ESSENTIALS OK Elocution and Oratory, VIRGIL A. PINKLEY, dn ector of the department of elocution in the college of Music of Cincinnati, and formerly Professor of Sacred Oratory in I^ane Theological Seminary. CINCINNATI : CRANSTON & STOWE. j <. NEW YORK : PHIIvLIPS & HUNT. i88S. Copyright by VIRGIL A. PINKLEY, 1888. 'i I / F5EF4SE It is the high aim of the Trustees and Faculty of the College of Music of Cincinnati to train the voices of their students according to physiological principles; that health may not be sacrificed; that the vocal organs may be given endurance; and that a quality of voice-expression may be cuU'- ited, whether in speech or in song, that is easy, nat- ural, and agreeable. For a long time, in common with my associates, I have felt the need of a text-book on Vocal and Visible Expression, prepared with these ends in full view. Herein, therefore, lies my apology, if apology be necessary, for throwing another book upon the world. I would call especial attention to the pages devoted to the Anatomy and Physiology of the vocal organs, and to the chapter on the Mechanism of Eespiration, as I believe that a careful study of this portion of the work can but produce excellent results. A somewhat comprehensive course on Calisthenics I ha*ve. introduced, because such a drill as recommended here will promote health, will increase the strength of the vocal appa- ratus, will improve the tone and timbre of the voice, and will add grace and beauty to bodily movements. In the pages on Gesture I have studied to point out in a form as condensed and as easy of comprehension as 1 4 PREFACE. possible, all that the student of Oratory needs to learn from books. Perfection in gesture, and in other modes of visible expression, like perfection in speech, can come only from long and constant practice, and under never-failing watch and correction. To Phonetics I have given considerable space, believing that a thorough understanding of the different sounds is essential to good reading and good speaking. I have taken some pains to prepare the pages on Orthoepy, in the hope that the learner may acquire a love for the study of pronunciation that will lead him to profi- ciency in this department of study. Without accuracy in accentuation and in enunciation, no one will meet with full success in reading or in speaking. As lawyers, physicians, preachers, artists, and scientists may be held justly account- able for the correct pronunciation of words peculiar to their respective professions, so may the orator be held responsible for the correct pronunciation of every word that falls from his lips. The very important subject, Modulation, I have en- deavored to present somewhat to advantage. Suggestions as to the character of thought requiring modulatory method; brief extracts, the reading of which is calcu- lated to cultivate skill in the use of that method; and Selections in which the method is questioned, are promi- nent characteristics, and, I believe, are valuable features of this book. Drawing from my experience as a teacher of Elocution for several years in Lane Theological Seminary, I have tried to write a chapter on Sacred Oratory that will be of use to students of Theology and to the Ministry as well, thinking PREFACE. 5 that, perhaps, a few practical suggestions on this subject might be well received. In the choice and arrangement of the Oratorical Selections I have made an effort to present such a variety that exam- ples for practice, senatorial, dramatic, ethical, descriptive, dialectic, humorous, colloquial, and juvenile, may be easily found. In fine, it has been my aim to prepare a book on Elocution and Oratory that may serve as a guide to all grades of stu- dents who would acquire proficiency in the art of Vocal and Visible Expression, and, at the same time, a work that would contain only that which is true, pure, and practical. My thanks are due to those authors and publishers who have favored me with contributions, as well as to my friends and colleagues who have been kind enough to give me the benefit of their counsel and assistance during the progress of this work. VIRGIL A. PINKLEY. Cincinnati, August 4, 1888. co^TE^^TS. PAGE Preface, 3 Introductory Remarks, 17 Part I. ANATOMY, PHYSIOLOGY, AND HYGIENE OF THE RESPIRATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. The Nose, . 25 The Throat, 26 The Trachea and Bronchi, 28 The Thorax, 29 The Muscles : Inspiratory and Expiratory, 31 The Abdomen, 33 Part II. RESPIRATION. Inhalation, 34 E:^halation, 37 Compound Movements, 39 7 8 CONTENTS. PAQIE. Respiratory Volumes, 40 General Suggestions and Cautions, 41 Part III. SIMPLE PHYSICAL CULTURE OR CALISTHENICS. Calisthenic Exercises, 43 Part IV. GESTURE OR VISIBLE EXPRESSION. Attitude, Action, and Center of Motion, 50 The Threefold Mission of Gesture, 52 Lines, Parts, Directions, Zones, 53 Head, Brows, Eyes, Nose, Mouth, Cheeks, Chin, 55 Fingers, Hands, Arras, 58 Shoulders, Chest, Trunk, 62 Feet, Knees, Legs, 64 Special Gestures, General Suggestions, and Cautions, .... 65 Part V. PHONETICS. Diacritic Marks and their Significance, 71 Simple Sounds, 72 Compound Sounds, 73 Needless Distinctions and Inconsistencies 73 CONTENTS. 9 PAGE. Long Flat a, Short a, Short ItaKan a, Short o, Broad o, and Long Italian a, 74 Phonetic Spelling, 75 Short e, Tilde e, Short u, Broad u, and r, 76 Long a, Long e, Short i, y, 78 Long 0, Long Double o, Short Double o, and w, ..... . 79 Cognate Sounds, 80 The Liquids, 82 The Proper Diphthongs, 83 Part VI. ORTHOEPY. Definition and Violations, 86 Orthoepic Inconsistencies, 89 Evil Tendencies in Orthoepy, ... 90 Orthoepic Rules, . . . 91 Orthoepic Exercises, . ... 93 Part VII. MODUI.ATION. Defined and Outlined, 98 Fundamental Drill, 98 Conversational Tones, 100 Tremulant Tones, 101 Methods of Vocal Emission, 102 Register, 108 Power, 117 Volume, 124 Quality, 133 10 CONTENTS. PAGE. Time: Rate, 145 Quantity, 152 Pause, 153 Inflection, 156 Monotone, 163 Part VIII. Diction, 165 Part IX. SACRED ORATORY. Defective Articulation and Deficient Projectile Power, . . . 1.71 Drawling and Irregularity of Delivery, 172 Head and Nasal Tones, 172 Mouthing and Clerical Sore Throat, . 173 Monday Morning Prostrations, 173 Unnaturalness, 174 Speaking in a Too High Key, 174 Eccentricities, 175 Bible Readings, . 176 Hymnal Readings, 178 Part X. THOUGHT ANALYSIS. The Battle of Ivry, 181 Gray's Elegy, 185 Horatius at the Bridge, 194 The Brides of Enderby, 207 CONTENTS, 11 Part XI. ORATORICAI. SEIvKCTlONS. PAGE. AiNO Legend, The, J. M. Crawford, .... 307 Alone, . . . •% Coates Kinney, .... 300 Apostrophe to the Ocean, The, . . . Byron, 132 Aunt Polly's "George Washington," . Youth's Companion,. . 387 Aux Italiens, Bulwer Lytton, .... 304 Awfully Lovely Philosophy, Anon., 466 Baby, The, J. W. Riley, 453 Basket of Flowers, A, . . . . . . . . Sarah B. Stebbins, . . . 445 Battle of Ivry, The, T. B. Macaulay, .... 181 Bay Billy, Frank H. Gassaway, . • 317 Bells, The, E. A. Poe, 343 Bereaved, Florus B. Plimpton, . . 228 Better than Gold, Virgil A. Pinkley, ... 230 Birthday Reflections George D. Prentice, . . 109 Blacksmith's Story, The, Frank Olive, 425 Bore, The, J. G. Saxe, 263 Brakeman at Church, The, R. J. Burdette, .... 458 Brides of Enderby, The, Jean Ingelow, 207 Bridge, The, Longfellow, 154 Brother Watkins, John B. Gough, .... 378 Brudder John's Vision, 365 Brutus on the Death of Caesar, . . . Shakespeare, 143 Burial of Sir John Moore, The, . . . Charles Wolfe, .... 136 Cato ON THE Immortality OF THE Soul, Addison, 163 Charcoal Man, The, J. T. Trowbridge, ... 406 Child's Dream of a Star, A, . . . . . Dickens, 441 Cleon and I. ...... Charles Mackay, .... 148 Coronation, Perronet, 179 12 CONTENTS. PAGE, Cricket, The, Anon., 129 Curfew, The, Anon., 359 Deacon's Story, The, N. S. Emerson, .... 430 Death of Little Jo, Dickens, 125 Death of Little Nell, Dickens, 119 Dot Baby of Mine, ......... Charles F. Adams, ... 392 Dot Leedle Loweeza " " " . . 393 Dot Leedle Yawcob Strauss, .... " " " . . 391 Driver's Christmas, The, M. L. Rayne, 422 Dumb Savior, The Mary E. Bryan, .... 349 Elf-child, The, James Whitcomb Riley, 452 Elocution and Oratory, H. W. Beecher 20 Elocution Applicant, The, Anon., 468 Emmet's Vindication, 145 Eugene Aram's Dream, Thomas Hood, 354 Evangeline, Longfellow, 142 Evening at the Farm, J. T. Trowbridge, . . • 404 Fireman's Prayer, The, R. H. Conwell, .... 362 Flash— The Fireman's Story, .... Will Carleton, 150 Flood and the Ark, The, Hard-shell Preacher, . . 427 Funeral, The, Will Carleton, 368 Good-night, Papa, American Messenger, . 139 Gradatim, J. G. Holland, .... 220 Grattan's Invective, 159 Gray's Elegy 185 Guessing Nationalities, S. L. Clemens, .... 282 Guilty or Not Guilty, Anon., 323 Hamlet's Elocutionary Advice, . . Shakespeare, 113 Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death, .... ** 146 Horatius at the Bridge, T. B. Macaulay, .... 194 CONTENTS. Tf we Knew, Anon., . . . . . Inquiry, The, Charles Mackay, Jimmy Butler and the Owl, . . Anon., Last Days of Herculaneum, .... Edwin Atherton, . Last Hymn, The, Marianne Farninghj Laughter, K. G. Ingersoll, . . Liberty and Union, Daniel Webster, . . Literary Nightmare, A, Samuel L. Clemens, Little Hatchet Story, The, . . . . . K. J. Burdette, . . Little Stow-away, The, Anon., Lookout Mountain, Battle of, ... . George L. Catlin, . Lost Sheep, The, Anon., Mac-o-chee, Donn Piatt, . . Maiden Martyr, The, Baltimore Elocutionist Mark Twain and the Interviewer, . . Samuel L. Clemens Marmion and Douglas, Sir Walter Scott, . Marullus to the Komans, Miss Mitford, . . Mary's Night-ride, George W. Cable, Mine Katrine, Charles F. Adams Model American Boy, The, Virgil A. Pinkley, Model American Girl, The, " " " Mountains, E. M. Morse, . . Mule and the Bees, The, Lock Melone, . . Napoleon, R. G, Ingersoll, . Necessity of Elocutionary Training, . Bishop Simpson, . New Baby, The, George W. Cable, New Cure for Rheumatism, R. J. Burdette, . Nicodemus Dodge, S. L. Clemens, . 13 PAGE. . 2ai . 158 . 374 . 345 , 334 . 221 , 141 , 243 . 438 , 434 . 379 . 386 . 298 . 321 . 462 . 115 . 105 328 . 394 221 234 143 254 . 302 23 257 259 278 Old " Constitution," The, . . Old Man and Jim, The, .... O. W. Holmes, .... 123 James Whitcomb Riley, 415 14 CONTENTS. PAGE. Old Man in the Model Church, The, . J. H. Yates, 413 Old Reading-class, The, Will Carleton, 258 Old Schoolmaster, The, L. 0. Harris, 325 Old Woman's Railway Signal, The, . Elihu Burritt, 331 One Niche the Highest, Elihu Burritt, 339 On the Shores of Tennessee, . . . . E. L. Beers, 384 Out to Old Aunt Mary's, J. W. Riley 303 Owl Critic, The, James T. Fields, .... 270 Paddy's Excelsior, Anon., 401 Platonic Love, W. B. Terrett, . . . . . 253 Psalm CXLVIII and CL, . .... .Bible, 131 Psalm of Life, Longfellow, 227 Pyramus and Thisbe, J. Gr. Saxe, 272 Rain on the Roof, Coates Kinney, .... 215 Resignation, Longfellow, 296 Richelieu and France, Bulwer Lytton, .... 107 Richelieu's Reflections, " " .... 106 Riding on the Rail, J. G. Saxe, 265 Rizpah, Lucy Blinn, 352 Royal Princess, A, Christina G. Rossetti, . 314 Sam's Letter, Our American Cousin, . 268 Sandy Macdonald's Signal, Anon., 454 Schneider Sees Leah, Schneider, 395 Second Trial, A, Sarah W. Kellogg, ... 335 Seed-sowing, Virgil A. Pinkley, ... 225 Seven Decades of Man, The, .... " " " ... 218 She would be a Mason, ....... James C. Laughton, . . 276 Ship of Faith, The, Anon., • . 382 Slavery, Cowper, • 159 Slips 'Twixt Cup and Lip, Owen Meredith, .... 103 Snow Angel, The, Wallace Bruce, .... 228 Snow-flakes, . Deronda 232 CONTENTS, 15 PAGE. Sockery Setting a Hen, Sockery, 308 Soliloquy of an Old Man, The, . . . C. R. Brooke, 293 Songs of the Night, R. J. Burdette, .... 266 Spanish Duel, The, J. I. Waller, 407 Speech of Cassius, Shakespeare, 161 Star of the Evening, Florus B. Plimpton, . . 226 Student, The, Anon., 223 Sunday Fishin', Harper's Magazine, . . 402 Theology in the Quarters, . . . . J. A. Macon, ..... 400 Tommy Taft, H. W. Beecher, .... 417 Twenty-third Psalm, The, Bible, 176 Uncle Dan'l, Clemens and Warner, . 370 Uncle Tom and the Hornets, .... Detroit Free Press, . . 274 Wainamoinen's Harp-songs, . . • . J. M. Crawford, .... 235 Ward's Mormon Lecture, Artemus Ward, .... 248 Ward's Panorama, " " .... 288 War Inevitable, Patrick Henry, .... 105 Water Eulogized. Paul Denton, 241 Water-mill, The, D. C. McCallum, ... 121 We Shall Know, ; . Anon., 103 What's Hallowed Ground? Thomas Campbell, . . . 216 What the Little Girl Said, Boston Globe, 449 When the Frost is on the Punkin, . James Whitcomb Riley, 429 Whistle of the Quail, The, Mary S. Paden, .... 312 Who Kissed Away the Tear ? . . . Detroit Free Press, . . 327 William Tell, on Freedom, Knowles, 316 Work, Work Away Virgil A. Pinkley, ... 451 Wounded Soldier, The, Anon., 420 Elocution and Oratory. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. Oratory is the vocal and visible expression of one's own thoughts. Elocution is the vocal and visible expres- sion of the thoughts of another. Speech is articulate vocal expression. Gesture is visible expression. Good elocution or oratory is the art of putting speech and gesture into har- mony with the thought to be expressed. Both elocution and oratory, therefore, fall legitimately and logically within the province of this book. The cardinal essentials to good reading and speech are breath, body, voice, intellect, and emotion. When breath, body, and voice are made subservient to the mind; when the mind is made to know what are the demands of thought ; when the emotions are in keeping with the character of the thought; when all these forces act in harmony with the requirements of the thought, — then has the Art of Elocu- tion and of Oratory touched its zenith. Who will say that this is the work of a day, of a month, of a year? Surely graduation is fittingly called Commence- ment. The highest mission to which these pages can address themselves is the furnishing of a vocal and physical equip- ment for the purpose of speech, the greatest gift of God to man. The body must be trained until it becomes the obedient servant of the mind, to which end Calisthenics is a funda- mental step, with gesture as its culmination. 2 17 18 ELOCUTION AND OB A TOR Y. The voice must be given purity, fullness, flexibility, compass, and projectile power, all of which come under the head of Vocal Culture. The mind must be capable of fully grasping the mean- ing embodied in the thought. Of what avail is a good voice and a well-trained body if the miud can not compreliend what the voice and body are to express? Intellectual acu- men is essential to the broadest success of the reader or speaker. Among many subjects, so far as they relate to the Art of Delivery, the following may be named : Invention — As the art of materializing and crystal- lizing thought, and discovering suitable dress in which to clothe it. Etymology — As one of the greatest of all illuminators of the hidden meaning of words. Diction — As a training in the pure, precise, and appro- priate use of words. Logic — In its development of the reason as an aid to analysis, and of the judgment as an aid to expression. Criticism — As the art of judging impartially of the merits of a theme and its delivery. History — In its bearing upon the rise and development of the science and art of Elocution and Oratory. Some will ask, what has mental culture to do with a course in elocutionary training? It has much to do with it. The intellect is at the very foundation of all good vocal or visible expression. If the student thoroughly understand the thought, and understand why that thought may be bet- ter expressed in one way than in another, his delivery will be the outcome of his own intelligence and temperament. It is because instructors have neglected the fundamental conditions, the understanding of the thought, and of the laws which govern its delivery, that so many pupils read and speak mechanically. Such defective instruction is, in a large degree, accountable for the superficiality, affectation, INTROD UCTOR Y liEMARKS. 19 and exaggeration which abound, to the disgust of the thought- ful and the sensible. And, finally, back of all these lies yet another essential — namely, feeling — without which all is cold and passionless. Can emotion be cultivated? one asks. Why not? Its cul- tivation involves Ethics, as the art of extracting from words tlieir moral and emotional power; it involves Esthetics, in so far as it throws about delivery the mantle of the beautiful. May the day soon come when the public, fully awake to the importance of this subject, wdll frown out of existence those elocutionists (?) whose sole stock in trade is a few selections they have learned to recite as their teachers re- cited before them! Should one's delivery be nivtural? Yes, if his natural delivery be the best he can command. If a speaker has, naturally, a nasal tone, he should be unnatural to the extent of ridding himself of that tone. If he is naturally awkward, he should get rid of that phase of naturalness. It seems natural for some people to be unnatural. Shall one speak as he talks? That depends, to some extent, on how he talks. If he talks ill, he should not speak as he talks. In truth, the instructor finds no more gigantean task than the bringing of a stiff", angular, distorted, self-conscious adult back to his child-like simplicity and self-forgetfulness. When an adult has made that return, he has touched the top- most round in Art. The author has no higher hope than that he may be of some service in driving out affectation, exaggeration, superficiality, and in encouraging originality, individuality, and independent thought. Noise is not the whole of Elocution. A rolling of the eyes, or a writhing of the muscles, is not the only outlet of the soul. To say "me father," for "my father," is not art; it is flippancy, or ignorance. There are those who are ever ready to affirm that elocutionary and oratoric excellence of the highest order is 20 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. the direct outflow of genius. If you ask them what they mean by genius, the usual reply is: "That gift wliich enables one to accomplish wonders without work." To any such theory emphatic exceptions may be taken. No eminent reader, no artistic actor, no great orator, in the history of the world, has attained his skill without labor. To say that real great- ness is the result of idleness, is an insult to reason, and a slander upon industry. There was a time when the author listened to wonderful oratorio flights, with the feeling that they were the sponta- neous outbursts of direct inspiration. Since then he has learned from the lips of orators that their skill is the out- come of the closest attention to details, the result of long- continued toil. On this subject H. W. Beecher says: "But oratory is disregarded largely; and one of the fruits of this disregard is, that men fill all the places of power with force misdirected; with energy not half so fruitful as it might be; with sincerity that knows not how to spread its wings and fly. If you were to trace and to analyze the methods which prevail in all the departments of society, you would find in no other such contempt of culture, and in no other such punishment of this contempt. "How much squandering there is of the voice! How little is there of the advantage that may come from conver- sational tones ! How seldom does a man dare to acquit him- self with pathos and fervor ! And the men are themselves mechanical and methodical in the bad way, who are most afraid of the artificial training that is given in the schools, and who so often show by the fruit of their labor that the want of oratory is the want of education. " Conversation itself belongs to oratory. How many men there are who are weighty in argument, who have abundant resources, and who are almost boundless in their power at other times and in other places, but who, when in company among their kind, are exceedingly unapt in their methods! INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 21 Having none of the secret instruments by which the elements of nature may be touched; having no skill and no power in this direction, they stand as machines before living, sensitive men. A man may be as a master before an instrument, only the instrument is dead; and he has the living hand, and out of that dead instrument what Avondrous harmony springs forth at his touch ! And if you can electrify an audience by the power of a living man on dead things, how much more should that audience be electrified when the chords are living and the man is alive, and he knows how to touch them with divine inspiration ! "I advocate, therefore, in its full extent, and for every reason of humanity, of patriotism, and of religion, a more thorough culture of oratory. ''The first work, therefore, is to teach a man's body to serve his soul ; and in this work the education of the bodily presence is the very first step. What power there is in pos- ture and in gesture! By it how many discriminations are made; how many smooth things are rolled off; how many complex things men are made to comprehend ! "Among other things the voice — perhaps the most im- portant of all, and the least cultured — should not be for- gotten. The human voice is like an orchestra. It ranges high up, and can shriek betimes like the scream of an eagle ; or it is low as a lion's tone; and at every intermediate point is some peculiar quality. It has in it the mother's whisper and the father's command. It has in it w^arning and alarm. It has in it sweetness. It is full of mirth and full of gayety. It glitters, though it is not seen with all its sparkling fancies. It ranges high, intermediate, or low, in obedience to the will, unconsciously to him who uses it ; and men listen through the long hour, wondering that it is so short, and quite unaware that they have been bewitched out of their weariness by the charm of a voice, not artificial, not prearranged in the man's thought, but by assiduous training made to be his highest na- ture. Such a voice answers to the soul, and is its beating. 22 EL C UTION AND OR A TOR Y. "'But,' it is said, 'does not the voice come by nature?' Yes; but is there anything that comes by nature which stays as it comes, if it is worthily liandled? We receive one talent that we may make it five; and we receive five talents that we may make them ten. There is no one thing in man that he has in perfection till he has it by culture. We know that in respect to everything but the voice. Is not the ear trained to acute hearing? Is not the eye trained in science? Do men not school the eye, and make it quick- seeing by patient use? Is a man, becjiuse he has learned a trade, and was not born with it, thought to be less a man ? Because we have made discoveries of science, and adapted them to manufacture ; because we have developed knowledge by training, are we thought to be unmanly? Shall we, be- cause we liave unfolded our powers by the use of ourselves for that noblest of purposes, the inspiration and elevation of mankind, be less esteemed? Is the school of human train- ing to be disdained, when by it we are rendered more useful to our fellow-men? "If you go from our land to other lands; if you go to the land which has been irradiated by parliamentary elo- quence; if you go to the people of Great Britain; if you go to the great men in ancient times who lived in the intel- lect; if you go to the illustrious names that every one re- calls, Demosthenes and Cicero, they represent a life of work. "You shall not find one great sculptor, nor one great architect, nor one great painter, nor one eminent man in any department of art, nor one great scholar, nor one great statesman, nor one divine of universal gifts, whose greatness, if you inquire, you will not find to be the fruit of study, and of the evolution that comes from study. "To make men patriots, to make men Christians, to make men the sons of God, let all the doors of heaven be opened, and let God drop down charmed gifts — winged imagination, all-perceiving reason, and all-judging reason. Whatever there is that can make men wiser and better, INTROD UCTORY REM A RKS. 23 let it descend upon the head of him who has consecrated himself to the work of mankind, and who has made himself an orator for man's sake and for God's sake." On this subject Bishop Simpson thus expresses himself: "Should there be schools of elocution, is a question wliich sometimes presses on the mind; and I answer, the necessity for schools of elocution is founded on the general law of cul- ture. God has given us organs which need development; there is a law of growth and culture everywhere. ''But it is said, why not study elocution alone? why not cultivate the voice privately? Much may be done by private effort, and nothing can succeed w^ithout personal effort; yet we learn from others. Our task is lightened by skillful teachers, who have met and mastered a hundred difficulties. And they can assist us ; they can tell us how these voices can be strengthened ; they can tell us how notes can be more easily and gracefully enunciated, and they build up a stronger human voice, aad give a more graceful and easy utterance. Thus the teacher becomes a blessing to the pupil. Time is saved, less effort is required, and the results are better for the individual and better for society. There are some of us always blundering. We need a teacher to guide us; w^e need a friend to admonish us, to point out the errors into w'hich we fall, and to save us, if possible, from some of those errors that so greatly disfigure orations. ''This age demands elocution. The world is calling to- day as it never called before. In ancient times languages were many. Pass a few miles, and a different dialect re- quired a different address; and men studying dialect were unable thoroughly to pursue the study of elocution. But mark how times are changed. The ends of the earth are brought together, and audiences can come from the remotest parts in a few hours ; and wherever there is a man who has thoughts to give, and can give them in an attractive man- ner, multiplied thousands are ready to dwell upon his lips. There is a motive for elocution which there never was 24 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. before. Our republican government demands it. Monarchies discuss but little, despotisms never. But in a republic, men must discuss; and what questions are tliere of finance, of Church and State, of labor and capital, of slavery, of tem- perance, and of reform ! How many questions are pressing upon us from all parts of the earth! and these questions must be discussed." Part I. Anatomy, Physiology, and Hygiene OF TITE Respiratory and Vocal Agents. THE NOSE. 1. Air Chambers. — The nose is supplied with sinuous passage-ways which, in cold weather, act as moderators of the in-going air. If people would shut their mouths when they inhale cold air, there would be a decided decrease in the number of deaths from pneumonia. 2. Filaments. — The nose is furnished with fine fila- ments which are designed to protect the lungs from irritants, such as flying bits of metal, coal, and dust. The cause of inflammation of the lungs can often be traced to open- mouth inhalation. 3. Lachrymal Glands. — The nose is provided with lachrymal glands, which furnish moisture for the inhaling air, tliat fits it for its introduction to the throat and lungs. If speakers would seek relief from aching throats and husky voices, they should inhale the air as nature intended, through the nose. With such inhalation there Avould be fewer cases of catarrh, and fewer throat congestions. 3 25 26 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. THE THROAT. 1. The Uvula. — The uvula is suspended from the rear of the roof of the mouth, just in front of the posterior nares. By it can be gauged the amount of air one wills to exhale through the nose, or through the mouth. If one lowers the uvula until egress of air through the mouth is impossible, the nasal tone is the result. If one, while suf- fering from a cold, would conceal to the uttermost its effect upon the voice, he should elevate and retract the uvula until the tone must be emitted wholly through the mouth. An abnormally long uvula may become a source of irritation to the throat, in which case the knife is sometimes resorted to, although vocal training, by enlarging and strengthening the throat and removing the irritation, often renders surgical treatment unnecessary. 2. The Tonsils. — The tonsils are found one on either side of the uvula. They are oval in shape. They, too, when abnormally enlarged, become a source of irritation to the throat, and an injury to the voice. As a means of their reduction the knife is sometimes used. Sometimes they are burned. There are few instances in which swollen tonsils and throat-irritations will not disappear under proper elocu- tionary training. 3. The Pharynx. — The pharynx is an opening about four and a half inches in length, beginning with the pos- terior nares, just back of the uvula, and merging below into the oesophagus. In shape it somewhat resembles a cone, the base being near the root of the tongue, and its apex at its junction with the oesophagus. There are seven openings connected with the larynx, six of which are concerned in vocalization — the two eustachian tubes, the two posterior nares, the opening into the mouth, and the opening into the larynx, known as the glottis. During the act of swallowing, the glottis is protected by a little leaf-like lid, called the RESPIRA TORY AND VO CAL A GENTS. 27 epiglottis. The pharynx is bouDded in front by the base of the nose, tongue, and mouth, and the upper part of the larynx, and behind by the upper five cervical vertebrae. 4. The Larynx. — The larynx con&ists of cartilages so articulated and bound together by membranes as to be ex- ceedingly pliant. It is bounded above by the base of the tongue and by some of the muscles of the pharynx; behind by a portion of the pharynx and the front wall of the oesophagus; and below by the trachea. The hyoid bone is at the base of the tongue, and consti- tutes the upper portion of the larynx. It lies in a horizontal plane, and is shaped somewhat like a horseshoe, with the toes of the shoe looking backward. The thyroid cartilage forms the part known as the "Adam's Apple." The cj-icoid cartilage has something of the shape of a seal- ring, the setting being in the rear. It is narrow in front, and rapidly widens from the front backward. It lies in a horizontal plane. It is attached to the thyroid in front. Behind, it serves as a support for the two arytenoid cartilages, which articulate with it in a manner permitting considerable rotary movement. The two arytenoids stand upright, and near their articulation with the cricoid are found the pos- terior attachments of the vocal cords. These cords are at- tached to the thyroid cartilage in front. The rotation of the arytenoids upon their axes pulls the vocal cords together, en- abling their free edges to vibrate as they receive the shock of the expiring air. Thus the vocal cords, aided by breath, pro- duce sound. A certain number of vibrations of the vocal cords per second must be attained before sound becomes audible. It is claimed that a well-trained, sensitive ear can distinguish sound at fifteen vibrations per second. Vibrations may occur so rapidly that sound ceases to be audible, estimated by some to be about forty thousand per second. In repose, the male 28 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. vocal cords are a little more than one-half an inch in length. In women they are slightly shorter. Highly tensioned, they are almost an inch in length. They are larger in men than in women. In inspiration they so separate as somewhat to resemble a triangle, the apex being in front and the base in the rear, where they are, sometimes, a third of an inch apart. In health they are almost pearly white. Irritation of the mucous membrane of the larynx causes lionrseness. When the irritation becomes chronic, the voice suffers permanent derangement, and can not be restored until the ill condition of the larynx is corrected. When the vocal cords are most lax, the vibrations are slowest and the pitch lowest. A depression of the rear of the cricoid cartilage, by the downward pressure of the aryte- noids, stretches the vocal cords, and it is chiefly to this little act that the world is so much indebted for an infinite variety of pitch. The longer the vocal cords are by nature, the slower the vibrations and the graver the voice. In infancy the cords are shortest and the voice highest. In women the cords are shorter than in men, and their voices are the higher keyed. The length of the cords in men is variable, the longest and largest cords producing the deepest bass, the shortest and smallest the highest tenor. THE TRACHEA AND BRONCHI. The trachea is from four to four and one-half inches in length, and about three-fourths of an inch in diameter. It is flattened behind, where there are no rings, and it serves as the frout wall of the cesophngus. Its principal mission is to admit air to, and convey it from, the lungs. At its sides and in front are circular rings throughout its length. At its base it divides into the right and left bronchial tubes. The right bronchical tube is shorter, larger, and more horizontal than the left. The right is about one inch, and the left about RESPIRATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. 29 two inches in length. These two divide and subdivide, form- ing passage-ways for the air to all parts of the lungs. THE THORAX. {™-i£. Internal Thorax. 1. The Heart. — The heart occupies more space in the left side than in the right. The right lung, although shorter than the left, contains three lobes, and is the heavier by about two ounces. The right lung weighs about twenty-two ounces. The left lung contains but two lobes, the heart taking up almost enough space to be equal to a third lobe. 2. The Lungs. — Eelatively, the lungs are larger and heavier in men than in women, but in shape they are almost identical. The circumference of the lungs at the base is about twice as great as at the apex. External Thorax. 1. The Sternum. — This body is composed of three bones closely knit into one. They are the upper, the mid- dle, and the lower. The lower is sometimes called the ensiform cartilage. The sternum is from five to seven and one-half inches long. It varies in breadth, being broadest at the top. It then narrows, again broadens, and again begins to grow narrower at its ensiform junction. At its top it unites with the clavicle. By means of cartilages it has direct communication with seven ribs on each side. The eighth, ninth, and tenth ribs on each side articulate, each by its cartilage with the cartilage of the rib above. The ster- num is longer in man than in woman. 2. The Ribs. — There are twelve ribs on each side. The eleventh and twelfth have no attachments in front, which accounts for their being sometimes called floating ribs. The first, or upper rib, is but little more than half the 30 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. length of the second, but is thicker and stronger. These two join the sternum more nearly at right angles than do any of the others. The ribs, beginning with the first, in- crease in length until the seventh is reached, then diminish until the twelfth is found to be but little more than half the length of the eleventh. This gives the ribs an arch forward. Their outward curve arches them laterally, and they articulate with that portion of the spine which arches backward. 3. The Costal Cartilages. — Each rib has a cartilage. These cartilages, in common with the ribs, grow longer from the first to the seventh, and then diminish until the eleventh and twelfth amount to no more than simple tips for their respective ribs. The first cartilage is shorter, thicker, and broader than the others. It is the first to ossify. It ossifies earlier in man than in woman. These cartilages are about one-sixth the length of their respective ribs. 4. The Vertebrae. — There are twelve dorsal vertebra?. The first, eleventh, and twelfth have a simple articulation with their respective ribs. Each of the others serves a compound purpose, articulating with the rib above and the rib below^ There are seven cervical and five lumbar vertebrae. The sacrum and the coccyx, with which the spinal column termi- nates, are sometimes classed with the vertebrae. 5. The Clavicles. — The clavicle on either side artic- ulates in front with the sternum and cartilage of the first rib, and behind with the scapula, where it is quite movable. In front it can move only as the sternum moves. It has a double curve, the anterior part being convexed forward, the posterior part concaved forward. It is heavier, rougher, and thicker in man than in woman. The right one is, usually, larger, stronger, and rougher than the left. They are highly elastic. 6. The Scapulae. — They constitute the back part of the shoulders. They are broad, flat bones, articulating with the clavicles and humeri, and extending downward behind to about the plane of the eighth rib. RESPIRATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. 31 THE MUSCLES. {g:47-\^°^,-- Inspieatoey Muscles. 1. External Inter costals. — There are eleven of these on each side, partly filliug the eleven rib-spaces. They arise from the lower edge of the rib above, extending downward and forward to their insertion in the upper edge of the rib below. Their contraction lifts the ribs, especially in front, increasing the thoracic capacity. 2. Internal Intercostals. — They fill the anterior por- tion of the eleven rib-spaces. They arise from the lower edge of the rib above, and extend downward and backward to their insertion in the upper edge of the rib below. Their contraction raises the ribs. 3. The Scaleni Muscles. — These are three in num- ber. The anterior arises from the upper edge of the first rib, and is iuserted into the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth cervical vertebrae. The middle scalenus also arises from the upper surface of the first rib, and is iuserted into the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh cervical vertebrse. The posterior scalenus arises from the outer surface of the second rib, and is inserted into the fifth, sixth, and seventh cervical vertebrae. Their contraction lifts the ribs and induces inhalation. 4. The Serratus Posticus Superior. — This muscle arises from the last cervical, and the first, second, and, some- times, third dorsal vertebrae, and is inserted into the upper borders of the second, third, fourth, and fifth ribs, just be- yond their angles. Their contraction lifts the ribs. 5. Levatores Costarum. — Takiug their origin from the transverse processes of the last cervical, and all the dorsal vertebrae, save the last, they attach themselves to the upper edges of the posterior parts of the ribs. As they 32 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. originate from a fixed point, their contraction must lift the ribs, thus aiding inhalation. Inspiratory and Expiratory. 6. The Diaphragm. — ^The diaphragm is a large, strong, elastic muscle which forms the floor of the thorax and the roof of the abdomen. It is attached in front to the eusi- form cartilage; at the sides, to the lower six or seven ribs and their cartilages; behind, on the right side, to tlie second, third, and fourth lumbar vertebrge; and on the left side, to the second and third lumbar vertebrse. In expiration the diaphragm presents an upward convex surface, whicli fits into the concavity at the base of the lungs. In inspiration the diaphragm descends. This muscle is mainly inspiratory. In its ascent it is principally passive. However, it partici- pates actively in expulsive or explosive exhalation. Expiratory Muscles. 1. Triangularis Sterni. — This muscle arises from the ensiform cartilage, from the base of the sternum, and from the lower costal cartilages. It is attached to the second, third, fourth, and fifth ribs. The sternum being compara- tively fixed, the contraction of this muscle depresses the ribs and aids in expiration. 2. The Obliquus Externus. — This arises from the outer and lower portions of the eight inferior ribs, and is inserted into the lower abdomen. Its contraction pulls the ribs downward and inward, and, by compressing the abdo- men, pushes the diaphragm upward, thus expelling the air. 3. The Obliquus Internus. — This muscle crosses under the obliquus externus much as the internal intercostals cross under the external intercostals. Arising from the lower ab- domen, and inserting, in part, into the cartilages of the four lower ribs on either side, its contraction assists in pulling down the ribs, and in compressing the abdomen. KESPIBATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. 33 4. The Transversalis.— This muscle lies under the obliquus interims. It arises, in part, from the inner surface of the cartilages of the six lower ribs on either side, and as it is inserted, in part, into the lower abdomen, its contraction aids in expiration. 5. The Rectus Abdominus.— Originating from the lower abdomen, and inserting into the cartilages of the fifth, sixth, and seventh ribs on either side, it assists in pulling down the ribs, compressing the abdomen, and pushing up the diaphragm. In profound inspiration or expiration other muscles are called upon. THE ABDOMEN. The abdominal contents are pushed down by the descend- ing diaphragm in inspiration. If the inspiration be very deep, the abdominal viscera are pushed downward and out- Avard, until the ribs no longer surround any part of them, the liver descending almost three inches. Thus distended, these contents possess a strong tendency to return to their normal position, thus affording expiratory power. Part II. Respiration. Judicious respiration is essential to good speech. He who fails fully to vocalize the vowel sounds is an expiratory spendthrift. He who corrupts the sub-vocal sounds by an aspirated hissing of them, offends the educated listener, and wrongs the English language. He who exaggerates the as- pirates, exasperates the cultivated ear. INHALATION. The Inhalatory Method. —*'And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life." As a proof that inhalation should be carried on through the nostrils, one needs but to sleep an hour with open mouth. When he r.wakes his throat will be dry, hot, often painful. Shallow, feeble inhalation is another foe to health. There are adults who never know what it is to be entirely alive. Their hands and feet are always cold. Their inhalations are too shallow wholly to aerate the blood. The heart weakens; the lower cells of the lungs decay; and, as a sequel, heart- disease and consumption carry off an alarming proportion of the people. An epidemic of fever, or small-pox, or cholera, causes consternation in any community ; but an enemy nearly as destructive — an open-mouthed and feeble inhalation — stalks among us all the time, none the less fatal that it is so little understood. If those who suffer from cold extremities, who 34 RESPIRATION. 35 rarely, if ever, sensibly perspire, knew the peril of their po- sition, and knew the value of inspiratory exercises in restor- ing the circulation and toning the vital functions, they Avould not be slow in seeking relief Again, it is not generally known to what extent a full Inhalation adds to the carrying power of the voice. With lungs almost empty, the voice can have but little vitality, and drops lifeless not far from the lips of the speaker or singer. It is estimated that in taking an inhalation, such as skillful speech or song demands, a resistance of about one thousand pounds of power must be overcome. Think of the projectile force a thousand pounds of pressure upon the out- bound breath will give to the voice ! Medical authorities speak of two forms of inhalation, the diaphragmatic and the thoracic. The descent of the dia- phragm increases the thoracic diameter. The lifting of the ribs enlai'ges the thoracic circumference. Regardless of sex, the lungs should be allowed perfect liberty to expand in every direction. If you wish to see real, genuine, artistic inhalation, behold the child, the savage — aye, even an edu- cated adult — when asleep! Only among the cultivated and refined, whose bodies are inflexibly bound by those delicate bands of high-toned torture and untimely death, will you find the diaphragm divested of its natural function. It cost four years of war, with all its wealth and blood, to free four mill- ion slaves. If Ave could capture once the ear, and through that citadel the conscience and the sense, we might, Avithout the loss of coin or blood, free from bondage the waists of an unnumbered multitude. The Inhalatory Course. — Entering the nasal pas- sages,' the air emerges from the posterior nares into the pharynx, through the glottis into the larynx, into the trachea, then into the tAvo bronchial tubes, Avhich, dividing and subdividing, supply every part of the lungs with air. Inhalatory Action. — The nostrils dilate; the epiglottis stands erect; the vocal cords separate; the diaphragm 36 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. descends, enlarging the waist, and pressing the abdomen downward and outAvard; the ribs move forward, upward, sideward, backward; and the lungs expand in every direction. Inhalatory Exercises. 1. Dorsal Expansion. — AVith the thumbs fixed at the sides, spread the fingers backward upon the dorsal muscles. Take six quick, rapidly succeeding inhalations, producing the greatest possible outward pressure of tlie dorsal muscles against the fingers. 2. Costal Expansion. — With the thumbs placed be- hind on the dorsal muscles, spread the fingers at the sides. Inhale six times, as in No. 1, taking care that there shall be a decided outward action of the costal muscles against the fingers. 3. Abdominal Expansion. — Fix the thumbs at the sides, and spread the fingers forward over the abdomen. Inhale six times as above. If properly done, a marked outward expansion will be observed. 4. Waist Expansion. — This is a grouping of the pre- ceding three into a single exercise, and, instead of being tested by touch, should be tested by measurement. Tightly and inflexibly laced, the waist can not expand ; but when properly dressed, the expansion will reach, at first, an average of an inch, which can be tripled by three months daily drill. 5. Chest Expansion. — Test this exercise, too, by measurement. An expansion of two inches is a good be- ginning. It does not require long practice to be able to expand four inches. 6. Prolonged Inaudible Inhalation. — Inhale as slowly as possible, letting the air escape the moment the lungs can receive no more. To keep the lungs on a straij, by trying to retain the imprisoned air after the lungs are completely full, can do no good, and may do much harm. Students rarely reach ten seconds at their first effort at pro- longed inhalation. They rarely fall short of sixty seconds at RESPIRATION. 37 the close of one year's course in elocution. Many suc- ceed in reaching ninety seconds. We have found, without exception, that those whose respiration is the feeblest, are those who have the smallest, weakest voices. The muscles of the waist and chest are given tone and strength by prac- tice upon these exercises, while the voice uniformly improves in force and fullness. Discontinue the effort of prolonging the inhalation, for the time being at least, if faintness is felt, and be especially careful if a fluttering or SD:;othering sensation is felt about the heart. He who escapes such feel- ing may conclude that his heart is strong. If a smothering sensation is felt on attempting to prolong the inhalation, stop instantly, and try again another time, and so continue until the heart affection is entirely removed. If a twinge of pain is felt in either lung, be certain there is danger there. Of this, too, you may rest assured — that taking long, deep draughts of fresh air into the lungs will restore them, if restoration is possible. Pure air is a divinely prepared rem- edy for pulmonary ills. No medicine that man can mix will so surely counteract the inroads of disease upon the lungs. There are times, in song and speech, when the inha- lations must be taken quickly. To do so inaudibly and almost invisibly requires great skill. There come times when dramatic art requires an upheaval of the shoulders in inhalation. Except as occasion demands, never permit the shoulders to rise perceptibly. It is said that a great artist never gets out of breath. He may, in personating intense anguish, or some consuming passion, appear to be exhausted, but in reality his breath is wholly at his command. EXHALATION. It is estimated that the expiratory is one-third greater than the inspiratory power. Besides the actions of the muscles which aid expiration, the fully inflated lungs exert 38 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. about one lumdred pounds of elastic anxiety to return to their normal size, while the pressure of the outer air upon the external thorax amounts to nearly seven hundred and fifty pounds. The costal cartilages, tired of their stretch, display a two-hundred-pound desire to return to their state of repose. The flattened diaphragm exerts an upward press- ure of about one hundred pounds to return to its normal arch. Thus we see the expiratory muscles receive not far from one thousand pounds of involuntary aid in expelling the air from the lungs. Dr. Hutchinson found in one man an expiratory power of twenty-two hundred pounds. He claims that men of about five feet eight inches in height possess the greatest average inspiratory and expiratory power. EXHALATORY EXERCISES. 1. Inaudibly Prolonged. — AVith a quick inhalation through the nostrils, completely fill the lungs; then slightly separate the lips, and exhale the air as slowly and steadily as possible. Time the exercise. Pupils, at their first efforts, do not average more than eight seconds. A daily practice of a few minutes will, in a short time, enable one to exhale for a minute, continuously, without discomfort. 2. Audibly Prolonged. — This exercise differs from No. 1, in that it requires the giving out of the air with sufficient force to make it distinctly audible. Many pupils are unable to carry this exhalation longer than five seconds on their first attempt, while the same pupils frequently make a record of thirty seconds before their first quarter has closed. 3. Expulsive Exhalation. — Placing the hands suc- cessively on the dorsal, costal, and abdominal muscles, expel the air with a sudden shock, prolonging it by a brief vanish. Expel the letter h in the same way. Give the exercise three times in rapid succession, with the hands in each of the positions named. RESPIRATION. .39 4. Explosive Exhalation. — Follow the directions given for No. 3, omitting the vanish. Instead of the letter h, the letter h may be used. Those who are afflicted with diseased or delicate throats will find Nos. 3 and 4 a hazard- ous drill, unless directed by a skilled instructor. To gain command of these exercises is to take a decided stride in the direction of artistic speech and song. COMPOUND MOVEMKNTS. There are some acts which include both inhalation and exhalation, and which, although accompanied by sound, do not come under the head of speech, and may be mentioned in this connection. 1. Sighing. — This act is the result of a quick, audible exhalation, preceded by a deep, long-drawn inhalation. 2. Yawning. — A yawn is a magnified sigh, accompanied by a decided dropping of the lower jaw, and, usually, by an uplifting of the shoulders. 3. Hiccoughing. — This is caused by a convulsive con- traction of the diaphragm ; a sudden in-rush of air, and a closure of the glottis, against which the out-bound breath is hurled. 4. Sobbing. — Sobbing resembles No. 3 in its action, the glottis closing earlier in the inspiration, allowing but little, if any, air to enter the lungs. 5. Coughing. — In this act the glottis closes itself firmly against the expiratory air, until the pressure becomes so great that it is violently opened by the outburst of breath. 6. Sneezing. — This differs little in its action from No. 5, the expelled air escaping through the nose, instead of througli the mouth. 7. Panting. — In panting, the inhalations and exhalations are deep, short, and labored. 40 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 8. Laughing. — In laughter, each inspiration is followed by a series of interrupted explosive exhalations; glottis wide open, and vocal cords in violent vibration. 9. Weeping. — Although the product of emotions the reverse of those which produce laughter, yet in its move- ments weeping closely resembles laughing. RESPIRATORY VOI.UMES. 1. The Residual Air. — After one has expelled all the air possible, there remains in the lungs a considerable vol- ume, which, according to the estimates of various authorities, averages about one hundred cubic inches. 2. The Tidal Air. — This is the amount which is re- ceived and displaced at each respiration. In a state of moderate activity, twenty-five cubic inches may be considered an average estimate of the amount of tidal air. 3. Complemental Air, — The amount that can be in- haled above the tidal air is called complemental air. It is evident that this volume must be greatly governed by physi- ological circumstances. Under normal conditions the com- plemental air is placed at about one hundred cubic inches. 4. Supplemental Air. — After an ordinary or tidal ex- halation, there remains in the lungs a reserve fund, which may be drawn upon for extraordinary occasions. As in No. 3, so here the amount depends upon the physical state, being greatest in repose, and least under great exertion or exhaustion; the extremes being estimated from seventy to one hundred and seventy cubic inches. The normal amount is about one hundred cubic inches. 5. Vital Capacity. — The vital capacity is the amount of air it is possible to exhale from the lungs after the fullest inhalation. At the height of five feet eight inches, condi- tion normal, the vital capacity is about two hundred and twenty-five cubic inches. RESPIRATION. 41 GENERAL SUGGESTIONS AND CAUTIONS. To Teachers. As a rule, teachers do not know to what extent then- daily exhaustion is due to a waste of breath. Place near your lips a slip of tissue paper, and then utter, with force, any vowel sound. If the paper does not move, your breath is wholly vocalized. If it flies from your lips, it will pay you to learn the lesson of breath-economy. To THE Clergy. Ministers, if you knew how largely this expiratory de- fect is responsible for your "Monday morning prostration," you would not be slow to seek relief. "Clergyman's sore throat," in a large majority of cases, is caused by the shock of outgoing un vocalized breath against the tender tissues of a tightly congested throat. When that is the cause, medicine can not cure it. Right respiratory and vocal methods will be effective. To Lawyers. The essentials to an attorney's success are body, brains, breath. How many attorneys have failed when they should have been in their prime, because of mismanagement of breath! "Why does my throat burn and ache, and my voice grow husky, before I have spoken thirty minutes?" at- torneys often ask. The answer is, because you inhale through the mouth; inhale too little breath, and waste a part of that as you speak. It is in the power of well-used vocal organs to labor, unimpaired, for many successive hours. Indeed, well ordered speech is one of the most exhilarating and wholesome of exercises. We repeat that many of the ills incident to teaching, preaching, and pleading, are directly traceable to faulty respiration. The experience of Talma, the famous actor, will illus- trate and emphasize the value of respiratory skill. He 4 42 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. heard Dorival perform in a heavy dramatic role, and noticed that he looked as fresli at its close as at its be- ginning. Amazed, he said : "Dorival, I am strong; you are slight. With such an effort as you made to-day, 1 should be utterly exhausted. Tell me how you save your strength?" Dorival playfully replied that his friend was in need of no advice from him. Talma would not be thus denied, and on one occasion secreted himself where he could closely watch his rival's performance. He soon observed that Dorival always kept his lungs well supplied with air, never allowing them to approach an exhausted con- dition; and, it is said. Talma rushed from the theater ex- claiming: "I have found it!" Dorival was master of his breath. That was his secret. Waist Compression. While it is true that, by nature, women have greater action of the upper chest in respiration than men, it is equally true that, for health and best of vocal results, they must not deaden the diaphragm by ribs of bone or steel, or by constriction of the waist in any form. Prima donnas know this secret, and make free use of the muscles of the waist in scoring their vocal triumphs. Lacking this free- dom of the Avaist, the breath will come in gasps; the chest will violently heave, the shoulders will jerk unseemly, and will rise and fall to extremes. If the lungs are not allowed to expand at the base, they will find room at the top, and the shoulders are raised. Would that we could write in letters of light so large that all the Avorld could read: ^'Do not lace the waist! Give the lungs room!" Part III, Simple Physical Culture, OR CALISTHENICS. There are many who argue that if one feels what he says, his gestures will always be appropriate. They mis- take. Feeling, as a guide, is as unsafe as it is uncer- tain. One may be honest and awkward. Sincerity and stiffness have been known to go together. One may mean w^ell and act ill. Calisthenic exercises are an admirable preparation for gesture. ^Yith as much reason might one expect, with un- trained fingers, to touch the proper keys, in the proper order, with the proper force, producing exquisite music, as to ex- pect to be able with untrained muscles to clothe speech in fitting action. When the body is put under complete control, then, and not before, is it in condition faithfully to respond to all calls of intelligence or emotion. It is the aim of calisthenics to give the greatest freedom and mobility to the joints and muscles of the body. Prac- tice in calisthenics heightens health, secures symmetry and strength, produces pliability and poise, and gives grace to attitude and action. 43 44 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. CAI^ISTHKNIC COURSE. Foe the substance of what is presented under this liead, credit should be given to instructors, to daily experience and observation, and to books. It is in some such way thnt all information comes. It would be vain to attempt to give acknowledgment in all cases; but, in this connection, the reader is referred to a most admirable work by Oscar Gutt- man on "Esthetic Physical Culture," and to Professor Shoe- maker's well-named "Practical Elocution." CALISTHENIC EXERCISES. Finger Movements. Position : Arms extended horizontally to the front ; hands open and prone. Move the fingers up and down, slowly at first, gradually quickening the movement. Repeat the exer- cise with the hands facing each other; with the backs toward each other; with the hands supine. Repeat the same exer- cise with the arms extended obliquely in the horizontal plane; laterally in the horizontal plane. Wrist Movements. Practice the same order of movements as in the preced- ing exercise, the action proceeding from the wrist-joints. Rotate the hand from right to left, and reverse, steadily increasing the rate of movement. Fore- Arm Movements. With the elbow-joint as the center of action proceed as in the foregoing exercise. Rotate the fore-arm from right to left, and reverse, as in the preceding exercise. Full-Arm Movements. Transferring the pivot of action to the shoulder-joints, follow the foregoing order. Rotate tlie full-arm from right CALISTHEXICS. 45 to left, and reverse, faster and faster. Swing the right arm from back to front in a side-ellipse. Make the ellipse ap- proach the circle as nearly as possible. Reverse the move- ment. Conduct the same exercise with the ellipse in front. Same order of movements Avith the left arm. Same with both arms. In all the calisthenic exercises which remain, count thus: One and, two and, three and, foiir and, five and, six and, seven and, eight and, repeating the strain as often as neces- sary. Instrumental music will add much to the precision and enjoyment of these exercises. Head Movexexts. Position: Arms hanging loosely at the sides; shoulders level ; body erect ; face to the front. Turn the head as far as you can to the right without moying the body; return ; in the same way to the left ; return ; repeat. Drop the head as nearly as you can to ihe right shoulder ; return ; same to the left; return; repeat. Drop the head to the breast as nearly as you can ; return ; dro^^ the head backward as far as you can ; return ; repeat. Right, erect ; back, erect ; left, erect; front, erect. Aem Movements. First Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Hands clinched, on the chest near the shoulder ; body erect ; shoulders level ; heels together. Thrust the clinched right hand downward at the side uinil it rests against the thigh; return; repeat. Left hand through the same movement. Right hand down. As the right returns, thrust the left down. As the left returns, thrust the right down. Return the right. Thrust them both down ; return ; repeat. Do not permit the body to be pulled out of the perpendic- ular, nor the shoulders to lose their level, during this drill. Second Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat tlie first exercise, making the movements sidewise in tlie horizontal phiue. 46 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Do not permit the body to sway from side to side in this exercise. Third Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat the first exercise, making the movements directly upward. Do not, in this exercise, pull the body out of plumb. Hold each shoulder, when not at work, in its proper position. Fourth Fore-arm Leadership). — Repeat the first exercise, striking to the front. In the forward stroke do not allow the corresponding shoulder to be drawn forward, nor the opposite shoulder to be drawn backward, nor the body to be pulled out of position. Fifth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Finger-tips resting on the shoulders; arms akimbo; heels together; body erect; shoulders level. With the shoulder as a starting-point, re- produce exercises one and four inclusive. Sixth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position as in the first exer- cise. Thrust the right arm down ; return ; thrust the right arm directly upward ; return ; repeat. Same movements with the left arm. Thrust the right hand down and the left up, simultaneously; return both simultaneously; reverse; re- turn; repeat. Both down; return; both up; return; repeat. Seventh Fore-arm Leadership. — With the position as in the fifth exercise, repeat the movements of the sixth exercise. Eighth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Fingers in the arm-pits ; arms akimbo. Thrust- the right hand down at the right side ; return ; repeat. Same movements with the left. Right down ; right back and left down simultaneously. Right down as the left returns; return the right. Both down ; both back ; repeat. Do not lower the shoulder as you strike down, nor should the opposite shoulder be jerked upward. Ninth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Hands clinched and on the chest. Thrust both hands downward, forward, upward, returning to starting point. Repeat the circuit seven times. Do not bend the body forward with the for- ward stroke, nor backward with the upward stroke. Ihith Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat the ninth exercise, CALISTHENICS. 47 moving the hands downward, sideward, upward, and back to starting point. Eleventh Fore-arm Leadership. — Kepeat the ninth exercise, starting from the shoulders. Twelfth Fore-arm Leadership. — Eepeat the tenth exercise, starting from the shoulders. Thiiieenth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Hands clinched on chest ; face to the front. Strike obliquely backward, with the right arm in the horizontal plane, turning the body to the right, and opening the hand with the stroke ; return ; strike with the right arm obliquely to the left ; return ; repeat. Obliquely backward Avith the left arm ; return ; obliquely to the right with the left arm ; return ; repeat. Obliquely to the right with both arms; return; obliquely to the left with both arms ; return ; repeat. Both arms twice obliquely to the right wdth returns. Both arms ob- liquely twice to the left with returns. First Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Position: Fingers inter- laced in front. Lift the arms forward and upward ; return ; repeat seven times. Stand erect during the exercise. Second Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Same as the preceding, except that the hands are to be behind. Third Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Position : Hands clinched, arms extended laterally and horizontally. Eaise rigid right arm directly upward to a vertical position ; return ; lower it to the body; return; repeat. Same with the left arm. Lift right arm up and put the left arm down simultaneously ; return; right down and left up simultaneously; return; repeat. Both down ; return ; both up ; return ; repeat. Fourth Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Repeat the preceding exercise, making the movements to the front. Fifth Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Position: Hands with palms resting against the thighs. Raise the rigid right arm sideward and upward into a vertical position; return; repeat. Same with left arm. Right up ; right down and left up, simul- taneously; reverse; right return ; both up; return; repeat. 48 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Sixth Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Same order as in the pre- ceding exercise, making the movements to the front. Seventh Rigid Fidl-arm Exercise. — Position : Arms hori- zontal ; front ; hands open ; pahns together. Throw the arms backward in the horizontal plane, bringing the backs of the hands into contact behind ; return ; repeat seven times. Very few will succeed in this without long con- tinued practice. Eighth Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — With tlie backs of hands together in front, strike with palms backward in the hori- zontal plane. No one, perhaps, succeeds in bringing the palms together behind in this exercise. Shoulder Movements. First Shoulder Exercise. — Position : Arms hanging at the sides; body erect. Lower the right shoulder; return; lift the right shoulder ; return ; repeat. Same with the left shoulder. As the right shoulder drops, lift the left shoulder; return; reverse; repeat. Drop both; return; lift both ; return ; repeat. Keep the body in the perpendicular. Second Shoulder Exercise. — Position as before. Thrust right shoulder forward ; return ; thrust right shoulder back- ward ; return ; repeat. Same with the left shoulder. As the right goes forward, thrust the left one back; return; reverse ; repeat. Both forward ; return ; both backward ; return ; repeat. Trunk Movements. Position : Body erect ; arms hanging at the sides. Turn to the right without moving the feet ; return ; turn to the left ; return ; repeat. Bend the body to the right side ; return ; bend the body to the left side ; return ; repeat. Bend the body forward ; return ; backward ; return ; repeat. Bend to the left; return; backward; return; to the right; return ; to the front ; return. By this exercise the muscles, upon which the voice CALISTHENICS. 49 almost solely depends for its propelling power, are given an admirable drill. With feeble muscles of the trunk, one can not cast the voice very far. This exercise gives the muscles strength. Movements of the Lower Limbs. Position : Arras hanging at the sides ; hands open. Lift the body until the weight rests upon the toes, at the same time thrusting the arms vertically upward ; return. Without permitting the knees to project, bend the body forward, touch- ing the floor with the finger-tips ; return ; repeat three times. Very few will be able, at first, to touch the floor with the fingers without relaxing the knees. Insist on the rigid- ity of the knees. 5 Part IV. Visible Expression, OK GESTURE. Gesture is visible expreBsi()ii. It consists in action and attitude. It appeals to the eye. ]Motion is the most usual manifestatiou of gesture, yet there are times when an attitude is profoundly impressive, and expre&sive. Attitude may be defined as action arrested, motion congealed. A monument, though mute and motionless, may enforce many a moral. Napoleon at 8t. Helena, hat in hand, eye fixed upon the boundless sea, lips silent and compressed, body a« motionless as marble, speaks volumes to an admiring world. Good gesture makes melody for the eye, as good modula- tion makes melody for the ear. To be truthful, gesture must be in harmony with the thought. The hand of a miser does not illustrate generosity. A corrugated brow is not in- rv! to do it. Instinct does not teach a pilot how to guide a K>at. No one would trust his life with such a pilot. One might just as reasonably ask him to know where lie the shoals, the sands, the snags, the eddies, without study and observation, as to ask artistic action of one who is ignorant or indolent. There are laws upon which gesture is founded, and by which a course of instruction may be S}-stematically con- ducted. As space will not permit an exhaustive treatment of this subject, an endea\-v>r will be made to employ only rep- resentative terms, such as are most suggestive, and best calculated to lead the student into a more thorough line of thought. Moreover, in the analysis of action, of attitude, facial expression, and of the \-arious agents of each, space permits but a simple statement of the cardinal divisions. ACTION. I I~SlMPASSIOCSEI»> Acu<.'n is, comparatively speakmsr, ^ iMFAssiojfEi>. Action should K^ always in harmony with the thought. In quiet moods it should be unimpassioned. Heroism, valor, decidveness, and kindred emotions, call for imj>as^oned action. Fury, treniy. vehemence, and their kind, require action of a highly impassioned character. Require the pupil to read or recite lines wiiicii rcviuire these types of action. ATTrrrDE. Attitude may be considereil as ] ^^S&,.TAcrI^'s. In the expression of weakness, weariness, carelessness, and like ctuulitions, the passive pc>sition is employed. The attitude is active in aggression, defiance, dominance, and in kindred ^liua^s. 52 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. An intensely active attitude is adapted to feelings of fury, revenge, and all highly dramatic situations. Kequire the pupil to illustrate the attitudes by quoting from authors, or by his own composition. CENTER OF MOTION. rWRIST, Arm movements center at the i Elbow, (Shoulder. Gestures of a conversational nature pass through but a limited area of action, and, when of a very quiet, simple style, center at the wrist. Ask the pupil to illustrate. If the conversation take a lively, animated turn, the cen- ter of motion transfers itself to the elbow, and the gestures cover a more extended area. Illustrate. Gestures of an oratoric, heroic, exalted, dignified, majestic, tragic, or dramatic character, call for yet broader action, and the center of motion is found at the shoulder. Illustrate. With the thought given, require the pupil to state what position, what facial expression, and what center of action, would be required. Give any one of the four conditions to find the other three. MISSION OF GESTURE. The mission of gesture is threefold. It sometimes pre- cedes, sometimes accompanies, and sometimes follows the spoken words. Its principal mission is to act as a fore- runner and illuminator. By a flash of the eye, a twitch of the mouth, a toss of the head, a turn of the hand — by any one of an infinite number of gestures, the mind of the list- ener may be prepared for the words that follow. Whether gesture shall precede, accompany, or follow, de- pends entirely upon the nature of the thought that demands the gesture. If there is a series of gestures caHed for by a series of thoughts, the action must partake of the nature of the thought; quickening as it quickens; intensifying as it intensifies; culminating as it culminates. GESTURE. 53 Not unfrequently gesture waits until speech has wrought its work upon the ear, when like a flash it follows, empha- sizing the same thought by presenting it to the eye. Give examples requiring anticipative action, accompany- ing action, subsequential action. LINES. The lines in which gestures are made are {curv?d!