiped 
the blood away from his torn ear. 

The coaches smiled at his cheerfulness. "That big, fat Freshman 
can give some of you fellows points in the way of spirit," they said to 


the 'Varsity eleven. Besides, it was good practice for the guards, wield- 
ing such a great weight — like a medicine-ball. 

After two years of this, most of Simon's fat was worn off by the 
trampling, shoving and butting the 'Varsity gave him; the rest was 
turned into solid muscle by the trampling, shoving and butting he gave 
the 'Varsity. Also, he was studying the game. The crowd had stopped 
laughing at him. "That's all right," they said, wagging their heads, 
''he's got the right spirit, even if he hasn't got the right shape for mak- 
ing the team." 

In his Junior year he was taken to New York on Thanksgiving Day as 
a substitute — with a huge sweater pulled down over his hips. And in 
his Senior year he was on the team, the champion football team of 
America. The fearless way he used to charge down the field like a 
fighting elephant and smash those old-fashioned wedges — by flopping 
down in front of them — is now a matter of football history. 

He is the stout gentleman I pointed out to you one day at the club 
with the two gold football emblems on his watch-chain. No, they don't 
laugh at him now, and his voice isn't high and squeaky. But it wasn't 
because he had the honor, merely, of being a member of the team that 
he became a man of force and self-reliance, but because he was willing 
to accept the bumps and thumps and discouragements that seem the 
incidental parts but are really the most important features of the game — 
and of all athletic sports, so far as concerns the actual benefit to those 
who are playing. But if he had let the jeers and jibes, which, after 
all, were good-natured jibes, drive him off the football field he might 
have remained something of a big, fat booby to this day. 


From Afterwhiles. By James Whitcomb Riley 

Pap's got his patent right, and rich as all creation; 

But Where's the peace and comfort that we all had before? 
Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 

Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 

* Copyright 1887. Used by special permission of the publishers, The 
Bobbs-Merrill Company, 



The likes of us a-livin' here! It's just a mortal pity 

To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on the stair, 

And the pump right in the kitchen! And the city! city! city! — 
And nothin' but the city all around us everywhere! 

Climb clear above the roof and look from the steeple, 
And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree! 

And right here in ear-shot of at least a thousan' people, 

And none that neighbors with us, or we want to go and see! " 

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 

Back where the latch-string's a-hangin' from the door. 

And ever' neighbor 'round the place is dear as a relation — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 

I want to see the Wiggenses, the whol kit and bilin' 

A-drivin' up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday through; 

And I want to see 'em hitchin' at their son-in-law's and pilin' 
Out there at 'Lizy Ellen's like they ust to do! 

I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is makin'; 

And I want to pester Laury 'bout their freckled hired hand. 
And joke her 'bout the widower she come purt' nigh a-takin', 

Till her pap got his pension 'lowed in time to save his land. 

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
Back where they's nothin' aggravatin' anymore; 

Shet away safe in the woods around the old location — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 

I want to see Mirindy and he'p her with her sewin'. 

And hear her talk so lovin' of her man that's dead and gone, 

And stand up with Emanuel to show me how he's growin'. 
And smile as I have saw her 'fore she put her mournin' on. 

And I want to see the Samples, on the old lower eighty — 
Where John our oldest boy, he was tuk and buried — for 

His own sake and Katy's — and I want to cry with Katy 
As she reads all his letter's over, writ from The War. 


What's all this grand life and high situation, 

And nary pink nor hollyhawk bloomin' at the door? — 

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station, 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 


Abridged from New Akabian Nights. By Robert Louis Stevenson 

On a stormy night in Paris in November, 1456, Francis Villon spent the 
time until very late carousing in a den with several thievish companions. 
The revel ended with the murder of one of the eompany, and, to avoid 
discovery, the others stealthily left the place. Villon, cold and hungry, 
wandered about seeking shelter, but was repeatedly refused. Finally he 
approached a house where he saw a light. 

He went boldly to the door and knocked. The sound of his blows 
echoed through the house, a measured tread drew near, a couple of bolts 
were withdrawn, and one wing was opened broadly. A tall figure of a 
man, muscular and spare, but a little bent, confronted Villon. 

^'You knock late, sir," said the old man in resonant, courteous 

Villon cringed, and brought up many servile words of apology. 

'^You are cold," repeated the old man, '^and hungry? Well step in." 

*'Some great seigneur," thought Villon, as his host shot the bolts 
once more into their places. 

"You will pardon me if I go in front," he said; and he preceded the 
poet upstairs into a large apartment, warmed with a pan of charcoal 
and ht by a great lamp hanging from the roof. It was very bare of 
furniture: only some gold plate on the sideboard; some folios; and a 
stand of armor between the windows. 

"Will you seat yourself," said the old man, "and forgive me if I 
leave you? I am alone in my house to-night, and if you are to eat I 
must forage for you myself." 

No sooner was his host gone than Villon leaped up, and began examin- 
ing the room, with the stealth and passion of a cat. He weighed the 
gold flagons in his hand, opened all the folios, and investigated the 
arms upon the shield. "Seven pieces of plate," he said. "If there 


had been ten, I would have risked it." And just then, hearing the old 
man returning, he stole back to his chair, and began humbly toasting 
his wet legs before the charcoal pan. 

His entertainer had a plate of meat in one hand and a jug of wine 
in the other. He set down the plate upon the table, and going to the 
sideboard, brought back two goblets, which he filled. 

** I drink to your better fortune,'^ he said, gravely touching Villon's 
cup with his own. 

" To our better acquaintance," said the poet, growing bold. Villon 
devoted himself to the viands with a ravenous gusto, while the old 
man watched him with steady, curious eyes. 

" Have you any money? " asked the old man. 

'* I have one white," returned the poet, laughing. *' I got it out of 
a dead jade's stocking in a porch. She was as dead as Csesar, poor 

"I," said the old man, "am Enguerrand de la Feuillee, seigneur de 
Brisetout, bailly du Patatrac. Who and whjit may you be?" 

Villon rose and made a suitable reverence. "I am called Francis 
Villon," he said, " a poor Master of Arts of this university. I know some 
Latin, and a deal of vice. 1 can make chansons, ballades and roundels, 
and I am very fond of wine. I was born in a garret, and I shall 
not improbably die upon the gallows. I may add, my lord, that 
from this night I am your lordship's very obsequious servant to com- 

"No servant of mine," said the knight; "my guest for this evening, 
and no more." 

"A very grateful guest," said Villon politely. 

"You are shrewd," began the old man; "you have learning; you 
are a clerk; and yet you take a small piece of money off a dead woman 
in the street. Is it not a kind of theft?" 

"It is a kind of theft much practiced in the wars, my lord." 

"The wars are the field of honor," returned the old man proudly. 
"There a man plays his life upon the cast; he fights in the name of hia 
lord the king, and his Lord God." 

"Put it," said Villon, that I were really a thief, should I not plaj 
my life also, and against heavier odds?" 


"For gain, but not for honor/ ^ 

"Gain?" repeated Villon with a shrug. "Gain! The poor fello\t 
wants supper, and takes it. So does the soldier in a campaign. Why, 
what are all these requisitions we hear so much about?" 

"These things are a necessity of war, which the low-born must endure 
with constancy. It is true that some captains drive over hard; and 
indeed many follow arms who are no better than brigands." 

"You see," said the poet, "you cannot separate the soldier from the 
brigand. I steal a coaple of mutton chops, without so much as disturb- 
ing people's sleep. You come up blowing gloriously on a trumpet, 
take away xhe whole sheep, and beat the farmer pitifully into the bar- 
gain. Just you ask the farmer which of us he prefers." 

"Look at us two," said his lordship. "I am old, strong, and honored. 
If I were turned from my house to-morrow, hundreds would be proud 
to shelter me. And I find you up, wandering homeless, and picking 
farthings off dead women by the wayside! I wait God's summons 
contentedly in my own house. You look for the gallows; a rough, swift 
death, without hope or honor. Is there no difference between these 

"As far as to the moon," Villon acquiesced. "But if I had been 
born lord of Brisetout, and you had been the poor scholar Francis 
would the difference have been any the less? Should not I have been 
the soldier and you the thief?" 

"A thief!" cried the old man. "I a thief! If you understood your 
words you would repent them." 

Villon turned out his hands with a gesture of inimitable impudence. 
"If your lordship had done me the honor to follow my argument!" 
he said. 

"I do you too much honor in submitting to your presenccj" said the 
knight. "Learn to curb your tongue when you speak with old and 
honorable men." And he rose and paced the apartment, struggling 
with anger and antipathy. Villon surreptitiously refilled his cup. 

"Tell me one thing," said the old man, pausing in his walk. "Are 
you really a thief?" 

"My lord, lam." 

"You are very young," the knight continued. 


''I should never have been so old," replied Villon, showing his fingers^ 
"if I had not helped myself with these ten talents." 

"You may still repent and change." 

"I repent daily," said the poet. "As for change, let somebody change 
my circumstances." 

"The change must begin in the heart," returned the old man 

"My dear lord," answered Villon, "do you really fancy I steal for 
pleasure? I hate stealing, like any other piece of work or of danger 
My teeth chatter when I see a gallows. But I must eat, I must drink; 
I must mix in society of some sort." 

"Listen to me once more," the old man said at length. "You speali 
of food and wine, and I know very well that hunger is a diflficult trial to 
endure; but you do not speak of other wants; you say nothing of honor, 
of faith to God and other men, of courtesy, of love without reproach. 
You are attending to the little wants, and you have totally forgotten 
the great and only real ones, like a man who should be doctoring a 
toothache on the Judgment Day." 

Villon was sensibly nettled under this sermonising. "You think I 
have no sense of honor!" he cried. "I would have you to know IVe an 
honor of my own, as good as yours, though I don't prate about it all day 
long. Why now, look you here. Did you not tell me you were alone in 
the house? Look at your gold plate! You're strong if you like, but 
you're old and unarmed, and I have my knife. What did I want but a 
jerk of the elbow and here would have been you with the cold steel in 
your bowels, and there would have been me, linking in the streets, with 
an armful of gold cups! Did you suppose I hadn't wit enough to see 
that? And I scorned the action. There are your goblets, as safe as in 
a church; there you are with your heart ticking as good as new; and here 
am I ready to go out again as poor as when I came in, with my one white 
that you threw in my teeth!" 

The old man stretched out his right arm. " I will tell you what you 
are," he said. "You are a rogue, my man, an impudent and a black- 
hearted rogue and a vagabond. I am sick at your presence; the day 
has come, and the night bird should be off to roost Will you go before^ 
or after?" 


"Which you please," returned the poet, rising. ''I believe you to be 
strictly honorable." 

The old man preceded him from a point of self-respect; Villon fol- 
lowed, whistling, with his thumbs in his girdle. 

"God pity you,'' said the lord of Brisetout at the door. 

"Good-bye, papa," returned Villon with a yawn. "Many thanks 
for the cold mutton." 

The door closed behind him. Villon stood and heartily stretched 
himself in the middle of the road. 

"A very dull old gentleman," he thought. "I wonder what his 
goblets may be worth." 

By Clark Howell 

The Twenty-ninth Regiment of United States Volunteers was quar- 
tered at Atlanta, Georgia. They had just received orders for their 
trip of ten thousand miles to Manila. The troops were formed in full 
regimental parade in the presence of thousands of spectators. Of the 
enlisted men a great percentage were from Georgia, most of them from 
simple farmhouses and the quiet and unpretentious hearthstones which 
abound in the rural communities. 

A few had seen service in Cuba, but most of them had volunteered 
as raw recruits from the farm. The men moved like machines. The 
regiment of raw recruits had become in a few months a command of 
trained and disciplined soldiers. 

Leaning against a tree was a white-haired mountaineer who looked 
with intent eyes and with an expression of the keenest sympathy upon 
the movements of the men in uniform. The frequent applause of the 
visiting multitude fell apparently unheard on his ears. The regiment 
had finished its evolutions; the commissioned officers had lined them- 
selves to make their regulation march to the front for their report and 
dismissal. The bugler had sounded the signal; the artillery had belched 
its adieu as the king of day withdrew beyond the hills; the halyard had 
been grasped, and the flag slowly fell, saluting the retiring sun, 

^ Reprinted by permission of the author. 


As the flag started its descent, the scene was characterized by a 
solemnity that seemed sacred in its intensity. From the regimental 
band there floated upon the stillness of the evening the strains of ^'The 
Star Spangled Banner.'' Instinctively and apparently unconsciously, 
the old man by the tree removed his hat from his head and held it in 
his hand in reverential recognition until the flag had been furled and 
the last strain of the national anthem had been lost in the resonant 
tramp of the troops as they left the field. 

What a picture that was — the man with his hat in his hand, as 
he stood uncovered during that impressive ceremony! I moved invol- 
untarily toward him, and, impressed with his reverential attitude, I asked 
him where he was from. ^' I am," said he, " from Pickens County : " and 
in casual conversation it developed that this raw mountaineer had come to 
Atlanta to say farewell to an only son who stood in the line before him, 
and upon whom his tear-bedimmed eyes might then be resting for the last 
time. The silent exhibition of patriotism and loyalty had been prompted 
by a soul as rugged, but as placid as the great blue mountains which 
gave it birth. 

There was the connecting link between the hearthstone and the 
capitol! There was the citizen who, representing the only real, sub- 
stantial element of the nation's reserve strength — "the citizen standing 
in the doorway of his home, contented on his threshold" had an- 
swered his country's call — the man of whom Henry Grady so elo- 
quently said; "He shall save the Republic when the drum tap is futile 
and the barracks are exhausted." In him was duty typified, and in 
him slumbered the germ of sacrifice. 

There was that in the spontaneous action of the man that spoke of 
hardships to be endured and dangers to be dared for country's sake; there 
was that in his reverential attitude that said, even though the libation 
of his heart's blood should be required in far off lands, his life would be 
laid down as lightly as his hat was lifted to his country's call. Denied 
by age the privilege of sharing the hardships and the dangers of the 
comrades of his boy, no rule could regulate his patriotic ardor, no limita- 
tion could restrain the instincts of his homage. 



By Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

Her hair was tawny with gold; her eyes with purple were dark; 
Her cheeks' pale opal burnt with a red and restless spark. 

Never was a lady of Milan nobler in name and in race; 
Never was a lady of Italy fairer to see in the face. 

Never was a lady on earth more true as woman and wife, 
Larger in judgment and instinct, prouder in manners and life. 

She stood in the early morning, and said to her maidens, " Bring 
That silken robe made ready to wear at the court of the king. 

"Bring me the clasps of diamond, lucid, clear of the mote; 
Clasp me large at the waist, and clasp me small at the throat. 

*' Diamonds to fasten the hair, and diamonds to fasten the sleeves. 
Laces to drop from their rays, like a powder of snow from the eaves." 

Gorgeous she entered the sunlight, which gathered her up in a flame. 
While, straight in her open carriage, she to the hospital came. 

In she went at the door, and gazing from end to end, 

''Many and low" are the pallets; but each is the place of a friend.'' 

Up she passed through the wards, and stood at a young man's bed: 
Bloody the band on his brow, and livid the droop of his head. 

"Art thou a Lombard, my brother? Happy art thou!" she cried. 
And smiled like Italy on him: he dreamed in her face — and died. 

Pale with his passing soul, she went on still to a second: 

He was a grave hard man, whose years by dungeons were reckoned. 

Wounds in his body were sore, wounds in his life were sorer, 
"Art thou a Romagnole?" Her eyes drove lightnings before her. 


"Austrian and priest had joined to double and tighten the cord 
Able to bind thee, O strong one, free by the stroke of a sword. 

"Now be grave for the rest of us, using the life overcast 

To ripen our wine of the present (too new) in glooms of the past." 

Down she stepped to a pallet where lay a face like a girl's 
Young, and pathetic with dying, — a deep black hole in the curls. 

"Art thou from Tuscany, brother? and seest thou, dreaming in pain, 
Thy mother stand in the piazza, searching the list of the slain?" 

Kind as a mother herself, she touched his cheeks with her hands: 
"Blessed is she who has borne thee, although she would weep as she 

On she passed to a Frenchman, his arm carried off by a ball : 
Kneeling, "O more than my brother! how shall I thank thee for all? 

"Each of the heroes around us has fought for his land and line; 
But thou hast fought for a stranger, in hate of a wrong not thine. 

"Happy are all free peoples, too strong to be dispossest; 

But blessed are those among nations who dare to be strong for the rest." 

Ever she passed on her way, and came to a couch where pined 
One with a face from Venitia, white with a hope out of mind. 

Long she stood and gazed, and twice she tried at the name; 
But two great crystal tears were all that faltered and came. 

Only a tear for Venice? She turned as in passion and loss. 

And stooped to his forehead and kissed it, as if she were kissing the cross. 

Faint with that strain of heart, she moved on then to another, 
Stern and strong in his death. "And dost thou suffer, my brother?" 

Holding his hand in hers: "Out of the Piedmont Hon 

Cometh the sweetness of freedom! sweetest to live or to die on." 

Holding his cold rough hands: "Well, oh, well have ye done 
In noble, noble Piedmont, who would not be noble alone." 


Back he fell while she spoke. She rose to her feet with a spring, 
"That was a Piedmontese! and this is the court of the King." 

From his Autobiography. By Benjamin Franklin 

My list of virtues contained at first but twelve; but a Quaker friend 
of mine having kindly informed me that I was generally thought proud; 
that my pride showed itself frequently in conversation; that I was not 
content with being in the right when discussing any point, but was 
overbearing, and rather insolent, of which he convinced me by men- 
tioning several instances; I determined endeavoring to cure myself, 
if I could, of this vice or folly among the rest, and I added Humility to 
my list, giving an extensive meaning to the word. 

I cannot boast of much success in acquiring the reality of this virtue, 
but I had a good deal with regard to the appearance of it. I made it a 
rule to forbear all direct contradictions to the sentiments of others, and 
all positive assertions of my own. I even forbid myself, agreeably to 
the old laws of our Junto, the use of every word or expression in the 
language that imported a fixed opinion, such as certainly, undoubtedly, 
etc., and I adopted, instead of them, / conceive, I apprehend, or / ima- 
gine a thing to be so or so; or so it appears^ to me at present. 

When another asserted something that I thought an error, I denied 
myself the pleasure of contradicting him abruptly, and of showing im- 
mediately some absurdity in his proposition; and in answering I began 
by observing that in certain cases or circumstances his opinion would 
be right, but in the present case there appeared or seemed to me some 
difference, etc. 

I soon found the advantage of this change in my manner; the con- 
versation I engaged in went on more pleasantly. The modest way in 
which I proposed my opinions procured them a readier reception and 
less contradiction; I had less mortification when I was found to be in the 
wrong, and I more easily prevailed with others to give up their mis- 
takes and join with me when I happened to be in the right. 

And this mode, which I at first put on with some violence to natural 
inclination, became at length so easy, and so habitual to me, that per- 


haps for these fifty years past no one has ever heard a dogmatic expres- 
sion escape me. And to this habit (after my character of integrity) 
I think it principally owing that I had early so much weight with my 
fellow-citizens when I proposed new institutions, or alterations in the 
old, and so much influence in the public councils when I became a 
member; for I was but a bad speaker, never eloquent, subject to much 
hesitation in my choice of words, hardly correct in language, and yet 
I generally carried my points. 

From Message and Melody. By Richard Burton 

Just behind the first fiddle he bends 

To his bow, as a slave to the rod; 
All his soul to the music he lends, 

All his eyes to the leader, his god. 

His skill is not blaring, but sure; 

Mark his bowing, the rhythmic accord 
Of his motions, the sound, crystal-pure, 

That he lures from the violin's board. 

The crowd never look at his face; 

He is one of the sixty who try 
With wood-wind or brass to displace 

The world by a dream from the sky. 

Not his, like the master of strings, 

To step forth superbly alone 
And play a Cremona that sings 

With heavenliest tone upon tone. 

No soloist he, but a part 

In the mighty ensemble that soars 
In regions divine of an art 

Where man but aspires and adores. 

^ Reprinted by permission of the author and the publishers, Lothrop, Lee 
and Shepard. 


His joy is the gladness of those 

Who feel they are helping the whole; 
Less fluent the harmony flows 

If an instrument flag, if a soul 

Unfaithful should be to the beat 

Of the baton that bids him be true; 
And the music is oft times so sweet, 

Small matter what makes it, or who. 

And haply — who knows? — in the day 

When the ultimate piece is rehearsed, 
Shall come his Great Moment to play, 

And the fiddle called second, be first. 


By Edwin Markham 

When the Norn Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour 
Greatening and darkening as it hurried on, 
She left the Heaven of Heroes and came down 
To make a man to meet the mortal need. 
She took the tried clay of the common road — 
Clay warm yet with the genial heat of Earth, 
Dashed through it all a strain of prophecy; 
Tempered the heat with thrill of human tears; 
Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff. 
Into the shape she breathed a flame to Hght 
That tender, tragic, ever-changing face. 
Here was a man to hold against the world, 
A man to match the mountains and the sea. 

The color of the ground was in him, the red earth; 

The smack and tang of elemental things; 

The rectitude and patience of the cliff; 

The good will of the rain that loves all leaves; 

^Reprinted by the permission of the author. 


The friendly welcome of the wayside well; 
The courage of the bird that dares the sea; 
The gladness of the wind that shakes the com; 
The pity of the snow that hides all scars; 
The secrecy of streams that make their way 
Beneath the mountain to the rifted rock; 
The tolerance and equity of light 
That gives as freely to the shrinking flower 
As to the great oak flaring to the wind — 
To the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn 
That shoulders out the sky. 

Sprung from the West 
The strength of virgin forests braced his mind, 
The hush of spacious prairies stilled his soul. 
Up from log cabin to the Capitol, 
One fire was on his spirit, one resolve — 
To send the keen ax to the root of wrong, 
Clearing a free way for the feet of God. 
And evermore he burned to do his deed 
With the fine stroke and gesture of a king; 
He built the rail-pile as he built the State, 
Pouring his splendid strength through every blow, 
The conscience of him testing every stroke. 
To make his deed the measure of a man. 

So came the Captain with the mighty heart; 
And when the judgment thunders split the house, 
Wrenching the rafters from their ancient rest. 
He held the ridgepole up, and spiked again 
The rafters of the Home. He held his place — 
Held the long purpose like a growing tree — 
Held on through blame and faltered not at praise. 
And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down 
As when a lordly cedar, green with boughs. 
Goes down with a great shout upon the hills, 
And leaves a lonesome place against the sky. 



A^bridged from The Man Without a Country. By Edward Everett 


Philip Nolan was as fine a young officer as there was in the ''Legion 
of the West." When Aaron Burr made his first dashing expedition 
down to New Orleans, he met this gay, bright young fellow at a dinner 
party. Burr marked him, talked to him, walked with him and, in short, 
fascinated him. And when the wily traitor left the place, he had lured 
Nolan to his side. 

Soon a grand catastrophe came in the great treason-trial at Rich- 
mond. One and another of the colonels and majors were tried, and to 
fill out the list, little Nolan, against whom there was evidence enough, 
— that he was sick of the service, had been willing to be false to it, and 
would have obeyed an order to march anywhere, had the order been 
signed '*By command of His Excellency, Aaron Burr." 

When the president of the court asked Nolan whether he wished to 
say anything to show that he had always been faithful to the United 
States, he cried out in a fit of frenzy, — 

''Damn the United States! I wish I may never hear of the United 
States again!" 

He did not know how the words shocked the old judge who called 
the court into his private room, and returned in fifteen minutes, with 
a face as white as a sheet to say, — 

"Prisoner, hear the sentence of the court! The court decides, sub- 
ject to the approval of the President, that you never hear the name of 
the United States again." 

Nolan laughed. But nobody else laughed. The judge was too solemn, 
and the whole room was hushed dead as night. 

"Mr. Marshal," the judge continued, "take the prisoner to Orleans, 
and deliver him to the naval commander there. Make my respects to 
him, and say that the prisoner is to be placed on board one of the ships 
where he is to be provided with such quarters, rations and clothing as 
would be proper for an officer of his late rank, if he were a passenger 
on the vessel on the business of his Government. He is never unneces- 


sarily to be reminded that he is a prisoner. But under no circumstancei 
is he ever to hear of his country, or to see any information regarding it." 

Accordingly Nolan was put on board a government vessel bound on a 
long cruise. Here no company liked to have him with them, because 
his presence cut off all talk of home, of politics or letters, of peace or 
of war. But it was always thought too hard that he should never meet 
the rest of us, except to touch hats, and we finally submitted. 

As he was almost never permitted to go on shore, even though the 
vessel lay in port for months, his time at the best hung heavy. Every- 
body was permitted to lend him books, if they were not published in 
America, and made no allusions to it. He had the foreign papers that 
came into the ship, only somebody must go over them first, and cut out 
any advertisements or stray paragraphs that alluded to America. 

One of the officers had a lot of English books among which was the 
"Lay of the Last Minstrel.'^ Well, nobody thought there could be 
any risk of anything national in that, so Nolan was permitted to join 
our circle one afternoon when a lot of us sat on deck reading aloud. In 
his turn Nolan took the book, and read without a thought of what was 
coming, — 

''Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said. 
This is my own, my native land!'' 

We all saw something was to pay; but Nolan expected to get through, 
I suppose, and plunged on, — 

"Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned 
From wandering on a foreign strand!" 

By this time the men were all beside themselves, wishing there was 
any way to make him turn over two pages; but he had not quite presence 
of mind for that, and staggered on, — 

"The wretch, concenterd all in self — " 

Here the poor fellow choked, could not go on, but starting up, swung 
the book into the sea, and vanished into his state-room. 


We did not see him again for two months, and he was not the same 
man afterward. He never read aloud again, unless it was the Bible or 
Shakespeare, or something else he was sure of. He was always sh5 
now, and had the nervous, tired look of a heart- wounded man. 

When we were nearly home we met an outward bound vessel which 
took poor Nolan and his traps on board to begin his second cruise. 
There was no going home for him, even to a prison. And this was the 
first of some twenty such transfers, which kept him all his life at least 
some hundred miles from the country he had hoped he might never 
hear of again. 

One day we overhauled a little schooner which had slaves on board. 
The officer who boarded the boat sent back for someone who could 
speak Portuguese. Nolan said he would interpret if the captain wished, 
and was sent. ^'Tell them they are free," said Vaughn, the officer in 
charge. When this was told them, there was a yell of delight, leaping 
and dancing. "Tell them that I will take them all to Cape Palmas." 
This did not answer so well. Cape Palmas was so distant, that they 
would be eternally separated from home there. Their wild delight 
changed to a howl of dismay. 

Vaughn was disappointed, and asked Nolan eagerly what they said. 
The drops stood out on poor Nolan's white forehead, as he hushed the 
men and said, — 

"They say, 'Not Palmas,' they say, Hake us home; take us to our 
own country; take us to our own house.' One says he has an old father 
and mother who will die if they do not see him. And this one says he 
was caught in the bay just in sight of home, and that he has never seen 
anybody from home since. And this one that he has not heard a word 
from home in six months." 

Even the slaves stopped howling, as they saw Nolan's agony, and 
Vaughn's almost equal agony of sympathy. As quick as he could get 
the words, Vaughn said, — 

"Tell them yes, yes, yes; tell them they shall go to the mountains 
of the moon, if they will. If I have to sail the schooner through the 
Great White Desert, they shall go home!" 

On his way back to the ship Nolan said to the youth with him, 
"Youngster, let that show you what it is to be without a home, and 


without a country. Oh, for your country, boy, and for that flag, nevei 
dream a dream but of serving her as she bids you. No matter what 
happens to you, who flatters or abuses you, never look at another flag, 
never let a night pass but you pray God to bless that flag. You belong 
to your Country as you belong to your own mother. Stand by her, as 
you would stand by your mother. Oh! if anybody had said so to me 
when I was your age ! '^ 

This was thirty-five years after his banishment. In the next fifteen 
years he aged very fast, but he was still the same gentle, uncomplain- 
ing sufferer, that he ever was, bearing as best he could his self-appointed 
punishment. One morning he was not so well, and sent for me to come 
to his state-room. I could not help a glance round, which showed me 
what a little shrine he had made of the box he was lying in. The stars 
and stripes were triced up above and around a picture of Washington. 
The dear old boy saw my glance, and said, "Here you see I have a 
country!'^ And he pointed to a great map of the United States, as he 
had drawn it from memory. 

''Oh, Danforth,'^ he said, "I know I am dying, I cannot get home. 
Surely you will tell me something now? Stop! Stop! Do not speak till 
I say what I am sure you know, that there is not in this ship, that there 
is not in America — God bless her! — a more loyal man than I. There 
cannot be a man who loves the old flag, or prays for it, or hopes for it 
as I do. Oh, Danforth, how like a wretched night's dream when one 
looks back on such a life as mine! But tell me, — tell me something, — 
tell me everything, Danforth, before I die!" 

I felt like a monster that I had not told him everything before. Dan- 
ger or no danger, who was I, that I should have been acting the tyrant 
all this time over this dear, sainted old man, who had years ago expiated, 
in his whole manhood's life the madness of a boy's treason? 

''Nolan," said I, "I will tell you everything you ask about." 

Oh, the blessed smile that crept over his white face! and he pressed 
my hand, and said, "God bless you!" 

I did as well as I could, but it was a hard thing to condense the his- 
tory of half a century into that talk with a sick man. I told him every- 
thing I could think of that would show the grandeur of his country and 
its prosperity, and he drank it in and enjoyed it as I cannot tell you. 



And then he said he would go to sleep. He bent me down over him, and 
kissed me; and he said, ''Look in my Bible, Danforth, when I am gone." 
And I went away. 

But I had no thought it was the end. I thought he was tired and would 
sleep. But in an hour, when the Doctor went in gently, he found 
Nolan had breathed his life away with a smile. We looked in his Bible, 
and there was a slip of paper in the place where he had marked the 
text : — 

''They desire a country, even a heavenly: wherefore God is not 
ashamed to be called their God: for he hath prepared for them a city." 

