oiv. VoRpLESS V > V S 1 o fc" * AN A' \% '* ^ ^ * ^, v? vV r *, ■'. %$ : o >- v* x V- v -i * P *T V * v*V */. / O \/ o * * o , > o v PANTOMIMES; OR ^Wordless "Poems. By MARY TUCKER MAGILL, Author of "Women, or Chronicles of the War," "History of Virginia," "The Holcombes," etc. .f OF C (^^iifLfo mm <^o?™^; Ip rtfty IRevieeb ant> Enlarged) £Mtion. EDGAR S. WERNER, 108 East 16th Street, New York, 1895. Copyright, 1882, 1894, BY MARY TUCKER MA.GILL. PRESS OF EDGAR S. WERNER, 108 EAST 16TH STREET, NEW YORK. AUTHOR'S PREFACE. THESE exercises have been used by their author with great effect, both in classes of elocution and calisthenics, but have an especial adaptation to the former. They are now given to the public at the re- quest of teachers who have seen and heard of them, and feel that they meet a want of which every teacher of the art is conscious, — being a revelation, in beautiful and simple fashion, of the special use of the facial and flexor muscles in elocution: By clearly defining this use, they tend to curb the tendency to exaggeration and af- fectation, so common in elocution, which brings so much discredit on the study, and is absolute destruction to art, which is only true in proportion to its brotherhood to nature. The music, by Fuenkenstein, has been composed especially for the exercises, and is so arranged as to develoj) and assist the expression. The author's thanks are due to Miss Bertha M. Wil- son for her posings in the pantomimic exercises, and to Miss Myra Pollard and Mr. Goodwal Dickerman for their work in the ballad pantomimes. MARY TUCKER MAGILL. Miss Magill has struck a happy vein in physical culture. The real object in body training is a more perfect marriage of the soul and body. The difference between the awkward move- ment and stolid faces of many persons of even pronounced intelli- gence, and the graceful movements and speaking countenance of the stage artist, illustrates the contrast between mere contiguity and unity. The discord jetween soul and body, as shown in the face, is often very striking, The conversation may be bright, while the face is a blank. This provoking and painful immobility of the face may be removed by a course of special training. Miss Ma- gill has thoroughly grasped the difficulty and its removal. The illustrations show how comprehensively and finely she touches the emotional gamut. I commend this course of facial training. It must be very fascinating, and will add indefinitely to the pleasure and sparkle of our social life. Very respectfully, DIO LEWIS. CONTENTS. PAGE, Preface 5 Pantomimic Exercises 7 Expectation 18 Affection 21 Anger or Hatred 23 Sorrow 25 Joy 27 Fear 28 Religious Devotion 31 The Farewell , 32 Music to the Exercises 75 Preface to Part II 89 Elocution 90 Pantomimes . . , 94 Seven Times One 94 Queen Katharine's Vision 100 Ginevra 103 " Where Are You Going, My Pretty Maid ?" 110 Seven Times Three 126 Goldenhair and the Bears . 129 Scene from " The Winter's Tale " 134 Rory O'More 138 Recitations 157 Sis. Mary Tucker Magill 157 Borrowers 168 Aunt Anarky's Presents . 171 Smith's Boy. Max Adeler 175 Cabin Philosophy. Irwin Russell 179 CONTENTS. The Baker's Wife 182 A May-Day Flitting. Mary Tucker Magill 186 Kasser banker. Mary Tucker Magill 200 Elopement in Seventy-Five 204 The Wonderful Economy of a Wife 211 Fairy Hill. Col. St. George Tucker 213 Aunt Merrandy. Mary Tucker Magill 220 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE. 1. Expectation , 35 2. Listening 37 3. Looking 39 4. He Comes 41 5. Affection 43 6. The Vow 45 7. Anger 47 8. Sorrow 49 to 53 9. Joy 55, 57 10. Fear .. 59 to 65 11. Religious Devotion 67, 69 12. Parting 71, 73 13. Seven Times One 95, 97, 99 14. "Where Are You Going, My Pretty Maid ?" ... 113 to 125 15. Rory O'More ;. 145 to 155 PANTOMIMES; OR WORDLESS POEMS. THERE is nothing so essential to the attractiveness and beauty of an individual as mobility of expres- sion and ease and grace of movement ; however beautiful the features, if no light is shed upon them from the soul within, the face lacks the charm which attracts ; it is like the fair flower without odor, — beautiful to the eye, but wanting that which alone could make it charming. On the other hand, we all can recall faces, with no beauty of feature, which attracted and kept us charmed by that play of expression which made it the mirror of the soul within, — the changeful emotions flitting over it like the face of the heavens in spring; one moment bright with the sunshine of mirth, the next dewy with the white clouds of sympathy, or bursting into the brilliant sunset hues of generous enthusiasm. The statuesque repose of the marble has its beauty. (7) 8 PANTOMIMES; OR The work of the sculptor with his chisel upon the resist- ing stone is beautiful only in proportion to his faithful delineation of nature, and we gaze in silent awe and admiration at his highest achievements. But the kin- dling eye, the mobile mouth, the graceful movement of the pliant form, is the noblest work of a divine hand, an achievement worthy of a god. In teaching the science of elocution, I have always been met on the threshold by the difficulty of making the pupil comprehend the fact that his entire being — body, soul, and spirit — must assist in the work. The voice, though so often in error, is the most manageable element ; any attempt at movement of the body being stiff and awkward from embarrassment, while the face remains still and unresponsive. In striving to overcome this difficulty, I was led into a deeper study of the whole subject, and was amazed to find the broad field opened before me, the wonderful power of the human frame for purposes of expression without the aid of language ; and the result is these simple exercises, in- tended to give ease to those muscles which we use in elocution, to open up to the student the idea of their importance in every branch of the study, from conver- sation, — its foundation-stone, — through reading and rec- itation, up to the highest oratory. Before leaving this subject, which we will style the Roscius side of the elocution question, I think it will WORDLESS POEMS. 9 be well to warn the pupils, probably repeating what I have said before, that these exercises are physical, intended to give ease and elasticity to the muscles of the whole body, so that with an intelligent person the expression will change with the thought. Gesture should be the inspiration of the moment, like speech ; and while it is well to study gesture, yet it is very undesirable that one should use a studied gesture. Once understand it, and, like language, the. proper gesture will naturally accompany speech. Let me give an illustration. I went once to a school exhibition where the pupils in elocution had been dili- gently trained for appearance in public. I think there may have been as many as twenty upon the stage, and it became ludicrous in the extreme to follow the result of this training. Each one in turn would advance three steps, begin her piece, and fall back three steps ; next would follow two steps to the right, then to the left, and so well were they trained that not one omitted the monotonous routine. My idea is different. Teach the reason and the sense of the thing, then let the result follow naturally. If your muscles be correctly trained, you will avoid stiffness and awkwardness, which are so apt to be the tormenting experience of young elocu- tionists. By way of assisting the pupil to the full understand- ing of gesture, I will lay down just a simple manual, 10 PANTOMIMES; OR which may be found in other books but should not be omitted from any. However much the opinions of the world at large may be at variance upon the subject of physiognomy, all agree in conceding to it great weight in science. In all of the ages of the world, writers have contributed to the subject. Beginning with the Bible, we hear Solo- mon say : "A naughty person walketh with a fro ward mouth. He winketh with his eyes, he speaketh with his teet, he teacheth with his fingers." "A violent man shutteth his eyes to devise fro ward things ; moving his lips he bringeth evil to pass." ' 'A high look and a proud heart and the ploughing of the wicked is sin." "There is a generation, O how lofty are their eyes, and their eyelids are lifted up." "A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance." "Heaviness in the heart of a man maketh it stoop." In the Apocryphal writings, we read : "The heart of a man changeth his countenance, whether it be for good or evil. " "There is a wicked man that hangeth down his head, and calleth down his countenance, and maketh as though he heareth not." ' 'A man's attire and excessive laughter and quiet, show what he is. " One of the world's greatest students of this subject — Cicero — says : "Nature hath bestowed upon man a bodily figure completely adapted to his mind. The face of every other animal he hath WORDLESS POEMS. 