^' Self-defense takes a straight line; so does impetuosity, ferocity. The curve-like flourish is employed in serener, more aesthetic moments. r Preparation, The parts of a simple gesture are i Execution, ^ x- o (^Return. Sometimes the preparation passes through a limited space ; sometimes through space more extended. Sometimes the prep- aration is made swiftly ; sometimes more deliberately. Some- times the preparation is made in silence; sometimes with words. The area through which it shall pass, its rate of mo- tion, at what moment it shall occur, and how long continue, all depend upon the thought to be expressed. Do not begin the preparation prematurely, nor tardily. Once begun, carry it through to its consummation. Nothing looks more ludi- crous than to see an arm start out as if to gesticulate, and then fall back as with paralysis. The consummation should be in harmony with the prepa- ration ; deliberate if it is deliberate, swift if it is swift. The return should be in keeping with the body of the gesture, the distance through which it must travel being entirely dependent upon the point at which the execution terminates. Give illustrations. DIRECTIONS. {Front, Backward-oblique. The gesture to the front is one of especial directness and emphasis. The pugilist strikes to the front, even if he must 54 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. turn arouud to do it. Give illustrations of gestures to the front. We begin to generalize with the front-oblique direction, lu this direction we show parts of a great whole. In recit- ing the words "charging an array, while all the world won- dered!" to carry the arras entirely to the sides on the words ' ' charging an array " would be manifestly illogical. The world is broader than an army, and requires greater breadth of action. Give examples of gestures to the front-oblique. The lateral direction should be used in showing greatest breadth, fullness, completeness. In the following, "Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France!" the action grad- ually broadens until the culmination is reached on the words, "O pleasant land." Give other illustrations. The oblique-backward gesture is suggestive of remoteness, indistinctness, indifference, disgust. Illustrate. ZONES. rUPWARD, OR vSpiritual; The zones of e^esture are \ middle, or intellectual ; ° (^Downward, or Physical. These three zones have several distinctive characteristics. Fird. We may say, in a general way, that descending gestures belong to the realm of determination ; horizontal gestures to the realm of reason; ascending gestures to the realm of imagination. Second. Meanness of every type should be expressed by descending gestures; m.orality, by horizontal gestures; spirit- uality, by ascending gestures. Third. All objects, real or imaginary, lying beneath us, require descending gestures; on a plane with us, horizontal gestures; above us, ascending gestures. Fourth. We may speak of the upper zone, as the torrid ; the middle, as the temperate; the lower, as the frigid zone. For love, warmth, purity, lightness, brightness, gleeful- GESTURE. 55 ness, aud all that is ennobling or spiritualizing, the ascend- ing gestures are suited. For calmness, simplicity, and unimpassioned speech in general, horizontal action is adapted. In giving expression to incision, decision, dogmatism, deg- radation, destruction, malevolence, and all forms of brutality, or bestiality, gestures should take the descending direction. Require the pupil to recite, with appropriate gesture, ex- amples calling for movements in the zones named. THE HEAD. The head is to be held in a normal position in the expres- sion of composure, contentment, trustfulness, and the like. The head is bowed forward in submission, embarrass- ment, contemplation, timidity, melancholy, and in kindred feelings. The head is turned to the side with averted face in dis- gust, horror, and evasion. The head is thrown back in defiance, haughtiness, and egotism. The head held high or erect is indicative of dignity, in- dependence, and self-reliance. A rocking of the head to and fro is employed in assent, consent, conviction, and in like feelings. A movement of the head from side to side is suggestive of pomposity, presumption, voluptuousness, aud vanity. A rotary action of the head is an index of dissatisfaction, disagreement, senility, and idiocy. Do not keep the head in perpetual motion. An occasional movement may be made very effective. Unless the circum- stances require it, the head should not be drawn toward, nor react from, a gesture of the arm. THE BROWS. An elevation of the brows is an expression of surprise, inquisitiveness, superciliousness, and haughtiness. 56 ELOCUTION ^AND ORATORY, The brows are depressed in laoguor, sorrow, listlessness, and remorse. The brows are contracted in pain, suspicion, impatience, and in similar mental conditions. When the eyebrows are normal, the forehead is smooth. When the eyebrows are elevated, the forehead is relaxed, and lies in horizontal folds. When the eyebrows are de- pressed, the forehead is in a state of tension. When the eyebrows are contracted, the forehead is con- tracted, and lies in perpendicular folds. Constant smiling creates horizontal lines, and constant frowning creates per- pendicular lines in the forehead. Avoid a continual wrink- ling of the forehead, or an over-use of the eyebrows. What feelings other than those already mentioned require an elevation of the brows? A depression of the brows? A contraction of the brows? Give illustrations both from au- thors and from your own composition. THE EYES. The eyes are well open in amazement, expectation, and exultation. They are partly closed in the expression of discourage- ment, debility, debasement, and of similar sentiments. The eyes have an eccentric expression in courage, resist- ance, aggression, and in hostility. The eyes have a concentric look in soliloquy, abstraction, introspection, and the like. The eyes are averted in shame, disgust, fear, and aver- sion. Give examples. The eye is the indicator of thought. In the eye gesture has its birth, just as in the larynx voice originates. Like the lightning's flash, which springs from the cloud and illu- minates the earth, so thought radiates from the eye, and reflects the soul within. While with the voice one may utter but one language, and that imperfectly, with the eye o.ne may speak intelligibly in all languages, to all peoples. The GESTURE. 57 eye, then, being a factor of paramount importance, its cor- rect use is surely worthy of cultivation. Have you not heard a speaker whose eyes seemed never to behold his audience; who looked in one favorite upper corner of the hall, or in both upper corners alternately, or above your heads, or below your eyes, anywhere rather than into your faces? This is bad, and should not be tolerated. When you read or speak, look at your listeners, unless your are impersonating some character that does not admit of it. THE NOSTRILS. The nostrils are dilated in the expression of indignation, contemptuousness, malevolence, and like sentiments. In the expression of pain, avarice, anxiety, and distress the nostrils are contracted. An elevation of the tip of the nose is suggestive of ridi- cule, contempt, bigotry, and prejudice. THE MOUTH. The corners of the mouth are lifted in anticipation, satis- faction, mirthfulness, and kindred feelings. The corners of the mouth are depressed in the expression of scorn, grief, and hatred. - The degree to which the corners of the lips should be lifted, or lowered, should be in proportion to the intensity of the emotion that inspires the action. THE LIPS. The lips are compressed in the portrayal of determination, defiance, distress, and agony. They are puffed or projected as an index of disgust, sen- suality, petulance, and sullenness. The upper lip is lifted in derision, menace, haughtiness, and contempt. The lower lip droops as an exponent of verdancy, imbe- cility, insanity, and the like. 58 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. A protuberance of the lower lip is suggestive of vul- garity, brutality, and selfishness. A shorteniug and receding of the lower lip would be em- ployed in depicting indecision, efieminacy, and superficiality. THE CHEEKS. The cheeks are puffed or eccentric in merriment, and in the impersonation of contented, self-satisfied, phlegmatic con- ditions. Tlie cheeks are compressed or concentric in terror, re- morse, suspense, and pain. THE CHIN. Cunning, curiosity, and incisiveness are the language of a projected, pointed chin. Sternness, stability, and valor are better represented by a square or broadened chin. Liberality, geniality, and frankness are indicated by the round, full chin. A rapidly receding chin is suggestive of timidity, vacil- lation, and mental weakness. THE FINGERS. The fingers in position are found { together. Fright, disgust, detestation, all emotions expressive of unfriendliness or lack of companionship, tend to separate the fingers. Sorrow, sympathy, communion, whatever is attractive or congenial, has a tendency to bring the fingers into close com- panionship. Give examples. {Normal, Rigid, Relaxed. They are rigid in horror, repulsion, vituperation; and re- laxed in melancholy, resignation, and docility. GESTURE. 59 The index-finger is made serviceable in locating, limiting, illustrating, and in emphasizing. In the use of the index-finger, if you wish to emphasize a thought, or specify a thing, be sure to straighten it. Noth- ing can look weaker or more ridiculous than an angular index- finger, shaking its crooked self in the belief that it is giving pith, power, incisiveness, to some statement. Guttman speaks of the third finger as the wishing-finger, and says it plays a prominent part in the hand of greed. He calls the fourth, or little finger, the feeling finger, say- ing that if we would scratch the chin or rub the eye, we should use the little finger. The little finger may be used for the purpose of belittlement, tautilization, and scornful- ness. The same may be expressed by the throwing back and pointing of the thumb. The fingers may be interlocked as a rest, or recreation, or for the sake of variety, and in the expression of anguish, despair, and remorse. Give exam.ples. THE HANDS The positions of the hands may be desiornated as \ supine, ^ J n (^Vertical. The prone position is used to express compression, depres- sion, oppression, suppression, destruction, degradation, and the like. We use the prone hand for a placing upon, whether it be a fact, a principle, a blessing, or an object, real or imaginary. The prone hand, in one sense, is the hand of limitation, an illustration of Avhich will be given later. The supine position is the one employed in giving expres- sion to frankness, friendliness, and benevolence. The supine hand removes all limitation, and is expressive of infinitude. In illustrating the tossing of the waves of the sea one could not wisely employ the supine position of the hand, as the waves are borne to a limited height. To attempt to waft a 60 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. spirit to the heavens by the use of the prone position of the hand is quite as injudicious. With the vertical position of the hand we may attract, or repel; warn, or adore. The hand is open in candor, invitation, and persuasion. We generalize with the open hand. The hand is closed in avariciousness and exclusiveness. It is clinched in anger, revenge, and resolution. Delight, approval, a desire to attract attention, and the like, find fit expression in a clapping of the hands. Self-content, appreciation, and pleasurable anticipation, may rub the hands together, one upon the other. The hands are often wrung as an expression of torture of mind or body. Give examples illustrative of the various positions and conditions of the hand. Caution. — If you mean to use the open hand, open it. Do not cramp it, nor throw it into unseemly angles. WHEN TO USE THE LEFT, WHEN THE RIGHT HAND. We are often asked, how can we know when to use the left, when the right, when both ? Many seem to think that the left hand is given man as an ornament, and not to use in gesture. With such persons, this hand has more of a paralytic than an ornamental look. Action to the left side should usually be made with the left arm, and it should be under as complete control as the right. There are very few occasions that would draw the right arm across the breast in a struggle to cover the left field of action. There are some acts which custom calls upon the right hand uniformly to perform ; among them, salutation, hand-shaking, and taking the oath. Both hands are in demand when the area of action is too broad to be compassed by one, or when the force to be em- ployed is too great to be accomplished by one, or in response to any sentiment or situation suggestive of the use of both. GESTURE. 61 THE ARMS. The movements of the arm are many, intricate, and com- plex. There is no agent of the body more difficult to man- age gracefully than the arm ; none that so frequently mars the effect of speech or song by its angularity and awkwardness. Every teacher should give his pupils special drill in the movements of the arms. Their preparation for gesture may be brought about by the following preliminary exercises. Silent-arm Exercises. — Move the right arm through all the planes, in all the directions, with all the positions of the hand; same with the left arm; same with both arms. This furnishes the arms with one hundred and eight dis- tinct movements, and the transformation they will work in the action of a pupil is surprising. After this silent subju- gation of the joints and muscles, the instructor may ask the pupils to produce language that requires these various move- ments, and to fit them to the words. Cuts, and labelings, and figurings, and directions, at this stage of the study of gesture, are of little value unless the teacher is present to explain and exemplify. Of the many purposes of the movements of the arm, some of the more prominent are, location, illustration, limitation, generalization, and emphasis. A single gesture may serve a compound purpose. For example, in delivering the words, "On yonder jutting cliff," the movement of the arm led by the index-finger may ex- press limitation, location, illustration, and emphasis. The index-finger limits the number to a single peak. If there are thousands of them, the open hand would be required. The index-finger points out or locates the peak. The whole arm and index-finger, in the forward thrust, is an illustration of the "jutting peak." The force with which the movement should be made imparts the emphasis. In the statement, "O'ertaken by the furious mountain blast, I've laid me flat along," the words "I've laid me flat 62 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. along" require some visible as well as vocal expression. A gesture of illustration is necessary. To say "laid me flat along" with the supine hand, would be palpably improper, as in such a crisis a man would not lie on his back. The instructor should require his pupils to give other illustrations exemplifying the various purposes of the move- ments of the arm. A good illustration of the full-arm flight of gesture, and its culmination, in harmony with the vocal flight and culmi- nation, is found in the following: "Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow, in very presence of the regal sun." If the pupil were asked to what zone this compound gesture belonged, he would see in an instant why it must belong to the ascending. If asked what condition of the hand is re- quired, he might not feel so sure. This is an admirable mode of awakening self-investigation and self-reliance in the minds of pupils. For the first clause, "Or as our peaks," the open hand is demanded. "Peaks" can not be indicated by one finger. " Caps of snow" employs the same condition with an upward movement. "In very presence," still higher movement. "Of the regal sun" calls for the index-finger only, and brings the gesture to its climax at the moment the pitch of the voice reaches its highest point. THE SHOULDERS. The shoulders are normal in repose. They are thrown back in independence, bravado, and pomposity. They are drawn upward or shrugged in skepticism and insinuation. Such a statement as, "What are you to do about it? I have no fear of you," could be made by a shrug of the shoulders, without the use of a single word. Languor, debility, dejection, surrender, shame, and similar feelings, cause the shoulders to fall forward or droop. Caution. — Do not jerk nor shrug the shoulders unless occasion demands. A continued and meaningless twitching GESTURE. 63 of the shoulders is very distasteful to the average observer. Give illustrations of the shoulder movements. THE CHKST. In the representation of such feelings as resistance, arro- gance, and bravado, the chest assumes the eccentric form. In the impersonation of sickness, weakness, decrepitude, fear, and exhaustion, the chest becomes concentric. The chest of the gladiator is eccentric; of the coward, concentric. The eccentric chest suggests activity ; the concentric, pas- sivity. Give illustrations. THE TRUNK. The body is thrown backward in the delivery of such feelings as those of defense, defiance, bombast, and pride. The pupils may be required to enlarge the list of emotions which employ this position. Secrecy, curiosity, anticipation, and the like, incline the body forward. A rotary movement of the trunk is suited to the ex- pression of verdancy, coquetry, and embarrassment. A movement to and fro, or from side to side, is a sign of woe, despair, and insanity. A manly bearing, a military bearing, a courageous bear- ing, all carry the body erect. The body is rigid in revenge, wrath, and in all types of vehemence. Sorrow, soliloquy, surrender, and the like, relax the body. Recite such words as will illustrate the various movements and attitudes of the trunk. Caution. — ^Unless the sense demands it, avoid, by all means, a monotonous movement of the body to and fro, or from side to side, or in a rotary way. When not in harmony with the thought, such motions are extremely ungainly, and exceedingly trying to the nerves of the beholder. 64 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. THE FBBT. There is no easier or more graceful position of the feet than at an angle of from forty to sixty degrees, the heel of the advanced foot about two inches from the hollow of the retired foot. To denote a military precision the feet ap- proach the right angle. In buffoonery, or burlesque, or in the impersonation of extreme awkwardness, the feet may be placed in a parallel position. A swaggering, or intoxicated, or ruffianly beariug, plants the feet widely apart. THE FEET AS WEIGHT-BEARERS. In the bearing of the weight the feet are put in five dis- tinctive positions, namely: 1. Right foot advanced, bearing the burden of the weight. 2. Right foot retired, bearing the burden of the weight. 3. Left foot advanced, bearing the burden of the weight. 4. Left foot retired, bearing the burden of the weight. 5. The two feet sharing the weight. Give examples illustrative of the feet-positions. Which shall be advanced is, as a rule, a question of comfort. How- ever, there are laAvs which determine whether the advanced foot shall bear the excess of weight, or whether the principal portion of the weight shall be put upon the retired foot. Salutation, sympathy, affinity, and kindred feelings, throw the greater weight upon the advanced foot; while dread, fright, and all forms of repulsion, assign more weight to the retired foot. Stolidity, stability, and sturdiness, place upon the feet, approximately, an equal amount of weight. THE KNEES. The protruding of the knees is a sign of slothfulness, ver- dancy, sycophancy, and servility, and is seen often in bur- lesque. The knees are held firmly back in place, in feelings of rage, resentment, and malice. In kneeling, if the side is toward the audience, and but one knee is to touch the floor, that knee should be the one nearest the audience. GESTURE, 65 THE IvEGS. The legs should be rigid in all impassioned or dramatic situations. They should be relaxed in the expression of feebleness, exhaustion, melancholy, and soliloquy. Illustrate. Caution. — Avoid standing in such a manner as to make one leg eclipse the other. Such a position gives one the ap- pearance of standing on a very narrow base, and makes his figure look unsym metrical. As all who recite, or speak, or act, are required at times to take steps in presence of the public eye, a few suggestions in that connection will not be amiss. Steps of delight, pleasant anticipation, exhilaration, and the like, are quick and elastic. Daintiness, undue nicety, vanity, and mock-modesty move with mincing steps. Stealth, suspicion, and treachery glide noiselessly on their mission. Imbecility, incapacity, indolency, self-abandonment, are sym- bolized in a slow and shuffling gait. Doubt, reluctance, re- pugnance, approach their object, if at all, with faltering step. Indignation, infuriation, and aggression employ steps which are firm and swift. The steps of dignity, deliberation, and ponderosity are slow and steady. The swaggering step is the delight of the clown. It is put into frequent use by the caricaturist, and is admirably suited to either top-heaviness or top -emptiness. SPECIAL GESTURES, SUGGESTIONS, AND CAUTIONS. There are countless numbers and varieties of gesture which come under no specific law. These may be known as special gestures. To give an impression of the breadth of the field they cover, attention is called to a few that are common to the hand. The palm of one hand is alter- nately run over the back of the other in quick succession to express pleasure in the contemplation of a subject, in its cheerful presentation, in gladly accepting its truth, in creat- 6 66 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. iog warmtli of siibject, or warmth of hands when cold. The fingers are thrust between each other and quickly separated, the movement being rapidly repeated in childish glee, and in the impersonation of child-simplicity. The fingers are run through the hair, or beat a tattoo, or nervously clutch at something, or nothing, as circumstances may dictate. The hand may go to the heart, or the head, or the side, in the expression of whatever calls for such action. Handling of the Handkerchief. — The public reader, especially if a man, should use care in his management of this article. To be constantly fumbling it, to move it from hand to hand, from pocket to pocket, to tuck it away about a stand where he can not find it, gives him a nervous and effeminate air. "Suit the action to the word." — This is a bit of advice that will live as long as law. To have a calm or passive face in the expression of impassioned thought, is not logical. Good gesture simply holds the mirror up to nature. All people of intelligence must indorse the study of gesture, so defined. To speak the words, " Ten feet they measure from tip to tip," with an up-and-down movement of the arm, places the flying-machine of Darius Green in quite an awkward position. Since they are buckled tightly upon the youth, where would Darius be at such a moment? Saying, " With paddle or fin or pinion, we soon or late shall navigate," with a series of up-and-down strokes of the hands, is not holding the mirror up to nature. For pinions the gesture is a good one so far as the vertical portion of the flight is concerned. " For Darius was sly, and whenever at wof^lie happened to spy at chink or crevice a blinking eye, he let the dipper of water fly." To make the gesture with open hand would be to put Darius to a great many needless steps, as each time he lets the *' water fly " in that way, he must go after the thrown away dipper. Such a gesture shows lack of logic. To have the tip of the thumb against the forehead, and the hand shading the eyes, when you speak of "Mabel flatten- GESTURE. 67 iug licr face agaiost the window-pane," is a thoughtless, irra- tional gesture. A youth in a Pliilaclelphia school of Elocution, Avhose egotism exceeded his wisdom, criticised a classmate by say- ing she should have indicated the upward flight of the bird thus: and he made a beautiful compound flourish of the supine hand upward and outward. Picture the poor bird's predicament, flying feet upward into iufiuite space ! "O'erstep not the Modesty of Nature." — In writ- ing with a 2:)encil, do not put the tip of it in your mouth. Do not continually toy Avitli a watch-guard. It is indicative of abstraction, indiflerence, or nervousness. Keep the hands out of the pockets. The fingers should not pick at the cloth- ing or buttons. Fingers clasped, with one thumb revolving around the other, is a gesture that one need not covet. A disposition to stick the little finger straight out from the others, is not an enviable one. Avoid standing with either hand on the hip, or with either hip drooping. Do not culti- vate a mustache in presence of an audience. In imper- sonating the act of lifting, the gesture must depend upon the character of the object to be lifted. To lift some objects, the hand is placed beneath. Other objects are grasped from above by the fingers. If one were exhibiting an imaginary canary, it would show little thought in him to use the latter gesture. Be logical. Be consistent. If in a public performance pouring must be done, let it proceed with propriety. Do not make a farce of it by seeming to pour from a single small pitcher more than you could pour from a three-gallon pail. Do not pour with an unreasonable precipitancy. Do not lift a glass containing imaginary drink, and in a single gulp accomplish the impossible. Be consistent. If you are to impersonate the character of an aged man, remember that old age makes fewer and slower gestures than youth. Remember, also, that old men are as unlike as young men, and the mastery of one old-man character is not the mastery of all old age. For another old man you would need 68 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. another voice and another manner. If you are imperson- ating a part in a play, do not mar the character by lapsing into yourself, even for a moment, while in presence of the audience. Many forget this, while being addressed, or upon leaving the stage. In writing, some ply the tongue so vigor- ously that they suggest the question, which is miglitier, the tongue or the pen? In the personation of letter-writing, another inconsistency occurs, viz. : the penning of a full- page letter in less time than a single line would require a lightning-like folding without the use of a blotter, and directing of the letter by pitching the pen at the envelope. Be logical. Be consistent. In the impersonation of letter-reading, or the reading of any message, take at least time enough to make a reasonable suggestion of its perusal. Poise is power. There are some who seem to think that repose is no part of gesture, no part of Elocution. Experi- ence demonstrates that nothing so magnetizes an audience as the manifestation of great force issuing from a comparatively quiet source, with an appearance of almost limitless strength in reserve. Speakers sometimes weep in such a way as to make listeners laugh. If one would move others to tears, he should, as a rule, restrain his own. Thinking that he is with intensity picturing the purest pathos or the deepest despair, the speaker is shocked by seeing smiles on the faces of those who listen. Those who so repay him are, as a rule, ill-bred. However, the speaker should hold himself largely responsible for his uncivil reception. It is usually the out- come of his own inartistic methods. You will see the whole arm, and sometimes the entire body, thrown into violent commotion in the efforts to give expression to an idea, for which the movement of a single finger would be adequate. The throwing back of the body is not essential to the lifting of an arm. The arm may move independently of the body, ancP^hould in the majority of cases. Sympathy is a proper thing, but it can exist without GESTURE. 69 awkwardness. In the preparation for seating one's self, a sweeping separation of the coat-tails is as uncouth as it is unnecessary. In falling, the law of self-preservation may assert itself by first relaxing the lower limbs, and then by causing the arms to strike the floor slightly in advance of the body. In arranging pupils for public exhibition, the director should see that they group themselves in curves, whether they stand or sit. In dialogue, the one listening should so place himself that the speaker may give at least three-quarters of his face to the audience. A vast amount of indistinctness would be avoided by observing this simple direction. The performer of a minor part should not try to outshine the star. A sub- ordinate should approach his superior, and not wait for his superior to take extra steps to reach him. The pupil is warned against the common fault of making too many gestures. The young, especially, are prone to overact. Above all things do not impose upon the imagina- tion of the listener. A public reader in Philadelphia, in impersonating a stab- bing scene, fell to the floor presumably dead. There was no merciful curtain to drop upon the scene. Imagine the impression made upon the audience when the slain man arose to his feet ! A lady reader of renowm, in reciting ** Curfew Shall Not Ring To-night," would have the audience believe (judging from the gestures she makes) that she herself was hanging to the rope and swinging out, far out over the city; but the imagination of the average listener rebels against any such representation. The reader must not let his emotion run riot with his reason. O'erstep not the modesty of nature. He who thinks least, who cares least for logic, who values truth least, is he who is most prone to "tear a passion to tatters;" to substitute roar for reason, sound for sense. The ''applause of the groundlings" is slight remuneration for a sacrifice so great. Part V. Phonetics Phonetics is the science of sounds, separately considered. As a prelude to proper pronunciation the study of phonetics is of prime importance. Not long since the author read a statement, that not one-tenth of those who are graduated from our educational institutions can give correctly the simple sounds of the English language. It, doubtless, could be made stronger and still be within the bounds of truth. Until orthoepists agree as to how many simple sounds there are in the English language, it will not be easy for any one to know that he can give them all correctly. By some or- thoepists, a simple sound is defined as being one that is made by a single position of the vocal organs. There is no sound in our language that can be made in that way. Motion is essential to sound. A simple sound is a single sound. There are forty simple sounds in the English language. To know how to give them as they should be given is as essential to good pronunciation as a knowledge of the twenty-six letters of the alphabet is to correct spelling. Nevertheless, phonetics is so shamefully neglected in our educational system, that there are but few speakers who pro- nounce well. There are a few sounds which, easy enough to give in connection with other sounds, are difficult to give alone. They are the sounds of /i, h, p, t, w, and y. AVhen sounded separately they are almost unavoidably followed by a vanish, which in h, k, p, and t, sounds like some wliisj^ered 70 PHONETICS. 71 vowel ; in w and y, like some vocalized vowel. The harsh sounds of our language are the aspirates. Foreigners com- plain of the English language as being unmusical. The language is not so much at fault as its speakers. The sound of d, is a sub- vocal, and yet one seldom hears it so uttered. Instead of diul, one hears dndt The word hig has in it but three sounds, hicj, not high; large is Idrj, not Idrjeh; has is hdz^ not hdzs. With a custom, so nearly universal, of ibrciug upon the ear almost double the number of aspirates the words actually contain, it is a matter of no amazement that people exclaim: "How sadly your language is lackhig in melody!" A correct enunciation of the sounds not only spares our language much reproach, but gives to one's pro- nunciation a neatness and accuracy that can be insured in no other way. Until one knows what short e is, and learns to appreciate it at its full value, he is in danger of saying blessid for blessed; ashiis for ashes. Thousands of similar mis- takes he will make. An honest endeavor has been made to put the following phonetic system in its simplest and most lucid form. Lesson I. DIACRITIC MARKS AND THEIR SIGNIFICANCE. The Macron (-) indicates that the sound of the vowel above which it is found is long. The Breve (^•) shows that the sound of the vowel above which it is found is short. The Tilde (-) shows that the sound of the vowel over which it is placed is that of tilde e. The Dieresis (••) shows that the sound of the vowel over which it is placed is that of the Italian a long. The Semi-dieresis (•) shows that the sound of the vowel over which it is found is that of short Italian a. 72 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. The Caret (a) indicates, when it is found above o or u. that the sound is broad ; when found above a, that it has its long flat sound. Lesson II. SIMPLE SOUNDS. TONICS. 1. Long a, as ii pale. 9. Short i, as in it. 2. Long fia t a, pair. 10. Lon g o, (( ore. 3. Long Iti lian a, piirt. 11. Short o, (( ox. 4. Short Italian a, past. 12. Broad o, (( for. 5. Short a, hand. 13. Lon ^-double o, " food. 6. Long e, raete. 14. Shoi t-double 0, '' good 7. Short e, met. 15. Shoi •tu, (( lip. 8. Tilde e, earn. 16. Broad u, (( tirn. SUB-TONICS. 1. b, as in bay. 6. m, as in my. 11. V, as in vie. 2. d, " day. 7. n, *' in. 12. w, <( we. 3. g, " g'-iy- 8. D» '' ink. 13. y, li yes. 4. j. " .jay. 9. r, * ' rye. 14. z, it zest. 5. 1, " lay. 10. tir, " thy. 15. zh, a usury ATONICS. 1. ch, as in chin. 4. k, as in kin. 7. sh, as in shy. 2. f, '' fin. 5. P. " pin. 8. t, (( try. 3. h, - him. 6. s, *' sin. 9. th, (( pith. The only sub-tonics that need any given name are Nos. 8 and 10. The former is under-line n, the latter is sub- tonic th. But one (No. 9) of the aspirates requires any given name; it may be called atoiiic th. PHONETICS. 73 IvKSSON III. COMPOUND SOUNDS. Long i, composed of a and i, as in ice. Long u, '* " e *' 6b, " use. oi, '* " 6 " i, '' oil. ou, ** ** a " 00, " out. From the analysis of these four proper diplitlion^s, it will be seen that their introduction adds no new sounds to our language. They draw their material from the list of simple sounds. The macron is used to denote how many sounds? The breve? The tilde? The dieresis? The semi-dieresis ? The caret? Does Webster use any other diacritical mark? For what sounds does Webster use markiugs other than the ones we have given ? Tell what they are. What is an improper diphthong ? Phonetically speaking, an improper diphthong is but a simple sound. For what sounds do Webster and Worcester use different markings? Lesson IV. NEEDLESS DISTINCTIONS. 1. There is no need of hard and soft c, since there is no such thing as c, phonetically. In the word cent, c has the sound of s; in the word card, the sound of h; in the word sacrifice, c, in the last syllable, has the sound of z. 2. AVhat orthoepists call hard ch is but the sound of h. 3. Soft g is not g, but j. Hard g is g, nothing more. 4. What is styled soft s is not s; it is the z sound. 5. Worcester marks oi and ou diacritically. This is un- necessary. There is but one oi, and but one ou, and they should go uumarked. 74 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Inconsistencees. Webster makes the mistake of using the symbol p for both s and z. Worcester would have us believe that the initial sound in oi and of ou is the same. In the following phonetic study we shall call sounds by their right names. If we hear /, we shall say j. Lesson V. LONG FI.AT A, SHORT A, SHORT ITALIAN A, SHORT O, BROAD O, LONG ITALIAN A. The flattest sound in our language is long flat a. Short a differs from long flat a more in quantity than in quality. Short Italian a is shorter in quality than long Italiati a. It is also a little less open in its mechanism. Short resembles long Italian a very much in sound, but it is much the shorter in quantity. Broad o has a quality quite distinct from those already named. Long flat a is always followed by r. Phonetic Ills. 1. Long flat a is sounded by many almost as if it were long a. Pear is 'pdr, not 'par. 2. Short a is immutably, constitutionally, unconditionally short. So are all short sounds. To prolong any one of them is a phonetic error. Their beauty is their brevity. Take from them their dash, and the drawl remains. Hat is hat, not hd et, nor hd ut, nor hat Short a suffers special mistreat- ment when found in unaccented syllables. Formal is formal, not formel, nor formil, nor formul. 3. By the masses short Italian a is miserably mangled. PHONETICS. 75 The student should be drilled upon it until he can produce it with perfect precision. To pronounce the a in flash as broadly as the a hi father, sounds pedantic; while to sound it as short as a in 7nat, sounds unscholarly. Pupils should prepare an exhaustive list of words contain- ing short Italian a. Give twenty monosyllables containing it; twenty dissyllables; twenty proper names; twenty geo- graphical names. 4. Long Italian a, one of the most beautiful of sounds, is by many sadly marred. The words hlith, path, laugh,, mint, can't, shan't, laundry, may be cited as a few of the serious sufferers. Prepare a list of words containing this sound. Drill upon it until you can pronounce the words correctly. 5. Short has its perils. To say fox for fox, is to strand on Scylla; while to say foux, is to strand on Charybdis. Sail between. There is no such thing as a dog, much less ddug. The golden mean is dog. Short o is often banished unjustly. Do not say meVn for melon. In unaccented syllables short o is a frequent victim, as in sciun for scion. 6. Broad o also suffers. If it could feel, how it would writhe on hearing rot for ivrought; tot for taught] cot for caught! There would come an extra twinge of pain when sat is said for sought! A list of words containing broad o should be written and mastered. God is not Gaivd, although the ignorant and superstitious so pronounce it. Phonetic Spelling. Observe the following order in all phonetic spelling: 1. Pronounce the word. 2. Give the sounds separately. 3. Pronounce the word. 4. Name the sounds separately. 5. Pronounce the word. 76 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Spell Phonetically. Stand, e'er. balk, trough, piquant, plaid, eyre, clause, ought. Aaron, fare, balm, naught. wasp. prayer. fair. daunt. awful, watch, knowledge, there, hearth. George, flog, sergeant. wear, guard. stork. hough. extraordinary, heir. grass. broad^ water. authorities. In the preceding list what equivalents are found for short a, short Italian a, long Italian a, long flat a, short o, broad of Do you know of any other? Does ua stand for short a in any word other than piquantf Is there any in which ey stands for long flat a other than in eyref One can ofttimes locate the State from which a speaker comes by his use of long Italian a. Beginning in the east, where it is heard in all its breadth and beauty, it gradually dwindles away as it proceeds westward until, long before it reaches the Mississippi River, it becomes a lank, sickly, long flat a. I^ESSON VI. SHORT E, TILDE £, SHORT U, BROAD [/, R. In this, as in the preceding group of sounds, there is a close phonetic resemblance. As to the mechanism of the sounds, the student will find the mirror more valuable than any description that can be put in print. Learn exactly what each sound is; practice until each can be accurately produced, and then consult the mirror to see how each is made. Phonetic Ills. 1. Short e suflTers most at the tongue of the irrepressible drawler. The drawler says sent for set. It suffers but little less when found in unaccented syllables. Ashes is not aslius ; PHONETICS. 77 children is not ckildrun, nor cMldrm. Sot for set is a luxury very few can now afford. 2. The greatest foe of tilde e is broad ii. As a usurper broad ii is not surpassed by any other sound. Earn is not urn; serge is not sitrge. There are some things custom can not do. Wrong is wrong, and custom can not make wrong right. It is wrong to pronounce fir as fur, custom to the contrary notwithstanding. 3. One of the most marked characteristics of the perfect short u is its shortness. In the drawler's speech it is most noted for its lack of shortness. Dust is not duiist. Dost is often mispronounced. Short 0, for short u, is a relic of barbarism not often met to-day. There are few localities in the United States where on for im is the rule ; as onhwiun for iinhioivn. 4. Broad u is sometimes given the sound of tilde e, but is less mispronounced than other vowel sounds. 5. As a phonetic sufferer the sound of r takes high rank. Why r should be sounded in the word raw, and omitted in the word ivar, deserves an explanation. Ah is no more the terminal sound of loar than it is the initial sound of raw. There are those who appear to pronounce on the principle that r is not r, unless initial, or if r is r in any other posi- tion, it is inelegant to let it be heard. Thus they heah with their eahs, when they should hear with their ears. Again, there are those who make r do double, triple, quadruple duty. Such people never ramble, they r-r-r-ramble. Their rats are all hydra-headed r-r-r-r-r-r-ats. Never trill an r un- less the sense demands it. There are other speakers who introduce some spurious sound before or after r; thus errain for rain ; farii for far. 6. Du and tu unaccented, as in verdure and furniture, offer considerable difficulties. The effort to sound initial u, as in use, immediately after the sound of d or t, without making an intervening s, has led to general corruption in the pronunciation of this class of words. 78 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Spell Phonetically. Many, gW, says, doth. Wednesday, heifer. gallows. foetid. world. verge. earl. again. myrtle, tread. tough, scirrhus, friend, scirrhous, guess. iron. aesthetic. guerrilla, bent. flood. children, jeopardy. flung. burial. journal, picture. What equivalents in this lesson do you find for short e, tilde e, short u, broad uf Have they other equivalents? Prepare a full list of words containing the five sounds which are the subject of this lesson. Of these lists what words have you heard mispronounced? In Avhat way? Pronounce them correctly. Has r any equivalents? How have you heard the word idea mispronounced? Name other words likewise mispronounced. Lesson VII. I.ONG A, LONG E, SHORT /, Y. Phonetic Ills. t. The sin which most besets long a is its tendency to end in the sound of long e. The drawler is never happier than when saying fdel for fail. There is a foppish pronun- ciation which gives to long a a sound somewhat resembling long flat a; thus, /dee for face. 2. Long e, too, is troubled by a tendency to spurious vanishes ; for example, meil or meul, for meal. 3. Short i is beset with a similar tendency. Thus one hears /let, ox fWt, for fit. Short i, as an unaccented syllable, or in an unaccented syllable, suffers various indignities. Short i has a beautiful sound, not a beautefid, nor a beautiful sound. Divinity is not devinuty, nov devinety, nor devinute; it \s divinitl. 4. The sound ot y bears a striking phonetic resemblance PHONETICS. 79 to long e and short i. Pronounce eet, wt, yet The three combinations sound almost as one. The loss of ^ would not be a serious one, phonetically, to our language. Spell Phonetically. Fate, weight. sieve, fountain. tortoise. stain, whey. yet, Thursday, sovereign, straight, gaol, union, England, machine, gauge. theme, pleiads, surfeit, reprieve, stay, sheaf. ^sop, volley. champaign, aye, greet, people, victuals, champagne. fete, key, deceive. women, aitch-bone. break, quay, foetal, busy, guayaquil, vein, been, melee. folly, hallelujah. deign, mint, bouquet, guilty. vicinity. What equivalents in this list for long a, long e, short i, for yf Have they any other equivalents? Give some word, other than the one given in the lesson, containing each equivalent. Is there any word beside gaol in which ao is equivalent to long a f any beside q^iay in which uay equals long e f Prepare a list containing the sounds of which this lesson treats, showing how they are often mispronounced ; pronounc- ing them correctly. Lesson VIII. LONG O, LONG DOUBLE O, SHORT DOUBLE O, W. The drawler finds long o an easy victim. To say moddr, or moer for more, is a joy he can not forego. Oou, or good for go, is his delight. Its usurpation by broad o is another of its ills. Board is not bawrd, nor haiverd, nor haicurd. To say baicd for board, is a depth of phonetic degradation painful to contemplate. Long double o is not exempt from misuse. Of all affec- tations of speech, there is none more offensive than short 80 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. double for long double o. To say root for root, or Jobd for food, is a phonetic abomination. Long u for long double o, is as bad as long double o for long u. Two is not tu. Dew is not dob. Do is dob. Short double o is, comparatively, well treated. To sub- stitute long double o for it, is an error of little magnitude in America. Were it used as a terminal sound, it would be subjected, as they all are, to spurious vanishes. Notice how similar are the rounds of w, and ob. Pro- nounce odet, wet But little phonetic loss would attend the disappearance of the sound of lo from our language. Spell Phonetically. strew, dough. grew, thought, weave. cone, glow, rheum. bruise. quest. roam. douche. move, stood, caoutchouc, foe. bureau, moon. should, manoeuvre, four. yeoman. group, bush. connoisseur, brooch. hautboy, rue. wolf, Worcester, owe, canoe, rule, choir. rendezvous. Do you know of any equivalents not found in the list? Do you know of any word other than manoeuvre that contains the triphthong oeu f Prepare lists as in previous lessons. Give a word con- taining silent w. lyKSSON IX. COGNATE SOUNDS. Two sounds are cognate when they have a common origin. When the vocal organs are in position to produce the sound of h, they are also in position to produce the sound of p. Hence h and p are cognate sounds. The cognates are: b — p, d — t, g — k, j — ch, tk— th, v — f, z — s, zh — sh. PHONETICS. 81 Phonetic Ills. The most troublesome trinity in this list is, doubtless, b, d, and g. They are by construction absolutely shut, but it requires some force of character to make them so, especially when they are used terminally. The ignorant speaker does not know that it is wrong to say andt for and. The indolent speaker does not care. Andu for and is quite as objection- able. Tub is not tubp, nor tuba. Log is not logh, nor logu. Large is not larjob. With is not withu. Love is not luvu; it is not luvf, but Mv. Lias is liaz, not liazs, nor hazu. Be careful not to make ch sound like s/i; or zh, like 8h. The digraph zh is never seen in an English word, but it is often heard. Give examples. Which of the cognate sounds are, as a rule, used explosively? Which are least fitted to bear long quantity? Spell Phonetically. ball, ghost, puff. this. glacial. pall, ^g^> phlegm. breathe. chaise, hiccough, kill, tough. thick. dough. diphthong. hough, trough, withe, nauseous, dropped, quest, draught, azure. shall. add. stack, zone. mirage, version. time, chaos, czar. glazier. caption, thyme, coquette. laud. regime. schottish, worked, antique. discern. jet-d'eau. conscientious. yacht, jest, Xenophon, , transition. conscience. phthisic. gem. sole, explosion. fissure. coquette. chest. fuchsia, inclosure, passion, seven-night. vast, pass, luxurious. negotiate. asthma, ^ Stephen, cent. ocean, laxity. gone. fast, goal. oceanic. ouch. There are, doubtless, a number of substitutes for the sixteen cognate sounds not given in this list. Students should be asked to make a search for them. Name some 82 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. word that contains silent h, d, f, g^ h, p, s, z; j is never silent; V is never silent. What is assimilation? What examples of assimilation in the foregoing list? Give some word iu which b becomes assimilated with some preceding or succeed- ing sound. Give one illustration of a similar change in the remaining cognates. Does j ever change to ch for the pur- pose of assimilation ? Is there any assimilation of sounds other than cognates? IvKSSON X. LIQUIDS— Z, 31, N, N, H. These five sounds complete the list of simple sounds. The first four are liquid sounds. Accommodating as are the cognates in pronunciation, the liquids are yet more so; they coalesce with either an aspirate or a sub- vocal. For example, in the word and the sound of n unites with that of c?, no more readily than with the sound of f, in the word ani. Illustrate the tendency to assimilation on the part of the other liquids. Is there any liquid not named in this lesson? Of the forty simple sounds in the English language, the sound of }i possesses, perhaps, the least individuality. But that it has a work to perform is shown by those speakers who say at for liat, and hat for at ; and harmole for armhole. As said of h, d, and g, so may be said of I, m, and n. They are mispronounced most in terminal positions. All is not ollu; jam is not jamu; ten is not tenu. Underline n is sometimes given too much of the nasal quality, and is allowed sometimes to partake too freely of the sound of g. To omit an h when it should be sounded, and sound it when it should be omitted, is an error too common to the English-speaking people. However in England, no less than in America, this custom is chiefly confined to the lower classes. The pupil may furnish his own lists of equivalents for m, n, w, and h. Spell the lists phonetically. Name some word containing silent h, I, m. PHONETICS. 83 Lesson XI. PROPER DIPHTHONGS— LONG /, LONG U, 01, OU. What is a proper diphthong? There are a number of combinations which to the eye appear as proper diphthongs, but which to the ear are nothing more than simple sounds, as in 'please, in which ea is a single sound. How many otlier similar combinations are there? Give examples. What is such a combination sometimes called? The eye occasionally beholds a triphthong, as in the word lieu; but to the ear it is not a triphthong. As to the analysis of long i orthoepists differ. Sheridan says it is composed of 6 and e; Walker and Webster say a and e; Smart says u and e; while Worcester is sagely silent. Among them there would seem to be a uniform feeling that long e is the *proper vanish. Every drawler in the land in- dorses that conclusion. However, as long % is always found where its initial sound (a) consumes the more time, there is no reason why the vanishing sound may not always be short i; certainly it is more agreeable to the ear. The sound of long it has aroused more discussion and more diversity of opinion than any other sound. Worcester says u = y^u, sl quantity equal to itself and something more. We leave that problem with the mathematicians. Webster says u = y-\- do, or e + yod, or i + oo, and in the latest edition is added e-\- oo. No one can question the flex- ibility of his analysis. For all practical purposes e + oo is sufficient, let the u be found in what position it may. When a prolongation of the sound of long u becomes necessary, the prolongation should fall upon the vanishing sound. Long quantity on the initial sound does it great injury. The attempt to prolong the vanish of long i not only in- troduces some spurious sound, but adds a syllable unlawfully. Thus, fire becomes fier or fiur. F6er for fire, although sane- 84 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. tioned by Sheridan, has very few followers. Long u is very often mispronounced. There are many who liabitually sup- press its initial sound, as dobty for duty. With equal pro- priety they might say oose for use. In the pronunciation of the word lute, one frequently hears nothing but the vanish of long II, thus, loot. The sound of long u undergoes another distortion fully as disagreeable as the one just noted. It is the attempt to prolong its initial sound, the sequel to which is plewn for plume, veil for view. The sound of oi is not so much misused. Ik for oil is the fault of but a limited class. The sound of ou is some- what more harshly treated. A cow is, ordinarily, a harmless animal; but a keou is not to be trusted. Ahobt for about is another ludicrous error. Do you know of any other ills that beset these four diphthongs? Spurious sounds before long i are as much to be condemned as when found preceding long u. Geyid for guide; geyerl for girl; skel for sky, afe samples of this provincialism. Give other illustrations. Name a num- ber of words in which long u is mispronounced. Spell Phonetically. ay, why. oil. you. beauty, ey, isle, guide. blew, pursuit, eye, aisle. slime. blue. adieu. vie, light, rhyme. feod, maneuver. buy. height, eider. flute, accoutre. What equivalents? Replace the words in this lesson, so far as you can, with other words containing the same equiv- alents. Are there other substitutes not given here? Prepare a full list of words containing the sound of long u. In the word feod, eo equals long u. Can you give another example? In the word bough, what is the equivalent? Give other illus- trations of the same. Analyze the twenty-six letters of the alphabet phonetically. In the analysis how many of the forty simple sounds appear? What are they? Name those that PHONETICS. 85 remain. How many simple sounds are used in the pronun- ciation of the letter wl What are they? What letters of the alphabet entirely disappear in the phonetic analysis? Name twenty words of one syllable containing the sound of long u; twenty words of two syllables; twenty words of more than two syllables. Part VI. Orthoepy What is good pronunciation? To this question we have seen no more fitting ansAver than that of Dr. Johnson, an eminent English lexicographer of the cigliteenth century. This is his definition : " The best general rule is to consider those as the most elegant speakers who deviate least from the written words." Of this statement Worcester says: " Tliis is a princi- ple which seems worthy of being encouraged rather than checked." Smart, the most prominent English lexicographer of the present day, sanctions this definition. Webster's Dictionary also argues that the more nearly words are pronounced as they are spelled, the better is the pronunciation. However, all of these authorities are found frequently to violate this most commendable law. A few illustrations must suffice. Worcester attributes the sound of e to that of short i, in unaccented syllables; thus, dutiful he calls duteful; ability he calls abilete; but he does not say what e is meant. He is guilty of an inexactness almost as great when he places a semi-dieresis under a vowel in an unaccented syllable, to show that the vowel is to have an obscure sound, failing to say what obscure sound is meant. Walker, in speaking of the word nature, violates the prin- 86 ORTHOEPY. 87 ciple when he says: "Some critics have contended that it ought to be pronounced as if written nate-yure; but this pro- nunciation comes so near to that here adopted [ndchur] as scarcely to be distinguishable from it." Walker apparently errs here, as there is a very keen distinction between yilix and chure. Webster conforms to the principle in treating of words ending in dure, hire, as verdyoor, gestyoor; but when the word ends in sure he disregards it ; thus, instead of saying cens- yoor, lie says censhoor. Worcester agrees with Webster in the foregoing, except that he puts a serai-diaresis under the u in each case; as dure, ture, shire. All of these authorities drop the initial sound of u, when preceded byr, s, or z. This they justify on the ground of ease of utterance. Smart goes further by dropping the initial sound ofu in such words as lute, conclude; and Sheridan went so far as to say shoopreme for supreme, shooicide for suicide. Worcester is guilty of a violation more flagrant than any yet cited. He would have us pronounce such words as hire, lore, more, soar, sore, flour, as though they were dissylables, thus, higher and lotver. This corruption can not be too severely criticised. He emphasizes his error by adding: "a, e, i, 0, u, 00, ou, in the words fare, mere, ire, poor, our, are not quite identical with the same sounds in fate, mete, ide, ode, cube, pool, oivV That the a in fare is not identical with the a in fate no one will question ; but the remainder of the statement is open to criticism. Smart maintains that the a in care is the same as a in fate, and that it owes all its peculiarity in the former instance to the subsequent r. The fact is, the sound of a in care, and of a in fate, is not the same. In the former, it is long flat a; in the latter, long a. Long flat a has a sound of its own wholly independent of r, and, in phonetic spelling, we, invariably sound the two separately. We find in the Principles of Pronunciation of Webster's 88 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Dictionary, as revised by Chauncey A. Goodrich and Noah Porter, these words: ** When an unaccented syllable ends in a consonant, its vowel, if single, has in strict theory its regular short sound, though uttered somewhat more faintly than in an accented syllable, as in assign', etc. In many words of this class, however, the vowel is apt to suffer a change or corruption of its distinctive quality, passing over into some sound of easier utterance." In the foregoing quotation it will be observed the revisers condemn, as a corruption, the lapse in pronunciation. Almost immediately thereafter they encourage the corruption by say- ing: ''As a general rule, a and o, in unaccented syllables ending in a consonant, verge toward, or fall into, the sound of short u, as in baUad, method, etc. In such words, it would ordinarily be the merest pedantry or affectation to give the vowel its regular short sound. Thus the vowel sounds in the unaccented syllables, ar, er, ir, or, yr, are coincident with the sound of u in sulphur." Those who oppose both corruption and contradiction, as well as the violation of Johnson's most practical principle, will not say ur nor 'Ar for ar, er, ir, or yr. We quote from Webster's Principles of Pronunciation again: ''In connected discourse, certain classes of monosyl- lables, such as articles, prepositions, pronouns, conjunctions, and auxiliary verbs, are usually unemphasized, and their vowel is liable to the same corruption of quality as that in an unaccented syllable of a word. Thus in the word tfieir, when unemphatic, the vowel sound would resemble u in the word urge, and the words a, your, that, the, from, for, etc., would become nearly or quite u, thus, y'lXr, thut, frum, fur, etc." Whether the words quoted may or may not be con- strued into an indorsement, is a matter of little moment, as they are self-contradictory ; for the u in urge is not u short. When words a/e pronounced precisely as they are spelled, then, and not till then, will Dr. Johnson's standard of good pronunciation be fully realized. ORTHOEPY. 89 ORTHOBPIC INCONSISTENCIES. Why orthoepists insist upon the difficult accentuation of many words is hard to understand. The placing of the ac- cent on the first syllable of the word orthoepy, for example, is difficult and unnatural. It will be answered that some law of philology or etymology has so decreed it. Fortunately an inborn love of comfort combats the law's austerity, and usually wins. The majority of speakers will continue to say ortho'epy until orthoepists will do the same. Very many words might be cited as having undergone a change of accent in favor of easy utterance. Dyspepsy was once accented on the first syllable. Speakers, as a rule, prefer Webster's discrep'- ant, discrep'ancy, acces'sary, acces^sory, to Worcester's dis'crep- ant, dls'crepancy, ae^cessary, ac'cessory. There are many other words destined to surrender to this innate love of euphony and ease. One does not often hear Worcester's pronuncia- tion of halco'ny, quanda'ry, elegi'ac. Why Webster finds fault with orthoepists for being in- consistent in their pronunciation of trisyllabic adjectives ending in ose, and then accents the following words thus, acetose', ad'ipose, anhnose', op'erose, and cd'matdse, is beyond comprehension. Why Worcester accents the noun increase upon both the first and second syllables, and accents the noun decrease only upon the second syllable, would probably puzzle the philolo- gists. Why he accents the noun detail on both the first and second syllables, and the noun retail only on the first syl- lable, is quite as puzzling. Proceed^ as a noun, he accents on either the first or second syllable; proceeds, as a noun, he accents only on the last syllable. Why? His treatment of the word gallant is as novel as it is intricate and confusing. As a noun, meaning gay, gallant' ; as an adjective, mean- ing gay or brave, gal'lant; as an adjective, meaning polite, gallant'. Webster says, gallant', as a noun ; gal'lant, as an adjective. 8 90 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. The student finds sucli inconsistencies very confusing, and tbey add immeasurably to the difficulties in the study of orthoepy. BVII. TENDENCIES IN ORTHOEPY. There is a great tendency in America to give undue prominence to unaccented syllables, and to those with second- ary accents. The English are much less given to this ; and such words as alimony, dedicatory, melancholy, gooseberry, drop from their lips with a smoothness and elasticity most com- mendable. An American will pronounce straivberry in such a way that one would find it difficult to decide upon which syllable he means to place the primary accent. Nothing is more fatal to the flow of speech than exaggerated or ill- placed accentuation. The substitution of illegitimate for legitimate sounds in unaccented syllables is one of the rankest corruptions to which pronunciation is subject. Thus one hears brier for briar; jewil for jewel; cavul for cavil; and demun for demon. Of course sounds in unaccented syllables and in unemphatic words should be given more lightly than those in accented syl- lables and in emphatic words; but they should not lose their individuality. It is inconsistent to say my when emphatic, and me when unemphatic, or thy, emphatic, and thu, unemphatic. The misplacement of quantity is another error in orthoepy of no little magnitude. To know what sound should be pro- longed in different words is a matter of great importance. In any word that requires long quantity there is always some sound which may be prolonged without marring the pronun- ciation. Let the pupil give illustrations of this corruption, and state its remedy. The mumbling and merging of sounds, syllables, and words is a common error; as, virchoo for virtue; perpechiial for perpetual; ivoojoo for ivoidd ijou ; someore for some more; thislate for this slate. Eequire the pupil to prepare a list of similar errors. ORTHOEPY. 91 ORTHOBPIC RUI.BS. Only such rules will be given as will be of especial service to pupils in the study of orthoepy. I. The souud of short Italian a is found in three posi- tions: as an emphatic word; as an unaccented syllable; as a terminal in an unaccented syllable. Examples: He is a man; Asa; America. II. C, before a, o, u, usually has the sound of 1c, as in cane, coney cube. As a rule, when c is found before e and i sounds, it takes the sound of s, as in cent, cite, cyst. Excep- tions: Discern, sceptic, scirrhus, suffice, sacrifice. III. In verbs and participles ending in ed, the e is usually silent; as in blessed. When they are derived from roots which end in d, or t, the e is sounded ; as in accorded. Adjectives ending in ed sound the e; as in bless-ed. Participles used as adjectives generally retain the e; as in crooh-ed. Adverbs in which the ed is followed by ly, or ness, retain the e; as in resignedly, blessedness. IV. It is the rule to sound the e in terminal el; as in chisel. Exceptions: Betel, drazel, drivel, easel, grovel, hazel, mantel, navel, ousel, ravel, rivel, scovel, shekel, shovel, shrivel, snivel, swingel, swivel, teasel, tousel, weasel. Worcestor suppresses the e in the word barbel. Webster suppresses the e in mispickel. V. In terminal en the e is usually silent ; as in even, heaven, seven, eleven. Words which are not participles, in which the en is pre- ceded by I, m, n, r, form an exception to this rule. Outside of these the exceptions are few. Webster both sounds and suppresses the e in sloven; Worcester does not suppress it in sloven, nor in Eden, bounden. VI. G, before e and i sounds usually has the sound of./; as in gem, gin, gymnast. Before a, o, and u, it retains its sound ; as in game, goad, gun. The word gaol is an exception. 92 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. VII. Chemical terms ending in ide, by almost all ortho- epists, are pronounced with the i short ; as in chloride. VIII. Terminal il usually sounds the i, as in anvil. Devil, evil, weevil, are exceptions. IX. The i is also retained, as a rule, in terminal in; as in Latin. Exceptions: Basin, cousin, raisin. X. When preceded by c, or k, the o in terminal on is usually silent; as in deacon, reckon. XI. R is never silent except when two are consecutive in the same syllable; as in myrrh. A vowel preceding double r, not terminal, takes its short sound, as a rule. Examples: Merry, hurry. The vowel is also usually short, if the r which it precedes is followed by a syllable beginning with a vowel. Examples: Apparel, peril. Derivatives from words ending in re are exceptions. Ex- ample: Daring. To this may be added the words alarum, and parent. XII. Nouns which in the singular end with aspirate th, usually retain that sound. Examples: Youths, truths. Exceptions : Baths, cloths, latJis, moths, mouths, oaths, paths, wreaths. XIII. Double Consona:nts. — When any consonant is doubled in a single syllable, but one is sounded. Example: Falling. If a syllable ends with a consonant, and the next syllable begins with the same consonant, it is the custom to sound but one, although that one is somewhat more prolonged than when found in other positions. Example : Commence. Nor does general usage, in ordinary speech, give the two sounds separately when one closes a word and the other is initial to the following word. However, speech would gain greatly in distinctness and dignity were both sounds given in such instances. XIV. In the pronunciation of nouns, adjectives, and verbs, of more than one syllable, it is the rule to place the accent further back on nouns and adjectives than on verbs; ORTHOEPY. 93 thus : refiise as a noun or adjective is accented on the peuul- tima ; as a verb, on the ultima. XV. If there is nothing in the orthography or accent to distiuguish the noun or adjective from the verb, some change in sound must be made. Abuse, as a noun or adjective, re- tains the sound of s; as a verb, the § takes the sound of z. XVI. When words which are used antithetically, differ in their spelling in but one syllable, that syllable receives the accent. Example : I said in'citement, not ex'citement XVII. In poetry, accent is usually made to conform to the demands of rhythm and rhyme ; but this is an unwar- ranted liberty. XVIII. Dissyllabic nouns and adjectives are usually dis- tinguished by placing the accent on the ultima of adjectives; and on the penultima of nouns. Example : Au'gust, as a noun ; august', as an adjective. XIX. Accent is not found as a rule upon two consecu- tive syllables. Walker claims that ainen is the only word in the language that must of necessity be accented on two con- secutive syllables. With equal reason a double accent might be placed on many other dissyllabic words, especially com" pounds ; as jpeW -mell' , up' -builds ORTHOEPIC EXERCISES. 1. It is fair that she should share with the other heir. 2. A man with much land must hire a liand. 3. One could not ask a more pleasant task. 4. Let him bask in the sun with his mask. 5. In a cask or flask is the sting of an asp. 6. He could neither grasp nor clasp the hasp or rasp. 7. At last he cast a blast quite fast at caste. 8. His friends stood aghast at his bombast. 9. In the past a vast amount of brass was amassed. 10. Alas ! the mass of the class could not pass. 11. A lass looked in the glass and saw the grass. 94 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 12. His wine he may quaff, may flourish his staff, but his words are chaff. 13. They dance and prance when they get a chance. 14. He woke from his trance and grasped his lance. 15. He quaffed a draught from the rickety raft. 16. He held out his arms to his aunt for alms. 17. He took a bath in the calm of the balmy afternoon. 18. Slie flaunts her jaunty hat in her favorite haunt. 19. I can't nor sha'n't take this taunt. Avaunt! 20. The calf was gaunt as though half starved. 21. In wrath he strode down the path with a lath. 22. With a laugh and a psalm he carries the palm. 23. The words, laundry, gauntlet, dahlia, sauuter, moustache, drama, rajah, jaundice, piano, agape, rather, half, and salve, are often mispronounced. 24. He ate a banana as a fitting finale. 25. The sot was sought and caught on a cot. 26. Do not say tot for taught ; not for naught ; rot for wrought. 27. Do not say horn for borne ; hold for bold ; scald for scold ; call for coal ; said for soul ; tar for tore ; morn for mourn ; sawn for sown. 28. His children were gifted, trusted, honest, bleSsed. 29. Do not say surge for serge ; surf for serf; urn for earn; fur for fir. 80, At first we saw the bird in the myrtle ; then it flew to the earth, where it was at the hunter's mercy. 31. After we enter the car the rain will not annoy us. 32. An honor was conferred upon a certain, earnest, superb, fervid, perfect performer. 33. Do not say goward for gourd, nor wah for war. 34. If dew is doo, then, surely, hew is hod. 35. If news is nodz, amuse is amooz. 36. It is as proper to say dispoot as to say institoot. 37. If ladies consoom candies, they should perfooyn their hand- kerchiefs. ORTHOEPY. 95 38. One who is seclooded may refodz to come fortb. 39. Say illodmination if you say oonited States. 40. Upon his throne he reigns supreme. 41. And day had dawned before he rose. 42. Did you, would you, can't you, sha'n't you go? 43. Could you, should you, must you make such gestures? 44. His son seeks sources of highest culture. 45. He has fortune, who has health and content. 46. Eventually and effectually his education was complete. 47. In feature beautiful, in disposition amiable, in virtue unsurpassed. 48. When youths of this age tell truths, they are sage. 49. Black cloth is worn now by plebeian and courtier. 50. Perpetuate the right ; ameliorate the wrong. 51. Do not venture to caricature that creature. 52. His betrothed said the furniture was fine. 53. If neither he sells sea-shells, nor she sells sea-shells, who shall sell sea-shells? Shall sea-shells be sold? 54. Shall she shun sunshine ? Shall he shun sunshine ? Shall suDshine be shunned? 55. The bituminous coal comes annually, or biennially. 56. Blessed is the man Avho makes men happy. 57. Cold and passionless, the snow, like a cerement, clung to the earth. 58. Cincinnati is on the eve of her centennial. 59. With the subject of civil service he is conversant. 60. You may come at half-past seven, Christmas eve. 61. The curator is eleven hundred and seventeen miles away. 62. In his decadence the executor is excessively exorbitant. 63. He is a bounteous,* courteous, cultivated Christian. 64. Through his impetuosity the exposure came. 65. He seems to be naturally and perpetually tempestuous. Q6. Beyond question she modulates well. 67. His system is an admixture of allopathy and home- opathy. 68. He is combative, vehement, indefatigable, peremptory. 96 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 69. His order is irrevocable ; his loss irreparable, remediless. 70. He has the vagaries of an epicuriau. 71. Beware the revolting, sacrilegious traducer and blas- phemer. 72. A righteous soul is a treasure untold. 73. That the temperature is low is demonstrable. 74. Although he is virtually a usurer, he is not amenable to the law. 75. His complaisant opponent is an incomparable orator. 76. The acoustics of the Odeon are admirable, if not ex- quisite. 77. He resolutely, voluminously, turbulently, declines. 78. As an amateur he is conversant with the subject. 79. His mind is rational, fame national, conduct exemplary. 80. His gondola glides over the legendary waters of the Lethean stream. 81. Literature and eloquence flourish most in lands of frosts. 82. Do not misconstrue the allegorist's meaning. 83. His voice Avas canorous, his purse plethoric, his course chivalric. 84. The athenaeum was pyramidal in shape. 85. What a gigantean mind his coadjutor displays! 86. Contumely, scathing raillery, was the product of his splenetic tongue. 87. That the recitative should be given is not obligatory. 88. Over your allies the brigand takes precedence. 89. That adult is an adept in address with large assets. 90. Contrary to expectation, the canine became acclimated. 91. The aeronaut in his aerial flight rose above the horizon. 92. The truculent Pythogoreans fill their stomachs with anchovies and apricot truflies. 93. The diocesan betook himself to absolutory prayers. 94. Doffiing his blouse and chapeau, the manager of the museum leaped upon the tepid and saline waters. 95. The superintendent of calisthenics in the Lyceum of Nice ended his life on the gallows. ORTHOEPY. 97 96. The allopathic Esculapians prescribe quinine as an anti- periodic, and morphine as a soporific. 97. She wore a brooch of onyx set in platinum and gold, with a vine of clematis around her forehead. 