On the slip of paper he had written, — 

"Bury me in the sea; it has been my home, and I love it. But will 
not some one set up a stone for my memory, that my disgrace may not 
be more than I ought to bear? Say on it, — 

In memory of 


Lieutenant in the Army of the United States 

He loved his country as no other man has loved her; but no man de- 
served less at her hands." 

By William H. Taft 

I am strongly convinced that the best method of ultimately securing 
disarmament is the establishment of an international court and the 
development of a code of international equity which nations will recog- 
nize as affording a better method of settling international controversies 
than war. We must have some method of settling issues between na- 
tions, and if we do not have arbitration, we shall have war. 

What teaches nations and people the possibility of permanent peace 
is the actual settlement of controversies by courts of arbitration. The 
settlement of the Alabama controversy by the Geneva arbitration, 

^ Reprinted by permission of the author. 


the settlement of the Seals controversy by the Paris Tribunal, the settlet 
ment of the Newfoundland Fisheries controversy by The Hague Tri- 
bunal are three great substantial steps toward permanent peace, three 
facts accomplished that have done more for the cause than anything 
else in history. 

If now we can negotiate and put through a positive agreement with 
some great nation to abide by the adjudication of an international 
arbitral court in every issue which can not be settled by negotiation, 
no matter what it involves, whether honor, or territory, or money, we 
shall have made a long step forward by demonstrating that it is possible 
for two nations at least to establish as between them the same system 
of due process of law that exists between individuals under a govern- 


From The Contagion of Character. By Newell Dwight Hillis 

''The great thing is loyalty,'^ said the English commander in his 
address to the young men of Oxford. ''Write the word in golden ink 
and let each letter be two feet high." Experience fully justifies the high 
estimate placed upon this virtue. Disloyalty turns a soldier into a 
traitor; disloyalty in the partnership will ruin the commercial stand- 
ing of the house; disloyalty on the part of the clerk can defeat the 
wisest plans of the chief. One word will explain many failures — the word 

Contrariwise, what enterprise ever failed where the man in charge 
had loyal followers, who backed him at every point. "Don't praise 
me!" exclaimed President McKinley to a group of gentlemen congratu- 
lating him upon his first four years, "praise my Cabinet." The suc- 
cessful leader meant that he had been surrounded by loyal counsellors. 
But the modest, unassuming president was himself a notable illustra- 
tion of our theme — he was loyal. On his tomb, after all the thunder of 
life's battle, should be written these words: "He was faithful unto 

^ Copyright 1 9 1 1 , by Fleming H. Revell Co. Must not be reprinted without 


Above all other eras our age asks for loyal men. In the old regime 
business was individual. One man had a little shoe shop, one sold 
groceries, another sold dry goods, and for the hundred articles there 
were a hundred shops. Then came the era of organization. Each man 
no longer complete himself, became a wheel in an industrial mechanism 
that had a hundred parts. So complicated is a watch that if any one 
wheel is unfaithful to its work the whole watch is ruined for purposes 
of time. Not otherwise to-day — a great factory, a great store, a great 
bank, a great newspaper, a government of city or state, means severaJ 
hundred men, working under one leader, and the success of all is through 
the loyalty of each one. 

Only as the workers go towards loyalty does the enterprise go towards 
prosperity. That is why our late war was followed by a great industrial 
development. After Appomattox a milHon men returned home. Sud- 
denly a new spirit developed in the country. Men began to plan large 
things. Railroads across the continent were conceived and built. Vast 
factories were erected. Men united their earnings and organized great 
banks and great stores. What was the explanation? Simply this — the 
experience of war had taught men loyalty to a leader. 

On the day of the battle of Gettysburg every soldier in a wing of one 
hundred thousand men received his command and fulfilled his task. 
'' Theirs not to reason why; theirs but to do and die." For these sol- 
diers the great word was loyalty to their general. With that watch- 
word they marched to success. Later, returning to the business life, 
the soldiers began to work in industrial regiments. Again they were 
loyal to the leader, whether he was merchant or manufacturer or editor 
or statesman. 

Men of achievement crown loyalty as one of the first of the virtues. 
Charity must be a divine gift indeed if it is greater than faithfulness. 
The soldier's worth is in his adherence to duty. The test of a jurist is 
loyalty to his client. The test of a pupil is loyalty to his master. The 
two great books in ancient literature are the ''Iliad" and the ''Odyssey." 
The "Iliad" exposes the fickleness and disloyalty of beautiful Helen, 
whose infidelity turned a city into a heap. The "Odyssey" celebrates 
the loyalty of Penelope, who kept her palace and her heart. 

Young man, scorn the very thought of disloyalty to your employer, 


If you can't work with him, resign. But flee the very thought of dis« 
loyalty as you would flee from the edge of the precipice. Disloyalty 
belongs to the serpent that bites, the wolf that rends, the Uon that 
slays. To be disloyal is to join hands with the devil himself. Pride 
yourself on your loyalty. Learn to follow, that you may be worthy 
to lead. Life may bring you gold, office and honor, but it will bring 
you nothing comparable to the happiness that comes from the conscious- 
ness of having been loyal to your ideals. And when it is all over, let 
this be men's judgment upon you: ^'He was faithful unto death." 


From My Quest of the Arabian Horse. By Homer Davenport 

Said Abdallah, my Bedouin groom boy, constantly asserted all through 
the voyage from Alexandretta that Allah was with us and would bring 
us in safety to the end. His faith had helped us out of the dumps in 
Naples and his devotion to us and to the horses should not go unre- 
membered. When Akmet Haffez, the prince of the Bedouins, pre- 
sented to me Wadduda, the war mare, Said came with the gift and ever 
after counted himself as one of my family. 

To guard him against fits of homesickness or melancholia, before 
he had learned to speak any EngHsh, I often took him with me, es- 
pecially when I took my own children to shows and circuses. He had 
never seen even a street fakir in his own country. 

One day, accompanied by an interpreter, he went to the Horse Show, 
and saw there for the first time, a good team of high-acting horses, a 
pair that almost bumped their chins with their knees. He held up his 
hands in horror as he exclaimed ''Mashalla! Mashalla! Is there truly a 
race of horses that go up and down in the same place?" 

When told that what he saw was the result of training and artificial 
breeding, and that the horse himself was not to blame, he uttered an 
exclamation of pity. Then he said suddenly: ''No," and pointed above 
him; "the desert isn't up there, but always in front of you; God made 
a horse to get over it with the least effort, not the most." I have no 

^ Reprinted by permission of William Rickey and Company. 


comment to make on these remarks of Said. I do not think any are 

Said is as fine an example of faithfulness as could be found. After 
he had been in this country nearly a year, and had beaten off many 
attacks of blues, Dr. Frank Hoskins of the American Mission at Bey- 
rout, Syria, came to the farm to see the horses, and talked with the 
boy who had been with the Anezeh. Reaching home in the evening, 
I was informed that ever since Dr. Hoskins had taken his departure, 
Said had been crying. I went to the barn to see him and he came smil- 
ingly from one of the dark corners. I asked him if he enjoyed his talk 
with the visitor and he said he had, for he had spoken Arabic as if he 
were at home. 

''Said," I said at last, ''you have been crying.'^ 

"What cry, Mr. Davenport?" 

"Your eyes," I answered, "are almost swollen shut with weeping." 

His head dropped and his chest began to rise and fall. After a mo- 
ment or two he said: 

" Mr. Davenport, before Allah, my heart no mad." 

Then he broke out and exclaimed that at night when he shut his eyes 
his thoughts took him to the Anezeh, and he joined the tribes as they 
swing to the south. Now they are past Deyr, and approaching Nejd 
they get into war with the Shammar! Then he wakes up and finds that 
he is not in the desert, but in Morris Plains. He turns on the other 
side and sleeps; and by and by his brain goes to Aleppo and when he 
meets his once great master, Akmet Haffez, he grasps him by the hand. 
Again he wakes up, and he is still in Morris Plains. 

"But, Mr. Davenport," he added bravely, "Allah knows my heart 
no mad." 

"Well," I said, "Said, I am going to send you back to the desert." 

"Said go desert?" 

He broke down with hysterical laughter, and grasping me by the 
hands commenced to kiss them, and tell me that I was too good to stay 
in this country, that I ought to live with my brother in the desert. 

"Mr. Davenport, Said go desert two or three months?" 

"No, Said, in two or three weeks. I will find a ship, if I can, that 
will take you direct to Iscanderoon, Alexandretta. There you follow 


the old Roman road across the mountains to Aleppo, and from, there 
the camel caravan route to the desert." 

I turned and walked away, bidding him good-night, and had reached 
the house when he called to me and asked if I would say before God 
that my heart was not mad. I will admit that after dinner I went to 
bed early, and did not get much sleep. 

I got up before daylight, still restless, and went out, and there in the 
north pasture saw an impressive spectacle — the trying out of Said's 
religious faith. Wadduda, the war mare, dressed and draped in all her 
beautiful, wild regalia, was in the pasture. From her neck hung the 
beads of the wild tribe, and from the desert saddle long flowing tassels 
swayed in the morning breeze. It must have taken Said half an hour 
to have draped her. Sticking in the dirt at her side, towering over her 
head ten feet or more, was the war spear from the Anezeh. 

Kneeling on his prayer rug in front of her fore feet was Said, facing, 
as I at first thought, the strip of timber across the road. But as I 
watched the picture I saw that he was praying toward the light spot 
on the horizon — toward Mecca. I watched for fully five minutes. The 
boy touched his lips and forehead with an upward stroke of the hand, 
and dropping both hands beside him, looked intently for a moment at 
the approaching dawn. 

Rising up slowly, he picked up his little prayer rug, lifted his spear 
from the damp earth, while the beautiful prancing mare came to him. 
Her tail was swinging proudly from side to side. 

As they approached me I saw that Said's eyes were, if anything, more 
swollen than they had been the evening before. To cheer him up, I 
spoke to him first. 

" Said, I thought when I saw you in the pasture that you were som^ 
member of the Anezeh that had come to see me." 

^'La" (no), Mr. Davenport, Said no see Anezeh." 

''You are going back to the desert." 

"No go desert. All night Said no sleep — sit down, no lay down. 
Go Wadudda stall, pray; come back, no answer — no sleep — pray, no 

Turning, he pointed out in the pasture, to the little knoll, and said 
that there a few moments ago Allah had answered his prayer. When 


he found where Mecca was, he had prayed to Allah and Allah had 
told him that he was not to go back to the desert; that he had been 
given with Wadduda by Akmet Haffez to me; and that he was going to 
stay as long as Wadduda lived — would stay even when she was gone, 
with her colt and her colt's colt, and was never going back to the desert. 
He has never been homesick since. 


The contemplation of a selection usually results in mental 
pictures of what the author sets forth. The effort to present 
these pictures to an audience makes the pictures more clear 
to the speaker and gives variety to his delivery. It is sur- 
prising to what extent a reader or speaker can thus convey 
his mental pictures to his listeners. Vivify the following 
selections for your classmates by imagining the details of 
the author's pictures, and by endeavoring to present the 
pictures clearly by your delivery. 

From Heroes Who Fight Fire. By Jacob A. Riis 

That the spirit which has made New York^s Fire Department great, 
equally animates its commercial brother, has been shown more than 
once; but never better than at the memorable fire in the Hotel Royal, 
which cost so many lives. No account of heroic life-saving at fires, 
could pass by the marvellous feat, or feats of Sergeant (now Captain) 
John R. Vaughan on that February morning 1892. 

The alarm rang in patrol station Number Three at three twenty 
o'clock on Sunday morning. Sergeant Vaughan, hastening to the fire 
with his men, found the whole five-story hotel ablaze from roof to 
cellar. The fire had shot up the elevator shaft, round which the stairs 
ran, and from the first had made escape impossible. Men and women 
were jumping and hanging from windows. One, falling from a great 
height, came within an inch of killing the sergeant as he tried to enter 
the building. 

Sergeant Vaughan went up on the roof. The smoke was so dense 
there that he could see little, but through it he heard a cry for help, 
and made out the shape of a man standing upon a window-sill in the 
fifth story, overlooking the courtyard of the hotel. The yard was be- 
tween them. Bidding his men follow — they were five, all told — he 
ran down and around in the next street to the roof of the house that 
formed an angle with the hotel wing. There stood the man below him, 
only a jump away, but a jump which no mortal might take and live. 
His face and hands were black with smoke. Vaughan, looking down, 
thought him a negro. He was perfectly calm. 

*' It is of no use," he said, glancing up. '' Don't try. You can't do it." 

The sergeant looked wistfully about him. Not a stick or a piece of 
rope was in sight. Every shred was used below. There was absolutely 

^ Reprinted by permission of the author. 


nothing. "But I couldn^t let him," he said to me, months after, when 
he had come out of the hospital, a whole man again, and was back at 
work, — *'I just couldn't, standing there so quiet and brave." To the 
man he said sharply — 

*'I want you to do exactly as I tell you, now. Don't grab me, but 
let me get the first grab." He had noticed that the man wore a heavy 
overcoat, and had already laid his plan. 

''Don't try," urged the man. ''You cannot save me. I will stay 
here till it gets too hot, then I will jump." 

"No, you won't," from the sergeant, as he lay at full length on the 
roof looking over. "It is a pretty hard yard down there. I will get 
you, or go dead myself." 

The four sat on the sergeant's legs as he swung free down to the 
waist: so he was almost able to reach the man on the window with 
out-stretched hands. 

"Now jump — quick!" he commanded: and the man jumped. He 
caught him by both wrists as directed, and the sergeant got a grip on 
the collar of his coat. 

"Hoist!" he shouted to the four on the roof; and they tugged with 
their might. The sergeant's body did not move. Bending over till the 
back creaked, it hung over the edge, a weight of two hundred and three 
pounds suspended from and holding it down. The cold sweat started 
upon his men's foreheads as they tried and tried again, without gaining 
an inch. Blood dripped from Sergeant Vaughan's nostrils and ears. 
Sixty feet below was the paved courtyard: over against him the window, 
behind which he saw the back draught coming, gathering headway with 
lurid, swirling smoke. Now it burst through, burning the hair and the 
coats of the two. For an instant he thought all hope was gone. 

But in a flash it came back to him. To relieve the terrible weight 
that wrenched and tore at his muscles, he was swinging the man to and 
fro like a pendulum, head touching head. He could swing him up! A 
smothered shout warned his men. They crept nearer the edge without 
letting go their grip on him, and watched with staring eyes the human 
pendulum swing wider and wider, farther and farther, until now, with 
a mighty effort, it swung within their reach. They caught the skirt of 
the coat, held on, pulled in, and in a moment lifted him over the edge. 


They lay upon the roof, all six, breathless, sightless, their faces turned 
to the wintry sky. The tumult on the street came up as a faint echo; 
the spray of a score of engines pumping below fell upon them, froze, and 
covered them with ice. The very roar of the fire seemed far off. The 
sergeant was the first to recover. He carried down the man he had 
saved, and saw him sent off to the hospital. Then first he noticed that 
he was not a negro; the smut had been rubbed from his face. Monday 
had dawned before he came to, and days passed before he knew his 

Sergeant Vaughan was laid up himself then. He had returned to his 
work, and finished it; but what he had gone through was too much for 
human strength. It was spring before he returned to his quarters, to 
find himself promoted, petted, and made much of. 


From Letters from my Windmill. By Alphonse Daudet 

The little Dauphin is ill; the little Dauphin will die. In all the 
churches of the kingdom the Holy Sacrament is laid ready day and 
night, and tapers are burning, for the recovery of the royal child. The 
streets of the old town are sad and silent; the bells ring no more; the 
carriages are driven very slowly. The curious townspeople are gathered 
just outside the palace, and are staring in through the grating of the gates 
at the guards, with their golden helmets, who walk the court with an 
important air. The entire castle is in a state of anxiety; the chamber- 
lains and major-domos go up and down the staircase, and run through 
the halls. 

The galleries are filled with pages and courtiers in silk clothing, who 
go from group to group collecting later news in a low voice. On the 
large porches can be seen the ladies of honor, bathed in tears, bowing 
their heads and wiping their eyes with pretty embroidered handker- 
chiefs. In the orangery is the numerous assembly of doctors in long 
robes: one can see them through the panes gesticulating in their long 
sleeves, and shaking their wigs knowingly. The little Dauphin's tutor 
and squire are waiting before the door, anxious for the decision of the 


faculty. Scullions pass by without saluting them. The squire sweara 
like a pagan; the tutor recites verses from Horace. 

And during this time down by the stables one can hear a long plaintive 
neighing. It is the Dauphin's little sorrel pony, whom the grooms are 
neglecting, and who calls sadly from his empty manger. And the king^ 
where is his Majesty the King? The king has shut himself in a room in 
a remote part of the castle. Their Majesties do not like to be seen 
weeping. But the Queen — that is different. Seated by the little prince's 
pillow, her beautiful face bathed in tears, she sobs bitterly before every 
one, just as a peasant mother would do. 

In his lace crib is the little Dauphin, whiter than the cushions on 
which he reposes, with closed eyelids. They think he is sleeping; but 
no, the little Dauphin does not sleep. He turns toward his mother, and 
seeing that she weeps, he says to her, " Madam my Queen, why do you 
weep? Do you think truly that I am going to die?" The queen wishes 
to reply, but sobs prevent her speaking. "Pray do not cry. Madam my 
Queen. You forget that I am the Dauphin, and Dauphins cannot die 
thus." The Queen sobs more bitterly still, and the little Dauphin be- 
gins to be frightened. 

"Hola!" he says, '*I do not wish to have Death come and take me; 
and I shall know how to prevent his coming here. Bring forth forty 
lancers, our strongest, to mount guard around our bed; a hundred 
cannon night and day; torches lighted beneath our windows. And 
unhappy Death if he dares to approach us then!" The Queen gives a 
sign to please the royal child. Forthwith, one can hear heavy cannon 
being rolled across the courtyard; and forty soldiers, halberds in hand, 
come and range themselves around the room; they are veterans, with 
gray moustaches. 

The little Dauphin claps his hands feebly as he sees them, and recog- 
nizing one he calls him by name, "Lorrain! Lorrain!" The old sol- 
dier takes a step towards the bed. ''I love you well, my good Lorrain. 
Let me see your big sword. If Death comes to take me, we must kill 
him, must we not?" Lorrain replies, ''Yes, Monseigneur," as the big 
tears run down his bronzed cheeks. 

At this moment the chaplain approaches the little Dauphin, and talks 
to him for some time in a low tone, showing him a crucifix. The little 


Dauphin listens with an astonished air; then suddenly interrupting, 
'*I understand well what you say, Monsieur TAbbe; but after all, could 
not my little friend Beppo die in my place, if we should give him a great 
deal of money?'' 

The chaplain continues talking to him in a low voice, and the little 
Dauphin looks more and more astonished. When the chaplain has 
finished, the little Dauphin resumes, with a heavy sigh, "All that you 
tell me is very sad, Monsieur I'Abbe, but one thing consoles me: up 
there in the paradise of stars, I shall still be the Dauphin. I know 
that our good God is my cousin, and would not fail to treat me ac- 
cording to my rank." Then he adds, turning to his mother, "Have 
my finest garments brought — my ermine cloak and velvet slippers. 
I wish to array myself for the angels, and enter paradise dressed as a 

A third time the chaplain bends over the little prince, and talks a 
long time in whispering tones. The royal child interrupts him in anger, 
in the midst of his discourse, and cries, " Then it is no use to be a Dau- 
phin, — it is nothing at all;" and not wishing to hear more, he turns 
toward the wall weeping. 


By Henry Watterson 

Extract from an oration delivered at the dedication of the Columbian 
Exposition at Chicago, October 21, 1892. 

We look before and after, and we see, through the half-drawn folds of 
time, as though through the solemn archways of some grand cathedral, 
the long procession pass, as silent and real as a dream. The caravels, 
tossing upon the Atlantic billows, have their sails refilled from the East, 
and bear away to the West; the land is reached, and fulfilled is the vi- 
sion whose actualities are to be gathered by other hands than his who 
planned the voyage and steered the bark of discovery; the long-sought 
golden day has come to Spain at last, and Castihan conquests tread 
upon one another fast enough to pile up perpetual power and riches. 

^ Reprinted by permission of the author and the publisher, Duffield and 


But even as simple justice was denied Columbus, was lasting tenurt 
denied the Spaniard. 

We look again, and we see in the far Northeast the Old World struggle 
between the French and the English transferred to the New, ending in 
the tragedy upon the heights above Quebec; we see the sturdy Puritans 
in bell-crowned hats and sable garments assail in unequal battle the 
savage and the elements, overcoming both to rise against a mightier 
foe; we see the gay but dauntless Cavaliers, to the southward, join 
hands with the roundheads in holy rebellion. 

And lo, down from the green-walled hills of New England, out of 
the swamps of the Carolinas, come faintly to the ear, like far-away 
forest leaves stirred to music by autumn winds, the drum-taps of the 
Revolution; the tramp of the minute-men, Israel Putnam riding before; 
the hoof -beats of Sumter's horse galloping to the front; the thunder of 
Stark's guns in spirit battle; the gleam of Marion's watch-fires in ghostly 
bivouac; and there, there in serried, saint-Uke ranks on fame's eternal 
camping ground stand, 

''The old continentals 

In their ragged regimentals, 

Yielding not " 

as, amid the singing of angels in Heaven, the scene is shut out from our 
mortal vision by proud and happy tears. 

We see the rise of the young republic, and the gentlemen in knee 
breeches and powdered wigs who made the Constitution. We see the 
little nation menaced from without. We see the riflemen in hunting 
shirt and buckskin swarm from the cabin in the wilderness to the rescue 
of country and home; and our hearts swell to see the second and final 
decree of independence won by the prowess and valor of American 
arms upon the land and sea. 

And then, and then, — since there is no life of nations or of men with- 
out its shadow or its sorrow, — there comes a day when the spirits of 
the fathers no longer walk upon the battlements of freedom; and all is 
dark; and all seems lost save liberty and honor, and, praise God! our 
blessed Union. With these surviving, who shall marvel at what we see 
to-day — this land filled with the treasures of the earth; this city, snatched 


from the ashes to rise in splendor and renown, passing the mind of man 
to preconceive? Truly, out of trial comes the strength of man; out of 
disaster comes the glory of the state. 


John Greenleaf Whittier 

The robins sang in the orchard, the buds into blossoms grew; 

Little of human sorrow the buds and the robins knew! 

Sick, in an alien household, the poor French neutral lay; 

Into her lonesome garret fell the light of the April day, 

Through the dusty window, curtained by the spider's warp and woof, 

On the loose-laid floor of hemlock, on oaken ribs of roof. 

The bedquilt's faded patchwork, the teacups on the stand, 

The wheel with flaxen tangle, as it dropped from her sick hand! 

What to her was the song of the robin, or warm morning light. 
As she lay in the trance of the dying, heedless of sound or sight? 
Done was the work of her hands, she had eaten her bitter bread; 
The world of the alien people lay behind her dim and dead. 
But her soul went back to its child-time; she saw the sun overflow 
With gold the basin of Minas, and set over Gasperau. 
She saw the face of her mother, she heard the song she sang; 
And far off, faintly, slowly, the bell for vespers rang! 

By her bed, the hard-faced mistress sat, smoothing the wrinkled sheet, 
Peering into the face so helpless, and feeling the ice-cold feet. 
With a vague remorse, atoning for her greed and long abuse, 
By a care no longer heeded and pity too late for use. 
Up the stairs of the garret softly the son of the mistress stepped, 
Leaned over the head-board, covering his face with his hands, and wept 
Out spake the mother, who watched him sharply, with brow a-frown : 
''What! love you the Papist, the beggar, the charge of the town?'* 

*' Be she Papist or beggar who lies here, I know and God knows 
I love her, and fain would go with her wherever she goes! 

^ Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. 


O Mother! that sweet face came pleading, for love so athirst. 
You saw but the town-charge; I knew her God's angel at first." 
Shaking her gray head, the mistress hushed down a bitter cry; 
And awed by the silence and shadow of death drawing nigh, 
She murmured a psalm of the Bible; but closer the young girl pressed, 
With the last of her life in her fingers, the cross to her breast. 

"My son, come away,'' cried the mother, her voice cruel grown. 

''She is joined to her idols, like Ephraim; let her alone!" 

But he knelt with his hand on her forehead, his lips to her ear. 

And he called back the soul that was passing: "Marguerite, do you 

She paused on the threshold of heaven; love, pity, surprise. 
Wistful, tender, lit up for an instant the cloud of her eyes. 
With his heart on his lips he kissed her, but never her cheek grew red, 
And the words the living long for he spake in the ear of the dead. 
And the robins sang in the orchard, where buds to blossoms grew; 
Of the folded hands and the still face never the robins knew! 

HoNORE DE Balzac 

During the expedition undertaken by General Desaix into upper 
Egypt, a Provengal soldier was made a prisoner by the Arabs and taken 
into the desert beyond the cataracts of the Nile. In order to place a 
safe distance between themselves and the French army, the Arabs made 
a forced march, resting only by night. They camped about a well 
over-shadowed by palm trees. Not suspecting that the idea of escape 
would occur to their prisoner, they merely tied his hands and went to 

When the brave Frenchman saw that his enemies were no longer 
watching him, he made use of his teeth to seize a simitar, fixed the blad-e 
between his knees, and cut the cord which restrained his hands. He 
then seized a carbine and a poniard, mounted a horse, and quickly 

^ Abridged. 


spurred away in the direction where he thought to find the French army. 
So impatient was he, that he urged on his already tired courser till the 
poor animal, its flanks lacerated by the spurs, soon breathed its last 
and left its rider in the midst of the desert. 

After walking on for some time in the sand, the soldier was obliged 
to stop, as the day was at an end. In spite of the beauty of an Oriental 
night, he felt he had not strength enough to go on. Fortunately he 
found a small hill on the summit of which grew a few palm trees. His 
weariness was so great that he lay down on a granite boulder, and fell 
asleep without taking any precautions for his safety. Great was his 
joy the next day on discovering a kind of grotto, naturally shaped in 
the blocks of granite; and a few steps farther on, some trees loaded with 
dates. Then the instinct which draws us to life reawakened in his 

That night he slept under the red roof of his damp cave. In the mid- 
dle of the night his sleep was disturbed by an unusual noise. He sat 
up, and the deep silence permitted him to recognize the alternating 
accents of a respiration whose savage energy could belong to no human 
creature. He almost felt his hair stand on end when, dilating the pupils 
of his eyes, he perceived a huge animal lying only two steps away. Soon 
the reflection of the moon illumined the cave, and by insensible degrees 
revealed the resplendent coat of a spotted panther. Her eyes opened 
for a moment and closed again; her face was turned towards the man. 

A thousand confused thoughts passed through the Frenchman's mind. 
At first he thought of killing it with a shot from his gun, but he soon 
saw there was not room enough to take aim, and that the shot would 
fail to take effect. And if the beast were to awake! — the thought made 
his limbs rigid. Twice he placed his hand on his poniard intending to 
cut off the head of his enemy, but the difficulty of cutting through the 
stiff short hair obliged him to renounce this project. To fail would 
surely mean his death. He preferred the chances of combat, and re- 
solved to await the day. 

The day did not give him long to wait. The Frenchman could now 
examine the panther; its muzzle was smeared with blood. ^'She has 
had a good meal," he mused, "and will not be hungry when she wakes 
up." Then a bold thought made daylight in his heart and checked the 


cold sweat on his brow. He determined to view this adventure merely 
as a tragic drama, and play out his part with honor to the final scene. 

When the sun appeared, the panther suddenly opened her eyes; 
vigorously stretched out her paws as if to get rid of cramps; then turned 
her head toward the Frenchman and looked at him steadily without 
moving. He watched her with a caressing gaze, staring as if to hypno- 
tize her, and let her come quite near him. Then with a gentle move- 
ment he passed his hand over her body from the head to the tail. The 
beast voluptuously straightened her tail, and her eyes grew gentle. When 
for the third time the Frenchman accomplished this effective flattery, 
she began to purr, as our cats do in expressing their pleasure. Assured 
of having extinguished the ferocity of his capricious companion, the 
soldier rose to go out of the cave. The panther indeed let him pass; but 
when he had ascended the hill, she bounded after him and began rubbing 
herself against the soldier's legs, putting up her back like all the race 
of cats. 

Regarding her guest with eyes whose brilliancy had become some- 
what softened, she gave vent to a wild cry. ''She is exacting!" cried 
the Frenchman with a smile. He ventured to play with her ears, and 
scratch her head as hard as he could. Perceiving his success, he tickled 
her skull with the point of his dagger, watching for a propitious moment 
to kill her. The sultana of the desert indicated her acceptance of the 
attentions of her slave by raising her head, stretching her neck, and 
displaying her infatuation by the tranquility of her demeanor. It 
suddenly occurred to the soldier that to kill this savage princess with 
one blow, he must stab her in the throat. He raised the blade, when 
the panther lay down at his feet and cast glances at him, in which, in 
spite of their native fierceness, was mingled a confused goodwill. 

The Provencal tried if he might walk up and down. The panther 
left him free, contenting herself with following him with her eyes. He 
conceived the fond hope of continuing on good terms with the panther, 
of course neglecting no means of taming and conciliating her. He came 
back to her and had the unspeakable happiness of seeing her wag her 
tail in an almost imperceptible movement. He then sat down without 
fear beside her, and the two began to play; he fondled her paws and 
muzzle, pulled her ears, rolled her over on her back and stroked her 


warm, silky flanks. The man, keeping his poniard in hand, thought 
even to plunge it into the too-confiding panther; but he feared being 
strangled in the last convulsion which would seize her. Besides, he felt 
in his heart a sort of compunction which cried out to him to respect an 
inoffensive creature. 