11 turned downwards to the ground, from whence its nourishment is drawn ; to man alone is given a form erect, a face turned up- ward to his kindred heaven, to those divine abodes which are his native seat. She has, besides, so exquisitely modelled the human features that they are capable of expressing the most secret emotions of the soul. The penetrating glances of the eye indicate the corresponding internal affections ; and that which is emphat- ically called the countenance announces the moral character." Herder, a writer on physiognomy, thus analyzes the face : "The forehead is the seat of serenity, of joy, of gloomy dis- content, of anguish, stupidity, ignorance, and malignity ; it is the table of brass upon which are engraved the thoughts in letters of fire. "Below the forehead is the eyebrow, that beautiful frontier: in its mildness, the rainbow of peace ; in rage, the bended bow of discord. "The eyes form the windows of the soul, transparent globes, the sources of light and life ; they sparkle in joy, glow in anger, gleam softly in sympathy, droop in sorrow. ' ' The nose gives a finish to all the features of the face. The root of the nose, its ridge, its point, its cartilage, its nostrils, all express understanding and character. ' ' The mouth characterizes the taste and propensity ; is curled to express contempt, compressed in anger, smiling in affection and the softer emotions, laughing in joy and triumph, drooped in sorrow, thrown violently open in terror. "Nature has placed the ear at the side of the head, half con- cealed: with less of beauty and grace than distinguishes the other features, with no power in itself of transmitting expres- sion ; from which we learn that man hears for himself alone, and not to convey to others a sign. "The head, supported upon the neck, discovers, by a motion, what man wishes to express : firmness, pride, dignity, sorrow, or shame. " 12 PANTOMIMES; OR We may add to this beautiful analysis, that the limbs in their every muscular action are as full of expression as the features of the face. Who so simple as not to be able to form some judgment of the vital force and char- acter of a man, even his age, by his step ? The child bounds along the pathway of life, his step yet un- touched by disappointment and failure; the untried world before him, he believes himself unconquerable. The youth is but a modification of the child : a little more of thought, of feeling, in his movement; but although life has, even now, had some failures for him, he believes them all behind him ; the mountain height above him, he moves to conquer its stoeps, with buoyant step, his banner, "Excelsior!" in his hand. Stern middle age moves with sober step, back a little bowed, limbs strengthened by toil, the buoyancy and confidence of youth replaced by the firmness and determination of character developed by experience ; his every movement shows that he knows he can be conquered, that success means work, and he braces himself for the hand-to-hand conflict. Then follows old age, with step feeble and broken, falling towards the grave, man's last resting- place. Lavater, the most enthusiastic and voluminous author on this subject, has left to literature five folio volumes, in which the subject is given with the greatest interest and power. He claimed the ability to tell a man's WORDLESS POEMS. 13 character at a glance, and even to divine his thoughts, by placing himself in his situation. Although we must stop short of Lavater in his convictions, yet there is so much of wisdom, beauty, and truth in his words, that we must adopt them into our text. He defined physiog- nomy as "man's interior manifested by his exterior, whether feature, outline, or position give the sign ; it is what a man is in general. Pathognomy is the human form in action ; the interpretation of the passions shown by the movement of its parts ; what the man is at the present moment. ' ' Man's physiognomy forms the difference between himself and the brute, — no form so noble, so sublime, as his, containing so many faculties, so many powers of action ; his eye darts lightning in anger, and melts into softness in love ; his foot, by its very stroke upon the ground, displays some element of his true character; the head rears itself in pride and joy, and bends in humility and sorrow. In short, the whole visible man is the servant of the invisible mind, which moves and controls him at will. Any disobedience to this universal law is affectation, — a mask which a man puts on to con- ceal his real self. The science of elocution has for its true object the analysis of this subject, — the true and beautiful in nature. The study has been brought into great disrepute and ridicule by false teaching, — the stilted style, — 14 PANTOMIMES; OR where the feeble grasp strives to arrest the whirlwind, or with a feather stop the torrent ; to ontbellow the thunder with a baby wail, or outflash the lightning with a brimstone match. I aver that there is not so much nonsense and false- hood taught on any subject as elocution ; the whole matter is generally misunderstood. The science has for its object and end not so much building up as tearing down. From our infancy we are the victims of habit, or second nature, which eats into the true nature like a canker, undermining and tearing away the beautv im- planted in our being, and putting in its place the wretched substitute which forms the mask Ave wear to conceal what we are. Now, elocution should aim to tear away this mask by gradual and thorough work, taking us back to the beau- tiful mother Nature, who, in her pure fountain, washes us clean from the defilement of habit, and makes us simple and tender as £s ature herself. ' ' Put yourself in his place ' ' is the best motto for an elocutionist. " The only study of mankind is man;" and, such is the unity of our nature, that when we find out what would be our true feeling in any given situation, and display that feeling with perfect naturalness, we touch a chord which will make the whole human race vibrate. I have often observed that it is the most feeble and incapable pupil who is most ambitious to undertake the WORDLESS POEMS. 15 greatest flights. I recall one such, a stage-struck youth, who, presenting himself for lessons, said: " I have a passion for high tragedy ! " I advised him to get rid of the dangerous guest, and be content to begin on the lowest round of the ladder instead of the highest, or he would get a dangerous fall. Like many another self- sufficient youth, he did not listen to my friendly admo- nitions, and the fall came in due time. All know the story of the great Cicero and his teacher Roscius, the actor ; that it was a long discussion with them which could best express feeling, — voice or action. In these exercises we take the side of Roscius, and see what we can do with our subject without the aid of the vocal organs. My object in this, as I have before hinted, is by excluding this palpable medium, and throwing upon the face and body the entire weight of expression, to give to the world of students an idea of the power of repre- sentation which lies in their frames, to show them that, however important the voice and memory may be, facial expression and movement must be studied in order to make a perfect whole, — the whole being must respond in order to make the*elocutionary effort a success. The subjects chosen for these exercises are of the simplest, such as enter into our everyday life. There are