98. He was an expert in telegraphy, telephony, and micros- copy, and an experienced pedagogist and paragraphist. 99. My indefatigable and redoubtable military comrade was drowned in the Thames. 100. These one hundred exercises in orthoepy are not offered as examples of excellent diction. 9 Part Vll. Modulation Modulation is the stream on whose bosom thought finds vocal transmission. This stream is sometimes perfectly serene ; sometimes it surges along tumultuously ; and between the ex- tremes of calmness and commotion there is infinite change. Modulation has reference to those alterations in vocal utter- ance by which the qualities of thought and the variations of feeling are expressed. By modulation the feeling soul unites with the thinking brain, and the utterance becomes subdued by sorrow, or thrills and trembles with pathos, or deepens with suppressed passion. Under this one generic term may be included pitch, force, volume, quality, rate, quantity, pause, and inflection. The science of JElocution comprehends and formulates the laws which underlie the whole range of expression, while the art of Elocution comprehends expres- sion untrammeled by bodily defects or by conventional usage. Thus may be seen the value of elocutionary drill. Only those whose voices and bodies possess every virtue, and are free from every defect, are in no need of such training. FUNDAMBNTAI. DRII,!,. A VERY high degree of vocal excellence may be attained even though the drill be confined to the simple mutable vowel sounds. The first attempt to pronounce these sounds, even 98 MODULATION. 99 in a simple conversational tone, will reveal some vocal de- fects. Attempting the same in very high keys will reveal other defects; in very low keys, still others. Various de- grees of force will develop their own special difficulties. The following are some of them : huskiness, harshness, hard- ness, thinness, sharpness, aspiration, nasality, and indistinct articulation. To develop smoothness, purity, flexibility, compass, vol- ume, power, and control of the voice, the following fundamen- tal exercises are commended. IvKSSON I. FUNDAMKNTAI, BXKRCISBS. Crescendo. — Prolong the mutable vowel sounds, begin- ning with the smallest audible amount of volume, increasing each sound to the fullest extent. From five to ten seconds is as long as the beginner can carry a crescendo. He also finds it very difficult to make the increase in volume a grad- ual one. The voice manifests a desire to expand by jerks. It requires much skill to so shade the increase that the limit of fullness shall be reached at the instant the breath is ex- hausted. The breath shows a disposition to escape too rap- idly, especially during the first two or three seconds. The quality of the voice oftentimes proves unruly. Ten minutes daily practice for three months will more than double the prolonging power, and improve in a marked degree the vol- ume and quality of the voice. Diminuendo. — Prolong the mutable vowel sounds be- ginning with the fullest possible volume, gradually decreas- ing it to the smallest audible tone. Time the exercise. Eight seconds will suffice for the first effort. Six months of proper elocutionary training will more than triple this amount of time. In prolonging the sound, as in the crescendo, see that a uniform pitch is preserved ; that the vibratory movements 100 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. of the voice are not irregular ; that the quality of the voice is good ; and that no jerking of the tone is allowed. Crescendo and Diminuendo Combined. — Prolong the mutable vowel sounds, beginning with the slightest vol- ume, steadily swelling to the climax, and as gradually di- minishing to the starting point. Profiting by preceding practice, the pupil should be able to prolong this combina- tion at least ten seconds. The great difficulty will be to di- vide evenly his time and strength between the crescendo and the diminuendo. Avoid waste of breath, change of pitch , facial contortions, and labored action of the shoulders. Practice these exercises in pitch ranging from the lowest to the highest. In testing the voice at different keys it will often be found that, while it is good in quality in one pitch, it is de- fective in another. Some have good control of the voice in the medium, but can not command a good quality in the higher keys. With others the reverse is the case. Again, many voices, pure enough when propelled by moderate force, become quite unruly when force is added or withdrawn. Practice will give control throughout the entire vocal range. IvBSSON II. CONVBRSATIONAIv TONKS. Pronounce the vowel sounds in a conversational manner. At first glance this seems an easy exercise ; but perfect sim- plicity of utterance is the reward only of much practice ; and it is the highest type of art. Upon some of the sounds, especially long a, e, and i, many voices will break, or harden, or grow husky. Let the drill be continued until each vowel sound can be pronounced with perfect purity. Not until the breath is thoroughly vo- calized, and the molding agents put in proper position, can this be done. Insist on the pronunciation of each sound with the descending slide. MODULATION. 101 The instructor will learn that in almost every instance the student who has difficulty in uttering these letters with the downward slide, will have the same difficulty in reading. The upward inflection has done much damage. Many posi- tive statements have lost their convincing power because of the final upward slide. Lesson III. TREMULANT TONES. About one out of five beginners fail to produce and sus- tain a truly tremulous tone. Some will start the tone ef- fusively, breaking occasionally into a momentary tremor, and again lapsing into the efi'usive. A very few do not so much as touch the tremor in their first attempts. Exercise : Prolong the mutable vowel sounds tremulously. Preserve a uniform pitch, the same degree of volume, and an evenly distributed vibratory movement. Tremulant Exercises. 1. " Eest thee, my babe ; rest on ! ' Tis hunger's cry. Sleep ! For there is no food ; the fount is dry. Famine and cold their wearying work have done ! My heart must break ! And thou !" — The clock strikes one. COATES. 2. Christ, who didst bear the scourging, And who now dost wear the crown, I at thy feet, O True and Sweet, Would lay my burden down. Thou bad'st me love and cherish The babe thou gavest me, And I have kept Thy word, nor stepped Aside from following thee. And lo ! my boy is dying ! And vain is all my care ; / 102 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. And my burden's weight Is very great, Yea, greater than I can bear ! Lord, thou knowest what peril Doth threat these poor men's Uves; And I, a woman, Most weak and human, Do plead for their waiting wives. Thou canst not let them perish! Up, Lord, in thy strength, and save From the scorching breath Of this terrible death. On this cruel winter wave. ANON. IvESSON IV. METHODS OF VOCAL EMISSION. There are three cardinal methods of emitting the voice ; viz., effusive, expulsive, explosive. In effusive utterance the vocal cords are acted upon in a smooth, steady, connected manner. The expulsive and explosive deliveries differ but little in their mechanism. In each style the vocal cords are in contact throughout their entire length. If the sudden glottal stroke be followed by a vanish, the result is expul- sion. Deduct the vanish, and explosion is the result. Effusive Emission. V(ywel Practice. — Give each vowel sound with a free, full, pure, prolonged outflow of the voice. Not a trace of hard- ness or huskiness is admissible in this exercise. Thoughts of a quiet, respectful, subdued, resigned, benig- nant nature, employ the effusive mode. Effusive Exercises. 1. Three of them! a charmed and mystic number, which, if it be broken in these young days — as alas! it may be — will only yield a cherub-angel to float over you, and to float over them. MODULATION. 103 to wean you and to wean them from this world, where all joys do perish, to that seraph- world where joys do last forever. DONALD G. MITCHELL. 2. My Paul has climbed the noblest mountain height In all his little world, and gazed on scenes As beautiful as rest beneath the sun. I trust he will remember all his life That to his best achievement, and the spot Nearest to heaven his youthful feet have trod. He has been guided by a guileless lamb. J. G. HOLLAND. 3. Up ! forth again, Pegasus ! " Many 's the slip," Hath the proverb well said, '"'twixt the cup and the lip." How blest should we be, have I often conceived. Had we really achieved what we nearly achieved ! We but catch at the skirts of the thing we would be, And fall back on the lap of a false destiny. So it will be, so has been, since this world began ! And the happiest, noblest, and best part of man Is the part which he never hath fully played out ; For the first and last word in life's volume is — Doubt. The face the most fair to our vision allowed Is the face we encounter and lose in the crowd. The thought that most thrills our existence is one Which, before we can frame it in language, is gone. Horace! the rustic still rests by the river. But the river flows on, and flows past him forever ! Who can sit down and say, " What I will be, I will?" Who stand up and affirm, " What I was, I am still?" Who is it that must not, if questioned, say, " What 1 would have remained or become, I am not?" OWEN MEREDITH. WB SHALI. KNOW. When the mists have rolled in splendor From the beauty of the hills, And the sunshine warm and tender Falls in kisses on the rills. We may read love's shining letter In the rainbow of the spray; We shall know each other better 104 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, When the mists have cleared away. We shall know as we are known, Nevermore to walk alone, In the dawning of the morning, When the mists have cleared away. If we err in human blindness. And forget that we are dust. If we miss the law of kindness. When we struggle to be just. Snowy wings of peace shall cover All the pain that clouds our day, When the weary watch is over And the mists have cleared away. We shall know as we are known, Nevermore to walk alone. In the dawning of the morning, When tlie mists have cleared away. When the silvery mists have veiled us From the faces of our own, Oft we deem their love has failed us, And we tread our path alone ; We should see them near and truly, We should trust them day by day, Neither love nor blame unduly. If the mists were cleared away. We shall know as we are known, Nevermore to walk alone, In the dawning of the morning. When the mists have cleared away. ANON. Lesson V. EXPULSIVE EMISSION. Vowel Practice. — Give the mutable vocal sounds expul- sively, opening with fullest volume, and rapidly vanishing into silence. Caution. — Avoid stiffness or tightness of the throat at the base of the tongue, as you value your voice and your health. MODULATION. 105 Incisiveness, aggressiveness, decisiveness, and obstinacy, usually move expulsively. Expulsive Illusteations. 1. O, comrades ! warriors ! Thracians ! — if we must fight, let us fight for ourselves.' If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors. If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle. e. kellogg. 2. Eouse, ye Eomans! Eouse, ye slaves! Have ye brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl to see them die! Have ye fair daughters ? Look to see them torn from your arms, dis- dained, dishonored ; and if ye dare call for justice, be answered by the lash ! Yet this is Rome, that sat upon her seven hills, and from her throne of beauty ruled the world ! Yet we are Eomans ! Why, in that elder day, to be a Eoman was greater than a king. maky r. mitford. 3. It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace, peace ! but there is no peace. The war is actually begun. The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already in the field. Why stand we here idle ? What is it that gentle- men wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it. Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death ! PATRICK HENRY. In these exercises what words make especial use of the expulsive attack ? Iy:essoN VI. EXPI^OSIVE EMISSION. Aggeessiveness, vindictiveness, anger, defiance, and kindred emotions use the explosive quality of voice. Vowel practice. — Give the vowel sounds explosively. In giving this exercise, beware of throat-congestion. The labor of hurling the breath against the vocal cords should be borne mainly by the muscles of the waist and chest. It is 106 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. not necessary, in this exercise, to jerk the shoulders upward, nor to stand on the toes, nor to wrinkle the forehead, nor to shut the eyes. In explosive practice, the teacher can not guard pupils too zealously. Better entirely to omit this practice than to engage in it injudiciously. Properly conducted, it exhila- rates; improperly conducted, it exhausts. It should make one hungry, but not tired. Intelligently employed, vociferous exercises exert a be- neficent influence as up-builders of the voice ; but when used injudiciously, they have few rivals as voice-destroyers. Explosive Exercises. 1. Who spake of life ? I bade thee grasp that treasure as thine honor — a jewel worth whole hecatombs of lives! Begone! Redeem thine honor ! Back to Marion, or Baradas, or Orleans ; track the robber, regain the packet ; or crawl on to age — age and gray hairs like mine— and know thou hast lost that which had made thee great and saved thy country. See me not till thou hast bought the right to see me. Away ! Nay, cheer thee ! Thou hast not failed yet. Fail ! Fail ! In the bright lexicon of youth, there 's no such word as fail ! bulwer. 2. Tlioii liest, knave! I am old, infirm — most feeble — but thou liest ! Armand de Richelieu dies not by the hand of man : the stars have said it, and the voice of my own oracular soul confirms the shining sybils ! Call them all, thy brother butch- ers ! Earth hath no such fiend. No ! as one parricide of his fatherland, who dares in Richelieu murder France ! BULWER. 3. To thy knees, and crawl for pardon ; for I tell thee thou shalt live for such remorse, that, did I hate thee, I would bid thee strike, that I might be avenged ! It was to save my Julia from the king, that in my valor I forgave thy crime. It was when thou, the rash and ready tool — yea, of that shame thou loath'st — did'st leave thy hearth to the polluter— in these arms thy bride found the protecting shelter thine withheld. BULWER. 4. Ay, is it so ? Then wakes the power which, in the age of iron, burst forth to curb the great and raise the low. Mark where MODULATION. 107 she stands ! Around her form I draw the awful circle of our sol- emn church ! Set but one foot within that holy ground, and on thy head— yea, though it wore a crown— I launch the curse of Rome. BULWER. 6. Irreverent ribald ! If so, beware the falling ruins ! Hark ! I tell thee, scorner of these whitening hairs, when this snow melteth there shall come a flood! A vaunt! My name is Rich- elieu. I defy thee ! Walk blindfold on ; behind thee stalks the headsman ! Ha 1 ha 1 how pale he is 1 Heaven save my country ! BULWER. Select the most decidedly explosive words and passages. RICHEIvIEU AND FRANCE. My liege, your anger can recall your trust, Annul my office, spoil me of my lands, Rifle my coffers ; but my name, my deeds, Are royal in a land beyond your scepter. Pass sentence on me, if you will ; from kings, Lo, I appeal to time ! Be just, my liege. I found your kingdom rent with heresies And bristling with rebellion ; lawless nobles And dreadless serfs ; England fomenting discord ; Austria, her clutch on your dominion ; Spain Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind To armed thunderbolts. The arts lay dead ; Trade rotted in your marts ; your armies mutinous, Your treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke Your trust ? So be it 1 and I leave you sole, Supremest monarch of the mightiest realm From Ganges to the icebergs. Look without — No foe not humbled 1 Look within — the Arts Quit, for our school, their old Hesperides, The golden Italy ! while throughout the veins Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides Trade, the calm health of nations ! Sire, I know That men have called me cruel. I am not ; I am just ! I found France rent asunder ; The rich men, despots ; the poor, banditti ; Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple ; Brawls festering to rebellion, and weak laws Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. 108 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. I have re-created France ; and, from the ashes Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass, Civilization, on her luminous wings, Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove ! What was my art ? Genius, some say; some, fortune; witchcraft, some. Not so. My art was Justice! Lesson VII. REGISTER. In its mechanism, pitch is dependent on the following: 1. Length of the vocal cords. 2. Size of the vocal cords. 3. Elasticity of the vocal cords. 4. Tension of the vocal cords. 5. Space between the vocal cords. 6. Position of the larynx. 7. Flexibility of the larynx. 8. Degree of expiratory power. Other things being equal, the pitch is lower in proportion as the vocal cords are longer or larger. Enlarging the space between the vocal cords, or depressing the larynx, or dimin- ishing the expiratory power, tends to lower the pitch. The greater the elasticity of the vocal cords, and the more flexible the larynx, the greater is the compass of the voice. Lower Register. Vowel Practice. — Utter the mutable vowel sounds in pitch gradually descending from the medium to the lowest possible. The instructor will know that the student has touched his lowest limit as soon as the voice begins to surrender to aspi- ration. Another evidence of the approaching limit is dim- inution of volume. Caution, — Do not try too hard to reach a very low key. Tension is fatal to low key. The lowest pitch is the product MODULATION. 109 of the completest relaxation of the vocal apparatus. What- ever depresses, suppresses, secretes, or degrades, tends to lower the key. At the close of a few weeks of diligent practice the be- ginner will be delighted to learn how much has been gained, both in volume and in compass. Illustrations. 1. Dead, your majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, right reverends and wrong reverends of every order. Dead, men and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts ; and dying thus around us every day. dickens. 2. In silence, and at night, the conscience feels that life should soar to nobler ends than power. So sayest thou, sage and sober moralist! But wert thou tried? ye safe and formal men, who write the deeds, and with unfeverish hand weigh in nice scales the motives of the great, ye can not know what ye have never tried. bulwer. 3. Come to the bridal chamber, Death! Come to the mother when she feels For the first time her first-born's breath ; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; Come when the heart beats high and warm, With banquet song, and dance, and wine, And thou art terrible ; the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier. And all we know, or dream, or fear, Of agony, are thine. halleck. BIRTHDAY REFLECTIONS. Another year Has parted, and its knell is sounding now O'er the Past's silent ocean. Ah ! it is An hour for tears ! There is a specter-form In memory's voiceless chambers, pointing now Its dim, cold finger to the beautiful And holy visions that have passed away, And left no shadow of their loveliness 110 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, On the dead waste of life. That specter lifts The coffin-lid of dear, remembered Love, And, bending mournfully above the pale, Sweet form that slumbers there, scatters dead flowers O'er what is gone forever. I am not As in the years of boyhood. There were hours Of joyousness that came like angel-shapes Upon my heart; but they are altered now, And rise on memory's view like statues pale By a dim fount of tears. And there were springs, Upon whose stream the sweet young blossoms leaned To list the gush of music; but their depths Are turned to dust. There, too, were holy lights, That shone, sweet rainbows of the spirit, o'er The skies of new existence ; but their gleams, Like the lost Pleiad of the olden time. Have faded from my vision, and are lost 'Mid the cold mockeries of earth. Alone! — I am alone! The guardians of my young And sinless years have gone, and left me here A solitar)^ wanderer. Their low tones Of love oft swell upon the evening winds. Or wander sweetly down through falling dews At midnight's still and melancholy hour; But voice alone is there. Ages of thought Come o'er me there; and, with a spirit won Back to its earlier years, I kneel again At young life's broken shrine. The thirst of power Has been a fever to my spirit. Oft, Even in my childhood, I was wont to gaze Upon the swollen cataract rushing down With its eternal thunder-peal ; the far Expanse of ocean, with its infinite Of stormy waters roaring to the heavens ; The night-storm fiercely rending the great oaks From their rock pinnacles; the giant clouds Tossing their plumes like warriors in the sky. And hurling their keen lightnings ^through the air MODULATION. Ill Like the red flash of swords. Ay, I was wont To gaze on these, and almost wept to think I could not match their strength. The same wild thirst For power is yet upon me: it has been A madness in my day-dreams, and a curse Upon my being. It has led me on To mingle in the strife of men, and dare The Samiel-breath of hate ; and I am now, Even in the opening of my manhood's prime, One whom the world loves not. Well — it is well. There is a silent purpose in my heart ; And neither love, nor hate, nor fear, shall tame My own fixed daring. Though my being's stream Gives out no music now, 't is passing back To its far fountain in the heavens, and there 'T will rest forever in the ocean-tide Of God's immensity. I will not mourn Life's shrouded memories. I can still drink in The unshadowed beauty of the universe, Gaze with a swelling soul upon the blue Magnificence above, and hear the hymn Of Heaven in every starlight ray, and fill Glen, hill, and vale, and mountain, with the bright And glorious visions poured from the deep home Of an immortal mind. Past year, farewell ! GEORGE D. PEENTICE. In these exercises what parts require the lowest pitch? Lesson VIII. MIDDIyE REGISTER. Common conversation, simple narration, plain description, moderation in all its forms, employ the medium key. Illustrations. 1. Whatever the lagging, dragging journey may have been to the rest of the emigrants, it was a wonder and delight to the children, a world of enchantment; and they believed it to be 112 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. peopled with the mysterious dwarfs and giants and gobhns that figured in the tales the negro slaves were in the habit of telling them, nightly, by the shuddering light of the kitchen fire. MARK TWAIN. 2. Listeners, will you please cast your eyes over the follow- ing lines and see if you can find any thing harmful in them: Conductor, when you receive a fare, Punch in the presence of the passenjare! A blue trip-slip for an eight-cent fare, A buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare, A pink trip-slip for a three-cent fare. Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! CHORUS. Punch, brothers, punch, punch with care ; Punch in the presence of the passenjare! MARK TWAIN. 8. On the first day of March it was, that Tommy Taft had been unquietly sleeping in the forenoon, to make up for a disturbed night. The little noisy clock that regarded itself as the essence of a Yankee, and ticked with immense alacrity and struck in the most bustling and emphatic manner, — this industrious and moral clock began striking whir-r-r, one ; whir-r-r, two ; whir-r-r, three (Tommy jerked his head a little as if something vexed him in his sleep) ; whir-r-r, four ; whir-r-r, five ; whir-r-r, six (" Keep still, will ye? Let me alone, old w^oman! Confound your medi- cine!"); whir-r-r, seven; whir-r-r, eight (*' God in heaven! as sure as I live," said Tommy, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure he saw aright) ; whir-r-r, nine; whir-r-r, ten! Then holding out his arms with the simplicity of a child, his face fairly glowing -w^th joy, and looking now really noble, he cried: "Barton, my boy, Barton, I knew you would n't let the old man die and not help him! I knew it! I knew it !" ii. w. beecher. 4. The Sabbath day was ending in a village by the sea, The uttered benediction touched the people tenderly. And they rose to face the sunset, in the glowing, lighted west, And then hastened to their dwellings for God's blessed boon of rest! farningham. Analyze the exercises in this lesson so far as pitch is concerned. MODULATION. 113 HAMLET'S ELOCUTIONARY ADVICE. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you — trippingly on the tongue ; but if you moutli it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spake my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. 0, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robus- tious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb show, and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant: it out-herods Herod. Pray you, avoid it. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action: with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature ; for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was, and is, to hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now this, overdone or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, can not but make the judi- cious grieve ; the censure of which one, must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theater of others. 0, there be players, that I have seen play — and heard others praise, and that highly — not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, or man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably! shakespeaee. Lesson IX. UPPER REGISTER. Give the vowel sounds in keys steadily ascending from the medium pitch to the highest that can be attained without strain. Suggestion. — A wrinkling of the forehead does not aid the voice in its upward flight. The tendency to rise upon the 10 1 14 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y. toes should be restrained, as this does not conduce to high- ness of pitch. Shrugging, contorting, or elevating the shoulders may be omitted, as such action is as ungainly as it is unnecessary. Last but not least : Do not congest the throat. There is no pitch in the entire vocal range that can not be reached without damage to the vocal apparatus. Gayety, vivacity, hilarity, joyousness, spirituality — what- ever exalts or exhilarates — employs tones in the upper reg- ister. To these upper keys belong the shout of victory, the cry of alarm, the shriek of fear, and the wail of despair. Illustrations. 1, Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din Of life, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin! The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain. With all the hireling chivalry of Guilders and Almayne. Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies now — upon them with the lance ! MACAULAY. 2. "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting ; "Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore ! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from ofi" my door! " Quoth the raven : " Nevermore ! " poe. 3. "Pull, if ye never pulled before; Good ringers pull your best," quoth he. " Play up, play up, O Boston bells ! Play all your changes, all your swells. Play up, The Brides of Enderby." ingelow. 4. And see ! she stirs ! She starts — she moves — she seems to feel The thrill of life along her keel. MODULATION. 115 And, spurning Avith her feet the ground, With one exulting, joyous bound, She leaps into the ocean's arms! long fellow. 5. "Hi! Harry Holly! Halt, and tell A fellow just a thing or two ; You 've had a furlough, been to see How all the folks in Jersej^ do ! " ethel lynn MARMION AND DOUGLAS. Not far advanced was morning day, When Marmion did his troop array, To Surrey's camp to ride ; He had safe conduct for his band, Beneath the royal seal and hand. And Douglas gave a guide. The ancient earl, with stately grace. Would Clara on her palfrey place, And whispered in an undertone, " Let the hawk stoop, — his prey is flown." The train from out the castle drew, But Marmion stopped to bid adieu. " Though something I might 'plain," he said, " Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your king's behest, While in Tantallon's tow^ers I stayed. Part we in friendship from your land. And, noble earl, receive my hand." But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : " My manors, halls, and bowers shall still Be open, at my sovereign's will. To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer ; My castles are my king's alone, From turret to foundation-stone, — The hand of Douglas is his own, And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp." Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire, And— "This to me!" he said. 116 - ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, "An 'twere not for thy hoary beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas' head ! And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer, He who does England's message here, Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mate ! And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride — Here in thy hold, thy vassals near (Nay, never look upon your lord. And lay your hands upon your sword), I tell thee thou 'rt defied ! And if thou said'st I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here. Lowland or Highland, far or near. Lord Angus, thou hast lied !" On the earl's cheek the flush of rage O'ercame the ashen hue of age. Fierce he broke forth : "And dar'st thou then To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall ? And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ? No; by St. Bride of Bothwell, no! Up drawbridge, grooms ! — What, warder, ho ! Let the portcullis fall !" Lord Marmion turned — well was his need ! — And dashed the rowels in his steed, Like arrow through the archway sprung ; The ponderous grate behind him rung ; To pass there was such scanty room, The bars, descending, razed his plume. The steed along the drawbridge flies, Just as it trembled on the rise ; Not lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim ; And when Lord Marmion reached his band. He halts, and turns with clenched hand, And shout of loud defiance pours, And shook his gauntlet at the towers. "Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!" But soon he reined his fury's pace : MODULATION. 117 " A royal messenger he came, Though most unworthy of the name. St. Mary, mend my fiery mood ! Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, I thought to slay him where he stood. 'T is pity of him, too," he cried ; " Bold can he speak and fairly ride, I warrant him a warrior tried." With this his mandate he recalls. And slowly seeks his castle walls. SIR WALTER SCOTT. Analyze the exercises in this lesson. What portions require the highest pitch? what the lowest? Lesson X. POWER. Theee are two forms of power: moral and physical. The two do not always coincide. There may be a manifes- tation of much physical power, with scarce a semblance of moral power. Great moral force may be extracted from words, with seemingly but little outward physical effort. Indeed, external self-subjugation is frequently the very life of moral and magnetic influence. The speaker, singer, or actor, never scores a greater triumph than when, having the bearing of perfect poise, he makes the beholder feel that beneath his outward repose there is throbbing a volcano of passion. For the present, we shall treat of the physical phase of force. Note this word of warning : Do not strain the voice ! Do not try to reach the top-round of the vocal ladder with- out touching the rounds below. Bide your time. The art of Elocution is not mastered in a day. Do not allow any one to beguile yoii into overexertion. One moment of such 118 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. indiscretion may cost you your voice. There are instances of partial adhesion of the vocal cords. In proportion to the amount of adhesion, is the compass of the voice lessened. A teacher, ambitious to see his pupil progress, and ignorant of the vocal mechanism, is liable to be betrayed into the inflic- tion of an irreparable injury. The law should not allow one to undertake the direction of the human voice who is ig- norant of the vocal mechanism, and of the laws underlying the art of vocal culture. To murder the voice is a crime. There are too many teachers who trust too much to in- spiration. They have what they are pleased to call ''divine afflatus" — a most dangerous thing in the hands of igno- rance — and with this as their sole stock in trade, they set about ensnaring the unsuspecting. Parents can not be too careful in deciding who shall conduct the vocal training of their children in either speech or song. Slight Propelling Power. — Secrecy, feebleness, inde- cision, restraint, and like emotions, employ but little force. Illustrations. 1. "Now, Barton, my boy, you 've done a good thing. I 've been waiting for you all winter, and you did n't come a minute too soon. I 'm tired now, but I w^ant to say one thing. Barton, when I'm gone, you w'on't let the old woman suffer? She's had a pretty hard time of it with me ! I knew you would n't. One thing more, Barton, you knoW' I never had much money. I never laid up any — could n't. Now you won't let me come on to the town for a funeral, will ye ? I should hate to be buried in a pine coffin, at town expense, and have folks laugh at me that didn't dare open their head to me w^ien I was 'round town." H, W. BEECHER. 2. "There they laid him as wos wery good to me; wery good to me indeed, he w^os. It 's time for me to go down to that there berryin ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. I w^ant to go there and be berried. He used fur to say to me : * I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he sez. I w^ants to tell him that I am as poor as him now, and have come there to be laid along with him." dickens. MODULATION. 119 3. She was dead and past all help or need of it. The an- cient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was ebbing fast ; the garden she had tended ; the eyes she had gladdened ; the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour ; the paths she had trodden as if it were but yesterday, — could know her no more. dickens. DEATH OF LiTTlvE NKlvL. She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life ; not one who had lived and sufifered death. Her couch was dressed with, here and there, some winter berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favor. ''When I die, put near me something that has loved the light, and had the sky above it always." These were her words. She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird — a poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed — was stirring nimbly in its cage ; and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless forever. Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings and fatigues ? All gone. This was the true death before their weep- ing eyes. Sorrow was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect happiness were born ; imaged in her tranquil beauty and pro- found repose. And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes. The old fireside had smiled on that same sweet face ; it had passed like a dream through haunts of misery and care. At the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, be- fore the furnace-fire upon the cold, wet night, at the still bed- side of the dying boy, there had been the same mild, lovely look. So shall we know the angels in their majesty, after death. The old man held one languid arm in his, and kept the small hand tight folded to his breast for warmth. It was the hand she had stretched out to him vrith her last smile — the hand that had led him on through all their wanderings. Ever and anon he passed it to his lips, then hugged it to his breast again, murmuring that it was warmer now ; and as he said it, he looked, in agony, to those who stood around, as if imploring them to help her. She was dead and past all help, or need of it. The ancient 120 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was ebbing fast ; the garden she had tended ; the eyes she liad glad- dened ; the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour ; the paths she had trodden as if it were but yesterday — could know her no more. "It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on her cheek, and give his teiirs free vent — "it is not in this world that Heaven's justice ends. Think what it is compared with the world to which her young spirit has winged its early flight, and say, if one deliberate wish expressed in solemn terms above this bed could call her back to life, which of us would utter it!" dickens. In these exercises Avhat words or clauses require the lowest keys ? the slightest force ? the highest keys ? the greatest force? Give reasons. Lesson XI. MODERATE PROPELLING POWER. The entire temperate zone of thought requires the mod- erate use of force. Illustrations. 1. No day so bright but scuds may fall, No day so still but Avinds may blow; No morn so dismal with the pall Of wintry storm, but stars may glow When evening gathers, over all. Holland. 2. Should not we, too, go as strictly and as ingeniously to work, seeing that we practice an art far more delicate than that of music; seeing we are called on to express the commonest and the strangest emotions of human nature, with elegance, and so as to delight ? Can any thing be more shocking than to slur over our rehearsal, and in overacting to depend on good luck, or the capricious chance of the moment? Why is the master of the band more secure about his music than the manager about his play? Because, in the orchestra, each individual would feel ashamed of his mistakes, which oflend the outward ear ; but how seldom have MODULATION. 121 I found an actor disposed to acknowledge or feel ashamed of his mistakes, by which the ear is so outrageously offended ! I could wish, for my part, that our theaters were as narrow as the wire of the rope-dancer, that no inept fellow might dare to intrude on it ; instead of being as it is, a place where every one discovers in himself capacity enough to flourish and parade. goethe. THE WATER-MIIvL. Listen to the water-mill, through the livelong day. How the clicking of the wheels wears the hours awaj'^ ! Languidly the autumn wind stirs the greenwood leaves ; From the fields the reapers sing, binding up the sheaves ; And a proverb haunts my mind, as a spell is cast : The mill will never grind with the water that is past. Autumn winds revive no more leaves that once are shed, And the sickle can not reap the corn once gathered ; And the rippling stream flows on, tranquil, deep, and still, Never gliding back again to the water-mill. Truly speaks the proverb old, with a meaning vast: The mill will never grind with the water that is past. Take the lesson to thyself, loving heart, and true : Golden years are fleeting by ; youth is passing, too ; Learn to make the most of life, lose no happj^ day ; Time v/ill never bring thee back chances swept away. Leave no tender word unsaid, love while love shall last: The mill will never grind with the water that is past. Work while yet the daylight shines, man of strength and will, Never does the streamlet glide useless by the mill ; "Wait not till to-morrow's sun beams upon thy way ; All that thou canst call thy own lies in thy to-day; Power, intellect, and health may not always last: The mill will never grind with the water that is past. O, the wasted hours of life that have drifted by ; 0, the good we might have done, lost without a sigh ! Love that we once might have saved by a single word ; Thoughts conceived, but never penned, perishing unheard; Take the proverb to thine heart, take and hold it fast: The mill will never grind with the water that is past. 11 122 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. O, love thy God and fellow-man, thyself consider last ; For come it will when thou must scan dark errors of the past; And when the fight of life is o'er, and earth recedes from view, And Heaven, in all its glory, shines amid the good and true, Then you'll see more clearly still the proverb deep and vast: The mill can never grind M'ith the water that is past. m'callum. The instructor should require an analysis of the com- parative force with which various parts of the exercises in this lesson should be given. lyESSON XII. GREAT PROPELLING POWER. Impetuosity, indignation, denunciation, frenzy, and ha- tred — intensity in any form — calls for a corresponding degree of propelling power. Illustrations. 1. Fierce he broke forth: "And dar'st thou then To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall ? And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go? No ! by Saint Bride of Both well, no ! Up drawbridge, grooms ! — What, warder, ho ! Let the portcullis fall!" — scott. 2. Hear the loud alarum bells, — Brazen bells ! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright ! Too much horrified to speak. They can only shriek, shriek. Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire^ MODULATION. 123 Leaping higher, higher, higher. With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor, Now — now to sit, or never. By the side of the pale-faced moon O the bells, bells, bells, • What a tale their terror tells Of despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar ! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air ! poe. 3. If thou should'st in those waters thy diadem fling, And cry, "Who may find it shall win it and wear," God wot, though the prize were the crown of a king — A crown at such hazards were valued too dear. SCHILLER. 4. And rearing Lindis backward pressed. Shook all her trembling banks amaine, Then inadly at the eygre's breast Flung uppe her weltering walls againe. Then banks came downe with ruin and rout ; Then beaten foam flew round about ; Then all the mighty floods were out. INGELOW. THE OLD "CONSTITUTION." The famous old frigate, Constitution, was formally put out of commission at the Brooklyn Navy-yard on Thursday, December 15, 1881. and placed in " Rotten Eow," to be either broken up or allowed to gradually fall to pieces. Her keel was laid in 1794, and she was the third vessel built for the United States after the adoption of the Constitution. She has always held a place in the affections of the American people equaled by no other ship; and when, in 1860, it was pro- posed to dismantle and break her up, a storm of indignation arose to which the Government was forced to yield. This stirring protest was contributed by Oliver Wendell Holmes, and it has become a standard piece of American literature : Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky. Beneath it rang the battle-shout, And burst the cannon's roar; The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. i 124 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Her deck, once red with heroes' blood — Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were humming o'er the floods And waves were white below — No more shall feel the victors' tread, Or know the conquered knee; The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea ! O, better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave! Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave. Nail to the mast her holy flag ; Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, The lightning and the gale ! O. W. HOLMES. What passages in this lesson require the greatest force? lyESSON XIII. VOLUME. Other things being equal, an increase of the expiratory power ; an enlargement of the buccal or glottal aperture ; an increase in the size of the larynx, — all tend to increase the volume of the voice. Slight Volume. — Secrecy, timidity, debility, — what- ever is suppressed or subjugated requires but little volume. Illustrations. 1. And soldiers whisper : " Boys, be still ; There 's some bad news from Granger's folks." ETHEL LYNN. 2. Then answers he : "Ah ! Hal, I '11 try, But in my throat there 's something chokes, Because, you see, I Ve thought so long To count her in among our folks. MODULATION. 125 I s'pose she must be happy now, But still I will keep thinking, too, I could have kept all trouble off, By being tender, kind, and true. But may be not. She 's safe up there, And when His hand deals other strokes, She '11 stand by heaven's gate, I know, And wait to welcome in our folks." ETHEL LYNN. 3. " Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompey, In the sunshine bright and strong ; For this world is fading, Pompey — Massa won't be with you long ; And I fain would hear the south-wind Bring once more the sound to me Of the wavelets softly breaking On the shores of Tennessee." e. l. beees. 4. This is all that I remember! The last time the lighter came. And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises much the same. He had not been gone five minutes when something called my name: "Orderly Sergeant Robert Burton!" just that way it called my name. f. willson. 5. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly : if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success ; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — We 'd jump the life to come. shakespeare. DEATH OF LITTLE JO. Jo is very glad to see his old friend ; and says, when they are left alone, that he takes it uncommon kind as Mr. Snagsby should come so far out of his way on accounts of sich as him. Mr. Snagsby, touched by the spectacle before him, immediately lays upon the table half a crown, that magic balsam of his for all kinds of wounds. "And how do you find yourself, my poor lad?" inquires the stationer, with his cough of sympathy. 126 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. " I 'm in luck, Mr. Snagsby, I am," returns Jo, " and do n't want for nothink. I'm more cumf'bler nor you can 't think, Mr. Snagsby. I 'm wery sorry that I. done it, but I did n't go fur to do it, sir." The stationer softly lays down another half-crown, and asks him what it is that he is sorry for having done. "Mr. Snagsby," says Jo, "I went and giv a illness to the lady as wos and yet as war n't the t' other lady, and none of 'em never says nothink to me for having done it, on accounts of their being so good and my having been so unfortnet. The lady come herself and see me yes'day, and she ses, 'Ah, Jo! ' she ses. ' We thought we'd lost you, Jo ! ' she ses. And she sits down a smilin' so quiet, and do n't pass a word noi- yit a look upon me for hav- ing done it, she do n't ; and I turns agin the wall, I doos, Mr. Snagsby. And Mr. Jarnders, I see him a forced to turn away his own self. And Mr. Woodcot, he come fur to give me some- think fur to ease me, wot he 's alius a doin' on day and night, and when he come a bendin' over me and a speakin' up so bold, I see his tears a fallin', Mr. Snagsby." The softened stationer deposits another half-crown on the table. Nothing less than a repetition of that infallible remedy will relieve his feelings. "Wot I wos thinkin' on, Mr. Snagsby," proceeds Jo, "wos, as you wos able to write wery large, p'raps?" " Yes, Jo, please God," returns the stationer. "Uncommon precious large, p'raps ?" says Jo, with eagerness. " Yes, my poor boy." Jo laughs with pleasure. " Wot I was thinkin' on, then, Mr. Snagsby, wos, that wen I wos moved on as fur as ever I could go, and could n't be moved no furder, whether you might be so good, p'raps, as to write out, wery large, so that any one could see it anywheres, as that I wos wery truly hearty sorry that I done it, and that I never went fur to do it; and that though I did n't know nothink at all, I know'd as Mr. Woodcot once cried over it, and wos alius grieved over it, and that I hoped as he 'd be able to forgive me in his mind. If the writin' could be made to say it wery large, he might." "It shall say it, Jo; very large." Jo laughs again. " Thankee, Mr. Snagsby. It 's wery kind of you, sir, and it makes me more cumf'bler nor I wos afore." The meek little stationer, with a broken and unfinished cough, slips down his fourth half-crown— he has never been so MODULATION. 127 close to a case requiring so many — and is fain to depart. And Jo and he, upon this httle earth, shall meet no more. No more. (Another Scene. — Enter Mr. Woodcot.) "Well, Jo, what is the matter? Don't be frightened." " I thought," says Jo, who has started, and is looking round, " I thought I was in Tom-all- Alone's agin. An't there nobody here but you, Mr. Woodcot?" '•' Nobody." "And I ain't took back to Tom-all-Alone's, am I sir?" " No." Jo closes his eyes, muttering, " I am wery thankful." After watching him closely a little while, Allan puts his mouth very near his ear, and says to him in a low, distinct voice : "Jo, did you ever know a prayer?" " Never know'd nothink, sir." " Not so much as one short prayer ? '* " No, sir. Nothink at all. Mr. Chadbands he wos a pray in' wunst at Mr. Snagsby's, and I heerd him ; but he sounded as if he was a-speakin' to hisself, and not to me. He prayed a lot, but I could n't make out nothink on it. Different times there wos other gen'l'men come down Tom-all-Alone's a-prayin', but they all mostly sed as the t'other wuns prayed wrong, and all mostly sounded to be a-talkin' to theirselves, or a-passin' blame on t'others, and not a-talkin' to us. We never know'd nothink. I never know'd what it wos all about." It takes him a long time to say this ; and few but an ex- perienced and attentive listener could hear, or, hearing, under- stand him. After a short relapse into sleep or stupor, he makes, of a sudden, a strong effort to get out of bed. " Stay, Jo, stay ! What now ? " "It's time for me to go to that there berryin'-ground, sir," he returns with a wild look. " Lie down, and tell me. • What burying-ground, Jo ?" " Where they put him as wos wery good to me ; wery good to me, indeed he wos. It 's time for me to go down to that there berryin'-ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. He used fur to say to me, ' I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he ses. I wants to tell him that I am as poor as him now, and have come there to be laid along with him." " By and by, Jo ; by and by." "Ah! P'raps they wouldn't do it if I wos to go myself. 128 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. But will you promise to have me took there, sir, and laid along with him?" " I will, indeed." "Thankee, sir! Thankee, sir! They'll have to get the key of the gate afore they can take me in, for it 's alius locked. And there 's a step there as I used fur to clean with my broom. It 's turned wery dark, sir. Is there any light a comin' ? " " It is coming fast, Jo." Fast. The cart is shaken all to pieces, and the rugged road is very near its end. " Jo, my poor fellow ! " " I hear you, sir, in the dark, but I 'm a gropin' — a gropin' ; let me catch hold of your hand." " Jo, can you say what I say?" " I '11 say anythink as you say, sir, for I knows it 's good." **OuR Father." " Our Father !— yes, that 's wery good, sir." " Which art in Heaven." "Art in Heaven ! — Is the light a comin', sir ? " " It is close at hand. Hallowed be thy name." " Hallowed be— thy — name ! " The light is come upon the dark benighted way. Dead. Dead, your majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, right reverends and wrong reverends of every order. Dead, men and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts; and dying thus around us every day. dickens. What parts of the exercises in this lesson should be read with slightest voice? In the "Death of Little Joe" how many characters are represented? How many are to be impersonated? What quality of voice should be used in impersonating Little Joe? what, Mr. Woodcot? Lesson XIV. MODERATE VOIvUME. Calmness, repose, quietude, moderation in general, finds expression through the medium of moderate volume. MODULATION. 129 Illustrations. 1. Clear and cold and passionless, pure intellect looks down from its calm heights upon surging, pulsating humauity, immov- able as the snow-crowned crest of Mont Blanc while whelming avalanches thunder below. No warm flush of sympathy prompts to fly to the rescue and assuage the woe. Grand and wonderful, indeed, is reason ; but as one star diS'ers from another in glory, so does the moral and spiritual nature of man transcend the intel- lectual, in its relations to the happiness and destiny of the race. NEWTON BATEMAN. 2. Now, a living force that brings to itself all the resources of imagination, all the inspirations of feeling, all that is influential in body, in voice, in eye, in gesture, in posture, in the whole animated man, is in strict analogy with the divine thought and the divine arrangement ; and there is no misconstruction more utterly untrue and fatal than this : that oratory is an artificial thing, which deals with baubles and trifles, for the sake of making bubbles of pleasure for transient effect on mercurial audiences. So far from that, it is the consecration of the whole man to the noblest purposes to which one can address himself — the education and inspiration of his fellow-men by all that there is in learning, by all that there is in thought, by all that there is in feeling, by all that there is in all of them, sent home through the channels of taste and beauty. And so regarded, oratory should take its place among the highest departments of education. H. W. BEECHEK. THE CRICKET. The cricket dwells in the cold, cold ground, At the foot of the old oak tree, And all through the lengthened autumn night A merry song sings he. He whistles a clear and merry tune By the sober light of the silver moon. The winds may moan With a hollow tone All through the leaves of the rustling tree ; The clouds may fly Through the deep blue sky. The flowers may droop and the brooklet sigh. 130 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. But never a fig cares he ; He whistles a clear and merry tune By the sober light of the silver moon, All through the lengthened autumn night, And never a fig cares he. There 's a tiny cricket within thy heart, And a pleasant song sings he ; He sings of the mercies and goodness of God, That hourly fall upon thee. Let him whistle loud and clear. Never drown him in a tear ; There's darkness enough on earth, I trow, Without the gloom of a gloomy brow: — Darkness enough in the home of the poor, That never comes to thy lofty door. Forth with a smile, Their woe to beguile; Forth to lighten the heavy gloom ; Forth to brighten the clouded home, And cheer the soul that is shrouded in night; Tell it, in tones of love, Of hope on earth, and a land all bright — The Land of Life and Love ; And never fret that you can not get Just what you want while you travel here. Then let him whistle loud and clear ; Never drown him in a tear ; But all through the length of trouble's night Let him sing his merry song. anon. What passages in this lesson require more than a moderate volume ? what require less ? IvESSON XV. FULL VOLUME. Majesty, nobility, pomposity, ponderosity, and kindred conditions, find fit expression in the use of various degrees of vocal fullness. MODULATION. 131 Illustrations. 1. Age, thou art shamed ! Eome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it Avas famed with more than with one man ? When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, That her wide walls encompassed but one man ? Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, When there is in it but ono only man. O, you and I have heard our fathers say. There was a Brutus once, that would have brooked Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Rome As easily as a king. shakespeaee. 2. Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens : praise him in the heights. Praise ye him, all his angels : praise ye him, all his hosts. Praise ye him, sun and moon : praise him, all ye stars of light. Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye waters that be above the heavens. Let him praise the name of the Lord : for he commanded, and they were created. He hath also established them for ever and ever: he hath miade a decree which shall not pass. Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons and all deeps : fire and hail, snow and vapors ; stormy wind fulfill- ing his word: mountains and all hills, fruitful trees, and all cedars; beasts, and all cattle: creeping things, and flying fowl; kings of the earth and all people ; princes and all judges of the earth ; both young men and maidens ; old men and children : let them praise the name of the Lord : for his name alone is excel- lent ; his glory is above the earth and heaven. Praise ye the Lord. Praise God in his sanctuary : praise him in the firmament of his power. Praise him for his mighty acts : praise him according to his excellent greatness. Praise him with the sound of the trumpet: praise him with the psaltery and harp. Praise him with the timbrel and dance : praise him with stringed instruments and organs. Praise him upon the loud cymbals: praise him upon the high-sounding cymbals. Let every thing that hath breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the Lord. PSALMS. 3. What, my lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to the scaffold Vvdiich that tyranny, of which you are only the interme- 132 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, diate minister, has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that has been and will be shed in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor ? Shall you tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it? I, who fear not to approach the Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of my whole life, am I to be appalled here before a mere remnant of mortality? by you, too, Who, if it were possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have caused to be shed, in your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your lordship might swim in it ! emmet. 4. Mountains ! ye are proud and haughty things. Ye hurl defiance at the storm, the lightning, and the wind ; ye look down with deep disdain upon the thunder-cloud; ye scorn the devas- tating tempest ; ye despise the works of puny man ; ye shake your rock-ribbed sides with giant laughter, when the great earth- quake passes by. Ye stand as giant sentinels, and seem to say to the boisterous billows: "Thus far shalt thou come, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed ! " e. m. morse. APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore : — upon the watery plain ' The wrecks are all thy deed ; nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknowal The armaments, which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals ; The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war, — These are thy toys ; and, as the snowy flake. They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. MODULATION. 133 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee : — Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts. Not so thou — Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play ; Time writes no wrinkle on thy azure brow ; Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now ! Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests ! — in all time — Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime! The image of Eternity ! the throne Of the Invisible ! — even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made ! Each zone Obeys thee ! Thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone ! In this lesson what words, clauses, and sentences, require full volume, slight volume, much force, little force, low pitch, high pitch ? I^KSSON XVI. QUALITY. Quality or Timbre depends on the condition, position, and use of the molding agents. The nose, mouth, throat, and lungs are lined with mucous membrane. Let the nasal membrane become inflamed, and the voice at once becomes impure. If the inflammation becomes chronic, the tone assumes a peculiar catarrhal quality. If the membrane in the throat becomes inflamed, the usual result is hardness, harshness, huskiness, hoarseness. Should the inflammation reach the membranous lining of the lungs, a deranged con- dition of the voice is the sequel. 134 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. For those who appreciate health, soundness of throat, roundness and richness of voice, the following advice is offered : 1. Never congest the throat. 2. Make free use of the muscles of the chest. 3. Waste no breath. 4. Send the fully vocalized tone -through a pliant throat. To see that position influences the quality, try to produce the orotund with shut throat and mouth. That use of the molding agents is a condition on which quality depends, is self-evident. The molding agents are the lungs, throat, mouth, nose, and head. If the lungs act as the main sounding-board, the tone is pectoral; if the throat, guttural; if the mouth, oral; if the nose, nasal; if the head, falsetto. If all the agents participate in proper ratio, the tone is pure. The pure tone, rounded out into fullness of volume, constitutes the most captivating of all tones — the orotund. Pectoral Quality. — Sentiments of a gloomy, sad, sol- emn, sepulchral nature employ the somber, pectoral quality. Illustrations. 1. Now a shroud of snow and silence over every thing was spread ; And but for this old blue mantle and the old hat on my head, I should not have even doubted, to this moment, I was dead; For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon tlie dead. r. WILLSON. 2. And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o 'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor ; _ And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore. poe. 3. They 're gone, they 're gone ! the glimmering spark hath fled ! The wife and child are numbered with the dead. On the cold earth, outstretched in solemn rest. The babe lay, frozen on its mother's breast. MODULATION. 135 The gambler came at last ; but all was o 'er ! Dread silence reigned around : — the clock struck four ! COATES. • 4. Hear the tolling of the bells, — Iron bells ! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone ! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people, — ah, the people, — They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone. And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone. And their king it is who tolls ; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Eolls, A p?ean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells -" With the psean of the bells ! And he dances and he yells. Keeping time, time, time. In a sort of Eunic rhyme To the throbbing of the bells, — Of the bells, bells, bells,— To the sobbing of the bells ; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme. To the rolling of the bells. Of the bells, bells, bells,— To the tolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells, — To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. poe. 136 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. BURIAIv OF SIR JOHN MOORE. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O 'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly, at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin inclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead. And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we holloAved his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow. That the foe and the stranger would tread o 'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 's gone, And o 'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave were a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done. When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down. From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone in his glory, CHARLES WOLPE. What parts of this lesson require the pectoral quality ? With what rate, force, and volume does the pectoral usually associate ? MODULATION. 137 I.ESSON XVII. GUTTURAIv QUALITY. Anger, revenge, cootempt, hatred, derision, scorn — all the passions in their ugly, impure, perverted phases — tear their way through a closed and congested throat. That con- gestion must precede and prepare the way for them, seems to be a divine decree, as each such exhibition carries with it its own penalty. Believiug that the less we indulge in the use of the guttural, the better it is for health, both physically and morally, no examples are given here for practice. Feel assured that when occasion and feeling are ripe for their use, examples will be at hand in due malignancy. Oeal Quality. Tones that pass out directly through the mouth, gaining their chief resonance from the cavity of the mouth, are oral in their nature. These are the vowel tones. When wholly vo- calized, they are pure; and as the pure is so nearly related to the orotund, one set of examples — that under Orotund — will serve for each. Nasal Quality. In the imitations of certain provincialisms, in character- sketchings and impersonations, and in burlesque, there are times when the nasal quality seems a necessity. As life would be made sweeter were all occasions for the use of the guttural swept away, so life's pleasure would be en- hanced were there no nasal sounds in the English language. Especially does the pulpit suffer from the corrupting touch oi the nasal tone. There are untold thousands of speakers who, wittingly or unwittingly, impose it upon their fellow-man. In the majority of cases, victims of the nasal habit are ig- norant of their fault. Were they aware of the torture they inflict upon the ears of innocent and deserving friends, they 12 138 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, would surely banish this enemy of vocal purity. In almost every case it may be easily overcome. The one cause of na- sality is obstruction of the nasal passages. If so much air is poured into the nose as to engorge the passages, the nasal tone is sure to result. Illustkations. 1. "The bird can fly, an' why can 't I? Must we give in," says he with a grin, " That the bluebird an' phoebe are smarter 'n we be? Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler? Doos the little chatterin', sassy wren, No bigger 'n my thumb, know more 'n men ? Jest show me that ! ur prove 't the bat Hez got more brains than 's in my hat. An' I'll back down, an' not till then!" TROWBRIDGE. 2. " Wal," said Sam Lawson, " after all, it was more Ike Babbitt's fault than 't was any body's. You see, Ike was allers for gettin' what he could out o' the town, and he would feed his sheep on the meetin'-house green. Somehow or other Ike's fences allers contrived to give out come Sunday, and up would come his sheep, and Ike was too pious to drive 'em back Sunday, and so there they was. He was talked to enough about it, cause, you see, to have sheep and lambs a ba'-a-n' and a blatin' all prayer and sermon time wa 'nt the thing. 'Member that old meetin'- house up to the north end, down under Blueberry hill? The land sort o' sloped down, so as a body had to go into the meetin'- house steppin' down instead o' up. h. b. stowb. I.KSSON XVIII. FALSETTO. In the shriek of fright, in the cry of frenzy, in child im- personation, in affecting the unusually high female voice, in burlesquing a foppish, hair-brained apology of a man, use the falsetto quality. MODULATION, 139 Illustrations. 1. P'ez, Dezus, 'et Santa Taus turn down to-night, An' b'ing us some p'esents before it is yight ; I want he should div' me a nice 'ittie s'ed, Wiv b'igbt sliinin' 'unners, an' all painted j^ed ; A box full of tan'y, a book, an' a toy. Am^n, an' den, Dezus, I be a dood boy. S. p. SNOW. 2. I 've seen mair mice than you, guid man ; An' what think ye o' that ? Sae hand your tongue an' sae nae mair; I tell ye, it was a rat ! anon. GOOD-NIGHT, PAPA. The words of a blue-eyed child, as she kissed her chubby hand and looked down the stairs: " Good-night, papa ; Jessie see you in the morning." It came to be a settled thing; and every evening, as the mother slipped the white night-gown over the plump shoulders, the little one stopped on the stairs and sang out, " Good-night, papa," and as the father heard the silvery accents of the child, he came, and taking the cherub in his arms, kissed her tenderly, while the mother's eyes filled, and a swift prayer went up; for, strange to say, this man, who loved his child with all the warmth of his great noble nature, had one fault to mar his manliness. From his youth he loved the wine-cup. Genial in spirit, and with a fascination of manner that won him friends, he could not resist when surrounded by his boon companions. Thus his home was darkened, the heart of his wife bruised and bleeding, the future of his child shadowed. Three years had the winsome prattle of the baby crept into the avenues of the father's heart, keeping him closer to his home; but still the fatal cup was in his hand. Alas for frail humanity, insensible to the calls of love! " Good-night, papa," sounded from the stairs. What was there in the voice? A silvery, plaintive sound; a lingering music that touched the father's heart, as when a cloud crosses the sun. "Good-night, my darling;" but his lips quivered, and his broad brow grew pale. "Is Jessie sick, mother? Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes have a strange light." 140 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. " Not sick," and the mother stooped to kiss the fluslied brow ; " she may have played too much. Pet is not sick ? " " Jessie tired, mamma ; good-night, papa ; Jessie see you in the morning." "That is all, she is only tired," said the mother, as she took the small hand. Another kiss, and the father turned away; but his heart was not satisfied. Sweet lullabies were sung ; but Jessie was restless, and could not sleep. "Tell me a story, mamma;" and the mother told of the blessed babe that Mary cradled, following along the story till the child had grown to walk and play. The blue, wide-open eyes filled with a strange light, as though she saw and comprehended more than the mother knew. That night the father did not visit the saloon; tossing on his bed, starting from a feverish sleep and bending over the crib, the long weary hours passed. Morning revealed the truth ; Jessie was smitten with the fever. " Keep her quiet," the doctor said ; " a few days of good nurs- ing, and she will be all right." Words easy said ; but the father saw a look on the sweet face such as he had never seen before. He knew the message was at the door. Night came. "Jessie is sick; can't say good-night, papa;" and the little clasping fingers clung to the father's hand. Days passed; the mother was tireless in her watching. With her babe cradled in her arms, her heart was slow to take in the truth, doing her best to solace the father's heart. "A light case ! The doctor says: 'Pet will soon be well.'" Calmly, as one who knows his doom, the father laid his hand upon the hot brow, and looked into the eyes even then covered with the film of death. With a last painful effort the parched lips opened: "Jessie's too sick; can't say good-night, papa; in the morning." There was a convulsive shudder, and the clasping fingers relaxed their hold ; the messenger had taken the child. Months have passed. Jessie's crib stands by the side of her father's couch ; her blue embroidered dress and white hat hang in his closet; her boots, with the print of the feet just as she last wore them, as sacred in his eyes as they are in the mother's. Not dead, but merely risen to a higher life ; while, sounding down from the upper stairs, "Good-night, papa; Jessie see you MODULATION. 141 in the morning," has been the means of winning to a better way one who had show^n himself deaf to every former call. AMERICAN MESSENGER. Id the exercises in this lesson, what lines require the fal- setto? In '^ Good-night, Papa," how many characters are represented? With what vocal characteristics should each be clothed, and why? lyKSSON XIX. OROTUND. The orotund quality is used in the expression of dignity, majesty, nobility, sublimity, and grandeur. In the following exercises, what parts should be read with the fullest orotund ? what with the slightest ? How do other parts compare with these two extremes? Illusteations. 1. While the Union lasts, ^ve have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my day at least, that curtain may not rise! God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind ! When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored frag- ments of a once glorious Union ; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high ad- vanced ; its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster ; not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured — bear- ing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as. What is all this worth? nor those other words of delusion and folly, Liberty first and Union afterwards; but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the 142 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. whole heavens, that other sentiment dear to every true American heart, Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable! WEBSTER. 