He seemed to have found a friend in this boundless desert. Involun- 
tarily he thought of his first sweetheart, whom he had nicknamed 
'* Mignonne." This memory of his youth suggested the idea of teaching 
this young panther to answer to the name. Toward the end of the day 
he had become accustomed to his perilous situation, and he almost 
enjoyed the painfulness of it. The soldier awaited with impatience the 
hour when Mignonne should fall asleep, and when it arrived he ran 
swiftly in the direction of the Nile; but hardly had he made a quarter 
of a league in the sand when he heard the panther bounding after him, 
and uttering her rasping cry, more fearful even than the sound of her 

''Ah," he said, ''she^s taken a fancy to me; she has never met any 
one before, and it is really quite flattering to have her first love." At 
that instant the man fell into one of those quicksands, so dreaded by 
travellers, since it is impossible to escape from them. Feeling himself 
caught, he gave a cry of alarm. The panther seized him by the collar 
with her teeth, and leaping backward with vigor, dragged him from 
danger as if by magic. "Ah, Mignonne!" cried the soldier, ''we are 
now bound together for life and death." 

Thenceforth the desert seemed inhabited. It contained a being to 
whom the man could talk, w^hose ferocity had been softened by him, 
though he could not explain the reason for this remarkable friend- 

One day, when the sun was shining brightly, an immense bird cut 
through the air. The Frenchman left his panther, to examine this new 
visitor; but after a moment's waiting, the deserted sultana gave a harsh 
growl. "I do believe she is jealous!" exclaimed the soldier, as he saw 
her eyes become hard again. The Frenchman and the panther looked at 
each other with an air of perfect understanding. The coquette quivered 
when she felt her friend stroke her head, her eyes flashed like lightning, 
and then she shut them tightly. "She has a soul," he said, as he studied 


the tranquility of this queen of the sands, golden like them, white likft 
them, solitary and burning like them. 

But this passion of the desert ended as all great passions do end, with a 
misunderstanding. One suspects the other of treason; there is no ex- 
planation, because of pride; and they fall out through stubbornness. 

''I don't know if I hurt her,'' said the soldier, ''but she turned round 
as if enraged, and with her sharp teeth seized me by the leg — gently, 
I dare say; but I, thinking she was about to devour me, plunged my 
dagger into her throat. She rolled over, uttering a cry that froze my 
heart. I saw her struggling in death, still watching me without anger. 
I would have given all the world to bring her back to life again. It 
was as though I had murdered a real person. The soldiers who finally 
came to my assistance, found me in tears. Since then I have been in 
war in Germany, in Spain, in Russia, in France; but never have I seen 
anything like the desert. It is very beautiful and what you feel there 
cannot be described. In the desert, you see, there is everything, and 
nothing. It is God without mankind." 


From Travels with a Donkey. By Robert Louis Stevenson 

Night is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but in the open 
world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews and perfumes, and the 
hours are marked by changes in the face of Nature. What seems a 
kind of temporal death to people choked between walls and curtains, is 
onl}^ a light and living slumber to the man who sleeps a-field. 

All night long he can hear nature breathing deeply and freely; even 
as she takes her rest, she turns and smiles; and there is one stirring hour 
unknown to those who dwell in houses, when a wakeful influence goes 
abroad over the sleeping hemisphere, and all the outdoor world are on 
their feet. It is then that the cock first crows, not this time to an- 
nounce the dawn, but like a cheerful watchman speeding the course 
of the night. Cattle awake on the meadows; sheep break their fast on 
dewy hillsides, and change to a new lair among the ferns; and houseless 
men, who have lain down with the fowls, open their dim eyes and be- 
hold the beauty of the night. 


At what inaudible summons, at what gentle touch of Nature, are all 
these sleepers thus recalled in the same hour to life? Do the stars rain 
down an influence, or do we share some thrill of mother earth below 
our resting bodies? Even shepherds and old country-folk, who are the 
deepest read in these arcana, have not a guess as to the means or pur- 
pose of this nightly resurrection. 

Towards two in the morning they declare the thing takes place; and 
neither know nor inquire further. And at least it is a pleasant incident. 
We are disturbed in our slumber only, like the luxurious Montaigne^ 
^' that we may the better and more sensibly relish it." We have a moment 
to look upon the stars. And there is a special pleasure for some minds 
in the reflection that we share the impulse with all outdoor creatures 
in our neighborhood, that we have escaped out of the Bastille of civiliza- 
tion, and are become, for the time being, a mere kindly animal and a 
sheep of Nature's flock. 

When that hour came to me among the pines, I wakened thirsty. My 
tin was standing by me half full of water. I emptied it at a draught; 
and feeling broad awake after this internal cold aspersion, sat upright 
to make a cigarette. The stars were clear, colored, and jewel-like, but 
not frosty. A faint silvery vapor stood for the Milky Way. All around 
me the black fir-points stood upright and stock-still. 

By the whiteness of the pack-saddle, I could see Modestine walking 
round and round at the length of her tether; I could hear her steadily 
munching at the sward ; but there was not another sound save the inde- 
scribable quiet talk of the runnel over the stones. I lay studying the 
color of the sky, as we call the void of space, from where it showed a 
reddish gray behind the pines to where it showed a glossy blue-black 
between the stars. 

A faint wind, more like a moving coolness than a stream of air, passed 
down the glade from time to time; so that even in my great chamber 
the air was being renewed all night long. I thought with horror of 
the inn at Chasserades and the congregated nightcaps; with horror of 
the nocturnal prowesses of clerks and students, of hot theatres and 
pass-keys and close rooms. I have not often enjoyed a more serene 
possession of myself, nor felt more independent of material aids. 

The outer world, from which we cower into our houses, seemed aftel 


all a gentle habitable place; and night after night a man's bed, it seemed, 
was laid and waiting for him in the fields, where God keeps an open 
house. I thought I had rediscovered one of those truths which are re- 
vealed to savages and hid from political economists: at the least, I had 
discovered a new pleasure for myself. 

When 1 awoke again (Sunday, 29th September), many of the stars 
had disappeared; only the stronger companions of the night still burned 
visibly overhead; and away towards the east I saw a faint haze of light 
upon the horizon, such as had been the Milky Way when I was last 
awake. Day was at hand. I lit my lantern, and by its glowworm light 
put on my boots and gaiters; then I broke up some bread for Modes tine, 
filled my can at the water-tap, and lit my spirit-lamp to boil myself 
some chocolate. 

The blue darkness lay long in the glade where I had so sweetly slum- 
bered; but soon there was a broad streak of orange melting into gold 
along the mountain-tops of Vivarais. A solemn glee possessed my mind 
at this gradual and lovely coming in of day. I heard the runnel with 
delight; I looked round me for something beautiful and unexpected; 
but the still black pine-trees, the hollow glade, the munching ass, re- 
mained unchanged in figure. Nothing had altered but the light, and 
that, indeed, shed over all a spirit of life and of breathing peace, and 
moved me to a strange exhilaration. 

I drank my water chocolate, which was hot if it was not rich, and 
strolled here and there, and up and down about the glade. While I was 
thus delaying, a gush of steady wind, as long as a heavy sigh, poured 
direct out of the quarters of the morning. It was cold, and set me 
sneezing. The trees near at hand tossed their black plumes in its pas- 
sage; and I could see the thin distant spires of pine along the edge of 
the hill rock slightly to and fro against the golden east. Ten minutes 
after, the sunlight spread at a gallop along the hillside, scattering 
shadows and sparkles, and the day had come completely. 



By George Ade 

Mr. Robert Latimer, a man absorbed in business. 
A Solicitor, representing "The Interplanetary Publishing Co." 
Scene; Mr. Latimer's office 

Mr. Latimer is seated in a revolving chair at his desk. The solicitoi 

Solicitor: This is Mr. Latimer? 

Latimer {turning in chair) : It is. 

S. : Your name has been given to us, Mr. Latimer, as one who is fond 
of good books. 

L.: Whois^'us"? 

S.: The Interplanetary Publishing Company is the house I have the 
honor to represent. Our manager was very anxious that I should call 
on you. Even if you do not care to place an order, I know that as a 
lover of beautiful prints and bindings, you will take some pleasure in 
examining the sample volume I have here. 

L.: Your manager is mixed in his dates. You have hunted up the 
wrong Latimer. 

S.: I hardly think so. You have placed several orders with us al- 
ready, haven't you? Didn't you take a set of the Balzac? 

L.: I guess I did — four dollars per Balzac. IVe got 'em out home 
there now, just as good as new. 

S.: That was an excellent edition. 

L.: I wouldn't dare to contradict you, because IVe never looked 
into one of them. 

S. : I had understood that you were something of a collector. 

L.: That isn't what I call myself. I call myself an easy mark. I've 
got about as much use for a lot of them books as a Methodist preacher'd 
have for a dark lantern an' a pair of loaded dice. I don't know how I 
happened to let myself be worked on that first lot. I guess I had orders 

^ Copyright 1903 by Doubleday Page and Company, and reprinted b^ 
special arrangement with these publishers. 


from home to fill up the shelves. You fellows didn^t do a thing to me. 
Bing! Four dollars a throw. They may be swell books all right but 1 
don't have any time to get at 'em. Say, I don't even have time to read 
the newspapers. 

S.: You have no objection, however, to my showing you some of our 
new things? 

L.: Show it, if you want to, but you're simply usin' up your own time, 
I can tell you that. 

S.: I have something here that I fancy will please you. {takes hook 
from under coat) 

L.: What is it? 

S.: Tolstoi. 

L.: Come again. 

S.: Tolstoi. 

L.: Tall-stoy? 

S.: Yes. I suppose you are more or less familiar with his work? 

L.: Chicago man? 

S. : I don't think you caught the name — Tolstoi, the eminent Russian. 

L.: Russian? 

S.: Yes. He is accorded first place among the great literary work- 
ers of the czar's domain, his writings being characterized by simplicity, 
immense strength, and a sympathy for all mankind, particularly the 
poor and downtrodden. 

L.: That's all right, too, but if your house wants to get out books 
and sell them to people, why don't you plug for somebody here at 
home? There's lots of good fellows in this country you might help to a 
little money if you wanted to. Instead of that, you have to hunt up 
some fellow over in Russia. You can bet that any coin he gets out of 
these books he spends over there. He don't come to Chicago to blow it 
in, does he? 

S.: Our house is always ready to give encouragement to American 
authors, but in this line of work you must admit that Tolstoi is pre- 

L. : Let me tell you something. You come in here and you want me 
to buy some books written by this — whatever his name is. and you say 
to me that he is the best ever? 


S. : I merely repeat what the critics have agreed upon. 

L.: The critics, eh? Now, let me tell you about them. I had a friend 
here from Grand Rapids the other day and I wanted to take him to 
a show. I didn't know what was good in town, so I gets a paper and 
reads the notices. Well, I find one play that gets an awful lift all around, 
so we go over there, and say! it was the saddest ever. It was so punk 
it was blue all around the edges. I don't want any critic tellin' me 
where to get off. I don't think they're on the level. Now you say that 
they're all out cappin' for this fellow. Mebbe they are, but look here, 
I never heard of this mug before and I've been in town all the time, too. 

S.: He has been writing for years. 

L.: Where? 

S.: Over in Russia. 

L.: Yes, an' I've been in Chicago all that time. If he wants to do 
business with us people, why don't he come here? 

S.: My dear sir, Count Tolstoi's work has a world-wide interest. 
Will you be good enough to notice the print? The etchings are un- 
usually good, also. 

L.: How many books in the set? 

S.: There are twenty. 

L.: Oh, Willie! I've just got a panel photograph of myself settin' 
up these winter nights to read twenty of these things by his Russian 
nobs. Is that his picture — with the fringe? He don't look to me much 
like a count. 

S.: I believe, Mr. Latimer, that you would deeply enjoy reading 
Tolstoi. He appeals to all thoughtful people. 

L.: What are you trying to do, swell me? On the level do you find 
a good many people to go against this kind of a game? 

S.: I am meeting with gratifying success, Mr. Latimer. You seC; 
there has long been a demand for a uniform edition of Tolstoi. 

L. : There has, eh? I hadn't heard about it. 

S.: I sold three sets yesterday out at the university. 

L.: What do you get for a set? 

S.: The price is three dollars a volume, payable in installments. 

L.: Sixty dollars worth of — What's his name? 

S.: Tolstoi. 


L.: I'd have to be getting my sixties easy to let go of *em for any« 
thing like this. 

S. : You couldn't have a more valuable set in your library. 

L.: Yes? Well, you tell it all right. I s'pose you get a piece of that 

S.: Naturally — I get my commission. 

L. : How much? About forty-five? 

S.: Oh, really! I merely get a fair percentage for placing the works. 

L.: Well, you'll earn all the percentages you get here. 

S.: If you will — 

L.: Say, you ain't got one chance in a million. Let me give you a 
pointer, too. Drop Tall-stoy and get a live one. Here's your book. 
X won't keep you waiting. 


Abridged from Red Fox. By Charles G. D. Roberts 

Red Fox's new home on the ridge was a deep well-drained pocket of 
dry earth, hard to come at, and surrounded by an expanse of rocky 
debris where scent would not He. In this difficult retreat Red Fox and 
his family had few neighbors to intrude upon his privacy. But there 
was one pair on whom Red Fox and his mate looked with strong dis- 
approval, not unmixed with anxiety. 

On an inaccessible ledge, in a ravine a little way down the other side 
of the ridge, toward Ringwaak, was the nest of a white-headed eagle. 
It was a great, untidy, shapeless mass, a cart-load of sticks, as it were, 
apparently dropped from the skies upon this bare ledge, but in reality 
so interwoven with each point of rock, and so braced in the crevices, 
that no tempest could avail to jar its strong foundations. In the hollow 
in the top of this mass, on a few wisps of dry grass mixed with feathers 
and fur, huddled two half -naked, fierce-eyed nestlings. 

Of the eagle pair, the female had her aerial range over Ringwaak, and 

the chain of lonely lakes the other side of Ringwaak. But the male 

did his hunting over the region of the settlements and on toward the 

Ottanoonsis Valley. Every morning, just after sunrise, his great wingg 

* Reprinted by special arrangement with L. C. Page and Company, 


went winnowing mightily over the ridge, just over the hollow where 
Red Fox had his lair. And as the dread shadow passed by, the little 
foxes would shrink back into their den, well taught by their father and 

One morning when, in the gray of the earliest dawn, Red Fox climbed 
to his retreat with a plump woodchuck in his jaws, it chanced he was 
in no hurry for his meal. Dropping the limp body till he should feel more 
relish for it, he lay down to rest and contemplate the waking earth. As 
he lay, the sun rose. The female eagle sailed away toward Ringwaak. 
The male beat up, and up, high above the ridge, and Red Fox paid no 
more attention to him. 

Suddenly he heard a sharp, hissing rush of great wings in the air 
just above him, and glanced upward astonished. The next instant he 
felt a buffeting wind, huge wings almost smote him in the face, — and 
the dead woodchuck, not three feet away, was snatched up in clutch- 
ing talons, and borne off in the air. With a furious snarl he jumped 
to his feet; but the eagle, with the prize dangling from his claws, was 
already far out of reach, slanting down majestically toward his nest. 

The insolence and daring of this robbery fixed in Red Fox's heart a 
fierce desire for vengeance. He stole down to the ravine that held the 
eyrie, and prowled about for hours, seeking a place where he could 
climb to the ledge. It was quite inaccessible, however; and the eagles, 
knowing this, looked down upon the prowlings with disdainful serenity. 
Then he mounted the near-by cliff and peered down directly into the 
nest. But finding himself still as far off as ever, he gave up the hope 
of an immediate settlement of his grudge and lay in wait for the chances 
of the wilderness. 

A few days later, while Red Fox was away hunting down in the 
valley, the fox-puppies were playing just in the mouth of the den when 
they saw their slim mother among the rocks. In a puppy-like frolic 
of welcome they rushed to meet her, feeling secure in her nearness. 
When they were half-way across the open in front of the den, there came 
a sudden shadow above them. Like a flash they scattered, — all but 
one, who crouched flat and stared irresolutely. There was a dreadful 
whistling sound in the air, a pounce of great, flapping wings and wide 
reaching talons, a strangled yelp of terror. And before the mother fox'a 


leap could reach the spot, the red puppy was snatched up and carried 
away to the beaks of the eaglets. 

When he learned about this, Red Fox felt such fury as his philosophic 
spirit had never known before. He paid another futile visit to the foot 
of the eagles^ rock; and afterwards, for days, wasted much time from 
his hunting in the effort to devise some means of getting at his foe. 

It was one day when he was not thinking of eagles or of vengeance 
that Red Fox^s opportunity came. Toward evening as he lay watching 
for a wary old woodchuck to venture from its hole, he caught sight of 
a huge black snake gliding slowly across the open glade. He hesitated, 
in doubt whether to attack the snake or keep on waiting for the wood- 
chuck. Just then came that whistling sound in the air which he knew 
so well. The snake heard it, too, and darted toward the nearest tree. 
It had barely reached the foot of the tree when the feathery thunder- 
bolt out of the sky fell upon it, clutching it securely with both talons 
about a foot behind the head. 

Easily and effectively had the eagle made his capture; but, when he 
tried to rise with his prey, his broad wings beat the air in vain. At the 
instant of the attack the snake had whipped a couple of coils of its tail 
around the young tree, and that desperate grip the eagle could not 
break. Savagely he picked at the coils, and then at the reptile's head, 
preparing to take the prize off in sections if necessary. 

Red Fox's moment, long looked for, had come. His rush from cover 
was straight and low, and swift as a dart; and his jaws caught the eagle 
a slashing cut on the upper leg. Fox-like, he bit and let go; and the 
great bird with a yelp of pain and amazement, whirled about, striking 
at him furiously with beak and wings. He got one buffet from those 
wings which knocked him over; and the eagle, willing to shirk the con- 
flict, disengaged his talons from the snake and tried to rise. But in 
an instant Red Fox was upon him again, reaching up for his neck with 
a lightning-like ferocity that disconcerted the bird's defense. At such 
close quarters the bird's wings were ineffective, but his rending beak 
and steel-like talons found their mark in Red Fox's beautiful ruddy 
coat, which was dyed with crimson in a second. 

For most foxes the king of the air would have proved more than a 
match; but the strength and cleverness of Red Fox put the chance of 


battle heavily in his favor. In a few seconds he would have had the 
eagle overborne and helpless, and would have reached his throat in 
spite of beak and claw; but at this critical moment the bird found an 
unexpected and undeserved ally. 

The snake which he had attacked, being desperately wounded, was 
thrashing about in the effort to get away to some hiding. Red Fox 
happened to step upon it in the struggle; and instantly, though blindly, 
it threw a convulsive coil about his hind legs. Angrily he turned, and 
bit at the constricting coil. And while he was tearing at it, seeking to 
free himself, the eagle recovered, raised himself with difficulty, and 
succeeded in flopping up into the air. Bedraggled, bloody, and abjectly 
humiliated, he went beating over the forest toward home; and Red 
Fox, fairly well satisfied in spite of the incompleteness of his victory, 
proceeded to refresh himself by a hearty meal of snake. He felt rea- 
sonably certain that the big eagle would give both himseK and his 
family a wide berth in the future. 


From The Cavalier. By George W. Cable 

In the Mississippi campaign of the Civil War Ferry's Scouts, a band of 
Confederates, charging down a broad lane, captured a score of the Northern 
soldiers. Captain Jewett, the leader of the Blue-coats, was mortally wounded 
and taken to the Confederate headquarters. Realizing that his end was near, 
the Captain asked for Charlotte Oliver, a Southern girl at the headquarters, 
that he might beg her to bear his last message home to his wife. One of the 
scouts, named Smith, gives the following account of the final hours of the 

As Charlotte once more wiped the damp brow, the captive said, with 
much labor, "After that — war seems — an awful thing. I suppose it 
isn't half so much a crime — as it is a — ^penalty — for the crimes that 
bring it on. But anyhow — ^you know — being — " The bugle rang out 
the reveille. 

''Being a soldier," said Charlotte, "you want to die like one?" 
"Yes, oh, yes! — the best I can. I'd like to sit half up — and hold my 
sword — if there's — no objection. I've loved it so! It would almost be 

^ Copyright, 1901, by Charles Scribner's Sons and reprinted by their 


like holding — the hand that's far away. Of course, it isn't really neces- 
sary, but — it would be more like — dying — for my country." 

He would not have it in the scabbard, and when I laid it naked in 
his hand he kissed the hilt. Charlotte sent Gholson for Ned Ferry. 
Glancing from the window, I noticed that for some better convenience 
our scouts had left the grove, and the prisoners had been marched in 
and huddled close to the veranda-steps, under their heavy marching- 
guard of Louisianians. One of the blue-coats called up to me softly: 
** Dying — ^really?" He turned to his fellows — " Boys, Captain's dying." 

Every Northern eye was lifted to the window and I turned away. 
'' Richard!" gently called Charlotte, and I saw the end was at hand; a 
new anguish was on the brow; yet the soldier was asking for a song; 
**a soldier's song, will you?" 

^'Why, Captain," she replied, ''you know, we don't sing the same 
words to our soldier-songs that you do — except in the hymns. Shall I 
sing 'Am I a soldier of the cross?'" 

He did not answer promptly; but when he did he said, "Yes — sing 

She sang it. As the second stanza was begun we heard a responsive 
swell grow softly to fuller and fuller volume beneath the windows, the 
prisoners were singing. I heard an austere voice forbid it, but it rose 
straight on from strength to strength: 

"Sure I must fight if I would win, 

Increase my courage. Lord. 
I'll bear the toil, endure the pain, 

Supported by thy word." 

The dying man lifted a hand and Charlotte ceased. He had not 
heard the muffled chorus of his followers below; or it may be that he 
had, and that the degree of liberty they seemed to be enjoying prompted 
him to seek the new favor he now asked. I did not catch his words, 
but Charlotte heard, and ansov^ered tenderly, yet with a thrill of pain so 
keen she could not conceal it even from him. 

"Oh! you wouldn't ask a rebel to sing that," she sighed, "would you?" 
He made no rejoinder except that his eyes were insistent. She wiped 
his temples. "I hate to refuse you." 


His gaze was grateful. She spoke again: ''I suppose I oughtn't to 
mind it." 

Miss Harper came in, and Charlotte, taking her hand without a 
glance, told the Captain's hard request under her voice. Miss Harper, 
too, in her turn, gave a start of pain, but when the dying eyes and 
smile turned pleadingly to her she said, ''Why, if you can, Charlotte, 
dear, but oh! how can you?" 

Charlotte addressed the wounded man: ''Just a little bit of it, will 
that do?" and as he eagerly assented she added, to Miss Harper, "You 
know, dear, in its history it's no more theirs than ours." 

"No, not so much," said Miss Harper, with a gleam of pride; and 
thereupon it was my amazement to hear Charlotte begin guardedly to 


"O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?" 
But guardedly as she began, the effect on the huddled crowd below 
was instant and electrical. They heard almost the first note; looking 
down anxiously, I saw the wonder and enthusiasm pass from man to 
man. They heard the first two lines in awed, ecstatic silence; but at 
the third, warily, first one, then three, then a dozen, then a score, bereft 
of arms, standard, and leader, little counting ever again to see freedom, 
flag, or home, they raised their voices, by the dawn's early light, in 
their song of songs. 

Our main body were out in the highway, just facing into column, 
and the effect on them I could not see. The prisoners' guards, though in- 
stantly ablaze with indignation, were so taken by surprise that for two 
or three seconds, with carbines at a ready, they — and even their sergeant 
in command — only darted fierce looks here and there and up at me. 
The prisoners must have been used to singing in ordered chorus, for one 
of them strode into their middle, and smiling sturdily at the maddened 
guard and me, led the song evenly. "No, sir!" he said, as I made an 
angry sign for them to desist, "one verse through, if every one of us dies 
for it — let the Captain hear it, boys — sing! 

"'The rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air — '" 
Charlotte had ceased, in consternation not for the conditions without 
more than for those within. With the first strong swell of the song 


from below, the dying leader strove to sit upright and to lift his blade, 
but failed and would have slammed back upon the pillows had not 
she and Miss Harper saved him. He lay in their arms gasping his last, 
yet clutching his sabre with a quivering hand and listening on with 
rapt face untroubled by the fiery tumult of cries that broke into and 
over the strain. 

''Club that man over the head!" cries the sergeant of the guard, 
and one of his men swung a gun; but the Yankee sprang inside of its 
sweep, crying, ''Sing her through, boys!" grappled his opponent, and 
hurled him back. In the same instant the sergeant called steadily, 
"Guard, ready — aim — " 

There sounded a clean slap of levelled carbines, yet from the prisoners 
came the continued song in its closing couplet : 

"The star-spangled banner! O, long may it wave! — " 

and out of the midst of its swell the oaths and curses and defiant laughter 
of a dozen men crying, with tears in their eyes, "Shoot! shoot! why 
don't you shoot?" 

But the command to fire did not come, suddenly there was a drum- 
ming of hoofs, then their abrupt stoppage, and the voice of a vigilant 
commander called, "Attention!" 

With a few words to the sergeant, more brief than harsh, and while 
the indomitable singers pressed on to the very close of the stanza with- 
out a sign from him to desist. Ferry bade the subaltern resume his 
command, and turned toward me at the window. He lifted his sword 
and spoke in a lowered tone, the sullen guard stood to their arms, and 
every captive looked up for my reply. 

"Shall I come?" he inquired; but I shook my head. 

"What! — gone?" he asked again, and I nodded. 


From Lays of Scottish Cavaliers. By W. E. Aytoun 

On the heights of Killiecrankie 

Yester-morn our army lay; 
Slowly rose the mist in columns 

From the river's broken way; 


Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent, 

And the pass was wrapped in gloom, 
When the clansmen rose together 

From their lair amidst the broom. 

Then we belted on our tartans, 

And om* bonnets down we drew, 
And we felt our broadswords' edges, 

And we proved them to be true; 
And we prayed the prayer of soldiers. 

And we cried the gathering-cry. 
And we clasped the hands of kinsmen, 

And we swore to do or die! 

Then our leader rode before us 

On his war-horse black as night, — 
Well the Cameronian rebels 

Knew that charger in the fight ! — 
And a cry of exultation 

From the bearded warriors rose; 
For we loved the house of Claver'se, 

And we thought of good Montrose, 

But he raised his hand for silence — 

''Soldiers! I have sworn a vow: 
Ere the evening star shall glisten 

On Schehallion's lofty brow, 
Either we shall rest in triumph, 

Or another of the Graemes 
Shall have died in battle-harness 

For his country and King James! 

''Strike this day as if the anvil 

Lay beneath your blows the while^ 
Be they covenanting traitors 

Or the brood of false Argyle! 


Strike! and drive the trembling rebels 
Backwards o'er the stormy Forth; 

Let them tell their pale Convention 
How they fared within the North. 

**Let them tell that Highland honor 

Is not to be bought or sold, 
That we scorn their Prince's anger 

As we loath his foreign gold. 
Strike! and when the fight is over, 

If ye look in vain for me, 
Where the dead are lying thickest, 

Search for him that was Dundee!" 

Loudly then the hills re-echoed 

With our answers to his call, 
But a deeper echo sounded 

In the bosoms of us all. 
For the land of wide Braedalbane, 

Not a man who heard him speak 
Would that day have left the battle. 

Flashing eye and burning cheek 
Told the clansmen's fierce emotion, 

And they harder drew their breath; 
For their souls were strong within them, 

Stronger than the grasp of death. 

Soon we heard a challenge-trumpet 

Sounding in the Pass below. 
And the distant tramp of horses. 

And the voices of the foe; 
Down we crouched amid the bracken, 

Till the Lowland ranks drew near, 
Panting like the hounds in summer, 

When they scent the stately deer. 


From the dark defile emerging, 

Next we saw the squadrons oome, 
LesHe's foot and Leven's troopers 

Marching to the tuck of drum; 
Through the scattered wood of birches, 

O'er the broken ground and heath, 
Wound the long batallion slowly. 

Till they gained the plain beneath; 

Then we bounded from our covert, — 

Judge how looked the Saxons then, 
When they saw the rugged mountains 

Start to life with armed men ! 
Like a tempest down the ridges 

Swept the hurricane of steel, 
Rose the slogan of Macdonald, — 

Flashed the broadsword of Lochiel! 

Vainly sped the withering volley 

'Mongst the foremost of our band, — 
On we poured until we met them, 

Foot to foot and hand to hand. 
Horse and man went down like drift-wood 

When the floods are black at Yule, 
And their carcasses are whirling 

In the Garry's deepest pool. 
Horse and man went down before us, — 

living foe there tarried none 
On the field of Killiecrankie, 

When that stubborn fight was done! 

And the evening stai was shining 

On Schehallion's distant head, 
When we wiped our bloody broadswords, 

And returned to count the dead. 


Then we found him gashed and gory, 
Stretched upon the cumbered plain, 

As he told us where to seek him, 
In the thickest of the slain. 

And a smile was on his visage, 

For within his dying ear 
Pealed the joyful note of triumph, 

And the clansmen^s clamorous cheer; 
So, amidst the battle's thunder. 

Shot, and steel, and scorching flame, 
In the glory of his manhood 

Passed the spirit of the Grseme! 


From The Cloister and the Hearth. By Charles Reade 

Gerard, the son of a Tergouw mercer living in the fifteenth century, is 
designed for the Church where a good benefice is promised him. He falls 
in love with Margaret Brandt, the daughter of a poor scholar, and giving up 
the Church career, betroths himself to her. He is on the eve of marriage 
when his irate father imprisons him in the Stadthouse Tower for his dis- 
obedience, as a medieval parent had power to do. Martin, Gerard's faithful 
friend, and Margaret Brandt devise a plan to rescue Gerard from the tower. 

Gerard was taken up several flights of stairs and thrust into a small 
room lighted only by a narrow window with a vertical iron bar. The 
whole furnitiire was a huge oak chest. Imprisonment in that age was 
one of the high-roads to death, for it implied cold, unbroken solitude, 
torture, starvation, and often poison. Gerard felt that he was in the 
hands of an enemy. And he kneeled down and commended his soul to 

Presently he rose and sprang at the iron bar of the window, and 
clutched it. This enabled him to look out by pressing his knees against 
the wall. Falling back somewhat heavily, he wrenched the rusty iron 
bar, held only by rusty nails, away from the stonework just as Ghys- 
brecht Van Swieten, the burgomaster, opened the door stealthily be- 


hind him. He brought a brown loaf and a pitcher of water, and set 
them on the chest in solemn silence. Gerard's first impulse was to 
brain him with the iron bar, and fly down stairs; but the burgomaster, 
seeing something wicked in his eye, gave a little cough, and three stout 
fellows, armed, showed themselves directly at the door. 