eight changes : I. Expectation or Listening and Looking; II. Affection; III, Anger or Hatred; IV. 16 PANTOMIMES; OR Sorrow ; V. Joy ; VI. Fear ; VII. Keligious Devotion ; VIII. The Farewell. They are so arranged as to bring in strong contrasts. Love and hatred follow each other, ' ' Sorrow endnreth for a night, joy cometh in the morning," — the anguish of "terror" is followed by petition and resignation. The object to be gained in these contrasts is to promote the mobility of the face, to make the facial muscles obey instantly the will of the master — mind. The music is chosen to suit the sentiment to be expressed : Soft and earnest in expectation and affection, stormy in hatred and fear, plaintive in sorrow, brilliant in joy, and sooth- ing in devotion. The exercises were arranged to meet the wants of a class of my pupils, and have excited so much attention by their beauty of sentiment and simple, unexaggerated expression, that I have been frequently solicited to pub- lish them. It has been a difficult task to do so; and even now there are wants to be met, with which a living teacher must cope. Anyone who has given thought to the subject will at once catch inspiration from the thought, in the whole. I present them to the public with the hope that they may strike to the heart of a vein of pure ore, and serve to develop that taste and beauty of which few of God's creatures are entirely destitute. The music is in common time, and the movements made to eight beats. The diagram following takes in the direc- WORDLESS POEMS. 17 tion of the movements. The pupil occupies the centre mark, a, and steps to points marked b, c, d, e, f, g, according to directions. The movements should be very decided, the facial expression corresponding perfectly. Keep this idea prominently in mind. There must be a perfect correspondence between the sentiment to be expressed, the facial expression, and the movements of the body. In the softer emotions, where the sentiment is tender, as in affection, sorrow etc. , the face must be in unison, and the movements gentle and relaxed; in anger and fear the muscle must be tense, the face dis- torted, and the eyes flashing, the muscles of the face and body assuming rigidity exactly in proportion to the strength of the passion to be expressed. The best way to ensure a perfectly natural degree of expression is for pupils to repeat in their minds the words I have chosen to illustrate the sentiment, and ex- press it in the pantomime. Study nature; let it neither be " overdone, nor come too tardy after, ' ' as Hamlet says. Try effects upon yourself ; see how much expression there is in the ten- 18 PANTOMIMES; OR sion of the muscles. Shut your list ; hold it loosely, it expresses nothing ; clench it until it shakes in the effort, and it expresses the strongest passion ; and you will find, in producing a tension of those muscles, involuntarily your teeth gnash, and your face expresses the strongest anger. There is a most absolute accord in nature ; habit makes the discord. "God made man upright, but he has sought out many inventions." EXPECTATION; OR LISTENING AND LOOKING. I have taken, to illustrate this idea, ' l Seven Times Three," from Jean Ingelow's " Songs of Seven." A young girl is expecting her lover ; listening intently, she even wants the birds to cease their singing : "Hush! nightingale, hush! oh, sweet nightingale, wait. Till I listen aud hear If a step draweth near, For my love he is late. "The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, — A cluster of stars hangs like fruit on the tree, The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer ; To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see ? Let the star clusters glow, WORDLESS POEMS. 19 Let the sweet waters flow, And cross quickly to me. "You night-moths that hover where honey brims over From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep ; You glow-worms, shine out, and the pathway discover To him who comes darkling along the rough steep. Ah, my sailor, make haste, For the time runs to waste, And my love lieth deep, — "Too deep for swift telling, and yet, my one lover, I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night ; By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover, Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight. But I'll love him more, more Than e'er wife loved before, Be the days dark or bright. " This pantomime is illustrated so fully as to require only a brief explanation : First. The raised finger enjoining silence ; the wide open eyes and intent face ; the ear turned toward posi- tion d, as that whence the expected footstep is to come. Second. Same expression, hand over ear to concen- trate the sound. Third. " You glow-worms, shine out, and the path- way discover to him," etc. She stands, with hand over eyes, gazing earnestly down the pathway. Fourth. Her earnestness is rewarded, — she sees him coming ; who can doubt it ? There are twelve strains of eight beats in this move- ment : 20 PANTOMIMES; OR Listening. First Strain. — 1. Step toward d, holding up index linger behind your head in direction of e. 2. Back to a. 3. Repeat movement. 4. Step back to a. 5. Step to d, hands on hips, ear inclined towards point from which sound is expected, brow contracted to express earnest- ness; hold through remainder of strain, 5, 6, 7, 8 beats. (Illust. I. 1.) Second Strain. — 1. Without changing position of body generally, place right hand over ear, and deepen listening expression; hold through 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. (Illust. I. 2.) Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side, Looking. Fifth Strain. — 1. Step to d, finger raised enjoining silence, as in Illust. I. 1. 2. Back to a. 3. Repeat move- ment. 4. Back to a. 5. Step to d, looking intently toward the direction from whence the person is expected ; hands on hips, body bent forward, brow contracted to express eagerness; hold position through strain, 5, 6, 7, 8 beats. Sixth Strain. — 1. Without moving position of feet, throw the body back, straightening right limb, taking position of Illust. I. 3; hold through 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats ; on 8 return to a. Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side. WORDLESS POEMS. 21 He Comes. Ninth Strain. — 1. Step to d, finger raised enjoining silence. 2. Back to a. 3. Step to d, and take listening position (see Illust. I. 2). 4. Back to a. 5. Step to d, taking looking position (see Illnst. I. 3) ; hold through strain, 5, 6, 7, 8 beats. Tenth Strain. — 1. Throw body forward, finger pointed in direction of path, face radiant, every feature expressing fulfilment of hope (see Illust. I. 4) ; hold through strain, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 beats. Eleventh and Twelfth Strains. — Kepeat exercise on left side. Tell the whole story by expression and movement as plainly as if you recited the poem. AFFECTION. The poem which illustrates Affection is that exquisite one of Miss Muloch's : "Could you come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, In the old likeness that I knew, I would he so faithful and loving, Douglas Douglas ! Douglas ! tender and true. " Never a scornful word should pain you, I'd smile as sweet as angels do ; 22 PANTOMIMES; OR Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, Douglas ! Douglas ! tender and true. ' ' Oh ! to call back the days that are not, Mine eyes were blinded, your words were few; Do you know the truth now up in heaven, Douglas ! Douglas ! tender and true. "I was not half worthy of you, Douglas, Not half worthy the like of you ; Now all men besides are to me like shadows, Douglas ! Douglas ! tender and true. "Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas! Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew, As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas, Douglas! Douglas! tender and true. " I quote it entire, because I wish the whole sentiment embodied in the expression and movement of this panto- mime. The longing, regretful love in the raised eves, the outstretched hands, with enough tension of the muscles to give ardor and language to the position. The movement must be slow and soft, in unison with the music, which expresses the sentiment exquisitely. There are eight strains of eight beats in the exercise : First Strain. — 1. Step to b, placing left hand over heart, extending right in direction of movement. 