2. And after these things I heard a great voice of much peo- ple in heaven, saying. Alleluia; salvation, and glory, and honor, and power, unto the Lord our God. And again they said, Alle- luia. And I heard as it were the voice of a great multitude, and as the voice of many waters, and as the voice of mighty thunder- ings, saying. Alleluia ; for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. EEV. XIX. 3. O for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war. Might never reach me more ! cowper. 4. Still stands the forest primeval, but far away from its shadow, Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. Under the humble walls of the little Catholic church-yard. In the heart of the city, they lie unknown and unnoticed. Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them ; Thousrmds of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever ; Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy; Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors ; Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey ! longfellovv. 5. Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dis- honor. Let no man attaint my memory by believing that I could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's liberty and independence, or that I could have become the pliant minion of power in the oppression and the miseries of my countrymen. I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor, for the same reason that I would resist the domestic tyrant. In the dignity of freedom I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and its enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who have lived but for my country — who have sub- jected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my country- MODULATION. 143 men their rights, and my country her independence — am I to be loaded ^vith calumny, and not suffered to resent it? No; God forbid ! emmet. BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF C^SAR. Eomans, countrymen, and lovers ! Hear me for my cause ; and be silent that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor; and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly— any dear friend of C«3sar's — to him I say, that Brutus's love to Csesar was not less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against €?esar, this is my answer : not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Eorae more. Had you rather Csesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Csesar were dead, to live all free- men ? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears, for his love ; joy, for his fortune ; honor, for his valor ; and death for his ambition ! Who is here so base that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. AVho is here so rude that would not be a Koman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. AVho is here so vile that will not love his country ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. shakespeare. MOUNTAINS. Mountains! who was your Builder? AVho laid your awful foundations in the central fires, and piled your rocks and snow- capped summits among the clouds? AYho placed you in the gardens of the world, like noble altars, on which to offer the sac- rificial gifts of many nations ? Who reared your rockj^ walls in the barren desert, hke towering pyramids, like monumental mounds, like giants' graves, like dismantled pile's of royal ruins, telling a mournful tale of glory, once bright, but now fied forever, as flee the dreams of a midsummer's night? Who gave you a home in the islands of the sea— those emeralds that gleam among the w-aves— those stars of ocean tliat mock the beauty of the stars of night ? Mountains! I know who built you. It was God! His name is written on your foreheads. He laid your corner-stones on that glorious morning when the orchestra of heaven sounded 144 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. the anthem of creation. He clothed your high, imperial forms in royal robes. He gave you a snowy garment, and wove for you a cloudy veil of crimson and gold. He crowned you with a diadem of icy jev/els ; pearls from the arctic seas ; gems from the frosty pole. Mountains ! ye are glorious. Ye stretch your gran- ite arms away toward the vales of the undiscovered ; ye have a longing for immortality. But, mountains! ye long in vain. I called you glorious, and truly ye are ; but your glory is like that of the starry heavens ; it shall pass away at the trumpet-blast of the angel of the Most High. And yet ye are worthy of a high and eloquent eulogium. Ye were the lovers of the daughters of the gods ; ye are the lovers of the daughters of liberty and religion now ; and in your old and feeble age the children of the skies shall honor your bald heads. The clouds of heaven — those shadows of Olympian power, those spectral phantoms of dead Titans — kiss your sum- mits, as guardian angels kiss the brow of infant nobleness. On your sacred rocks I see the foot-prints of the Creator ; I see the blazing fires of Sinai, and hear its awful voice ; I see the tears of Calvary, and listen to its mighty groans. Mountains ! ye are proud and haughty things. Ye hurl de- fiance at the storm, the lightning, and the wind ; ye look down with deep disdain upon the thunder-cloud ; ye scorn the devas- tating tempest ; ye despise the works of puny man ; ye shake your rock-ribbed sides with giant laughter, when the great earth- quake passes by. Ye stand as giant sentinels, and seem to say to the boisterous billows: "Thus far shalt thou come, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed!" Mountains ! ye are growing old. Your ribs of granite are getting weak and rotten; your muscles are losing their fatness; your hoarse voices are heard only at distant intervals ; your vol- canic heart throbs feebly ; and your lava-blood is thickening, as the winters of many ages gather their chilling snows around your venerable forms. The brazen sunlight laughs in your old and wrinkled faces ; the pitying moonlight nestles in your hoary locks ; and the silvery starlight rests upon you like the halo of inspiration that crowned the heads of dying patriarchs and prophets. Mountains! ye must die. Old Father Time, that sex- ton of earth, has dug you a deep, dark tomb; and in silence ye shall sleep after sea and shore shall have been pressed by the feet of the apocalyptic angel, through the long watches of an eternal'night. e. m. morse. MODULATION. 145 Lesson XX. TIME. In Elocution there are three divisions of Time, i quantity, CLAUSE. Rate is time as applied to a collection of words. Quantity is time as applied to a word or part of a word. Pause is time as applied to silence. The part played by rate in the true expression of thought is great. Now it lashes words to their utmost speed; now it applies the brakes to them until they scarcely move ; and there is no stage between the two extremes that is not at some time touched by the real artist. Not to understand the art of varying rate in harmony with the ever-changing thought, is to pluck from delivery one of its most effective factors. Deliberate Rate. — Debility, indolence, indifference, sluggishness, weigh tiness, deliberation, solemnity, pomposity, ponderosity, and their near relations, are noted for their slowness of movement. Illustrations. 1. All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow; All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing; All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience! And as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured: "Father, I thank thee!" longfellow. 2. My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice. The blood for which you thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround your victim ; it circulates, warmly and unruffled, through the channels which God created for nobler purposes, but which you are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous that they cry to Heaven. Be yet patient! I have but a few words more to, say. I am going to my cold and silent grave. My lamp of life is nearly extinguished. My race is run. The grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom. I have but one request 13 146 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. to make at my departure from this world ; it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice nor ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written. I have done. emmet. 3. " Cain ! Cain ! where is thy brother now ? Lives he still — if dead, still where is he? Where ? In heaven ? Go read the sacred page : * No drunkard ever shall inherit there.' Who sent him to the pit? Who dragged him down? Who bound him hand and foot? Who smiled and smiled While yet the hellish work went on? Who grasped His gold, his health, his life, his hope, his all ? Who saw his Mary fade and die? Who saw His beggared children wandering in the streets? Speak, coward, if thou hast a tongue, Tell why, with hellish art, you slew a man." EDWARDS. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON DEATH. To be, or not to be, — that is the question : Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them ! To die, — to sleep, — No more ; and, by a sleep, to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, — 't is a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to gleep ; To sleep ! perchance to dream ;— ay, there *s the rub ! For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shufiled off this mortal coil. Must give us pause : there 's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life ; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns MODULATION. 147 That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourne No traveler returns, — puzzles the will. And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of ? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; And enterprises of great pith and moment. With this regard, their currents turn awry. And lose the name of action. shakespeare. Analyze and state with what degree of slowness various passages in this lesson should be read. IvKSSON XXI. MODERATE RATE. All thought of a temperate nature moves with mod- eration. Illustrations. 1. The moon above the eastern wood Shone at its full ; the hill-range stood Transfigured in the silver flood. Its blown snows flashing cold and keen. Dead white, save where some sharp ravine Took shadow, or the somber green Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black Against the whiteness at their back. whittier. 2. The rich man's son inherits lands. And piles of brick, and stone, and gold ; And he inherits soft, white hands, And tender flesh that fears the cold ; Nor dares to wear a garment old ; A heritage, it seems to me. One would not care to hold in fee. lowell. 148 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 3. And she who strives to take the van, In conflict or the common way, Does outrage to the heavenly plan, And outrage to the finer clay That makes her beautiful to man. Holland. 4. "The kettle began it. Don't tell me what Mrs. Peery- bingle said. I know better. Mrs. Peerybingle may leave it on record to the end of time that she could n't say which of them began it; but I say the kettle did. I ought to know, I hope! The kettle began it, full five minutes by the little waxy-faced clock in the corner, before the cricket uttered a chirp." DICKENS. 5. We have demonstrations enough, fortunately, to show that truth alone is not sufficient; for truth is the arrow, but man is the bow that sends it home. There be many men who are the light of the pulpit, whose thought is profound, whose learning is universal, but whose offices are unspeakably dull. They do make known the truth ; but without fervor, without grace, with- out beauty, without inspiration; and discourse upon discourse would fitly be called the funeral of important subjects! BEECHER. CIvEON AND I. Cleon hath a million acres ; ne'er a one have I ; Cleon dwelleth in a palace ; in a cottage, I ; Cleon hath a dozen fortunes ; not a penny, I ; But the poorer man is Cleon ; not the poorer, I. Cleon, true, possesseth acres ; but the landscape, I ; Half the charms to me it yieldeth, money can not buy; Cleon harbors sloth and dullness ; freshening vigor, I ; He in velvet, I in fustian ; richer man am I. Cleon is a slave to grandeur ; free as thought am I ; Cleon fees a score of doctors; need of none have I; Wealth-surrounded, care-environed, Cleon fears to die; Death may come, he '11 find me ready ; happier man am I. Cleon sees no charm in nature ; in a daisy, I ; Cleon hears no anthems ringing in the sea and sky ; Nature sings to me forever ; earnest listener, I ; State for state, with all attendants, who would change ? Not I. CHARLES MACKAY. MODULATION. 149 Lesson XXII. RAPID RATE. Impetuosity, precipitancy, gleefulness — all the more highly wrought passions — require a rate of rapidity propor- tionate to the degree of their intensity. Illustrations. 1. Morgan's men are coming, Frau ; they 're galloping on this way. I 'm sent to warn the neighbors. He is n't a mile behind ; He sweeps up aU the liorses — every horse that he can find ! Morgan, Morgan, the raider, and Morgan's terrible men ! With bowie-knives and pistols, are galloping up the glen 1 C. F. WOOLSON. 2. Hemmed in by many a billow, With mad and foaming lip, A mile from shore, or hardly more, She saw a gallant ship, — Aflame from deck to topmast. Aflame from stem to stern ; For there seemed no speck on all that wreck. Where the fierce fire did not burn! FARNINGHAM. 3. For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of pyrate galleys warping down ; For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, They have not spared to wake the towne; But while the west bin red to see, And storms be none and pyrates flee, Why ring The Brides of Enderby ? ingelow. 4. By the river's brink that night, Foot to foot in strife, Fought we in the dubious light A fight of death or life. Don Camillo slashed my shoulder; With the pain I grew the bolder. Close and closer still I pressed! Fortune favored me at last; I broke his guard; my weapon passed Through the caballero's breast. waller. 150 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 6. Back darted Spurius Lartius ; Herminiiis darted back; And as they passed, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack. But when they turned their faces, And on the further sliore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, They would have crossed once more. T. B. MACAULAY. FLASH— THE FIREMAN'S STORY. Flash M'as a white-foot sorrel an' run on No. 3 ; Not much stable manners — an average horse to see ; Notional in his methods, strong in his loves and hates; Not very much respected, or pop'lar 'mongst his mates; Dull an' moody an' sleepy on oflf an' quiet days ; Full of turb'lent sour looks, an' small sarcastic ways ; Scowled an' bit at his partner, and banged the stable floor, With other tricks intended to designate life a bore. But when, be't day or night time, he heard the alarm-bell ring, He 'd rush for his place in the harness with a regular tiger spring ; An' watch with nervous shivers the clasp of buckle and band, Until it was plainly ev'dent he'd like to lend a hand. An' when the word was given, away he would rush an' tear, As if a thousan' witches was rumplin' up his hair. An' wake his mate up crazy with his magnetic charm ; For every hoof-beat sounded a regular fire alarm ! Never a horse a jockey would worship an' admire Like Flash in front of his engine, a-racin' with a fire ; Never a horse so lazy, so dawdlin' an' so slack As Flash upon his return trip, a-drawin' the engine back. Now when the different horses gets tender-footed an' old, They aint no use in our business ; so Flash was finally sold To quite a respectable milkman, who found it not so fine A-bossin' of God's creatures outside o' their reg'lar line. Seems as if I could see Flash a-mopin' along here now, A-feelin' that he was simply assistant to a cow ; MODULATION. 151 But sometimes he'd imagine he heard the alarm-bell's din, An' jump an' rear for a minute before they could hold him in. An' once, in spite o' his master, he strolled in 'raongst us chaps, To talk with the other horses, of former fires, perhaps; Whereat the milkman kicked him ; wherefore us boys to please, He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees. But one day, for a big fire as we was makin' a dash — Both o' the horses we had on somewhat resemblin' Flash, Yellin' an' ringin' an' rushin' with excellent voice an' heart — We passed the poor old fellow, a-tuggin' away at his cart. If ever I see an old horse grow upward into a new; If ever I see a driver whose traps behind him flew; 'T was that old horse, a-rompin' an' rushin' down the track. An' that respectable milkman a-tryin' to hold him back. Away he dashed like a cyclone for the head of No. 3 ; Gained the lead, an' kept it, an' steered his journey free, Dodgin' the wheels an' horses, an' still on the keenest silk. An' furnishin' all that district with good, respectable milk. Crowds a-yellin' an' runnin, and vainly hollerin' " Whoa ! " Milkman bracin' an' sawin', with never a bit o' show ; Firemen laughin' an' chucklin' an' hollerin', "Good! go in!" Hoss a-gettin' down to it, an' a sweepin' along like sin. Finally come where the fire was; halted with a thud; Sent the respectable milkman heels over head in mud ; Watched till he see the engine properly workin' there. After which he relinquished all interest in the affair. Moped an' wilted an' dawdled, faded away once more ; Took up his old occ'pation of votin' life a bore ; Laid down in the harness, an' sorry I am to say, The milkman he drew there, drew his dead body away. That 's the whole o' my story ; I 've seen more 'n once or twice. That poor dumb animal's actions are full o' human advice ; An' if you ask what Flash taught, I simply answer you then, That poor old horse was a symbol of some intelligent men. WILL CARLETON. Compare passages in this lesson in regard to rate. 152 ELOCUTION Ai^D ORATORY. Lesson XXIII. QUANTITY. Quantity is one of the subtlest, as it is one of the least understood, factors in expressive delivery. How many- readers and speakers there are who do not know the meaning of the word quantity as applied to ElocutioUj aud who do not catch the faintest glimpse of its influence ! The word every means all, and it takes the whole word to express it. Eternity is beginningless and endless ; but as it is often pronounced, one. would think it means a lapse of time so brief that it ends almost as soon as it begins. Our language is full of words, the full meaning of which can be expressed only by the appropriate play of quantity. The thinker will observe that the large majority of words in the English language contain some sound or sounds that will not legitimately admit of long quantity. He Avho has a discriminating ear will notice that speakers who make sounds carry quantity which by nature are unfitted for it, are inar- tistic in their utterance. A short sound is a short sound, and an attempt to prolong it must do it injury. Short a prolonged, is not short a. The detestable drawl is the off- spring of this wrong application of quantity. Prolong the first sound in the word and, and note the effect. No well- trained ear will willingly tolerate it. Name the simple sounds that will admit of prolongation. Which of these permit the longest quantity? They may be called indefinites. Which permit but a limited prolongation? They may be called definvtes. Which permit only the shortest quantity ? They may be called immuUibles. Which sounds are, as a rule, used as explosives? what as continuants? Syllables composed wholly of immutables can not bear long quantity, as it, in the word itself. All the vowel sounds, save the .six short sounds, admit of more or less prolongation. The consonants, when found initial in syllables or words, MODULATION. 153 ordinarily refuse to receive loDg quantity. An attempt to force it upon them produces such results as gerrand for grand. The sub-vocals, used terminally, will permit various de- grees of prolonged quantity. The aspirates are fitted, least of all, for bearing quantity. Short Quantity. There are words, the very nature of which is suggestive of brief existence. Examples: Cut, quick, short, snap, whip, dash, tap, dip, rap, flip, flap. Kequire the pupil to mention other words requiring short quantity. Medium Quantity. Conjunctions, prepositions, and the articles, as a rule, require medium quantity. Long Quantity. A multitude of words have in them that which is indica- ative of long life, and they should not be prematurely ended. If you would extract from the word misery slM there is in it, you must take time ; it can 't be done in an instant. You make a burlesque of the word solemnity, when you precipitate the syllables one upon another, at a break-neck pace. Melancholy is not the emotion of a moment ; it broods. Examples of Long Quantity. Dreary, dreadful, boundless, everlasting, immeasurable, unbounded. Give additional examples. Xksson XXIV. PAUSE. That silence is golden, is an adage nowhere truer than in the Art of Delivery. In his use of pause, more than in any other one element of delivery, the artist shows his superiority 154 ELOCUTIOX AXD OEATORY. over the novice. In many situation? silence is more eloquent than sound. And how ignorant is the world at large as to the right employment of pause ! How meaningless the old rule5 were ! Many of them, how unreasonable ! One need not be very old to remember the time when he read in the school-book: **Stop long enough at a comma to count one; at a semi- colon, to count two," etc. Now those who give the subject thought know that the rhetorical or tongue-pause cares but little about the grammatical or printer's pause. The gcxxi reader or speaker makes many a halt that grammar does uot note, and many a time he goes thundering along over a period, regardless of its presence. The Soliloquy of Hamlet without the pause is no soliloquy; with misplaced pause, it becomes ridiculous. THE BRIDGE. I stood on the bridge at midnight. As the clocks were striking the hour. And the moon rose o'er the city. Behind the dark chui^ch-tower. I saw her bright reflection In the waters under me, Like a gcdden goblet falling And Ftinking into the sea. And far in the hazy distance Of that lovely night in June, The blaze of the flaming frimace Gleamed redder than the mooiu Among the long, black rafters The wavering shadows lay. And the current that c^ame from the ocean Seemed to lift and bear them away; As, sweeping and eddying through them, Eose the belated tide, And. streaming into the moonlight, The sea- weed floated wide. MODULATION. 155 And like those waters rushing Among the wooden piers, A flood of thoughts came o'er me That filled my eyes with tears. How often. how often, In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight, And gazed on that wave and sky ! How often, O how often, I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide ! For my heart was hot and restless, And my life was full of care. And the burden laid upon me Seemed greater than I could beajr. But now it has fallen from me, It is buried in the sea; And only the sorrow of others Throws its shadow over me. Yet whenever I cross the river On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odor of brine from the ocean Comes the thought of other years. And I think how many thousands Of care-incumbered men, Each bearing his burden of sorrow. Have crossed the bridge since then, I see the long procession ^11 passing to and fro, — The young heart hot and restless, And the old, subdued and slow ! And forever and forever, As long as the river flows. As long as the heart has passions, As long as life has woes ; 156 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. The moon and its broken reflection And its shadows shall appear, As the symbol of love in heaven, And its wavering image here. LONGFELLOW. Locate and give the comparative length of all the rhetor- ical pauses in The Bridge. Lesson XXV. INFLECTION. As THE artist in oils adds a few final strokes to his work that it may wear an air of finish, so the artist in words con- cludes his clause, or sentence, or thought, by a slide which, small as it seems, gives the last, decisive touch to the char- acter of what is delivered. If one would leave about a statement an air of weakness, indecision, uncertaiuty, let it terminate with an upward inflection. Would one speak with the voice of conviction, decision, determination, completion, he should turn the inflection downward. The hinge on which inflection turns is the character of the thought ; doubt, up- ward ; decision, downward ; uncertainty, upward ; certainty, downward; weakness, upward; strength, downward ; cow- ardice, upward; courage, downward; vacillation, upward; determination, downward; incompletion, upward; comple- tion, downward. Would you give expression to a conflict between these two sets of emotions, between doubt and certainty, use the circumflex. If certainty terminates the conflict, the last dip of the wave is downward. If doubt triumphs, that is an- nounced by the rising circunaflex. The circumflex always takes its name from its termination. There are many who have been made uncomfortable when listening to statements^ in their very nature full of emphasis and earnestness and truth, but over which a cloud of uncertainty was cast by the speaker's upward slides of voice. Such oratory bespeaks MODULATION. 157 a shriDking, timid, undecided nature, or an ignorance of this simple law of inflection. The upward slide is good enough in the proper place, but an abomination when out of place. By its misuse, candor bears the seal of insincerity, and statements that should issue from the lips with all the assurance of absolute certainty, are emitted with the paraly- sis of doubt. There are those who can utter a single simple elementary sound with the downward slide, only by the greatest exertion, and after many attempts. Many a speech has fallen dead, slain by the upward slide, which, driven home by the right use of the downward slide, would have exerted a powerful influence. RISING INFLECTION. Exercises. 1. Can storied urn or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? GRAY. 2. Am I, who have lived but for my country, and who have subjected myself to the dangers of the zealous and watchful op- pressor and the bondage of the grave, only to give my countr}'^- men their rights and my country her independence, — am I to be loaded with calumny, and not sufi'ered to resent or repel it ? EMMET. 3. Wherefore rejoice that Caesar comes in triumph ? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? Knew you not Pompey ? And when you saw his chariot but appear. Have you not made an universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire ? And do you now cull out a holiday ? And do you now strew flowers in his way, That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? SHAKESPEARE. 158 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. THE INQUIRY. Tell me, ye winged winds, that round my pathway roar, Do ye not know some spot were mortals weep no more ? Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley in the west. Where, free from toil and pain, the weary soul may rest? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low. And sighed for pity as it answered — " No." Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play, Know'st thou some favored spot, some island far away, "Where weary man may find the bliss for which he sighs, Where sorrow never lives, and friendship never dies ? The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, Stopped for awhile, and sighed to answer — '' No." And thou, serenest moon, that, with such lovely face. Dost look upon the earth, asleep in night's embrace. Tell me, in all thy round hast thou not seen some spot Where miserable man might find a happier lot ? Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, And a voice, sweet but sad, responded — " No." Tell me, my secret soul— O, tell me, Hope and Faith — Is there no resting-place from sorrow, sin, and death ? Is there no happy spot where mortals may be blessed. Where grief may find a balm, and weariness a rest? Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, Waved their bright wings, and whispered — " Yes, in heaven !" CHARLES MACK AY. Point out all the rising inflections this lesson requires. I^ESSON XXVI. FALLING INFLECTION. Illustrations. 1. Cain, Cain, thou art thy brother's keeper, and his blood cries out to heaven against thee ! Every stone will find a tongue to curse thee ! Every sight and sound will mind thee of the lost. EDWARDS. MODULATION. 159 2. No bugle-call could rouse us all As that brave sight had done ; Down all the battered line we felt A lightning impulse run ; Up, up the hill we followed Bill, And captured every gun ! gassaway. 3. 0, the famine and the fever ! O, the wasting of the famine ! O, the blasting of the fever! O, the wailing of the children ! O, the anguish of the women ! All the earth was sick and famished ; Hungry was the air around them, Hungry was the sky above them, And the hungry stars in heaven Like the eyes of wolves glared at them! LONGFELLOW. 4. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; The plowman homeward plods his weary way. And leaves the world to darkness and to me. GRAY. 5. Here I stand, ready for impeachment or trial. I dare accusation. I defy the honorable gentlemen ; I defy the govern- ment ; I defy the whole phalanx ; let them come forth. GRATTAN. SIvAVBRY. O for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war. Might never reach me more ! My ear is pained, my soul is sick, With every day's report of wrong and outrage With which the earth is filled. There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart ; It does not feel for man ; the natural bond 160 • ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Of brotherhood is severed, as the flax That falls asunder at the touch of fire. He finds his fellow guilty of a skin Not colored like his own ; and having power To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. Lands intersected by a narrow frith Abhor each other. Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations, who had else Like kindred drops been mingled into one. Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; And, worse than all, and most to be deplored, As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, Chains him and tasks him and exacts his sweat With stripes that mercy, with a bleeding heart, Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. Then what is man ? And what man, seeing this, And having human feelings, does not blush And hang his head to think himself a man ? I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earned. No ; dear as freedom is, and in my heart's Just estimation, prized above all price, I had much rather be myself the slave And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. We have no slaves at home — then why abroad? And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. Slaves can not breathe in England ; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free; They touch our country and their shackles fall. That 's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And jealous of the blessing. Spread it, then. And let it circulate through every vein Of all your empire ; that where Britain's power Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy, too. COWPEB. Where are the falling inflections in this lesson ? MODULATION. 161 Lesson XXVII. r Simple ^ Rising. CIRCUMFLEX J '"jp^r'''^* A COMBINATION of a simple falling with a simple rising slide constitutes a simple rising circumflex. This combina- tion, repeated once, or oftener, and closing with the upper slide, constitutes the compound rising circumflex. A combination of a simple rising with a simple falling slide constitutes the simple falling circumflex. A repetition of the simple falling gives the compound falling circumflex. SPEECH OF CASSIUS. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favor. Well, honor is the subject of my story. I can not tell what you and other men Think of this life ; but, for my single self, I had as lief not be, as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Csesar ; so were you. We both have fed as well ; and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he ; For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Csesar said to me, " Dar'st thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood. And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word, Accoutered as I was, I plunged in, And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did. The torrent roared ; and we did buffet it With lusty sinews, throwing it aside. And stemming it with hearts of controversy ; But ere we could arrive the point proposed, Caesar cried, " Help me, Cassius, or I sink ! " I, as ^Eneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder, 14 162 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar ; and this man Is now become a god ; and Cnssius is A wretched creature, and must bend his body, If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake; 't is true, tins god did shake: His coward lips did from their color fly ; And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, Did lose his luster. I did hear him groan ; Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, Alas ! it cried, " Give me some drink, Titinius," As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world. And bear the palm alone. "Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world. Like a Colossus ; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonorable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates : The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus, and Caesar: what should be in that Caesar? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with them, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed. That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed! Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! When went there by an age, since the great flood. But it was famed with more than with one man ? When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome That her wide walls encompassed but one man ? Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, When there is in it but one only man. O, you and I have heard our fathers say. MODVLATION. . 163 There was a Brutus once, who would have brooked Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Eome, As easily as a king. shakespeaee. Give a comparative analysis of the speech of Cassius as regards pitch, force, quality, quantity, volume, rate, pause, and inflection. Monotone. A monotone is a tone without inflection. It is the tra- ditional tone of the ghosts. As no one ever heard the voice of a ghost, the tradition goes unchallenged. The monotone befits the dirge. It is the tone of melancholy and soliloquy. It is sometimes used in assumed gravity, and it has been heard in an owl-eyed attempt at appearing wise. Illustrations. Because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets: or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern. Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it. ECCLESIASTES. CATO ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. It must be so : Plato, thou reason'st well ; Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality? Or whence this secret dread and inward horror Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us, 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter. And intimates Eternity to man. Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me; But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. Here will I hold : — If there 's a Power above us 164 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. (And that there is all Nature cries aloud Through all her works), he must delight in virtue; And that which he delights in must be happy : But when ? or where ? — this world was made for Caesar. I 'm weary of conjectures ; this must end them. [Laying his hand upon his sword.] Thus I am doubly armed ; my death and life, My bane and antidote are both before me. This in a moment brings me to an end ; But this informs me I shall never die. The soul, secured in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years; But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amid the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. ' ADDISON. • Part Vlll. Diction. The importance of the right use of words in any walk of life is evident without argument. In the hope of interestiug the student in the study of Diction the following exercises are offered: Capacity is power to contain ; ability is power to perform. We may administer affairs of state, but it is not in good taste to administer strokes. We may aggravate a wound, but one's temper is never ag- in such words as agriculturalist, conversationalist, horticul- turalist, floriculturalist, the al should be omitted. He is alone when there is no one with him; he is the only one when there is no one like him. A novice knows less than an amateur ; an amateur may know more than a professional. A reply is broader than an answer. We answer questions ; we reply to arguments. We apprehend a thing when we catch the slightest glimpse of it ; we comprehend a thing when we see it through and through. A student can not be apt to solve a problem, but he may be apt in solving it. We say so far as I know, not as far as I know. He came at last, not at length. 165 166 ELOCUTIOy ASD ORATORY. If a woman-author is an aadkorea, a woman-painter is a paifdanas; a woman-preacher, a prciukeres; and a woman- teacher, a ffaeheresf. When you sav you hare a bad cold, you suggest a time when jou had a good cold. A man may be between two men, but noi . • .-i^ o men. If you are bound to accomplish the distanv^c ^ .. > if you? One makes his ekaarader; his reputation is made for him. Of the two, he is the dder; of the many, he is the otdat- His punishment is eondign, and so is his reward, if just. If his punishment is greater than he deserves, it is tevere. To say that he is a continned invalid, b about as precise as to ^y he is potcerful iceak. Saying it is a question of no eonteqiunee, is equivalent to saying it is a question of no that iMic^ foUoicg. We do not emgider a man polite; we know, without con- sidering. Do not say corporeal punishment, if you mean eorporal pun- ishment. We may say eoufie in speaking of two in union. Two mar- bles do not unite, therefore they do not form a emtjpl^. The Tiolation of state-law is a crime; the Tioladon of 8^- law is a riee; the violation of God-law is a Hn. A man is dangeroudy ill when he is prone to do himself or others harm. One may be very ill and not be very dan- gerous. K a man has many dear^, he may speak of his deareA. A man dies with sl disease, if the disease dies vcith him; if the disease kills him, he dies of it. We differ vrith another when we agree with the other; we dijBTer from him when we do not hold his view. He shouts as others have done, is poor English. Martha do n't, does Annie ? is the same as, 3»Iartha do not, does Annie? They may admire «w^ other, if they are two ; if more than two, thev ma V admire one another . DICTION. 167 Tesihmmif that cam not be strengthened into evidenee skould not conTkt a man. We expeet a gift; we rngped: a tliief. Ej^ped has no back- ward lodk. To call a wvvn\vard. Larger than the; wiiortleberries. Finer tlmn tlie pearls of oeean, Smoother tiian the eggs of moor-li(;ns, !>righler than the eyes of swallows. As the t<';ir-(lr()ps fall and mingle, Form they streandets from the eyehds Of tli(^ mast(!r of magicians; Coursing on, and (Coursing ever. To the blue mere's sandy margin, To the deeps of crystal waters. Lost among the reeds and ruslu^s. Spake at last tlu^ swc^et toiK^d singer* " Is then; oni! in all this concourse, One in all this vast asscnrddy, That can gather uj) my tear-drops From the deei), pellucid waters?" Thus the younger heroes answered, Tlius the sage and bearded seniors: •*Th(;re is none in all this concourse, None in all this vast assend>ly. That can gather u|) thy tear-drops Froin tlu! deep, pellucid waters." Spak(! agaiii wise \Vainamoin(Mi: " Ih; that gathers up my t(!ar-drops From tlie deeps of (crystal waters. Shall receive a beauteous plumagt;." Came a raven, flying, croaking. And tlu! minstrel thus adut tlu; raven failed his rnasUir. ETHICAL. 2-41 Came a duck upon the waters, And the hero thus addressed him: "Bring, O water-bird, my tear-drops; Often thou dost dive the deep sea , Sink thy bill upon the bottom Of the waters thou dost travel ; Dive again my tears to gather, I will give thee beaut-eous feathers, Eecompense for golden service." Thereupon the duck departing, Hither, thither swam and circled. Dived beneath the foam and billow, Gathered Wainamoinen's tear-drops From the blue sea's pebbly bottom, From the deep, pellucid waters ; Brought them to the great magician, Beautifully formed and colored, Glistening in the silver sunshine, Glimmering in the golden moonlight ; ^lany-colored as the rainbow, Fitting ornaments for heroes. Jewels for the maids of beauty ; This the origin of sea-pearls. And the sea-duck's beauteous plumage. J. M. CRAWFORD. WATER. Rev Paul Dextox, a Methodist missioDary, had an- nouDced to an audience in Texas that on a certain day there would be '*a rousing barbecue, the best of liquor, and of gospel." The barbecue came, but no liquor beiug oflered, the preacher was asked: "Where is the liquor you prom- ised us?" The missionary, seizing a goblet of water, made the following impromptu reply: ^^ Here is the liquor which God, the Eternal, brews for all his children ! ^ot in the simmering still, over smoking fires, choked with poisonous gases, and surrounded by the stench of sickening odors, and rank corruptions, doth your Father in heaven prepare the 21 242 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y. precious essence of life — pure cold water; but in the green glade and grassy dell where the red-deer wanders, and the child loves to play — there God brews it; and down, down in the deepest valleys, where the fountains murmur and the rills sing ; and high up the tall mountain-tops, where the naked granite glitters like gold in the sun, where the storm- clouds brood, and the thunder-storms crash; and away far out on the wide, wide sea, where the hurricanes howl music, and the waves roar the chorus, sweeping on in the march of God — there he brews it, that beverage of life, health- giving water ! And everywhere it is a thing of beauty ; gleaming in the dew-drop; singing in the summer rain; shining in the ice-gem, till the trees seem turned into living jewels; spreading a golden veil over the setting sun, or a white gauze over the midnight moon ; sporting in the cata- ract, sleeping in the glacier, dancing in the hail-shower, folding its bright snow-curtains softly above the wintry world, and weaving the many-colored rainbow, that seraph's zone of the sky, whose warp is the rain-drop of earth, whose woof is the sunbeam of heaven, all checkered over with celestial flowers by the mystic hand of refraction — still always it is beautiful, that blessed cold water! No poison bubbles in its brink ! Its foam brings no madness nor murder ! No blood stains its limpid glass! Pale widows and starving orphans shed no burning tears in its clear depths ! No drunkard's shrieking ghost from the grave curses it in words of eternal despair! But everywhere, diffusing all around, life, vigor, and happiness, it is the purest emblem of the Water of Life, of which, if a man drink, he shall never thirst. Speak out, my friends; would you exchange it for the demon's drink — alcohol?" A shout, like the roar of a tempest, answered : ' ' No ! " HVMOBOm AND DELINEATIYE. 243 HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. A LITERARY NIGHTMARE. Will the reader please to cast his eye over the follow- ing verses, and see if he can discover any thing harmful in theiQ? " Conductor, when you receive a fare, Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! A blue trip-slip for an eight-cent fare, A buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare, A pink trip-slip for a three-cent fare, Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! CHORUS : - Punch, brothers, punch ! punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " I came across these jingling rhymes in a newspaper, a little while ago, and read them a CQuple of times. They took instant and entire possession of me. All through break- fast they went waltzing through my brain ; and when, at last, I rolled up my napkin, I could not tell whether I had eaten any thing or not. I had carefully laid out my day's work the day before — a thrilling tragedy in the novel which I am writing. I went to my den to begin my deed of blood. I took up my pen ; but all I could get it to say was, "Punch in the presence of the passenjare." I fought hard for an hour, but it was useless. My head kept humming, "A blue trip-slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare," and so on and so on, without peace or respite. The day's work was ruined ; I could see that plainly enough. I gave up, and drifted down town, and presently discovered that my feet were keeping time to that relentless jingle. When I could stand it no longer I altered my step. But it did no good; those rhymes accommodated themselves to the 244 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. new step, and went on harassing me just as before. I returned home, and suffered all the afternoon ; suffered all through an unconscious and unrefreshing dinner; suffered, and cried, and jingled all through the evening ; went to bed and rolled, tossed, and jingled right along, the same as ever; got up at midnight, frantic, and tried to read ; but there was nothing visible upon the whirling page except ** Punch! punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " By sunrise I was out of my mind, and every body marveled and was distressed at the idiotic burden of my ravings: "Punch! O, punch! punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " Two days later, on Saturday morning, I arose, a tottering wreck, and went forth to fulfill an engagement with a valued friend, the Rev. Mr, , to walk to the Talcott Tower, ten miles distant. He stared at me, but asked no questions. We started. Mr. talked, talked, talked, as is his wont. I said nothing; I heard nothing. At the end of a mile, Mr. said : ''Mark, are you sick? I never saw a man look so hag- gard and worn and absent-minded. Say something; do!" Drearily, without enthusiasm, I said : "Punch, brothers! punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare!" My friend eyed me blankly, looked perplexed, then said : "I do not think I get your drift, Mark. There does not seem to be any relevancy in what you have said — cer- tainly nothing sad; and yet — may be it was the way you said the words — I never heard any thing that sounded so pathetic. What is " But I heard no more. I was already far away with my pitiless, heart-breaking "blue trip-slip for an eight-cent fare, buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare, pink trip-slip for a three- cent fare ; punch in the presence of the passenjare." I do not know what occurred during the other nine miles. How- ever, all of a sudden, Mr. laid his hand on ray shoulder and shouted : " O, wake up! wake up! wake up! Don't sleep all HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 245 day ! Here we are at the Tower, man ! I have txilked myself deaf, and dumb, and blind, and never got a re- sponse. Just look at this magnificent autumn landscape ! Look at it ! look at it ! Feast your eyes on it ! You iiave traveled; you have seen boasted landscapes elsewhere. Come, now, deliver an honest opinion. What do you say to this?" I sighed wearily, and murmured: "A buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip-slip for a three-cent fare, punch in the presence of the passenjare." Eev. Mr. stood there, very grave, full of concern apparently, and looked long at me ; then he said: "Mark, there is something about this that I can not understand. Those are about the same words you said before. There does not seem to be any thing in them, and vet they nearly break my heart when you say them. Punch in the — how is it they go?" I began at the beginning and repeated all the lines. My friend's face lighted with interest. He said : "Why, what a captivating jingle it is! It is almost music, it flows along so nicely. I have nearly caught the rhymes myself. Say them over just once more, and then I'll have them, sure." I said them over. Then Mr. said them. He mada one little mistake, which I corrected. The next time, and the next, he got them right. Now a great burden seemed to tumble from my shoulders. That torturing jingle departed out of my brain, and a grateful sense of rest and peace de- scended upon me. I was light-hearted enough to slug ; and I did sing for half an hour straight along, as we went jog- ging homeward. Then my freed tongue found blessed speech again, and the pent-up talk of many a weary hour began to gush and flow. It flowed on and on, joyously, jubilantly, until the fountain was empty and dry. As I wrung my friend's hand at parting, I said : "Haven't we had a royal o-ood time! But now I 246 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, remember, you liave n't said a word for two hours. Come, come, out with something ! " The Rev. Mr. turned a Uick-luster eye upon me, drew a deep sigh, and said, without animation, without apparent consciousness: "Punch, brothers! punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " A pang shot through me as I said to myself: '' Poor fel- low, poor fellow ! he has got it now." I did not see Mr. for two or three days after that. Then, on Tuesday evening, he staggered into my presence, and sank dejectedly into a seat. He was pale, worn ; he was a wreck. He lifted his faded eyes to my face and said : **Ah, Mark, it was a ruinous investment that I made in those heartless rhymes. They have ridden me like a night- mare, day and night, hour after hour, to this very moment. Since I saw you I have suffered the torments of the lost. Saturday evening I had a sudden call by telegraph, and took the night train for Boston. The occasion was the death of a valued old friend, who had requested that I should preach his funeral sermon. I took my seat in the cars and set myself to framing the discourse. But I never got beyond the opening paragraph ; for then the cars began their * clack- clack-clack ! clack-clack-clack ! ' and right away those odious rhymes fitted themselves to that accompaniment. For an hour I sat there, and set a syllable of those rhymes to every separate and distinct clack the car-wheels made. Why, I was as fagged out then as if I had been chopping wood all day. My skull was splitting with headache. It seemed to me that I must go mad if I sat there any longer ; so I undressed and went to bed. I stretched myself out in my berth, and — well, you know what the result was. The thing went right along, just tlie same. 'Clack-clack-clack, a blue trip-slip, clack-clack-clack, for an eight-cent fare ; clack- clack-clack, a buff trip-slip, clack-clack-clack, for a six-cent HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 247 fare — aud so od, aud so od, and so on — 'punch in the presence of the passenjare!' Sleep? Not a single wink! I was almost a lunatic wh^n I got to Boston. Do n't ask me about the funeral. I did the best I could ; but every solemn indi- vidual sentence was meshed and tangled and woven in and out with 'Punch, brothers! punch with care! punch in the presence of the passenjare.' And the most distressing thing was tnat my delivery dropped into the undulating rhythm of those pulsing rhyines, and I could actually catch absent- minded people nodding time to the swing of it with their stupid heads. And, Mark, you may believe it or not, but before I got through, the entire assemblage were placidly bobbing their heads in solemn unison, mourners, undertaker, and all. The moment I had finished, I fled to the anteroom in a state bordering on frenzy. Of course it would be my luck to find a sorrowing and aged maiden aunt of the de- ceased there, who had arrived from Springfield too late to get into the church. She began to sob, and said: " ' O, O, he is gone, he is gone; and I didn't see him before he died ! ' " ' Yes ! ' I said, * he is gone, he is gone, he is gone — O, will this suffering never cease?' " ' You loved him then ! O, you, too, loved him ! ' ' ' ' O — him I Yes — O yes, yes. Certainly — certainly. Punch — punch — O, this misery will kill me ! O, leave me, madam ! In the name of all that is generous, leave me to my madness, my misery, my despair! — a buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip-slip for a three-cent fare — punch in the presence of the '" Thus murmuring faint and fainter, my friend sank into a peaceful trance, and forgot his sufferings in a blessed respite. How did I finally save him from the asylum? I took him to a neigliboring university, and made him discharge the burden of his persecuting rhymes into the eager ears of the poor, unthinking students. How is it with them^ now? 248 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. The result is too sad to tell. Why did I write this article? It was for a worthy, even a noble purpose. It was to warn you, reader, if you should come across those merciless rhymes, to avoid them — avoid them as you would a pestilence ! MARK TWAIN. ARTEMUS WARD'S MORMON LECTURE. ADAPTED. I don't expect to do great things here; but I have thought that if I could make money enough to buy me a passage to New Zealand I should feel that I had not lived in vain. I do n't want to live in vain. 1 'd rather live in Chicago, or here. But I wish when the Egyptians built this hall they had given it a little more ventilation. I really don't care for money. I only travel round to see the world and to exhibit my clothes. These clothes I have on were a great success in Utah. How often do large fortunes ruin young men ! I should like to be ruined, but I can get on very well as I am. I am not an artist, yet I have a passion for pictures. I have had a great many pictures, photographs, taken of my- self. Some of them are very pretty, rather sweet to look at for a short time ; and, as I said before, I like them. I could draw on wood at a very tender age. When a mere child I once drew a small cart-load of raw turnips over a wooden bridge. The people of the village noticed me. I drew their attention. They said I had a future be- fore me. Up to that time I had an idea it Avas behind me. Time passed on. It always does, by the way. You may possibly have noticed that time passes on. It is a kind of way time has. I became a man. I have n't distinguished myself at all as an artist, but I have always been more or less mixed up HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 249 with art. I have an UDcle who takes photographs, and I have a servant who takes any thing he can get his hands on. When I was in Rome — Rome in New York State, I mean — a distinguished sculpist wanted to sculp me. But I said, "No." I saw through the designing man. Fond remembrance often makes me ask: "AVhere are the boys of my youth ? " I assure you this is not a conun- drum. Some are amongst you here, some in America, some are in jail. Hence arises a most touching question, " Where are the girls of my youth ? " Some are married — some would like to be. my Maria ! Alas ! she married another. They fre- quently do. I hope she is happy, because I am. Some people are not happy. I have noticed that. A gentleman friend of mine came to me one day with tears in his eyes. I said: "Why these weeps?" He said he had a mortgage on his farm, and wanted to borrow two hundred dollars. I lent him the money, and he Avent away. Some time after, he returned with more tears. He said he must leave me forever. I ventured to remind him of the two hundred dollars he borrowed. He was much cut up. I thought I would not be hard upon him, so told him I would throw off one hundred dollars. He brightened, shook my hand, and said: "Old friend, I won't allow you to outdo me in liberality; I'll throw off the other hundred." This story hasn't any thing to do with my lecture, I know ; but one of the principal features of my lecture is that it contains so many things that do n't have any thing to do with it. 1 met a man in Oregon who had n't any teeth, not a tooth in his head; yet that man could play on the bass- drum better than any man I ever met. He kept a hotel. They have queer hotels in Oregon. I remember one where they gave me a bag of oats for a pillow. I had nightmares, of course. In the morning the landlord said: "How do you feel, old boss, hay?" I told him I felt my oats. 250 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. I went to Great Salt Lake City by way of California. I went to California on the steamer Ariel. When I reached the Ariel, at pier No. 4, New York, I found the passengers in a state of great confusion about their things, which were being thrown around by the ship's porters in a manner at once damaging and idiotic. So great was the excitement, my fragile form was smashed this way, and jammed tliat way, till finally I was shoved into a state- room which was occupied by two middle-aged females, who said: "Baseman, leave us; O, leave us!" I left them; O, I left them ! I here introduce a great work of art. It is an oil paint- ing, done in petroleum. It is by the Old Masters. It was the last thing they did before dying. They did this, and then they expired. Some of the greatest artists in town come here every morning before daylight with lanterns to look at it. They say they never saw any thing like it before, and they hope they never shall again. When I first showed this picture in New York, the audi- ence were so enthusiastic in their admiration of it that they called for the artist ; and when he appeared, they threw brick- bats at him. The Overland Mail Coach is a den on wheels in which we were crammed for ten days and ten nights. Those of you who have been in the penitentiary, and stayed there any length of time, as visitors, can realize how I felt. The actors of the Mormon theater are all amateurs, who charge nothing for their services. You must know that very little money is taken at the doors of their theaters. The Mormons mostly pay in grain and all sorts of articles. The night I gave my little lecture there, among my re- ceipts were corn, flour, pork, cheese, chickens— on foot and in the shell. One family went in on a live pig. I dislike to speak about it, but it was in Utah that I HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 251 made the great speech of my life. I wish you could have heard it. I have a fine education. Perhaps you may have noticed it. I speak four different languages : Maine, New York, California, and Pennsylvania. My parents sold a cow, and sent me to college when I was quite young. I wish you could have heard that speech, however. If Cicero — he 's dead now ; he has gone from us — but if old Ciss could have heard that effort, it would have given him the rinder- pest. I'll tell you how it was. There were stationed in Utah two regiments of United States troops, the 21st from California, and the 37th from Nevada. The 21-sters asked me to present a stand of colors to the 37-sters, and I did it in a speech so abounding in eloquence that they came near shooting me on the spot. Brigham Young had two hundred Avives. Just think of that! Oblige me, ladies and gentlemen, by thinking of that. That is, he had eighty actual wives, and was spiritu- ally married to one hundred and twenty more. So we may say he had two hundred wives. He loved not wisely, but two hundred well. He was dreadfully married. He was the most married man I ever saw in my life. I saw his mother-in-law while I was there. I can't ex- actly tell you how many there is of her, but it's a good deal. It strikes me that one mother-in-law is about enough to have in a family, unless you 're very fond of excitement. By the way, Shakespeare indorses polygamy. He speaks of the Merry Wives of Windsor. How many wives did Mr. Windsor have? Brother Kimball is a gay and festive cuss of some sev- enty summers, or some 'ers thereabout. He has one thou- sand head of cattle and a hundred head of wives. Mr. Kimball had a son, a lovely young man, who was married to ten interesting wives. But one day, while he was absent from home, these ten wives went out walking with a handsome young man, which so enraged Mr. Kim- 252 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. ball's son — \vhich made Mr. KimbaH's son so jealous — that he shot himself with a horse-pistol. The doctor who attended him, a very scientifie man, in- formed me that the bullet entered the inner parallelogram of his diaphragmatic thorax, superinducing membranous hemorrhage in the outer cuticle of his basiliconthamaturgist. It killed him, I should have thought it w^ould. I hope his sad end will be a warning to all youug wives who go out walking with handsome young men. Mr. Kimball's son is now no more. He sleeps beneath the Cyprus, the myrtle, and willow. He died by request. I regret to say that efforts were made to make a Mormon of me while I was in Utah. It was leap-year when I was there, and seventeen young widows, the wives of a deceased Mormon, offered me their hearts and hands. I called on them one day, and taking their soft white hands in mine, which made eighteen hands altogether, I found them in tears. And I said: ''Why is this thus! What is the reason of this thusness?" They hove a sigh — seventeen sighs of different size. They said : " O, soon thou wilt be gonested away!" I told them that when I got ready to leave a place I wentested. They said : ' ' Doth not like us ? " I said: "I doth, I doth ! " I also said: "I hope your intentions are honorable, as I am a lone child, my parents being far, far away." They then said : '' Wilt not marry us?" I said : *' O no ; it can not was." Again they asked me to marry them, and again I de- clined, when they cried: " O, cruel man I This is too much ! O, too much ! " I told them that it was on account of the muchness that I declined. I Avas told in my youth to seize opportunity. I once tried to seize one. He was rich. He had diamonds on. H UMOE US AND DELINEA TI VE. 253 As I seized him, he knocked me down. Since then I have learned that he who seizes opportunity sees the penitentiary. I will seize this opportunity to close my lecture. ARTEMUS WARD. PLATONIC LOVE. I HAD sworn to be a bachelor; she had sworn to be a maid ; For we quite agreed in doubting whether matrimony paid; Besides we had our higher loves: fair science ruled my heart, And she said her young affections were all wound up in art. So we laughed at those wise men, who say that friendship can not live 'Twixt man and woman, unless each has something more to give ; We would be friends, and friends as true as e'er were man and man ; I'd be a second David, and she Miss Jonathan. AVe scorned all sentimental trash — vows, kisses, tears, and sighs; High friendship, such as ours, might Avell such childish arts despise ; We liked each other — that was all, quite all there was to say; So we just shook hands upon it, in a business sort of way. We shared our secrets and our joys, together hoped and feared ; With common purpose sought the goal that young Ambition reared ; We dreamed together of the days, the dream-bright days to come; We were strictly confidential, and we called each other "chum." And many a daj'^ we wandered together o'er the hills ; I seeking bugs and butterflies, and she the ruined mills And rustic bridges, and the like, that picture-makers prize To run in with their waterfalls, and groves, and summer skies. And many a quiet evening, in hours of silent ease. We floated down the river, or strolled beneath the trees; And talked in long gradation, from the poets to the weather, AVhile the western skies and my cigar burned slowly out together. Yet through it all no whispered v/Ord, no tell-tale glance or sigh, Told aught of warmer sentiment than friendly sympathy ; We talked of love as coolly as Ave talked of Nebulae, And thought no more of being one than we did of being three. 254 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. "Well, good-bye, chum ! " I took her hand, for the time had come to go; My going meant our parting — when to meet we did not know. I had lingered long, and said farewell with a very heavy heart; For although we were but friends, 'tis hard for honest friends to part. "Good-bye, old fellow! do n't forget your friends beyond the sea. And some day, when you 've lots of time, drop a line or two to me." The words came lightly, gayly ; but a great sob, just behind, Welled upward with a story of quite a different kind. And then she raised her eyes to mine — great liquid eyes of blue, Filled to the brim and running o'er, like violet cups of dew; One long, long glance, and then I did, what I never did before ; Perhaps the tears meant friendship, but I'm sure the kiss meant more. william b. terrett. THE MULE AND THE BEES. I WAS visiting a gentleman who lived in the vicinity of Los Angeles. The morning was beautiful. The plash of little cascades about the grounds, the buzz of bees, and the gentle moving of the foliage of the pepper-trees in the scarcely perceptible ocean-breeze, made up a picture which I thought was complete. It was not. A mule wandered on the scene. The scene, I thought, could have got along without him. He took a different view. Of course mules w^ere not allowed on the grounds. That is what he knew. That was his reason for being there. I recognized him. Had met him. His lower lip hung down. He looked disgusted. It seemed he did n't like being a mule. A day or two before, while I was trying to pick up a little child who had got too near this mule's heels, he kicked me two or three times before I could tell from which way I was hit. I might have avoided some of the kicking, but in my confusion I began to kick at the mule. I did n't kick with him long. He outnumbered me. HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 255 He browsed along on the choice shrubbery. I forgot the beauty of the morning. Remembered A black-and-blue spot on my leg. It looked like the print of a mule's hoof. There was another on my right hip. Where my suspenders crossed were two more, as I have been informed. They were side by side — twin blue spots — and seemed to be about the same age. I thought of revenge. I did n't w^ant to kick with him any more. No. But thought, if I had hiii> tied down good and fast, so he could not move his heels, how like sweet in- cense it would be to first saw his ears and tail smooth off, then put out his eyes with a red-hot poker, then skin him alive, then run him through a threshing-machine. While I was thus thinking, and getting madder and mad- der, the mule, which had wandered up close to a large bee- hive, got stung. His eyes lighted up, as if that was just what he w-as looking for. He turned on the bee-hive and took aim. He fired. In ten seconds the only piece of bee- hive I could see was about the size a man feels when he has told a joke that falls on the company like a piece of sad news. This piece Avas in the air. It was being kicked at. The bees swarmed. They swarmed a good deal. They lit on that mule earnestly. After he had kicked the last bit of bee-hive so high that he could not reach it any more, he stopped for an instant. He seemed trying to ascertain whether the ten thousand bees which were stinging him meant it. They did. The mule turned loose. I never saw any thing to equal it. He was enveloped in a dense fog of earnestness and bees, and filled with enthusiasm and stings. The more he kicked, the higher he arose from the ground. I may have been mistaken, for I was somewhat excited and very much delighted, but that mule seemed to rise as high as the tops of the pepper-trees. The pepper-trees were twenty feet high. He would open and shut himself like a frog swimming. Sometimes, when he was in mid-air, he would look like he was flyiiig, and I would 256 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. think for a moment he was about to become an angel. Only for a moment. There are probably no mule angels. When he had got up to the tops of the pepper-trees I was called to breakfast. I told them I didn't want any breakfast. The mule continued to be busy. When a mule kicks himself clear of the earth, his heels seldom reach higher than his back ; that is, a mule's fore- legs can reach forward and his hind-legs backward until the mule becomes straightened out into a line of mule parallel with the earth and fifteen or twenty feet therefrom. This mule's hind-legs, however, were not only raised into a line w'ith his back, but they would come over until the bottom of the hoofs almost touched his ears. The mule proceeded as if he desired to hurry through. I had no idea how many bees a hive would hold until I saw that bee-hive emptied on that mule. They covered him so completely that I could not see any of him but the glare of his eyes. I could see from the expression of his eyes that he did n't like the way things were going. The mule still went on in an absorbed kind of a way. Not only was every bee of the disturbed hive on duty, but I think the news had been conveyed to neighboring hives that war had been declared. I could see bees flitting to and fro. The mule was covered so deep with bees that he looked like an exaggerated mule. The hum of the bees and their moving on each other combined in a seething hiss. A sw^eet calm and a gentle peacefulness pervaded me. AVhen he had kicked for an hour he began to fall short of the tops of the pepper-trees. He was settling down closer to the earth. Numbers were telling on him. He looked distressed. He had always been used to kicking against something, but found now he was striking the air. It was very exhausting. He finally got so he did not rise clear of the ground, but continued to kick with both feet for half an hour; next with first one foot and then the other for another half an hour; HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 257 then with his right foot only every few minutes, the inter- vals growing longer and longer, until he finally was still. His head drooped ; his lip hung lower and lower. The bees stung on. He looked as if he thought that a mean, sneak- ing advantage had been taken of him. I retired from the scene. Early next morning I returned. The sun came slowly up from behind the eastern hills. The light foliage of the pepper-trees trembled with his morning caress. His golden kiss fell upon the opening roses. A bee could be seen flying hither; another thither. The mule lay near the scene of yesterday's struggle. Peace had come to him. He was dead. Too much kicking against nothing. LOCK MELONE. THE NEW BABY. There came to port last Sunday night The queerest little craft, Without an inch of rigging on ; I looked, and looked, and laughed. It seemed so curious that she Should cross the unknown water. And moor herself right in my room, My daughter, O my daughter! She has no manifest but this; No flag floats o'er the water ; She 's too new for the British Lloyds — My daughter, O my daughter! Ring out, wild bells, and tame ones, too! Ring out the lover's moon ! Ring in the little worsted socks ! Ring in the bib and spoon ! Ring out the muse! Ring in the nurse! Ring in the milk and water! Away with paper, pen, and ink — My daughter, O my daughter ! 