" My orders are to keep you until you shall bind yourself by an oath 
to leave Margaret Brandt, and return to the Church to which you have 
belonged from your cradle.'* 

''Death sooner." 

"With all my heart." And the burgomaster retired. 

As the sun declined, Gerard's heart too sank and sank; with the 
waning light even the embers of hope went out. He was faint, too, 
with hunger; for he was afraid to eat the food Ghysbrecht had brought 
him; and hunger alone cows men. He sat upon the chest, his arms and 
his head drooping before him, a picture of dispondency. Suddenly 
something struck the wall beyond him very sharply, and then rattled 
on the floor at his feet. It was an arrow; he saw the white feather. A 
chill ran through him, — they meant to assassinate him from the outside. 
He crouched. No more missiles came. He crawled on all fours, and 
took up the arrow; there was no head to it. He uttered a cry of hope: 
had a friendly hand shot it? 

He took it up and felt it over; he felt a soft substance attached to it. 
Then one of his eccentricities was of grand use to him. His tinder-box 
enabled him to strike a light; it showed him two things that made his 
heart bound with delight. Attached to the arrow was a skein of silk, 
and on the arrow itself were words written. How his eyes devoured 
them, his heart panting the while! 

Well-beloved, make fast the silk to thy knife and lower to us: but hold 
thine end fast: then count an hundred and draw up, 

Gerard seized the oak chest, and with almost superhuman energy 
dragged it to the window. Standing on the chest and looking down he 
saw figures at the tower foot. They were so indistinct they looked like 
one huge form. He waved his bonnet to them with trembling hand: 
then he undid the silk rapidly but carefully, and made one end fast to 
his knife and lowered it till it ceased to draw. 

Then he counted a hundred. Then pulled the silk carefully up: it 


came up a little heavier. At last he came to a large knot, and by that 
knot a stout whipcord was attached to the silk. What could this mean? 
While he was puzzling himself, Margaret's voice came up to him, low 
but clear. "Draw up, Gerard, till you see liberty.'' At the word, 
Gerard drew the whipcord line up, and drew and drew until he came to 
another knot, and found a cord of some thickness take the place of the 
whipcord. He had no sooner begun to draw this up than he found that 
he now had a heavy weight to deal with. Then the truth suddenly 
flashed upon him, and he went to work and pulled and pulled till the 
perspiration rolled down him: the weight got heavier and heavier, and 
at last he was well nigh exhausted; looking down he saw in the moon- 
light a sight that revived him: it was as it were a great snake coming 
up to him out of the deep shadow cast by the tower. 

He gave a shout of joy, and a score more wild pulls, and lo! a stout 
new rope touched his hand: he hauled and hauled, and dragged the end 
into his prison, and instantly passed it through both handles of the chest 
in succession, and knotted it firmly; then sat for a moment to recover his 
breath and collect his courage. The first thing was to make sure that 
the chest was sound, and capable of resisting his weight poised in mid- 
air. He jumped with all his force upon it. At the third jump the whole 
side burst open, and out scuttled the contents, a host of parchments. 

This shook his confidence in the chest's powers of resistance; so he 
gave it an ally: he took the iron bar and fastened it with the small rope 
across the large rope, and across the window. He now mounted the 
chest, and from the chest put his foot through the window, and sat half 
in and half out, with one hand on that part of the rope which was inside. 
In the silent night he heard his own heart beat. 

The free air breathed on his face, and gave him the courage to risk 
what we must all lose one day — for liberty. Many dangers awaited 
him, but the greatest was the first getting on to the rope outside. Gerard 
reflected. Finally, he put himself in the attitude of a swimmer, his body 
to the waist being in the prison, his legs outside. Then holding the 
inside rope with both hands, he felt anxiously with his feet for the out- 
side rope, and, when he had got it, he worked it in between the soles of 
his feet, and kept it there tight; then he uttered a short prayer, and, all 
the calmer for it, put his left hand on the sill and gradually wriggled out 


Then he seized the iron bar, and for one fearful moment hung out* 
side from it by his right hand, while his left hand felt for the rope down 
at his knees; it was too tight against the wall for his fingers to get round 
it higher up. The moment he had fairly grasped it, he left the bar, and 
swiftly seized the rope with his right hand too; but in this maneuver his 
body necessarily fell about a yard. A stifled cry came up from below. 
Gerard hung in mid-air. He clenched his teeth, and nipped the rope 
tight with his feet and gripped it with his hands, and went down slowly 
hand below hand. 

He passed by one huge rough stone after another. He saw there 
was green moss on one. He looked up and he looked down. The moon 
shone into his prison window; it seemed very near. The fluttering fig- 
ures below seemed an awful distance. It made him dizzy to look down: 
so he fixed his eyes steadily on the wall close to him, and went slowly 
down, down, down. 

He passed a rusty, slimy streak on the wall: it was some ten feet long. 
The rope made his hands very hot. He stole another look up. 

The prison window was a good way off now. 

Down — down — down — down. 

The rope made his hands sore. 

He looked up. The window was so distant, he ventured now to turn 
his eyes downward again; and there, not more than thirty feet below 
him, were Margaret and Martin, their faithful hands upstretched to 
catch him should he fall. He could see their eyes and their teeth shine 
in the moonlight. For their mouths were open, and they were breath- 
ing hard. 

"Take care, Gerard! O, take care! Look not down.^' 

"Fear me not," cried Gerard, joyfully, and eyed the wall, but came 
down faster. 

In another minute his feet were at their hands. They seized him ere 
he touched the ground, and all three clung together in one embrace. 



From Little Novels of Italy. By Maurice Hewlett 

Giovanna Scarpa, the young wife of a Verona ragpicker, has been slandered 
and nearly mobbed during her husband's absence, and has fled from the city 
with her baby in her arms. 

Directly you were outside the Porta San Zeno the peach-trees began 
— acre by acre of bent trunks, whose long branches, tied at the top, 
took shapes of blown candle-flames : beyond these was an open waste of 
bents and juniper scrub, which afforded certain eatage for goats. 

Here three herd-boys, Luca, Biagio, and Astorre, simple brown- 
skinned souls, watched their flocks all the summer night, sleeping, 
waking to play pranks with each other, whining endless doggerel, pray- 
ing at every scare, and swearing at every reassurance. Simple puppy ish 
folk though they were, Madonna of the Peach-Tree chose them to wit- 
ness her epiphany. 

It was a very still night, of wonderful star-shine, but without a moon. 
The stars were so thickly spread, so clear and hot, that there was light 
enough for the lads to see each other's faces, the rough shapes of each 
other. It was light enough to notice how the square belfry of San Zeno 
cut a wedge of black into the spangled blue vault. Sheer through the 
Milky Way it ploughed a broad furrow, which ended in a ragged 
edge. You would never have seen that if it had not been a clear 

Still also it was. You heard the cropping of the goats, the jaws' 
champ when they chewed the crisp leaves; the flicker of the bats' wings. 
In the marsh, half a mile away, the chorus of frogs, when it swelled up, 
drowned all nearer noise; but when it broke off suddenly, those others 
resumed their hold upon the stillness. It was a breathless night of 
suspense. Anything might happen on such a night. 

Luca, Biagio, and Astorre, under the spell of this marvelous night, 
lay on their stomachs alert for alarms. A heavy-wheeling white owl 
had come by with a swish, and Biagio had called aloud to Madonna 
in his agony. Astorre had crossed himself over and over again: this 

^Reprinted by permission of the author. 


was the Angel of Death cruising abroad on the hunt for goats or goat- 
herds; but ^'No, no!" cried Luca, eldest of the three, "The wings are 
too short, friends. That is a fluffy new soul just let loose. She knows 
not the way, you see. Let us pray for her. There are devils abroad 
on such close nights as this." 

Pray they did, with a will, "Ave Maria," "0 maris Stella," and half 
the Paternoster, when Biagio burst into a guffaw, and gave Luca a 
push which sent Astorre down. 

"Why, 'tis only a screech-owl, you fools!" he cried, though the sound 
of his own voice made him falter; "an old mouse-teaser," he went on 
in a much lower voice. "Who's afraid?" 

A black and white cat making a pounce had sent hearts to mouths 
after this: though they found her out before they had got to "Dominus 
tecum," she left them all in a quiver. It had been a cat, but it might 
have been the devil. Then, before the bristles had folded down on their 
backs, they rose up again, and the hair of their heads became rigid as 
quills. Over the brow of a little hill, through the peach-trees (which 
bowed their spiry heads to her as she walked), came quietly a tall white 
Lady in a dark cloak. Hey! powers of earth and air, but this was not to 
be doubted! Evenly forward she came, without a footfall, without a 
rustle or the crackling of a twig, without so much as kneeing her skirt — 
stood before them so nearly that they saw the pale oval of her face, and 
said in a voice like a muffled bell, "I am hungry, my friends; have you 
any meat?" She had a face like the moon, and great round eyes; within 
her cloak, on the bosom of her white dress, she held a man-child. He, 
they passed their sacred word, lifted in his mother's arms and turned 
open-handed towards them. Luca, Biagio, and Astorre, goat-herds 
all and honest lads, fell on their faces with one accord; with one voice 
they cried, "Madonna, Madonna, Madonna! pray for us sinners!" 

But again the Lady spoke in her gentle tones, "I am very hungry, 
and my child is hungry. Have you nothing to give me?" So then 
Luca kicked the prone Biagio, and Biagio's heel nicked Astorre on the 
shin. But it was Luca, as became the eldest, who got up first, all the 
same; and as soon as he was on his feet the others followed him. Luca 
took his cap off, Biagio saw the act and followed it. Astorre, who dared 
not lift his eyes, and was so busy making crosses on himself that he had 


no hands to spare, kept his on till Luca nudged Biagio, and Biagio 
cuffed him soundly, saying, '' Uncover, cow-face.'^ 

Then Luca on his knees made an offering of cheese and black bread 
to the Lady. They saw the gleam of her white hand as she stretched 
it out to take the victual. That hand shone like agate in the dark. 
They saw her eat, sitting very straight and noble upon a tussock of 
bents. Astorre whispered to Biagio, Biagio consulted with Luca for a 
few anxious moments, and communicated again with Astorre. Astorre 
jumped up and scuttled away in the dark. Presently he came back, 
bearing something in his two hands. The three shock-heads inspected 
his burden; there was much whispering, some contention, almost a 
scuffle. The truth was, that Biagio wanted to take the thing from 
Astorre, and that Luca would not allow it. Luca was the eldest and 
wanted to take it himself. Astorre was in tears. ^^Cristo amore!^' he 
blubbered, "you will spill the milk between you. I thought of it all by 
myself. Let go, Biagio; let go, Luca!'' So they whispered and tussled, 
pulling three different ways. The Lady's voice broke over them like 
silver rain. "Let him who thought of the kind act give me the milk," 
she said; so young Astorre on his knees handed her the horn cup, and 
through the cracks of his fingers watched her drink every drop. 

That done, the cup returned with a smile piercingly sweet, the Lady 
rose. Saints on thrones, how tall she was! "The himho will thank you 
for this to-morrow, as I do now," said she. "Good-night, my friends, 
and may the good God have mercy upon all souls!" She turned to go 
the way she had come, but Astorre, covering his eyes with one hand, 
crept forward on three legs (as you might say) and plucked the hem of 
her robe up, and kissed it. She stooped to lay a hand upon his head. 
"Never kiss my robe, Astorre," said she — and how under Heaven did 
she know his name if she were not what she was? — "never kiss my robe, 
but get up and let me kiss you." Well of Truth! to think of it! Up 
gets Astorre, shaking like a nun in a fit, and the Lady bent over him 
and, as sure as you are you, kissed his forehead. Astorre told his village 
next day as they sat round him in a ring, and he on the well-head as 
plain to be seen as this paper, that he felt at that moment as if two rose- 
leaves had dropped from heaven upon his forehead. Slowly then, very 
slowly and smoothly (as they report), did the Lady move away towards 


the peach-trees whence she had come. In the half light there was — for 
by this it was the hour before dawn — they saw her take a peach from 
one of the trees. She stayed to eat it. Then she walked over the crest 
of the orchard and disappeared. As soon as they dared, when the light 
had come, they looked for her over that same crest, but could see nothing 
whatever. With pale, serious faces the three youths regarded each other. 
There was no doubt as to what had happened — a miracle! a miracle! 

With one consent then — since this was plainly a Church affair — 
they ran to their parish priest, Don Gasparo. He got the whole story 
at last; nothing could shake them; no detail was wanting. Thus it was: 
the Blessed Virgin, carrying in her arms the Santissimo Bambino Gesu, 
had come through the peach-trees, asked for and eaten of their food, 
prayed for them aloud to Messer Domeneddio himself, and kissed As- 
torre on the forehead. As they were on their knees, she walked away, 
stopped, took a peach, ate it, walked on, vanished — ecco! The curate 
rubbed his head, and tried another boy. Useless : the story was the same. 
Third boy, same story. He tucked up his cassock with decision, took 
his biretta and walking-staff, and said to the three goat-herds: — 

**My lads, all this is matter of miracle. I do not deny its truth — 
God forbid it in a simple man such as I am. But I do certainly ask 
you to lead me to the scene of your labors." 

The boys needed no second asking: off they all set. The curate went 
over every inch of the ground. Here lay Luca, Biagio, and Astorre; 
the belfry of San Zeno was in such and such a direction, the peach-trees 
in such and such. Good: there they were. What next? According 
to their account. Madonna had come thus and thus. The good curate 
bundled off to spy for footprints in the orchard. Marvel! there were 
none. This, made him look very grave; for if she made no earthly foot- 
prints, she could have no earthly feet. Next he must see by what way 
she had gone. She left them kneeling here, said they, went towards the 
peach-garden, stayed by a certain tree (which they pointed out), plucked 
a peach from the very top of it — this they swore to, though the tree was 
near fourteen feet high — stood while she ate it, and went over the brow 
of the rising ground. Here was detail enough, it is to be hoped. The 
curate nosed it out like a slot-hound; he paced the track himself from 
the scrub to the peach-tree, and stood under this last gazing to its top, 


from there to its roots; he shook his head many times, stroked his chin 
a few; then with a broken cry he made a pounce and picked up — a 
peach-stone! After this to doubt would have been childish; as a fact 
he had no more than the boys. 

*'My children/' said he, ^'we are here face to face with a great mys- 
tery. It is plain that Messer Domeneddio hath designs upon this ham- 
let, of which we. His worms, have no conception. You, my dear sons. 
He hath chosen to be workers for His purpose, which we cannot be very 
far wrong in supposing to be the building of an oratory or tabernacle 
to hold this unspeakable relic. That erection must be our immediate, 
anxious care. Meantime I will place the relic in the pyx of our Lady's 
altar, and mark the day in our calendar for perpetual remembrance. 
I shall not fail to communicate with his holiness the bishop. Who 
knows what may be the end of this?" 

He was as good as his word. A procession was formed in no time — 
children carrying their rosaries and bunches of flowers, three banners, 
the whole village with a candle apiece; next Luca, Biagio, and Astorre 
with larger candles — half a pound weight each at the least; then four 
men to hold up a canopy, below which came the good curate himself 
with the relic on a cushion. 

It was deposited with great reverence in the place devoted, having 
been drenched with incense. There was a solemn mass. After which 
things the curate thought himself at liberty to ruffle into Verona with 
the news. 


Abridged from Old Indian Days. By C. Alexander Eastman 

On a hot midsummer morning while most of the inmates of the tepees 
in the Sioux camp were breakfasting in the open air, the powerful voice 
of the herald chanted, ^'Hear ye, hear ye, warriors! The council has 
decreed that four brave young men must scout the country for the 
peace and protection of our people!" 

All listened eagerly for the names of the chosen warriors, and in 
another moment there came the sonorous call: "Antelope, Antelope! 
the council has selected you!" 

^ Reprinted by permission of Doubleday Page and Company. 


In due time the four chosen yOuths appeared before the council fire. 
The oath of the pipe was administered, and each took a few whiffs as 
reverently as a churchman would partake of the sacrament. 

It was a peculiarly trying and hazardous moment in which to per- 
form the duties of a scout. The Sioux were encroaching upon the ter- 
ritory of hostile tribes, here in the foot-hills of the Big Horn Mountains. 
If continued vigilance could not save them, it might become necessary 
to retreat to their own hunting grounds. 

Antelope had been running for two or three hours at a good, even gait, 
and had crossed more than one of the smaller creeks. His keen eyes 
were constantly sweeping the country in his front. Suddenly he paused 
and shrank back motionless, still keeping an eye upon a moving object. 
It was soon evident that some one was stealthily eyeing him from behind 
cover. Stooping, he glided down a little ravine, and as he reached the 
bed of the creek there emerged from it a large, gray wolf. 

This was very opportune for Antelope. He gave the gray wolf's 
danger-call, then he turned and ran fleetly down the stream. At the 
same moment the wolf appeared upon the top of the bank, in full view of 
the enemy. 

"Here he comes!" they whispered, and had their arrows on the string 
as the wolf trotted leisurely along, exposing only his head, for this was 
a common disguise among the plains Indians. But when he came into 
the open, behold! it was only a gray wolf I 

"Ugh!" the Utes grunted. "Surely he was a man, and coming di- 
rectly into our trap! Either he is a Sioux in disguise, or we don't know 
their tricks!" exclaimed the leader. 

Now they gave the war-whoop, and their arrows flew through the air. 
The wolf gave a j'clp of distress, staggered and fell dead. Instantly they 
ran to examine the body, and found it to be truly that of a wolf. 

"Either this is a wonderful medicine-man, or we are shamefully 
fooled by a Sioux warrior," they muttered. 

They lost several minutes before they caught sight of Antelope. It 
would be safer for him to remain in concealment until dark; but in 
the meantime the Ute warriors would reach the camp, and his people 
were unprepared! It was necessary to expose himself to the enemy. 
He knew that it would be chiefly a contest of speed and he had an ex- 


cellent start; but on the other hand, the Utes doubtless had theii 

''The Sioux who has played this trick on us must die to-day!" ex- 
claimed their leader. ''Come, friends, we cannot afford to let him tell 
this joke on us at the camp-fires of his people! '^ 

Antelope was headed directly for Eagle Scout Butte, for the Sioux 
camp was in plain view from the top of this hill. 

"I shall reach the summit first, unless the Ute horses have wings!" 
he said to himself. 

Looking over his shoulder, he saw five horsemen approaching, so he 
examined his bow and arrows as he ran. Now he was within hearing of 
their whoops, but he was already at the foot of the butte. Their horses 
could not run up the steep ascent, and they were obliged to dismount. 
Like a deer the Sioux leaped from rock to rock, and almost within 
arrow-shot came his pursuers. 

When he achieved the summit, he took his stand between two great 
rocks, and flashed his tiny looking-glass for a distress signal into the 
distant camp of his people. He sent down a swift arrow now and then, 
to show the Utes that he was no child or woman in fight. They replied 
with yells of triumph, as they pressed more closely upon him. From 
time to time he continued to flash his signal, and at last like lightning 
the little white flash came in reply. 

The sun was low when the besieged warrior discovered a large body 
of horsemen approaching from the northwest. It was the Ute war- 
party! He looked earnestly once more toward the Sioux camp. There, 
too, were many moving specks upon the plain, drawing toward the 
foot of the hill! 

When the Sioux warriors reached the well-known butte, they could 
distinguish their enemies massed behind the hanging rocks and scattered 
cedar-trees, crawling up closer and closer, for the Ute war-party reached 
the hill just as the scouts who held Antelope at bay discovered the ap- 
proach of his kinsmen. 

Antelope had long since exhausted his quiver of arrows and was gather- 
ing up many of those that fell about him to send them back among his 
pursuers. When their attention was withdrawn from him for an instant 
by the sudden onset of the Sioux, he sprang to his feet. 



He raised both his hands heavenward in token of gratitude for his 
liescue, and his friends announced with loud shouts the daring of An- 

Both sides fought bravely, but the Utes at last retreated and were 

fiercely pursued. Antelope stood at his full height upon the huge rock 

Ithat had sheltered him, and gave his yell of defiance and exultation 

Below him the warriors took it up, and among the gathering shadows 

the rocks echoed praises of his name. 

In the Sioux camp upon Lost Water there were dances and praise 
songs, but there was wailing and mourning, too, for many lay dead 
among the crags. The name of Antelope was indelibly recorded upon 
Eagle Scout Butte. If he wished for a war-bonnet of eagle feathers, it 
was his to wear. 

From Collected Poems. By Alfred Noyeb 

Come to me, you with the laughing face, in the night as I lie 
Dreaming of the days that are dead and of joys gone by; 
Come to me, comrade, come through the slow-dripping rain, 
Come from your grave in the darkness and let us be playmates again. 

Let us be boys together to-night, and pretend as of old 

We are pirates at rest in a cave among huge heaps of gold. 

Red Spanish doubloons and great pieces of eight, and muskets and 

And a smoky red camp-fire to glint, you know how, on our ill-gotten 


The old cave in the fir-wood that slopes down the hills to the sea 

Still is haunted, perhaps, by young pirates as wicked as we: 

Though the fir with the magpie's big mud-plastered nest used to hide it 

so well. 
And the boys in the gang had to swear that they never would tell. 

Ah, that tree; I have sat in its boughs and looked seaward for hours; 
I remember the creak of its branches; the scent of the flowers 

1 Copyright, 1913, Frederick A. Stokes and Company and reprinted h^ 
their permission. 


That climbed round the mouth of the cave: it is odd I recall 
Those little things best, that I scarcely took heed of at all. 

I remember how brightly the brass on the butt of my spy-glass gleamed 
As I climbed the purple heather and thyme to our eyrie and dreamed; 
I remember the smooth glossy sun-bum that darkened our faces and 

As we gazed at the merchantmen sailing away to those wonderful lands. 

I remember the long sigh of the sea as we raced in the sun, 
To dry ourselves after our swimming; and how we would run 
With a cry and a crash through the foam as it creamed on the shore, 
Then to bask in the warm dry gold of the sand once more. 

Come to me; you with the laughing face; in the gloom as I lie 
Dreaming of the days that are dead and of joys gone by; 
Let us be boys together to-night and pretend as of old 
We are pirates at rest in a cave among great heaps of gold. 

Come; you shall be chief; we'll not quarrel: the time flies so fast: 
There are ships to be grappled, there's blood to be shed, ere our play- 
time be past: 
No; perhaps we will quarrel, just once, or it scarcely will seem 
So like the old days that have flown from us both like a dream. 

Still; you shall be chief in the end; and then we'll go home 
To the hearth and the tea and the books that we loved: ah, but come, 
Come to me, come through the dark and the slow-dripping rain; 
Come, old friend, come from your grave and let us be playmates again. 


From African Game Trails. By Theodore Roosevelt 

At Sergoi Lake (in East Africa) there is a store kept by Mr. Kirke, 
a South African of Scotch blood. With a kind courtesy which I cannot 
too highly appreciate he, with the equally cordial help of another settler, 
Mr. Skally — also a South African, but of Irish birth — and of the District 

^ Copyright, 1909, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Reprinted in this volumfl 
by special arrangement with Charles Scribner's Sons. 


Commissioner, Mr. Corbett, had arranged for a party of Nandi warriors 
to come over and show me how they hunted the lion. Two Dutch 
farmers, Boers, from the neighborhood, had also come; they were Messrs. 
Mouton and Jordaan, fine fellows both, the former having served with 
De Wet during the war. Mr. and Mrs. Corbett — who were hospitality 
itself — had also come to see the sport; and so had Captain Chapman, 
an English army officer who was taking a rest after several years^ service 
in Northern Nigeria. 

The Nandi are a warlike pastoral tribe, close kin to the Masai in 
blood and tongue, in weapons and in manner of life. They have long 
been accustomed to kill with the spear lions which became man-eaters 
or which molest their cattle overmuch; and the peace which British rule 
has imposed upon them — a peace so welcome to the weaker, so irksome 
to the predatory, tribes — has left lion killing one of the few pursuits in 
which glory can be won by a young warrior. When it was told them 
that if they wished they could come to hunt lions at Sergoi eight hun- 
dred warriors volunteered, and much heart-burning was caused in 
choosing the sixty or seventy who were allowed the privilege. They 
stipulated, however, that they should not be used merely as beaters, 
but should kill the lion themselves, and refused to come unless with this 


They were splendid savages, stark naked, lithe as panthers, the muscles 
rippling under their smooth dark skins; all their lives they had lived 
on nothing but animal food, milk, blood, and flesh, and they were fit 
for any fatigue or danger. Their faces were proud, cruel, fearless; as 
they ran they moved with long springy strides. Their head-dresses 
were fantastic; they carried ox-hide shields, painted with strange de- 
vices; and each bore in his right hand the formidable war spear, used 
both for stabbing and for throwing at close quarters. The narrow spear 
heads of soft iron were burnished till they shone like silver; they were 
four feet long, and the point and edges were razor sharp. The wooden 
haft appeared for but a few inches; the long butt was also of iron, end- 
ing in a spike, so that the spear looked almost solid metal. Yet each 
sinewy warrior carried his heavy weapon as if it were a toy, twirling 
it till it glinted in the sun-rays. Herds of game, red hartebeests, and 


striped zebra and wild swine, fled right and left before the advance of 
the line. 

It was noon before we reached a wide, shallow valley, with beds of 
rushes here and there in the middle, and on either side high grass and 
dwarfed and scattered thorn-trees. Down this we beat for a couple of 
miles. Then, suddenly, a maned lion rose a quarter of a mile ahead of 
the line and galloped off through the high grass to the right; and all of 
us on horseback tore after him. 

He was a magnificent beast, with a black and tawny mane; in his 
prime, teeth and claws perfect, with mighty thews and savage heart. 
He was lying near a hartebeest on which he had been feasting; his life 
had been one unbroken career of rapine and violence; and now the 
maned master of the wilderness, the terror that stalked by night, the 
grim lord of slaughter, was to meet his doom at the hands of the only 
foes who dared molest him. 

It was a mile before we brought him to bay. Then the Dutch farmer, 
Moulton, who had not even a rifle, but who rode foremost, was almost 
on him; he halted and turned under a low thorn-tree, and we galloped 
past him to the opposite side, to hold him until the spearmen could 
come. It was a sore temptation to shoot him; but of course we could not 
break faith with our Nandi friends. We were only some sixty yards 
from him, and we watched him with our rifles ready, lest he should 
charge either us, or the first two or three spearmen, before their compan- 
ions arrived. 

One by one the spearmen came up, at a run, and gradually began to 
form a ring around him. Each, when he came near enough, crouched 
behind his shield, his spear in his right hand, his fierce, eager face peering 
over the shield rim. As man followed man, the lion rose to his feet. 
His mane bristled, his tail lashed, he held his head low, the upper lip 
now drooping over the jaws, now drawn up so as to show the gleam of 
the long fangs. He faced first one way and then another, and never 
ceased to utter his murderous grunting roars. It was a wild sight; the 
ring of spearmen, intent, silent, bent on blood, and in the centre the 
great man-killing beast, his thunderous wrath growing ever more 

At last the tense ring was complete, and the spearmen arose and closed 


in. The lion looked quickly from side to side, saw where the line was 
thinnest, and charged at his topmost speed. The crowded moment 
began. With shields held steady, and quivering spears poised, the men 
in front braced themselves for the rush and the shock; and from either 
hand the warriors sprang forward to take their foe in flank. 

Bounding ahead of his fellows, the leader reached throwing distance; 
the long spear flickered and plunged; as the lion felt the wound he half 
turned, and then flung himself on the man in front. The warrior threw 
his spear; it drove deep into the life, for entering at one shoulder it 
came out of the opposite flank, near the thigh, a yard of steel through 
th€ great body. 

Rearing, the lion struck the man, bearing down the shield^ his back 
arched; and for a moment he slaked his fury with fang and talon. But 
on the instant I saw another spear driven clear through his body from 
side to side; and as the lion turned again the bright spear blades darting 
toward him were flashes of white flame. The end had come. He seized 
another man, who stabbed him and wrenched loose. As he fefl he 
gripped a spear-head in his jaws with such tremendous force that he 
bent it double. Then the warriors were round and over him, stabbing 
and shouting, wild with furious exultation. 

From the moment when he charged until his death I doubt whether 
ten seconds had elapsed, perhaps less; but what a ten seconds! The first 
half-dozen spears had done the work. Three of the spear blades had 
gone clear through the body, the points projecting several inches; and 
these, and one or two others, including the one he had seized in his 
jaws, had been twisted out of shape in the terrible death struggle. 

We at once attended to the two wounded men. Treating their wounds 
with antiseptic was painful, and so, while the operation was in progress, 
I told them, through Kirke, that I would give each a heifer. A Nandi 
prizes his cattle rather more than his wives; and each sufferer smiled 
broadly at the news, and forgot all about the pain of his wounds. 

Then the wan-iors, raising their shields above their heads, and chanting 
the deep-toned victory song, marched with a slow, dancing step around 
the dead body of the lion; and this savage dance of triumph ended a 
scene of as fierce interest and excitement as I ever hope to Bee. 



Abridged from Ballads and Sonnets. By Dante Gabriel Rossetti 

Note. Tradition says that Catherine Douglas, in honor of her heroic 
act when she barred the door with her arm against the murderers of James 
the First of Scots, received popularly the name of "Barlass." This name is 
retained by her descendants, the Barlass family, in Scotland, who bear for 
their crest a broken arm. 

I, Catherine, am a Douglas bom, 

A name to all Scots dear; 
And Kate Barlass they Ve called me now 

Through many a waning year. 

This old arm's withered now. 'Twas once 

Most deft 'mong maidens all 
To rein the steed, to wing the shaft, 

ToiSmite the palm-play ball. 