2. Back to a, placing right hand on left over the heart. 3. Step to c, repeating former gesture. 4. Back to a. 5. Step to d, both hands outstretched (see Illust. II. 1) ; let the face be earnest and the muscles of the body a little tense, not rigid; hold through strain, 5, 6, 7, 8 beats. WORDLESS POEMS. 23 Second Strain. — 1. "Without moving the feet, throw the body back, straightening right limb and bending left, and cross arms over bosom (see Illust. II. 2) ; hold through 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat movement on left side. Fifth Strain. — 1. Step to b, both hands outstretched (see Illust. II. 1). 2. Back to a, hands crossed on bosom (see Illust. II. 2). 3. Eepeat movement, 4. Back to a. 5. Step to d, body thrown forward, right knee very much bent, hands crossed over bosom ; hold through strain, 5, 6, 7, 8 beats. Sixth Strain. — 1. Without moving position of body generally, stretch out both hands, and hold the position through 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side. Take in the full spirit of the poem, and study faith- fulness in its illustration. ANGER OR HATRED. The music here breaks into a stormy measure, to illus- trate the hateful passion of anger. I have been greatly at a loss for a text to express it, as women do not, hap- 24 PANTOMIMES; OR pily, often make such violent demonstration of the pas- sion. I have chosen the scene from Shakespeare, where the messenger announces to Cleopatra the marriage of Antony and Octavia : "Hence, Horrible villain ! or I'll spurn thine eyes Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head." Eyes flashing, lips compressed, face distorted, fists clenched ; thus nature marks and disfigures the ' ' form divine. ' ' The contrast to the soft, tender expression of regret- ful love which precedes this exercise is a strong one, and makes it a good exercise. The time must be decidedly marked by the stamped foot and shaken fist. There are eight strains of music of eight beats in this exercise : First Strain. — 1. Stamp the foot and shake the right fist once on b line. 2. Back to a. 3. Stamp foot and shake the fist once on c line. 4. Back to a. 5. Same movement on d line. 6. Back to a. 7. Same move- ment on d line. 8. Back to a. Second Strain. — 1. Take position as indicated by Illust. III., and hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side. Fifth Strain. — 1 and 2. Stamp foot once on b line, and shake fist twice. 3. Return to a. 4 and 5. Repeat WORDLESS POEMS. 25 movement on c line. 6. Keturn to a. 7. Stamp foot and shake list once on d line. 8. Keturn to a. Sixth Strain. — 1 . Take position as indicated in Illust. III., and hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Kepeat exercise on left side. SORROW. Here the music breaks into a plaintive wail, as an in- troduction to the next exercise — Sorrow. The poem chosen as a keynote to expression is ' ' Widowhood, ' ' from Jean Ingelow's " Songs of Seven :" "I sleep and rest, my heart makes moan Before I am well awake, ' Let me bleed ; oh, let me alone, Since I must not break ! ' "I shall not die, but live forlorn; How bitter it is to part ; Oh, to meet thee, my love, once more ! Oh, my heart ! my heart ! ' ' No more to hear, no more to see ! Oh, that an echo might wake And waft one note of thy psalm to me, Ere my heartstrings break! "Or once between the gates of gold, While an angel entering trod ; 26 PANTOMIMES; OR But once thee sitting to behold On the hills of God!" There are eight strains of music of eight beats in this exercise : First Strain. — 1. Step to b, with head bowed, arms at full length, hands clasped as in Illust. IY. 1, whole movement indicating deep dejection; hold 1, 2, 3 beats. 4. Return to a, removing hands from face ; and interla- cing fingers, let the hands fall convulsively, arms at full length. 5. Step to c, and bow the head on interlaced fingers; hold 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. /Second Strain. — 1. Step to d, and take position indi- cated in Illust. IY. 1 ; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side. Fifth Strain. — 1. Stej) to b, and take position as in- dicated in Illust. IY. 1 ; hold 1, 2, 3 beats; on 4 return to a. 5. Step to c, and take position indicated in Illust. IY. 2; hold 5, 6, 7 beats; on '8 return to a. Sixth Strain. — 1 . Take position as indicated in Illust. IY. 3 ; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side. WORDLESS POEMS. 27 JOY. Joy follows sorrow as light follows darkness. The music changes to a light, tripping, dancing measure, and is full of animation and life. The poem is an extract from Tennyson's ' ' May Queen : ' ' " To-morrow '11 be the happiest time Of all the glad new year ! For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of the May." The idea is a young girl dancing into her mother's presence to announce her joyful news, that she has been chosen by her companions as their May Queen. There are eight strains of music of eight beats each in this exercise : First Strain. — 1. Step to b and simultaneously clap hands over head. 2. Return to a. 3. Repeat exercise at c. 4. Return to a. 5. Step to d and clap hands over head thrice on 5, 6, 7 ; on 8 return to a. Second Strain. — 1. Take position of Illust. V. 1; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats, and return to a on 8. Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side. Fifth Strain. — 1. Step to b, clap the hands three times on 1, 2, 3 beats. 4. Return to a. 5. Repeat movement at c, 5, 6, 7 beats. 8. Return to a. 28 PANTOMIMES; OR Sixth Strain. — Take position as indicated in Illust. Y. 2 ; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats. Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side. The expression of the face must be beaming through this exercise ; it is nothing without expression. FEAR. This is the most difficult of the exercises, but it is worth the effort necessary to accomplish it well. The music is in chords, the movement in convulsive starts, and wild tragic positions and expressions. The poem chosen is an extract from Byron's well- known description of the battle of Waterloo, beginning : "There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered there Her beauty and her chivalry ; and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men! A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to. eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell. (VI. 1.) But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. ' ' Did ye not hear it ? No, 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street WORDLESS POEMS. 29 On with the dance, let joy be unconfined. No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. (VI. 2.) But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat, And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before — (VI. 3.) Arm! arm! it is the cannon's opening roar. (VI. 4.) The foe, he comes! he comes!" Let the pupil picture the scene, and represent it ac- cording to nature. Imagine yourself in the midst of joy and revelry, no thought of danger ! In the midst comes the sound ; you start convulsively ! It dies away, and you persuade yourself it is nothing. Again it comes, louder than be- fore. Another start, more convulsive than the last. Then comes the dreaded cannon's opening roar; the hands are thrown up, and the whole being helps to dis- play the terror of the moment ; and as the danger comes nearer, and the dreaded foe appears, safety is sought in flight. The direction of the movements must be from the point of danger. For the first exercise let that point be e, the start will naturally be to b. The music being divided differently, the directions will vary a little — eight strains of eight beats each : First Strain. — 1 . A chord of music strikes : start backward to b, taking the position illustrated in YI. 1 ; hold while you count 1, 2 beats, letting muscles gradually 30 PANTOMIMES; OR relax, and an expression of relief take the place of startled fear ; slowly return to a on 3, 4 beats. 