22 GEORGE W. CARLE 258 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. THE OLD READING-CLASS. I CAN NOT tell you, Genevieve, how it comes to me — That rather young old reading-class in District Number Three; That row of elocutionists who stood so straight in line, And charged at standard literature with amiable design. We did not spare the energy in which our words were clad; We gave the meaning of the text by all the light we had; But still I fear the ones who wrote the lines we read so free Would scarce have recognized their work in District Number Three. Outside the snow was smooth and clean— the winter's thick-laid dust; The storm it made tlie windows speak at every sudden gust; Bright sleigh-bells threw us pleasant words when travelers would pass ; The maple-trees along the road stood shivering in their class; Beyond, the white-browed cottages were nestling cold and dumb. And far away the mighty world seemed beckoning us to come — The wondrous world, of which we conned what had been and might be, In that old-fashioned reading-class of District Number Three. We took a hand nt History — its altars, spires, and flames — And uniformly mispronounced the most important names; We wandered through Biography, and gave our fancy play, And with some subjects fell in love — "good only for one day;" In Romance and Philosophy we settled many a point. And made what poems we assailed to creak at every joint; And many authors that we love, you will with me agree. Were first time intioduced to us in District Number Three. You recollect Susannah Smith, the teacher's sore distress, Who never stopped at any pause— a sort of day express? And timid young Sylvester Jones, of inconsistent sight. Who stumbled on the easy Avords, and read the hard ones right? And Jennie Green, whose doleful voice was always clothed in black? And Samuel Hicks, whose tones induced the plastering all to crack ? HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 259 And Andrew Tabbs, whose various mouths were quite a show to see? Ahis ! we can not find them now in District Number Tliree. And Jasper Jenclces, whose tears would flow at each patlietic word. (He's in the prize-fight business now, and hits them hard, I've heard) ; And Benny Bayne, whose every tone lie murmured as in fear (His tongue is not so timid now : he is an auctioneer) ; And Lanty Wood, whose voice was just endeavoring hard to change, And leaped from hoarse to fiercely shrill with most surprising range ; Also his sister Mary Jane, so full of prudish glee. Alas! they 're both in higher schools than District Number Three. So back the various voices come, though long the years have grown, And sound, uncommonly distinct through memory's telephone; And some are full of melody, and bring a sense of cheer, And some can smite the rock of time, and summon forth a tear ; But one sweet voice comes back to me, whenever sad I grieve, And sings a song, and that is yours, peerless Genevieve ! It brightens up the olden times, and throws a smile at me — A silver star amid tlie clouds of District Number Three. WILL cahleton. A NEW CURE FOR RHEUMATISM. One day, not a great while ago, Mr. Middlerib read a paragraph copied from a German paper, which is an ac- cepted authority on such points, stating that the sting of a bee was a sure cure for rheumatism, and citing several re- markable instances in which people had been perfectly cured by this abrupt remedy. He read the article several times, and pondered over it. He understood that the stinging must be done scientifically and thoroughly. The bee, as he understood the article, was to be gripped by the ears and set down upon the rheumatic 260 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. joint, and held there until it stung itself stingless. He had some misgivings about the matter. He knew it would hurt. He hardly thought it could hurt any worse than the rheu- matism, and it had been so many years since he had been stung by a bee that he had almost forgotten what it felt like. He had, however, a general feeling that it would hurt some. But desperate diseases required desperate reme- dies, and Mr. Middlerib was willing to undergo any amount of suffering if it would cure his rheumatism. He contracted with Master Middlerib for a limited sup- ply of bees. There were bees and bees, humming and buz- zing about in the summer air, but Mr. Middlerib did not know how to get them. He felt, however, that he could safely depend upon the instincts and methods of boyhood. He knew that if there was any way in heaven or earth whereby the shyest bee that ever lifted a two hundred- pound man off the clover, could be induced to enter a wide- mouthed glass bottle, his son knew that way. For the small sum of one dime Master Middlerib agreed to procure several ; to wit, six bees, age not specified ; but as Mr. Middlerib was left in uncertainty as to the race, it was made obligatory upon the contractor to have three of them honey, and three humble, or, in the generally accepted vernacular, bumble bees. Mr. Middlerib did \^f^t tell his son what he Avanted those bees for, and the boy went off on his mission with his head so full of astonishment that it fairly whirled. Evening brings all home, and the last rays of the declining sun fell upon Master Middlerib with a short, wide- mouthed bottle comfortably populated with hot, ill-natured bees, and Mr. Middlerib, and a dime. The dime and the bottle changed hands. Mr. Middlerib put the bottle in his coat pocket, and went into the house, eying every body lie met very suspiciously, as though he had made up his mind to sting to death the first person that said "bee" to him. He confided his guilty secret to none of his family. He hid his bees in his bedroom, and as he looked at them just HUMOROUS AND DELINK A TIVE. 261 before puttiag them away, he half wished the experiment was safely over. He wished the imprisoned bees did n't look so hot and cross. With exquisite care he submerged the bottle in a basin of water, and let a few drops in on the heated in- mates, to cool them off. At the tea-table he had a great fright. Miss Middlerib, in the artless simplicity of her I'omantic nature, said : " I smell bees. How the odor brings up that article " But her father glared at her, and said, with superfluous harshness : " Hush up ! You do n't smell bees." Whereupon Mrs. Middlerib asked him if he had eaten any thing that disagreed with him, and Miss Middlerib said: ** Why, pa ! " and Master Middlerib smiled and said nothing. Bed-time came at last, and the night was warm and sul- try. Under various false pretenses, Mr. Middlerib strolled about the house until every body else was in bed, and then he sought his room. He turned the night-lamp down until its feeble rays shone dimly as a death-light. Mr. Middlerib disrobed slowly — very slowly. When at last he was ready to go lumbering into his peaceful couch, he heaved a profound sigh, so full ©f apprehension and grief that Mrs. Middlerib, who was awakened by it, said if it gave him so much pain to come to bed, perhaps he had better sit up all night. Mr. Middlerib checked another sigh, but said nothing, and crept into bed. After lying still a few moments, he reached out and got his bottle of bees. It w^as not an easy thing to do, to pick one bee out of a bottle full, with his fingers, and not get into trouble. The first bee Mr. Middlerib got was a little brown honey-bee that w^ould n't weigh half an ounce if you picked him up by the ears, but if you lifted him by the leg, as Mr. Middlerib did, would weigh considerable. Mr. Middlerib could not repress a groan. ''What's the matter with you?" sleepily asked his wife. It was very hard for Mr. Middlerib to say; he only 262 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. knew his temperature had risen to one hundred and ninety- seven on the end of his thumb. He reversed tlie bee and pressed the warlike terminus of it firmly against his rheu- matic knee. It did n't hurt so badly as he thought it would. It did n't hurt at all ! Then Mr. Middlerib remembered that when the honey- bee stabs a human foe, it generally leaves its harpoon in the wound, and the invalid knew then the only thing the bee had to sting with was doing its work at the end of his thumb. He reached his arm out from under the sheet, and dropped his disabled atom of rheumatism liniment on the carpet. Then, after a second of blank wonder, he began to feel around for the bottle, and wished he knew what he had done with it. In the meantime strange things had been going on. When he caught hold of the first bee, Mr. Middlerib, for rea- sons, drew it out in such haste that for the time he forgot all about the bottle and its remedial contents, and left it lying uncorked in the bed. In the darkness there had been a quiet but general emigration from that bottle. The bees, their wings clogged with the water JMr. ^liddlerib had poured upon them to cool and tranquilize them, were crawling aim- lessly about over the sheet. While Mr. Middlerib was feel- ing around for it, his ears were suddenly thrilled and his heart frozen by a wild, piercing scream from his wife. Mr. Middlerib sat bolt upright in bed. His hair stood on end. The night was very warm, but he turned to ice in a minute. " Where, O, where," he said, with pallid lips, as he felt all over the bed in frenzied haste, " where in the world are them confounded bees?" And a large "bumble," with a sting as pitiless as the finger of scorn, just then alighted between Mr. Middlerib's shoulders, and went for his marrow, and said calmly: *' Here is one of them." HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 263 And Mrs. Middlerib felt ashamed of her feeble screams when Mr. Middlerib threw up both arms, and with a howl that made the windows rattle, roared : "Take him off! O, land of Scott! somebody take him off! " And Avhen a little honey-bee began tickling the sole of Mrs. Middlerib's foot, she shrieked that the house was be- witched, and immediately went into spasms. The household was aroused by this time. Miss Middle- rib, and Master Middlerib, and the servants, were pouring into the room, adding to the general confusion, by howling at random and asking irrelevant questions, while they gazed at the figure of a man, a little on in years, pawing fiercely at the unattainable spot in the middle of his backj while he danced an unnatural, wicked-looking jig by the dim light of the night-lamp. And while he danced and howled, and while they gazed and shouted, a navy-blue wasp, that Master Middlerib had put in the bottle for good measure and va- riety, and to keep the menagerie stirred up, had dried his legs and wings with a corner of the sheet, and after a pre- liminary circle or two around the bed, to get up his motion and settle down to a working gait, fired himself across the room ; and to his dying day, Mr. Middlerib will always be- lieve that one of the servants mistook him for a burglar and shot him. No one, not even Mr. Middlerib himself, could doubt that he was, at least for the time, most thoroughly cured of rheumatism. His own boy could not have carried himself more lightly or with greater agility. But the cure was not permanent, and Mr. Middlerib does not like to talk about it. R. J. BURDETTE. THE BORK. Again I hear the creaking step ! He 's rapping at the door ! Too well I know the boding sound That ushers in a bore. 264 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y. I do not tremble when I meet The stoutest of my foes ; But Heaven defend me from the friend Who comes, but never goes. He drops into my easy-chair, And asks about the news; He peers into my manuscript, And gives his candid views. He tells me where he likes the line. And where he 's forced to grieve; He takes the strangest liberties, But never takes — his leave. He reads my daily papers through Before I 've seen a word ; He scans the lyric that I wrote And thinks it quite absurd. He calmly smokes my best cigar. And coolly asks for more ; He opens every thing he sees. Except — the entry door. He talks about his fragile health, And tells me of his pains; He suffers from a score of ills Of which he ne'er complains ; And how he struggled once with death To keep the fiend at bay. On themes like those away he goes. But never goes — away ! He tells me of the captious words, Some shallow critic wrote, And every precious paragraph Familiarly can quote. He thinks the writer did me wrong, He 'd like to run him through ! He says a thousand pleasant things, But never says — adieu. Whene'er he comes, that dreadful man, Dis2uise it as I may, I know that like an autumn rain, He '11 last throughout the day. HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 265 In vain I speak of urgent tasks, In vain I scowl and pout ; A frown is no extinguisher, It does not — put him out. I mean to take the knocker off, Put crape upon the door, Or hint to John that I am gone To stay a month or more. I do not tremble when I meet The stoutest of my foes ; But Heaven defend me from the friend Who never, never goes! j. g. saxe. RIDING ON THE RAIL. Singing through the forests, rattling over ridges. Shooting under arches, rumbling over bridges, Whizzing through the mountains, buzzing o'er the vale,- Bless me ! this is pleasant, riding on the rail ! Men of different stations in the eye of Fame, Here are very quickly coming to the same ; High and lowly people, birds of every feather, On a common level, traveling together ! Gentlemen in shorts, blooming very tall ; Gentlemen at large, talking very small ; Gentlemen in tights, with a loosish mien ; Gentlemen in gray, looking very green ! Gentlemen quite old, asking for the news ; Gentlemen in black, with a fit of blues ; Gentlemen in claret, sober as a vicar ; Gentlemen in tweed, dreadfully in liquor ! Stranger on the right looking very sunny. Obviously reading something very funny. Now the smiles are thicker — wonder what they mean? Faith, he 's got the Knickerbocker Magazine ! Stranger on the left, closing up his peepers ; Now he snores amain, like the Seven Sleepers; At his feet a volume gives the explanation, How the man grew stupid from ** association ! " 23 266 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Ancient maiden lady anxiously remarks That tliore must be peril •'mong so many sparks; Roguish-looking fellow, turning to the stranger, Says 'tis his opinion she is out of danger! Woman with her baby, sitting vis a vis ; Baby keeps a-squalling, woman looks at me; Asks about the distance — says 'tis tiresome talking, Noises of the cars are so very shocking ! Market woman, careful of the precious casket, Knowing eggs are eggs, tightly holds her basket ; Feeling that a smash, if it came, would surely Send her eggs to pot rather prematurely. Singing through the forests, rattling over ridges. Shooting under arches, rumbling over bridges, Whizzing through the mountains, buzzing o'er the vale,- Bless me! this is pleasant, riding on the rail! JOHN G. SAXE. SONGS OF THE NIGHT. It was the Cedar Rapids sleeper. Outside it was as dark as the inside of an ink-bottle. In the sleeping-car people slept. Or tried it. Some of them slept like Christian men and women, peacefully, sweetly, and quietly. Others slept like demons, malignantly, hideously, fiend- ishly, as though it was their mission to keep every body else awake. Of these the man in lower number three was the worst. We never heard any thing snore like him. It was the most systematic 'Coring that was ever done, even on one of these tournaments of snoring, a sleeping-car. He did n't begin as soon as the lamps were turned down and every body was in bed. O no! There was more cold-blooded diabolism in his system than that. He waited until every body had had a taste of sleep, just to see how nice and pleasant it was; and then he broke in on their slumbers HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 267 like a winged, breathing demon, and they never knew what peace was again that night. He started out with a terrific "G-r-r-rt!" that opened every eye in the car. We all hoped it was an accident, however; and trusting that he wouldn't do it again, we all forgave him. Then he blasted our hopes and curdled the sweet serenity of our forgiveness by a long-drawn " Gw-a- h-h-hah ! " that sounded too much like business to be ac- cidental. Then every head in that sleepless sleeper was held off the pillow for a minute, waiting in breathless sus- pense to hear the worst; and the sleeper in ''lower three" went on in long-drawn, regular cadences, that indicated good staying qualities, " Gwa-a-a-h ! Gwa-a-a-a-h! Gah way- way! Gahwaywah ! Gahwa-a-ah ! " Evidently it was going to last all night ; and the weary heads dropped back on the sleepless pillows, and the swear- ing began. It mumbled along in low, muttering tones, like the distant echoes of a profane thunder-storm. Pretty soon "lower three" gave us a little variation. He shot off a spiteful "Gwook! " which sounded as though his nose had got angry at him, and was going to strike. Then there was a pause, and we began to hope he had either awakened from sleep or strangled to death; nobody cared very particularly which. But he disappointed every body with a guttural *'Gurchoch!" Then he paused again for breath, and when he had ac- cumulated enough for his purpose he resumed business with a stentorious " Kowpf ! " He ran through all the ranges of the nasal gamut ; he went up and down a very chromatic scale of snores ; he ran through intricate and fearful variations, until it seemed that his nose must be out of joint in a thousand places. All the night, and all night through, he told his story. ''Gawoh! gurrah! g-r-r-r ! Kowpff! Gaw-aw-wah ! gaw- ahhah ! gwock ! gwarrt ! gwah-h-h-11-whoof ! " Just as the other passengers had consulted together how 268 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. they might slay him, morning dawned, and "lower number three" awoke. Every body watched the curtain to see what manner of man it was that had made that beautiful sleep- ing-car a pandemonium. Presently the toilet was com- pleted, the curtains parted, and "lower number three" stood revealed. Great guns ! It was a fair young girl with golden hair, and timid, pleading eyes, like a hunted fawn's. BURLINGTON HAWKEYE. SAM'S LETTER. I WONDER who w-wote me this letter. I thuppose the b-best "Way to f-find out ith to open it and thee. (Opens letter.) Thome lun-lunatic hath w-witten me this letter. He h ath w-witten it upthide down. I wonder if he th-thought I wath going to w-wead it sthanding on my head. 0, yeth, I thee ; I had it t-t-turned upthide down. " Amewica." Who do I know in Amewica? I am glad he hath g-given me hith addwess anyhow. O, yeth, I thee, it ith from Tham. I alwaths know Tham's handwiting when I thee hith name at the b-bottom of it. "My dear bwother — " Tham alwayths called me bwother. I-I thuppose iths because hith m-mother and my mother wath the thame woman, and we never had any thisters. When we were boyths we were ladths together. They used to ge-get off a pwoverb when they thaw uth com-coming down the stweet. It ith vewy good, if I could only think of it. I can never wecollect any thing that I can 't we-wemember. Iths — it iths the early bir-bird — iths the early bir-bird that knowths iths own fjither. What non-nonthense that iths! How co-could a bir-bird know iths own father? Iths a withe — iths a withe child — iths a withe child that geths the wom. T-that's not wite. What non-nonthense that iths! No pa-pawent would allow hiths child to ga-gather woms. Iths a wyme. Iths fish of-of a feather. Fish of a fea — What non-nonthense ! HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 269 for fish do n't have feathers. Iths a bir-bird — iths b-birds of a feather — b-birds of a feather flock together. B-birds of a feather! Just as if a who-who-whole flock of b-birds had only one f- feather. They'd all catch cold, and only one b-bird c-could have that f-feather, and he'd fly sidewithse. What con-confounded nonthense that iths ! Flock to-to- gether ! Of courthse th-they'd flock together. Who ever her-heard of a bird being such a f-fool as to g-go into a c-corner and flo-flock by himself? *'I wo-wote you a letter thome time ago — " Thath 's a lie ; he d-did n't wi-wite me a letter. If he had witten me a letter he would have posted it, and I would have g-got it ; so, of courthse, he did n't post it, and then he did n't wite it. Thath 's easy. O, yeths, I thee : ' ' but I dwopped it into the poth-potht-office forgetting to diwect it." I wonder who the d-dic-dickens got that letter. I wonder if the poth-pothman iths gwoin' awound inquiring for a f-fellow without a name. I wonder if there iths any fel-fellow without any name. If there iths any fel-fellow •without any name, how doeths he know who he iths him- thelf? I-I wonder if thuch a fellow could get mawaid. How could he ask hiths wife to take hiths name if he h-had no name ? Thath's one of thothse things no fellow can f-find out. **Ihave just made a startling dithcovery." Tham's alwayths d-doing thomthiug. " I have dithcovered that my mother iths — that m-my mother iths not my m-mother ; that a — the old nurse is my m-mother, and that you are not my b-bwother, and a — tha-that I was changed at my birth." How c-can a fellow be changed at hith b-birth ? If he iths not himthelf, who iths he ? If Tham's m-mother is not hith m-mother, and the nurthse iths hith mother, and Tham ith 7j't my bwother, w^ho ami? That's one of thothse things that no fel-fellow can find out. *'I have p-purchased an ethstate som-^vhere — " Doth n't the id-idiot know wh-where h-he has bouth it? O, yeths : *' on the bankths of the M-M-Mithithippi." Wh-who iths M-Mithithippi ? I g-gueth ith's Tham's m-mother-in-1-law. Tham's got mawaid. 270 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. He th-thayths he felt v-vewy ner-nervous. He alwaytlis waths a lucky fellow getting th-thiiigs he did n't want, and had n't any use for. Thpeaking of niother-in-lawths, I had a fwiend who had a mother-in-law, and he did n't like her pwetty well ; and she f-felt the thame way towards him ; and they went away on a st-steamer acwoth the ocean, and they got wecked, catht away on a waft, and they floated awouud with their feet iu the water and other amuthe- ments, living on thuch things ath they could pick up — thardinths, ithcweam, owanges, and other c-canned goodths that were floating awound. When that waths all gone, every body ate every body else. F-finally only himthelf and hiths m-mother-in-law waths left, and they pl-played a game of c-cards to thee who thould be eaten up, himthelf or hith mother-in-law. A-a — the mother-in-law lotht. H-he treated her handthomelv, only he strapped h-her flat on iier back, and c-carved her gently. H-h-he thays that waths the f-first time that he ever weally enjoyed a m-mother-in-law. THE OWL CRITIC. " Who stuffed that white owl ! " No one spoke in the shop. The barber was busy,-and he could n't stop ; The customers, waiting their turn, were all reading The Daily, the Herald, the Post, little heeding The young man who blurted out such a blunt question. Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion ; And the barber kept on shaving. *' Don't you see, Mister Brown," cried the youth with a frown, "How wrong the whole thing is, how preposterous each wing is. How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is; In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis! I make no apology ; I 've learned owl-eology. I 've passed days and nights in a hundred collections. And can not be blinded to any deflections Arising from unskillful fingers that fail To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail. HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 271 Mr. Brown ! Mr. Brown ! Do take that bird down, Or you '11 soon be the laughing-stock all over town ! " And the barber kept on shaving. " I 've studied owls and other night fowls, And I '11 tell you what I know to be true : An owl can not roost with his limbs so unloosed. No owl in the world ever had his claws curled, Ever had his legs slanted, ever had his bill canted, Ever had his neck screwed into that attitude — Can 't do it, because 't is against all bird laws. Anatomy teaches, ornithology preaches, An owl has a toe that can't turn out so ! I've made the white owl my study for years, And to see such a job almost moves me to tears ! Mister Brown, I 'm amazed you should be so gone crazed As to put up a bird in that posture absurd ! To look at that owl really brings on a dizziness; The man who stuffed him don't half know his business! " And the barber kept on shaving. " Examine those eyes ; I 'm filled with surprise Taxidermists should pass ofl" on you such poor glass ; So unnatural they seem, they 'd make Audubon scream, And John Burroughs laugh, to encounter such chaff. Do take that bird down, have him stuffed again, Brown ! " And the barber kept on shaving, " With some saw-dust and bark, I could stuff in the dark An owl better than that. I could make an old hat Look more like an owl than that horrid fowl. Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather; In fact, about him there 's not one natural feather." Just then with a wink and a sly, normal lurch. The owl very gravely got down' from the perch. Walked round and regarded his fault-finding critic (Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic, And then fairly hooted, as if he should say : "Your learning's at fault this time any way; Do n't waste it again on a live bird, I pray. I 'm an owl ; you 're another. Sir Critic, good-day ! " And the barber kept on shaving. JAMES T. FIELDS. 272 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. PYRAMUS AND THISBE. This tragical tale, which they say is a true one, Is old ; but the manner is wholly a new one. One Ovid, a writer of some reputation, Has told it before in a tedious narration ; In a style, to be sure, of remarkable fullness, But which nobody reads on account of its dullness. Young Peter Pyramus — I call him Peter, Not for the sake of the rhyme or the meter, But merely to make the name completer — For Peter lived in the olden times, And in one of the worst of pagan climes That flourish now in classical fame, Long before either noble or boor Had such a thing as a Christian name. Young Peter, then, was a nice young beau As any young lady would wish to know ; In years, I ween, he was rather green ; That is to say, he was just eighteen — A trifle too short, a shaving too lean, But " a nice young man " as ever was seen, And fit to dance with a May-day queen! Now Peter loved a beautiful girl As ever ensnared the heart of ah earl In the magical trap of an auburn curl — A little Miss Thisbe, who lived next door (They slept, in fact, on the very same floor, With a wall between them, and nothing more — Those double dwellings were common of yore). And thej'^ loved each other, the legends say, In that very beautiful, bountiful way. That every young maid and every young blade Are wont to do before they grow staid. And learn to love by the laws of trade ; But (alack-a-day, for the girl and boy ! ) A little impediment checked their joy, And gave them awhile the deepest annoy ; For some good reason, which history cloaks. The match did n't happen to please the old folks ! HUMOROUS AND BELINEATIVE. 273 So Thisbe's father and Peter's mother Began the young couple to worry and bother, And tried their innocent passion to smother, By Iveeping the lovers from seeing each other ! But who ever heard of a marriage deterred. Or even deferred, By any contrivance so very absurd As scolding the boy and caging the bird ? Now Peter, who was n't discouraged at all By obstacles such as the timid appall, Contrived to discover a hole in the wall, Whi(;h Avas n't so thick, but removing a brick Made a passage — though rather provokingly small. Through this little chink the lover could greet her. And secrecy made their courting the sweeter, While Peter kissed Thisbe, and Thisbe kissed Peter — For kisses, like folks with diminutive souls, Will manage to creep through the smallest of holes ! 'Twas here that the lovers, intent upon love. Made a nice little plot to meet at a spot. Near a mulberry- tree, in a neighboring grove ; For the plan was all laid by the youth and the maid, Whose hearts, it would seem, were uncommonly bold ones, To run off and get married in spite of the old ones. In the shadows of evening, as still as a mouse, The beautiful maiden slipped out of the house, The mulberry-tree impatient to find ; While Peter, the vigilant matrons to blind, Strolled leisurely out, some minutes behind. While waiting alone by the trysting-tree, A terrible lion, as e'er you set eye on, Came roaring along quite horrid to see, And caused the young maiden in terror to fiee, (A lion 's a creature whose regular trade is Blood — and " a terrible thing among ladies,") And losing her veil, as she ran from the wood, The monster bedabbled it over with blood. Now Peter arriving, and seeing the veil All covered o'er and reeking with gore. Turned, all of a sudden, exceedingly pale, And sat himself down to weep and to wail — 274 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. For, soon as he saw the garment, poor Peter Made up his mind in very short meter Tliat Tliisbe was dead, and the Hon had eat l)er! So breathing a prayer, he determined to share The fate of liis darhng, "the loved and the lost," And fell on his dagger, and gave up the ghost! Now Thisbe returning, and viewing her beau Lying dead by her veil (which she happened to know), She guessed in a moment the cause of his erring ; And, seizing the knife that had taken his life. In less than a jiffy was dead as a herring. J. G. SAXE. UNCLE TOM AND THE HORNETS. There is an old woman on Catliarine Street who de- lights to find a case that all the doctors have failed to cure, and then go to work with herbs, and roots, and strange things, and try to effect at least an improvement. A few days ago she got hold of a girl with a stiff neck, and she of- fered an old negro named Uncle Tom Kelly fifty cents to go to the woods and bring her a hornet's nest. This was to be steeped in vinegar, and applied to the neck. The old man spent several days along the Holden Road, and yesterday morning he secured his prize and brought it home in a bas- ket. When he reached the Central Market he had a iew little purchases to make, and after getting some tea at a grocery, he placed his basket on a barrel near the stove, and went out to look for a beef-bone. It was a dull day for trade. The grocer sat by the stove, rubbing his bald head. His clerk stood at the desk, balancing accounts; and three or four men lounged around, talking about the new party that is to be founded on the ruins of Democracy. It was a serene hour. One hundred and fifty hornets had gone to roost in that nest for the win- ter. The genial atmosphere began to limber them up. One old veteran opened his eyes, rubbed his legs, and said it was HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 275 the shortest winter he had ever known in all his hornet days. A second shook off' his lethargy and seconded the" motion, and in five minutes the whole nest was alive, and its owners were ready to sail out and investigate. You do n't have to hit a hornet with the broad side of an ax to make him mad. He 's mad all over all the time, and he doesn't care a picayune whether he tackles a humming- bird or an elephant. The grocer was telling one of the men that he and General Grant were boys together, when he gave a sudden start of surprise. This was followed by several other starts. Then he jumped over a barrel of sugar, and yelled like a Pawnee. Some smiled, thinking he was after a funny climax ; but it was only a minute before a solemn old farmer jumped three feet high and came down to roll over a job-lot of washboards. Then the clerk ducktjd his head and made a rush for the door. He did n't get there. One of the other men, who had been looking up and down to see what could be the matter, felt suddenly called upon to go home. He was going at the rate of forty miles an hour, when he collided with the clerk, and they rolled on the floor. There was no use to tell the people in that store to move on. They could n't tarry to save 'em. They all felt that the rent was too high, and that they must vacate the premises. A yell over by the cheese-box was answered by a war-whoop from the show-case. A howl from the kerosene barrel, near the back door, was answered by wild gestures around the show-Avindow. The crowd went out together. Uncle Tom was just coming in with his beef-bone. The old man laid around in the slush until every body had stepped on him all they wanted to, and then he sat up and asked: " Hev dey got de fiah all put out yit?" Some of the hornets sailed out doors to fall by the way- side, and others waited around on top of barrels, and bas- kets, and jars, to be slaughtered. It was half an hour 276 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. before the last one was disposed of, and then Uncle Tom walked in, picked up the nest, and said : '' Mebbe dis will cure de stiffness in dat gal's neck, jist de same, but I tell you I 'ze got banged, an' bumped, an' sot down on 'till it will take a hull medical college all winter long to git me so I kin jump off a street kyar ! " DETROIT FREE PRESS. SHE WOUI.D BE A MASON. The funniest thing I ever heard, The funniest thing that ever occurred, Is the story of JNIrs. Mehitable Byrde, Who wanted to be a Mason. Her husband, Tom Byrde, a Mason true — As good a Mason as any of you ; He is tyler of Lodge Cerulean Blu?, And tyles and delivers the summons due — And she wanted to be a Mason, too. This ridiculous Mrs. Byrde. She followed round, this inquisitive wife. And nagged him and teased him half out of his life So to terminate this unhallowed strife. He consented at last to admit her. And first, to disguise her from bonnet and shoon, This ridiculous lady agreed to put on His breech— ah! forgive me — I meant pantaloons; And miraculously did they fit her. The lodge was at work on the Master's degree, The light was ablaze on the letter C ; High soared the pillars J and B. The officers sat like Solomon, wise; The brimstone burned amid horrible cries ; The goat roamed wildly through the room ; The candidate begged them to let him go home; And the devil himself stood up at the east. As broad as an alderman at a feast, When in came Mrs. Byrde. HUMOROUS AND DELINK ATIVE. 277 0, horrible sounds ! 0, horrible sight ! Can it be that jMasons take delight In spending thus the hours of night ? Ah ! could their wives and daughters know The unutterable things they say and do, Their feminine hearts would burst with woe ! But this is not all my story. Those Masons joined in a hideous ring, The candidates howling like every thing, And thus in tones of death they sing (Tlie candidate's name was Moray) : " Double, double, toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble ; Blood to drink and bones to crack, Skulls to smash and lives to take, Hearts to crush and souls to burn ; Give old Morey another turn ! " The brimstone gleamed in lurid flame. Just like a place we will not name ; Good angels, that inquiring came From blissful courts, looked on with shame And tearful melancholy. Again they dance, but twice as bad, They jump and sing like demons mad; The tune is far from jolly: "Double, double, toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble ; Blood to drink and bones to crack. Skulls to smash and lives to take, Hearts to crush and souls to burn ; Give old Morey another turn ! " Trembling with horror stood Mrs. Byrde, Unable to speak a single word. She staggered and fell in the nearest chair, On the left of the junior warden there, And scarcely noticed, so loud the groans, That the chair was made of human bones. Of human bones! On grinning skulls That ghastly throne of horror rolls; Those skulls, the skulls that Morgan bore; Those bones, the bones that Morgan wore. 278 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. His scalp across the top was flung, His teeth around the arms were strung. Never in all romance was known Such uses made of human bone. There came a pause— a pair of paws Reached through the floor, up sliding-doors, And grabbed the unhappy candidate ! How can I, without tears, relate The lost and ruined Morey's fate ? 8he saw him sink in fiery hole, She heard him scream, '* My soul ! ]\Iy soul! " While roars of fiendish laughter roll, And, drown the yells for mercy: " Double, double toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble ; Blood to drink and bones to crack, Skulls to smash and lives to take, Hearts to crush and souls to burn ; Give old Morey another turn ! " The ridiculous woman could stand no more, She fainted and fell on the checkered floor, 'Midst all the diabolical roar. Wliat then, you ask me, did befall Mehitable Byrde ? Why, nothing at all- She dreamed she had been in a Mason's hall. JAMES L. LAUOnrON. NICODEMUS DODGE. When I was a boy in a printing-ofiice in Missouri, a loose-jointed, long-legged, tow-headed, jeans-clad, countrified cub of about sixteen lounged in one day, and without re- moving his hands from the depths of his trowsers pockets or taking off his faded ruin of a slouch hat, whose broken rim hung limp and ragged about his eyes and ears like a cabbage-leaf, stared indifferently around, then leaned hts hip against the editor's table, crossed his mighty brogans, aimed at a distant fly from a crevice in his upper teeth, laid him low, and said, with composure: ''Whar's the boss?" HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 279 "I am the boss," said the editor, following this curious bit of architecture woiideringly along up to his clock-face with his eye. "Don't want anybody fur to learn the business, 't ain't likely?" "Well, I don't know. Would you like to learn it?" " Pap 's so po' he cai n't run me no mo', so I want to git a show somers if I kin, 't ain't no diffunce what; I'm strong and hearty, and I don't turn my back on no kind of work, hard nur soft." "Do you think you would like to learn the printing business ? " "Well, I don't re'ly k'yer what I do learn, so's I git a chance fur to make my way. I'd jist as soon learn, print'n 's any thing." "Can you read?" "Yes; middlin'." "Write?" " Well, I've seed people could lay over me thar." "Cipher?" " Not good enough to keep store, I don't reckon ; but to as far as twelve times twelve I ain't no slouch. T' other side of that is AA'hat gits me." " Where is your home ? " "I'm f'm old Shelby.'* "What's your father's religious denomination?" "Him? O, he's a blacksmith." " No, no. I don't mean his trade. What's his religious denomination ? " " O, I did n't understand you befo'. He 's a Freemason." " No, no ; you do n't get my meaning yet. What I mean is, does he belong to any Church ?" " Now you're talkin'! Could n't make out what you was a tryin' to git through yo' head no way. B'long to a Church ! Why, boss, he 's ben the pizenest kind of a Free-will Baptis' for forty year. They ain't no pizener ones 'n what he is. 280 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Mighty good man, pap is. Every body says that. If they said any difFruut they would n't say it whar I wuz ; not much they wouldn't." "What is your own religion?" "Well, boss, you've kind o' got me thar, and yit you hain't got me so mighty much nuther. I think 't if a feller he'ps another feller when he's in trouble, and don't cuss, and don't do no mean things nur nothin' he ain't no busi- ness to do, he aint runnin' no resks; he's about as saift as if he b'longed to a Church." "But suppose he did do mean things, what then?" "Well, if he done 'em a purpose, I reckon he wouldn't stand no chance ; he ought n't to have no chance, any way, I'm most certain sure 'bout that." "What is your name?" " Nicodem us Dodge.'' " I think maybe you'll do, Nicodemus. We'll give you a trial, any way." "All right." "When would you like to begin?" "Now." So within ten minutes after we had first glimpsed this nondescript he was one of us, and with his coat off and hard at it. Beyond that end of our establishment which was furthest from the street was a deserted garden, pathless, and thickly grown with the bloomy and villainous "jimpson" weed and its common friend, the stately sunflower. In the midst of this mournful spot was a decayed and aged little frame house, with but one room, one window, and no ceiling ; it had been a smoke-house a generation before. Nicodemus was given this lonely and ghostly den as a bed-chamber. The village smarties recognized a treasure in Nicodemus right away — a butt to play jokes on. It was easy to see that he was inconceivably green and confiding. George Jones had the glory of perpetrating the first joke on him ; he gave HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 281 him a cigar with a fire-cracker in it, and wiuked to the crowd to come. The thing exploded presently, and swept away the bulk of Nicodemus's eyebrows and eyelashes. He simply said : "I consider them kind of seeg'yars dangersome," and seemed to suspect nothing. The next evening Nicodemus waylaid George, and poured a bucket of ice-water over him. One day, while Nicodemus was in swimming, Tom McElroy "tied" his clothes. Nicodemus made a bonfire of Tom's, by way of retaliation. A third joke was played upon Mcodemus a day or two later. He walked up the middle aisle of the village Church Sunday night with a staring hand-bill pinned between his shoulders. The joker spent the remainder of the night, after church, in the cellar of a deserted house ; and Nico- demus sat on the cellar door till toward breakfast time, to make sure that the prisoner remembered that if any noise were made some rough treatment would be the consequence. The cellar had two feet of stagnant water in it, and was bottomed with six inches of soft mud. Before a very long time had elapsed, the village smarties began to feel an uncomfortable consciousness of not having made a very shining success out of their attempts on the simpleton from *'old Shelby." Experimenters grew scarce and chary. Now the young doctor came to the rescue. There was delight and applause when he proposed to scare Nicodemus to death, and explained how he was going to do it. He had a noble, new skeleton — the skeleton of the late and only local celebrity, Jimmy Finn, the village drunkard ; a grisly piece of property which he had bought' of Jimmy Finn himself, at auction, for fifty dollars, under great competition, when Jimmy lay very sick in the tan- yard, a fortnight before his death. The fifty dollars had gone promptly for whisky, and had considerably hurried up the change of ownership in the skeleton. The doctor would put Jimmy Finn's skeleton in Nicodemns's bed. This was 24 282 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. done about half-past ten in the evening. About Nicodemus's usual bed-time — midnight — the village jokers came creeping stealthily through the jimpson-weeds and sunflowers toward the lonely frame den. They reached the window, and peeped in. There sat the long-legged pauper on his bed, dangling his legs contentedly back and forth, and wheezing the music of ''Camptown Races" out of a paper-overlaid comb, which he was pressing against his mouth. By him lay a new jewsharp, a new top, a solid India-rubber ball, a hand- ful of painted marbles, five pounds of "store" candy, and a well-gnawed slab of gingerbread as big and as thick as a volume of sheet music. He had sold the skeleton to a trav- eling quack for three dollars, and was enjoying the result. MARK TWAIN. GUESSING NATIONALITIES. As Haekis and I sat, one morning, at one of the small round tables of the great Hotel Schweitzerhof in Lucerne, watching the crowd of people, coming, going, or breakfasting, and at the same time endeavoring to guess where such and such a party came from, I said : "There is an American party." "Yes; but name the State." I named one State, he named another. We agreed upon one thing, however ; that the young girl with the party was very beautiful and very tastefully dressed. But we disagreed as to her age. I said she was eighteen ; Harris said she was twenty. The dispute between us waxed warm, and I finally said, with a pretense of being in earnest : "Well, there is one way to settle the matter; I will go and ask her." Harris said, sarcastically: "Certainly; that is the thing to do. All you need to do is to use the common formula over here : go and say, ' I am an American ! ' Of course she will be glad to see you." HUMORO US AND BELINEA Tl VE. 283 Then he hinted that perhaps there was no great dansrer of my venturing to speak to her, I said : " I was only talking ; I did n't intend to approach her, but I see that you do not know what an intrepid person I am. I am not afraid of any woman that walks. I will go and speak to this young girl." The thing I had in mind was not difficult. I meant to address her in the most respectful way, and ask her to pardon me if her strong resemblance to a former acquaintance of mine was deceiving me ; aud when she should reply that the name I mentioned was not the name she bore, I meant to beg pardon again, most respectfully, and retire. There would be no harm done. I walked to her table, bowed to the gen- tleman, then turned to her, and was about to begin my little speech, when she exclaimed : *'I knew I Avas n't mistaken ; I told John it was you! John said it probably was n't, but I knew I was right. I said you would recognize me presently and come over; and I'm glad you did, for I shouldn't have felt much flattered if you had gone out of this room without recognizing me. Sit down, sit down. How odd it is! you are the last person I was ever expecting to see again." This was a stupefying surprise. It took my wits clear away, for an instant. However, we shook hands cordially all around, and sat down. But truly this was the tightest place I ever was in. I seemed to vaguely remember the girl's face, now ; but I had no idea where I had seen it before, or what name belonged with it, I immediately tried to get up a diversion about Swiss scenery, to keep her from launching into topics that might betray that I did not know her ; but it was of no use, she went right along upon matters which interested her more : "O dear! what a night that was, when the sea washed the forward boats away! Do you remember it?" "O don't I?" said I; but I didn't, I wished the sea had washed the rudder and the smoke-stack and the captain away, then I could have located this questioner. 284 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. "And don't you remember how frightened poor Mary- was, and how she cried?" "Indeed I do!" said I. "Dear me, how it all comes back!" I fervently wished it would come back, but my memory was a blank. The wise way would have been to frankly own up ; but I could not bring myself to do that, after the young girl had praised me so for recognizing her; so I went on, deeper and deeper into the mire, hoping for a chance clue but never getting one. The Unrecognizable continued, with vivacity : "Do you know, George married Mary, after all?" "Why, no! Did he?" "Indeed he did. He said he did not believe she was half as much to blame as her father was, and I thought he was right. Did n't you ? " "Of course he was. It was a perfectly plain case. I always said so." " Why, no, you didn't; at least that summer." "O no! not that summer. No, you are perfectly right about that. It Avas the following winter that I said it." "Well, as it turned out, Mary was not in the least to blame ; it was all her father's fault ; at least his and old Darley's." It was necessary to say something, so I said : "I always regarded Darley as a troublesome old thing." "So he was; but then they always had a great affec- tion for him, although he had so many eccentricities. You remember that when the weather was the least cold he would try to come into the house." I was rather afraid to proceed. Evidently Darley was not a man. He must be some other kind of an animal ; possibly a dog ; may be an elephant. However, tails are common to all animals, so I ventured to say : "And what a tail he had!" "One! He had a thousand!" HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 285 This was bewilderiag. I did not quite kuow what to say, so I only said : "Yes, he was pretty well fixed in the matter of tails." "For a negro, and a crazy one at that, I should say he was," said she. It was getting pretty sultry for rae. I said to myself: "Is it possible she is going to stop there, and wait for rae to speak? If she does, the conversation is blocked. A negro with a thousand tails is a topic which a person can not talk upon fluently and instructively without more or less preparation. As to diving rashly into such a vast subject " But here, to my gratitude, she interrupted my thought by saying : " Yes, when it came to tales of his crazy woes, there was simply no end to them if any body would listen. His own quarters Avere comfortable enough, but when the weather was cold, the family was sure to have his company; nothing could keep him out of the house. But they always bore it kindly because he had saved Tom's life, years before. You remember Tom?" " O, perfectly. Fine fellow he was, too." "Yes; and what a pretty little thing his child was!" "You may well say that. I never saw a prettier child." "I used to delight to pet it and dandle it and play with it." "So did I." "You named it. What was that name? I can't call it to mind." It appeared to me that the ice was getting pretty thin here. I would have given something to know what the child's sex was. However, I had the good luck to think of a name that would fit either sex, so I brought it out : " I named it Frances." "From a relative, I suppose? But you named the one that died ; one that I never saw. What did you call that one?" 286 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. I was out of neutral names, but as the child was dead and she had never seen it, I thought I might risk a name for it, and trust to luck, therefore I said : " I called that one Thomas Henry." She said, musingly : " That is very singular — very singular." I sat still and let the cold sweat run down. I was in a good deal of trouble, but I believed I could worry through if she would n't ask me to name any more children. I won- dered where the lightning was going to stril^e next. She ■was still ruminating over that last child's title, but presently she said : " I have always been sorry you were away at the time; I would have had you name my child." '* Your child ! Are you married ? " " I have been married thirteen years." " Christened, you mean ?" "No, married. The youth by your side is my son." *' It seems incredible, even impossible. I do not mean any harm by it, but would you mind telling me if you are any over eighteen ? that is to say, will you tell me how old you are?" " I was just nineteen the day of the storm we were talk- ing about. That was my birthday." That did not help matters much, as I did not know the date of the storm. I tried to think of some non-committal thing to say, to keep up my end of the talk, and render my poverty in the matter of reminiscences as little noticeable as possible, but I seemed to be about out of non-committal things. I was about to say, "You haven't changed a bit since then," but that was risky. I thought of saying, "You have improved ever so much since then," but that would not answer, of course. I was about to try a shy at the weather, for a saving change, when the girl slij)ped in ahead of me and said: "How I have enjoyed this talk over those happy old times ; have n't you ? " HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 287 " I never have spent such a half hour in all my life be- fore ! " said I, with emotion; and I could have added, with a near approach to truth, " and I Avould rather be scalped than spend another one like it." I was grateful to be through with the ordea], and was about to make my good- byes and get out, when the girl said : "But there is one thing that is ever so puzzling to me." "Why, what is that?" " That dead child's name. What did ' you say it was ?' Here was another balmy place to be in ; I had forgotten the child's name ; I had n't imagined it would be needed again. However, I had to pretend to know, any way, so I "Joseph Wilham." The youth at my side corrected me, and said : " No ; Thomas Henry." I thanked him, in words, and said, Avith trepidation : "O, yes ; I was thinking of another child that I named ; I have named a great many, and I got them confused ; this one was named Henry Thompson " "Thomas Henry," calmly interposed the boy. I thanked him again — strictly in words — and stammered out: "Thomas Henry — yes, Thomas Henry was the poor child's name. I named him for Thomas — er — Thomas Car- lyle, the great author, you know ; and Henry — er — er — Henry the Eighth. The parents w^ere very grateftd to have a child named Thomas Henry. "That makes it more'singular than ever," murmured my beautiful friend. "Does it? Why?" " Because when the parents speak of that child now, they always call it Susan Amelia." That spiked my gun. I could not say any thing. I w^as entirely out of verbal obliquities ; to go further would be to lie, and that I would not do ; so I simply sat still and suf- 288 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. fered ; sat mutely and resignedly there, and sizzled, for I was being slowly fried to death in my own blushes. Pres- ently the enemy laughed a happy laugh, and said : " I have enjoyed this talk over old times, but you have not. I saw very soon that you were only pretending to know me ; and so as I had wasted a compliment on you in the beginning, I made up my mind to punish you. And I have succeeded pretty well. I was glad to see that you knew George and Tom and Darley, for I had never heard of them before and therefore could not be sure that you had ; and I Avas glad to learn the names of those imaginary chil- dren, too. One can get quite a fund of information out of you if one goes at it cleverly. Mary and the storm, and the sweeping away of the forward boats, were facts ; all the rest was fiction. Mary was my sister ; her full name was Mary . Now do you remember me ? " " Yes," I said ; " I do remember you now ; and you are as hard-hearted as you were thirteen years ago in that ship, else you would n't have punished me so. You have n't changed your nature nor your person, in any way at all ; you look just as young as you did then, you are just as beautiful as you were then, and you have transmitted a deal of your comeliness to this fine boy. There ; if that speech moves you any, let's fly the flag of truce, with the under- standing that I am conquered and confess it" All of which was agreed to and accomplished on the spot. MARK TWAIN. ARTKMUS WARD'S PANORAMA. PROGRAM. Every night, except Saturday, at 8. Doors open at 3 ; Artemus opens at half-past seven. Reserved seats 75 cents. Gen. Ad. $1.25. Front seats free. Those who sit nearest the speaker will be paid a premium. Children charged double price. Infants in arms will be used in the orchestra. HUMOROUS AND BELINEATIVE. 289 Artemus Ward delivered lectures before all the crowned heads of Europe — ever thought of delivering lectures. Duriog the vacation the hall has been carefully swept out, and a new door-knob has been added to the door. Mr. Artemus Ward will call on the listeners at their homes, and explain any jokes in his lecture which they may not understand. A person of long experience will take care of bonnets, cloaks, hats, coats, etc., and will see that they are not re- turned. The auditors will leave their money with Mr. AYard, who will take care that it gets safely into Canada. Nobody must say that he likes this lecture unless he wishes to be thought eccentric ; and nobody must say that he does'nt like it unless he really is eccentric. P. S. — This requires thinking over, but it will amply repay the effort. The panorama used to illustrate Mr. Ward's lecture is rather worse than panoramas usually are. Soldiers on the battle-field will be admitted to this enter- tainment as the curtain falls on the last joke. TESTIMONIALS. " Mr. Artemus Ward : " My Dear Sir, — My wife was dangerously afflicted for over sixteen years. She was so weak that she could not lift a tea-spoon to her mouth. But in a fortunate moment she commenced read- ing one of your lectures. She got better at once. She gained strength so rapidly that she lifted the cottage piano quite a dis- tance from the floor, and let it fall on her mother-in-law, with whom she had had some trouble. There are a number of mar- ried men out here who wish to introduce your lectures into their family. If you need any more recommendations, you can get all you want at two shillings, the price I charge for this one. " I am, sir, yours truly, and so is my wife," A correspondent of a distinguished journal speaks thus of Mr. Ward's power as an orator : — "It was a grand scene, Mr. Artemus Ward standing on the platform, talking ; many of the audience sleeping tranquilly 25 290 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, in their seats; others leaving the room and not returning; others weeping bitterly at some of his jokes, — all, all formed a most im- pressive scene. And when he announced that he would never lecture in that town again, the applause was absolutely deafening." INTRODUCTION. First appearance of Artemus Ward, who will be greeted with great applause. When quiet has been restored, the lecturer will present a rather frisky prologue of about ten minutes in length, and of nearly the same width. It, perhaps, is n't necessary to speak of the depth. THE LECTURE. You are entirely welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to my little picture-shop. I can give you a better idea of my lectures by opening a picture-shop, and therefore I open one. If you should be dissatisfied with any thing in this lecture, I will admit you free to one in New Zealand. Any re- spectable cannibal will direct you. This shows that I can forgive as well as forget. I am not an artist. I don't paint myself — though per- haps I would if I were a middle-aged single lady. Your applause is embarrassing. I am a modest man. A dis- tinguished sculpist once wanted to sculp me. But I said, *' No." I saw through the designing man. My model once in his hands, he would have flooded the market with my busts. This would be more than I could stand, and I would have to return to my home — where my creditors are. I like art. I admire dramatic art, although I failed as an actor. It was in my school days. The play was the "Kuins of Pompeii." I played the Ruins. Although I played that part better, perhaps, than I could have played any thing else, yet it was not a very successful impersona- tion ; but it was better than the ''Burning Mountain." He was a poor Vesuvius. HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 291 As a manager I was rather more successful than as an actor. Some years ago I engaged a celebrated Living Amer- ican Skeleton for a tour through Australia. He was the thinnest man I ever saw. He was a splendid skeleton. It is a long voyage, you know, to Australia, and to my utter surprise the skeleton had no sooner got out to sea than he commenced eating in the most horrible manner. He had never been on the ocean before, and he said it agreed with him. I thought so ! I never saw a man eat so much in my life — beef, mutton, pork ! — and between meals he was often discovered behind barrels eating hard-boiled eggs ! The result was that when we reached Melbourne this infamous skeleton weighed sixty-four pounds more than I did ! At first I thought I was ruined. But I wasn't. My genius as a manager asserted itself, and I took him on another long sea-voyage, and when I got him to San Fran- cisco I exhibited him as a Fat Man. This story has n't any thing to do with my lecture, I know ; but one of the principal features of my lecture is that it contains so many things that do n't have any thing to do with it. I like music. I can *t sing. As a singist I am not a success. I am saddest when I sing. So are those who hear me. They are sadder even than I am. The other night a silver-voiced young man came under my window and sang, ** Come where my love lies dreaming." I did n't go. I found music very soothing when I lay ill with fever in Utah — and I was very ill. I was fearfully wasted. My ^ace was hewn down to nothing. And on one of those dis- mal days a Mormon lady used to sing a ballad commencing: *' Sweet bird, do not flyaway!" I told her I wouldn't. She played the accordion divinely — accordingly I was pleased. THE PICTURES. We will now put the panorama to work. The first pic- ture we present, as you perceive, is a view of the California 292 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. steamship. Large crowds of citizens on the wharf, who ap- pear entirely willing that Artemus Ward shall go. "Bless you, sir!" thej say; "don't hurry about coming back. Stay away for years, if you want to ! " It was very touching. Disgraceful treatment of the passengers, who are obliged to go forward to smoke pipes, while the steamer is allowed two smoke-pipes amid-ships. Your applause at this point was wholly unexpected. I will now offer for your inspection a picture of Virginia City, the wild young metropolis of the new Silver State. Fortunes are made there in a day. There are instances on record of young men going there without a shilling, poor and friendless, yet by energy, intelligence, and a careful dis- regard to business, have been enabled to leave, owing hun- dreds of dollars. This is a picture of the great desert at night. It is a dreary waste of sand. The sand is n't worth saving, however. This is the Mormon theater. The Mormons mostly pay in grain and all sorts of articles. The night I gave my lec- ture there, among my receipts were corn, flour, pork, cheese, chickens (on foot and in the shell). One family tried to go in on a live pig, but my agent repulsed that family. The *' Lady of Lyons " was produced a short time since, but failed to satisfy the Mormon audience, on account of there being but one Pauline in it. It was presented the next night with fifteen Paulines in the cast, and was a perfect success. Some of these Mormons have large families. I lectured one night by invitation in a Mormon village, and during the day I rashly gave a leading Mormon an order admitting himself and family. They filled the hall to overflowing. It was a great success, but I did n't get any money. I saw this man's mother-in-law. I can 't exactly say how many there were of her, but it was a good deal. I should think one mother- in-law was about enough to have in a family, unless you are very fond of excitement. This being a view of the west side of Main Street, it is HUMOR US AND BELINEA TIVE. 293 naturally a view of the west side of Main Street. We do not ask or expect any applause for that. You will now observe the Endowment House, where the Mormon is initiated into the mysteries of his faith. His religion is singular, and his wife is plural. This is Brigham YouDg and his wives. The pretty girls of Utah mostly marry Young. See ? Here is a picture of the Great Salt Lake. I know of no greater curiosity than this inland sea of thick brine. They say a Mormon farmer once drove forty head of cattle into it, and they came out first-rate pickled beef. This sparkling water-fall is the Laughing Water alluded to by Mr. Longfellow, in his Indian poem, " Higher Water," You notice the higher water up there? Those of the audience who are not offended with Artemus Ward are cordially invited to call upon him, often, at his fine new house in Brooklyn. It is on the right hand side as you cross the ferry, and may be easily distinguished from the other houses by its having a cupola and a mortgage on it. I was once told to seize opportunity. I seized one and he knocked me down. I have since learned that he who seizes opportunity sees the penitentiary. I will seize this opportunity to close my lecture. ABEIDGED BY VIRGIL A. PINKLEY. REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. SOLILOQUY OF AN OLD MAN. This world is but a charnel-house of woe ; Of bruised and bleeding hearts that silent mourn. Each day the tomb of buried memories. Which, like unshrived ghosts arise, Haunting the mind ; and, as they come 294 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. And go, they tell of disappointed hopes ; Of expectations high, raised e'en to heaven, Then dashed remorselessly to earth ; Of labors lost ; of unrequited love ; Of misspent time which, rightly used, had led To fortune or to fame ; of friends, now gone, Who would have loved us, but whose love we spurned; Who yet will burst upon our solitude. And stand beside us, with strange, yearning look. As if to tell us something that they know. Yet can not give it speech. Ah! who sliall say He is not haunted thus, with ghosts of things That might have been, but never can be now ? A skeleton there is in every house. But veiled and kept from prying eyes. Each heart well knows its secret bitterness, And strangers meddle not, but pass it by, All conscious, yet pretending not to know. But when the veil is rudely torn aside, And the grim specter stands, as 't were, impaled Before the gaze of all, and we are chained And bound before it, wrung'with agony, We bow the head and cry : " O Lord, how long! " Our friends look on with sadly pitying eye ; A tear is all that they can give to this, A life-long misery, which no human power Can soften or remove ; this poisoned cup. Which drink we must alone, the very dregs ; This worm, which slowly draws the sap of life ; This daily dying, and the funeral car Even at our door. Tempests which fright and ruin may be borne, For sunshine fellows quick ; with hearts relieved, We gather up the wreck and soon forget. Death comes and takes aw^ay a much-loved friend ; We mourn the loss, but time heals up the Avound. Welcome healthful cares that brace the mind ; Life's grand struggle glorified by hope; Battle fierce upon the field of glory ; Dark clouds, with silver fringe and blue beyond, REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 295 Welcome ! But brooding clouds that will not break, That have no silver lining and no form, Oppress the wearied spirit, and destroy The very love of life ; and the soul sighs For some sharp storm whose lightning may dispel The heavy gloom, and once again restore The light of hope, the roseate hue of life. O Hope ! sweet consolation long denied ; Come, now, and lift thy beaming smile, Gladden again this bruised and broken heart. Faith ! I lift my hands and eyes to thee. Raise me, I pray, and give me strength to bear. In vain I call, nor Faith nor Hope reply ; They are but names, and not the source of joy. But lo ! a still small voice from out the cloud : " My son, be still and know that I am God, And I alone ; besides me there is none. 1 try thee for thy good, and when I see My face reflected, then full well I know The gold is purified ; and not till then." I heard, and as I listened, now there came, A softened feeling stealing o'er my soul ; A passive resignation to His will Who speaks from out the cloud. And then I said: " Thy will, O Lord, be done ! " It came at last. The storm for which I sighed Burst in relentless fury on my head, And I was cast full prone upon a rock. I swooned ; and when I lifted up my eyes, And looked once more upon the sea of life, The barque in which wdth joy I 'd sailed, was gone ; Companions of my youth all swallowed up In one wild gurge ; and nothing now was left But crested billows breaking on the rock With mournful sound, the requiem of the lost. Away to seaward drifted fast the cloud. Broken in horrid mist before the wind ; But overhead one speck of deep-blue sky, And in the west one ray of golden light 296 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Just piercing through the cloud, as if the sun Would smile a benediction on the wreck The storm had made. Now years have passed ; the wounded heart has healed, But not the broken life ; for naught but death Can wipe the memory out of those sad days. Another bark has spread its glancing sail Upon the sea of life, whose waves are calm, And favoring breezes waft it gladly on; And many other ships are round about, From out of which there greet my ear at times Gay songs of joy and youthful merriment. But I sail on alone. And now I think The haven of my rest can not be far. E'en now I see its highlands looming up Blue in dim distance, and the summer sun Has set beneath the waves. From out the depths The heavens are lighted up with fervid glow. Across the rainbow hues, peacefully there rest Empurpled clouds, bordered with burnished gold. The broken remnants of a by-gone storm. 'Tis so with me. My cloud has lifted, too, Revealing now a future bright with hope. Across the vision there are shadows still — Sad memories of the past, but lighted up With deep abysmal rays. And now I know The lesson He would teach and I would learn. What would the sunset be without the clouds That mar its clearness, and yet add the grace ? And what would be the sunset of our lives Without the hallowed memories that relieve The radiance of an eternal light beyond ? C. R. BROOKE. RESIGNATION. There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ; There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair. REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 297 The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead; The heart of Eachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted ! Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad funereal tapers, May be Heaven's distant lamps. There is no death ! What seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call death. She is not dead — the child of our affection — But gone into that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives, whom we call dead. Day after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air ; Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, Behold her grown more fair. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives, Thinking that our remembragnce, though unspoken, May reach her where she lives. Not as a child shall we again behold her ; For when with raptures wild In our embraces we again enfold her, She will not be a child : 298 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, Clothed with celestial grace ; And beautiful with all the soul's expansion Shall we behold her face. And though at times, impetuous with emotion And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, That can not be at rest, — We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We mny not wholly stay ; By silence sanctifying, not concealing. The grief that must have way. H. W. LONGFELLOW. MAC-0-CHEE. How many a vanished hour and day Have sunlight o'er me shed Since last I saw these waters play Along their pebbly bed! The bird-bent bough above them swings, The waves dance bright below, From the hazel near the cat-bird sings, As in long years ago. O'er blue-edged heights and sunlit plain Soft falls the purple noon. On rustling corn and waving grain, On stream and still lagoon ; Hard by the brook the blackbird trills, The glossy-coated crow Croaks hoarsely on the breezy hills. As in long years ago. The falcon, like a censer swung. Circles the blue above, The quail is calling to her young, While cooes the mournful dove ; The elder bloom, by road and stream, Lies heaped like drifted snow. The meadow birch nods to its dream, As in long years ago. EEFLECTIVE AXD EETBOSPECTIVE. 299 The drowsy bee on laden wings, Voices the dreamy day ; The squirrel chatters as he swings, "While screams the restless jay ; The mild-eyed cattle, slow and grave, Swish in the shaded pool, Wliere hoarse frogs croak, and tall flags wave, And clear springs bubble cool. And now, as in that far-off time, The tillage sounds are dear, The cry of children, and the chime Of bells, break on the ear ; My playmates then are bearded men ; The men wax old and slow. Or sleep within God's silent glen, Where broods the long ago. I may not sing my eyes so dim, I may not sing the change That wrought upon my soul within. Its sadness, still and strange ; !N'or here by fragile flower and stream, Eepeat the well-worn lay. How we the fleeting shadows seem. Immortal substance they. But ah I these trees, and birds, and skies, And scented flowers' bloom, Are aU to me as one who lies Hid in a hollow tomb. Where murmurs of a busy world Sift through the creviced stone, And, like a leaf but half unfurled. Leaves all the tale unknown. Eound every life an Eden lies. In golden glow of youth. When romance tints with tender dyes The solemn page of truth : When hewer being thrills the heart To young love's magic hand. And as awake from dreams we start, To eaze on fairv land. 300 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. AVhat deeper blue the skies assume, What tints the earth takes on ; What roseate hues our paths illume, A moment, then 't is gone ! And back we turn to earth again — Back to its weary strife ; Yet through all sorrow, sin, and pain, One vision sweetens life. DONN PIATT. AI,0NE. Alone! alone! Forth out of the darkness, Back into the darkness, We come and we go alone. O birth ! death ! Lone cry from the midnight. Moan lost in the midnight, A catch and a lapse of breath ! O youth ! fleet dream ! We sleep out of heaven, We dream down from heaven, Then wake from the fleeting dream. No more ! no more ! Youth's gladness of living. Love's madness of living. Can come back to me no more. Those glad, mad years ! How, dancing and singing. How danced and went winging Those passionate choral years ! To be ! to live ! What being, what living. What largess of living The blood of the boy can give! REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 301 O earth ! heaven ! Earth glad with all beauty, And no hint of duty From all the glad blue of heaven ! Sun, moon, and stars ! Lakes, woods with birds flying Through them, and the crying Of insects beneath the stars ! Then life in love ! Life's torrent-stream steadied, Stopt, flowed back, and eddied About in the pool of love. From boy to man ! Bridge built of a rainbow — Love's luminous rainbow, AVhich fadeth from boy to man. Love's fading bow ! Still following hither I follow^ on whither It lures me, and I must go. Yes, follow on ! Love's rainbow-ideal^ So nigh and so real. Still flies, but I follow on. For love is all ! Hope, pleasure, ambition, Fame's fullest fruition, Are nothing ; for love is all. But age grows lone ! For age is unlovely — Age wins not the lovely ; — We go as we came, alone. Alone! alone! Forth out of the darkness. Back into the darkness, We come and we go alone. COATES KINNEY. 