Aye, lasses, draw round Kate Barlass, 

And hark with bated breath 
How good King James, King Robert's son. 

Was foully done to death. 

'Twas in the Charterhouse of Perth 

That the king and all his Court 
Were met, the Christmas Feast being done. 

For solace and disport. 

And the queen was there, more- stately fair 

Than a lily in garden set; 
And the king was loth to stir from her side 
For as on the day when she was his bride, 
% Even so he loved her yet. 

And the Earl of Athole, the King's false friend, 

Sat with him at the board; 
And Robert Stuart the chamberlain 

Who sold his sovereign Lord. 


With reverence meet to King and Queen, 

To bed went all from the board; 
And the last to leave the courtly train 
Was Robert Stuart the chamberlain 

Who had sold his sovereign lord. 

And all the locks of the chamber-door 

Had the traitor riven and brast; 
And that Fate might win sure way from afar, 
He had drawn out every bolt and bar 

That made the entrance fast. 

And now at midnight he stole his way 

To the moat of the outer wall, 
And laid strong hurdles closely across 

Where the traitors' tread should fall. 

But we that were the Queen's bower-maids 

Alone were left behind; 
And with heed we drew the curtains close 

Against the winter wind. 

And now that all was still through the hall, 

More clearly we heard the rain 
That clamored ever against the glass 

And the boughs that beat on the pane. 

And now there came a torchlight-glare, 

And a clang of arms there came; 
And not a soul in that space but thought 

Of the foe Sir Robert Graeme. 

Yea, from the country of the Wild Scots, 

O 'er mountain, valley, and glen. 
He had brought with him in murderous league 

Three hundred armed men.] 


The King knew all in an instant's flash, 

And like a king did he stand; 
But there was no armor in all the room, 

Nor weapon lay to his hand. 

And all we women flew to the door 
And thought to have it made fast; 

But the bolts were gone and the bars were gone 
And the locks were riven and brast. 

And he caught the pale, pale Queen in his arms 

As the iron foot-step fell, — 
Then loosed her, standing alone, and said, 

''Our bliss was our farewell!" 

And 'twixt his lips he murmured a prayer, 

And he crossed his brow and breast; 
And proudly in royal hardihood 
Even so with folded arms he stood, — 
The prize of the bloody quest. 

Then on me leaped the Queen like a deer: — 
''0 Catherine, help!" she cried. 

And low at his feet we clasped his knees 
Together side by side. 

"Oh! even a king, for his people's sake, 
From treasonous death must hide!" 

"For her sake most!" I cried, and marked 
The pang that my words could wring, 

And the iron tongs from the chimney-nook 
I snatched and held to the King: — 

"Wrench up the plank! and the vault beneath 
Shall yield safe harboring." 

With brows low-bent, from my eager hand 
The heavy heft did he take; 



And the plank at his feet he wrenched and tore; 
And as he frowned through the opep floor, 
Again I said, "For her sake!" 

Then he cried to the Queen, "God's will be done!" 
For her hands were clasped in prayer. 

And down he sprang to the inner crypt; 

And straight we closed the plank he had ripped 
And toiled to smoothe it fair. 

Then the Queen cried, "Catherine, keep the door, 

And I to this will suffice! '^ 
At her word I rose all dazed to my feet. 

And my heart was fire and ice. 

And now the rush was heard on the stair, 
And "God, what help?'' was our cry. 

And was I frenzied or was I bold? 

I looked at each empty stanchion-hold, 
And no bar but my arm had I! 

Like iron felt my arm, as through 

The staple I made it pass: — 
Alack! it was flesh and bone — no more! 
'Twas Catherine Douglas sprang to the door, 

But I fell back Kate Barlass. 

With that they thronged into the hall. 

Half dim to my failing ken; 
And the space that was but a void before 

Was a crowd of wrathful men. 

Behind the door I had fall'n and lay. 
Yet my sense was wildly aware. 

And for all the pain of my shattered arm 
I never fainted there. 


Even as I fell, my eyes were cast 

Where the King leaped down to the pit; 

And lo! the plank was smooth in its place, 
And the Queen stood far from it. 

And under the litters and through the bed 

And within the presses all 
The traitors sought for the King, and pierced 
The arras around the wall. 

And through the chamber they ramped and stormed 

Like lions loose in the lair, 
And scarce could trust to their very eyes, — 

For behold! no King was there. 

And forth flowed all the throng like a sea, 
And 'twas empty space once more; 

And my eyes sought out the wounded Queen 
As I lay behind the door. 

And I said, "Dear Lady, leave me here. 

For I cannot help you now; 
But fly while you may, and none shall reck 

Of my place here lying low." 

And now again came the armed tread, 

And fast through the hall it fell; 
But the throng was less; and ere I saw. 

By the voice without I could tell 
That Robert Stuart had come with them 

Who knew that chamber well. 

And Stuart held a torch to the floor. 
And he found the thing he sought; 

And they slashed the plank away with their swords; 
And God! I fainted not! 


O God! what more did I see, 

Or how should I tell the rest? 
But there at length our King lay slain 

With sixteen wounds in his breast. 

Ah me! and now did a bell boom forth, 

And the murderers turned and fled; — 
Too late, too late, alas, did it sound! — 
And I heard the true men mustering round, 

And the cries and the mustering tread. 

'Twas in the Charterhouse of Perth, 

In the fair-lit Death-chapelle, 
That the slain King's corpse on bier was laid 

With chaunt and requiem-knell. 

In his robes of state he lay asleep 

With orb and sceptre in hand; 
And by the crown he wore on his throne 

Was his kingly forehead spanned. 

And the Queen sat by him night and day, 

And oft she knelt in prayer. 
All wan and pale in the widow^s veil 

That shrouded her shining hair. 

And the month of March wore nigh to its end. 
And still was the death-pall spread; ' 

For she would not bury her slaughtered lord 
Till his slayers all were dead. 

And now of their dooms dread tidings came. 

And of torments fierce and dire; 
And nought she spake, — she had ceased to speak,— 

But her eyes were a soul on fire. 

But when I told her the bitter end 

Of the stern and just reward. 
She leaned o'er the bier, and thrice three times 

She kissed the lips of her lord. 


And then she said, — ''My King, they are dead!" 

And she knelt on the chapel-floor. 
And whispered low with a strange proud smile, — 

''James, James, they suffered more!'' 

And "O James!" she said, — "My James!" she said,- 

"Alas for the woful thing. 
That a poet true and a friend of man, 
In desperate days of bale and ban,* 

Should needs be born a King!" 


The old style declamatory method of speaking has passed 
away, as has, also, tearing of passions to tatters by ranting 
actors. Occasionally an over-zealous speaker mistakes vo- 
ciferous delivery for eloquence, but the best speakers of to- 
day are simple, direct and colloquial in their utterances. In 
making your delivery direct, avoid robbing it of vitality. 
Keep the undercurrent of vitality, consider your audience 
as being near at hand, and appeal directly to them. Exem- 
plify directness in the following selections. 

From Crayon Miscellany. By Washington Irving 

I had a letter of introduction to him from Thomas Campbell, the 
poet, and had reason to think, from the interest he had taken in some 
of my earlier scribblings, that a visit from me would not be deemed an 

On the following morning, after an early breakfast, I set off in a post- 
chaise for the Abbey. On the way thither I stopped at the gate of 
Abbotsford, and sent the postilion to the house with the letter of intro- 
duction and my card, on which I had written that I was on my way to 
the ruins of Melrose Abbey, and wished to know whether it would be 
agreeable to Mr. Scott (he had not yet been made a baronet) to receive 
a visit from me in the course of the morning. 

In a little while the ^'lord of the castle" himself made his appearance. 
I knew him at once by the descriptions I had read and heard, and the 
likeness that had been published of him. He was tall, and of a large 
and powerful frame. His dress was simple, and almost rustic: an old 
green shooting-coat, with a dog-whistle at his button-hole, brown 
linen pantaloons, stout shoes that tied at the ankles, and a white hat 
that had evidently seen service. He came limping up the gravel-walk, 
aiding himself by a stout walking-staff, but moving rapidly and with 
vigor. By his side jogged along a large iron-gray stag-hound of most 
grave demeanor. 

Before Scott had reached the gate he called out in a hearty tone, wel- 
coming me to Abbotsford, and asking news of Campbell. Arrived at the 
door of the chaise, he grasped me warmly by the hand: "Come, drive 
down, drive down to the house," said he. " Ye're just in time for break- 
fast, and afterward ye shall see all the wonders of the Abbey." 

I would have excused myself, on the plea of having already made my 

breakfast. '*Hout, man," cried he, "a ride in the morning in the keen 

air of the Scotch hills is warrant enough for a second breakfast." I 

^ Reprinted by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons. 



was accordingly whirled to the portal of the cottage, and in a few mo- 
ments found myself seated at the breakfast table. 

Scott proposed a ramble to show me something of the surrounding 
country. As we sallied forth, every dog in the establishment turned 
out to attend us. There was the old stag-hound Maida, a noble animal, 
and a great favorite of Scott's; and Hamlet, the black greyhound, a 
wild thoughtless youngster; and Finette, a beautiful setter, with soft 
silken hair, long pendent ears, and a mild eye, the parlor favorite. When 
in front of the house, we were joined by a superannuated greyhound, 
who came from the kitchen wagging his tail, and was cheered by Scott 
as an old friend and comrade. Scott would frequently pause in con- 
versation to notice his dogs and speak to them, as if rational com- 

We had not walked far before we saw the two Miss Scotts advancing 
along the hillside to meet us. The morning's studies being over, they 
had set off to take a ramble on the hills, and gather heather-blossoms. 
As they came bounding lightly, like young fawns, and their dresses 
fluttering in the pure summer breeze, I was reminded of Scott's own 
description of his children in his introduction to one of the cantos of 

As they approached, the dogs all sprang forward and gamboled around 
them. They played v/ith them for a time, and then joined us with 
countenances full of health and glee. Sophia, the elder, was the more 
lively and joyous, having much of her father's varied spirit in conver- 
sation, and seeming to catch excitement from his words and looks. Ann 
was of quieter mood, rather silent, owing, in some measure, no doubt, 
to her being some years younger. 

At the dinner Scott had laid by his half-rustic dress, and appeared 
clad in black. The girls, too, in completing their toilet, had twisted in 
their hair the sprigs of purple heather which they had gathered on the 
hillside, and looked all fresh and blooming from their breezy walk. 

There was no guest at dinner but myself. Around the table were 
two or three dogs in attendance. Maida, the old stag-hound, took his 
seat at Scott's elbow, looking up wistfully in his master's eye, while 
Finette, the pet spaniel, placed herself near Mrs. Scott, by whom, I 
soon perceived, she was completely spoiled. 


After dinner we adjourned to the drawing room, which served also 
for study and Hbrary. Against the wall on one side was a long writing 
table, with drawers; surmounted by a small cabinet of polished wood, 
with folding-drawers richly studded with brass ornaments, within which 
Scott kept his most valuable papers. Above the cabinet, in a kind of 
niche, was a complete corselet of glittering steel, with a closed helmet, 
and flanked by gauntlets and battle-axes. 

Around were hung trophies and relics of various kinds; a simitar of 
Tipu Sahib; a Highland broadsword from Flodden field; a pair of Rip- 
pon spurs from Bannockburn, and above all, a gun which had belonged 
to Rob Roy, and bore the initials, R. M. C. an object of peculiar interest 
to me at the time, as it was understood Scott was actually engaged in 
printing a novel founded on the story of that famous outlaw. 

On each side of the cabinet were bookcases, well stored with works 
of romantic fiction in various languages, many of them rare and anti- 
quated. This, however, was merely his cottage library, the principal 
part of his books being at Edinburgh. 

The evening passed away delightfully in this quaint-looking apart- 
ment. Scott had read several passages from the old romances of Arthur, 
with a fine, deep, sonorous voice, and a gravity of tone that seemed to 
suit the antiquated black-letter volume. It was a rich treat to hear 
such a work, read by such a person, and in such a place; and his ap- 
pearance as he sat reading, in a large armed chair, with his favorite 
hound, Maida, at his feet and surrounded by books and relics, and 
border trophies, would have formed an admirable and most character- 
istic picture. 


Abridged from A Voice from the Congo. By Herbert Ward 

Ibenza is the name of the village. It is situated in the heart of the 
great African forest, fifteen hundred miles from ocean shores. The 
population is small, for the native communities of this wild region are 
wanting in the elements of union. 


^Copyright, 1910, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Reprinted by special ar« 
rangement with these publishers. 


It is early morning — dark, damp and cold. A white mist hangi 
heavily over the ground, enveloping the huts and all the lower growths 
of foliage in ghostly mystery. 

Men and women crawl forth from their tiny grass huts, yawning and 
stretching themselves after their night's deep slumber. The morning 
mists soon disappear and the village gradually becomes animated. 
Children, light-hearted and joyous, commence to gambol in every direc- 
tion; some with their mimic bows and arrows shoot at the prowling 
pariah dogs. 


The morning meal, consisting of a few ears of maise and half -smoked 
fish, is soon over. Then follows the departure of nearly all the women; 
they vanish into their forest plantations in quest of food and firewood. 
The men gradually assemble in front of the chief's hut to hear the pub- 
lic discussions of the day. 

These palaver meetings are dear to all Central AfricanSo They take 
keen delight in oratory, which may in fact be said to constitute one of 
their important arts. They talk fluently and employ many metaphorical 
and flowery expressions. Possessing a natural gift of rude eloquence, 
it is greatly enhanced in effect by the soft inflections and the harmo- 
nious euphony of their language; they reason well and display great 
aptitude for debate. 

The case before the court to-day relates to the death of a young slave 
girl. She was recently seized by a crocodile, while bathing in the river. 
About two hundred men and boys in semi-nakedness, seat themselves 
in a circle in front of their chief, a large-boned truculent-looking man, 
decorated with heavy iron anklets and bracelets, sitting cross-legged 
upon a leopard skin. 

The former owner of the deceased slave steps forward; striking his 
spear blade downwards in the ground in front of him, he produces in 
his right hand a number of small pieces of split bamboo. Speaking 
fluently and with simple gesture he caps each point of his oration by 
selecting one of his small sticks and placing it upon the ground in front 
of him. In brief, his speech relates first to his early fife, and in monot- 
onous rotation, and with a careless indifference to relevancy, he enum* 


8rates all. the most memorable and favorable events of his own life, 
down to the time when he purchased the deceased slave. He then re- 
lates the history of the unfortunate slave-girl's untimely end. 

^' Death is not a natural event,'' he continued, in the flowery idiom 
of his language. *'Some person with an evil heart has been in com- 
munication with the crocodile that deprived me of my slave. An evil 
spirit, born of envy or malice, has entered the soul of some person in 
this village and has been communicated to the crocodile. It may even 
be that some revengeful man or woman has actually become trans- 
formed into the shape of a crocodile to do me harm. An evil spirit has 
been at work, and I call upon our Nganga, our wise and clever witch- 
doctor, to seek it." 

His speech is ended, and upon the ground at his feet lies the row of 
small sticks which have served as memoranda. 

No sooner has the first speech concluded than another orator com- 
mences, with a different line of argument; suggesting that the slave 
girl had offended the great Evil Spirit, and that the angry ''Ndoki" 
had sent his emissary the crocodile to punish her. 

Other men, with yet more strangely superstitious views, hasten to 
gain the attention of the company; the discussion grows heated, and 
voices are suddenly raised in anger. An imminent brawl is, however, 
diverted by the timely appearance of several women upon the scene. 
They carry large earthen- ware jars of fermented sugar-cane juice. The 
hubbub ceases; the natives forgetful of their differences crowd forward 
and drink the intoxicating liquid and their voices assume a more friendly 
tone. The sun is now at its zenith and the heat is intense. 

Suddenly all eyes are directed towards a forest path. A jingle of 
iron bells, a stamping of feet, and from a cloud of dust there springs 
the grotesque figure of the Fetish Man. Wild-cat skins dangle from 
his waist. His eyelids are whitened with chalk. His body is smeared 
with the blood of a fresh-killed fowl. His feather head-dress flutters 
as he dances. His charms and metal ornaments clank and jingle as 
he bounds and springs hither and thither somewhat after the manner 
of a harlequin. 

Wildly he dances, stamping his feet and wriggling his body as though 
his waist was a hinge; the company, squatting round him in a circle, 


meanwhile chant a monotonous dirge-like song and clap their hands in 
unison. At length, bathed in perspiration, dusty and bedraggled, the 
Fetish Man with a gesture of his hand commands silence. With high 
prancing steps and swaying shoulders he passes slowly around the com- 
pany directing searching looks into many faces. In a falsetto voice, 
still swaying his body, he states that he has come to seek an evil spirit, 
that he seeks the person who is guilty of having taken the form of a 
crocodile to kill a woman. 

''It is a woman," says he with a fiendish grin, changing the tone of 
his voice from shrill falsetto to deep bass, "a woman, an old woman, 
who was envious of the good favor shown to the dead girl by her 

Stooping low, he places his ear to the ground, and carries on an imag- 
inary conversation. He pretends to consult a spirit in the earth. 
Then rising, he walks with measured prancing steps in the direction of 
a poor forlorn-looking woman. Pointing towards her, he makes a 
hideous grimace and in a sepulchral tone of voice he condemns her as 
being the guilty person. The wretched woman shrieks, springs to her 
feet, and turns to flee. Too late. A spear instantly glistens in the air, 
it strikes her in the back, and with a moan of pain she falls heavily to 
the ground. During the ensuing uproar her body is dragged away 
towards the river amid deafening yells and shouts. They then rejoice, 
these simple people, that an evil spirit has been appeased. 

From The Forms of Water. By John Tyndall 

Water becomes heavier and more diflBcult to freeze when salt is dis- 
solved in it. Sea water is therefore heavier than fresh, and the Green- 
land Ocean requires to freeze it a temperature three and one half degrees 
lower than fresh water. 

But even when the water is saturated with salt, the crystallizing force 

studiously rejects the salt, and devotes itself to the congelation of the 

water alone. Hence the ice of sea water, when melted, produces fresh 

water. The only saline particles existing in such ice are those entangled 

^ Reprinted by permission of D. Appleton & Co. 


mechanically in its pores. They have no part or lot in the structure of 
the crystal. 

This exclusiveness, if I may use the term, of the water molecules: this 
entire rejection of all foreign elements from the edifices which they build, 
is enforced to a surprising degree. Sulphuric acid has so strong an affin- 
ity for water that it is one of the most powerful agents known to the 
chemist for the removal of humidity from air. Still, as shown by* 
Faraday, when a mixture of sulphuric acid and water is frozen, the 
crystal formed is perfectly sweet and free from acidity. The water 
alone has lent itself to the crystallizing force. 

Every winter in the Arctic regions the sea freezes, roofing itself with 
ice of enormous thickness and vast extent. By the summer heat, and 
the tossing of the waves, this is broken up; the fragments are drifted 
by winds and borne by currents. They clash, they crush each other, 
they file themselves into heaps, thus constituting the chief danger en- 
countered by mariners in the polar seas. 

But among the drifting masses of flat sea ice, vaster masses sail, 
which spring from a totally different source. These are the icebergs 
of the Arctic seas. They rise sometimes to an elevation of hundreds 
of feet above the water, while the weight of ice submerged is about 
seven times that seen above. 

The first observers of striking natural phenomena generally allow 
wonder and imagination more than their due place. But to exclude all 
error arising from this cause, I will refer to the journal of a cool and 
intrepid Arctic navigator. Sir Leopold McClintock. He describes an 
iceberg two hundred fifty feet high, which was aground in five hundred 
feet of water. This would make the entire height of the berg seven 
hundred fifty feet, not an unusual altitude for the greater icebergs. 

From Baffin's Bay these mighty masses come sailing down through 
Davis ^ Straits into the broad Atlantic. A vast amount of heat is de- 
manded for the simple liquefaction of ice; and the melting of icebergs 
is on this account so slow, that when large they sometimes maintain 
themselves till they have been drifted two thousand miles from their 
place of birth. 

What is their origin? The Arctic glaciers. From the mountains in 
the interior the indurated snows slide into the valleys and fill them with 


ice. The glaciers thus formed move Uke the Swiss ones, incessantly 
downward. But the Arctic glaciers reach the sea, enter it, often plowing 
up its bottom into submarine moraines. Undermined by the lapping 
of the waves, and unable to resist the strain imposed by their own 
weight, they break across, and discharge vast masses into the ocean. 
Some of these run aground on the adjacent shores, and often maintain 
. themselves for years. Others escape southward, to be finally dissolved 
in the warm waters of the Atlantic. 

Abridged from Up from Slavery. By Booker T. Washington 

One day, while I was at work in the coal-mine, I happened to over- 
hear two miners talking about a great school for colored people some- 
where in Virginia. This was the first time that I had ever heard any- 
thing about any kind of school or college that was more pretentious 
than the little colored school in our town. 

In the darkness of the mine I noiselessly crept as close as I could 
to the two men who were talking. I heard one tell the other that not 
only was the school established for the members of my race, but that 
opportunities were provided by which poor but worthy students could 
work out all or a part of the cost of board, and at the same time be 
taught some trade or industry. 

As they went on describing the school, it seemed to me that it must 
be the greatest place on earth, and not even Heaven presented more 
attractions for me at that time than did the Hampton Normal and 
Agricultural Institute in Virginia, about which these men were talking. 
I resolved at once to go to that school, although I had no idea where it 
was, or how I was going to reach it; I remembered only that I was on fire 
constantly with one ambition, and that was to go to Hampton. This 
thought was with me day and night. 

In the fall of 1872 I determined to make an effort to get there. The 
distance irom Maiden to Hampton is about five hundred miles. By 
walking, begging rides both in wagons and in the cars, sometimes pay- 

^ Copyright 1901 by Doubleday Page and Company, and reprinted by 
special arrangement with these publishers. 


ing my fare by stage-coach or train from my scanty savings, in some 
way, after a number of days, I reached Richmond, Virginia^, about 
eighty-two miles from Hampton. At Richmond I spent several days 
helping unload pig iron from a vessel, thus earning a little to add to the 
amount I must get to pay my way to Hampton. 

I reached Hampton, with a surplus of exactly fifty cents with which 
to begin my education. To me it had been a long, eventful journey; 
but the first sight of the large, three-story, brick school building seemed 
to have rewarded me for all that I had undergone in order to reach the 
place. If the people who gave the money to provide that building could 
appreciate the influence the sight of it had upon me, as well as upon 
thousands of other youths, they would feel all the more encouraged to 
make such gifts. 

It seemed to me to be the largest and most beautiful building I had 
ever seen. I felt that a new kind of existence had now begun — that life 
would now have a new meaning. I felt that I had reached the promised 
land, and I resolved to let no obstacle prevent me from putting forth 
the highest effort to fit myself to accomplish the most good in the world. 

As soon as possible after reaching the grounds of the Hampton In- 
stitute, I presented myself before the head teacher for assignment to 
a class. Having been so long without proper food, a bath, and change 
of clothing, I did not, of course, make a very favorable impression upon 
her, and I could see at once that there were doubts in her mind about 
the wisdom of admitting me as a student. I felt that I could hardly 
blame her if she got the idea that I was a worthless loafer or a tramp. 

For some time she did not refuse to admit me, neither did she decide 
in my favor, and I continued to linger about her, and to impress her in 
all the ways I could with my worthiness. In the meantime I saw her 
admitting other students, and that added greatly to my discomfort, for 
I felt, deep down in my heart, that I could do as well as they, if I could 
only get the chance to show what was in me. 

After some hours had passed, the head teacher said to me: ''The ad- 
joining recitation-room needs sweeping. Take the broom and sweep it." 
It occurred to me that here was my chance. Never did I receive an 
order with more delight. I knew that I could sweep, for Mrs. Ruffnei 
had taught me how to do that when I lived with her. 


I swept the recitation-room three times. Then I got a dusting-cloth 
and du^ed it four times. All the woodwork around the walls, every 
bench, table, and desk, I went over four times with my dusting-cloth 
Besides, every piece of furniture had been moved and every closet and 
corner in the room had been thoroughly cleaned. I had the feeling that 
in a large measure my future depended upon the impression I made 
upon the teacher in the cleaning of that room. 

When I was through, I reported to the head teacher. She was a "Yan- 
kee'' woman who knew just where to look for dirt. She went into the 
room and inspected the floor and closets; then she took her handkerchief 
and rubbed it on the woodwork about the walls, and over the table and 
benches. When she was unable to find one bit of dirt on the floor, or a 
particle of dust oh any of the furniture, she quietly remarked, "I guess 
you will do to enter this institution." 

I was one of the happiest souls on earth. The sweeping of that room 
was my college examination, and never did any youth pass examination 
into Harvard or Yale that gave him more genuine satisfaction. I have 
passed several examinations since then, but I have always felt that this 
was the best one I ever passed. 


From The Ameeican of the Future and Other Essays. By Brander 


In spite of much that may seem like evidence to the contrary, the 
American people as a whole are not now setting up false standards of 
success. It is not true that they are drugged with "the spirit of mer- 
cenary materialism." There is really little reason to believe that the 
average man here in the United States, however much he may wish to 
be better off than he is, weighs his fellow men by their balance in the 

In fact, the average man to-day is not without a pretty high opinion 
of those whose minds are not set on money-making; and he is in no 
danger of denouncing as a dire failure a career devoted to the loftier 
things of life. He may at times display too much curiosity about the 

^ Copyright, 1909, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Reprinted by special ar« 
rangement with these publishers. 


methods and the amassed money of Mr. Midas or Mr. Croesus; but he 
does not reveal any too great esteem for their persons. He does not 
actually envy them, even though he may wish that he also had a little 
more of the material prosperity of which they have too much. 

It may even be doubted whether he holds them to have been more 
successful than the men whom he admires as the leaders of public opinion 
and as the possessors of the things that money cannot buy. He may 
gossip about the latest entertainment or the latest benefaction of in- 
ordinately wealthy men, but he does not set them as high as he rates 
certain college presidents, certain artists, certain men of letters, cer- 
tain inventors, whose power and success cannot be measured in money. 
He would not dispute Bacon's assertion that ^'no man's fortune can 
be an end worthy of the gift of being . . . and often the worthiest men 
abandon their fortunes willingly that they may have leisure for higher 

All those who are old enough to remember the funeral of Peter Cooper 
and its outpouring of affectionate regard from all classes in the city 
he had made a better place to live in, will not need to be assured that 
the average American clings sturdily to the belief that public service, 
in office or out of it, is the true gauge of life. The most useful citizen 
is in fact the most successful; and it is those who have given loyal serv- 
ice to the community whom the community holds in highest regard. 

Probably the average American, if he were forced to give thought to 
it, would admit willingly that the unknown settlement-workers, who 
put behind them all desire for gain and who give their lives gladly to 
unostentatious service, have achieved a fuller measure of success than 
the most of the men who have been conspicuous in amassing millions. 

Not what we have, but what we use; 
Not what we see, but what we choose— 
These are the things that mar or bless 
The sum of human happiness. 

Not as we take, but as we give; 
Not as we pray, but as we live — 
These are the things that make for peace, 
Both now and after time shall cease. 



Abridged from The Jessamy Bride. By F. Frankfort Moore 

When Goldsmith reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found 
awaiting him a letter from Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, 
to let him know that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had resigned their 
parts in his comedy which had been in rehearsal for a week, and that 
he, Colman, felt they were right in doing so, as the failure of the piece 
was inevitable. He hoped that Dr. Goldsmith would be discreet enough 
to sanction its withdrawal while its withdrawal was still possible. 

He read the letter — one of several from Colman prophesying dis- 
aster — without impatience, and threw it aside without a further thought 
that night. Next morning he hurried off to the theatre and found 
Colman in his most disagreeable mood. 

''I have been a manager now for some years," said Colman, *'and, 
speaking from the experience which I have gained, I say without hesita- 
tion that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so complete 
a disaster as this, sir. Why, 'tis like no other comedy that was ever 

''That is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be so slow 
to appreciate," said Goldsmith. "Good Heavens! Mr. Colman, can- 
not you see that what the people want nowadays is a novelty? Pray 
let us not take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play." 

"Of your play, sir, by your leave," intoned Colman contemptuously. 

At rehearsals Colman provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance 
by his sneers, and actually encouraged the members of his own com- 
pany in their frivolous complaints regarding their dialogue. But Gold- 
smith occupied himself making such changes in his play as were sug- 
gested to him in the course of the rehearsals. He persuaded Mr. John 
Quick to take the part of Tony Lumpkin resigned by Woodward, and 
Mrs. Bulkley that of Miss Hardcastle resigned by Mrs. Abington. At 
the end of a week Gentleman Smith who had been cast for young Mar- 
low threw up his part, and it was handed over to Lee Lewes. The 

^ Reprinted by special arrangement with Duffleld and Company. 


title of the comedy, too, Goldsmith changed from ^'The Mistakes of a 
Night" to "She Stoops to Conquer.'^ 

Fortunately Goldsmith had influential friends that recognized his 
genius, and believed in the success of his comedy. 

"To prove how certain we are of the future of your piece," said 
Joshua Reynolds to him, "we ask you to join us at dinner on Monday 
previous to the first performance." 

"Commonplace people would invite you to supper, sir," put in Dr. 
Johnson, "to celebrate the success of your play. Our esteem remains 
independent of the verdict of the pubHc. On Monday night, sir, you 
will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honor to have you sup 
with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with us." 

On that Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith and accom- 
panied him to the St. James coffee-house, where the dinner was to take 
place. There they found Dr. Johnson, Reynolds, Edmund and Richard 
Burke, and Caleb Whiteford already assembled. Garrick could not 
join them. 

The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was 
concerned. Goldsmith was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had 
his throat become from sheer nervousness. While there was still plenty 
of time even for walking to the theatre. Goldsmith left the room hastily, 
explaining elaborately that he had forgotten to brush his hat, and he 
meant to have the omission repaired without delay. 