5. There is a crash of music, louder than the last, and you start back to b more violently than before (see Illust. VI. 2) ; now all is hurried, a succession of chords follow in quick succession; 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. Second Strain. — 1. Start back to b, with hands thrown up and the face distorted with terror (see Illust. YI. 3) ; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side — start to e from d. Fifth Strain. — 1. Start to b, as in Illust. YI. 2; hold 1, 2 beats. 3. Return to a. 4. Start back to b, and take position as indicated in Illust. VI. 3 ; hold 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. Sixth Strain. — Start forward to d, taking position indicated in Illust. VI. 4; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats ; on 8 return to a. Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side. This exercise furnishes vigorous practice for all the muscles of the body. WORDLESS POEMS. 31 RELIGIOUS DEVOTION. Petition and Resignation. — Eight strains of eight beats each : First Strain. — 1. Step to b, hands clasped and eyes raised upward; hold 1, 2, 3; on 4 return to a. 5. Step to c, head bowed, and hands clasped over breast ; hold 5, 6, 7 ; on 8 return to a. Second Strain. — Step to d, and take position as indi- cated in Illust. VII. 1; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7; on 8 return to a. Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side. Fifth Strain. — 1. Step to b, head bowed, and hands crossed over breast; hold 1, 2, 3; on 4 return to a. 5. Step to c, hands clasped and eyes raised to heaven ; hold 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. Sixth Strain. — 1. Take position at r>, as indicated in Illust. VII. 2; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7; on 8 return tO D. Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side. PANTOMIMES. THE FAREWELL. Eight strains of music, eight beats each : First Strain. — 1. Step to b, take position of Illust. VIII. 1 ; kiss the fingers, throw the hand out to full length on 2, as if throwing the kiss to someone far away ; repeat this movement on 3, 4 beats, and return to a on 4. 5. Step to c, wave the hand, palm downward, and moving arm from elbow, 5, 6, 7, 8 ; return to a on 8. Second Strain — 1. Step to d and kiss the hand, throwing kisses four times, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8; on 8 return to a. Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercises on left side. Fifth Strain. — Wave hand at b twice, 1, 2, 3, 4; on 4 return to a. 5. Kiss hand at c twice, 5, 6, 7, 8 ; on 8 return to a. Sixth Strain. — Take position as indicated in Illust. VIII. 2, waving the handkerchief, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 ; on 8 return to a. Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left side. I. 2. LISTENING. Till I listen and hear If a step draweth near, F<>r my love he Is late. I. 3. LOOKING. You gloiv-worms, shine out, and the pathway discover To him who comes darkling along the rough steep." 1.4. HE COMES! He comes, my young love- II. 2. THE VOW. I would be so faithful and loving, Douglas, Douglas! Douglas! trader and true." III. ANGER. ' ' Hence, 'Horrible villain ! or Til spurn thine eyes Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy headj* IV. 1. SORROW. Let mt alone, let me le, IV. 2. SORROW. But once thee sitting to behold, On the hills of God" IV. 3. SORROW. Oh, how bitter it is to part / OA, my heart! my heart/" mm :-:...m V. 1. JOY. 1 To-morrow 1 11 be the happiest time Of all the glad new year 1" > V. 2. JOY. For I'm to be Queen of the May! VI. 1. FEAR. — ♦ — 11 Hush/ hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. ,- ' " , VI. 2. FEAR. Hark! that heavy sound breaks once again, As if the clouds its echo would repeat.'' VI. 3. FEAR. 'Arm ! arm ! it is the cannon s opening roar ! & VI. 4. FEAR. " The foe, he comes/ he comes/ VII. 1. RELIGIOUS DEVOTION. Petition. Give us this day our daily bread. VII. 2. RELIGIOUS DEVOTION. Resignation. — ♦ — Thy will be done. VIII. 1. PARTING. — ♦ — " Parting is such stoeet sorrow." VIII. 2. PARTING. 'That I shall say good-night till it be morrow. Introduction. EXPECTATION. 75 Music by LEOP. FUENKEN STEIN. * This star indicates the change in each movement. Etr -j- — ^p-i-k**--—*. p — < p^ b<# . : -h- h-L-H—f- ^-t-rirri-tr l ! I I I I -»-| *» F-rrp- F I LU LL ! t 78 AFFECTION. Ben moderato ed esjwessivo. # Very sloio. 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A =^ - \ — ^ J — ^- *3t§ legato. pp -•- tt=**qz»EH fete -J l-j — # -f~^- -+&- *i=*?te=*?? h — R— # — *-h-R ttWrffifl 4^±B=m •£> :fj^r-r-^f-^- -Tfcl « 85 *=£=* 3fe +•— I — V -B -^ ^ h-M-h- 1— I — I — I- tffe^ m A ==*v- j hJ— «^— #-=— P~ §^ H=t *^# ff* -a>-t^- A#- ^— *> 44 444444 -4+ Introduction. mm* am * p * P i i ' : iii t^K — 1^^ — ' — * — ' — ' ^~ i|UI ^ ^ u 4-1 — 1- 1- W--1 < "**** m & — m- — # — » — #— r lj- ' u~ r * « cv - p \ p - 1 ^- m -p r i -T p j-. — -=i 1 H^4-^ *t& M M 8(3 ►fed &m FAREWELL. i M f -aS»-H — •- ::*: ^ #- -e~-9—9- S ^^-9— 9 - tfcrtU **h— h i n i h- Tt-hTtttl t=rf3 # f — -*^v ttzfcr -<--m- r S3=* *— 7^-f - u, S39PS33 jSrf^fefe yfFft*^ *£* ii -i5 ^— a-'-Hhh^H-hH- = M™=Ffr = F : F t W ^^fe= S^d#S?E?5 * 1 — -^ # z 4— • — i *-*-* — r«^-*-#»^= ^a 3 t-i-0—*. >'M »± ■•— ^=t ^ffiggf pfFtrfi SEP ^%- M ^3 fntr PART II (87) PREFACE TO PART II. TN -preparing a new edition of "Wordless Poems " the book enters upon a new era — it is a step from im- mature childhood to maturity. The author has also the pleasure of presenting to the public a set of pantomimes prepared from old poems and songs, which are simple and easily learned, and will give the pupil an idea of the power of gesture in exjjression. They will make a beautiful addition to any entertainment, and cannot fail both to instruct and to amuse. As a further supplement, she has also chosen from her own repertory a number of recitations which do not ap- pear in print elsewhere; indeed, some of them are from her own pen. Hoping that the new u Wordless Poems " may be welcome in the place of the old and grow in popularity in its new form, I subscribe myself, with earnest good wishes, Your friend, The Author. (89) ELOCUTION. THE subject of elocution is one that lias been so voluminously treated and from so many stand- points, that there is really very little original left to be said. For myself, I hazard the opinion that I think it a mistake to confine elocution to dramatic performances. A large proportion of young people have some dramatic talent, not always of a superior order, and I think it a great pity that teachers of elocution do not cultivate their pupils more for domestic life and less for the stage. It requires really more intelligence to read a column from a newspaper agreeably than to make a dramatic recita- tion. The cultivation of the voice, the clearness of articulation and delicate modulation are all indispensa- ble, and too much stress cannot be laid upon their devel- opment. It too often happens that a young person who can bring down a burst of applause at a school exhibi- tion cannot read intelligently a book or a paper for the amusement of the home circle. The largest field for elocution and the most important is in conversation; and the same cultivation which will make the articulation clear, the modulation easy, and the voice sweet and flexible, will prepare pupils for a more public exhibit (90) PANTOMIMES; OR WORDLESS POEMS. 