302 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. NAPOLEON. A LITTLE while ago I stood by the tomb of the first Na- poleon — a maguificent tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a dead deity; and here was a great circle, and in the bottom there, in a sarcophagus, rested at last the ashes of that rest- less man. I looked at that tomb, and I thought about the career of the greatest soldier of the modern world. As I looked, in imagination I could see him walking up and down the banks of the Seine, contemplating suicide. I could see him at Toulon ; I could see him at Paris, putting down the mob ; I could see him at the head of the army of Italy ; I could see him crossing the bridge of Lodi, with the tricolor in his hand ; I saw him in Egypt, fighting battles under the shadow of the Pyramids; I saw him returning; I saw him conquer the Alps, and mingle the eagles of France with the eagles of Italy; I saw him at Marengo; I saw him at Aus- terlitz; I saw him in Russia, where the infantry of the snow and the blast smote his legions, when death rode the icy wunds of winter. I saw him at Leipsic; hurled back upon Paris; banished; and I saw him escape from Elba, and retake an empire by the force of his genius. I saw him at the field of Waterloo, where fate and chance combined to wreck the for- tunes of their former king. I saw him at St. Helena, with his hands behind his back, gazing out upon the sad and solemn sea; and I thought of all the widows he had made, of all the orphans, of all the tears that had been shed for his glory; and I thought of the woman, the only woman who ever loved him, pushed from his heart by the cold hand of ambition. And I said to myself, as I gazed, I would rather have been a French peasant, and woi^n wooden shoes, and lived in a little hut with a vine running over the door, and the purple grapes growing red in the amorous kisses of the autumn sun; I would rather have been that poor French peasant, to sit in my door, with my wife knitting by my side, and my children upon my knees, with their arras around my REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 303 neck; I would rather have lived and died unnoticed and unknown except by those who loved me, and gone dowu to the voiceless silence of the dreamless dust; I would rather have been that French peasant than to have been that im- perial impersonation of force and murder who covered Europe with blood and tears. e. g. ingersoll. OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY'S. Wasn't it pleasant, brother mine, In those old days of the lost sunshine Of youth — when the Saturday's chores were through, And the Sunday's wood in the kitchen, too. And we went visiting, " I and you, Out to old Aunt Mary's?" It all comes back so clear to-day, Though I am as bald as you are gray ; Out by the barn-lot and down the lane We patter along in the dust again, As light as the tips of the drops of rain, Out to old Aunt Mary's. We cross the pasture, and through the wood Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood. Where the hammering red-heads hopped awry. And the buzzard raised in the open sky, And lolled and circled as we went by, Out to old Aunt Mary's. And then in the dust of the road again ; And the teams we met and the countrymen; .. And the long highway with the sunshine spread As thick as butter on country bread. And our cares behind and our hearts ahead, Out to old Aunt Mary's. I see her now in the open door, Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er The clap-board roof. And her face — me! Wasn't it good for a boy to see ? And wasn't it good for a boy to be Out to old Aunt Mary's ? 304 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. And 0, my brother, so far awaj', This is to tell you she waits to-day To welcome us. Aunt Mary fell Asleep this morning, whispering: "Tell The boys to come." And all is well Out to old Aunt Mary's. JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. AUX ITALIHNS. At Paris it was, at the opera there ; And she looked like a queen in a book that night, With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair. And the brooch on her breast so bright. Of all the operas that Verdi wrote. The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore ; And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note, The souls in purgatory. The moon on the tower slept soft as snow ; And who was not thrilled in the strangest way, As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low, Non ti scordar di me ? The emperor there, in his box of state. Looked grave ; as if he had just then seen The red flag wave from the city gate, Where his eagles in bronze had been. The empress, too, had a tear in her eye; You 'd have said that her fancy had gone back again For one moment, under the old blue sky, To the old glad life in Spain. Well, there in our front-row box we sat Together, my bride betrothed and I ; My gaze was fixed on my opera-hat, And hers on the stage hard by. And both were silent, and both were sad ; Like a queen, she leaned on her full white arm, With that regal, indolent air she had; So confident of her charm ! REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 305 I have not a doubt she was thinking then Of her former lord, good soul that he was, Who died the richest and roundest of men. The Marquis of Carabas. I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven, Through a needle's eye he had not to pass ; I wish him well for the jointure given To my lady of Carabas. Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love As I had not been thinking of aught for years, Till over my eyes there began to move Something that felt like tears. I thought of the dress that she wore last time, When we stood 'neath the cypress-trees together, In that lost land, in that soft clime, In the crimson evening weather ; Of that muslin dress— for the eve was hot — And her warm white neck in its golden chain ; And her full soft hair, just tied in a knot, And falling loose again ; And the jasmine flower in her fair young breast — O, the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine flower ! — And the one bird singing alone in his nest ; And the one star over the tower. I thought of our little quarrels and strife, And the letter that brought me back my ring ; And it all seemed then, in the waste of life, Such a very little thing ! For I thought of her grave below the hill, "Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands oyer ; And I thought: " Were she only living still, How I could forgive her and love her! " And I swear, as I thought of her thus, in that hour, And of how, after all, old things are best. That I smelt the smell of that jasmine flower Which she used to wear in her breast. It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet, It made me creep, and it made me cold ! 26 306 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY-, Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet Where a mummy is half unrolled. And I turned and looked : she was sitting there, In a dim box over the stage; and drest In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair, And that jasmine in her breast ! I was here, and she was there ; And the glittering horse-shoe curved between ; From my bride bethrothed, with her raven hair And her sumptuous scornful mien, To my early love with her eyes downcast. And over her primrose face the shade — ' In short, from the future back to the past — There was but a step to be made. My thinking of her, or the music's strain, Or something which never will be expressed, Had brought her back from the grave again, AVith the jasmin in her breast. She is not dead, and she is not wed ! But she loves me now, and she loved me then ! And the very first word that her sweet lips said. My heart grew youthful again. The Marchioness there, of Carabas, She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still; And but for her — well, we '11 let that pass; She may marry whomever she will. But I will marry my own first love, With her primrose face ; for old things are best, And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above The brooch in my lady's breast. The world is filled with folly and sin, And Love must cling where it can, I say; For Beauty is easy enough to win. But one is n't loved every day. And I think, in the lives of most women and men. There 's a moment when all would go smooth and even, If only the dead could find out when To come back and be forgiven. REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 307 But O, the smell of that jasmine-flower ! And O, that music! and 0, the way That voice rang out from the donjon tower, Non ti scordar di me, Non ti scordar di me ! ROBERT BULWEIl LYTTON. THE AINO LEGEND. FROM THE KALEVALA, THE EPIC OF FINLAND. Waiting long, the wailing Aino Thus at last soliloquizes: " Unto what can I now liken Happy homes and joys of fortune? Like the waters in the rivers, Like the waves in yonder lakelet, Like the billows seaward flowing. Unto what, the biting sorrow Of the child of cold misfortune? Like the spirit of the sea-duck, Like the icicle in winter, Water in the well imprisoned. " Often roamed my mind in childhood, When a maiden free and merry. Happily through fen and fallow ; Gamboled on the meads with lambkins. Lingered with the ferns and flowers, Knowing neither pain nor trouble. Now my mind is filled with sorrow, . Wanders through the bog and stubble. Wanders weary through the brambles, Roams throughout the dismal forest. Till my life is full of darkness, And my spirit white with anguish. Better had it been for Aino, Had she never seen the sunlight, Or, if born, had died an infant, Had not lived to be a maiden In these days of sin and sorrow, Underneath a star so luckless. 308 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, Better had it been for Aino, Had she died upon the eighth day, After seven nights had vanished; Needed then but httle linen, Needed but a Httle coffin, And a grave of smallest measure ; Mother would have mourned a little, Father, too, perhaps a trifle, Sister would have wept the day through. Brother might have shed a tear-drop ; Thus had ended all the mourning." Thus poor Aino wept and murmured, Wept one day, and then a second, Wept a third horn morn till even. When again her mother questioned: " Why this weeping, fairest daughter? Darling daughter, why this grieving?" Thus the tearful maiden answered: "Therefore do I weep and sorrow. Hapless maiden, all my life long, Since poor Aino thou hast given. Since thy daughter thou hast promised, To the ancient Wainamoinen, Comfort to his years declining. Prop to stay him when he totters ; In the storm, a roof above him ; In his home, a cloak around him. Better far if thou hadst sent me. Sank me in the salt sea-surges, To become the whiting's sister, And the friend of perch and salmon; Better far to ride the billows, Swim the sea-foam as a mermaid. And the friend of nimble fishes. Than to be an old man's solace. Prop to stay him when he totters, Hand to stay him Avhen he trembles, Arm to guide him when he falters, Strength to give him when he weakens; Better be the whiting's sister, And the friend of perch and salmon, Than an old man's slave and darling." REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE, 309 Ending thus, she left her mother, Straightway hastened to the mountain, To the store-house on the summit ; Opened there the box, the largest ; From the box six lids she lifted. Found therein six golden girdles, Silken dresses, seven in number; Choosing such as pleased her fancy, She adorned herself as bidden, Eobed herself to look her fairest, Gold upon her throbbing temples, In her hair the shining silver, On her shoulders purple ribbons, Bands of blue around her forehead. Golden cross, and rings, and jewels. Fitting ornaments to beauty. Now she leaves her many treasures, Leaves the store-house on the mountain, Filled with gold and silver trinkets, Wanders over field and fallow, Over stone-fields waste and barren, Wanders on through fen and forest. Through the fir-fields vast and cheerless, Wanders hither, wanders thither. Singing, careless, as she wanders. This her mournful song and echo : "Woe is me, my life hard-fated! Woe to Aino, broken-hearted ! Torture racks my heart and temples ; Yet the sting would not be deeper, Nor the pain and anguish greater. If beneath this weight of sorrow. In my saddened heart's dejection, I should yield my life forever. Now, unhappy, I should perish. Lo! the time has come for Aino From this cruel world to hasten, To the kingdom of Tuoni, To the realm of the departed, To the isle of the hereafter. " Weep no more for me, O father ; Mother, dear, withhold thy censure, 310 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Lovely sister, stay thy tear-drops; Do not mourn me, dearest brother, When I sink beneath the sea-foam, Make my home in salmon-grottoes, Make my bed in crystal waters, Water-ferns my couch and pillow." All day long poor Aino wandered, All the next day, sad and weary, So the third, from morn till even, Till the cruel night enwrapped her. As she reached the sandy margin. Reached the cold and dismal sea-shore; Sat upon the rock of sorrow. Sat alone in cold and darkness. Listened only to the music Of the winds and rolling billows, Singing all the dirge of Aino. All night long the weary maiden Wept and wandered on the border, Through the sand and sea-washed pebbles. As the day dawns, looking round her, She beholds three water-maidens. On a headland jutting seaward, Water-maidens three in number. Sitting on the wave-lashed ledges. Swimming now upon the billows, Now upon the rocks reposing. Quick the weeping maiden, Aino, Hastens there to join the mermaids, Winsome daughters of the waters. Weeping Aino, now disrobing. Lays aside with care her garments, Hangs her silk-robes on the alders, Drops her gold-cross on the sea-shore, On the aspen hangs her ribbons ; On the rocks, her silken stockings; On the grass, her shoes of deer-skin ; In the sand her shining necklace. With her rings and other jewels. Out at see a goodly distance. Stands a stone of rainbow-colors. Glittering in the silver sunshine. REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE 311 Toward it springs the hapless maiden, Thither swims the lovely Aino, Up the standing-stone has clambered, AVishing there to rest a moment, Rest upon the rock of beauty; When upon a sudden, swaying To and fro among the billows. With a crash and roar of waters, Falls the stone of many colors, Falls upon the very bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea. With the stone of rainbow colors Falls the luckless maiden, Aino, Clinging to its craggy edges, Sinking far below the surface, To the homes of the sea-daughters. Thus the weeping maiden vanished, Thus poor Aino left her tribe-folk. Singing as the stone descended, Chanting thus as she departed : " Once to swim I sought the sea-side, There to sport among the billows ; With the stone of many colors Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty song-bird, perished. Never come a-fishing, father, To the borders of these waters. Never during all thy life-time, As thou lovest daughter Aino. " Mother dear, I sought the sea-side, There to sport among the billows ; With the stone of many colors, Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty song-bird, perished. Never mix thy bread, dear mother, AVith the blue-sea's foam and waters. Never during all thy life-time, As thou lovest daughter Aino. " Brother dear, I sought the sea-side, There to sport among the billows; 312 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. With the stone of many colors, Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty song-bird, perished. Never bring thy prancing war-horse, Never bring tliy royal racer, Never bring thy steeds to water, To the borders of the blue-sea, Never during all thy Hfe-time, As thou lovest sister Aino. " yister dear, I sought tlie sea-side, There to sport among the billows ; With the stone of many colors. Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty song-bird, perished. Never come to lave thine eyelids In this rolling wave and sea-foam, Never during all thy life-time, As thou lovest sister Aino. All the waters of the blue-sea Shall be blood of Aino's body ; All the fish that swim these waters Shall be Aino's flesh forever ; All the willows on the sea-side Shall be Aino's ribs hereafter ; All the sea-grass on the margin Will have grown from Aino's tresses." Thus at last the maiden vanished, Thus the lovely Aino perisherl. J. M. CRAWFORD. THE WHISTLE OF THE QUAIL. In the heart of the dusty city, As I threaded a crowded street, 'Mid the city's din and clamor, And the scorching glare and heat, It rang out somewhere above me, Clear and loud and sweet. I lifted my eyes in wonder, I lifted mj^ heart in joy ; REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 313 Eagerly listening heads were turned, " 'T is surely a clever toy — Some skillful mocking songster, Or a happy, whistling boy." Again ! ah, never human Held such a sound in his throat, And if but a mocking songster. He hath caught a perfect note. And the crowding roofs and the people Away from around me float. wide, green summer fields that lie Under a blue and sunny sky, Where white clouds slowly sail ! Your silence to my heart doth speak, 1 feel your breezes on my cheek, At the whistle of the quail : " So sweet! so sweet! " The whistle of the quail. The breeze that stirs the yellow wheat, With rustling whispers vague and sweet ; The hum of bees that trail O'er plenteous gold along — I hear All sounds of summer, soft and clear In the whistle of the quail : " So sweet! so sweet ! " The whistle of the quail. cool, dark nooks 'neath bending trees, Soft grass where I might lie at ease. And dream and watch the frail White butterflies flit past ! I see And long for you when comes to me The whistle of the quail : " So sweet ! so sweet ! " The whistle of the quail. The breath of fruitful, upturned soil. Of mint and subtle pennyroyal ; All lowly things that vale And hill are rich in — wrap me round, 27 314 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, Sweet summer sights and scents and sounds, At the whistle of the quail : " So sweet ! so sweet ! " The whistle of the quail. MARY S. PA DEN. HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. A ROYAI^ PRINCESS. I, A PRINCESS, king-descen led, decked with jewels, gilded drest, Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast. For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west. Two and two my guards behind, two and two before, Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore ; Me, poor dove, that must not coo, — eagle, that must not soar. All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow That are costly, out of season as the seasons go. All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place — Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face. Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end; My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend — O my father! my mother! have you ne'er a friend? My father counting up his strength, sets down with equal pen So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men ; These for slaughter, these for breeding, with the how and when. Some to work on roads, canals; some to man his ships; Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips; Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips. Once it came into my heart, and whelmed me like a flood. That these, too, are men and women, human flesh and blood; Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like mud. HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 3l5 Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay ; On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of gray ; My father, frowning at the fare, seemed every dish to weigh. I sat beside them, sole princess, in my exalted place ; My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais ; A mirror showed me I looked old and haggard in the face. It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon. Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known; They laugh by day, they sleep by night ; — ah me ! what is a throne ? Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept; My ladies loosed my golden chain ; meantime I could have wept To think of some in galling chains, whether they waked or slept. I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on ; They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon; They lit my shaded silver-lamp, and left me there alone. A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said: "Men are clamoring, women, children, clamoring to be fed; Men, like famished dogs, are howling in the streets for bread." I strained my utmost sense to catch the words, and mark: "There are families out grazing, like cattle in the park; A pair of peasants must be saved, even if we build an ark." A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way; One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day ; One was my youngest maid, as sweet and white as cream in May. Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp ; Voices said: "Picked soldiers have been summoned from the camp To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and stamp." " Howl and stamp ?" one answered. "They made free to hurl a stone At the minister's state-coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown." "There's work, then, for soldiers; for this rank crop must be mown." "After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh. "If bread's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff." " While I 've a loaf, they 're welcome to my blessing and the chaff." 316 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. These passed. The king: stand up. Said my father with a smile : " Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile ; She 's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?" He, too, left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait? — I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate, — Or shall I work the last gold-stitch into my veil of state? Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene? — There 's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between, — Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen? Again I caught my father's voice in sharp word of command: "Charge! " a clash of steel. "Charge again, the rebels stand. Smite and spare not, hand to hand ; smite and spare not, hand to hand." There swelled a tumult at the gate, high voices waxing higher; A flash of red reflected-light lit the cathedral spire ; I heard a cry for fagots, then I heard a yell for fire. Now this thing will I do, while my mother tarrieth: I will take my fine-spun gold, but not to sew therewith ; I will take my gold and gems, and rainbow fan and wreath ; With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my hand, I will go down to this people, will stand face to face, — will stand Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land. They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give ; I, if I perish, perish ; they to-day shall eat and live ; I, if I perish, perish ; that 's the goal I half conceive : Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and show The lesson I have learned, which is death, is life, to know. I, if I perish, perish ; in the name of God I go. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. WII.LIAM TELL ON FREEDOM. Ye crags and peaks, I 'm with you once again ! I hold to you the hands you first beheld, To show they still are free. Methinks I hear A spirit in your echoes answer me, HER OIC AND PA TRIOTIC. 3 1 7 And bid your tenant welcome to his home ! I 'm with you once again ! I call to you With all my voice ! I hold my hands to you, To show they still are free. Once Switzerland was free ! With what a pride I used to walk these hills, — look up to heaven, And bless God that it was so ! It was free — From end to end, from cliff to lake 'twas free! Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks. And plow our valleys, without asking leave ; Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow In very presence of the regal sun ! How happy was I in it then ! I loved Its very storms. Ay ; often have I sat In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge The wind came roaring, — I have sat and eyed The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, And think I had no master save his own. On yonder jutting cliff, o'ertaken there By the mountain blast, I 've laid me flat along, And while gust followed gust more furiously. As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink. And I have thought of other lands, whose storms Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just Have wished me there, — the thought that mine was free Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head, And cried in thralldom to that furious wind, Blow on ! This is the land of liberty ! knowles. BAY BII^IvY. 'TwAS the last fight at Fredericksburg — Perhaps the day you reck, Our boys, the Twenty-second Maine, Kept Early's men in check ; Just where Wade Hampton boomed away The fight went neck-and-neck. 318 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. All day we held the weaker wing, And held it with a will; Five several stubborn times we charged The battery on the hill, And five times beaten back, re-formed. And kept our columns still. At last from out the center fight Spurred up a general's aid. "That battery 7nust silenced be! " He cried, as past he sped. Our colonel simply touched his cap, And then, with measured tread, To lead the crouching line once more The grand old fellow came. No wounded man but raised his head, And strove to gasp his name. And those who could not speak nor stir, "God blessed him" just the same. For he was all the world to us. That hero gray and grim ; Right well he knew^ that fearful slope We 'd climb with none but him, Though while his white head led the way We 'd charge hell's portals in. This time we were not half-^vay up. When, midst the storm of shell. Our leader, with his sword upraised. Beneath our bayonets fell. And, as w-e bore him back, the foe Set up a joyous yell. Our hearts went with him. Back we swept, And when the bugle said, " Up, charge, again ! " no man was there But hung his dogged head. " We 've no one left to lead us now," The sullen soldiers said. HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 319 Just then, before the laggard hne, The colonel's horse we spied — Baj' Billy, with his trappings on. His nostrils swelling wide, As though still on his gallant back The master sat astride. Eight royally he took the place That was of old his wont, And with a neigh, that seemed to say Above the battle's brunt, " How can the Twenty-second charge If I am not in front?" Like statues we stood rooted there, And gazed a little space ; Above that floating mane we missed The dear familiar face ; But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire, And it gave us heart of grace. No bugle call could rouse us all As that brave sight had done; Down all the battered line we felt A lightning impulse run ; Up, up the hill w^e followed Bill, And captured every gun ! And when upon the conquered height Died out the battle's hum, Vainly 'mid living and the dead We sought our leader dumb ; It seemed as if a specter steed To win that day had come. At last the morning broke. The lark Sang in the merry skies As if to e'en the sleepers there It said, awake, arise ! Though naught but that last trump of all Could ope their heavy eyes. 320 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. And then once more, with banners gay, Stretched out the long brigade ; Trimly upon the furrowed field The troops stood on parade, And bravely 'mid the ranks were closed The gaps the fight had made. Not half the Twenty-second's men Were in their place that morn, And Corporal Dick, who yester-noon Stood six brave fellows on, Now touched my elbow in the ranks, For all between were gone. Ah ! who forgets that dreary hour When, as with misty eyes, To call the old familiar roll The solemn sergeant tries? One feels that thumping of the heart As no prompt voice replies. And as, in faltering tone and slow. The last few names were said. Across the field some missing horse Toiled up with weary tread ; It caught the sergeant's eye, and quick Bay Billy's name was read. Yes ! there the old bay hero stood, All safe from battle's harms. And ere an order could be heard. Or the bugle's quick alarms, Down all the front, from end to end. The troops presented arms ! Not all the shoulder-straps on earth Could still our mighty cheer. And ever from that famous day, When rang the roll-call clear. Bay Billy's name was read, and then The whole line answered, " Here! " FRANK H. GAiSSAWAY. HER OIC AND PA TRIO TIC. 321 THE MAIDEN MARTYR. A TROOP of soldiers waited at the door; A crowd of people gathered in the street ; Aloof a little from them bared sabers gleamed, And flashed into their faces. Then the door Was opened, and two women meekly stepped Into the sunshine of the sweet May -noon, Out of the prison. One was weak and old, A woman full of tears and full of woes ; The other was a maiden in her morn, And they were one in name, and one in faith, Mother and daughter in the bond of Christ, That bound them closer than the ties of blood. The troop moved on ; and down the sunny street The people followed, ever falling back As in their faces flashed the naked blades. But in the midst the women simply went As if they two were walking, side by side, Up to God's house on some still Sabbath morn ; Only they were not clad for Sabbath-day, But, as they went about their daily tasks. They went to prison, and they went to death, Upon their Master's servdce. On the shore The troopers halted ; all the shining sands Lay bare and glistering ; for the tide had drawn Back to its farthest margin's weedy mark, And each succeeding wave, with flash and curve, That seemed to mock the sabers on the shore, Drew nearer by a hand-breadth. "It will be A long day's work," murmured those murderous men As they slacked rein. The leader of the troops Dismounted, and the people passing near Then heard the pardon profi'ered, with the oath Renouncing and abjuring part with all The persecuted, covenanted folk. But both refused the oath : " Because," they said, " Unless with Christ's dear servants we have part, We have no part with him." 322 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. On this they took The elder Margaret, and led her out Over the sliding sands, the weedy sludge, The pebbly shoals, far out, and fastened her Unto the farthest stake, already reached By every rising wave, and left her there ; And as the waves crept round her feet, she prayed "That He would firm uphold her in their midst, AVho holds them in the hollow of His hand." The tide flowed in. And up and down the shore There paced the provost and the Laird of Lag — Grim Grierson — with Windram and with Graham ; And the rude soldiers, jesting witli coarse oaths, As in the midst the maiden meekly stood, Waiting her doom delayed, said " she w^ould turn Before the tide — seek refuge in their arms From the chill waves. " But ever to her lips There came the wondrous words of life and pe^ace : •' If God be for us, who can be against? " " Who shall divide us from the love of Christ ? " " Nor height, nor dej^th, nor any other creature." From the crowd A woman's voice cried a very bitter cry — *'0 Margaret! My bonnie, bonnie Margaret! Gie in, gie in; my bairnie, dinna ye drown; Gie in, and tak' the oath! " The tide flowed in ; And so wore on the sunny afternoon; And every fire went out upon the hearth. And not a meal w^as tasted in the town that day. And still the tide was flowing in. Her mother's voice yet sounding in her ear, They turned young Margaret's face toward the sea, Where something white was floating— something White as the sea-mew that sits upon the wave ; But as she looked it sank ; then show^ed again ; Then disappeared ; and round the shore And stake the tide stood ankle-deep. HEROIC AND PA TRIO TIC. 323 Then Grierson, With cursing, vowed that he wouhl wait no more, And to the stake the soldier led her down, And tied her hands ; and round her slender waist Too roughly cast the rope ; for AVindrain came And eased it, w^hile he whispered in her ear: " Come, take the test, and ye are free! " And one cried: " Margaret, say God save the King! " " God save the King of his great grace," she answered, But would not take the oath. And still the tide flowed in, And drove the people hack, and silenced them. The tide flowed in, and rising to her knees, 8he sang the psalm, " To Thee I hft my soul ; " The tide flowed in, and rising to her waist, "To Thee, my God, I lift my soul," she sang. The tide flowed in, and rising to her throat, She sang no more, but lifted up her face. And there was glory over all the sky, And there w^as glory over all the sea — A flood of glory— and the lifted face Swam in it till it bowed beneath the flood, And Scotland's Maiden Martyr w^ent to God. GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY. She stood at the bar of justice, A creature wan and wdld. In form too small for a woman. In features too old for a child ; For a look so worn and pathetic Was stamped on her pale young face, It seemed long years of suffering Must have left that silent trace. "Your name," said the judge, as he eyed her With kindly look yet keen— " Is Mary McGuire, if you please sir." "And your age?"— "I am turned fifteen." 324 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. " Well, Mary," and tlien from a paper He slowly and gravely read, "You are charged here — I'm sorry to say it- With stealing three loaves of bread. You look not like an offender, And I hope that you can show The charge to be false. Now, tell me, Are you guilty of this, or no?" A passionate burst of weeping Was at first her sole reply ; But she dried her eyes in a moment, And looked in the judge's eye. "I will tell you just how it was, sir: My father and mother are dead, And my little brother and sisters Were hungry, and asked me for bread. At first I earned it for them By working hard all day ; But somehow times were bad, sir, And the work all fell away. T could get no more employment ; The weather was bitter cold, The young ones cried and shivered — (Little Johnny 's but four years old) — So, what was I to do, sir? I am guilty, but do not condemn, I took— O was it stealing?— The bread to give to them." Every man in the court-room — Gray-beard and thoughtless youth- Knew, as he looked upon her. That the prisoner spake the truth. Out from their pockets came kerchiefs ; Out from their eyes sprung tears; And out from old faded wallets Treasures hoarded for years. The judge's face w^as a study — The strangest you ever saw, As he cleared his throat and murmured Something about the law. HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 325 For one so learned in such matters, So wise in dealing with men, He seemed, on a simple question, Sorely puzzled just then. But no one blamed him or wondered, When at last these words they heard: "The sentence of this young prisoner Is, for the present, deferred." And no one blamed him or wondered AVhen he went to her and smiled, And tenderly led from the court room. Himself, the guilty child. THE OIvD SCHOOLMASTER. He sat by his desk at the close of the day, For he felt the weight of his many years ; His form was bent, and his hair was gray, And his eyes wore dim with the falling tears. The school was out, and his task was done. And the house seemed now so strangely still, As the last red beam of the setting sun Stole silently over the window-sill, — Stole silently into the twilight gloom; And the deepening shadow fell athwart The vacant seats, and the vacant room, And the vacant place in the old man's heart; For his school had been all in all to him, Who had wife, nor children, nor land, nor gold; But his frame was weak, and his eyes were dim. And the fiat was issued at last: "Too old." He bowed his head on his trembling hands A moment, as one might bend to pray: " ' Too old,' they say, and the school demands A wiser and younger head to-day. 'Too old! too old!' these men forgot, It was I who guided their tender years ; Their hearts were hard, and they pitied not My trembling lips and my falling tears. 326 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. ' Too old : too old ! ' It was all they said. I looked in their faces one by one ; But they turned away, and my heart was lead. Dear Lord, it is hard, but thy will be done." The night stole on,^ and a blacker gloom Was over- the vacant benches cast; The master sat in the silent room, But his mind was back in the days long past. And the shadows took, to his tear-dimmed sight, Dear, well-known forms, and his heart was thrilled With the blessed sense of its delight, For the vacant benches were all well filled ; And he slowly rose at his desk, and took His well-worn Bible, that lay within, And he said, as he liglitly tapped the Book: 'It is the hour; let school begin." And he smiled, as his kindly glances fell On the well-beloved faces there — John, Rob, and AVill, and laughing Nell, And blue-eyed Bess, with the golden hair; And Tom, and Charley, and Ben, and Paul, Who stood at the head of the spelling class, — All in their places; and yet they all AVere lying under the grave-yard grass. He read the Book, and he knelt to pray. And he called the classes to recite. For the darkness all had rolled away From a soul that saw by an inward light. With words of praise for a work of care, With kind reproof for a broken rule, The old man tottered, now here, now there, Through the spectral ranks of his shadow school. Thus all night long, till the morning came. And darkness folded her robe of gloom, And the sun looked in, with his eye of flame. On the vacant seats of the silent room. The wind stole over the window-sill, And swept through the aisles in a merry rout, But the face of the master was white and still ; His work was finished, and school was out. LEE O. HARRIS. HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 327 WHO KISSED AWAY THE TEAR? Is ANY THING Stranger than the human heart? Nature sends a frail, green vine creeping across the earth to reach a grim wall and cover its ugliness; to reach a dead branch, and cover it with life. We bless nature as we see these things, and yet we do not realize that human hearts are ever doing the same. One day, months ago, a rosy-faced child, looking from a window, saw a queer old man go limp- ing past. It tapped on the pane, and the old man looked up. The sight of that sweet face opened his old heart, and he went on his way feeling richer than for many a month past. He was the grim wall; the child was the green vine. He passed again, and again the child was at the window, and for days and weeks they never missed seeing each other. At each meeting the vine crept nearer to the wall; the Avail ap- peared less grim and forbidding. One day the "wall" laid aside his hat for a better one. Another day he had a new coat. Again he was clean-shaved, and the "vine" scarcely recognized him. No one kncAV the old man ; but he knew that he was feeling the influence of the vine. A week ago as the old man passed he missed the face at the window. Was he too early or too late? He lingered and looked, and seemed lost. It was the same next day; but a kind heart pitied him, and sent out word that the child was sick. The green vine had reached the wall only to be blighted. Two days more, and there was crape on the door. The child was dead. It had fallen asleep in death without a struggle, knowing nothing of the grand hereafter, but having no fear. On its pale cheek was a tear — a single tear, which glistened like a diamond. No hand dared wipe that tear away. It seemed a tie between the present and the past — the living and the dead. *' Please can I see the — the child ! " It was the old man — the grim wall — who knocked timidly at the door and spoke thus. They knew him by sight, and they led him into the 328 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. room where the vine lay dead. He stood over the coffin for a moment, lips quivering and eyes full of tears, and then he bent over and kissed the face which would watch for him no more. When he had gone, they looked for the tear. He had kissed it away ! Old and poor and unknown, he had reaped a treasure such as all the millions of the world could not buy. dktroit frek press. > DRAMATIC. MARY'S NIGHT-RIDE. Mary Richling, the heroine of the story, was the wife of John Richling, a resident of New Orleans. At the break- ing out of the Civil War she went to visit her parents in Milwaukee. About the time of the bombardment of New Orleans, she received news of the dangerous illness of her husband, and she decided at once to reach his bedside, if possible. Taking with her her baby daughter, a child of three years, she proceeded southward, where, after several unsuccessful attempts to secure a pass, she finally determined to break through the lines. About the middle of the night Mary Richling was sitting very still and upright on a large, dark horse that stood champing his Mexican bit in the black shadow of a great oak. Alice rested before her, fast asleep against her bosom. Mary held by the bridle another horse, whose naked saddle- tree was empty. A few steps in front of her the light of the full moon shone almost straight down upon a narrow road that just there emerged from the shadow of woods on either side, and divided into a main right-fork and a much smaller one that curved around to Mary's left. Off in the direction of the main fork the sky was all aglow with camp-fires. Only just here on the left there was a cool and grateful darkness. DRAMATIC. 329 She lifted her head alertly. A twig crackled under a tread, and the next moment a man came out of the bushes at the left, and Tvithout a word took the bridle of the led-horse from her fingers, and vaulted into the saddle. The hand that rested for a moment on the cantle as he rose grasped a "navy six." He was dressed in plain "homespun," but he Avtis tlie same ^vho had been dressed in blue. He turned his horse, and led the way down the lesser road. " If we 'd of gone three hundred yards further, we 'd a run into the pickets. I went nigh enough to see the videttes Gettin' on their bosses in the main road. This here ain't no road; it just goes up to a nigger quarters. I've got one o' the niggers to show us the way." "Where is he?" whispered Mary; but before her com- panion could answer, a tattered form moved from behind a bush a little in advance, and started ahead in the path, walk- ing and beckoning. Presently they turned into a clear, open forest, and followed the long, rapid, swinging strides of the negro for nearly an hour. Then they halted on the bank of a deep, narrow stream. The negro made a motion for them to keep well to the right when they should enter the water. The white man softly lifted Alice to his arms, directed and assisted Mary to kneel in her saddle, with her skirts gathered carefully under her, and so they went down into the cold stream, the negro first, with arms outstretched above the flood; then Mary, and then the white man, or let us say plainly the spy, with the unawakened child on his breast. And so they rose out of it on the farther side without a shoe or garment wet, save the rags of their dark guide. Again they followed him, along a line of stake-and-rider fence, with the woods on one side, and the bright moonlight flooding a field of young cotton on the other. Now they heard the distant baying of house-dogs, now the doleful call of the chuckwill's-widow, and once INIary's blood turned for an instant to ice at the unearthly shriek of the hoot-owl 28 330 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y. just above their heads. At length they found themselves in a dim, narrow road, and the negro stopped. ''Dess keep dish yer road fo' 'bout half mile, an' you strak 'pon de broad, main road. Tek de right, an' you go Avhar yo' fancy tak you. Good-bye, miss. Good-bye, boss; do n't j^ou fo'git you promise tek me thoo to de Yankee, when you come back. I feered you gwine fo'git it, boss." The spy said he would not, and they left him. The half mile was soon passed, though it turned out to be a mile and a half, and at length Mary's companion looked back as they rode single file with Mary in the rear, and said softly: "There's the road." As they entered it and turned to the right, Mary, with Alice in her arms, moved somewhat ahead of her companion, her indifferent horsemanship having compelled him to drop back to avoid a prickly bush. His horse was just quicken- ing his pace to regain the lost position, when a man sprang up from the ground on the farther side of the highway, snatched a carbine from the earth, and cried: ''Halt!" The dark, recumbent forms of six or eight others could be seen, enveloped in their blankets, lying about a few red coals. Mary turned a frightened look backward, and met the eye of her companion. "Move a little faster," said he, in a low, clear voice. As he did so, she heard him answer the challenge, as his horse trotted softly after hers. "Don't stop us, my friend; we're taking a sick child to the doctor." "Halt, you hound!" the cry rang out; and as Mary glanced back, three or four men were leaping into the road. But she saw also her companion, his face suffused with an earnestness that was almost an agony, rise in his stirrups with the stoop of his shoulders all gone, and wildly cry: "Go!" She smote the horse, and flew. Alice awoke, and screamed. The report of a carbine rang out and went rolling away DRAMATIC. 331 in'a thousand echoes through the wood. Two others followed in sharp succession, and there went close by Mary's ear the waspish whine of a minnie-ball. At the same moment she recognized — once, twice, thrice — just at her back where the hoofs of her companion's horse were clattering, the tart rejoinder of his navy six. ''Go! lay low! lay low! cover the child!" But his words were needless. With head bowed forward and form crouched over the crying child, with slackened rein and flut- tering dress, and sun-bonnet and loosened hair blown back upon her shoulders, with lips compressed, and silent prayers, Mary Avas riding for life and liberty, and her husband's bed-side. "Go on! Go on! They're saddling up! Go! Go! We're going to make it! we're going to make it! Go-o-o ! " And they made it ! george w. cable. THE OLD WOMAN'S RAILWAY-SIGNAL. The most eflective working-force in the world in which we li^^e is the law of kindness. From time immemorial, music has wonderfully affected all beings, reasoning or un- reasoning, that have ears to hear. The prettiest idea and simile of ancient literature relates to Orpheus playing his lyre to animals listening in intoxicated silence to its strains. Well, kindness is the music of good-will to men and beasts; and both listen to it with their hearts, instead of their ears ; and the hearts of both are affected by it in the same way; if not to the same degree. Volumes might be written, filled with beautiful illustrations of its effect upon both. The music of kindness has not only power to charm, but even to trans- form, both the savage breast of man and beast ; and on this harp the smallest fingers in the world may play heaven's sweetest tunes on earth. 332 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Some time ago we read of an incident in America that will serve as a good illustration of this beautiful law. It was substantially to this effect : A poor, coarse -featured old woman lived on the line of the Baltimore and Ohio Railway, where it passed through a wild, unpeopled district in West- ern Virginia. She was a widow, with only one daughter living with her in a log hut, near a deep, precipitous gorge crossed by the railway bridge. Here she contrived to sup- port herself by raising and selling poultry and eggs, adding berries in their season, and other little articles for the market. She had to make a long, weary walk of many miles to a town where she could sell her basket of produce. The railway passed by her house to this town; but the ride would cost too much of the profit of her small sales ; so she trudged on generally to the market on foot. The conductor, or guard, came finally to notice her traveling by the side of the line, or on the footpath between the rails ; and being a good-natured, benevolent man, he would often give her a ride to and fro without charge. The engine-man and brake- man also were good to the old woman, and felt that they were not wronging the interest of the railway company by giving her these free rides. And soon an accident occurred that proved they were quite right in this view of the matter. In the wild month of March the rain descended, and the mountains sent down their rolling, roaring torrents of melted snow and ice into this gorge, near the old woman's house. The flood arose with the darkness of the night, until she heard the crash of the railway bridge, as it was swept from its abutments, and dashed its broken timbers against the craggy sides of the precipice on either side. It was nearly midnight. The rain fell in a flood ; and the darkness was deep and howling. In another half hour the train would be due. There was no telegraph on the line, and the stations were separated by great distances. What could she do to warn the train against the awful destruction it was approaching? She had DRAMATIC. 333 hardly a tallow candle in her house ; aud no light she could make of tallow or oil, if she had it, would live a moment in that tempest of wind and rain. Not a moment was to be lost; and her thought was equal to tlie moment. She cut the cords of her only bedstead, and shouldered the dry posts, head-pieces, and side-pieces. Her daughter followed her Avith their two wooden chairs. Up the steep embauk- ment they climbed, and piled all of their household furniture ujDon the line, a few rods beyond the black, awful gap, gurgling with the roaring flood. The distaut rumbling of the train came upon them just as they had fired the well- dried combustibles. The pile blazed up into the night, throw- ing its red, swaliug, booming light a long way up the line. In fifteen minutes it would begin to wane ; aud she could not revive it with green, wet wood. The thunder of the train grew louder. It w^as within five miles of the fire. Would they see it in time? They might not put on the brakes soon enough. Awful thouglit ! She tore her red woolen gown from her in a momeut, aud tying it to the end of a stick, ran up the line, waving it in both hands, while her daughter swung around her head a blazing chair- post a little before. The lives of a hundred unconscious passengers hung on the issue of the next minute. The ground trembled at the old woman's feet. The great red eye of the engine showed itself coming round a curve. Like as a huge, sharp-sighted lion coming suddeuly upon a fire, it sent forth a thrilling roar, that echoed through all the wild heights and ravines around. The train was at full speed, but the brakemen wrestled at their leverage with all the strength of desperation. The wheels ground along on the heated rails slower and slower, until the engine stopped at the roaring fire. It still blazed enough to show them the beetling edge of the black abyss into which the train and all its passengers would have plunged into a death and destruc- tion too horrible to think of, had it not been for the old woman's sio^nal. 334 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Kindness is the music of good-will to men ; and on this harp the smallest fingers in the world may play heaven's sweetest tunes on earth. elihu burritt. THE LAST HYMN. Tfie Sabbath-day was ending in a village by the sea, Tlie uttered benediction touched the people tenderly, And they rose to face the sunset in the glowing, ligbted west, And then hastened to their dwellings for God's blessed boon of rest. But tliey looked across the waters, and a storm was raging there; A fierce spirit moved above them— the wild spirit of the air; And it lashed and shook and tore them, till they thundered, groaned, and boomed ; And alas for any vessel in their yawning gulfs entombed! Very anxious were the people on that rocky coast of AVales Lest the dawns of coming morrows should be telling awful tales, AVben the sea had spent its passion and should cast upon the shore Bits of wreck and swollen victims, as it had done heretofore. With the rough winds blowing round her. a brave "woman strained lier eyes, And she saw along the billows a large vessel fall and rise; O, it did not need a prophet to tell what the end must be ! For no ship could ride in safety near that shore on such a sea. Then the pitying people hurried from their homes, and thronged the beach. O, for power to cross the waters and the perishing to reach ! Helpless hands were wrung for sorrow, tender hearts grew cold with dread. And the ship urged by the tempest, to the fatal rock-shore sped. " Sbe has parted in the middle ! O, the half of her goes down ! God have mercy ! Is heaven far to seek for those who drown ? " Lo ! when next the white, shocked faces looked with terror on the sea, Only one last clinging figure on a spar was seen to be. DRAMATIC. " 335 Nearer to the trembling watchers came the wreck tossed by the wave, And the man still clung and floated, though no power on earth could save. '' Could we send him a short message ? Here 's a trumpet. Shout away ! " 'T was the preacher's hand that took it, and he wondered what to say. Any memory of his sermon ? Firstly ? secondly ? Ah no ! There was but one thing to utter in the awful hour of woe ; So he shouted through the trumpet: "Look to Jesus! Can you hear ? " And "Ay, ay, sir !" rang the answer o'er the waters loud and clear. Then they listened. "He is singing, ' Jesus, lover of my soul ! ' " And the winds brought back the echo, " AVhile the nearer waters roll ; " Strange, indeed, it was to hear him, " Till the storm of life is past," Singing bravely from the waters, " 0, receive my soul at last! " He could have no other refuge. " Hangs my helpless soul on Thee ; Leave, ah, leave me not." The singer dropped at last into the sea ; And the watchers, looking homeward through their eyes with tears made dim, Said : " He passed to be with Jesus in the singing of that hymn." MARIANNE FARNINGHAM. A SECOND TRIAI.. It was Commencement at one of our colleges. The peo- ple were pouring into the church as I entered it, rather tardy. Finding the choice seats in the center of the audience- room already taken, I pressed forward, looking to the right and to the left for a vacancy. On the very front row of seats I found one. Here a little girl moved along to make room for me, looking into my face with large gray eyes, whose brightness was softened by very long lashes. Her face was open and fresh as a newly blown rose before sunrise. Again and again 336 ELOCUTION AND ORATOIiY. I found my eyes turning to the rose-like face, and each time the gray eyes moved, half-smiling, to meet mine. Evidently the child was ready to "make up" with me. And when, with a bright smile, she returned my dropped handkerchief, and I said, "Thank you!" we seemed fairly introduced. Other persons, now coming into the seat, crowded me quite close up against the little girl, so that we soon felt very well acquainted. "There 's going to be a great crowd," she said to me. " Yes," I replied ; " people always like to see how school- boys are made into men." Her face beamed with pleasure and pride as she said : " My brother's going to graduate; he's going to speak. I 'vc brought these flowers to throw to him." They were not greenhouse favorites; just old-fashioned domestic flowers, such as we associate with the dear grand- mothers ; "but," I thought, "they will seem sweet and beautiful to him for little sister's sake." " That is my brother," she went on. "The one with the liglit hair?" I asked. " O no," she said, smiling and shaking her head in in- nocent reproof; "not that homely one; that handsome one with brown, wavy hair. His eyes look brown, too; but they are not — they are dark-blue. There ! he 's got his hand up to his head now. You see him, do n't you?" In an eager way she looked from me to him, and from him to me, as if some important fate depended upon my identifying her brother. "I see him," I said. "He's a very good-looking brother." " Yes, he is beautiful," she said, with artless delight; "and he's so good, and he studies so hard. He has taken care of me ever since mamma died. Here is his name on the programme. He is not the valedictorian, but he has an honor, for all that." I saw in the little creature's familiarity with these tech- DRAMATIC. 337 nical college terms that she had closely identified herself with her brother's studies, hopes, and successes. "His oration is a real good one, and he says it beauti- fully. He has said it to me a great many times. I 'most know it by heart. O! it begins so pretty and so grand. This is the way it begins," she added, encouraged by the in- terest she must have seen in my face : " Amid the permuta- tions and combinations of the actors and the forces which make up the great kaleidoscope of history, we often find that a turn of Destiny's hand ' " ''Why, bless the baby!" I thought, looking down into her bright, proud face. I can 't describe how very odd and elfish it did seem to have those long words rolling out of the smiling, infantile mouth. As the exercises progressed, and approached nearer and nearer the effort on which all her interest was concentrated, my little friend became excited and restless. Her eyes grew larger and brighter, two deep-red spots glowed on her cheeks. "Now, it's his turn," she said, turning to me a face in which pride and delight and anxiety seemed about equally mingled. But when the overture was played through, and his name was called, the child seemed, in her eagerness, to forget me and all the earth beside him. She rose to her feet and leaned forward for a better view of her brother, as he mounted to the speaker's stand. I knew by her deep breathing that her heart was throbbing in her throat. I knew, too, by the way her brother came up the steps and to the front that he was trembling. The hands hung limp ; his face was pallid, and the lips blue as with cold. I felt anxious. The child, too, seemed to discern that things were not well with him. Something like fear showed in her face. He made an automatic bow. Then a bewildered, strug- gling look came into his face, then a helpless look, and then he stood staring vacantly, like a somnambulist, at the waiting audience. The moments of painful suspense went by, and 29 338 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. still he stood as if struck dumb. I saw how it was ; he had been seized with stage-fright. Alas ! little sister ! She turned her large, dismayed eyes upon me. *'He's forgotten it," she said. Then a swift change came into her face; a strong, determined look; and on the funeral-like silence of the room broke the sweet, brave, child-voice : " 'Amid the permutations and combinations of the actors and the forces which make up the great kaleidoscope of his- tory, we often find that a turn of Destiny's hand '" Every body about us turned and looked. The breathless silence ; the sweet, childish voice, the childish face, the long, unchildlike words, produced a weird effect. But the help had come too late ; the unhappy brother was already stagger- ing in humiliation from the stage. The band quickly struck up, and waves of lively music rolled out to cover the defeat. I gave the little sister a glance in which I meant to show the intense sympathy I felt ; but she did not see me. Her eyes, swimming with tears, were on her brother's face. I put my arm around her, but she was too absorbed to heed the ca- ress, and before I could appreciate her purpose, she was on her way to the shame-stricken young man sitting with a face like a statue's. When he saw her by his side the set face relaxed, and a quick mist came into his eyes. The young men got closer together to make room for her. She sat down beside him, laid her flowers on his knee, and slipped her hand in his. I could not keep my eyes from her sweet, pitying face. I saw her whisper to him, he bending a little to catch her words. Later, I found out that she was asking him if he knew his "piece" now, and that he answered yes. When the young man next on the list had spoken, and while the band was playing, the child, to the brother's great surprise, made her way up the stage steps, and pressed through the throng of professors and trustees, and distin- guished visitors, up to the college president. LRAMATIC. 339 " If YOU please, sir," she said with a little courtesy, "will YOU and the trustees let mY brother try again y He knows his piece dow."' For a moment the president stared at her through his gold-bowed spectacles, and then, appreciating the child's pe- tition, he smiled on her, and went down and spoke to the young man who had failed. So when the band had again ceased playing, it was briefly announced that ^Ir. would now deliYer nis oration — "Historical Parallels." A ripple of heightened and expectant interest passed over the audience, and then all sat stone still, as though fear- mg to breathe, lest the speaker might again take fright, ^o danger I The hero in the youth was aroused. He went at his "piece" with a set purpose to conquer, to redeem him- self, and to bring the smile back into the child's tear- stained face. I watched the face during the speaking. The wide eyes, the parted lips, the whole rapt being said that the breathless audience was forgotten, that her spirit was moving with his. And when the address was ended with the ardent aban- don of one who catches enthusiasm in the realization that he is fighting down a wrong judgment and conquering a sympathy, the effect was really thrilling. That dignified audience broke into rapturous applause ; bouquets, intended for the valedictorian, rained like a tempest. And the chiid who had helped to save the day — that one beaming little face, in its pride and gladness — is something to be forever remembered. saeah wixtee kellogg. ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST. The scene opens with a view of the great Natural Bridge in Virginia. There are three or four lads standing in the channel below, looking up with awe to that vast arch of un- hewn rocks which the Almighty bridged over those ever- o40 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. lasting hutments, *'when the moruing stars sang together." The little piece of sky spanning those measureless piers is full of stars, although it is midday. It is almost five hun- dred feet from where they stand, up those perpendicular bulwarks of limestone to the key of that vast arch, which appears to them only of the size of a man's hand. The silence of death is rendered more impressive by the little stream that falls from rock to rock down the channel. The sun is darkened, and the boys have uncovered their heads, as if standing in the presence-chamber of the Majesty of the whole earth. At last this feeling begins to wear away; they look around them, and find that others have been there before them. They see the names of hundreds cut in the limestone hutments. A new feeling comes over their young hearts, and their knives are in their hands in an instant. *' What man has done, man can do," is their watchword, while they draw themselves up, and carve their name a foot above those of a hundred full-grown men who have been there before them. They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion, except one. This ambitious youth sees a name just above his reach — a name which will be green in the memory of the world when those of Alexander, Caesar, and Bonaparte shall rot in oblivion. It was the name of Washington. Before he marched with Braddock to that fatal field he had been there and left his name a foot above any of his predecessors. It was a glorious thought to write his name side by side with that of the Father of his Country. He grasps his knife with a firmer hand, and clinging to a little jutting crag, he cuts a niche into the limestone, about a foot above where he stands; he then reaches up and cuts another for his hands. 'T is a dangerous adventure ; and, as he draws himself up carefully to his full length, he finds himself a foot above every name chronicled in that mighty wall. While his com- panions are regarding him with concern and admiration, he cuts his name in wide capitals, large and deep, into that DRAMATIC. 341 flinty album. His knife is still in his hand, and strength in his sinews, and a new-created aspiration in his heart. Again he cuts another niche, and again he carves his name in larger capitals. This is not enough; heedless of the entreaties of his companions, he cuts and climbs again. He measures his length at every gain he cuts. The voices of his friends wax weaker and weaker, till their words are finally lost on his ear. He now for the first time casts a look beneath him. Had that glance lasted a moment more, that moment would have been his last. He clings with a convulsive shudder to his little niche in the rock. His knife is worn half-way to the haft. He can hear the voices of his terror-stricken com- panions below. What a moment ! what a meager chance to escape destruction! There is no retracing his steps. It is im- possible to put his hands into the same niche Avith his feet and retain his slender hold a moment. His companions instantly perceive this new and fearful dilemma. He is too high to ask for his father and mother, his brothers and sisters. But one of his companions anticipates his desire. Swift as the wind he bounds down the channel, and the situation of the fated boy is told upon his father's hearthstone. Minutes of almost eternal length roll on, and there are hundreds standing in that rocky channel and hundreds on the bridge above, all holding their breath, and awaiting the fearful catastrophe. The poor boy hears the hum of new and numerous voices, both above and below. He can just dis- tinguish the tones of his father, who is shouting with all the energy of despair : ''William! William! don't look down ! Your mother, and Henry and Harriet are all here praying for you ! Do n't look down ! Keep your eye toward the top ! " The boy did n't look down. His eye is fixed like a flint towards heaven, and his young heart on Him who reigns there. He grasps again his knife. He cuts another niche, and another foot is added to the hundreds that remove him from the reach of human help from below. How carefully 342 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. he uses liis wasting blade! How anxiously be selects the softest places iu that vast pier ! How he avoids every flinty grain ! How he economizes his physical powers, resting a moment at each gain he cuts! How every motion is watched from below! There stand his father, mother, brother, and sister on the very spot where, if he falls, he will not fall alone. The sun is half-way down in the west. The lad has made fifty additional niches in that mighty wall. Fifty more must be cut before the longest rope can reach him. His wasting blade strikes again into the limestone. The boy is emerging painfully, foot by foot, from under that lofty arch. Spliced ropes are ready in the hands of those who are lean- ing over the outer edge of the bridge above. Two minutes more and all must be over. The blade is w^orn to the last half-inch. The boy's head reels; his eyes are starting from their sockets. His last hope is dying in his heart; his life must hang on the next gain he cuts. That niche is his last. At the last faint gash he makes, his knife — his faithful knife — falls from his little nerveless hand, and ringing along the precipice, falls at his mother's feet. An involuntary groan of despair runs like a death-knell through the channel below, and all is still as the grave. At the height of nearly three hundred feet the devoted boy lifts his hopeless heart, and closes his eyes to commend his soul to God. 'Tis but a moment — there! one foot swings off — he is reeling — trembling — toppling over into eternity! Hark! a shout falls on his ear from above ! The man who is lying with half his length over the bridge has caught a glimpse of the boy's head and shoulders. Quick as thought the noosed rope is within reach of the sinking youth. With a faint, convulsive effort the swooning boy drops his arras into the noose. Darkness comes over him, and with the words God — mother — whispered on his lips just loud enough to be heard in heaven — the tightening rope lifts him out of his DRAMATIC. 343 laststallow niche. Not a lip moves while he is dangling over that fearful abyss ; but when a sturdy Virginian reaches down and draws up the lad and holds him up in his arms before the tearful, breathless multitude, such shouting — such leaping and weeping for joj — never greeted the ear of a human being so recovered from the yawning gulf of eternity. ELIHU BUREITT. THE BELLS. ABRIDGED. Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells I "What a world of merriment their melod}' foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight ; Keeping time, time, time, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding bells — Golden bells ! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight From the molten-golden notes, And all in tune ! — 0, from out the sounding cells. What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! How it swells ! How it dwells On the future ! how it tells Of the rapture that impels 344 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells I Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells ! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their afTright In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire! Leaping higher, higher, higher. O, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells. In the jangling And the wrangling. How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! Hear the tolling of the bells — Iron bells ! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright. At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. DRAMATIC. 345 And the people— ah, the people ! They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who tolHng, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone. Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone. They are neither man nor woman ; Thej^ are neither brute nor human — They are ghouls: And their king it is who tolls ; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Keeping time, time, time, To the throbbing of the bells — To the sobbing of the bells ; As he knells; knells, knells, — To the rolling of the bells, — To the tolling of the bells, To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. EDGAR A. POE. THE LAST DAYS OF HKRCUI.ANKUM. There was a man, A Roman soldier, for some daring deed That trespassed on the laws, in dungeon low Chained down. His was a noble spirit, rough, But generous, and brave, and kind. He had a son ; it w^as a rosy boy, A little, faithful copy of his sire In face and gesture. From infancy the child Had been his father's solace and his care. Every sport The father shared and heightened. But at length The rigorous law had grasped him, and condemned To fetters and to darkness. The captive's lot He felt in all its bitterness ; the walls Of his deep dungeon answer'd many a sigh 346 ELOCUTION AND OR A TORY. And heart-lieaved groan. His tale was known, and touched His jailer with compassion ; and the boy, Thenceforth a frequent visitor, beguiled His father's lingering hours, and brought a balm With his loved presence, that in every wound Dropped healing. But in this terrific hour He was a poisoned arrow in the breast Where he had been a cure- With earliest morn Of that first day of darkness and amaze, He came. The iron door was closed — for them Never to open more ! The day, the night, Dragged slowly by ; nor did they know the fate Impending o'er the city. AVell they heard The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath, And felt its giddy rocking; and the air Grew hot at length, and thick ; but in his straw The boy was sleeping; and the father hoped The earthquake might pass by ; nor would he wake From his sound rest the unfearing child, nor tell The dangers of their state. On his low couch The fettered soldier sank, and with deep awe, Listened to the fearful sounds. With upturned eye, To the great gods he breathed a prayer ; then strove To calm himself, and lose in sleep awhile His useless terrors. But he could not sleep ; His body burned with feverish heat; his chains Clanked loud, although he moved not; deep in earth Groaned unimaginable thunders ; sounds, Fearful and ominous, arose and died. Like the sad meanings of November's wind In the blank midnight. Deepest horror chilled His blood that burned before ; cold, clammy sweats Came o'er him ; then, anon, a fiery thrill Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk, And shivered as in fear; now upright leaped. As though he heard the battle-trumpet sound, DBA3fA TIC. 347 And longed to cope with death. He slept at last — A troubled, dreamy sleep. Well had he slept Never to waken more ! His hours are few, But terrible his agony. Soon the storm Burst forth ; the lightnings glanced ; the air Shook with the thunders. They awoke ; they sprung Amazed upon their feet. The dungeon glowed A moment as in sunshine, and was dark ; Again, a flood of white flame fills the cell. Dying away upon the dazzled eye. In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound Dies, throbbing, ringing in the ear. Silence, And blackest darkness ! With intensest awe The soldier's frame was filled ; and many a thought Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind. As underneath he felt the fevered earth Jarring and lifting, and the massive walls Heard harshly grate and strain ; yet knew he not. While evils undefined and yet to come Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless wound Fate had already given. Where, man of woe ! Where, wretched father, is thy boy? Thou call'st His name in vain: he can not answer thee. Loudly the father called upon his child: No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously He searched their couch of straw ; with headlong haste Trod round his stinted limits, and low bent. Groped darkling on the earth : no child was there. Again he called; again, at farthest stretch Of his accursed fetters, till the blood Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes Fire flashed ; he strained, wdth arm extended far, And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil ! Yet still renew^ed ; still round and round he goes. And strains, and snatches, and with dreadful cries 348 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now: He i)lants against the wall his feet; his chain Grasps; tnj^s with giant strength to foree away The deep-driven staple ; yells and shrieks with raget And, like a desert lion in the snare, Kaging to break his toils, to and fro bounds. But see! the ground is opening; a blue light Mounts, gently waving, noiseless; thin and cold Tt seems, and like a rainbow-tint, not flame ; V>\\i by its luster, on the earth outstretched, Behold the lifeless child ! His dress is singed ; And o'er his face serene a darkened line Points out the lightning's track. The father saw, And all his fury fled; a dead calm fell That i'nstant on him; speechless, fixed, he stood; And, with a look that never wandered, gazed Intensely on the corse. Those laughing eyes Were not yet closed; and round those rul)y lips The wonted smile returned. Silent and pale The father stands ; no tear is in his eye ; The thunders bellow, but he hears them not; The ground lifts like a sea, — he knows it not; The strong walls grind and gape; the vaulted roof Takes shapes like bubbles tossing in the wind. See ! he looks up and smiles ; for death to him Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace Be given, 't were still a sweeter thing to die. It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground, At every swell, nectrer and still more near, Moves toward his father's outstretched arms his boy. Once he has touched his garment; how his eye Lightens with love, and hope, and anxious fears! Ha! See! he has him now! he clasps him round, Kisses his face, puts back the curling locks That shaded his line brow ; looks in his eyes, — Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands; Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont To lie when sleeping, and resigned awaits Undreaded death. DRAMATIC. 