The party looked for his return until a waiter reported that Dr. 
Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in the direction of Pall 

" I suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the play- 
house?" said Edmund Burke. 

"It is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is 
concerned," said Steevens. "I think that the best course we can adopt 
is for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must 
be looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. If I 
know anything of him, the playhouse is just the place which he would 
most persistently avoid." 

While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, 
Steevens hurried off in the opposite direction. He went on foot from 


coffee house to coffee house — ^from Jack's, in Dean street, to the Old 
Bell, in Westminster — ^but he failed to discover his friend in one of 
them. An hour and a haK he spent in this way. 

All this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse were 
greeting the brilliant dialogue, the natural characterization, and the 
admirably contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of 
brilliant authors had witnessed. The scene comes before us with vivid- 
ness. We see the enormous figure of Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the 
box nearest the stage, with a hand behind his ear, so as to lose no word 
spoken on the stage. Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet 
resting on the ledge of the box. 

What a play! What spectators! We listen to the one year by year 
with the same delight that it brought to those who heard it this night 
for the first time; and we look with delight at the faces of the notable 
spectators which the brush of the little man with the ear-trumpet in 
Johnson's box has made immortal. 

And all this time Oliver Goldsmith was pacing, backward and for- 
ward, the broad walk in St. James Park. Steevens came upon him there 
after spending nearly two hours searching for him. 

"Don't speak, man," cried Oliver, "you come to tell me that the 
comedy is a failure." 

"Not I," said Steevens. "I have not been to the playhouse yet." 

"Then I beg you to hasten there, and bring me news of the play — 
don't fear to tell me the worst." 

"My dear friend," said Steevens, "I have no intention of going to 
the playhouse unless you are in my company. Have you no considera- 
tion for your art?" 

"What do you mean by that?" 

"I mean that some question may arise on the stage which you, and 
you only, can decide — are you willing to allow the future of yoiur comedy 
to depend upon the decision of Colman?" 

"It shall not — it shall not!" cried Goldsmith. 

They hurried to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was obtain- 
able. When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to 
the stage door. He reached the back of the stage just as Quick in tho 
part of Tony Lumpkin was pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard* 


castle was a highwayman. The laughter th:t followed was not the 
laugh of playgoers who have endured four acts of dull play; it was the 
laugh of people who have been in good humor for over two hours, and 
Goldsmith knew it. 

When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue, 
Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs. 
Abington was the first person whom he met. 

"Oh, sir," she said, "I cannot tell you the humiliation which I feel 
at having resigned my part in your comedy. I have been justly pun- 
ished by hearing the words which I might have spoken, applauded so 
rapturously coming from another." 

Members of the company and distinguished friends of the author 
now crowded about him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room. 

"We perceived the reason of your extraordinary modestj^ Dr. Gold- 
smith, before your play was many minutes on the stage. You dog, you 
took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent, indulge in 
a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast. On the same 
analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding modesty good- 
bye forever; for to-night's performance will siu-ely make you a coxcomb." 

"Oh, I hope not, sir," said Goldsmith. 

"No, you don't hope it, sir," cried Johnson. "You are thinking at 
this moment how much better you are than your betters — I see it in 
your face, you rascal." 

"And he has a right to think so," said Mrs. Abington. "Come, Dr. 
Goldsmith, speak up, say something insulting to your betters." 

"Certainly, madam," replied Goldsmith, "Where are they?" 


By Robert Browning 

That second time they hunted me 
From hill to plain, from shore to sea. 
And Austria, hounding far and wide 
Her blood-hounds through the country-side, 
Breathed hot and instant on my trace, — 
I made six days a hiding-place 


Of that dry green old aqueduct 

Where I and Charles, when boys, have plucked 

The fire-flies from the roof above. 

Bright creeping through the moss they love; 

— How long it seems since Charles was lost! 

Six days the soldiers crossed and crossed 
The country in my very sight; 
And when that peril ceased at night, 
The sky broke out in red dismay 
With signal fires; well, there I lay 
Close covered o'er in my recess, 
Up to the neck in ferns and cress, 
Thinking on Metternich our friend, 
And Charles's miserable end, 
And much beside, two days; the third, 
Hunger o'ercame me when I heard 
The peasants from the village go 
To work among the maize. 

You know, 
With us in Lombardy, they bring 
Provisions packed on mules, a string 
With little bells that cheer their task. 
And casks, and boughs on every cask 
To keep the sun's heat from the wine; 
These I let pass in jingling line. 
And, close on them, dear noisy crew, 
The peasants from the village, too; 
For at the very rear would troop 
Their wives and sisters in a group 
To help, I knew. 

When these had passed, 
I threw my glove to strike the last, 
Taking the chance: she did not start, 
Much less cry out, but stooped apart, 


One instant rapidly glanced round, 
And saw me beckon from the ground; 
A wild bush grows and hides my crypt; 
She picked my glove up while she stripped 
A branch off, then rejoined the rest 
With that; my glove lay in her breast. 
Then I drew breath: they disappeared: 
It was for Italy I feared. 

An hour, and she returned alone 

Exactly where my glove was thrown. 

Meanwhile came many thoughts; on me 

Rested the hopes of Italy; 

I had devised a certain tale 

Which, when it was told her, could not fail 

Persuade a peasant of its truth; 

I meant to call a freak of youth 

This hiding, and give hopes of pay, 

And no temptation to betray. 

But when I saw that woman^s face, 
Its calm simplicity of grace — 
At first sight of her eyes, I said, 
"I am that man upon whose head 
They fix the price, because I hate 
The Austrians over us: the State 
Will give you gold — oh, gold so much!^ 
If you betray me to their clutch. 
And be your death, for aught I know. 
If once they find you saved their foe. 

"Now, you must bring me food and drink, 

And also paper, pen and ink. 

And carry safe what I shall write 

To Padua, which you'll reach at night 

Before the duomo shuts; go in. 

And wait till Tenebrae begin; 


Walk to the third confessional, 

Between the pillar and the wall, 

And kneeling whisper. Whence comes peacef 

Say it a second time, then cease; 

And if the voice inside returns, 

From Christ and Freedom; what concerns 

The cause of Peacef — for answer, slip 

My letter where you placed your lip; 

Then come back happy we have done 

Our mother's service — I, the son. 

As you the daughter of our land!" 

Three mornings more she took her stand 
In the same place, with the same eyes: 
I was no surer of sunrise 
Than of her coming. We conferred 
Of her own prospects, and I heard 
She had a lover — ^stout and tall. 
She said — then let her eyelids fall, 
''He could do much" — as if some doubt 
Entered her heart, — then, passing out, 
''She could not speak for others, who 
Had other thoughts; herself she knew:" 
And so she brought me drink and food. 

After four days the scouts pursued 

Another path; at last arrived 

The help my Paduan friends contrived 

To furnish me: she brought the news. 

For the first time I could not choose 

But kiss her hand, and lay my own 

Upon her head — "This faith was shown 

To Italy, our mother; she 

Uses my hand and blesses thee." 

She followed down to the sea-shore t 

I left and never saw her more. 


How very long since I have thought 

Concerning — much less wished for — aught 

Beside the good of Italy, 

For which I live and mean to die! 

I never was in love; and since 

Charles proved false, what shall now convince 

My inmost heart I have a friend? 

However, if I pleased to spend 

Real wishes on myself — say, three — 

I know at least what one should be. 

I would grasp Mettemich until 

I felt his red wet throat distil 

In blood through these two hands. And next 

— Nor much for that I am perplexed — 

Charles, perjured traitor, for his part, 

Should die slow of a broken heart 

Under his new employers. Last 

— ^Ah, there, what should I wish? For fast 

Do I grow old and out of strength. 

If I resolved to seek at length 

My father's house again, how scared 

They all would look, and unprepared! 

My brothers live in Austria's pay 
— Disowned me long ago, men say; 
And all my early mates who used 
To praise me so — perhaps induced 
More than one early step of mine — 
Are turning wise: while some opine 
''Freedom grows license," some suspect 
"Haste breeds delay," and recollect 
They always said, such premature 
Beginnings never could endure! 
So, with a sudden "All's for best," 
The land seems settling to its rest. 


I think then, I should wish to stand 
This evening in that dear, lost land, 
Over the sea the thousand miles. 
And know if yet that woman smiles 
With the calm smile; some little farm 
She lives in there, no doubt: what harm 
If I sat on the door-side bench, 
And, while her spindle made a trench 
Fantastically in the dust. 
Inquired of all her fortunes — just 
Her children's ages and their names, 
And what may be the husband's aims 
For each of them. I'd talk this out. 
And sit there, for an hour about. 
Then kiss her hand once more, and lay 
Mine on her head, and go my way 

So much for idle wishing — ^how 

It steals the time! To business now. 

From The Honorable Peter Stirling. By Paul Leicester Ford 

The morning after his first day in New York, Peter Stirling called 
on his friend, the civil engineer, to consult him about an office. Mr. 
Converse shook his head when Peter outlined his plan. 

^'Do you know any New York people," he asked, *'who will be likely 
to give you cases?" 

''No," said Peter. 

''Then it's absolutely foolish of you to begin that way," said Mr. 
Converse. "Get into a lawyer's office, and make friends first before 
you think of starting by yourself. You'll otherwise never get a client." 

Peter shook his head. "I've thought it out," he added, as if that 
settled it. 

Mr. Converse looked at him, and, reallj^ liking the fellow, was about 

^ Reprinted by permission of Henry Holt and Company. 


to explain the real facts to him, when a caller came in. So he only said, 
"If that's so, go ahead. Locate on Broadway, anywhere between the 
Battery and Canal Street." 

Anywhere between the Battery and Canal Street represented a 
fairly large range of territory, but Peter went at the matter directly, 
and for the next three days passed his time climbing stairs, and in- 
specting rooms and dark cells. At the end of that time he took a mod- 
erate-sized office, far back in a building near Worth Street. Another 
day saw it fitted with a desk, two chairs (for Peter as yet dreamed only 
of single clients) and a shelf containing the few law books that were the 
monuments of his Harvard law course, and his summer reading. 

On the following Monday, when Peter faced his office door he felt a 
glow of satisfaction at seeing in very black letters on the very newly 
scrubbed glass the sign of: 

Attorney and Counsellor-at-law 

He had come to his office early, because he believed that early hours 
were one way of winning success. He was a little puzzled what to do 
with himself. He sat down at his desk and thrummed it for a minute. 
Then he rose, and spread his books more along the shelf, so as to leave 
little spaces between them, thinking that he could make them look 
more imposing thereby. 

After that he took down a book — somebody *'0n Torts" — and dug 
into it. In the Harvard course, he had had two hours a week of this 
book, but Peter worked over it for nearly three hours. Then he took 
paper, and in a very neat hand, made an abstract of what he had read. 
Then he compared his abstract with the book. Returning the book to 
the shelf, very much pleased with the accuracy of his memory, he looked 
at his watch. It was half-past eleven. Peter sat down at his desk. 
''Would all the days go like this?" he asked himself. He could not read 
law for more than four hours a day and get anything from it. What 
was to be done with the rest of the time? 

He went down the two flights of stairs to the street. Even that had 
the deserted look of summer. He turned and went back to his room. 


Sitting down once more at his desk, and opening somebody "On Torts'^ 
again, he took up his pen and began to copy the pages hterally. He 
wrote steadily for a time, then with pauses. Finally, the hand ceased 
to follow the lines, and became straggly. Then he ceased to write. He 
laid his head down on the blotter, and the erect, firm figure relaxed. 

There is no more terrible ordeal of courage than passive waiting. 
Most of us can be brave with something to do, but to be brave for 
months, for years, with nothing to be done and without hope of the 
future! So it was in Peter's case. It was waiting — waiting — for 

Days passed. When Peter finished somebody ''On Torts," he went 
through the other law books of his collection. Those done, he began to 
buy others, and studied them with great thoroughness and persistence. 
In one of his many walks, he stumbled upon the Apprentices' Library. 
Going in, he inquired about its privileges, and became a regular borrower 
of books. Peter had always been a reader, but now he gave three or 
four hours a day to books, aside from his law study. Although he was 
slow, the number of volumes he not merely read, but really mastered 
was marvellous. 

Books which he liked, without much regard to their popular reputa- 
tion, he at once bought; for his simple life left him the ability to indulge 
himself in most respects within moderation. Before the year was out, 
he was a recognized quantity in certain book-stores, and was privileged 
to browse at will both among old and new books without interference 
or suggestion from the ''stock" clerks. "There isn't any good trying 
to sell him anything," remarked one. "He makes up his mind for 

In his long tramps about the city, to vary the monotony, he would 
sometimes stop and chat with people — with a policeman, a fruit-vender, 
a longshore-man or a truckster. It mattered little who it was. Then 
he often entered manufactories and "yards" and asked if he could go 
through them, studying the methods, and talking to the overseer or 
workers about the trade. 

When the courts opened, Peter kept track of the calendars, and 
whenever a case or argument promised to be interesting, or to call out 
the great lights of the profession, he attended and listened to them. He 


fcried to write out the arguments used, from notes, and finally this 
practice induced him to give two evenings a week during the winter 
mastering shorthand. It was really only a mental discipline, for an^ 
case of importance was obtainable in print almost as soon as argued. 

Such was the first yesir of Peter's New York life. He studied, he 
read, he walked, and most of all he waited. ''How much longer will 
I have to wait? How long will my patience hold out?" These were 
the questions he asked himself, when for a moment he allowed himself 
to lose courage. One day his attention was called to the death of several 
children in his ward caused, the doctor said, by drinking bad milk. 
Peter realized at once that the National Milk Company from whose 
wagon the milk was bought, should be prosecuted. The same day he 
freshened his mind upon certain municipal laws, and began to collect 
evidence for the trial. He had found his first case. 

From Wanderings Among South Sea Savages. By H. Wilfred Walker 

I had just returned down the river with Richardson from Tangkulap. 
Tangkulap is a journey of several days up the Kinbatangan River in 
British North Borneo. Richardson was the magistrate of the district, 
and his rule extended over practically the whole of this river, Tangkulap 
being his headquarters. 

Richardson and I determined to visit the wonderful Gomanton birds* 
nest caves, from which great quantities of edible birds' nests are taken 
annually. Vfery few Europeans had ever visited them, though they are 
considered among the wonders of the world. We left Batu Puteh in 
Richardson's canoe early one morning, and reached Bilit that evening. 
The next morning we were off before sunrise. After leaving the village, 
we walked about an hour and a half until we came to a small river, the 
Menungal. "Gobangs" (canoes) were speedily launched, we both 
getting into the leading one. We were followed by three others, in 
one of which was an influential Hadji. 

Toward evening the river got exceedingly narrow, and fallen trees 

^ Reprinted by special arrangement with Witherby and Company, London. 


obstructed our way, so that we had sometimes to lie flat on our backi 
to pass under them, and at other times we had to get out while our canoe 
was hauled over the mud at the side. Just before we reached our des- 
tination for the night, the Hadji and all his men proceeded to wash their 
faces in the river. This they did to ensure success in their nest-collecting. 

We stayed the night in one of two half-thatched huts. It poured all 
night, and when we started off on foot the next morning we found the 
track in the forest a regular quagmire. After about three hours' hard 
tramping, I caught sight of a high mass of white limestone gleaming 
through the trees. It made a pretty picture in the early morning, the 
white rock peeping out of luxuriant creepers and foliage. It rises very 
abruptly from the surrounding forest, and at a distance looked quite 
inaccessible to a climber. We waded through a stream of clear water, 
washing the horrible forest mud from us, and soon found ourselves in 
a most picturesque village at the base of the rock. 

After some breakfast we started off to see the near lower cave, which 
was one of the smaller ones. We followed a very pretty ferny track by 
the side of a rocky stream for a short distance. The sky overhead was 
thick with swallows, in fact one could almost say the air was black with 
them. These, of course, were the birds that make the nests. The mouth 
of the cave partly prepared me for what I was to see. I had expected 
a small entrance, but here it was, I should say, sixty feet in height and of 
great width, the entrance being partly overhung with a curtain of lux- 
uriant creepers. The smell of guano had been strong before, but here 
it was overpowering. 

Extending inside the cave for about one hundred yards was a small 
village of native huts used chiefly by the guards or watchers of these 
caves. Compared with the vastness of the interior of the cave — I be- 
lieve about four hundred and eighty feet in height — one could almost 
imagine that he was looking at a small model of a village. The vastness 
of the interior of this cave impressed me beyond words. One could 
actually see the very roof overhead, as there were two or three openings 
near the top (reminding one of windows high up in a cathedral) through 
which broad shafts of light forced their way, making some old hanging 
rattan ladders high up appear like silvery spider webs. 

As for the birds themselves, this was one of their nesting seasons, and 


the cave was full of myriads of them. The twittering they made resem- 
bled the whispering of a multitude. The majority of them kept neaJ 
the roof, and as they flew to and fro through the shafts of light they pre- 
sented a most curious effect and looked like swarms of gnats; lower down 
they resembled silvery butterflies. Where the light shone on the rocky 
walls and roofs one could distinguish masses upon masses of little silver 
black specks. These were their nests, as this was a black-nest cave. 
Somewhere below in the bowels of the earth rumbled an underground 
river with a noise like distant thunder. This cavernous roar far below 
and the twittering whisper of the swallows overhead, combined to add 
much to the mysteriousness of these wonderful caves. 

Spread out on the ground in the cave and also drying outside, raised 
from the ground on stakes, was coil after coil of rattan ropes and ladders 
used for collecting the nests. These have to be new each season, and 
are first carefully tested. The ladders are made of well twisted strands 
of rattan with steps of strong, hard wood, generally ^'bilian.'^ 

In the afternoon we started off in search of the upper caves. We 
came to the entrance of a long chain of caves, through which we passed, 
going down a very steep grade, where our guides had to carry lights. 
After a climb down some steep rocks in semi-darkness, we found our- 
selves in the largest cave of all, supposed to be about five hundred and 
sixty feet in height. This cave greatly resembled the smaller one I have 
already described, except that it was of much grander dimensions. 

On the way back, when passing through some very low caves, the 
Hadji got some of his men to knock down with long poles a few of the 
white nests from the wall of the cave for me, and in another cave they 
got some black nests. The difference between these white and black 
nests is this: they are made by two different kinds of swallows. A very 
small bird makes the white nest, but the bird that builds the black nest 
is twice as large. The white nest looks something like pure white gela- 
tine, is very clear, and has no feathers in it. The black nest is plentifully 
covered with feathers, and is, in consequence, not worth nearly as much. 
The nests are made from the saliva of the birds. Both are very plain 
colored birds; an ordinary swallow is brilliant in comparison. 

The next day we watched the natives collecting the nests. The chief 
method is by descending rattan ladders, which are let down through a 


hole in the top of the cave. It made one quite giddy even to watch the 
men descending these frail, swaying ladders with over five hundred feet 
of space below them. The man on the nearest ladder had a long rattan 
rope attached to his ladder with a kind of wooden anchor at the end of 
it. With a wonderful throw he succeeded in getting the anchor to stick 
in the soft guano on the edge of the slanting ledge where we were. Sev- 
eral meii waiting there seized it, hauled it up until they could catch hold 
of the end of the ladder, which they dragged higher and higher up the 
steep, slanting rocks. This in time brought the flexible ladder, at least 
the part where the man was, level with the roof, and he lying on his back 
on the thin ladder, pulled the nests off the rocky roof, putting them into 
a large rattan basket fastened about his body. 

These birds' nest caves are found all over Borneo and the Malay 
Peninsula, and also in Java and other parts of the Malay archipelago, 
but these are by far the largest. The revenue from these caves alone 
brings the government a very large sum. By far the greatest number 
of the nests is sent to China, where birds' nest soup is an expensive 
luxury. The natives of Borneo do not eat them. For myself, I found the 
soup rather tasteless. 

From The Public Life of John Brown. By James Redpath 

I have, may it please the court, a few words to say. 

In the first place, I deny everything but what I have all along ad- 
mitted — the design on my part to free the slaves. I intended certainly 
to have made a clear thing of that matter, as I did last winter, when I 
went into Missouri, and there took slaves without the snapping of a gun 
on either side, moved them through the country, and finally left them in 
Canada. I designed to have done the same thing again, on a larger scale. 
That was all I intended. I never did intend murder, or treason, or the 
destruction of property, or to excite or incite slaves to rebellion, or to 
make insurrection. 

I have another objection: and that is, it Ls unjust that I should suffer 
such a penalty. Had I interfered in the manner which I admit, and 


which I admit has been fairly proved — (for I admire the truthfulness 
and candor of the greater portion of the witnesses who have testified in 
this case) — had I so interfered in behalf of the rich, the powerful, the 
intelligent, the so-called great, or in behalf of any of their friends, either 
father, mother, brother, sister, wife or children, or any of that class, and 
suffered and sacrificed what I have in this interference, it would have 
been all right, and every man in this court would have deemed it an 
act worthy of reward rather than punishment. 

The Court acknowledges, as I suppose, the validity of the Law of 
God. I see a book kissed here which I suppose to be the Bible, or, at 
least, the New Testament. That teaches me that all things '' whatso- 
ever I w^ould that men should do unto me I should do even so to them." 
It teaches me further, to *' remember them that are in bonds as bound 
with them." I endeavored to act up to that instruction. I say, I am 
yet too young to understand that God is any respecter of persons. 

I believe that to have interfered as I have done, as I have always 
freely admitted I have done, in behalf of His despised poor, was not 
wrong, but right. Now, if it is deemed necessary that I should forfeit 
my life for the furtherance of the ends of justice, and mingle my blood 
further with the blood of my children, and with the blood of millions 
in this slave country whose rights are disregarded by wicked, cruel, 
and unjust enactments — I submit: so let it be done. 

Let me say one word further. I feel entirely satisfied with the treat- 
ment I have received on my trial. Considering all the circumstances, 
it has been more generous than I expected. But I feel no consciousness 
of guilt. I have stated from the first what was my intention and what 
was not. I never had any design against the life of any person, nor 
any disposition to commit treason, or excite slaves to rebel, or make 
any general insurrection. I never encouraged any man to do so, but 
always discouraged any idea of that kind. 

Let me say, also, a word in regard to the statements made by some 
of those connected with me. I hear that it has been stated by some 
of them that I have induced them to join me. But the contrary is true. 
I do not say this to injure them, but as regretting their weakness. There 
is not one of them but joined me of his own accord, and the greater 
part at their own expense. A number of them I never saw, and never 


had a word of conversation with, till the day they came to me, and that 
was for the purpose I have stated. Now I have done. 

By Abraham Lincoln 

Many free countries have lost their liberty, and ours may lose hers; 
but if she shall, be it my proudest plume, not that I was last to desert, 
but that I never deserted her. 

I know that the great volcano [The Slave Issue] at Washington, 
aroused and directed by the evil spirit that reigns there, is belching 
forth the lava of political corruption in a current broad and deep, which 
is sweeping with frightful velocity over the whole length and breadth 
of the land, bidding fair to leave unscathed no green spot or living thing. 

I cannot deny that all may be swept away. Broken by it, I, too, 
may be; bow to it I never will. The possibility that we may fail in the 
struggle ought not to deter us from the support of a cause which we 
believe to be just. It shall not deter me. 

If ever I feel the soul within me elevate and expand to those dimen- 
sions not wholly unworthy of its Almighty Architect, it is when I con- 
template the cause of my country, deserted by all the world beside, 
and I standing up boldly, alone, and hurling defiance at her victorious 

Here, without contemplating consequences, before Heaven, and in 
the face of the world, / swear eternal fidelity to the just cause, as I deem 
it, of the land of my life, my liberty, and my love; and who that thinks 
with me will not fearlessly adopt the oath that I take? 

Let none falter who thinks he is right, and we may succeed. 

But, if after all, we shall fail, be it so, we still have the proud con- 
solation of saying to our consciences, and to the departed shade of our 
country's freedom, that the cause approved of our judgment, and 
adorned of our hearts in disaster, in chains, in death, we never faltered 
in defending. 



By Henry Van Dyke 

One sail in sight upon the lonely sea, 

And only one, God knows! For never ship 

But mine broke through the icy gates that guard 

These waters greater grown than any since 

We left the shore of England. We were first, 

My men, to battle in between the bergs 

And floes to these wide waves. This gulf is mine; 

I name it! and that flying sail is mine! 

And there, hull-down below that flying sail. 

The ship that staggers home is mine, mine, mine! 

My ship Discoverie! 

The sullen dogs 
Of mutineers, the bitches' whelps that snatched 
Their food and bit the hand that nurtured them, 
Have stolen her! You ingrate Henry Greene, 
I picked you from the gutter of Houndsditch, 
I paid your debts, and kept you in my house, 
And brought you here to make a man of you. 
You, Robert Juet, ancient, crafty man, 
Toothless and tremulous, how many times 
Have I employed you as a mate of mine 
To give you bread! And you, Abacuck Prickett, 
You sailor-clerk, you salted puritan, 
You knew the plot and silently agreed. 
Salving your conscience with a pious lie. 
Yes, all of you, — hounds, rebels, thieves! Bring back 
My ship! 

Too late — I rave — they cannot hear 
My voice: and if they heard, a drunken laugh 
Would be their answer. For their minds have caught 

* Reprinted by special arrangement with Charles Scribner*s Sons. 


The fatal firmness of the fooFs resolve, 
That looks like courage but is only fear. 
They'll blunder on, and lose my ship, and drown,- 
Or blunder home to England and be hanged. 
Their skeletons will rattle in the chains 
Of some tall gibbet on the Channel cliffs, 
While passing sailors point to them and say, 
''Those are the rotten bones of Hudson's men, 
Who left their captain in the frozen North!" 

O God of justice, why hast Thou ordained. 
Plans of the wise and actions of the brave 
Dependent on the aid of fools and cowards? 

Look — there she goes — ^her topsails in the sun 
Gleam from the ragged ocean edge, and drop 
Clean out of sight! So let the traitors go 
Clean out of mind! We'll think of braver things! 
Come closer in the boat, my friends. John King, 
You take the tiller, keep her head nor'west. 
You, Philip Staffe, the only one who chose 
Freely to share with us the shallop's fate. 
Rather than travel in the hell-bound ship, — 
Too good an English sailor to desert 
These crippled comrades, — try to make them rest 
More easy on the thwarts. And John, my son. 
My little shipmate, come and lean your head 
Upon your father's knee. Do you recall 
That April day in Ethelburga's church. 
Five years ago, when side by side we kneeled 
To take the sacrament, with all our company. 
Before the Hopewell left St. Catherine's docks 
On our first voyage? Then it was I vowed 
My sailor-soul and yours to search the sea 
Until we found the water-path that leads 
From Europe into Asia. 


I believe 
That God has poured the ocean round His world, 
Not to divide, but to unite the lands; 
And all the English seamen who have dared 
In little ships to plow uncharted waves — 
Davis and Drake, Hawkins and Frobisher, 
Raleigh and Gilbert — all the other names — 
Are written in the chivalry of God 
As men who served His purpose. I would claim 
A place among that knighthood of the sea: 
And I have earned it, though my quest should fail! 
For mark me well. The honor of our life 
Derives from this: to have a certain aim 
Before us always, which our will must seek 
Amid the peril of uncertain ways. 
Then, though we miss the goal, our search is crowned 
With courage, and along the path we find 
A rich reward of unexpected things. 
Press towards the aim: take fortune as it fares! 
I know not why, but something in my heart 
Has always whispered, '' Westward seek your aim." 
Four times they sent me east, but still my prow 
Turned west again, and felt among the floes 
Of ruttling ice along the Groneland coast. 
And down the rugged shores of Newfoundland, 
And past the rocky capes and sandy bays 
Where Gosnold sailed, — like one who feels his way 
With outstretched hand across a darkened room,— 
I groped among the inlets and the isles. 
To find the passage to the Isles of Spice. 
I have not found it yet — but I have found 
Things worth the finding! 

Son, have you forgot 
Those mellow autumn days, two years ago, 
When first we sent our little ship Half-Moon — 
The flag of Holland floating at her peak — 


Across a sandy bar, and sounded in 

Among the channels to a goodly bay 

Where all the navies of the world could ride? 

A fertile island that the redmen called 

Manhattan crowned the bay; and all the land 

Around was bountiful and friendly fair. 

But never land was fair enough to hold 

The seaman from the calling of the waves: 

And so we bore to westward, past the isle, 

Along a mighty inlet, where the tide 

Was troubled by a downward-rolling flood 

That seemed to come from far away — perhaps 

From some mysterious gulf of Tartary? 

We followed that wide waterway, by palisades 

Of naked rock where giants might have held 

Their fortress; and by rolling hills adorned 

With forests rich in timber for great ships; 

Through narrows where the mountains shut us in 

With frowning cliffs that seemed to bar the stream; 

And then through open reaches where the banks 

Sloped to the water gently, with their fields 

Of com and lentils smiling in the sun. 

Ten days we voyaged through that placid land, 

Until we came to shoals; and sent a boat 

Upstream, to find — what I already knew — 

We sailed upon a river, not a strait! 

But what a river! God has never poured 

A stream more royal through a land more rich. 

Even now I see it flowing in my dream. 

While coming ages people it with men 

Of manhood equal to the river's pride. 

I see the wigwams of the redmen changed 

To ample houses, and the tiny plots 

Of maize and green tobacco broadened out 

To prosperous farms, that spread o'er hill and dale 


The many-colored mantle of their crops. 

I see the terraced vineyards on the slopes 

Where now the wild grape loops the tangled wood; 

And cattle feeding where the red deer roam; 

And wild bees gathered into busy hives 

To store the silver comb with golden sweet; 

And all the promised land begins to flow 

With milk and honey. Stately manors rise 

Along the banks, and castles top the hills, 

And little villages grow populous with trade, 

Until the river runs as proudly as the Rhine, — 

The thread that links a hundred towns and towers! 

All this I see, and when it comes to pass 

I prophesy a city on the isle 

They call Manhattan, equal in her state 

To all the older capitals of earth, — 

The gateway city of a golden world, — 

A city girt with masts, and crowned with spires, 

And swarming with a busy host of men, 

While to her open door, across the bay. 