91 tion of their powers. Let tlie student, then, begin at the fireside, lay his foundation there, and when he is fitted to charm in that field, he is ready to enter the arena as an orator. I would like to give an illustration or two of false elocution, resulting from the mistaken idea, in my opin- ion, of keeping young people before the public. I recall an engagement I accepted to go to a country school to train the children for commencement exercises. The reci- tations had been committed to memory, and my duty was to teach the children to recite. I found myself strangely embarrassed. A sentimental little girl had been given a piece of high tragedy of which she was perfectly incapa- ble. A solemn little boy, who would have done well as a mute at a funeral, was laboring over a selection of the most grotesque humor. A merry-andrew of a boy was expected to bring tears to the eyes of his audience, and so on through the chapter. I labored unremittingly with my incongruous elements, but with painful results ; and, prudently, I left before the exhibition came off. One other illustration. Some years ago I was visiting in a southern city, at commencement season, and was invited to be present at a rehearsal for a commencement. A mother who was introduced to me said : "Oh, I am so glad you are here to-day, as my daugh- ter is to recite the ' Conquered Banner, ' and I want you to promise me to criticise her in the most severe way. 92 PANTOMIMES; OR I'm so anxious for her to be an accomplished elocution- ist, and I think that she has rare talent, but of that you must judge. ' ' I tried to retire from the responsible position, well- knowing the risk I incurred in criticising the daughter of any mother, but in vain. I was pressed into service, and when the beautiful girl, twelve years old, made her appearance, I trembled for my reputation. Those who have read Father Ryan's " Conquered Banner " know how infinitely touching it is to Southern people and how utterly incongruous its position in the hands of a little girl, who naturally found it impossible to realize the situation which she wished to illustrate and which would bring tears to the eyes of an older person. As a matter of policy, she could not use a Confederate flag, as it would have injured the school, and for a more cogent reason she could not use the Stars and Stripes; so she appeared with a veritable flag of truce which she held aloft most impressively as she uttered : u Furl that banner " — winding the banner around the stick as she spoke — " for 'tis weary, Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary; Furl it, hide it " — putting it behind her, — " let it rest, For there is not a man to wave it," — waving it vio- lently — " There's not a soul to save it," etc. WORDLESS POEMS. 93 "Furl that banner, it is trailing, "—trailing it upon the floor — " And around it sounds the wailing of a jDeople in their woe, ' ' this in a very sprightly tone. The mother turned to me triumphantly at the conclu- sion of the piece, and I begged her to send her daughter to me for a little talk. She came and I talked sense to her ; tried to show her that the flag was out of place, in other words, was figurative and stood for the whole lost cause ; that it was greatly desirable there should be no flag whatever, and especially not a flag of truce. The result of my candor was that I was pro- nounced perfectly prosaic, and the antics were in full force at the commencement. Note. — In the study of pantomime students must bear in mind the absolute necessity of committing the text to memory and repeating it silently while performing the action. No one can be a good pantomimist who is not a good elocutionist. The one must include the other. PANTOMIMES. SEVEN" TIMES ONE. JEAN INGELOW. IT will be best to recite or read the jjoem to the au- dience before representing the pantomime. The movements are made as simple as possible. The child should be impressed with the full significance of everv movement, and should be taught to repeat the words to herself while making the representation. Children catch such ideas very quickly. u There's no dew left on daisies and clover," Stoop down and with outstretched hand feel the ground in spots, shaking head at the same time. l ' There's no rain left in heaven;" Rise, raise open hand oblique right, at same time looking up ; make a little motion of hand to represent rain. ' w I've said my ' seven times ' over and over," Make a little beating motion on chest as a child does in learning a lesson ; expression of face earnest and studious. Ci Seven times one are seven." Hold up seven fingers, then one, then seven. tw I am old, so old I can write a letter;" Straighten person to fullest height, nodding head with proud consciousness of dignity, and a little stroke toward audience to impress the fact. Make motion of writing on left hand. u My birthday lessons are done." Put hands together like a book, into which look earnestly, then throw both hands out obliquely with, downward stroke to represent "are done." * (94) There's no dew left on daisies and clover.' 96 PANTOMIMES; OR WORDLESS POEMS. " The lambs play always — they know no better;" Turn to left and point as if to a meadow not far off. Make a little, quick motion of hand to represent "play." Turn to audience and with an expression of tolerance for the ignorance of the lambs draw proudly up as to mark a con- trast with her own intelligence. " They are only one times one." Point to lambs, then turning to audience raise one finger, throw hand forward to represent "times, "then raise finger again. " Oh, moon! in the night I've seen yon sailing," Address the moon by looking upward, making a circular movement with right hand to represent full moon j then slowly move right hand from left to right to represent " sailing." a Shining so round and low;" Repeat circular movement to represent moon, drop hand lower and make finishing wave. " You were bright, ah, bright, but your light is failing — " Lift hand toward moon, fingers outspread like rays of light. "You are nothing now but a bow." Drop hand. With sad, regretful shake of the head look upward, then make the shape of "bow" with forefingers of both hands, letting them drop slowly to side. " You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven' Look upward and shake index finger slowly and reproach- fully at moon. " That God has hidden your face?" Point to the moon, then cover face with both hands, clasp hands and look reverently upward. " I hope if you have you may be forgiven," There's no rain left in heaven.' 98 PANTOMIMES; OR WORDLESS POEMS. Clasp hands with face uplifted and hope expressed in it ; then cross hands on chest and bow head. ' ' An(J shine again in your place. ' ' Raise face with bright expression, right hand with fingers extended like rays ; then with index finger make circular motion to represent full moon. " Oh, velvet bee! you're a dusty fellow;" Stoop as though a bee had lighted near;* shake head reprovingly ; " You've powdered your legs with gold !" Make natural motion for "powdered." " Oh, brave marsh-mary buds, rich and yellow," Rise a,nd touch yellow flowers. u Give me your money to hold!" Hold out left hand to flowers and Avith right hand make round movement in palm to represent money. "And show me your nest with the young ones in it :" Turn in another direction and look up as into a tree. Make fluttering movement with hand. Make shape of nest by putting thumbs and forefingers together, then draw the other fingers lightly together below, and look into the nest for a second. " I will not take them away." Shake head with the movement of hand toward nest and turn away. "I am old, you may trust me, linnet, linnet!" Conscious age and responsibility; lay hand on heart for trust. " I am seven times one to-day !" Hold up seven fingers, then one finger. *It would be well to hare some plants and flowers conveniently near. I am seven times one to-day. 100 PANTOMIMES; OH QUEEN KATHAKINE'S VISION. SHAKESPEARE. Characters: — Queen Katharine, of England; Griffith, her man- servant ; Patience, her maid ; Six Angels. QUEEN KATHARINE reclines under a canopy, dressed in a loose gown of velvet trimmed with ermine. Griffith in loose, short and very full trunks trimmed with gold braid, low shoes and buckles and a doublet of satin, stands beside her. Patience in high cap and dress of the period stands on the other side, with tapestry frame on the table beside her. Both are looking anxiously at Katharine. Griffith comes to Patience and pointing to the Queen closes eyes and inclines head to one side. He is saying, " She is asleep." Then he extends right hand to Patience with a little soft motion enjoining caution, holding up index finger for quiet, he is saying : " Good wench, let's sit down quiet, for fear we wake her. Softly, gentle Patience. ' ' They both tiptoe off to their seats, and Patience takes up tapestry frame. A bright litrht breaks above the Queen's head, and coming toward her are six angels, who approach two by two, the first two bending over her, waving palms and beckoning to her. They separate and retreat backward, WORDLESS POEMS. 