349 And death came soon, and swift, \nd pangless. The huge pile sank down at once nto tlie opening earth. Walls — arches — roof — Vnd deep foundation-stones — all — mingling— fell ! EDWIN ^THEHTON. THE DUMB SAVIOR. [abridged.] Ho, ^loRO ! Moro, my dog, where are yon ? Moro ! He has gone ! He has left me — The last, the only friend. Forsaken by him — By the one living thing thftt clung to me When the storm stripped my life, who followed me Through cold, and hunger, and wild, weary tramp On the bleak highways. So, at last he 's gone ! Lured by the smell of Athol's savory meats, The warmth of Athol's hearth. An hour ago. When I met Athol yonder in the street, He said with insolent pity in his look : " Sell me that dog. He taxes you too sore To feed him. Here's his price." Sell you my dog! Sell you the one thing that keeps alive in me A spark of trust in any thing on earth ? Never ! Your gold has bought all that was mine — My lands, my home, my friends, my promised bride. It can not buy my dog ! He would not go ! Your chains could never hold him ! He Avould leave Your juicy meats to come and share my crust. Put up your gold ! It can not buy my dog. " We '11 see," he said, and turned upon his heel — The low-born insolent ! His gold had bought My old proud home, my flattering friends, the graves Of my dead sires ; ay, even her, my love. With eyes as blue as heaven, as full of truth (I would have sworn so once) as heaven of stars. How I loved her! How I trusted her! How her voice thrilled me on that summer night When, with her hand in mine, she said : 350 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. " I love you not For laurels or for gold, but for yourself, Your own proud manhood, and your faithful heart." These were her words. Just Heaven, that lips so fair Could utter words so false ! Not care for gold ! 'T w^as all she eared for. When it was swept away, Her love went with it. All my faith went, too ; And whelmed in black despair I fled the place. I cried " I stand nlone, with not one living thing To care what doom despair may drive me to." But as I spoke a soft head touched my knee, A warm tongue lapped my hand. Dumb sympathy Of the poor brute ! My faithful dog had broke His chain to follow me. My faithful dog! Ha, ha ! There is no faith in man or beast Upon this hollow globe. My dog is gone. Yonder in Athol's home that once was mine, He followed him, lured by his bait of food. The craven-hearted wretch ! True, he was starved, But so am 1. Yet I spurned Athol's gold, Offered as a price for him, We'l, he is gone ! Why did I come back here ? I know too well. I came, poor fool, to look upon t4ie ground Her footsteps pressed. Perchance she loved me still? Perchance I 'd find her pale of cheek and pined With weeping for the outcast she still loved? Ah, fool ! Why, never in the days gone by, Did her cheek blossom with so rich a rose As glowed on it to-night. How proud she looked In those far-trailing robes of moonlit silk ; The rubies glittering on the foam- white hand That lay on Athol's arm ! She did not see me. He saw me! Athol, proud, triumphant Athol, Who told me that I had no bread to feed My dog, awhile before. He knew me now ! He bent his head and whispered in her ear. And broke into a mocking laugh, while she Arched her white neck and smiled with scorn-curved lips. Hark to the music ! She is dancing nov/. How the tall windows blaze ! Fair forms flash by. Whirling like brilliant blossoms in the mad DRAMATIC. 351 Maelstrom of melody. Yes, they dance! They feast! My dog feasts yonder in the halls My proud ancestors reared. And I — I stand Beneath the mocking stars and freezing skies, Deserted, friendless, gnawed by hunger pangs. Curses on them ! If there be a hell — When earth is hell enough — I 'd brave its fires A thousand years for leave to crush them. And make them suffer as I suffer now. Why should I suffer? There's one refuge still: When life grows torture we can shake it off. Death beckons us with shadowy hand, and points To the abyss of nothingness and rest. Rest ! Is it rest ? What if the fever-dream Of life goes on beyond the grave? It is too mad a doubt. The dead are dead. The hour for dotard's dream is past ! And yet my mother's prayers, her cradle hymns — Away, these memories ! They shall not hold me back From the abyss of death, let death be wdiat it may. Here I hold the key to its mysteries. This solves the doubt; this breaks the fever-dream ; This lays a palsying spell on blood and limb And burning brain— and lo ! the wild dream is done. Scorn, poverty, cold, hunger are no more. No more keen pangs when friends prove treacherous, Whenever the bst dumb friend forsakes. Dance on ! feast on! I shall not heed you now. Stare at me, mystic heaven, in cold rebuke ; Safe sits your God on high. Tracing the shining paths of whirling worlds. What cares he for one burning human heart ? Yet he gives death. It is the best he gives. For this I thank him, and I greet thee — Death, Dark essence of the poppy, kiss my lips, And steal their breath forever. Earth, farewell. Ha! What is this? Who dares to grasp my arm? Moro, my dog! Have you come back, my dog? Come back from Athol's food and fire to me ? Why do you pluck my sleeve ? What is this you've laid here at my feet? Why, bread! You 've brought me bread? 352 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 'T was for this you left me, then ? You sought to save me, and I thought — I thought— Forgive me, Moro. 1 Iiave wronged you, dog. What if I 've wronged my fellow-men as well ! If there 's such depth of love And sacrificing pity in a brute. Can man be w^holly cmIIous? I will hope. My dog, you have saved me. I will live; nay more, I will shake off this lethargy of despair; This spell of the Demon Drink, that bade me Drown my woe in its accursed nepenthe. From this hour that chain is broken. Faith and hope come back Like a bright flood of sunshine. No, my dog, you would have died with me ; You shall not starve. Here we will share this bread as sacrament. For this my pledge : By yon far-shining stars, And by my mother's grave on yonder hill. And by your dumb yet faithful love, my friend, I will not sink in numbing gloom again. Upon the ruins of the past 1 '11 build the future fabric. I will hope, trust, work, and win once more A place among my fellow-men. mary e. bryan. RIZPAH. The long, bright day of harvest toil is past, The fragrant sheaves are bound, the reapers gone; Slowly from out the west the yellow rays Of ripening sunshine die, hushed song and jest; And from the sacrifice by priestly hands Sweet, spicy incense, like a voiceless prayer, Floats upon perfumed wings to Mercy's throne. Down cloudy pathway walks the coming night. Casting mysterious shadows in her way — Shadows that fill each sense with vague alarm, More frightful for their very nothingness. Look! how the shrinking moon creeps up the skies. Holding with trembling hand her silver lamp, DRAMATIC. 353 Hiding her face behind a filmy veil, As if she dared not look upon the sight Of the dread something which her light reveals. See! see! On Gibeah's Hill, what phantoms rise, Swinging ^nd swaying idly to and fro, Against the mantle of the startled night, Like nameless terrors creeping through a dream ! Great God ! these shapes are men ! Men — with stony eyeballs looking down. Soulless and lifeless, into other eyes — Eyes full of mother-love gone mad with woe ; Rizpah, her poor, gray tresses all unbound, Each nerve and muscle held by mighty will. Fearless in all her agony of love, Guarding her precious dead against the vultures. And look how^ grief and dread have marked her face With awful lines of passionate despair! Hark! how the frenzied voice disturbs the night! "Back! back! ye shall not touch one shining hair, Nor fan the poor, dead cheeks with poisonous wings. A mother watches o'er her precious sons- Mine own! mine own! why, alas! do I, . Still cumber earth's fair ways, wliile ye must die In all the strength of manhood's lusty glow ? My sons! my sons! patient God ! was ever sight like this ? Is it a dream? Still I wake, erewhile Wake to their living glance, and touch, and smile. They were my babes once ; they used to lie Cooing sweet answers to the lullaby 1 sang to put them to their cradle rest. Listen ! upon the night-winds, clear and low, Come fragments of that song of long ago. 'T was thus I sung — a foolish little strain; Yet babes and mothers love such music well ; E'en now its cadence soothes my restless brain. I think I hear the angels sing it ; who can tell ? My children loved it so in twilight gray. 'Tis twilight now. Alas! and where are they? Listen: 'Sleep! sleep! the south-wind blows; Bluebell and baby, bee and rose ; 30 354 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. The tide ebbs, the tide flows; Niglit coines, but night goes, — Sleep ! sleep! ' " Thus night and day her wild, sad watch went on, And none could win her from her loving task. At last the barley-sheaves were gathered home ; And once again the dry skies rained soft tears, As if in sorrow for lier tearless woe, And pitying Heaven made man more pitiful. King David's heart grew tender at the sight; And, filled with wonder at her mighty love, He took her precious dead with reverent hands, Enfolded them with costly cerements, And gave them sepulcher with kindred dust. Then Rizpah's work was finished. She arose, Folded her sackcloth tent and went her way, Down through the valley to her childless home; Poor, waiting Rizpah ! After many days death came to her. How slowly does he come when hearts are breaking— And are waiting to break — As if he- grudged the comfort of a grave! *T was twilight in the harvest-time again ; She seemed to slumber, when she clasped her arms, As if Khe held a baby at her breast, And sung this fragment of a cradle-song: "Sleep! the south-wind softly blows; The tide ebbs, the tide flows; Night comes, but night goes, — Sleep! sleep!" Then Rizpah slept. lucy blinn. THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 'TwAS in the prime of summer time. An evening calm and cool. And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school; There were some that ran, and some that leapt Like troutlets in a pool. DRAMATIC. 355 Away they sped with gamesome minds, And souls untouched by sin ; To a level mead they came, and there They drave the wickets in. Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over the town of Lynn. Like sportive deer they coursed about, And shouted as they ran. Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can ; But the usher sat remote from all, A melancholy man! His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven's blessed breeze; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease; So he leaned his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees ! Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, Nor ever glanced aside; For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide; Much study had made him very lean, And pale, and leaden-eyed. At last he shut the ponderous tome ; With a fast and fervent grasp He strained the dusky covers close, And fixed the brazen hasp: " O God, could I so close my mind, And clasp it with a clasp! " Then leaping on his feet upright. Some moody turns he took; Now up the mead, then dow^n the mead, And past a shady nook ; And lo ! he saw a little boy That pored upon a book ! " My gentle lad, what is 't you read — Romance or fairy fable? 356 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Or is it some historic page Of kings and crowns unstable?" Tlie young boy gave an upward glance — "It is 'The Death of Abel.'" The usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain; Six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again ; And down he sat beside tlie lad, And talked with him of Cain. He told how murderers walked tlie earth, Beneath the curse of Cain — With crimson clouds before their eyes, And flames about their brain ; For blood has left upon their souls Its everlasting stain ! "And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme — Woe, woe, unutterable woe — Who spill life's sacred stream ! For why? Methought last niglit, I wrought A murder in a dream ! One that had never done me wrong — A feeble man, and old — I led him to a lonely field ; The moon shone clear and cold ; Now here, said I, this man shall die. And I will have his gold ! Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, And one with a heavy stone, One hurried gash with a hasty knife — And then the deed was done; There was nothing lying at my foot, But lifeless flesh and bone ! Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone. That could not do me ill ; And yet I feared him all the more For lying there so still ; There was a manhood in his look That murder could not kill ! DRAMATIC. 357 And lo ! the universal air Seemed lit with ghastlj^ flame; Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes, Were looking down in blame : I took the dead man by the hand, And called upon his name ! God ! it made me quake to see Such sense within the slain ! But when I touched the lifeless clay, The blood gushed out amain ! For every clot a burning spot Was scorching in my brain ! And now from forth the frowning sky, From the heaven's topmost height, 1 heard a voice — the awful voice Of the blood-avenging sprite: * Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead. And hide it from my sight ! ' I took the dreary body up, And cast it in a stream — A sluggish water, black as ink. The depth was so extreme. My gentle boy, remember this Is nothing but a dream ! Down went the corse with a hollow plunge. And vanished in the pool ; Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, And washed my forehead cool ; And sat among the urchins young, That evening in the school ! heaven ! to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim ! 1 could not share in childish prayer. Nor join in evening hymn : Like a devil of tlie pit I seemed, 'Mid holy cherubim ! And Peace went with them one and all, And each calm pillow spread ; But Guilt was my grim chamberlain That lighted me to bed. 358 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, And drew my midnight curtains round, With fingers bloody red ! All niglit I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime, With one besetting horrid hint, That racked me all the time — A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime ! One stern tyrannic thought that made All other thoughts its slave; Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave — Still urging me to go and see The dead man in his grave! Heavily I rose up — as soon As light was in the sky — And sought the black, accursed pool With a wild, misgiving eye ; And I saw the dead in the river bed, For the faithless stream was dry. Merrily rose the lark, and shook The dew-drop from its wing; But I never marked its morning flight, I never heard it sing ; For I was stooping once again Under the horrid thing. With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, I took him up and ran. There was no time to dig a grave Before the day began ; In a lonesome wood, Avith heaps of leaves, I hid the murdered man ! And all that day I read in school, But my thought- was otherwhere ; As soon as the midday task was done, In secret I was there : And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, And still the corse was bare ! DRAMATIC. ' 359 Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep ; Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep ! O God ! that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now awake ! Again, again, with dizzy brain, ^ The human life I take ; And my red right hand grows raging hot, Like Cranmer's at the stake. And still no peace for the restless clay Will wave or mcMd allow ; The horrid thing pursues my soul — It stands before me now ! " The fearful boy looked up, and saw Huge drops upon his brow ! That very night, while gentle sleep The urchin's eyelids kissed. Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, Through the cold and heavy mist ; And Eugene Aram walked between. With gyves upon his wrist. HOOD. CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT. England's sun was slowly setting o'er the hills so far away, Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day; And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair ; He with step so slow and weakened, she with sunny, floating hair ; He with sad bowed head, and thoughtful, she with lips so cold and white, - Struggling to keep back the mxirmur, " Curfew must not ring to-night." " Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old. With its walls so dark and gloomy — walls so dark and damp and cold— 360* ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. " I 've a lover in that prison, doomed this very niglit to die At the ringing of the curfew, and no earthly help is nigh. Cromwell will not come till sunset," and her face grew strangely white, As she spoke in husky whispers: "Curfew must not ring to- night." "Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton — every word pierced her young heart Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly poisoned dart — " Long, long years I 've rung the curfew from that gloomy shad- owed tower Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour. I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right ; Now I'm old I will not miss it; girl, the curfew rings to-night!" Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow. And within her heart's deep center, Bessie made a solemn vow. She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh, "At the ringing of the curfew Basil Underwood must die." And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright — One low murmur, scarcely spoken — " Curfew must not ring to- night!" She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old church door, Left the old man coming slowly paths he 'd trod so oft before; Not one moment paused the maiden, but with cheek and brow aglow, Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro. Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of light, Upward still, her pale lips saying: "Curfew shall not ring to- night." She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great dark bell. And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell. DRAMATIC. 361 See, the ponderous tongue is swinging, 'tis the hour of curfew now, And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath and paled her brow. Shall she let it ring? No, never! her eyes flash with sudden light, As she springs and grasps it firmly — " Curfew shall not ring to-night ! " Out she swung, far out, the city seemed a tiny speck below ; There, twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to and fro; And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the bell), And he thought the twilight curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell. Still the maiden clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and white, Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating — " Curfew shall not ring to-night ! " It was o'er — the bell ceased swajdng, and the maiden stepped once more Firmly on the damp old ladder, where for hundred years before Human foot had not been planted ; and what she this night had done Should be told in long years after. As the rays of setting sun Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires with heads of white Tell their children why the curfew did not ring that one sad night. O'er the distant hills came Cromwell. Bessie saw him, and her brow. Lately white with sickening terror, glows with sudden beauty now. At his foot she told her story, showed her hands all bruised and torn ; And her sweet young face so haggard, with a look so sad and worn, Touched his heart with sudden pity — lit his eyes with misty light; " Go, your lover lives ! " cried Cromwell ; '* curfew shall not ring to-night." ANONYMOUS. 31 362 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. THE FIREMAN'S PRAYER. It was in the gray of the early morning, in the season of Lent. Broad Street, from Fort Hill to State Street, was crowded with hastening worshipers, attendants on early mass. Maidens, matrons, boys, and men jostled and hurried on toward the churches; some with countenances sincerely sad, others with apparent attempts to appear in accord with the somber season ; while many thoughtless and careless ones joked and chatted, laughed and scuffled along in the hurry- ing multitude. Suddenly a passer-by noticed tiny wreaths and puffs of smoke starting from the shingles of the roof upon a large warehouse. The great structure stood upon the corner, silent, bolted, and teuantless; and all the win- dows, save a small round light in the upper story, were closely and securely covered with heavy shutters. Scarcely had the smoke been seen by one, when others of the crowd looked up in the same direction, and detected the unusual occurrence. Then others joined them, and still others fol- lowed, until a swelling multitude gazed upward to the roof, over which the smoke soon hung like a fog; while from eaves and shutter of the upper story, little jets of black smoke burst suddenly out into the clear morning air. Then came a flash, like the lightning's glare, through the frame of the little gable window, and then another ; brighter, ghastlier, and more prolonged. '* Fire ! " " Fire ! " screamed the throng, as, moved by a single impulse, they pointed with excited gestures toward the window. Quicker than the time it takes to tell, the cry reached the corner, and was flashed on mes- senger wires to tower and steeple, engine and hose-house, over the then half-sleeping city. Great bells with ponderous tongues repeated the cry with long strokes; little bells, with sharp and spiteful clicks, recited the news; while half-con- scious firemen, watching through the long night, leaped upon engines and hose-carriages, and rattled into the street. Soon the roof of the burning warehouse was drenched DRAMATIC, 363 with floods of water, poured upon it from the hose of many engines ; while the surging multitude in Broad Street had grown to thousands of excited spectators. The engines puffed and hooted ; the engineers shouted; the hook-and-l^dder boys clambered upon roof and cornice, shattered the shut- ters, and burst in the doors. But the wooden structure was a seething furnace throughout all its upper portion ; while the water and ventilation seemed only to increase its power and fury. ** Come down ! Come down ! Off that roof! Come out of that building!" shouted an excited man in the crowd, struggling with all his power in the meshes of the solid mass of men, women, and children in the street. '' Come down ! For God's sake, come down ! The rear store is filled with barrels of powder ! " "Powder! Powder!" screamed the engineer through his trumpet. "Powder!" shouted the hosemen. "Pow- der!" called the brave boys on roof and cornice. "Pow- der!" answered the trumpet of the chief. "Powder!" "Powder!" "Powder!" echoed the men in the burning pile ; and from ladder, casement, window, roof, and cornice, leaped terrified firemen with pale faces and terror-stricken limbs. " Push back the crowd ! " " Run for your lives ! Run ! Run ! Run ! " roared the trumpets. But, alas ! the crowd was dense, and spread so far through cross streets and alleys, that away on the outskirts, through the shouts of men, the whistling of the engines, and the roar of the heaven-piercing flames, the orders could not be heard. The frantic beings in front, understanding their danger, pressed wildly back. The firemen pushed their engines and their carriages against the breasts of the crowd ; but the throng moved not. So densely packed was street and square, and so various and deafening the noises, that the army of excited spectators in the rear still pressed forward with irre- sistible force, unconscious of danger, and regarding any out- 364 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. cry as a mere ruse to disperse them for convenience' sake. The great mass swayed and heaved like the waves of the sea ; but beyond the terrible surging of those in front, whose heart-rending screams half drowned the whistles, there was no sign of retreat. As far as one could see, the streets were crowded with living human flesh and blood. ''My God! My God!" said the engineer in despair. "What can be done? Lord have mercy on us all! What can be done?" "What can be done? I'll tell you what can be done," said one of Boston's firemen, whose hair was not yet sprinkled with gray. " Yes, bring out that powder! And 1 'm the man to do it. Better one man perish than perish all. Fol- low me with the water, and, if God lets me live long enough, I'll have it out." Perhaps, as the hero rushed into the burning pile, into a darkness of smoke and a withering heat, he thought of the wife and children at home, of the cheeks he had kissed in the evening, of the cheerful good-bye of the prattling ones, and the laugh as he gave the "last tag;" for as he rushed from the hoseman, who tied the handkerchief over his mouth, he muttered : " God care for my little ones when I am gone." Away up through smoke and flame and cloud to the heights of heaven's throne, ascended that prayer, "God care for my little ones when I am gone," and the Mighty Father and the Loving Son heard the fireman's petition. Into the flame of the rear store rushed the hero, and groping to the barrels, rolled them speedily into the alley, where surged the stream from the engines; rushing back and forth with power superhuman, in the deepest smoke, while iron darts flashed by him in all directions, penetrating the walls, and piercing the adjacent buildings. But as if his heroic soul was an armor-proof, or a charm impenetrable, neither harpoon nor bomb, crumbling timbers nor showers of flaming brands, did him aught of injury, beyond the scorching of his hair and eyebrow^s, and the blistering of his DIALECT. 365 hands and face. 'T was a heroic deed. Did ever field of battle, wreck, or martyrdom, show a braver? No act in all the list of song and story, no self-sacrifice in the history of the rise and fall of empires, was nobler than that, save one, and then the Son of God himself hung bleed iug on the cross. KUSSELL H. CONWELL. DIALECT. BRUDDER JOHN'S VISION. On a wa'm spring mo'n, as de sun shine bright, An' de doo on de grass dat fell in de night, AVas a sparkeliii' tine like de shinin' oah. Or a million gems, or a million mo', I jess sot up, in de ole a'm cheah, A t'inkin' ob de t'ings dat seem so queah ; How de wo'ld w'ich looks as do it wos flat, Is as ronn' as de rim ob my ole felt hat ; How de sun stair still, an' de yea'th go 'roun'. An' a lot mo' fax dat de men hab foun', — Wen I heerd a noise, a ru=;selin' nigh, An' I sees a face wid a wicked eye, An' it look so wil', an' it got so neah, Dat my nees jess shook, Mid a awful feah, An' I triz to speak, an' I felt so poah, Dat I hel' to de cheah, an' I clung to de floah. Say, who can yo' be, an' why is yo' cum, An' what duz yo' want so fah from hum ? Den I heerd him call: "Mass'r, cum wid me," In a meller voice wid a tinge ob glee ; Den I heerd a laff, as sho as you 'se bo'n. An' I heerd a soun' like a' ole tin ho'n. " I can 't ax yo' in, for I 'ze jess goin' out," I w^as jess 'bout to say, or jess 'bout to shout, Wen up step't de man a-front ob my face 366 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. An' he liff his hat, wid a heap ob grace. An' I saw two ho'ns in de sides ob his head, An' at sight ob dem, I was nearly dead. ** I 'spoze, Mass'r John, yo' recumnize me, An I tells yo' now, yo 'z bin on a spree." I felt awful sick, an' thot ob a prah. An' I wish jess den dat I was n' jess dah! So a shakin' bad, 'do a lookin' bol', 1 sed to de Debbie, " You 'ze a cochin' 00!'; It am a big change a comin' up heah, Dis climit won't 'gree wid de Debbie, I feah. If any thing should hap'n to de Debbie anyhow, De fiah mout go out, for de Debbie I 'low. III. De Debbie turn a' look d'reckly in my eye — *' Mass'r John won't be chilly, in de sweet by 'n by." Den I brace up a little, an' I stood my groun' : " Do n't you feel kinder odd, a roamin' heah 'roun' ? Dah ain't many folk in dis heah pa't Dat lubs de Debbie wid de whole ob de hea't." De Debbie he lafF at de noos I sed. An' rub his ban's on his ho'ny hed. " Let me tell, Uncle John, how I make success; It is wuth yo' while fo' to heah, I guess : Moses clum de Mount, from de Sinai plane, An' de Hebrews tho't ez he 'd cum again. Dar woz Aaron's God ob de preshus stuff, An' tho' it could 'n heah, it dun well a 'nuflf. Wen Mose' got back, he woz mity mad. An' he smashed de God dat de peop'l had. An' den I woz 'roun' an' I shook an' laflf An' I pick up bits ob de gol'n caff. So, ebbah sence den, ef I wants a soul I gibs him a bit ob de God ob gol'." IV. " How cum yo', Debbie, to be as yo' is? " Den he stood strai't up, an' hiz eyebrows riz. An' his words woz hot, as he hipsed at me. An' dey felt like de sting ob de bumble-bee. He got tearin' mad, an' he spun all 'roun', An' de banjo he had, he smash on de groun', DIALECT. 367 An' he sed in his heat, in tones ob a bah : " I'll tell Mass'r John how I cum down dah. Wil walkin' on de wall, one moonshiny night, A meditatin' deep on de 'rong an' de right, A mob ob de angels da' brush me off de wall, An' dat 'splains de how ob dis angel's fall. An' ebber since den, I'ze felt kinder ril'd ; An' many is de plan ob de Lord I 'ze spil'd ; An' many mo' I'll spile befo' I 'ze dun, An' dat is de wa' de Debbie hab fun." You orter seen de Debbie, w'en I spoke ob sin ! He went floppin' 'roun', an' he gabe up his grin ; He drop on de grass, an' his face turn' pale. Den I felt sartin' sure he was dead as a nail ; But I foun' I 'ze 'rong. as de Debbie spoke, Tho' de words cum slow, an' he seem to choke. I do n't min' to halt jess heah fo' to say ; Dar am lots who preach, itn' am lots who pray, Dat de Debbie will git as suah as yo' be : Good 'nuff for you, an' 'nuff so fo' me. VI. Now ole Mass'r Debbie, I 'ze heerd you blow ; Now I 'ze standin' up fo' to let yo' know Dat de worl' ain't yo's, an' nebber will be ! You may git a few, but you won' git me. Den I grab a chunk from de pile cluss by, An' I flung it hard at de Debbie's eye. It went mighty fas' a flyin' froo de yah, But did 'n' hit de Debbie, kase de Debbie was n' dah. Wid a' awful howl, de Debbie disappea'd. An' I guess fo' wuns, dat de Debbie was skee'd. But I felt mighty bad as I heerd a soun' A comin' rite up frum out ob de groun' : " Good-bye, Mass'r John, I make yo' a bet, If yo' do n' watch out de Debbie koch yo' j^et." An'. I woke right up, as I heer dis shout: " Say, de breakfas' reddy, Massa John, git out." O, wasn' I glad fo' to heah dat pcream ! An' fin' it was nufiin but a niggah's dream. REVISED BY VIRGIL A. PINKLEY. 368 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. THK FUNKRAI,. I WAS walking in Savannah Past a church decayed and dim, When there slowly through the window Came a plaintive funeral hymn ; And a sympathy awakened, And a wonder quickly grew, Till I found myself environed In a little negro x^ew. Up at front a colored couple Sat in sorrow almost wild ; On the altar was a coffin, In the coffin was a child. I could picture him when living — Curly hair, p^rotruding lip ; And had seen perhaps a thousand In my hurried Southern trip. But no baby ever rested In the soothing arms of death, That had fanned more flames of sorrow With its little fluttering breath ; And no funeral ever glistenecl With more sympathy profound, Than was seen within the tear-drops In the eyes of those around. Rose a sad old colored preacher At a little wooden desk, With a manner grandly awkward, With a countenance grotesque, And he said : " Now don' be weepin' Fo' dis little bit o' clay ; Fo' de little boy dat libed dah, He dun gone an' run away. He was doin' berry finely, En' he 'presheate your lub ; But his shoah 'nuff Faddah want him In de big house up abub. DIALECT. 369 Now he did n' gib you dat baby By a hundred tousand mile He jess tink you need some sunshine En' he len' him fo' a while En' he let you keep en' lub him Till yo' hahts was bigger grown, En' dese silbah tears you 'se sheddin' Is jess de interes' on de loan. Heah 's yo' udder pretty cheelen ; Don' be makin' it appeah Dat yo' lub got saht o' 'nopoiized On dis little fellow heah ! Don' pile up too much yo' sah'o On dah little mental shelbes, So 's to kindah set em wonderin' If da's no account demselbes. Jess you 'tink, you poah deah mo'nahs Creepin' 'long oah saho's way, What a blessed little picnic Dis yah baby 's got to-day. Yoah good faddahs an' good muddahs Crowd de little fellow roun' In the angel-tended gahden Ob de big plantazhun groun' ! En' da ask him : 'Was yoah feet soah?' En' take off his little shoes, En' da' wash him en' da' kiss him, En' da' say : ' Now what 's de nooz ? ' Den de Lawd dun loose his tongue, Den de little fellow say : 'All our folks down in de valley Tries to keep de heabenly way.' En' his eyes da' brightly spa'kle At de pretty tings he view. Den a teah come en' he whisper — * But I want my pah'yents too.' Den de angel chief moosishan Teach dat boy a little song, 370 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Says : * If only da' be fait'f iil Da' will soon be eomin' 'long.' 'En' he'll get an eddication Dat'll proberbly be wo'th Seberal times as much as any You could gib hira heah on yar'th. He '11 be in the Lawd's big school-house Widout no contempt ah feah, While dah's no end to de bad tings Might hab happened to him heah. So, my poah dejected mo'nahs, Let yo' hahts wid Jesus ress, En' don' go ter critercizin' Dat ah Wun wat knows de bess. He hab gib us many comforts, He hab right to take away. To de Lawd be praise en' glory Now and ebber. Let us pray." WILL CAKLETON. UNCLE DANIEL'S APPARITION AND PRAYER. The following, from "The Gilded Age," by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner, represents a family emigrating from Eastern Tennessee into Missouri. The subjects of this sketch had never before been out of sight of the Knobs of East Tennessee. Whatever the lagging, dragging journey may have been to the rest of the emigrants, it was a wonder and de- light to the children, a world of enchantment; and they believed it to be peopled with the mysterious dwarfs and giants and goblins that figured in the tales the negro slaves were in the habit of telling them nightly by the shuddering light of the kitchen fire. At the end of nearly a week of travel, the party went into camp near a shabby village, which was caving, house by house, into the hungry Mississippi. The river astonished the children beyond measure. Its mile-breadth of water DIALECT. 371 seemed an ocean to them in the shadowy twilight, and the vague ribbon of trees on the further shore the verge of a continent which surely none but they had ever seen before. "Uncle Dan'l" (colored), aged forty; his wife, "Aunt Jinny," aged thirty, "young Miss" Eniily Hawkins, "young Mars" Washington Hawkins, and "young Mars" Clay, the new member of the family, ranged themselves on a log after supper, and contemplated the marvelous river and discussed it. The moon rose and sailed aloft through a maze of shredded cloud-wreaths; the somber river just perceptibly brightened under the veiled light ; a deep silence pervaded the air, and was emphasized, at intervals, rather than broken, by the hooting of an owl, the baying of a dog, or the muf- fled crash of a caving bank in the distance. The little company assembled on the log were all children (at least in simplicity and broad and comprehensive igno- rance), and the remarks they made about the river were in keeping with their character ; and so awed were they by the grandeur and the solemnity of the scene before them, and by their belief that the air was filled with invisible spirits and that the faint zephyrs were caused by their passing wings, that all their talk took to itself a tinge of the super- natural, and their voices were subdued to a low and reverent tone. Suddenly Uncle Dan'l exclaimed : " Chil'en, dah 's sumfin a comin' ! " All crowded close together, and every heart beat faster. Uncle Dan'l pointed down the river with his bony finger. A deep coughing sound troubled the stillness, way toward a wooded cape that jutted into the stream a mile distant. All in an instant a fierce eye of fire shot out from behind the cape, and sent a long, brilliant pathway quivering athwart the dusky water. The coughing grew louder and louder, the glaring eye grew larger and still larger, glared wilder and still wilder. A huge shape developed itself out of the gloom, and from its tall duplicate horns dense volumes of smoke, starred and spangled with sparks, poured out and 372 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. went tumbling away into the farther darkness. Nearer and nearer the thing came, till its long sides began to glow with spots of light, which mirrored themselves in the river and attended the monster like a torchlight procession. " Wliat is it ! O, what is it, Uncle Dan'l?" With deep solemnity the answer came : "It's de Almighty! Git down on yo' knees!" It was not necessary to say it twice. They were all kneeling in a moment. And then while the mysterious coughing rose stronger and stronger, and the threateniug glare reached farther and wider, the negro's voice lifted up its supplications : ** O Lord, we 's ben mighty wicked, an' we knows dat we 'zerve to go to de bad place ; but, good L,ord, deah Lord, we aint ready yit, we aint ready; let dese po' chil'en hab one mo' chance, jes' one mo' chance. Take de ole niggah if you's got to hab somebody. Good Lord, good deah Lord, we do n't know whah you 's a gwine to, we do n't know who you 's got yo' eye on ; but we knows by de way you 's a comin', we knows by de way you's a tiltin' along in yo' charyot o' fiah, dat some po' sinner's a gwine to ketch it. But, good Lord, dese cliil'en don't 'blong heah ; dey's f'm Obedstown, whah dey don't know nuffin, an' you knows yo' own sef dat dey ain't 'sponsible. An', deah Lord, good Lord, it aint like yo' mercy, it aint like yo' pity, it aint like yo' long-sufTerin' lovin'-kindness for to take dis kind o' 'vantage o' sich little chil'en as dese is when dey 's so many ornery grown folks, chuck full o' cussed ness, dat want's roastin' down dah. O Lord, spah de little chil'en ; do n't tar de little chil'en away f'm dey frens, jes' let 'em off jes' dis once, and take it out 'n de ole niggah. Heah I is. Lord, heah I is! De ole niggah 's ready, Lord, de ole " The flaming and churning steamer was right abreast the party, and not twenty steps away. The awful thunder of a mud-valve suddenly burst forth, drowning the prayer, and as suddenly Uncle Dan'l snatched a child under each arm, and DIALECT, 373 scoured into tlie woods with the rest of the pack at his heels. And then, ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep dark- ness and shouted (but rather feebly) : " Heah I is, Lord, heah I is ! " There was a moment of throbbing suspense, and then, to the surprise and comfort of the party, it was plain that the august presence had gone by, for its dreadful noises were receding. Uncle Dan'l headed a cautious reconnoissance in the direction of the log. Sure enough '^ the Lord" was just turning a point a short distance up the river, and while they looked the lights winked out and the coughing diminished by degrees, and presently ceased altogether. "H'wsh! Well, now dey 's some folks says dey aint no 'ficiency in prah. Dis chile would like to know whah we 'd a ben now if it war n't fo' dat prah ? Dat 's it. Dat'sit!" "Uncle Dan'l, do you reckon it was the prayer that saved us?' said Clay. '' Does I reckon f Do n't I know it ? Whah was yo' eyes ? Wa n t de Lord jes' a comin' chow, chow, CHOW, an' a goin' on turrible ; an' do de Lord carry on dat way, but dey 's sumfin do n't suit him? An' war n't he a lookin' right at dis gang heah, an' war n't he jes' a reachin' for 'em ? An' d' you spec' he gwyne to let 'em off 'dout somebody ast him to do it? No, indeedy!" " Do you reckon he saw us, Uncle Dan'l?" " De law sakes, chile, did n't I see him a lookin' at us?" " Did you feel scared. Uncle Dan'l?" "iVb, sah! When a man. is 'gaged in prah he aint 'fraid o' nuffin — dey can 't nuffin tetch him." " Well, what did you run for?" "Well, I — I — Mars Clay, when a man is under de in- fluence ob de sperit he do-no what he's 'bout — no, sah; dat man do-no what he's 'bout. You raout take an' tah de head ofF'n dat man, an' he wauld n't scasely fine it out. Dah 's de Hebrew chil'en dat went frough de fiah ; dey was burnt con- 374 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, sidable — ob coase dey was ; but dey did n't know nnffin 'bout it — heal right up agin ; if dey'd ben gals dey'd missed dey long haah (hair), may be, but dey would n't felt de burn." "/ do n't know but what they were girls. I think they were." "Now, Mars Clay, you knows better 'n dat. Sometimes a body can 't tell whedder you 's a savin' what you means, or whedder you 's a sayin' what you do n't mean, 'case you says 'em bofe de same way." " But how should I know whether they were boys or girls?" "Goodness sakes, Mars Clay, don't de good book say? 'Sides, do n't it call 'em de Se-brew chil'en ? If dey was gals would n't dey be de she-brew chil'en ? Some people dat kin read do n't 'pear to take no notice when dey do read." " Well, Uncle Dan'l, I think that My ! here comes another one up the river! There can 't be twol" "We gone dis time — w^e done gone dis time, sho'! Dey aint two. Mars Clay — dat 's de same one. De Lord kin 'pear eberywhah in a second. Goodness, how de fiah an' de smoke do belch up ! Dat mean business, honey. He comin' now like he fo'got sumfin. Come 'long, chil'en, time you's gwyne to roos'. Go 'long wid you — ole Uncle Dan'l gwyne out in de woods to rastle in prah ; de ole niggah gwyne to do what he kin to sabe you agin." He did go to the woods and pray; but he went so far that he doubted himself if the Lord heard him when he went bv. JIMMY BUTLER AND THE OWL- 'TwAS in the summer of '46 that I landed at Hamilton, fresh as a new pratie just dug from the ould sod, and wid a light heart and a heavy bundle I sot off for the township of Buford, tiding a taste of a song, as merry a young fellow DIALECT. 375 as iver took the road. Well, I trudged on and on, past many a plisint place, pleasin' myself wid the thought that some day I might have a place of my own, wid a world of chickens and ducks and pigs and childer about the door; and along in the afternoon of the sicond day I got to Buford village. A cousin of me mother's, one Dennis O'Dowd, lived about sivin miles from there, and I wanted to make his place that night, so I inquired the way at the tavern, and was lucky to find a man who was goin' part of the way an' would show me the way to find Dennis. Sure he was very kind indade, an' when I got out of his wagon he pointed me through the wood and tould me to go straight south a mile an' a half, and the first house would be Dennis's. **An' you've no time to lose now," said he, "for the sun is low, and mind you don't get lost in the woods." "Is it lost now," said I, " that I'd be gittin', an' me uncle as great a navigator as iver steered a ship across the thrackless say ! Not a bit of it, -though I 'm obleeged to ye for your kind advice, and thank yiz for the ride." An' wid that he drove off an' left me alone. I shouldered me bundle bravely, an' whistling a bit of time for company like, I pushed into the bush. Well, I w^ent a long way over bogs, and turnin' round among the bush an' trees till I began to think I must be well-nigh to Denuis's. But, bad cess to it ! all of a sudden I came out of the woods at the very identical spot where I started in, which I knew by an ould crotched tree that seemed to be standin' on its head and kickin' up its heels to make divarsion of me. By this time it was growin' dark, and as there was no time to lose, I started in a second time, determined to keep straight south this time and no mistake. I got on bravely for a while, but och hone ! och hone ! it got so dark I could n't see the trees, and I bumped me nose and barked me shins, while the miskaties bit me hands and face to a blister ; an' after tumblin' and stumblin' around till I was fairly bam foozled, I sat down on a log, all of a trimble, to think that I was lost 376 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. in ti rely, an' that maybe a lion or some other wild craythur would devour me before morning. Just then I heard somebody a long way off say, ** Whip poor Will!" "Bedad," sez I, "I'm glad it isn't Jamie that's got to take it, though it seems it's more in sorrow than in anger they are doin' it, or why should they say, * poor Will?' an' sure they can't be Injin, haythin, or naygur, for it's plain English they're afther spakin'. Maybe they might help me out o' this," so I shouted at the top of my voice: "A lost man!" Thin I listened. Prisently an answer came. ''Who? Whoo? Whooo?" "Jamie Butler, the waiver!" sez I, as loud as I co\ild roar ; an' snatchin' up me bundle an' stick, I started iu the direction of the voice. Whin I thought I had got near the place I stopped and shouted again, "A lost man!" " Who ! Whoo 1 Whooo ! " said a voice right over my head. " Sure," thinks I, " it's a mighty quare place for a man to be at this time of night; maybe its some settler scrapin' sugar off a sugar-bush for the children's breakfast in the mornin'. But where 's Will and the rest of them?" All this wint through me head like a flash, an' thin I answered his inquiry. "Jamie Butler, the waiver," sez I; " and if it wouldn't inconvanience yer honor, would yez be kind enough to step down and show me the way to the house of Dennis O'Dowd ? " " Who! Whoo ! Whooo!" sez he. " Dennis O'Dowd," sez I, civil enough^; " and a dacent man he is, and first cousin to me own mother." "Who! Whoo! Whooo?" sez he again. " Me mother! " sez I ; "and as fine a woman as iver peeled a biled pratie wid her thumb-nail, and her maiden name was Molly McFiggin." "Who! Whoo! Whooo!" "Ye good-for-nothin' blaggurd naygur, if yiz don't come DIALECT. 377 down and show me the way this min't, I '11 climb up there and break every bone in your skin, ye spalpeen, so sure as me name is Jimmy Butler ! " " Who ! Whoo ! Whooo ! " sez he, as impident as iver. I said niver a word, but layin' down me bundle, and takin' me stick in me teeth, I began to climb the tree. Whin I got among the branches I looked quietly around till I saw a pair of big eyes just forninst me. '* Whist," sez I, " and I '11 let him have a taste of an Irish stick," and wid that I let drive and lost me balance, an' came tumblin' to the ground, nearly breakin' me neck wid the fall. Whin I came to me siusis I had a very sore head wid a lump on it like a goose-egg, and half of me Sunday coat-tail torn off intirely. I spoke to the chap in the tree, but could git niver an answer, at all, at all. Sure, thinks I, he must have gone home to rowl up his head, for by the powers I did n't throw me stick for nothin'. Well, by this time the moon was up and I could see a little, and I detarmined to make one more effort to reach Dennis's. I wint on cautiously for a while, an' thin I heard a bell. ** Sure," sez I, " I'm comin' to a settlement now, for I hear the church-bell." I kept on toward the sound till I came to an ould cow wid a bell on. She started to run, but I was too quick for her, and got her by the tail and hung on, thinkin' that maybe she would take me out of the woods. On we wint, like an ould country steeple-chase, till, sure enough, we came out to a clearin' and a house in sight wid a light in it. So, leavin' the ould cow puffin' an' blowin' in a shed, I wint to the house, and as luck would have it, whose should it be but Dennis's. He gave me a raal Irish welcome, and introduced me to his two daughters — as purty a pair of girls as iver ye clapped an eye on. But whin I tould him me adventure in the woods, and about the fellow who made fun of me they all laughed and roared, and Dennis said it was an owl. 32 378 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. ''An ould what?" sez I. "Why, an owl, a bird," sez he. **Do you tell me now?" sez I. "Sure it's a quare country and a quare bird." And thin they all laughed again, till at last I laughed myself, that hearty like, and dropped right into a chair be- tween the twopurty girls, and the ould chap winked at me and roared again. Dennis is me father-in-law now, and he often yet delights to tell our children about their daddy's adventure wid the owl. ANON. BROTHER WATKINS. We have the subjoined discourse, delivered by a South- ern divine, Avho had removed to a new field of labor. To his new flock, on the first day of his ministration, he gave some reminiscences of his former charge, as follows : " My beloved brethering, before I take my text, I must tell you about my parting with my old congregation. On the morning of last Sabbath I went into the meeting-house to preach my farewell discourse. Just in front of me sot the old fathers and mothers in Israel ; the tears coursed down their furrowed cheeks; their tottering forms and quivering lips breathed out a sad — 'Fare ye well. Brother Watkins — ah ! ' Behind them sot the middle-aged men and matrons ; health and vigor beamed from every countenance ; and as they looked up I could see in their dreamy eyes — ' Fare ye well, Brother Watkins — ah ! ' Behind them sot the boys and girls that I had baptized and gathered into the Sabbath- school. Many times had they been rude and boisterous, but now their merry laugh was hushed, and in the silence I could hear — ' Fare ye well, Brother Watkins — ah ! ' Around, on the back seats, and in the aisles, stood and sot the colored brethering, with their black faces and honest hearts, and as I looked upon them I could see a — ' Fare ye well, Brother Wat- DIALECT. 379 kins — ah ! ' AVhen I had finished my discourse, and shaken hands with the hretheriug — ah ! I passed out to take a last look at the old church — ah ! the broken steps, the flopping blinds, and moss-covered roof, suggested only — ' Fare ye well, Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I mounted my old gray mare, with my earthly possessions in my saddle-bags, and as I passed down the street, the servant girls stood in the doors, and with their brooms waved me a — ' Fare ye well, Brother Watkins — ah ! ' As I passed out of the village, the low wind blew softly through the waving branches of the trees, and moaned^ — ' Fare ye well. Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I came down to the creek, and as the old mare stopped to drink, I could hear the water rippling over the pebbles a — ' Fare ye well, Brother Watkins — ah ! ' And even the little fishes, as their bright fins glistened in the sunlight, I thought, gath- ered around to say, as best they could — ' Fare ye well. Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I was slowly passing up the hill, meditating upon the sad vicissitudes and mutations of life, when suddenly out bounded a big hog from a fence-corner, with aboo ! aboo ! and I came to the ground, with my sad- dle-bags by my side. As I lay in the dust of the road, my old gray mare run up the hill, and as she turned the top, she waved her tail back at me, seemingly to say — ' Fare ye well. Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I tell you, my brethering, it is affecting times to part with a congregation you have been with for over thirty years — ah ! " john b. gough. I.OOKOUT MOUNTAIN, 1863— BEUTKIvS- BACH, 1880. "Yah, I shpeaks English a leetle; berhaps yon shpeaks petter der German." "No, not a Avord."— " Veil den, Meester, it hardt for me to be oonderstandt. 380 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. I vos drei yahr in your coontry, I fights in der army mit Sher- man — Twentieth Illinois Infantry — fightin' Joe Hooker's com- mandt." " So you 've seen service in Georgia— a veteran, eh ? " " Veil I tell you Shust how it vos. I vent ofer in sixty, nnd landt in Nei- York ; I shpends all mine money, gets sick, und near dies in der Hos- piddal Bellevue; Ven I gets petter I tramps to Cheecago to look for some vork." "Pretty young then, I suppose?" " Yah, svansig apout ; und der beoples Vot I goes to for to ask for vork dey have none for to geef ; Efery von laughs ; but I holds my head up just so high as der steeples. Only dot var comes along, or I should have die, I beUef." "Ever get wounded? I notice you walk rather lame and un- steady. Pshaw ! got a wooden leg, eh ? What battle ? At Lookout ? do n't say ! I was there, too — wait a minute, your beer-glass is empty already. Call for another. There ! tell me how 'twas you got wounded that day." " Veil, ve charge ope der side of der mountain, der sky vas all shmoky und hazy ; Ve fight all day long in der clouds, but I nefer get hit until night — But — I do n't care to say mouch apout it. Der poys called me foolish und crazy, Und der doctor vot cut ofe my leg, he say, ' Goot ' — dot it serf me shust right. " But I dinks I vood do dot thing over again, shust der same, und no matter Vot any man say." — " Well, let 's hear it; you need n't mind talking to me. DIALECT. 381 For I was there, too, as I tell you, and Lor! how the bullets did patter Around on that breastwork of boulders that sheltered our Tenth Tennessee." " So ? Dot vos a Tennessee regiment charged upon ours in de efening, Shust before dark ; und dey yell as dey charge, und ve geef a hurrah ; Der roar of der guns, it vas orful." "Ah! yes, I remember, 'twas deafening, The hottest musketry firing that ever our regiment saw." " Und after ve drove dem back, und der night come on, I listen, TJnd dinks dot I hear somepody a calling, a voice dot cried : * Pring me some vater, for Gott's sake ! ' I saw his pelt-blate glisten Oonder der moonlight, on der barapet, shust outside. I dhrow my canteen ofer to vare he lie, but he answer Dot his left hand vos gone, und his right arm broke mit a fall; Den I shump ofer, und give him to drink ; but shust as I ran, sir, Bang ! come a sharpshooter's pullet, and dot 's how it vos — dot is all." "And they called you foolish and crazy, did they? Him you befriended — The reb., I mean — what became of him? Did he ever come round ? " " Dey tell me he crawl to my side, und call till his strength vos all ended, Until dey come out mit der stretchers, und carry us from der ground. But pefore ve go, he ask me my name, und says he : ' Yacob Keller, You loses your leg for me, und some day, if both of us leefs, I shows you I do n't forget,' — but he must have died, de poor feller. I nefer hear ofe him shice. He do n't get veil, I beliefs. Only I alvays got der saddisfackshun ofe knowin' — Shtop ! vot 's der matter? Here, take some peer, you 're vite as a sheet — 382 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Shteady ! your band on my shoulder ! my gootness ! I dinks you vas goin' To lose your senses avay und fall right off mit der seat. " Geef me your handts. Vot ! der left von gone ? Und you vos a soldier In dot same battle ? — a Tennessee regiment ? — dot 's mighty queer— Berhaps, after all, you 're—" '* Yes, Yacob, (Jod bless you, old fellow, T told you I 'd never— no, never forget you. I told you I 'd come, and l^m hcre.^^ CxEOrge l. catlin. THE SHIP OF FAITH. A CERTAIN colored brother had been holding forth to his little flock, upon the ever-fruitful topic of faith, and he closed his exhortation about as follows: '' My bruddren, ef yous gwine to git saved, you got to git on board de ship ob faith. I tell you, my bruddren, dere ain't no odder way Dere ain't no gitten up de back stairs, nor goin' 'cross lots; you can't do dat away, my brud- dren, you got to git on board de ship ob faith. Once 'pon a time dere was a lot ob colored people, an' dey was all gwine to de promised land. Well, dey knowed dere want no odder way for 'em to do but to git on board de ship ob faith. So dey all went down an' got on board, de ole gran- faders, an' de ole grauraudders, an' de pickaninnies, an' all de res' ob 'em. Dey all got on board 'ceptin' one mons'us big feller; he said he's gwine to swim, he was. 'Wy!' dey said, *yoii can't swim so fur like dat. It am a power- ful long way to de promised land!' He said, 'I kin swim anywhar, I kin. I git board no boat, no, 'deed!' Well, my bruddren, all dey could say to dat poor disluded man dey could n't git him on board de ship ob faith, so dey started off. De day w^as fair; de win' right; de sun shinin', an' ev'ryt'ng b'utiful; an' dis big feller he pull off his close DIALECT. 383 and plunge in de water. Well, lie war a powerful swimmer, dat man, 'deed he war ; he war dat powerful he kep* right 'long side de boat all de time ; he kep' a hollerin' out to de people on de boat, sayin' : ' What you doin' dere, you folks, brilin' away in de sun ; you better come down here in de water, nice an' cool down here.' But dey said: 'Man alive, you better come up here in dis boat while you got a chance.' But he said: 'No, indeedy ! I git aboard no boat; I'm havin' plenty fun in de water.' Well, bimeby, my bruddren, what you tink dat pore man seen? A horri- ble, awful shark, my bruddren; mouf wide open, teef more'n a foot long, ready to chaAv dat pore man all up de minute he catch him. AYell, when he seen dat shark, he begin to git awful scared, an' he holler out to de folks on board de ship: 'Take me on board, take me on board, quick!' But dey said: 'No, indeed; you would n't come up here when you had an invite, you got to swim now.' "He look over his shoulder, an' he seen dat shark a-comin', an' he let hisself out. Fust it was de man an' den it was de shark, and den it was de man agin, dat way, my bruddren, plum io de promised land. Dat am de blessed troof I'm a-tellin' you dis minute. But what you t'ink was a-waitin' for him on de odder shore when he got dere? A horrible, aufid lion, my bruddren, was a-stan'in' dere on de shore, a-lashin' his sides wid his tail, an' a-roarin' away fit to devour dat pore nigger de minit he got on de shore. Well, he war powerful scared den, he didn't know what he gwine to do. If he stay in de water de shark eat him up ; if he go on de shore de lion eat him up ; he dunno what to do. But he put his trust in de Lord, an' went for de shore. Dat lion he give a fearful roar, an' bound for him; but, my bruddren, as sure as you live an' breeve, dat horrible, awful lion he jump clean ober dat pore feller's head into de water; an' de sharh eat de lion. But, my bruddren, don't you put your trust in no sich circumstance; dat pore man he done git saved, but I tell you de Lord ainH a-givine to furnish a lion for every nigger !" 384 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. ON THE SHORES OF TENNESSEE. "Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompcy, In the sunshine bright and strong, For this world is fading, Ponipey — Massa won't be with you long; And I fain would hear the south wind Bring once more the sound to me Of the wavelets softly breaking On the shores of Tennessee. Mournful though the ripples murmur, As they still the story tell, ITow no vessels float the banner That I 've loved so long and well, I shall listen to their music. Dreaming that again I see Stars and Stripes on sloop and shallop Sailing up the Tennessee. And, Pompey, while old Massa 's waiting For death's last dispatch to come, If that exiled starry banner Should come proudly sailing home, You shall greet it, slave no longer— A'oice and hand shall both be free That shouts and points to Union colors On the waves of Tennessee ! " " Massa 's berry kind to Pompey; But ole darkey 's happy here. Where he 's tended corn and cotton For 'ese many a long-gone year. Over yonder IMissis 's sleeping — No one tends her grave like me; Mebbe she would miss the flowers She used to love in Tennessee. *Pears like she w^as watching Massa, If Pompey should beside him stay; Mebbe she 'd remember better How for him she used to pray ; DTALECT. 385 Telling him that 'way up yonder White as snow his soul would be, If he served the Lord of heaven While he lived in Tennessee." Silently the tears were rolling Down the poor old dusky face, As he stepped behind his master, In his long-accustomed place. Then a silence fell around them, As they gazed on rock and tree Pictured in the placid waters Of the rolling Tennessee ; — Master, dreaming of the battle Where he fought by Marion's side, When he bid the haughty Tarleton Stoop his lordly crest of pride ; Man, remembering how yon sleeper Once he held upon his knee. Ere she loved the gallant soldier, Ealph Yervair, of Tennessee. Still the south- wind fondly lingers 'Mid the veteran's silvery hair ; Still the bondman, close beside him, Stands behind the old arm-chair, With his dark-hued hand uplifted. Shading eyes, he bends to see Where the woodland, boldly jutting. Turns aside the Tennessee. Thus he watches cloud-born shadows Glide from tree to mountain crest, Softlj' creeping, aye and ever, To the river's yielding breast. Ha! above the foliage yonder Something flutters wild and free ! " Massa ! Massa ! Hallelujah ! The flag 's come back to Tennessee ! " "Pompej', hold me on your shoulder, Help me stand on foot once more, That I may salute the colors As they pass my cabin door. 33 386 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Here 's the paper signed that frees you, Give a freeman's sliout with me — 'God and Union! ' be our watchword Evermore in Tennessee ! " Then the trembhng voice grew fainter, And the limbs refused to stand ; One prayer to Jesus — and the soldier Glided to the better land. When the flag went down the river Man and master both were free ; While the ring-dove's note was mingled Witli the rippling Tennessee. BEERS. THE LOST SHEEP. De massa ob de sheepfol', Dat guard de sheepfol' bin, Look out in de gloomerin' meadows Whar de long night-rain begin — So he call to de hirelin' shepa'd, Is my sheep, is dey all come in? O, den says de hireling shepa'd : Der's some dey's black and thin, And some, dey 's po' ol' wedda's, But de res' dey 's all brung in. But de res' dey 's all brung in. Den de massa ob de sheepfol', Dat guard de sheepfol' bin, Goes down in de gloomerin' meadows, Whar de long night-rain begin — So he le' down de ba's ol) de sheepfol' Callin' sof ', Come in. Come in. Callin sof, Come in, Come in. Den up t'ro' de gloomerin' meadows, T'ro' de col' night-rain and win', And up t'ro' de gloomerin' rain-paf Whar de sleet fa' pie'cin' thin, DIALECT. 387 De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol' Dey all comes gadderin' in. De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol' Dey all comes gadderin' in. AUNT POLICY'S " GEORGE WASHINGTON." " George Washin'ton ! " From down the hill the answer floated up, muffled by the distance: "Ma'm?" " Come heah, sah !" Aunt Polly folded her arms and leaned against the door- way, and waited for the appearance of her son and heir above the edge of the hill on which her cabin stood. The crown of a ragged straw hat surmounting a dusky face first appeared, followed by a pair of shoulders covered with a nondescript shirt; then, as he climbed the incline, there rose gradually to his mother's view a pair of large and heavy trousers in an advanced state of dilapidation ; and drag- ging slowly along, as if unwilling to follow the body, two bare, black feet; and thus, fully revealed from top to toe, came a solemn and dirty little darkey. His mother's eyes rested on him with a sparkle of in- dignation in them. "George Washin'ton," she said, **you sartainly is de laziest nigger I eber see. How long, sah, does you s'pose you was a-comin' up dat hill? You don' no? I don', nether; 'twas so long I los' all count. You'll bring yore mudder's gray har in sorrer to de grabe yet, wid yore pokin' and slowness, see if you don'. Heah I is waitin' and a-waitin' on you fur to go down to old Mass' Cunnin'ham's wid dose tings. Take 'em to de young city man boardin' dar, and tell him dese is his clean close dat your old raudder washed, and dat dey comes to fifty cents. And if you let de grass grow under yore feet, George Washin'ton, or spiles dese close, or 388 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. loses dat fifty cents, I '11 break yore bones, chile, when you comes home. You heah dat?" George AVashington nodded. He never exhausted him- self in unnecessary speech. He was a strange, silent child, with a long, solemn face and chronic toothache, or jawache, for he never appeared without a wliite rag tied up over his ears, and terminating in two flopping ends of equal length on the top of his head — an adornment that gave him the look of an aged rabbit, black in the face and gray in the ears. On the present occasion, his mother freshened up his toilet by tying another rag around his jaws, and giving him the basket containing the ''young city man's" beautifully laundried linen, and a final injunction to be careful, started him safely off. George Washington rested his basket on his hip, and jogged along. Meditations as to what his mother might have for supper on the strength of the fifty cents brightened his visage and accelerated his steps. His fancy reveled in visions of white biscuit and crisp bacon floating in its own grease. He was gravely weighing the relative merits of spring chicken fried and more elderly chicken stewed, when — There was only one muddy place on George Washington's route to town. That w^as down at the foot of the hill, by the railroad track. Why should his feet slip from under him, and he go sliding into the mud right there? It was too bad. It did not hurt him ; but those shirts and shining colars, alas ! Some of them tumbled out, and he lifted them up all spattered and soiled. He sat down and contemplated the situation with an ex- pression of speechless solemnity. He was afraid to go back, and he was afraid to go on, but he would rather face the *'city man" than his mother; and with a sigh he lifted the linen to its place, and trudged on. The young folks at ''Mass' Cunningham's" sent him to DIALECT. 389 the boarder's room, with many a jest on his slowness; and he shook in his ragged clothes when the young man lifted the things from the basket to put them away. He exclaimed m anger at their soiled appearance, and, of course, immediately bundled them back into the basket. "Here, George," he said, "take these back to your mother to wash ; and do n't you dare, you little vagabond ! ever bring such looking things to me again ! " Slowly the namesake of our illustrious countryman climbed the hill toward home; slowly he entered and set dow^n his basket. The rapidity with which he emerged from the door, about three minutes later, might have led a stranger to believe that it was a different boy. But it was not. It was the same George. The next afternoon came round, and George Washington again departed on his errand. No thoughts of supper or good things ran rife in his brain to-day. He attended strictly to business. His mother, standing in the doorway, called after him: "Be keerful, George Wasliin'ton, 'bout de train. I heer'd it at de upper junction jess now. It'll be long trectly." George Washington nodded and disappeared. He crossed the muddy place in safety, and breathed more freely. He was turning toward town, when something on the railroad track caught his eye. There lay the big rock that had been on the hill above ever since he could remember ; it was right in the middle of the track. He wondiered how the coming train would get over it. Across on the other side, the hill sloped down to a deep ravine. What if the big rock pushed the train off! His heart gave a great jump. He had heard them talk of an accident once, where many people were killed. He thought of running to tell somebody, but it was a good way to the next house, and just then he heard the train faintly ; it was too late for that. Just above, in the direction that the train was coming, was a sharp curve. It could not stop if it 390 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. came tearing round that, and on tlie other side of the bend was a very high trestle that made him sick to look at. The slow, dull boy stood and trembled. In a moment more he had set his basket carefully in the bush, and ran around the curve. At the edge of the trestle he paused, and then dropping on his hands and knees crept, as fast as he could, over the dizzy height to the other side. He staggered to his feet, and ran on. When the train dashed in sight, the engineer spied a small object on the track, pointing frantically behind him. The child ran away from the track, but continued to wave and point and shout. The train whistled and slackened. George Washington, hatless and breathless, was jerked into the engine, where he gasped: " Big rock on de track round de curve! " The train was moved slowly over the trestle, and stopped in the curve ; and there, indeed, was the rock that might have hurled them all down to death, but for that i-idiculous-looking little boy. Meanwhile in the cabin. Aunt Polly was restless, and concluded to go down to the foot of the hill, and wait for George Washington. Behold, then, as she appeared down the path, the sight that met her gaze. ''What's dis boy bin a-doin'! I'se his mudder. I is. What 's dis mean ! " On this identical train was the president of the road. " Why, auntie," he said, "you have a boy to be proud of. He crept over the high trestle and warned the train, and and maybe saved all our lives. He is a hero." Aunt Polly was dazed. "A hearo," she said; " dat's a big t'ing for a little black nigger. George AVashin'ton, whar 's dat basket?" "In de bushes, mammy; I'se gwine for to get it." The train was nearly ready to be off. The president called Aunt Polly aside, and she came back with a beaming face, and five ten-dollar bills clutched in her hands. Aunt Polly caught George in her arms. DIALECT. 391 "Dey sed you was a hearo, George Washin'ton, but you is your mammy's own boy, and you shall hab chicken for yore supper dis berry night, and a whole poun' cake to- morrow ; yes, you sliall ! " And when George Washington returned the gentleman his washing, he, like his namesake, was a hero. ABRIDGED FROM YOUTH'S COMPANION. DOT LEEDIvK YAWCOB STRAUSS. I HAF von funny leedle poy Vot gomes schust to my knee, Der queerest schap, der Greatest rogue As efer you dit see. He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings In all barts off der house. But vot off dot ? He was mine son, Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. He get der measles imd der mumbs, Und eferydiug dot's out ; He sbills mine glass of lager bier, Foots schnuff indo mine kraut; He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese — Dot vas der roughest chouse ; I 'd dake dot vrom no oder poy But leedle Yawcob Strauss. He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, Und cuts mine cane in dwo To make der schticks to beat it mit — Mine cracious, dot vas drue ! I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart He kicks oup sooch a touse ; But nefer mind — dar poys vas few Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. He asks me questions sooch as dese : Who baints mine nose so red ? Who vos it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt Yrom der hair ubon mine hed ? 