The ships of all the nations flock like doves! 

My name will be remembered there, for men 

Will say, "This river and this bay were found 

By Henry Hudson, on his way to seek 

The Northwest Passage into farthest Inde.^' 

Yes, yes, I sought it then, I seek it still. 
My great adventure, pole-star of my heart! 
For look ye, friends, our voyage is not done: 
Somewhere beyond these floating fields of ice. 
Somewhere along this westward widening bay, 
Somewhere beneath this luminous northern night, 
The channel opens to the Orient, — 
I know it, — and some day a little ship 
Will enter there and battle safely through! 
And why not ours — to-morrow — who can tell? 


We hold by hope as long as life endures: 
These are the longest days of all the year, 
The world is round, and God is everywhere. 
And while our shallop floats we still can steer. 
So point her up, John King, nor Vest by north! 
We'll keep the honor of a certain aim 
Amid the peril of uncertain ways. 
And sail ahead, and leave the rest to God. 


From The Only Way, a dramatic version by Freeman Wills of Charles 
Dickens* novel, *'A Tale of Two Cities " 

Scene. A cell in the conciergerie, Charles Darney seated at a table 
asleep. Enter John Barsad followed by Sidney Carton. 

Barsad: Come in. Lose no time. It's a touch and go job this. 

Carton: Be near at hand, that you may enter the instant I call. I 
am prepared with a powerful drug. When you enter you will find him 
unconscious. See that assistance is ready to convey him to the coach. 
(Exit Barsad) 

Darn ay: Carton! 

Carton: Of all the people on earth you least expected to see me? 

Darn ay: I can scarcely believe it is really you. You are not a 

Carton: No. I am accidentally possessed of a power over one of 
the jailors here, and in virtue of that I stand before you. I come with 
a request from her — your promised wife, dear Damay. 

Darn ay: A request. 

Carton: It is more than that. It is an entreaty — a prayer. You 
have not time to ask me why I bring it, or what it means. Do what I 
tell you and you will know all. Off with your coat, put on this of mine. 

Darn ay: Carton, there is no escaping from this place. We should 
only die together. It is madness. 

Carton: It would be madness if I asked you to escape, but do I? 

^ Reprinted by permission of Martin Harvey. 


Daknay: My dear brave friend, it is all no good. It has been tried 
a hundred times, and it has always failed. 

Carton: Not my way, Darnay, I promise you. 

Darn ay: Once again I say — 

Carton: Yes, but why do you? Your love dear Darnay, for her 
sake. Come let me take this ribbon from your hair; now shake it out 
like this of mine. Good — your hand — is it steady enough to write? 

Darnay: It was when you came in. 

Carton: Steady it again and write what I dictate — . See, pen — 
ink — paper — are you ready? 

Darnay: To whom shall I address it? 

Carton: That will come last of all. Now. {Dictates) I know you 
remember the words that passed between us. It is not in your nature to 
forget them. Have you got that? 

Darnay: I have. Is that a weapon in your hand? 

Carton: No. 

Darnay: What is in your hand? 

Carton: You shall know directly — write on — / am thankful that 
the time has come when I can prove them. That I do so now is no sub- 
ject for regret or grief. (Carton has held his saturated handkerchief 
near Darnay' s nostrils) 

Darnay: What vapor is that? 

Carton: Vapor? 
' Darnay: Something that crosses me. 

Carton: I am conscious of nothing — ^Regret or grief J Have you 
got that? 

Darnay: Regret or — I hardly know what I am writing — Carton there 
is a vapor. 

Carton: Come quickly, another little effort — You have given me 
more than I can tell. Some pure thoughts^ a few healing tears, perhaps 
a light to shine in the darkness that is so near, (Darnay struggles as the 
drug takes effect, Carton assisting him to lie upon the floor before he is 
entirely overcome.) Barsad! Come in! 

Bars AD {reentering): All right. 

Carton: All right. Get assistance and take me to the coach. 

Barsad: You? 


Carton: Him, man, with whom I have exchanged. Take him to the 
court-yard near Dr. Manette's lodgings, place him in the carriage you 
will find waiting there, show him to Mr. Lorry, tell him to remembef 
my words of this morning, and his promise of this morning, and drive 
away. {Exit Barsad. Carton adds the last words to the note Darney 
has been writing) 'A light to shine in the darkness that is so near.^ Some 
day she will read this and remember — (Carton places the letter in Dar- 
nay^s coat. Barsad enters with two jailors.) 

Jailor: So afiiicted for his friend? Oh, this is not true. Come, 
come, one, two, three, now. (Darn ay is carried out.) 

Barsad. The time is short Evremonde. To-morrow at dawn. 

Carton: I know it well. Be careful of my friend, I entreat you, 
{Exit Barsad) 

From The North Pole. By Robert E. Peary 

The last march northward ended at ten o'clock on the forenoon of 
April 6. I had now made the five marches planned, and my reckoning 
showed that we were in the immediate neighborhood of the goal of all 
our striving. After the usual arrangements for going into camp, at 
approximate local noon, of the Columbia meridian, I made the first 
observation at our polar camp. It indicated our position as 89** 57'. 

We were now at the end of the last long march of the upward journey. 
Yet with the pole actually in sight I was too weary to take the last few 
steps. As soon as our igloos had been completed and we had eaten our 
dinner and double-rationed the dogs I turned in for a few hours of 
absolutely necessary sleep. The first thing I did after awaking was to 
write these words in my diary: "The Pole at last. The prize of three 
centuries. My dream and goal for twenty years. Mine at last! I can- 
not bring myself to realize it. It seems all so simple and commonplace." 

Everything was in readiness for an observation at 6 P. M., Columbia 
meridian time, in case the sky should be clear, but at that hour it was, 
unfortunately, still overcast. But as there were indications that it 

^ Copyright by Frederick A. Stokes & Co. Reprinted by permission of the 
author and the publishers. 


would clear before long, two of the Esquimos and myself made ready a 
light sledge carrying only the instruments, a tin of pemmican, and one 
or two skins; and drawn by a double team of dogs, we pushed on an 
estimated distance of ten miles. While we traveled, the sky cleared, 
and at the end of the journey, I was able to get a satisfactory series of 
observations at Columbia meridian midnight. These observations in- 
dicated that our position was then beyond the pole. 

Nearly everything in the circumstances which then surrounded us 
seemed too strange to be thoroughly realized; but one of the strangest 
of these circumstances seemed to me to be the fact that, in a march of 
only a few hours, I had passed from the western to the eastern hem- 
isphere and had verified my position at the summit of the world. It was 
hard to realize that, in the first miles of this brief march, we had been 
traveling due north, while, on the last few miles of the same march, we 
had been traveling south, although we had all the time been traveling in 
precisely the same direction. It would be difficult to imagine a better 
illustration of the fact that most things are relative. Again please con- 
sider the uncommon circumstance that, in order to return to our camp, 
it now became necessary to turn and go north again for a few miles and 
then to go directly south, all the time traveling in the same direction. 

As we passed back along that trail which none had ever seen before 
or would ever see again, certain reflections intruded themselves which 
I think, may fairly be called unique. East, west, and north had dis- 
appeared for us. Only one direction remained and that was south. 
Every breeze which could possibly blow upon us, no matter from what 
point of the horizon, must be a south wind. Where we were, one day 
and one night constituted a year, a hundred such days and nights con- 
stituted a century. Had we stood in that spot during the six months 
of the arctic winter night, we should have seen every star of the northern 
hemisphere circling the sky at the same distance from the horizon, with 
polaris (^the north star) practically in the zenith. 

All during our march back to camp the sun was swinging around in 
its ever-moving circle. At six o^clock on the morning of April 7, having 
again arrived at Camp Jesup, I took another series of observations. 
These indicated our position as being four or five miles from the Pole, 
towards Bering Strait. Therefore, with a double team of dogs and a 


light sledge, I traveled directly towards the sun an estimated distance 
of eight miles. Again I returned to the camp in time for a final and 
completely satisfactory series of observations on April 7 at noon, 
Columbia meridian time. These observations gave results essentially 
the same as those made at the same spot twenty-four hours before. 

I had now taken in all thirteen single, or six and one-half double, 
altitudes of the sun, at two different stations, in three different directions 
at four different times. All were under satisfactory conditions, except 
for the first single altitude on the sixth. The temperature during these 
observations had been from minus 11° Fahrenheit to minus 30° Fahren- 
heit, with clear sky and calm weather. 

Of course there were some more or less informal ceremonies connected 
with our arrival at our difficult destination, but they were not of a very 
elaborate character. We planted five flags at the top of the world. 
The first was a silk American flag which Mrs. Peary gave me fifteen 
years ago. That fiag has done more traveling in high latitudes than 
any other ever made. I carried it wrapped about my body on every one 
of my expeditions northward after it came into my possession, and I 
left a fragment of it at each of my ** farthest norths:^' Cape Morris K. 
Jesup, the northernmost point of land in the known world; Cape Thomas 
Hubbard, the northernmost point of Jesup Land, west of Grant Land; 
Cape Columbia, the northernmost point of North American lands; and 
my farthest north in 1906, latitude 87° 6' in the ice of the polar sea. 
By the time it actually reached the Pole, therefore, it was somewhat 
worn and discolored. 

A broad diagonal section of this ensign would now mark the farthest 
goal of earth — the place where I and my dusky companions stood. 

It was considered appropriate to raise the colors of the Delta Kappa 
Epsilon fraternity, in which I was initiated a member while an under- 
graduate student at Bowdoin College, the ^'World's Ensign of Liberty 
and Peace,'* with its red, white, and blue in a field of white, the Navy 
League flag and the Red Cross flag. 

After I had planted the American flag in the ice, I told Henson to 
time the Esquimos for three rousing cheers, which they gave with the 
greatest enthusiasm. Thereupon, I shook hands with each member of 
the party — surely a sufficiently unceremonious affair to meet with the 


approval of the most democratic. The Esquimos were childishly de- 
lighted with our success. While, of course, they did not realize its im- 
portance fully, or its world wide significance, they did understand that 
it meant the final achievement of a task upon which they had seen me 
engaged for many years. 

Then, in a space between the ice blocks of a pressure ridge, I deposited 
a glass bottle containing a diagonal strip of my flag and a copy of my 

By Leonard B. Kendall 

In a little Connecticut town there is a factory. On the surface every- 
thing about this factory is quite commonplace. It contains simply 
a body of men engaged in making hoists. They work carefully and well, 
with due consideration as to the details, for these men happen to have 
ideals — which occasionally makes a difference. 

Down at the end of the long iron construction shed of the Southwest 
Manufacturing Company in Africa the great trip-hammer was making 
the night hideous with its clamor. In the lurid glow from the white-hot 
metal that soon was to be the crane shaft in an up-country opal mine 
stood four men stripped to the waist. The sweat glistened on them as 
they moved, and their shadows, monstrous in the flickering light, leaped 
and danced fantastically behind them on the wall. 

Periodically, on the haK-hour, a lantern waved twice in a semicircle, 
and of a sudden the din ceased. The heavy silence of the South African 
night at once crowded in, and seemed tenfold more solid by comparison. 
The workers then sat down on packing-cases to rest, and took turns 
swabbing themselves with a wet sponge, for the big thermometer on 
the wall registered something over one hundred degrees. In the far 
distance, at intervals, a desert jackal howled dismally, while the never- 
ending rain pattered softly on the tin roof. 

Rain, rain, nothing but rain. A million tiny drops, each one in time 
becoming part of the dark streamlet that flowed steadily around the 
corner of the construction shed, carrying with it its toll of sediment. And 

^Reprinted by permission of the author and The Outlook Company. 


still it rained. Soon the clanging anvils took up their note again, in 
minor key to the shuddering thunder of the mighty trip-hammer, while 
the forges roared and whispered among themselves under the force of 
the air blast. But always in the pauses it was the subdued tinkle of 
running water that made itself felt. 

A tiny rivulet began tentatively feeling its way over the hard-packed 
earth of the floor towards where, in the corner, stood the base of the 
derrick that had been swinging full cases up in tiers to await shipment. 
Farther it reached, and still farther, till it encircled one of the supports. 
Then, as if its missions were accomplished, it ran off quickly elsewhere. 
The half-clad figures that hurried by in the dimness, which seemed only 
emphasized by the hanging lanterns, heeded it not, for what is a little 
water when rush work is toward in the German Southwest? 

By degrees the trickle grew larger. It dug with growing strength 
at the soil by the base of the derrick, which, little by little, it gathered 
up and carried away. In the course of time one corner sagged slightly, 
and the rigid guy-wire opposite, as it felt the pull of thirty tons of steel, 
began murmuring to itself like a live thing under the strain. 

With the crashing shock of the fall was mingled a sound which was 
never born of splintering wood nor flying metal, and, as if at a given 
signal, silence fell along the length of the whole shop. A few sharp 
orders rang out, and the great overhead crane came trundling down the 
line. When it stopped, it failed to reach the spot by almost ten feet. 

The noise of the crowbar as a man pried ineffectually at the fallen 
mass was, for a while, the only sound. Underneath something moved 
suggestively, and a man's leg protruded. 

"He's not caught yet, but this water's underminin' and she's sinkin' 
down on him," declared the one with the crowbar. "Somebody get a 

"There ain't a one that can be used," replied a man. Whereupon the 
old shop foreman got to his feet from where he was examining the wreck, 
and spoke: "There's a Holton Biplex in the shed — get it," he said. And 
four men drove hastily out into the night, while the rest stood impo- 
tently by, watching while the fallen mass sunk imperceptibly lower. 
The little rivulet was doing its work well. 

From out of the dark the four returned, dripping water as they raa 


Between them swung the chain that was to pull a man back from the 
brink of eternity. One of them clambered up the tiers of boxes to ar- 
range the hook on a steel girder above. 

A six-foot native sledgeman elbowed his way to the fore. 

''Dat hoist eet be for twentee tons an' dees be t'irtee," he declared 
stolidly, pointing a grimy forefinger; "she slip — an' eef she fall again — " 
He looked suggestively at the protruding foot, which moved feebly. 

"For twenty-five years IVe seen the Holton Biplex working in the 
shops," replied the old foreman, peering over his spectacles. "String 
her up — she won't slip." So the load was adjusted and three men put 
on the lift-chain. 

At the word they hauled evenly and well, and only the sharp click 
as each link passed over the sprocket bespoke the tremendous strain, 
but still — it did not slip ! 

Off in the dim background some deserted forges were sighing to them- 
selves. Now and again the flames leaped up, casting into high relief 
the group of silent men about the wreck. A breath of tragedy was in 
the air, yet they gazed stolidly. The half-naked great bodies, with their 
bulging muscles, bulked large in the half-light. 

Slowly, very slowly, the big mass was lifting. Link by link the slender 
chain supporting it moved upward into the darkness overhead. The 
iron hook was bending gradually, but no break appeared. 

They raised it two feet more and got him free, before the hook straight- 
ened out and the collapse came. A life was saved, because out beyond 
the night, ten thousand miles away, in a little Connecticut town, a 
body of men happened to have had ideals, had done their work care- 
fully and well, with due attention to details — as men should. 


From Addresses and Papers. By Charles Evans Hughes 

The typical American does not seek idleness but work. He wants 
to justify himself by proved capacity in useful effort. Under different 
conditions he still has the spirit of those who faced the wilderness, 

! Reprinted by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons. 


advanced the outposts of civilization, and settled a continent of match* 
less resources, where has been laid the basis for a wider diffusion oi 
prosperity among a greater population than the world has ever known. 

To whatever department of activity we turn, after making all nec- 
essary allowances for ignorance, shiftlessness and vice, we still find 
throughout the country, dominant and persuasive, the note of energy 
and resistless ambition. The vitality of the people has not been sapped 
by prosperity. The increase of comfort has not impaired their virility. 
We are still a hardy people, equal to our task, and pressing forward 
vigorous and determined in every direction to enlarge the record of 

It is easy, looking at phases of our life in an absolute way, for one who 
is pessimistically inclined to gather statistics which superficially con- 
sidered are discouraging. Congestion in our great cities, the widened 
opportunities for the play of selfishness, and the increase of temptations 
following in the wake of prosperity, give rise to an appalling number and 
variety of private and public wrongs whose thousands of victims voice 
an undying appeal to humanity and patriotism. 

But one would form a very inaccurate judgment of our moral con- 
dition by considering these wrongs alone. They must be considered in 
their relation to other phases of our life. We must not fail to take note 
of the increasing intensity of the desire to find remedies and the earnest- 
ness with which all forms of evil and oppression are attacked. 

Considering the tremendous increase in the opportunities for wrong- 
doing, the seductive and refined temptations, and the materialistic 
appeals that are incident to our present mode of life, and the material 
comforts which invention and commerce have made possible, I beheve 
that the manner in which the ethical development of the people has kept 
pace with their progress in other directions may fairly be called extraor- 

In saying this, I am not at all unmindful of how far short we come 
of an ideal state of society. On the contrary, existing evils are the more 
noticeable, because they stand out in strong contrast to the desires and 
aspirations of the people. We have had disclosures of shocking infidelity 
to trust and to public obligation, but more important than the evil dis- 
closed was the attitude of the people toward it. Individual short- 


comings are many, but the moral judgment of the community is keen 
and severe. 

To-day the American people are more alive to the importance ol 
impartial and honorable administration than ever before. They do not 
simply discuss it; they demand it. While in many communities ad- 
ministration is controlled in the selfish interest of a few to the detriment 
of the people, that which is more characteristic of our present political 
life is the determination that selfish abuse of governmental machinery 
shall stop. 

Let there be no vague fears about the outcome. I place full confidence 
in the sobriety and integrity of motive of the American people. I have 
profound belief in their ability to cure existing evils without disturbing 
their prosperity. I am convinced that we shall have more and more 
intelligent and unselfish representation of the people's interests: that 
political leadership will be tested more and more by the soundness of 
its counsel and the disinterestedness of its ambition. 

I believe that with an increasing proportion of true representation, 
with increasing discriminating public discussion, with the patient ap- 
plication of sound judgment to the consideration of public measures, 
and with the inflexible determination to end abuses and to purify the 
administration of government of self interest, we shall realize a greater 
prosperity and a wider diffusion of the blessing of free government than 
we have hitherto been able to enjoy. 

From Careers of Danger and Daring. By Cleveland Moffett 

It came to my knowledge that Robert Merrill, otherwise known as 
Steeple ''Bob," had agreed to "do" that famous Brooklyn Church of 
the Pilgrims, with its queer, crooked spire and big brass ball, a landmark 
on Columbia Heights. 

" It's one of those easy jobs that is the hardest," said Merrill. " Come 
over and see us use the stirrups. If you like, you can go up on the swing 
yourself! " 

I expressed my thanks as I would do to a lion-tamer offering me the 

^ Reprinted by permission of The Century Company. 


hospitality of his cages. Then I reflected, with a kind of shame, that 
I had drawn back from daring only once what they dare every day, 
what they must dare for their living. And I reasoned myself into a 
feeling that it was my duty to go up that steeple on the swing, as Merrill 
had proposed. In this mind I went to the church the next day. 

I found all hands on the ^'bell-deck'' spreading out packets of patent 
gilding for the ball which awaited its new dress, all sticky from a fresh 
coat of sizing. 

As to my going up on the swing there was no difficulty. Lawlor 
would go first, and be there to keep me in good heart, for they say it is 
not well for a novice to be at a steeple-top alone. Merrill would see to 
the lashings, and Walter would give a hand at the hauling-Hne. There 
we were at the top of the tower, and at the base of the steeple, Lawlor, 
red-faced and red shirted, preparing to ascend; Merrill, pale, as he always 
is, but powerful, standing at the ropes; and I, in shirt-sleeves and bare- 
headed, watching Walter make a little harness for my kodak. 

After a time Lawlor, having reached the top, called down something, 
and Merrill answered. It was my turn now. I climbed out through a 
small window and stood on the ledge, while '^ Steeple Bob" dropped 
the swing noose over my head and proceeded to lash me fast to seat 
and ropes. 

"That's in case a suicidal impulse should get hold of you!'^ he said 
smiling, but meaning it. ''Now, keep this rope between your legs and 
work your hands up along it as we lift you. It's anchored to St. Peter." 

Then he explained how I was to press my toes against the steeple 
side, so as to keep my knees from barking on the shingles, 
i "And don't look down at all," he told me. "Just watch your ropes 
and take it easy. Are you ready?" 

At this moment Walter said something in a low tone, and Merrill 
asked me to lend him my knife. I handed it out, and he stuck it in his 
pocket. "You don't need this now," said he, and a moment later the 
pulley ropes tightened and my small swing-board lifted under me. I 
was rising. 

"Shove off there with your toes! " he cried. "Take short steps. Put 
your legs wider apart. Wider yet. You don't have to pull on the rope. 
Just slide your hands along. Now you're going! " 


I saw nothing but the steeple side in front of me, and the Hfe-Une 
hanging down Uke a bell-rope between my spread legs, and the pulley- 
block creaking by my head, and the toes of my shoes as I pressed them 
against the shingles step by step. I smiled to think of the odd appear- 
ance I must present from below. And then for the first time I let my 
eyes turn into the depths, and caught a glimpse of men on housetops 
watching me. I saw Merrill's upturned face down where the ropes 
ended. And I saw Uttle horses wriggling along on the street. 

There were three places where the steeple narrowed into slenderer 
lengths, and at each one was a sort of cornice to be scrambled over 
(and loose nails to be avoided), and then more careful steering with 
legs and toes to keep on one particular face of the steeple and not swing 
off and come bumping back, a disconcerting possibility. "Hello!" 
called Lawlor presently, from above. "You're doing fine. Come right 
along." And before I knew it the swing had stopped. I was at the 
top, or as near it as the tackle could take me. 

The remaining fifteen feet or so must be made with stirrups. And 
there was Lawlor standing in them up by the ball. There was not a 
stick of staging to support him (he had scorned the bother of hauling 
up boards for so simple a job), and he was working with both hands free, 
each leg standing on its stirrup, and several hitches of life-line holding 
him to the shaft top by his waist. This steeple-lassoing exploit was 
one of the things I certainly would not attempt — would not and could 

Strangely enough, as I hung there at rest I felt the danger more than 
coming up. It seemed most perilous to rest my weight on the swing- 
board, and I found myself holding my legs drawn up, with muscles 
tense, as if that could make me lighter. Gradually I realized the fool- 
ishness of this, and relaxed into greater comfort, but not entirely. Even 
veteran steeple-climbers waste much strength in needless clutching; 
cannot free their bodies from this instinctive fear. 

I stayed up long enough to take three photographs (some minutes 
passed before I could unlash my kodak), and here I had further proof 
of subconscious fright, for I made such blunders with shutter and focus 
length as would put the youngest amateur to shame. Two pictures out 
of the three were failures, and the third but an indifferent succesa 


There is one thing to be said in extenuation, that a steeple is never 
still, but always rocking and trembling. When Lawlor changed his 
stirrup hitches or moved from side to side the old beams would groan 
under us, and the whole structure rock. "She'd rock more," said 
Lawlor, "if she was better built. A good steeple always rocks." 

There wasn't much more to do up there, and presently we exchanged 
jirks on the line for the descent. And Lawlor cried: "Lower away! 
Hang on, now! " And I did over again my humble part of leg-spreading 
and toe-steering, with the result that presently I was down on the 
"bell-deck" again, receiving congratulations. 

"Here's your knife," said Merrill, after he had unlashed me. 

"What did you take it for?" I asked. 

"Oh, men sometimes get a mania to cut the ropes when they go up 
the first time. And that isn't good for their health. ^I was pretty sure 
you'd keep your head, but I wasn't taking any chances." 

After this came thanks and warm hand-grips all around, and then I 
left these daring men to their duties, and went down the lower ladders. 
I am sure I never appreciated the simple privilege of standing on a 
sidewalk as I did, a few minutes later, when I left the Church of the 


By WooDRow Wilson 

This is the high enterprise of the new day: to lift everything that 
concerns our life as a nation to the light that shines from the hearthfire 
of every man's conscience and vision of the right. It is inconceivable 
that we should do this as partisans; it is inconceivable we should do 
it in ignorance of the facts as they are or in blind haste. We shall re- 
store, not destroy. We shall deal with our economic system as it is 
and as it may be modified, not as it might be if we had a clean sheet of 
paper to write upon; and step by step we shall make it what it should 
be, in the spirit of those who question their own wisdom and seek coun- 
sel and knowledge, not shallow self-satisfaction or the excitement of 

^ Reprinted by permission of Mr. Wilson. 


excursions whither they cannot tell. Justice, and only justice, shall 
always be our motto. 

And yet it will be no cool process of mere science. The nation has 
been deeply stirred, stirred by a solemn passion, stirred by the knowl- 
edge of wrong, of ideals lost, of government too often debauched and 
made an instrument of evil. The feelings with which we face this new 
age of right and opportunity sweep across our heartstrings like some 
air out of God's own presence, where justice and mercy are reconciled 
and the judge and the brother are one. We know our task to be no 
mere task of politics but a task which shall search us through and 
through, whether we be able to understand our time and the need of 
our people, whether we be indeed their spokesmen and interpreters, 
whether we have the pure heart to comprehend and the rectified will 
to choose our high course of action. 

This is not a day of triumph; it is a day of dedication. Here muster, 
not the forces of party, but the forces of humanity. Men's hearts wait 
upon us; men's lives hang in the balance; men's hopes call upon us to 
say what we will do. Who shall live up to the great trust? Who dares 
fail to try? I summon all honest men, all patriotic, all forward-looking 
men, to my side. God helping me, I will not fail them, if they will but 
counsel and sustain me! 


Ade, George. 1866- . Author and playwright. "The County 
Chairman" and "The College Widow" are among his best 
known plays. 

Alcott, Louisa M. 1832-1888. Most popular works are "Little 
Women," "Little Men," "An Old-Fashioned Girl" and "Jo's 

Aytoun, William Edmondstoune. 1813-1865. A Scottish lawyer 
and poet and a grandson of Sir Robert Aytoun. Editor of 
Blackwood's Magazine and Professor of Literature at Uni- 
versity of Edinburgh. 

Balzac, Honore de. 1799-1850. The greatest of French noveUsts, 
and the chief of the realistic school among French writers. His 
early inclination to write was strongly opposed by his family, 
but he persisted and published his first novel of merit in 1829. 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett. 1806-1861. Wife of Robert Brown- 
ing, and ranked among the most gifted of female poets. Her 
'' Sonnets from the Portuguese " are considered her best poems. 

Browning, Robert. 1812-1889. Browning and Tennyson are the 
two foremost poets of the Victorian era. Browning is the 
great poet of the human soul, and gives us a message of faith 
and hope. He spent most of his fife in Italy, and is buried in 
Westminster Abbey. 

Bryant, William Cullen. 1794-1878. Called "the landscape poet 
of New England scenery," and the "Wordsworth of America." 
He was editor in chief of the New York Evening Post for fifty 



Burton, Richard. 1859- . Editor, author, lecturer, and pro- 
fessor of English Literature at the University of Minnesota. 
His works are chiefly essays and poems. 

Cable, George W. 1844- . Served in the Fourth Mississippi 
Cavalry, C. S. A., 1863-5; reported for New Orleans Picayune, 
1865-79; since that date has devoted himself to Hterature. 
His delineation of Creole characters in his novels has made 
him well known. 

Daudet, Alphonse. 1840-1897. French humorist, poet, and novel- 
ist. He began writing when he was in his teens. Settled in 
Paris in 1857 and began contributing to papers and periodicals. 
His first novel appeared in 1874. 

Davenport, Homer. 1867-1912. Cartoonist for the New York 
Journal and the New York Evening Mail. His work caused 
the attempt to pass the anti-cartoon bill in New York in 1897. 
In 1906 he was granted permission by the Sultan of Turkey 
to export twenty-seven Arabian horses to America. 

Dickens, Charles. 1812-1870. The poverty and hardships of his 
early life enabled him to make the English poor live in his 
writings. His sixteen novels did more than all the English 
statesmen of his time to better the conditions of the lower 
classes. His books still rank among the best sellers. 

Doyle, A. Conan. 1859- . English physician and novelist. 
His list of publications is a very long one. ''Adventures of 
Sherlock Holmes'' is the work by which he is most widely 
known. He was knighted in 1902. 

Eastman, C. Alexander. 1858- . Acting as government phy- 
sician at various agencies for Indians, has made him familiar 
with Indian life and equipped him well to write of Indian cus- 
toms, manners, and romance. 

Ford, Paul Leicester. 1865-1902. American author. Among his 
works are ''The True George Washington," "The Many- 


sided Franklin'^ and "Janice Meredith/' "The Honorable 
Peter Sterhng" is his best work. 

Franklin, Benjamin. 1706-1790. American philosopher and 
statesman. Published Poor Richard's Almanac for twenty- 
five years. Although he began his career in poverty, yet he 
became one of the greatest men of his time, and was recognized 
at home and abroad for his services to his fellowmen and to 
his country. 

Garrison, Theodosia. Born Newark, N. J. Author of "Joy o' 
Life" and "The Earth Cry." Contributor of poems and 
stories to magazines. 

Gordon, Charles William. 1860- . Pseudonym, Ralph Con- 
nor. Clergyman and author. Missionary in Rocky Mountain 
districts of Canada, for which work he secured large sums from 
British churches. Minister of St. Stephen's, Winnepeg, since 

Hale, Edward Everett. 1822-1909. Clergyman and author. 
Pastor of South Congregational Church, Boston, for more 
than fifty years and chaplain of the United States Senate. 
"The Man Without a Country" is his best short story. 

Hewlett, Maurice. 1861- . Enghsh novehst. His first novel 
appeared in 1895. A fresh novel from his pen has been pub- 
lished nearly every year since that date. 

Hillis, Newell Dwight. 1858- . Clergyman, author, and lec- 
turer. He is successor to Henry Ward Beecher and Lyman 
Abbott as pastor of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn. 