101 — right and left — and form behind in a regular group and again advance toward the front, while the next two advance, repeat the movements, and in turn retire, giving place to the last couple, who repeat the move- ments of the others. Then all, with light, dancing movement and smiling faces, retire from sight, waving their hands and beckoning to her, while she smiles in her sleep. As they disappear and the light fades away, Katharine starts up, and first clasping her hands as if in distress, extends them in the direction of the vision. She is say- ing : " Spirits of peace, where are ye? " Here she looks around in bewilderment. ' ' Are ye all gone and left me here in wretchedness behind ye? " Clasps hands on breast and bows head sobbing. Griffith and Patience hasten to her, and Griffith bending over her points to Patience and touches his own breast. He is saying : "Madam, we are all here." Katharine shakes head and extends hands vertically toward them as if rejecting them. She is saying: " It is not you I call for." Then looking up with interrogation in her expression, she points to the place of the vision. " Saw T ye none enter while I slept? " 102 PANTOMIMES; OR Griffith and Patience shake heads. "None, Madam." Katharine looks in their faces, shakes head incredu- lously, then in great excitement raises hands and eyes, describes the waving palms, the beckoning hands, encir- cles her head as with a garland ; then crosses hands on breast and bows head disconsolately. She says : "No! Saw ye not even now a blessed troop invite me to a banquet? They promised me eternal happiness and brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel I am unworthy yet to wear. ' ' She now sinks heavily down and seems to sleep. Griffith and Patience bend over her and point anxiously to her, then sink on knees and clasp hands in prayer. Curtain. The vision can be very easily arranged by withdraw- ing a curtain and having blue and white draperies behind the Queen to represent clouds. Bright calcium lights are used as the angels come in, with soft white robes and gauze wings. Diamond powder on hair, face and dress adds greatly to the beauty of the scene. The angels must, if possible, be represented by small children. WORDLESS POEMS. 103 GINEVRA. ( 'Jiaraders:— Old Baron; Old Baroness; Bride; Groom; Sister of Groom ; Brother of Bride ; Guests ; Children. A GREAT deal of choice can be exercised as to the number of guests. Of course the larger the number the prettier the picture on the stage; but if this is not convenient, the number may be reduced to very few. Costumes should ,be as picturesque as possible and in the old Italian or old English style. Scene: — Hall of an old castle. Walls ornamented with paintings and tapestries. A big fireplace on the right, arch leading to corridor centre ; doors R. and L. up. Old-fashioned, massive furniture Window look- ing onto grounds. Scene I. The Return from the Marriage. As the curtain rises, the wedding party enters through the arch centre, Baron and Baroness first. They seat themselves at left, down stage as Guests come in, and range themselves right and left to receive Bride and Groom. All look expectantly at arch through which come the Brother of Bride and Sister of Groom. He hands her to a place at right of the arch with great show of gallantry. Then Bride and Groom enter at arch 104 PANTOMIMED; OR and Guests all courtesy. Bride and Groom return salu- tations, and then go hand in hand and kneel at the feet of Baron and Baroness to receive their blessing. Baron and Baroness raise Bride and Groom and embrace them* Guests come forward with congratulations and break into groups talking. Baron gives signal for music and they form for a minuet, Bride and Groom in the most prominent position. Some of the older Guests seat themselves with Baron and Baroness at left and watch the dance and talk. At conclusion of dance, each man takes a knot of rib- bon from his coat and presents it to his partner, who re- ceives it with a low courtesy and rising gives a rose in return. The men in accepting the rose press a kiss upon the donor's hand. They break into groups at back talking and laughing, while Bride and Groom come for- ward to centre, talking and laughing. He takes her hand with much devotion, examining her ring; she saucily pulls his ring oft', takes hers oft and compares them laughing. He tries her ring on his finder and she laughs at him because it is too small, then puts his ring on her finger and they both laugh when it falls off. He puts ring back on her linger, and with a hasty look at Guests to see if he is observed, takes the opportunity to kiss her hand. She then touches his ring to her lips before giving it back to him, with a sautry little smile. Brother and Sister leave Guests, to whom they have WORDLESS POEMS 105 been talking, and come down and join Bride and Gvoom. They take a few dancing- steps, point to Guests, then take hands of the Bride and Groom as if to draw them into another dance. Bride shakes head, steps back, drops arms to side, relaxes figure suggesting fatigue. Some of the younger Guests come forward around her, spread hands, palms supine, and with a slight inclination of the head, to ask what she wishes. She stands unde- cided for a moment thinking, then her face brightens, her figure becomes animated, she claps hands joyfully, runs to curtains at arch and conceals herself, then peeps out laughing, runs forward looking here and there, as if searching for someone, representing by her movements the game of ' ' Hide-and-seek. ' ' She next catches two girls, including Sister of Groom, draws them down cen- tre, touches them on shoulder and points to curtains, then beckons to two or three of the men, and as they approach she covers eyes with handkerchief, then points to men's eyes and shows handkerchief to them, to inti- mate that their eyes must be bound while the girls hide. All the younger Guests have followed her movements with signs of understanding and agreement, while the older Guests manifest interest in the proceedings, break- ing off conversation to listen. Five or six girls are selected by Bride including herself, and they blindfold partners each with her own handkerchief, then girls tiptoe out in a group by arch looking back to make sure the men cannot see them. 106 PANTOMIMES; OB Pause. If possible, at this point all the lights should be put out and a tableau appear in the place of the window over the arch representing garret with a big chest. Ginevra stands by the chest raising the lid a little, looking out to audience with finger on lips. This tableau can be elaborated or changed, not being necessary to the pantomime, but of course adding much to the pictorial effect. When the picture fades the stage is again lighted ; the men pull off the handkerchiefs and scatter through arch and doors in search of the missing girls. Some of the Guests go to Baron and Baroness and talk with them ; others gather in a group on one side of stage and look eagerly at doors. The men come in one by one at different doors bringing their partners, and their success is rewarded with laughter and applause as they appear. After the last couple comes, a slight pause follows ; then some of Guests run to arch and look through the curtain, come back and laugh, point off stage, laugh again. Then the Brother goes out and returns with Bridegroom, who looks a little serious; all laugh and mock at him. The Baron claps him on shoulder and laughingly points to the arch bidding him try again. Groom goes out. Music strikes up and the young people begin to take their places for a dance, when Bridegroom enters hurriedly through arch, pushes his way to centre, and stops the dance by gesture of alarm. Then points up and to each side, shaking his head at each direction, WORDLESS POEMS. 