392 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp Vene'er der glim I douse ? How gan I all dese dings eggsblain To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss? I somedinies dink I schall go vild Mit sooch a grazy poy, Und visli vonce more I gould liaf rest Und beaceful dimes enshoy. But ven he vas ashleep in ped, So quiet as a mouse, I prays der Lord, " Dake anydings. But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." CHARLES F, ADAMS. DOT BABY OFF MINE. Mine cracious ! Mine craeious ! shust look here und see A Deutscher so habby as habby can pe. Der beoples all dink dat no prains I haf got, Vas grazy mit trinking, or someding like dot ; Id vas n't pecause I trinks lager und vine, Id vas all on aggount off dot baby off" mine. Dot schmall leedle vellow, I dells you vas qveer; Not mooch pigger roundt as a goot glass off beer, Mit a bare-footed hed, und nose but a schpeck, A mout' dot goes most to der pack off his neck, Und his leedle pink toes mit der rest all combine To gife sooch a charm to dot baby off mine. I dells you dot baby vas von off der poys, Und beats leedle Yawcob for making a noise ; He shust has pecun to shbeak goot English, too, Says "mamma/ und "bapa," und somedimes "ah — goo! You do n'd find a baby den dimes out off nine Dot vos qvite so schmart as dot baby off mine. He grawls der vloor ofer, und drows dings aboudt, Und poots efryding he can find in his mout' ; He dumbles der shtairs down, und falls vrom his chair, Und gifes mine Katrina von derrible sckare ; Mine hair shtands like shquills on a mat borcubine Ven I dinks off dose pranks off dot baVjy off mine. DIALECT. 393 Bere vos someding, you pet, I don'd likes pooty veil; To hear in der nighdt-dimes dot young Deutsclier yell, I'nd dravel der ped-room midout many clo'es, Yhile der chills down der shpine off mine pack quickly goes ; Dose leedle shimnasdic dricks vas n't so fine, Dot I cuts opp at nighdt mit dot baby off mine. Veil, deese leedle schafers vas goin' to pe men, Und all off dese droubles vill peen ofer den ; Dey vill vare a vhite shirt vront inshted off a bib, Und vould n't got tucked oop at nighdt in deir crib — Yell ! veil ! ven I'm feeple und in life's decline, May mine oldt age pe cheered py dot baby off mine ! CHAKLES F. ADAMS. DOT LEEDLE LOWEEZA. How DEAR to dis heart vas mine grandshild, Loweezal Dot shveet leedle taughter off Yawcob, mine son ! I nefer vas tired to hug und to shqueeze her Yhen home I gets back, und der day's vork vas done. Yhen I vas avay, 0, I know dot she miss me, For vhen I come homevards she rushes bell-mell, Vnd pools oup dot shveet leedle mout' for to kiss me — Her " darling oldt gampa " dot she lofe so veil. Katrina, mine frau, she could not do mitout her, She vas sooch a gomfort to her day py day; Dot shild she make efry von habby aboudt her. Like sunshine she drife all dheir droubles avay ; She holdt der vool yarn vhile Katrina she vind it, She pring her dot camfire -bottle to shmell ; She fetch me mine bipe, too, vhen I do n'd can find it, Dot plue-eyed Loweeza dot lofe me so veil. How shveet, vhen der toils off der veek vas all ofer, Und Sunday vas come mit its quiet and rest, To valk mit dot shild 'mong der daisies und clofer, Und look at der leedle birds building dheir nest! Her pright leedle eyes how dhey shparkle mit bleasure, Her laugh it rings oudt shust so clear as a pell ; I dink dhere vas nopody haf sooch a treasure As dot shmall Loweeza. dot lofe me so veil. 394 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Vhen vinter vas come, mit its coldt, shtormy veddher, Katrina und I ve iimsdt sit in der house Und dalk of der bast, by de fireside togedder, Or play mit dot taugliter off our Yawcob Strauss. Oldt age mit its wrinkles pegins to remind us Ve gannot shtay long mit our shildren to dwell ; But soon ve shall meet mit der poys left pehind u^, Und dot shveet Loweeza, dot lofe us so veil. CHARLES F. ADAMS. MINE KATRINE. You vouldn't dink mine frau, If you shust look at her now, Yhere der wrinkles on her prow Long haf been ; Yas der fraulein blump und fair, Mit der vafy flaxen hair, Who did vonce mine heart enshnare; Mine Katrine. Der dime seems shord to me Since ve game acrosd der sea, To der gountry off der free Ye'd nefer seen; But ve hear de beople say Dhere vas vork und blendy bay, So I shtarted righd away Mit Katrine. O, der shoy dot filled mine house A^hen dot goot oldt Toctor Krauss Brought us leedle Yawcob Strauss, Sh veet und clean ; Vhy, I do n'd pelief mine eyes Vhen I look, now, mit sur]«rise, On dot feller, shust der size Off Katrine! Den ** dot leedle babe off mine," He vas grown so tall und fine ; Shust so sdrait as any pine Y^ou efer seen ; DIALECT. 395 Und der beoples all agree Soocli fine poys dey nefer see. Dey looks mooch more like me As Katrine. Yell, ye haf our criefs und shoys, Und dhere 's naught our lofe destroys, Bud I miss dose leedle poys Dot used to been ; Unci der tears vill somedime sdart, Und I feels so sick at heart, Yen I dinks I soon musd part From Katrine. Oldt Time vill soon pe here, Mit his sickle und his shpear, Und vill yhisper in mine ear Mit sober mien : " You must coom along mit me, For id vas der Lord's decree ; Und von day dose poys you '11 see, Und Katrine." charles f. adams. SCHNEIDER SEES LEAH. I YANT to dold you vat it is, dot 's a putty nice play. De first dime dot you see Leah, she runs cross a pridge, mit some fellers chasiu' her mit putty big shtics. Dey ketch her right in de middle of der edge, und der leader (dot's de villen), he sez of her, "Dot it's better ven she dies, und dot he coodent allow it dot she can lif." Und de oder fellers hollers out, ''So ve vill;" "Gife her some deth;" "Kill her putty quick;" "Shmack her of der jaw," und such dings ; und chust as dey vill kill her, de priest says of dem, "Dond you do dot," und dey shtop dot putty quick. In der nexd seen, dot Leah meets Rudolph (dot's her feller) in de voods. Before dot he comes in, she sits of de bottom of a cross, und she dond look putty lifely, und she says : " Rudolph, Rudolph, how is dot, dot you dond come und 396 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. see about me ? You did n't shpeak of me for tree days long. I vant to dold you vot it is, dot aint some luf. I do n'd like dot." Veil, Rudolph he do n'd vas dere, so he coodent sed sometings. But ven he comes in she dells of him dot she lufs him orful, und he says dot he guess he lufs her orful too, und vants to know vood she leef dot place, und go oud in some oder country mit him. Und she says, " I told you I vill ; " und he says, '' Dot 's all right ;" und he tells her he vill meet her soon, und dey vill go vay dogedder. Den he kisses her und goes oud, und she feels honkey dory bout dot. Veil, in der nexd seen, Rudolph's old man finds oud all about dot, und he dond feel putty goot ; und he says of Rudolph, "Vood you leef me, und go mit dot gal?" und Rudolph feels putty bad. He do n'd know vot he shall do. Und der old man he says, ''I dold you vot I'll do. De skoolmaster (dot's de villen) says dot she might dook some money to go vay. Now, Rudolph, my poy, I '11 gif de skool- master sum money to gif do her, und if she do n'd dook dot money, I'll let you marry dot gal." Ven Rudolph hears dis, he chumps mit joyness, und says: "Fader, fader, dot's all righd. Dot's pully. I baed you anydings she voodent dook dot money." Veil, de old man gif de skoolmaster de money, und dells him dot he shall offer dot of her. Veil, dot pluddy skoolmaster comes back und says dot Leah dook dot gold right avay, ven she did n't do dot. Den de old man says, "Didn't I told you so?" und Rudolph gets so vild dot he svears dot she can 't haf someding more to do mit him. So ven Leah vill meet him in de voods, he do n'd vas dere, und she feels orful, und goes avay. Bime-by she comes up to Rudolph's house. She feels putty bad, und she knocks of de door. De old man comes oud, und says : " Got oud of dot, you orful vooman. Do n'd you come round after my poy again, else I put you in de dooms." Und she says: " Chust let me see Rudolph vonce, und I vill vander avay." So den Rudolph comes oud, und she vants to rush of his arms, but dot pluddy fool voodent allow dot. He chucks DIALECT. 397 her avay, imd says: ''Don'd you touch me uf you please, you deceitfulness gal." I dold you vat it is, dot looks ruff for dot poor gal. Und she is extonished, und says : " Vot is dis aboud dot?" Und Rudolph, orful mad, says: "Got oudsiedt, you ignomonous vooman." Uud she feels so orful she coodent said a vord, und she goes oud. Afterwards, Rudolph gits married to anoder gal in a shurch. Veil, Leah, who is vandering eferyveres, happens to go in dot shurch-yard to cry, chust at de same dime of Rudolph's marriage, which she do n'd know someding aboud. Putty soon she hears de organ, und she says dere is some beeples gitten married, und dot it vill do her unhappiness goot if she sees dot. So she looks in de vinder, und ven she sees who dot is, my graciousness, do n'd she holler, und shvears vengeance ! Putty soon Rudolph chumps oud indo der shurch-yard to got some air. He says he do n'd feel putty goot. Putty soon dey see each oder, und dey had a orful dime. He says of her: "Leah, how, how is dot you been here?" Und she say mit big scorn fuln ess : "How is dot, you got cheek to talk of me afder dot vitch you hafe done?" Den he says: "Veil, vot for you dook dot gold, you false-hearted leetle gal?" Und she says: "Vot gold is dot ? I did n't dook some gold." Und he says : ' ' Do n'd you dold a lie aboud dot?" She says, slowfully : "I dold you I didn't dook some gold. Vot gold is dot?" Und den Rudolph tells her all aboud dot, und she says, "Dot is a orful lie. I did n't seen some gold ; " und she adds mit much sarkasmness : "Und you beliefed I dook dot gold? Dot's de vorst I efer heered. Now, on accound of dot, I vill give you a few gurses." Uud she svears mit orful voices dot Mister Kain's gurse should git on him, und dot he coodent never git any happiness eferyvere, no matter vere he is. Den she valks off. Veil, den a long dime passes avay, und den you see Rudolph's farm. He has got a nice vife, und a putiful leetle child. Putty soon Leah comes in, being shased, as ushual, by fellers mit sh ticks. She looks like she didn't 398 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. ead someding for two monds. Rudolph's vife send? off dot mop, und Leah gits avay again. Den dot nice leetle child comes oud, und Leah comes back; und ven she sees dot child, do n'd she feel orful aboud dot, und she says mit affectfulness, "Come here, leedle child, I voodeuVl harm you ; " und dot nice leedle child goes righd up, und Leah grabs her in her arms, und gries, und kisses her. O, my graciousness, do n'd she grie aboud dot ! Und den she says vile she gries: "Leedle childs, do n*d you got some names?" Und dot leedle child sh peaks oud so nice, pless her leedle hard, und says: "O yes! My name dot 's Leah, und my papa tells me dot I shall pray for you efery nighd." O, my goodnessness ! do n'd Leah gry orful ven she hears dot. I dold you vat it is, dot's a sliplaiudid ding. Und quick comes dem tears in your eyes, und you look up ad de vail, so dot nobody can 'd see dot, und you make oud you do n'd care aboud it. But your eyes gits fulled up so quick dot you could n'd keep dem in, und de tears comes down of your face like a shnow-storm, und den you do n'd care not'ing if efery body sees dot. Und Leah kisses her, und gries like dot her hard's broke, und she dooks off dot gurse from Rudolph und goes avay. De child den dell her fader und muder aboud dot, und dey pring her back. Den dot mop comes back und vill kill her again ; but she exposes dot skoolmaster — dot villain — und dot fixes him. Den she falls down in Rudolph's arms, und your eyes gits fulled up again, und you cau'd see someding more. You could n't help dot any vay. Und if I see a gal vot do n'd gry in dot piece, I vood n't marry dot gal. Schneider. SETTING A HEN. Meester Verris, — I see dot mosd efferypoty wrides someding for de chicken babers nowtays, und I tought praps meppe I can do dot too, as I wride all apout vat dook blace DIALECT. 399 mit me lasht summer; yon know — odor of you dond know, den I dells you — dot Katrina (dot is mine vrow) und me, ve keep some shickeus for a long dime ago, und von tay she sait to me: "Sockery" (dot is mein name), " vy dond you put some of de aigs unter dot olt plue hen shickens; I dinks she vants to sate." "Veil," I sait, " meppe I guess I vill;" so I bicked out some uf de best aigs und dook um oud do de parn fere de olt hen make her nesbt in de side of de hay- mow, pout five six veet up ; now, you see, I nefer vas ferry big up und town, but I vos putty pig all de vay around in de mittle, so I kood n't reach up dill I vent und get a parrel do stant on ; veil, I klimet on de parrel, und ven my hed rise up by de nesht, dot olt hen gif me such a bick dot my nose runs all cfer my face mit plood, und ven I todge pack dot plasted olt parrel he preak, und I vent town ker- shlam ; I did n't tink I kood go insite a parrel pefore, put dere I vos, und I fit so dite dot I kood n't get me oud effer- Avay; my fest vos bushed vay up my unter arm-holes. Ven I fount I vos dite shtuck, I holler ''Katrina! Katrina!" und ven she koom und see me shtuck in de parrel up to my arm- holes, mit my face all plood und aigs, she shust lait town on de hay und laft und laft, till I got so mat I sait, " Vot you lay dare und laf like a olt vool, eh? Vy dond you koom bull me oud?" und she set up und sait, "O vipe off your chin, und bull your -fest town ; " den she lait back und laft like she vood shblit herself more as efer. Mat as I vas, I tought to myself, Katrina, she sbeak English pooty goot, put I only sait mit my cratest dignitude, " Katrina, vill you bull me oud dis parrel?" und she see dot I look booty red, so she said, '*Uf course I vill, Sockery;" den she lait me und de parrel town on our site, und I dook holt de door sill, und Katrina she bull on de parrel, but de first bull she mate I yellet: "Donner und blitzen, shtop dat; dere is nails in de parrel ! " You see de nails bent town ven I vent in, but ven I koom oud dey schticks in me all de vay rount; veil, to 400 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. make a short slitory long, I dold Katrina to go imd dell uayper Hausmau to pring a saw mid saw me dis parrel off; veil, he koom, und he like to shblit himself mit laf too, but he roll me ofer und saw de parrel all de vay around off, und I get up mit half a parrel around my vaist; den Katrina she say, " Sockery, vait a little till I get a battern uf dat new oferskirt you haf on;" put I didn't sait a vort. I shust got a nife oud und vittle de hoops off, und siding dot confountet olt parrel in de voot-pile. Pimeby, ven I koom in de house Katrina, she salt so soft like: "Sockery, don'd you goin' to but some aigs under dot olt plue hen?" Den I sait in my deepest woice, ** Katrina, uf you efer say dot to me again, I'll got a pill uf wriding from de lawyer from you," und I dell you she did ri't say dot any more. Veil, Mr. Verris, ven I shtep on a parrel now, I do n'd shtep on it, — I get a pox. sockery. THEOI.OGY IN THE QUARTERS. Now, I 's got a notion in my head dat when you come to die, An' Stan' de 'zamination in de cote-house in de sky. You'll be 'stonished at de questions dat de angel's gwine to ax AVhen he gits you on de witness stan' an' pin you to de fac's ; 'Cause he'll ax you mighty closely 'bout your doin's in de night, An' de water-milion question's gwine to bodder you a sight! Den your eyes '11 open wider dan dey eber done befo', When he chats you 'bout a chicken-scrape dat happened long ago ! De angels on de picket-line erlong de Milky Way Keeps a-watchin' what you're dribin' at, an' hearin' what you say ; No matter what you want to do, no matter whar you's gwine, Dey's mighty ap' to find it out an' pass it 'long de line ; An' of 'en at de meetin', when you make a fuss an' laugh. Why, dey send de news a-kitin' by de golden telegraph ; DIALECT. 401 Den de angel in de orfis, what's a-settin' by de gate, Jes' reads de message wid a look an' claps it on de slate! Den you better do your juty well, an' keep your conscience clear. An' keep a lookin' straight ahead an' watchin' whar you steer ; 'Cause arter Avhile de time '11 come to journey from de Ian', An' dey'U take you way up in de a'r an' put you on de stan' ; Den you '11 hab to listen to de clerk, and answer mighty straight, Ef you ebber 'spec' to trabble froo de alaplaster gate ! J. A. MACON. PADDY'S EXCElvSIOR. 'TwAs growing dark so terrible fasht, Whin through a town up the mountain there pashed A broth of a boy, to his neck in the shnow ; As he walked, his shillalah he swung to and fro. Saying : " It 's up to the top I 'm bound for to go, Be jabbers! " He looked mortal sad, and his eye was as bright As a fire of turf on a cowld winther night ; And niver a word that he said could ye tell As he opened his mouth and let out a jell : *' It 's up till the top of the mountain I '11 go, Onless covered up wid this bodthersome shnow. Be jabbers ! " Through the windows he saw, as he thraveled along, The light of the candles, and fires so warm But a big chunk of ice houng over his head ; AVid a shnivil and groan, "By St. Patrik ! " he said, " It 's up to the very tiptop I will rush, And then if it falls, it's not meself it'll crush, Be jabbers ! " " Whisht a bit," said an owld man, whose head was as white As the shnow that fell down on that miserable night; " Shure, ye'll fall in the wather, me bit of a lad, For the night is so dark and the walkin' is bad." Bedad ! he 'd not lisht to a word that was said. But he 'd go till the top, if he went on his head. Be jabbers 1 34 402 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. A bright, buxom young girl, such as loikes to be kissed, Axed him wouldn't he stop, and how could he resist? So, shnaj^ping his fingers and winking his eye, While shmiling u])on her, he made this reply: " Faith, I meant to kape on till I got to the top, But, as yer swate self has axed me, I may as well shtop Be jabbers ! " lie shtopped all night and he shtopped all day — And ye musn't be axing whin he did go away ; Fur would n't he be a bastely gossoon To be laving his darlint in the swate honey-moon ? AVhen the owld man has peraties enough, and to spare, Shure he moight as well shtay if he's comfortable there. Be jabbers ! SUNDAY FISHIN'. Heyo ! you niggers, dah, I like ter know Wut dat you up to yere! "Well, toe be sho! Ef you ain't fishin' on de good Lawd's day, Des like you done gone clah forgit de way Up to de meetin'-'ouse ! Yere, come erlong Er me, en I '11 show you de place you b'long. I tells you wut, boys, dish yere chile is had Speunce er Sunday fishin', en he glad Dat he 's alive ! De las' time dat I broke De Sabbaf-day dis way, it wa'n't no joke — You heered me now ! Dat wuz de time, you know, I ketched de debble, en I thought, fer sho, Dat he 'd ketch me ! You see, dish yere de way It wuz : I tuck my pole one Sabbaf-day En went down to de river, at de place Wut I kep' baited, up above de race. Dey useter be a little dogwood-tree Up on de bank, jess big ernough fer me To set en fish in ; en I useter chme — Into it alluz in high-w^ater time. It growed right on de steep bank's aidge, en lent 'Wav out alx)ve de water. Wen I went DIALECT. 403 ITp dah dat day de muddy ribber den Had riz en oberflowed 'bout nine or ten Feet t'uni de bank, en so I tuck en role My breeches up, en waded wid my pole ■ Out to de tree, en clime into de fawk, En 'gin ter fish. ' T^ya' nt long 'fo' my cawk Duckt clear outer sight ; Den I felt de pole jerk mos' away. I belt on to dat pole, but ' twa'n't no mortal use — Dat fish wuz boun' to make sump'n come loose. I had a monstrous strong, big cat-fish line. En so I tuck en fix my legs, en I twine Em roun' dat tree en froze on to de pole, Termint to swing 'twell sump'n loos' der hoi'. But Laws-a-massy, ' twan't no yethly use ; Fo* long I felt dat are tree a-givin' loos' ; En treckly down she come, sho' enough, kerfiop, Into de bilin' water, me on top, Yes, sir, right in de ribber; den dat thing Wut I done ketched, hit gib a sudden swing, En 'way hit tuck straight down de streaui, wid me Er follerin' atter, a settin' on de tree! Sakes, how we trabbled ! en 'z we rolled along, Hit struck me all to wunst sump'n 'uz wrong Erbout dat fish ! He wuz a pow'ful sight Too peart. De fus' thing wut I thought I better do Wuz tu'n aloose dat pole ; but, thinks 1, " Shoo I could n't fool him dat away, en he Mout tu'n loose, too, en grab aholt er me." Putty quick I seed out in de river, right ahead, Joe Taylor's fish-trap, en de good Lawd led Us long up side it, en you mighty right, I jumpt on to it mighty free en light ; En ]\rr. Smarty Nick, wid his ole tree, Sailed on, a-thinkin' still he haulin' me! Dat 's wut de uiatter ! Niggers, dat de way I quit dis fishin' on de Sabbaf-day. 404 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Dah aint no pole ermong yo' all I 'd tech; En if you aint a-hankerin' to ketch Sump'n you did n't barg'n for, I lay You better put dem hooks en lines away. Fer members uv de Church, dish yere gits me! Uv all de owdacious doin's I ever see, Dis tak'n' de Sabbaf-day in vain's de wuss Fer mortifyin' de morals uv — You Gus! Look at dat bite you got! Law bless de Lam', He 's a joedahter! Look out dah, doe jam Dat pole up dah! You trine, peahs like to me, To knock de fish f uni ott' dat 'simmon-tree. Now look! Doe jerk dat way! Law love iny soul, You gwiner lose 'im! Yere, gimme dat pole; I '11 show you how to Ian' 'im ! Stiddy, now — Pulls like a cat-fish. Hit 's de boss, I vow! Des wait a minute ; one mo' pull is boun' To git 'im. Dah he is, safe on de groun'. Haint he a whopper, dough! Hoo-wee! I lay Y' all dat ah fish dis blessid day 'ull weigh 'Bout forty — Laws-a-massy ! ef I aint Done broke de Sabbaf 'fo' I knowed it! 'Taint No use to laugh— you reckon I wuz gwine Ter let dat fish take off dis pole en line ? ANONYMOUS. IMPERSONATION. EVENING AT THE FARM. Over the hill the farm-boy goes ; His shadow lengthens along the land, A giant staff in a giant hand ; In the poplar-tree, above the spring, The katydi 1 begins to sing ; The early dews are falling ; Into the stone-heap darts the mink ; The swallows skim the river's brink ; IMPERSONATION. 405 And home to the woodland fly the crows, When over the hill the farm-boy goes, Cheerily calling, " Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! co' ! " Farther, farther, over the hill, Faintly calling, calling still, "Co', boss! co', boss! co' ! co' ! co' ! " Into the yard the farmer goes. With grateful heart, at the close of day ; Harness and chain are hung away ; In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plow; The straw 's in the stack, the hay in the mow, The cooling dews are falling; The friendly sheep his welcome bleat, The pigs come grunting to his feet. The whinnying mare her master knows, When into the yard the farmer goes. His cattle calling: " Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! co' ! " While still the cow-boy, far away, Goes seeking those that have gone astray — " Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! " Now to her task the milkmaid goes ; The cattle come crowding through the gate. Lowing, pushing, little and great ; About the trough, by the farm-yard pump. The frolicksome yearlings frisk and jump. While the pleasant dews are falling; The new milch-heifer is quick and shy, But the old cow waits with tranquil eye, And the white stream into the bright pail flows, When to her task the milkmaid goes. Soothingly calling: "So, boss! SO; boss! so! so! so!" The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool. And sits and milks in the twilight cool, Saying, "So! so, boss! so! so!" To supper at last the farmer goes ; The apples are pared, the paper read, The stories are told, then all to bed. Without, the crickets' ceaseless song 406 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Makes shrill the silence all night long ; The heavy dews are falling. The housewife's hand has turned the lock; Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock ; The household sinks to deep repose, But still in sleep the farm-boy goes, Singing, calling: *'Co', boss! co', boss! co' ! co' ! co'! " And oft the milkmaid, in her dreams, Drums in the pail with the flashing streams, Murmuring, " So, boss ! so ! " J. T. TROWBRIDGE. THE CHARCOAI. MAN. Though rudely blows the wintry blast, And sifting snows fall white and fast, Mark Haley drives along the street, Perched high upon his wagon-seat; His somber face the storm defies, And thus from morn till eve he cries: " Charco' ! charco' ! " While echo faint and far replies : "Hark, O! hark, ! " " Charco' ! " — '* Hark, O !" — such cheery sounds Attend him on his daily rounds. The dust begrimes his ancient hat, His coat is darker far than that; 'T is odd to see his sooty form All speckled Avith the feathery storm; Yet in his honest bosom lies Nor spot, nor speck, though still he cries : " Charco' ! charco' ! " And many a roguish lad replies : "Ark, ho ! ark, ho ! " " Charco' ! " " Ark, ho ! ^'— such various sounds Announce Mark Haley's morning rounds. Thus all the cold and wintry day He labors much for little pay ; Yet feels no less of happiness Than many a richer man, I guess. IMPERSONATION. 407 WTien through the shades of eve he spies The hght of his own home and cries: " Charco' ! charco' ! " And Martha from, the door replies : "Mark, ho! Mark, ho!" "Charco' ! " " Mark, ho ! "—such joy abounds When he lias closed his daily rounds. The hearth is warm, the fire is bright, And while his hand, washed clean and white. Holds Martha's tender hand once more, His glowing face bends fondly o'er The crib wherein his darling lies, And in a coaxing tone he cries : " Charco' ! charco' ! " And the baby with a laugh replies : "Ah, go! ah, go!" " Charco' ! " "Ah, go ! " — while at the sounds The mother's heart with gladness bounds. Then honored be the charcoal man ! Though dusky as an African, 'T is not for you, that chance to be A little better clad than he, His honest manhood to despise. Although from morn till eve he cries : " Charco' ! charco' ! " AYhile mocking echo still replies : " Hark, O ! hark, O ! " " Charco' ! " " Hark, ! " — long may the sounds Proclaim Mark Haley's daily rounds ! J. T. TROWBRIDGE. THE SPANISH DUEL. Near the city of Sevilla, Years and years ago, Dwelt a lady in a villa Years and years ago ; And her hair was black as night, And her eyes were starry bright ; 408 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Olives on her brow were blooming, Roses red her lips perfuming, And her step was light and airy As the tripping of a fairy ; When she spoke, you thought, each minute, 'T was the thrilling of a linnet ! Orphaned both of sire and mother Dwelt she in that lonely villa, Absent now her guardian brother On a mission from Sevilia. Skills it httle now the telling How I wooed that maiden fair; Tracked her to her lonely dwelling, And obtained an entrance there. Ah! that lady of the villa! And I loved her so, Near the city of Sevilla, Years and years ago. Ay de mi ! — Like echoes falling Sweet and sad and low, Voices came at night, recalling Years and years ago. Seated half within a bower, Where the languid evening breeze Shook out odors in a shower From oranges and citron-trees. Sang she from a romancero, How a Moorish chieftain bold Fought a Spanish caballero By Sevilla' s walls of old ; How they battled for a lady, Fairest of the maids of Spain ; How the Christian's lance, so steady, Pierced the Moslem through the brain. Then she ceased — her black eyes moving. Flashed, as asked she with a smile: "Say, are maids as fair and loving — Men as faithful, in your isle?" IMPERSONATION. 409 " British maids," I said, " are ever Counted fairest of the fair ; Like the swans on yonder river Moving with a stately air. Wooed not quickly, won not lightly — But, when won, forever true ; Trial draws the bond more tightly ; Time can ne'er the knot undo." "And the men?"— "Ah! dearest lady, Are — quien sabe? — who can say? To make love they 're ever ready, Where they can and where they may ; Fixed ^s waves, as breezes steady In a changeful April day — Como brisas, como rios. No se sabe, sabe Dios." "Are they faithful ? "—"Ah ! quien sabe ? Who ean answer that they are ? While we may, we should be happy." Then I took up her guitar, And I sang in sportive strain. This song to an old air of Spain. "QUIEN SABE." I. " The breeze of the evening that cools the hot air, That kisses the orange and shakes out thy hair, Is its freshness less welcome, less sweet its perfume. That yon know not the region from w^hich it is come? Whence the wind blows, where the wind goes, Hither and thither and whither — who knows? Who knows? Hither and thither — but whither — who knows? The river forever glides singing along. The rose on the bank bends adown to its song; And the flower, as it listens, unconsciously dips, Till the rising wave glistens and kisses its lips. 3i 410 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. But why the wave rises and kisses the rose, And why the rose stoops for those kisses — who knows ? Who knows? And away flows the river — but whither — who knows? Let me he the breeze, love, that wanders along The river that ever rejoices in song ; Be thou to my fancy the orange in bloom, The rose by the river that gives its perfume. Would the fruit be so golden, so fragrant the rose. If no breeze and no wave were to kiss them ? Who knows ? AVho knows ? If no breeze and no wave were to kiss them? Who knows?" As I sang the lady listened, Silent save one gentle sigh ; When I ceased, a tear-drop glistened On the dark fringe of her eye. Then my heart reproved the feeling Of that false and heartless strain, Which I sang in words concealing What my heart would liide in vain. Up I sprang. What words were uttered Bootless now to think or tell ; Tongues speak wild when hearts are fluttered, By the mighty master spell. Words half- vague and passion-broken, Meaningless, yet meaning all That the lips have left unspoken, That we never may recall. "Magdalena, dearest, hear me," Sighed I, as I seized her hand — " Hola, Senor! " very near me, Cries a voice of stern command. And a stalwart caballero Comes upon me with a stride. On his head a slouched sombrero, A toledo hv his side. IMPERSONATION. • 411 From his breast he flung his capa With a stately Spanish air; On the whole, he looked the chap a Man to slight would scarcely dare. " "Will your worship have the goodness To release that lady's hand ? " " Seiior," I replied, '■ this rudeness I am not prepared to stand. Magdalena, say" — the maiden, With a cry of wild surprise, As with secret sorrow laden, Fainting, sank before my eyes. Then the Spanish caballero Bowed with haughty courtesy, Solemn as a tragic hero. And announced himself to me : "Senor, I am Don Camillo Guzman Miguel Pedrillo De Xymenes y Ribera Y Santallos y Herrera Y de Rivas y INIendoza Y Quintana y de Rosa Y Zorilla y " — " No more, sir, 'T is as good as twenty score, sir," Said I to him, with a frown; " !Mucha bulla para nada, No palabras, draw your 'spada ; If you 're up for a duello You will find I 'm just your fellow — Senor, I am Peter Brown ! " By the river's brink that night. Foot to foot in strife, Fought we in the dubious light A fight of death or life. Don Camillo slashed my shoulder; With the pain I grew the bolder; Close, and closer still I pressed ! Fortune favored me at last; I broke his guard, my weapon passed Through the caballero's breast. 412 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. Down to the earth went Don Camillo Guzman Miguel Pedrillo De Xymenes y Ribera Y Santallos y Herrera Y de Rivas y Mendoza Y Quintana y de Rosa Y Zorilhi y— One groan, And he lay motionless as stone. The man of many names went down, Pierced by the sword of Peter Brown I Kneeling down I raised his head; The caballero faintly said : " Senor Ingles, fly from 8pain AVith all speed, for you have slain A Spanish noble, Don Camillo Guzman IMiguel Pedrillo De Xymenes y Ribera Y Santallos y Herrera Y de Rivas y Mendoza Y Quintana y de Rosa Y Zorilla y " — He swooned With the bleeding of his wound. If he be living still or dead, I never knew, I ne'er shall know. That night from Spain in haste I tied, Years and years ago. Oft when autumn eve is closing, Pensive, puffing a cigar, As I sit alone, reposing. Musing half, and half a-dozing, Comes a vision from afar Of that lady of the villa In her satin-fringed mantilla, And that haughty caballero With his capa and sombrero. And I vainly keep revolving That long-jointed, endless name; 'T is a riddle past my solving Who he was, or whence he came. Was he that brother home returned ? Was he some former lover spurned ? IMPERSONATION. 413 Or some family fiance That the lady did not fancj^ ? Was he any one of those ? Sabe Dios. Ah ! God knows ! Sadly smoking my manilla, Much I long to know How fares the lady of the villa That once charmed me so, When I visited Sevilla Years and years ago. Has she married a Hidalgo? Gone the way that ladies all go In those drowsy Spanish cities, Wasting life — a thousand pities — Waking up for a fiesta From an afternoon siesta, To "Giralda" now repairing, Or the Plaza for an airing; Does she walk at evenings ever Through the gardens by the river? Guarded by an old duenna Fierce and sharp as a hyena, With her goggles and her fan, AVarning ofiT each wicked man ? Is she dead or is she living? Is she for my absence grieving ? Is she wretched? is she happy? Widow, wife, or maid ? Quien sahc f J. I. WALLER. THE OLD MAN IN THE MODEE CHURCH. Well, wife, I 've found the model church ! I worshiped there to-day ! It made me think of good old times, before my hairs w^ere gray ; The meetin'-house was fixed up more than they were years ago, But then I felt, when I went in, it was n't built for show. The sexton did n't seat me away back by the door ; He knew that I was old and deaf, as well as old and poor; He must have been a Christian, for he led me boldly througli The long aisle of that crowded church to find a pleasant pew. 414 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. I wish you 'd heard the singin' ; it liad the old-time ring; The preacher said, with trumpet voice : '' Let all the people sing!" The tune was " Coronation," and the music upward rolled. Till I thought I heard the angels striking all their harps of gold. My deafness seemed to melt away ; my spirit caught the fire ; I joined my feeble, trembling voice wdth that melodious choir. And sang as in my youthful days: "Let angels prostrate fall; Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown him Lord of all." I tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that hymn once more ; I felt like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpse of shore ; I almost wanted to lay down this weather-beaten form. And anchor in that blessed port, forever from the storm. The preachin'? AVell I can 't just tell all that the preacher said; I know it was n't written ; I know it was n't read ; He had n't time to read it, for the lightnin' of his eye Went fiashin' 'long from pew to pew, nor passed a sinner by. The sermon was n't flowery ; 't was simple gospel truth ; It fitted poor old men like me ; it fitted hopeful youth ; *T was full of consolation for wx'ary hearts that bleed ; 'T was full of invitations to Christ, and not to creed. How swift the golden moments fled within that holy place ! How brightly beamed the light of heaven from every happy face ! Again I longed for that sweet time when friend shall meet with friend ; "When congregations ne'er break up, and Sabbath has no end." I hope to meet that minister — that congregation, too — In that dear home beyond the stars that shine from heaven's blue; I doubt not I '11 remember, beyond life's evenin' gray, That happy hour of worship in that model church to-day. Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought — the victory soon be won ; The shinin' goal is just ahead ; the race is nearly run ; O'er the river we are nearin', they are throngin' to the shore. To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no more, JOHN H. YATES. IMPERSONATION. 415 THE OLD MAN AND JIM. Old man never had much to say, 'Ceptin' to Jim ; And Jim was the wildest boy he had, And the old man jes' wrapj3ed np in him ! Never heerd him speak but once Er twice in my life — and first time was When the army broke out, and Jim he went, The old man backin' him, for three months. And all 'at I heerd the old man say AVas, jes' as we turned to start away: "Well, good-bye, Jim; Take keer of yourse'f " 'Feared like he was more satisfied Jes' lookin' at Jim, And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see? 'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him! And over and over I mind the day The old man came and stood round in the way While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim, And down at the depot a-heerin' him say : " Well, good-bye, Jim ; Take keer of yourse'f ! " Never was nothin' about the farm Disting'ished Jim ; Neighbors all uset to wonder Avhy The old man 'peared wrapped up in him ; But when Cap Biggler he writ back 'At Jim was the bravest boy we had In the whole dern regiment, white or black, And his fightin' good as his farmin' bad — 'At he had led, with a bullet clean Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen. The old man wound up a letter to him 'At Cap read to us, 'at said : " Tell Jim Good-bye , And take keer of hisse'f ! " 416 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. ' Jim come back jes' long enough To take the whim 'At he 'd hke to go back in calvery— And tlie old man jes' wrapped up in him? Jim 'lowed 'at he 'd had sich luck afore, Guessed he 'd tackle her three years more. And the old man gave him a colt he 'd raised, And follered him over to Camp Ben Wade, And laid around fer a week er so, Watchin' Jim on dress-parade — Tel finally he rid away. And last he heerd w'as the old man say : " Well, good-bye, Jim ; Take keer of yourse'f ! " Tuk the papers, the old man did, A-watchin' fer Jim — Fully believin' he 'd make his mark Some way — jes' wrapped up in liim! And many a time the word 'u'd come 'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum — At Petersburg, fer instance, where Jim rid right into their cannons tliere. And tuk 'em, and p'inted 'em t' other way And socked it home to the boys in gray As they skooted fer timber, and on and on — Jim a lieutenant and one arm gone, And the old man's words in his mind all day: " Well, good-bye, Jim ; Take keer of yourse'f ! *' Think of a private, now perhaps, AVe '11 say like Jim, 'At 's dumb clean up to the shoulder-straps — .And the old man jes' wrapped up in him ! — Think of him — with the war plum' through. And the glorious old Red-white-and-blue A-laughin' the news down over Jim And the old man bendin' over him — The surgeon turnin' away with tears 'At had n't leaked fer years and years-^- As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to His father's, the old voice in his ears: *' Well, good-bye, Jim ; Take keer of yourse'f! " JAMES WIIITCOMB RILEY, IMPEBSONA TION. All TOMMY TAFT. On the first day of March it was, that Tommy Taft had been unquietly sleeping in the forenoon, to make np for a disturbed night. The little noisy clock, that regarded itself as the essence of a Yankee, and ticked with immense alac- rity and struck in the most bustling and emphatic manner; this industrious and moral clock began striking whir-r-r, one; whir-r-r, two ; whir-r-r, three (Tommy jerked his head a lit- tle, as if something vexed him in his sleep); whir-r-r, four; whir-r-r, five; whir-r-r, six (''Keep still, will ye? let me alone, old Avoman ! confound your medicine"); whir-r-r, seven; whir-r-r, eight ("God in heaven! as sure as I live," said Tommy, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure that they saw aright) ; whir-r-r, nine ; whir-r-r, ten ! Then, holding out his arms with the simplicity of a child, his face fairly glowing with joy, and looking now really noble, he cried: "Barton — my boy, Barton — I knew you would n't let the old man die and not help him ! I knew it! I knew it!" After the first surprise of joy subsided, Tommy pushed Barton from the edge of his bed. "Stand up, boy; turn round! There he is! Now I'm all right. Got my pilot aboard ; sealed orders ; ready to sail the minit the hawser 's let go." After a few words about his return from the West, his health and prospects, the old man returned to the subject that seemed to lie nearest his heart. "They've all had a hand at me, Barton. There 's twenty firms in this town that is willin' to give a feller sailin' orders, when they see he 's out'ard bound. But I am an old salt — I know my owners ! " said Tommy, with an affectionate wink at Barton. "Ah, Diy boy, you 're back again ; it 's all right now. Do n't you let me go wrong. I want you to tell me just where you 're goin', and I'll bear right up for that port. You know, Barton, I never cheated you when you was a boy. I took 418 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. care of ye, and never told you a lie in my life, and never got you in a scrape. You wo n't cheat an old man now, will ye?" It was all that Barton could do to maintain his self- possession. Tears and smiles kept company on his face. "My dear old Tommy, we won't part company. We're both bound to the same land. God will, I fervently hope, for Christ's sake, forgive all our sins, and make us meet for everlasting life." "Amen!" roared out the old man. "Go on. You really believe in it? Come here. Barton; sit down on the edge of the bed, look me in the face, and no flummery. Do you really believe that there's another world?" "I do, Tommy; I believe it in my very soul." "That's enough. I believe it, too, jest as sartin as if a shipmate had told me about an island I'd nev^er seen, but he had. Now, Barton, give me the beariu's of 't. D'ye believe that there 's a Lord that helps a poor feller to it ? '* "I do. Christ loves me and you, and all of us. He saves all who trust in him." " He do n't stand on particulars, then? He won't rip up all a feller's old faults, will he? Or, how's that? Don't you ease up on me, Barton, just to please me; but tell me the hardest on 't. I believe every word you say." Barton's own soul had traveled on the very road on which Tommy was now walking, and remembering his own experi- ence, he repeated to Tommy these words: "He wull turn again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities; and thou wilt cast aH their sins into the depths of the sea." (Micah vii, 19.) "Now, that's to the p'int. Barton. The Lord will tumble a feller's sins overboard like rubbish, or bilge-water and the like, when a ship is in the middle of the ocean? Well, it would puzzle a feller to find 'em agin after that. Is that all? I'm to report to him?" "Yes, Tommy ; you are to report to God." IMPERSONATION. 419 " Barton, would ye jest as lief do me a little favor as not?" -What is it, Taft?" " Would ye mind sayin' a little prayer for me — it makes no difference, of course — but jest a line of introduction in a foreign port sometimes helps a feller amazingly." Barton knelt by the bedside and prayed. Without re- flecting at the moment on Uncle Tommy's particular wants, Barton was following in prayer the line of his own feelings, when suddenly he felt Tommy's finger gently poking his head. "I say, Barton, ain't you steerin' a p'int or two off the course ? I do n't seem to follow you." A few earnest, simple petitions followed, which Taft seemed to relish. ''Lord, forgive Tommy Taft's sins! ('Now you've hit it,' said the old man, softly.) Prepare him for thy kingdom. (' Yes, and Barton, too ! ') May he feel thy love, and trust his soul in thy sacred keeping. ('Ah, ha! that's it; you're in the right spot now.') Give him peace while he lives. ('No matter about that; the doctor '11 give me opium for that! go on.') And, at his death, save his soul in thy kingdom, for Christ's sake. Amen !" ' ' Amen ! But did n't you coil it away rather too quick ? Now, Barton, my boy, you've done a good thing. I've been waitin' for you all winter, and you did n't come a minit too soon. I 'm tired now ; but I want to say one thing. Barton, when I'm gone, you won't let the old woman suffer? She 's had a pretty hard time of it with me. I knew you would. One thing more. Barton," said the old man, his voice sinking almost to a whisper, as if speaking a secret from the bottom of his soul, "Barton, you know I never had much money. I never laid up any — could n't. Now you won't let'me come on to the town for a funeral ; will ye ? I should hate to be buried in a pine coffin, at town expense, and have folks laugh that didn't dare open their head to me when I was round town ! " Barton could not forbear smiling as the old man, growing 420 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. visibly feebler every hour, went ou revealing traits which his sturdy pride had covered when he was in health. *'And, Barton, I wish you'd let the children come when I'm buried. They'll come, if you'll jest let 'em know. Always trust the children. And," pain here checked his utterance for a moment, " let 's see — what was I saying? O, the children. I do n't want nothin' said. But if you 'd jest as lief let the children sing one of their hymns, I should relish it." The color came suddenly to his cheek, and left as sud- denly. He pressed his hand upon his heart, and leaned his head further over on his pillow, as if to wait till the pang passed. It seemed long. Barton rose and leaned over him. The old man opened his eyes, and, with a look of ineffable longing, whispered : *' Farewell ! " A faint smile dwelt about his mouth ; his face relaxed and seemed to express happiness in its rugged features. But the old man was not there. Without sound of wings or footfall he had departed on his last journey. BEECHER. THE WOUNDED SOI.DIER. Let me lie down, Just here in the shade of this cannon-torn tree; Here, low on the trampled grass, where I may see The surge of the combat ; and where I may hear The glad cry of victory, cheer upon cheer ; Let me lie down. O, it was grand ! Like the tempest we charged, in the triumph to share; The tempest— its fury and thunder were there; On, on, o'er intrenchments, o'er living and dead, With the foe under foot and our flag overhead— 0, it was grand ! Weary and faint. Prone on the soldier's couch ; ah ! how can I rest With this shot-shattered head and snber-pierced breast? IMPERSONATION. 421 Comrades, at roll-call, when I shall be sought. Say I fought till I fell, and fell where I fought, Wounded and faint. O, that last charge ! Eight through the dread hell-fire of shrapnel and shell ; Through without faltering — clear through with a yell; Right in their midst, in the turmoil and gloom, Like heroes we dashed at the mandate of doom ; O, that last charge ! It was duty ! Some things are worthless, and some others so good, That nations who buy them pay only in blood ; For Freedom and Union each man owes this part, And here I pay my share all warm from my heart, It is duty ! Dying at last! My mother, dear mother, with meek, tearful eye. Farewell ! and God bless you, forever and aye ! O, that I now lay on your pillowing breast, To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first prest. Dying at last ! I am no saint; But, boys, say a prayer. There 's one that begins, " Our Father," and then says, " Forgive us our sins ; " Do n't forget that part, say that strongly, and then I '11 try to repeat it, and you '11 say, " Amen ! " Ah ! I 'm no saint. Hark ! there 's a shout. Raise me up, comrades ! We have conquered, I know ! — Up, on my feet, with my face to the foe ! Ah ! there flies the flag, with its star-spangles bright. The promise of glory, the symbol of right ! Well may they shout ! I'm mustered out. O, God of our fathers, our freedom prolong. And tread down rebellion, oppression, and wrong! O, land of earth's hope, on thy blood-reddened sod, I die for the Nation, the Union, and God! I 'm mustered out. [ 422 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. THE DRIVER'S CHRISTMAS. " Yes, sir, it is a pleasant time, as you say, for many folks, and it is a good work for those who liave their fill of happiness and to spare, to look them up that are less fortu- nate. It seems now to me as if I never want to hear of Christmas and its pleasures, without wishing myself dead! *'You see it's only one man's experience, but there's plenty like it in the world. No, I do n't mind telling you ; it can't make it any harder. Kitty — that's my wife, sir — and I were young and strangers when we came out West to start in life, and she was kind of delicate and not used to roughing it, while I was a farmer's son and was more accus- tomed to hard fare. I never could tell how Kitty loved me first, or why she ever loved me at all, poor girl; but we were in love with each other from the time we attended the di&ulct school together, and I was only too happy when she really promised to be my wife; and, though her folks were unwilling and looked for some city chap to make a lady of her — she was one always, God bless her — we were married at last with their full consent, and came West to live. " May be you have heard of misfortune following a man, sir; well, I was that man. We had enough between us to start a neat little business, and were getting on nicely, when, in one night, it all burned down, and not a penny of insur- ance. Then I got a situation in a store, and baby Kitty was born and died, and that made my wife low-spirited, and she was not over-strong ; and last winter, you will remember, was a hard one. I wanted her to go home and stay a bit, and be nursed well by her folks ; but my dear girl smiled, and put one thin arm around my neck, and asked, * Do you want me to go, Dick?' and I saw she had cast in her lot with me for better or for worse, and it did seem as if it was all worse.'* There was a long silence, during which the driver flicked the ears of the leaders with his whip, and looked sad and thoughtful, and the passenger on the box wondered if he IMPERSONATION. 423 would get home in time for Christmas, and if the driver wap hurrying for him or on his own account to meet Kitty, and he said at last : " You got out of the woods all right, did you?" " O, it was about last Christmas I was telling you, sir wasn't it? At least, that's what led to it. Well, just as I was getting on my feet again, I took down with rheumatic fever, and for two months I never walked a step, and all that time Kitty took care of me. When I got up I noticed the furniture was all gone but the bed I lay on, a table, and stove, and Kitty was as thin as a ghost. There never was such a brave little girl. She declared she would not ask for help from strangers; and as to writing home of her trouble, she never would do it. I knew, sir, some help must be had, and I wrote a plain statement of the case to my father, and asked for money enough to help me start fresh, and I didn't tell Kitty. It broke my heart to see her looking so wretched, and her love and care for me were like a reproach ; but I got out at last, and then, sir, she took to her bed just worn out. The first day I was able to be on the street I went to the man that owns these horses, and the proprietor of the biggest livery in town, and said to him: " ' For God's sake, give me a job! ' *' I knew him a little, you see, and if he had guessed I was hard up he'd have helped me sooner; but that was my pride. *' 'Come down to-morrow evening and I'll talk to you,' he said, and I knew then he'd help me on my feet again. '*The next day Kitty slept most of the day, but when it came time to go out I roused her up a bit to tell her what I was going for. She smiled kind of sad, and put her thin arms — O, so thin they were — round my neck. "'Dear old fellow!' she said, 'you've had a hard time of it; kiss me, Dick, and tell me again that you love me!' "That went through my heart like a knife; but I smoothed her curls back from her white forehead, and told her to cheer up, better times were coming. 424 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. '"What day is this?' she asked, kind of solemn-like. " ' It's the day before Christmas,' I said, * and I'm going to have a feast to-night when I come back. It's Christmas Eve, and you shall hang up your stocking, Kitty ; wait and see what I '11 bring back to you ! ' "She smiled a little and reached both hands around my neck. *' 'Kiss me good-night,' she said, 'or good-bye!* "'I'll kiss you for luck, my baby,' I cried, 'and now just go to sleep till I get back with the good things I'm going after.' " She lay looking at the moonlight, and I drew the thin old quilt and her own shawl close about her to keep her warm — for there was hardly a coal of fire left — and went out whistling to keep her courage up, and my own too. I went first to the post-office, where the evening mail was being dis- tributed to a crowd — letters, presents ; something, it seemed, for every body, but for me there was nothing. The livery proprietor was my only hope. What if he failed ? " AVell, sir, he did not; he gave me work to begin on the next week when I was stronger, and he handed me a week's pay in advance. On my way back something prompted me to look in at the post-office again, and there was my letter; it had been overlooked in the hurry, and my father had sent me what I asked for, with a line of good cheer besides. I was Dearly crazy with joy and excitement ; but I stopped long enough to fill a basket with good things and to order more for the next day. When I got home our poor room was all in a glory with the moonlight, and that and the bells ringing made it so solemn that I quieted down into a feeling of thankfulness, and I did n't wait to get a light, but went and sat down on the bed by Kitty, and said : "'Wake up, my girl! Our luck has changed. I've got work and money, and our troubles are all over, Kitty, darling. Wake up, pet, and see what I've brought you' — and — and ^" IMPERSONATION. 425 ''Well!" said the passenger, drawing a long breath, as the man paused, "go on; and — and " "Kitty was dead, sir ! " mrs. m. l. eayne. THE BLACKSMITH'S STORY. AVell, no ! my wife ain't dead, sir, but I 've lost her all the same ; She left me voluntarily, and neither was to blame. It 's rather a queer story, and I think you will agree — When you hear the circumstances— 't was rather rough on me. She was a soldier's widow. He was killed at Malvern Hill ; And when I married her she seemed to sorrow for him still ; But I brought her here to Kansas, and I never want to see A better wife than Mary was for five bright years to me. The change of scene brought cheerfulness, and soon a rosy glow Of happiness warmed Mary's cheeks and melted all their snow. I think she loved me some — I' m bound to think that of her, sir; And as for me — I can 't begin to tell how I loved her ! Three years ago the baby came our humble home to bless ; r^nd then I reckon I was nigh to perfect happiness; 'T was hers — 'twas mine ; but I 've no language to explain to you How that little girl's weak fingers our hearts together drew ! Once we watched it through a fever, and with each gasping breath, Dumb, with an awful, worldless woe, we waited for its death ; And, though I 'm not a pious man, our souls together there. For Heaven to spare our darling, went up in voiceless prayer. And when the doctor said 'twould live, our joy what words could tell? Clasped in each other's arms, our grateful tears together fell. Sometimes, you see, the shadow fell across our little nest, But it only made the sunshine seem a doubly welcome guest. AVork came to me a plenty, and I kept the anvil ringing ; Early and late you 'd find me there a-hammering and singing ; Love nerved my arm to labor, and moved my tongue to song, And though my singing wasn't sweet, it was tremendous strong! 36 426 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. One day a one-armed stranger stopped to have me nail a shoe, And while I \yas at work we passed a compliment or two; I asked him how he lost his arm. He said 'twas shot away At Malvern Hill. "At Malvern Hill ! Did you know Robert May?" "That's me," said he. "Yon, you!" I gasped, choking with horrid doubt: " If you 're the man just follow me; we '11 try this mystery out! " AVith dizzy steps, I led him to Mary. God ! 'T was true ! Then the bitterest pangs of misery unspeakable I knew. Frozen with deadly horror, she stared with eyes of stone, And from her quivering lips there broke one wild, despairing moan, 'T was he ! the husband of her youth, now risen from the dead ; But all too late — and with bitter cry, her senses fled. What could be done ? He was reported dead. On his return He strove in vain some tidings of his absent wife to learn. 'T was well that he was innocent! Else I'd've killed him, too, So dead he never would have riz till Gabriel's trumpet blew ! It was agreed that Mary then between us should decide, And each by her decision would sacredly abide. No sinner, at the judgment-seat, waiting eternal doom. Could suffer what I did while waiting sentence in that room. Rigid and breathless, there we stood, with nerves as tense as steel, While Mary's eyes sought each white face, in piteous appeal. God! could not woman's duty be less hardly reconciled Between her lawful husband and the father of her child? Ah ! how my heart was chilled to ice, when she knelt down and said: " Forgive me, John ! He is my husband ! Here ! Alive ! not dead ! " I raised her tenderly, and tried to tell her she was right; But somehow, in my aching breast, the prisoned words stuck tight ! "But, John, I can't leave baby"— "What! wife and child!" cried I; " Must I yield all! Ah, cruel fate! Better that I should die. Think of the long, sad, lonely hours, waiting in gloom for me; No wife to cheer me with her love — no babe to climb my knee ! IMPERSONATION. 427 And yet — you are her mother, and the sacred mother love Is still the purest, tenderest tie that Heaven ever wove. Take her ; but promise Mary — for that will bring no shame — My little girl shall bear and learn to lisp her father's name! " It may be, in the life to come, I '11 meet my child and wife ; But yonder, by my cottage gate, we parted for this life; One long hand-clasp from Mary, and my dream of love was done ! One long embrace from baby and my happiness was gone ! FRANK OLIVE. THE FI.OOD AND THE ARK. In the autumn of 1830 I attended a camp-meeting in the interior of Georgia, and heard a sermon which I have never been able to forget or describe. The speaker had just been licensed, and it was his first sermon. In person he was small, bullet-headed, of a fair, sandy complexion ; and his countenance was indicative of sincerity and honesty. He was taking up the Bible in regular order for the first time in his life, and had gotten as far as the history of Noah, the Ark, the Flood, etc. Besides, "just before his conversion, he had been reading Goldsmith's 'Animated Nater ; ' and the two together, by the aid and assistance of the Sperit, had led him into a powerful train of thinking as he stood at his work-bench, day in and day out." The text was: *'As it was in the days of Noah, so shall the coming of the Son of man be ; " and he broke out into the following strain : "Yes, my bretherin, the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, and the floods of the g-r-e-a-t deep kivered the v-Hters-ah; and there was Shem, and there was Ham, and there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. "And there was the elephant-ah, that g-r-e-a-t animal-ah, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater '-ah, what is as big as a house-ah, and his bones as big as a tree- ah, depending somewhat upon the size of the tree-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. And the heavens of the windows 428 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. was opened-ah, and the floods of tlie g-r-e-a-t deep kivered the waters-ah ; and there was 8hem, and there was Ham, and there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwiue into the ark-ah. "And there was the hippopotamus-ah, that g-r-e-a-t ani- mal-ah, of which Goklsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater'- ah, what has ag-r-c-a-t horn-ah a-stickin' right straight up ont of his forward-ah, six feet h)ng, more or less-ah, depending somewhat oh the length of it-ah, a-I-1 a-gwine into the ark-ali. "And there was the giraffe-ah, my bretherin, that ill-con- trived reptile, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Aninjated Nater'-ah, whose fore-legs is twenty-five feet long-ah, more or less-ah, depending somewhat on the length of 'em-ah, and a neck so long he can eat hay off the top of a barn-ah, de- pending somewhat on the hithe of the barn-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. And the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, and the floods of the great deep kivered the waters-ah; and there was Ham, and there was Shem, and there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwMne into the ark-ah. "And there was the zebra, my bretherin-ah, that b-e-a-u- t-i-f-u-1 animal, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Ani- mated Nater'-ah, what has three hundred stripes a-runnin' right straight around his body-ah, more or less-ah, depending somewhat on the number of stripes-ah, and nary two stripes alike-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. "Then there was the anaconder-ah, that g-r-e-a-t sarpint, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater'-ah, what can swallow six oxens at a meal-ah, provided his ap- petite don't call for less-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. And the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, and the floods of the great deep kivered the waters-ah ; and there was Shem, and there was Ham, and there was Japhet-ah, a-l-I a-gwine into the ark-ah. "And there was the lion, bretherin-ah, what is the king of beasts, accordin' to Scripter-ah, and who, as St. Paul says- ah, prowls around of a night like a roarin' devil-ah, a-seekin' if he can't catch somebody-ah ; a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. IMPERSONATION. 429 ''And there was the autelope-ah, my bretherin, that frisky little critter-ah, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Ani- mated Nater'-ah, what can jump seventy-five foot straight np-ah, and twice that distance down-ah, provided his legs will take him tliat far-ah,a-l-l a-gwine into the ark-ah. And the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, and the floods of the great deep kivered the waters-ah; and there was Shem, and there was Ham, and there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. They all came to his hand of their own accord-ah, and Noer only had to head 'em in and fix 'em around in their places-ah. Then he gathered up his own family, and the Lord shut him in, and the heavens of the windows was opeued-ah. " Some of 'em, according to Goldsmitli's 'Animated Nater'- ah, was carnivorious, and wanted fresh meat-ah ; and some was herbivorious, and wanted vegetable food-ah ; and some was wormivorions, and swallowed live things whole-ah ; and he had to feed everything accordin' to his nater. Hence we view, my bretherin-ah, as the nater of the animals wasn't altered by goin' into the ark-ah, some of 'em Avould roar,- and howl, and bark, and bray, and squeal, and blat, the whole indurin' night-ah, a-drivin' sleep from his eyes, and slumber from his eyelets-ah ; and at the first streak o' day- light the last hoof of 'em would set up a noise accordin' to his nater-ah. " My bretherin, as it was in the days of Noer-ah, so shall the coming of the Son of man be-ah. The world will never bedrowned agin-ah. It will be sot a-fire, and burnt up, root and branch, with a fervient heat-ah. WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN. When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock, And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey cock, And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence ; 430 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. O, it 's then 's tlie time a feller is a feelin' at his best, With the rising sun to greet liim from a night of peaceful rest, And he leaves the house bareheaded and goes out to feed the stock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock. There 's something kind o' hearty-like about the atmosphere When the heat of summer's over and the cooling fall is here. Of course we miss the flowers nnd the blossoms on the trees, And the mumble of the hummin'-})ir(ls an' buzzin' of the bees; But the air's so appetizin', and the landscape tiirough the haze Of a crisp and sunny morning of the early autumn days Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. The husty, rusty russle of the tassels of the corn. And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn ; The stubble in the furries — kind o' lonesome-like but still, A j)reachin' sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill; The straw-stack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed; The bosses in their stall below, the clover overhead, — O, it sets my heart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock. Then your apples all is gathered, and the ones a feller keeps Is poured around the cellar-floor, in red and yellow heaps, And your cider-makin's over and your womern-folks is through With their mince and apple-butter, and their souse and sausage too; I do n't know how to tell it — but if sich a thing could be As the avgeh vanthi' hoarding and they'd call around on me, 1 'd want to 'commodate 'em, all the whole endurin' flock. When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock. JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. THE DEACON'S STORY. The solemn old bells in the steeple Are ringin'. I guess you know m hy ! No? Well, then, I '11 tell you, though mostly It 's whispered about on the sly. nrPJi'RSONATIOK 431 Some six weeks ago, a Church meetin' Was called — for — nobody knew what; But we went, and the parson was present, And I do n't know who, or who not. Some twenty odd members, I calc'late, AVhich mostly was women, of course ; Though I do n't mean to say aught ag'in 'em, I 've seen many gatherin's look worse. There, in the front row, sat the deacons. The eldest was old Deacon Pryor ; A man countin' fourscore and seven ; And gin'rally fuU of his ire. Beside him, his wife, countin' fourscore, A kind-hearted, motherly soul ; And next to her, young Deacon Hartley, A good Christian man on the whole. Miss Parsons, a spinster of fifty, And long ago laid on the shelf. Had wedged herself next ; and, beside her, AVas Deacon Monroe — that 's myself. The meetin' was soon called to order, The parson looked glum as a text ; We gazed at each other in silence, And silently wondered, "What next?" Then slowly uprose Deacon Hartley ; His voice seemed to tremble with fear, As he said: "Boy and man you have known me, ^ly good friends, for nigh forty year ; And you scarce may expect a confession Of error from me ; but — you know. My dearly loved wife died last Christmas ; It 's now nearly ten months ago. The winter went by long and lonely. The spring hurried forward apace ; The farm-work came on, and I needed A woman about the old place. The children were wilder than rabbits, And still growin' worse every day ; 432 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, No help to 1)0 found in the village, Although I was willin' to pay. In fact, I was nigh 'bout discouraged For every thing looked so forlorn ; When good little Patience' McAlpin Skipped into our kitchen one morn. She had only run in of an errand ; r>ut she laughed at our miserable plight. And set to work, jist like a woman, A-puttin' the whole place to right. And though her own folks was so busy, And illy her helpin' could spare, She flit in and out like a sparrow. And most every day she was there. So the summer went by, sort of cheerful; But one night, my baby, my Joe, Was restless and feverish, and woke me. As babies will often, you know. I was tired with my day's work, and sleepy, And I couldn't no way keep him still; So at last I grew angry and spanked him. And then he screamed out with a will. 'T was just then I heard a soft rappin' Away at the half-open door, And then little Patience McAlpin Stepped shyly across the white floor. Says she: 'I thought. Josie was cryin', I guess I 'd best take him away ; I knew you 'd be gettin' up early To go to the marshes for hay ; So I stayed here to-night, to get breakfast; I guess he '11 be quiet with me ; Come, baby, kiss papa and tell him What a nice little man he will be.' She was bendin' low over the baby. And saw the big tears on his cheek; But her face was so near to my whiskers I dars n't move, scarcely, or speak. IMPERSONATION. 433 Her arms were both holdin' the baby, Her eyes by his shoulder were hid ; But her mouth was so near and so rosy, That — I kissed her — that 's just what I did! " Then down sat the trembhn' sinner : The sisters they murmured, " For shame I " And " she should n't oughter a' let him ; No doubt she was mostly to blame." When slowly uprose Beacon Prj^or : " Now, brethren a^nd sisters," he said — And we knowed then that suthin' was coming, And we sot as still as the dead — " We 've heard Brother Hartley's confession, And I speak for myself when I say : ' That if my wife was dead, and my children Were all growin' worse everj'' day ; And if my house needed attention, And Patience iNTcAlpin had come, And tidied the cluttered-up kitchen. And made the place seem more like at home; And if I was worn out and sleepy. And my baby would n't lie still, But fretted and woke me at midnight. As babies, we know, sometimes will ; And if Patience came in to hush him. And 't was all as our good brother sez — I think, friends — I think I should kiss her, And 'bide hj the consequences.' Then down sat the elderly deacon ; The younger one lifted his face, And a smile rippled over the meetin', Like light in a shadowy place. Perhaps, then, the matronly sisters Remembered their far-away youth. Or the daughters at home by their firesides, Shrined each in her shy, modest truth ; For their judgments grew gentle and kindly, -' And — well — as I started to say, The solemn old bells in the steeple Are ringin' a bridal to-day. n. s. emerson. 37 434 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. THE I.ITTLE STOW-AWAY. ''Would ye like to hear about it?" I eagerly assent; and tbe narrator, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, folds his brawny arms upon the top of the rail, and commences as follows : "'Bout three years ago, afore I got this berth as I'm in now, I was second engineer aboard a Liverpool steamer bound for New York. There 'd been a lot of extra cargo sent down just at the last minute, and we'd had no end of a job stowin' it away, and that ran us late o' startin' ; so that, altogether, you may think, the cap'n war n't in the sweetest temper in the world, nor the mate neither; as for the chief engineer, he was an easy-goin' sort of a chap, as nothin' on earth could put out. But on the mornin' of the third day out from Liverpool, he cum down to me in a pre- cious hurry, lookin' as if somethin' had put him out pretty considerably. "'Tom,' says he, 'what d'ye think? Blest if w^e ain't found a stow-away.' Timt 's the name, you know, sir, as we gives to chaps as hide theirselves aboard outward-bound vessels, and gets carried out unbeknown to every body. "'The dickens you have!' says L 'Who is he, and where did you find him?' "' Well, we found him stowed away among the casks for'ard ; and ten to one we'd never ha' twigged him at all, if the skipper's dog had n't sniffed him out and begun barkin'. Such a nice little mite as he is, too! I could ha' most put him in my baccy-pouch, poor little beggar ! but he look to be a good-plucked un for all that.' "I didn't wait to hear no more, but up on deck like a sky-rocket; and there I did see a sight, and no mistake. Every man-Jack o' the crew, and what few passengers we had aboard, was all in a ring on the fo'c'stle, and in the middle was the fust-mate, lookin' as black as thunder. Right I IMPERSONATION. 435 in front of him, lookiug a reg'lar mite among them big fel- lers, was a little bit o' a lad not ten year old — ragged as a scare-crow, but with bright, curly hair, and a bonuie little face o' his own, if it hadn't been so woeful thin and pale. But, bless your soul ! to see the way that little chap held his head up, and looked about him, you 'd ha' thought the whole ship belonged to him. The mate was a great hulkin' black-bearded feller, with a look that 'ud ha' frightened a horse, and a voice fit to make one jump through a key-hole; but the young un war n't a bit afeard ; he stood straight up, and looked him full in the face with them bright, clear eyes o' his'n, for all the world as if he was Prince Halferd him- self Folk did say arterwards" — lowering his voice to a whisper — "as how he comed o' better blood nor what he seemed ; and, f