Holmes, Oliver Wendell. 1809-1894. Physician, poet, essayist, 
novelist, humorist, and philosopher. Probably the most versa- 
tile of all American writers. His "Autocrat of the Breakfast 
Table," alone, is enough to make him famous. 

Howell, Clark. 1863- . Editor and statesman. Editor of 
"The Atlanta Constitution," ex-speaker of the House of 
Representatives, Georgia Legislature. 


Hughes, Charles Evans. 1862- . Jurist and statesman. Ex- 
governor of the State of New York, associate justice of the 
supreme court of the United States. 

Irving, Washington. 1783-1859. Essayist, novehst, historian. 
With matchless hterary style, he gives us dehghtful descrip- 
tion as in ''Rural Life in England," genial humor as in the 
'Christmas Sketches," and tender pathos as in "The Pride 
of the Village." 

Kendall, Leonard B. 1891- . Contributor to periodicals. 

Lanier, Sidney. 1842-1881. Musician, poet, and critic. Occupied 
the chair of English Literature at Johns Hopkins University. 
Since his death his poetry has been accorded a much higher 
place in Hterature than was given it while he lived. 

Lincoln, Abraham. 1809-1865. Sixteenth president of the United 
States, and savior of the Union. His remarkable speech of 
consecration to the cause of his country was made when he 
was but thirty-one years old. 

Livermore, Mary A. 1821-1905. American reformer and lec- 
turer. She is best known by her work in sanitary reforms for 
the benefit of soldiers during the Civil War. 

Mansfield, Richard. 1857-1907. A German-American actor and 
playwright. He was successful in several Shakespearian roles, 
but is best remembered for his acting in "Beau Brummel" 
and in " Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." 

Markham, Edwin. 1852- . Poet, writer, and lecturer. Bom 
Oregon City, Oregon. His poem, "The Man with the Hoe," 
so well known, appeared in 1899. 

Matthews, Brander. 1852- . Poet, essayist, critic, and pro- 
fessor of dramatic literature at Columbia University. He 
has a large acquaintance with hterary people both in England 
and America, and has published a variety of works. 


Mitchell, S. Weir. 1829- . Neurologist and novelist. His 
early writings, beginning about 1860, were upon medical sub- 
jects, but since 1880 he has directed his efforts mostly to fiction. 

Moffett, Cleveland. 1863- . Editor and author. Associated 
with the New York Recorder and the New York Herald. His 
*^ Careers of Danger and Daring '' was pubHshed in 1901. 

Moore, F. Frankfort. 1855- . Irish novelist and dramatist. 
He published verses as early as 1875. Besides his many novels 
he has written several successful plays. 

Noyes, Alfred. 1880- . English poet. He has contributed 
poems to both English and American periodicals, and has 
already been widely recognized as a poet of worth. 

Peary, Robert E. 1856- . Arctic explorer. He started on his 
eighth Arctic expedition, July, 1908. He reached the North 
Pole, April 6, 1909. He was promoted to the rank of Rear- 
Admiral, and given the thanks of Congress by special act 
March 3, 1911. 

Proctor, Bryan Waller. 1787-1874. Pseudonym, Barry Cornwall. 
Enghsh poet. Byron and Sir Robert Peel were his schoolmates, 
and later in life he counted Dickens, Thackeray, Tennyson, 
Browning and Carlyle among his friends. He was at his best 
in lyric poetry. 

Reade, Charles. 1814-1884. Enghsh novehst and playwright. 
Reade studied the great art of fiction closely for fifteen years 
before he ventured to write a word of it. "Peg Woffington'^ 
was first written in the form of a play, and then turned into a 
novel. "The Cloister and the Hearth ^^ is his masterpiece, and 
is pronounced truer than history. 

Redpath, James. 1833-1891. Scottish-American editor, lecturer, 
and historian. He was associated with the New York Tribune, 
the North American Review, and for several years pubhshed 
his own paper, "Redpath^s Weekly." 


Riis, Jacob A. 1849- . Danish-American journalist and 
philanthropist. Besides his work as police reporter to the 
New York Sun, he has been active in the small parks and play- 
ground movement, and in tenement house and school reform. 

Riley, James Whitcomb. 1853- . A Ijo-ic poet. Much of his 
verse is in the Middle Western or Hoosier dialect, and he is 
known as "the Hoosier poet.'' He has pictured children and 
home life so well that his name is a household word. 

Roberts, Charles C. D. 1860- . Canadian author, editor, and 
poet. Published a volume of poems in 1903, ^'Hunters of the 
Silences'' in 1904, ^'The Watchers of the Trails" in 1907, and 
"The House in the Water" in 1908. 

Roosevelt, Theodore. 1858- . Ex-governor of New York 
State, Lieutenant Colonel in the Spanish-American War, the 
twenty-sixth president of the United States, advocate of re- 
forms municipal and national, on the staff of the Outlook. 

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel. 1828-1882. Painter and poet. He 
translated poems of the early Italian poets, and brought out a 
volume of his own poetry. "The Blessed Damozel" is one of 
his best. 

Shakespeare, William. 1564-1616. Shakespeare is admitted 
to be the greatest literary genius of all time. The thirty-seven 
dramas he wrote are his lasting memorial. To know his works 
well and to appreciate them is a liberal education. 

Sims, George R. 1847- . English verse writer, dramatist, and 
journahst. He is the author of "The Life Boat," ''The Old 
Actor's Story," ''In the Harbor," "The Ticket o'Leave," 
"Billy's Rose," and many other popular recitations. 

Stevenson, Robert Louis. 1850-1894. Scottish essayist, romancer, 
and poet. Educated at Edinburgh University. He was called 
to the Scottish bar, but never practiced. The last five years of 
his life were spent at Samoa. He is one of the most populai 
of modern writers. 


Taft, William Howard. 1857- . Secretary of War in the cabi- 
net of President Roosevelt, the twenty-seventh President of 
the United States. Eminent for his knowledge of international 
affairs and his success as a diplomat. 

Tyndall, John. 1820-1893. British physicist. Occupied the chair 
of Natural Philosophy at the Royal Institution, London; ex- 
plored with Huxley the glaciers of Switzerland in 1856, thus 
beginning a study to which he gave much attention. 

Van Dyke, Henry. 1852- . Clergyman, author, and educator. 
Professor of English Literature at Princeton University, 1900- 
1913. Minister to Holland, 1913- . His works include 
sermons, essays, poems and stories. He has written of his 
fishing excursions in ^'Little Rivers. '^ 

Walker, H. Wilfred. Traveler and fellow of the Royal Geographi- 
cal Society. 

Ward, Herbert. African traveler, sculptor, and Knight of the 
Legion of Honor. Among his publications are "Five Years 
with the Congo Cannibals" and ^'My Life with Stanley's 
Rear Guard." 

Washington, Booker T. 1859- . Educator. Organizer and 
head of Tuskegee Institute 1881. He has done more toward 
the practical education of negroes than any other educator. 

Waterhouse, Alfred James. 1855- . Newspaper man and 
author. Now the associate editor of the San Francisco Star. 

Watterson, Henry. 1840- . JournaHst and orator. Editor 
of the Courier Journal, Louisville, Kentucky, and member of 
the forty-fourth congress. 

White, Stewart Edward. 1873- . Fiction writer. His ex- 
perience as member of the American Forestry Association is 
reflected in all that he has written. The forests and mountains 
take on new attractions as he portrays them. 


Whittier, John Greenleaf. 1807-1892. The Quaker poet who as 
a boy received his first inspiration to write by hearing some 
of Burns' poems read aloud. He is revered for his simple living, 
the ennobling verses he wrote, and his devotion to the cause of 

Williams, Jesse Lynch. 1871- . A Princeton alumnus, still 
residing at Princeton, who has written many good stories of 
his Alma Mater. 

Wills, Freeman. English clergyman and dramatist. Vicar of 
St. Agatha, Finsbury, London, since 1871. 

Wilson, Woodrow. 1856- . Born Staunton, Va. President 
Princeton University 1902-1910, Governor of New Jersey 
1911-1913, twenty-eighth president of the United States. 
Author of various political and historical works. 

Zamacois, Miguel. Man of letters, dramatic author, and ChevaHer 
of the Legion of Honor. "The Jesters" was first played at the 
Sarah Bernhardt Theatre, Paris, in 1907. 

Zangwill, Israel. 1864- . Hebrew poet and playwright. 
Among his best known works are "Children of the Ghetto," 
and "Merely Mary Ann." 



America the Crucible of God Israel Zangwill 200 

American Integrity Charles Evans Hughes 331 

Antelope, the Sioux Scout C. Alexander Eastman 274 

As Men Should Leonard B. Kendall 329 

At Abbotsford with Scott Washington Irving 291 

Breaking of Pommers, The A. Conan Doyle 159 

Burial of Dundee William Edmondstoune Aytoun 262 

Case of Fatty Simon, The Jesse Lynch Williams 211 

Climbing to a Steeple-Top Cleveland Moffett 333 

Consecration to Country Abraham Lincoln 318 

Court Lady, A Elizabeth Barrett Browning 221 

Death of the Dauphin, The Alphonse Daudet 241 

Discovery of the North Pole, The Robert E. Peary 326 

Eagle's Song, The Richard Mansfield 185 

Electric Tram, The .Alfred Noyes 193 

Escape from Prison S. Weir Mitchell 171 

Extract from Inaugural Address Woodrow Wilson 336 

Falstaff 's Valor William Shakespeare 186 

Finish of Patsy Barnes, The Paul Laurence Dunbar 164 

Getting Started as a Lawyer Paul Leicester Ford 310 

Griggsby's Station James Whitcomb Riley 213 

Henry Hudson's Last Voyage Henry van Dyke 319 

How Wendell Phillips Became an Anti-slavery Reformer 

Mary A. Livermore 197 

Hymn to the North Star William Cullen Bryant 202 

Italian in England, The Robert Browning 305 

John Brown's Last Speech James Redpath 316 

King's Tragedy, The Dante Gabriel Rossetti 282 

Lincoln, the Man of the People Edwin Markham 225 

Little Women, Scene from (Louisa M. Alcott) 

Dramatized by Marion DeForest 208 
Lodging for a Night, A Robert Louis Stevenson 215 




Log Driving Stewart Edward White 179 

Loyalty Newell Dwight Hillis 232 

Man with his Hat in his Hand, The Clark Howell 219 

Marguerite John Greenleaf Whittier 245 

May Flowers Theodosia Garrison 184 

Miracle of the Peach-Tree, The Maurice Hewlett 270 

Morning in an African Village, A Herbert Ward 293 

Nandi Lion Hunting Theodore Roosevelt 278 

Night Among the Pines, A Robert Louis Stevenson 250 

Passing of Captain Jewett, The George W. Cable 259 

Passion in the Desert, The Honore de Balzac 246 

Path to Peace, The William Howard Taft 231 

Pirates Alfred Noyes 277 

Premiere of ''She Stoops to Conquer," The. . . .F. Frankfort Moore 302 

Race of Life, The Oliver Wendell Holmes 176 

Rescued from the Stadthouse Tower Charles Reade 266 

Royal Marauder, A Charles G. D. Roberts 256 

Said Abdallah Homer Davenport 234 

Sea Ice and Icebergs John Tyndall 296 

Sea, The Bryan Waller Proctor 206 

Second Fiddle Richard Burton 224 

Self-assertion in Speech Benjamin Franklin 223 

Sergeant Vaughan as a Fireman Jacob A. Riis 239 

Sidney Carton's Sacrifice (Charles Dickens) 

Dramatized by Freeman Wills 324 

Silly Old Man, A George R. Sims 190 

Song of the Chattahoochee Sidney Lanier 177 

Standards of Success Brander Matthews 300 

Story of Philip Nolan, The Edward Everett Hale 227 

Story of the Breeze, The Miguel Zamaco'is 169 

Struggling for an Education Booker T. Washington 298 

Swan Creek Church Opened, The Ralph Connor 203 

Tall-stoy George Ade 253 

Under the Sign of the Golden Shoe Alfred Noyes 191 

Vision of American History Henry Watterson 243 

When I Go Out on my Wheel Alfred James Waterhouse 194 

When Tulips Bloom Henry van Dyke 183 

Where Edible Birds' Nests are Gathered H, Wilfred Walker 313 



Ade, George 253 

Alcott, Louisa M 208 

Aytoun, William E 262 

Balzac, Honore de 246 

Browning, Elizabeth B 221 

Browning, Robert 305 

Bryant, William Cullen. .... 202 

Burton, Richard 224 

Cable, George W 259 

Daudet, Alphonse 241 

Davenport, Homer 234 

DeForest, Marion 208 

Dickens, Charles 324 

Doyle, A. Conan 159 

Dunbar, Paul Laurence 164 

Eastman, C. Alexander 274 

Ford, Paul Leicester 310 

Franklin, Benjamin 223 

Garrison, Theodosia 184 

Gordon, Charles William. ... 203 

Hale, Edward Everett 227 

Hewlett, Maurice 270 

Hillis, Newell Dwight 232 

Holmes, Oliver Wendell 176 

Howell, Clark 219 

Hughes, Charles Evans 331 

Irving, Washington 291 

Kendall, Leonard B 329 

Lanier, Sidney 177 

Lincoln, Abraham 318 

Livermore, Mary A 197 

Mansfield, Richard 185 

Markham, Edwin 225 


Matthews, Brander 300 

Mitchell, S. Weir 171 

Moffett, Cleveland 333 

Moore, F. Frankfort 302 

Noyes, Alfred 191, 193, 277 

Peary, Robert E 326 

Proctor, Bryan Waller 206 

Reade, Charles 266 

Redpath, James 316 

Riis, Jacob A 239 

Riley, James Whitcomb 213 

Roberts, Charles G. D 256 

Roosevelt, Theodore 278 

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel 282 

Shakespeare, William 186 

Sims, George R 190 

Stevenson, Robert Louis 215, 250 

Taft, WiUiam Howard 231 

Tyndall, John 296 

Van Dyke, Henry 183, 319 

Walker, H. Wilfred 313 

Ward, Herbert 293 

Washington, Booker T 298 

Waterhouse, Alfred James. . . 194 

Watterson, Henry 243 

White, Stewart Edward 179 

Whittier, John G , . . 245 

Williams, Jesse Lynch 211 

Wills, Freeman 324 

Wilson, Woodrow 336 

Zamacois, Miguel 169 

Zangwill, Israel 200 



Abbott, Lyman, quotation from, 

Abdominal breathing, 12 

Accent, adjective and verb dis- 
tinguished by, 66-67; correct, 
of words often wrongly ac- 
cented, 70j defined, 66; foreign, 
26; noun and adjective distin- 
guished by, 66-67; noun and 
verb distinguished by, 66-67; 
primary and secondary, 66 

Accuracy, in reading, 80 

Actors, emotions of, 99; voices of, 

Allen, James Lane, quotation 
from, 137 

Alphabet, N. E. A., 74-77 

American institutions encourage 
public speaking, 5 

American voice, 7, 107 

Analyzing thought, 80, 84, 85, 112 

Anderson, William Gilbert, 
quotation from, 90 

Antonyms, 95-96 

Archer, William, quotation 
from, 99 

Argument, 89-91; antecedent 
probability, 153; from author- 
ity, 153; positive, 153; pure rea- 
son, 153; real evidence, 153 

Argumentation, 89-91 

Articulation, organs of, 15, 16, 18 

Atherton, Gertrude, quotation 
from, 115 

Atmosphere of audience, 101-103 
Atonies, defined, 16; tabulated, 17 
Attainments in spoken English, 
3, 6 

Beecher, Henry Ward, quota- 
tion from, 147 

Begging the question, 152 

Bible, quotation from, 128 

Book, how to hold it, 12 

Breathing, abdominal, 12; af- 
fected by position, 10; costal, 
12; effect of proper breathing, 
12; exercises for deep breath- 
ing, 13; exercises for control of 
breath, 14; control of, for group- 
ing words, 123; methods of, 12; 
thoracic, 12 

Brief making, 155 

Bronte, Charlotte, quotation 
from, 140 

Browne, Walter, quotation 
from, 114 

Browning, Robert, quotation 
from, 127 

Bulwer-Lytton, Edward, quo- 
tation from, 132 

Burden of proof, 152 

Business success, aided by good 
EngUsh, 3-5 

Byron, Lord, quotation from, 141 

Cable, George W., quotation 
from, 142 




Cawein, Madison, quotation 
from, 123 

Central idea, 113, 148 

Chambers, Robert W., quota- 
tion from, 144 

Character and emotional expres- 
sion, 100 

Choosing, a selection, 149; a topic 
for an original speech, 150; a 
topic for oral composition, 92- 
93; a question for debate, 154 

Circumflex inflection, 133 

Clay, Henry, quotation from, 

Clearing groimd, 152 

Cognates defined, 16 

Compass of voice, 129 

Complexity of oral English, 8 

Composition, oral, forms of, com- 
pared with purposes of pubHc 
speaking, 91; ideals in, 78-79; 
topics for, 92-93 

Concentration of thought, 84 

Conclusion, of original speech, 
150; of debate, 155 

Cone, Helen Gray, quotation 
from, 120 

Connolly, James Brendan, quo- 
tation from, 134 

Consonants, beginning and final, 
18; correct sound of, in words 
often mispronounced, 71; how 
formed, 16; lessons in enuncia- 
tion of, 19-46; tabulation of, 
17; with more than one sound, 
61-65; with musical qualities, 

Contrast of ideas, 113 

Control of breath, exercises for, 
13; while grouping words, 123 

Conversation, reveals the indi- 
vidual, 4; compared with public 
address, 6 

Conviction, a purpose of public 
speaking, 89 

Correcting a speech, 151; a de- 
bate, 155; a misstatement, 102 

Costal breathing, 12 

Cox, Samuel S., quotation from, 

Criticism, 94 

Curtis, George William, quota- 
tion from, 116, 121 

Debates, cautions, 156; how to 

prepare, 151 ; positive argument, 

153; refutation, 154 
Deep breathing, exercises for, 13 
Delivery affected by emotion, 

Description, form of composition, 

Descriptive gestures, 145-146 
Diacritical marks, 46 
Diagnosis of pupil's expression, 

Dickens, Charles, quotations 

from, 131, 134, 137 
Dictionaries, records of current 

usage, 67; Webster diacritical 

markings, 46-75 
Diphthongs in EngUsh, 55 
Directness in delivery, 290 
Diversion, a purpose of public 

speaking, 87; illustration, 87 
Doubt, inflection expressing, 133 
Doyle, A. Conan, quotations 

from, 114, 124, 127 
Dramatization, 101, 147 
Drawling, how to overcome, 18 



Ear, cultivation of, 68, 103, 104; 
meaning of good, 104; trained, 
gives ideals, 105; trained, acts as 
gauge, 106; untrained, a handi- 
cap, 105 

Eastman, C. Alexander, quota- 
tion from, 128 

Elements of language, 16; in Eng- 
lish tabulated, 17; of oral Eng- 
lish tabulated, 7 

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, quota- 
tion from, 115 

Emotional elements, 9, 99 

Emotions, cultivation of, 100; 
effect of, in delivery, 100; rela- 
tion to imagination, 99; univer- 
sal language, 99 

Emphasis defined, 112; rules for, 
113; rules illustrated, 114-117 

English language, vowels and 
consonants of, 15-17; deserves 
respect, 68 

Enunciation, aids to good, 18; 
what is good, 18; graded lessons 
in, 19-46 

Errors, in grammar, 81; in pro- 
nunciation, 67-72 

Exaggeration, to be avoided, 

Exercises for controlling breath, 
14; cultivating the voice, 128- 
129; deep breathing, 13; enun- 
ciation, 19-46; pronunciation, 

Exposition, a form of composition, 

Extemporaneous speech, 98 

Familiarity^ with words, 95 
Feeling the pulse of the audience, 

101; help to a speaker, 102, 188; 

how cultivated, 102 
Field, Eugene, quotation from, 

Flippancy in debate, 156 
Focusing tone, 18, 109 
Force, an expressive element, 

Ford, Paul Leicester, quota- 
tion from, 88 
Foreign accents, 26 
Formal Elements, 8, 10 
Formation, of consonants, 16, 19; 

of vowels, 16 
Freedom of organs of articulation, 


Galsworthy, John, quotations 
from, 115, 121 

Garrison, Theodosia, quotation 
from, 125 

Gestures, descriptive, 145, 146; 
elaborate, 145; emotionally 
manifestive, 147; self-manifes- 
tive, 146; sympathetic, 146; use 
and abuse of descriptive, 146 

Gilder, Richard Watson, quo- 
tation from, 125 

Grady, Henry W., quotations 
from, 120, 127 

Grammatical relations, apprecia- 
tion of, 80; effect on reading, 81; 
effect on spoken English, 81; 
errors that are common, 81- 

Grasp of subject, 98 

Grouping, according to punctua- 
tion, 123; according to thought, 
123; exercises in, 123-126; lines 
of poetry, 123 



Habits of speech, 3, 80, 81 
Hagedorn, Hermann, quotation 

from, 132 
Hall, Newman, quotation from, 

117 • 
Hamilton, Alexander, quota- 
tion from, 98 
Hardy, Thomas, quotation from, 

Harrison, Clifford, quotation 

from, 82 
Henry, O., quotation from, 116 
Herbert, George, quotation 

from, 129 
Herrick, Robert, quotation 

from, 118 
Hovey, Richard, quotation from, 

Hughes, Thomas, quotation from, 

Hunt, Leigh, quotation from, 130 

Ibsen, Henrik, quotations from, 

114, 136 
Ideals in oral composition, 78, 

Idioms of English, 96-97 
Imagination, how developed, 83; 

related to reading aloud, 82; 

used in many professions, 83 
Imitation, basis of speech, 78; 

of teacher's reading, 104; of 

voices heard, 104 
Impression, a purpose of public 

speaking, 86; illustration, 89 
Inflections, circumflex, 133; de- 
fined, 133; falling, 133; rising, 

Ingersoll, Robert, quotations 

from, 83, 128 

Instruction, a purpose of public 

speaking, 86; illustration, 88 
Integrity of speaker, 103 
Intellectual Elements, 8, 78 
Interpretation, characteristic of 

reading aloud, 7; of literature 

gives ideals, 79 
Interrogative sentences with force 

of commands, 133 
Introduction, to an original 

speech, 150; to a debate, 155 

James, William, quotations from, 

79, 144 
Jaw, free movement of lower, 18 
Johnson, Owen, quotation from, 


Keys in speech, 130 
Klein, Charles, quotation from, 

Labials, classified, 17; defined, 16 

Lamb, Charles, quotation from, 

Leacock, Stephen, quotation 
from, 87 

Linguals, classified, 17; defined, 16 

Lips, mobility of, 18 

Lisping, how to avoid, 18 

Longfellow, Henry W., quota- 
tion from, 119 

Mackaye, Percy W., quotation 
from, 142 

Maeterlinck, Maurice, quota- 
tion from, 138 

Mannerisms, effect of, on audi- 
ence, 11 



Manuscript, reading from, 151 

Harden, Orison Swett, quota- 
tion from, 122 

Matthews, Brander, quotation 
from, 124 

Matthews, William, quotation 
from, 14 

Mechanical, pausing, 126; proc- 
esses not the object of thought, 

Melody, of sentences, 129; and ac- 
cent, 66 

Memorizing, 149 

Mental grasp of thought, 84, 98 

Mental training from vital oral 
reading, 84, 85, 98 

Merim^e, Prosper, quotation 
from, 142 

Models, study of, 78 

Monotone, cause of, 103, 175; in 
untrained voice, 107; of deaf, 

Moody, William Vaughn, quo- 
tation from, 115 

Narration, a form of composition, 

Nasal consonants, musical quali- 
ties of, 108 

Nasality, how to avoid, 18 

Newbolt, Henry, quotation 
from, 141 

Nose, breathing through the, 13 

Note-book, value of, 95 

Old rule of counting at pauses, 126 
Oral composition, ideals for, 78- 

79; topics for, 92-93 
Oral English, command of, essen- 
tial in public speaking, 5; com- 

mand of, an element of success, 
3; divisions of, 6; elements of, 
tabulated, 8-9; permanency of 
attainments in, 6; value of, at 
school, 3; value of, in social 
relations, 4; value of, in busi- 
ness, 4, 5 

Oral reading, complexity of, 8; ele- 
ments of, tabulated, 8-9; form 
of oral English, 6; how to im- 
prove in, 7; neglect of, 7; vi- 
tality in, 158 

Oratory, 103 

Original speech, how to prepare 
one, 150 

Palatals, classified, 17; defined, 16 

Pantomime, 101, 145, 147 

Parliamentary usage in debate, 

Pauses, related to emphasis, 112; 
related to grouping, 123; re- 
lated to time, 126; rhetorical, 
127; illustrations, 127-129 

Peabody, Ephraim, quotation 
from, 119 

Perception of vocal effects, 103; 
cultivation of, 104; essential to 
good oral English, 106 

Perry, Bliss, quotation from, 128 

Persuasion, a purpose of public 
speaking, 86; illustration, 90 

Phillips, Charles, quotation 
from, 127 

Phillips, Wendell, quotation 
from, 116 

Physical response, 144 

Pier, Arthur Stanwood, quota* 
tion from, 118 

Pitch, an expressive element, 129 



Pleading, inflections in, 133 

PoE, Edgar Allan, quotation 
from, 122 

Positive assertion, inflection of, 

Practice, necessary in oral compo- 
sition, 133; reading aloud, 79; 
voice exercises, 108; weak ele- 
ments developed by, 8 

Premise, 152 

Preparation, of a debate, 151; a 
declamation, 149; an original 
speech, 150; a reading lesson, 

Presenting pictures in delivery, 

Proof, burden of, 152 

Pronunciation, correct accentua- 
tion, 70; correct consonant 
sounds, 61 ; correct vowel sounds, 
46-60; defined, 67; inserting 
extra syllables, or letters, 69; 
of consonants, 71; of silent 
letters, 72; of vowels, 71; omit- 
ting syllables or letters, 69; 
wrong division of syllables, 68 

Public speaking, purposes of, di- 
version, 86-87; instruction, 86, 
88; impression, 86, 89; convic- 
tion, 86, 89; persuasion, 86, 90; 
compared with forms of oral 
composition, 91; equipment for, 

Purpose, subservient and ulti- 
mate, in public speaking, 87 

Quality, an expressive element, 
affected by emotions, 139; cul- 
tivation of, 108, 139; defined, 
138; physical basis 138; varie- 

ties of, used in interpreting 
literature, 140-144 

Quality of voice affected by 
breathing, 12, 18 

Question, begging the, 152; state- 
ment of, in debate, 152 

Reade, Charles, quotation from, 

Reading aloud, a form of oral Eng- 
lish, 6; good training, 6, 7; neg- 
lect of, 7 

Reading lesson, how to prepare, 

Refutation, 154 

Rehearsing, 149, 151, 156 

Resonance, 18; exercises for se- 
curing, 108, 110 

Resonant chambers, 15, 108 

Rhetorical pauses, 127; illustra- 
tions of, 127-129 

Rhythm rouses emotions, 99 

Riis, Jacob A., quotation from, 

Riley, James Whitcomb, quota- 
tion from, 140 

Robertson, Forbes, quotation 
from, 99 

School subjects and oral English, 

4, 84, 106 
ScoLLARD, Clinton, quotation 

from, 125 
Scott, Walter, quotations from, 

130, 136 
Self-confidence, 5 
Self-consciousness, overcoming, 

10, 147 
Self-control, 11 
Shakespeare, William, quota- 



tions from, 118, 119, 126, 127, 
128, 130, 136 

Shifting ground, 152 

Silent letters, sounding of, 72 

Slovenly speech, 4, 5 

Smith, F. Hopkinson, quotation 
from, 135 

Social relations and oral English, 4 

Spalding, John L., quotation 
from, 128 

Stating the question, 152 

Stevenson, Robert Louis, quo- 
tation from, 140 

Student cooperation with teacher, 

Study of models, 78 

Subordination, defined, 120; illus- 
trated, 120-123 

Subservient purpose in public 
speaking, 87 

Sub tonics, classified, 17; defined, 

Swift, Jonathan, quotation from, 

Syllables, inserting extra, 87; 
omitting, 69; wrong division of 

Thought, concentration of, in 
study, 84; grasp of author's, 
84; vitality of, in conversation 
and public speech, 158 

Time, an expressive element, 117; 
significance of fast, moderate 
and slow, 117; varieties of, illus- 
trated, 118-123 

Tone, breathy, 13, 18; empty, 97; 
focusing, 18; fronting, 109; 
general direction of, 10; influ- 
enced by physical conditions, 

Tonics, classified, 17; defined, 

Topics, for oral composition, 92- 
93; for original speech, 150 

Trowbridge, John T., quotation 
from, 117 

Tyndall, John, quotation from, 

Ultimate purpose in public speak- 
ing, 87 

Utterance, rapid, 18; related to 
thought, 112 

Syllogism, 152 
Synonyms, 95 

Tabulation, elements of oral 
English, 8-9; elements of Eng- 
lish, 17 
Technical Elements, 9, 112 
Temperament, emotional, 100 
Tennyson, Alfred, quotations 

from, 122, 131 
Thackeray, William M., quota- 
tion from, 122 
Thoracic breathing, 12 

Value of good oral English, in 

business, 4, 5; at school, 3; in 

society, 4 
Values, relation of, in expressive 

delivery, 196 
Vitality in oral reading, 158 
Vocabulary, how to increase, 95, 

96; of use and comprehension, 

Vocal apparatus, 15; exercises for, 

Voice, American, 107; cultivation 

of, 107; exercises, 109-111; nat* 



ural reporter of mental states, 
Vowels, correct, in words often 
mispronounced, 71; graded les- 
sons in sounds of^ 46-60; how 
formed, 16; tabulated, 17 

Watson, John, quotation from, 

Webster, Daniel, quotation 
from, 98 

Whittier, John Greenleaf, quo- 
tation from, 138 

WiSTER, Owen, quotation from, 

Words, choice of, 95 

Wordsworth, William, quota- 
tion from, 124 

Printed in the United States of America. 

"^B 36876 

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