107 places both hands on breast with head thrown back,, next extends both arms with head drooped forward in dis- couragement. Guests gather about him and question eagerly, while Baron goes to window, comes forward and touching Bridegroom on shoulder points through window and motions him outside. He goes. Then Baron rings and orders servants to search. Baroness comes forward and shakes head at the idea ; all the young people go out to join in the search. Baron and Baroness and some of the older Guests talk together in an anxious way. The searchers return in groups of two or three, with alarmed faces and gestures of discouragement. Bridegroom returns to the room in wild excitement and despair ; Baroness bursts into tears and Baron puts arm about her comfort- ingly; Groom's Sister hides face on his shoulder; Brother takes his hand and curtain falls on a scene of confusion and bewilderment. Scene II. The Mystery Solved Garret with big rafters and hemp bags hanging from them, such as are seen in country garrets. Some pieces of broken furniture and an old chest under rafters down R. Door at back. Three or four children come through door whispering, laughing, laying fingers on lips and pointing back, to convey the impression that 108 PANTOMIMES; OR they have left a part of their number behind. They listen, then tiptoeing across stage hide in various places. More children are heard coining up stairway. They peep in at door, then rush noisily in. Their companions in hiding jump out on them, causing a scene of confu- sion and laughter. (The number of children must, of course, be regulated by the ability to provide them, no sjDecial number being required.) A scene of great ani- mation ensues. Some children dance, some play games, some explore garret; cne boy swings from rafters and jumps down on chest and lock falls off. This excites curiosity, and they clustei about chest and many hands combine to raise lid. They start back with upraised hands and staring eyes suggestive of horror. Some cover faces with hands; some throw themselves into each other's arms and sob ; the little ones hide heads and cling to older ones. Two or three run out and immediately re- turn supporting Bridegroom, grown very old and feeble. He leans upon a cane and totters as he walks. "With the greatest agitation he goes to chest, some of the bold- est children pressing close behind him. He looks in, throws hands up, then covers face, trembling exceed- ingly. Gradually his hands fall, and leaning forward, with an intent gaze, as if something had caught his eye. stoops down and snatches up a knot of ribbon, holds it in both hands for an instant, looking at it, and then presses it to lips, bending head, his whole frame agitated WORDLESS POEMS. 109 by sobs. Then, stooping forward again, he lifts from chest a ring. At sight of it lie seems to lose all strength, and gradually sinks down beside chest. He takes a ring from his linger and holds it with the other, repeating Bride's action in Scene I. The knot of ribbon falls to ground, and his head sinks forward, the rings pressed to his lips. The children press forward fearfully and much bewildered. The smallest one, who is clinging to hand of oldest girl, pulls her dress and, pointing to the old man, lays cheek on folded hands, asking if he is asleep. The big girl kneels down and takes the little one in her arms, raises one hand to heaven, looking up, then bows head. The others cling to each other, in groups, sobbing. Curtain. 110 PANTOMIMES: OR "WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MY PRETTY MAID ?" Characters :— A young man very fashionably dressed, in cos- tume of the last century ; a village maiden, peasant's costume, with bucket on head held by right hand. If possible, balance bucket on head at approach, as it gives a very graceful carriage. The two meet suddenly at the crossing of the roads. The young man takes off hat and makes a very elaborate bow, with face expressive of great admiration, repeating to himself, letting expression make the question, ' ' ' Where are you going, my pretty maid ? ' She waves left hand forward to indicate "going," then points to bucket. " ' I'm going a-milking, sir,' she said." He turns to her left, presents arm, touches chest, points to her with left hand, then waves left hand to the path before them. ' ' ' Shall I go with you, my pretty maid ? ' She lets bucket down and takes it on arm, steps back coyly and courtesies to him, with pleased expression. " 'Oh, yes! if you please, kind sir,' she said." He drops offered arm and confronts her, puts hat on head with a business-like air. Sentiment has had its day ; he must know what he is doing. Extends right hand supine : " ' What is your father, my pretty maid ? ' She puts bucket on ground, draws herself up proudly, and points around her to indicate possessions, hand supine. Nods head emphatically. " ' My father's a farmer, sir,' she said." He— pleased expression at the information — steps forward WORDLESS POEMS. Ill eagerly, takes left hand and makes movement of putting ring on finger, tender persuasion in his face. " ' Say, shall I marry you, my pretty maid ? ' " She does not withdraw hand. Expression soft and yielding, rather leaning toward him. " ' That's just as you please, kind sir,' she said." He, without dropping hand, looks, into her face, as if reflecting. Then, with business-like air and interrogation in face, extends left hand and makes motion of dropping money into it with right. " ' What is your fortune, my pretty maid ? ' " She, with an expression of coquetry, looks into his eyes, with mocking expression, and with both hands makes framework for her face as she leans forward laughing, repeats his motion indi- cating fortune, then sweeps both hands outward and shakes her head. ' l ' My face is my fortune, sir, ' she said. ' ' He turns his back sharply and looks at her over shoulder, shaking head emphatically while making the movement of put- ting ring on his finger. " ' Then I can't marry you, my pretty maid.' " She has expression of mortified surprise. Recovers herself instantly, and taking dress at both sides, dances backward mock- ingly, ending with a sweeping courtesy, and snapping the fingers of right hand. Then picking up bucket, she balances it on head and walks proudly off, while he stands looking after her with admiration and regret. Her movement signifies : " ' Nobody asked you, sir,' she said." Curtain. " "Where are you going, my pretty maid "I'm going a-milking, sir," she said. <4* y "Shall I go with you, my pretty maid ?" "Oh, yes, if you please, kind sir," she said. ; ' What is your father, my pretty maid?" "My father's a farmer, sir," she said. ; 'Say, shall I marry you, my pretty maid?" ; ' That's just as you please, kind sir," she said. ■"^■v.v- .:. ■■■: " My face is my fortune, sir," she said. <£* % •'Then I can't marry you, my pretty maid. : Nobody asked you, sir," she said. 128 PANTOMIMES; OR Extends right hand out and makes movement of steep, rough pathway. "Ah, my sailor, make liaste, For the time runs to waste, And my love lietli deep, — " Leans forward, hands stretched forward, every feature full of eager longing. Falls back, clasps both hands over heart, and stands thus long enough to repeat last two lines. " Too deep for swift telling, and jet, my one lover," Lets hands fall, with slight shake of head. " I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night." Stands erect, with an arch expression ; shakes index finger of right hand, then shyly hangs head. tk Through the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover, ' ' She now sees him passing the sycamore tree. Eagerly she points forward to him, her face illuminated with joy. " Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight." An expression of amusement comes into her face as she remembers that the speech she had conned never found expres- sion. She makes a sweep with her right hand to signify all the sweet speech, or touches her lips and laughs. "But I'll love him more, more Than e'er wife loved before, Be the days dark or bright." Clasps hands over heart for first line ; make circular movement with arms at full length, to comprehend all the wives in the world, turn face upward, with pointing finger, then let hand fall. WORDLESS POEMS. 129 GOLDEKEAIR AND THE BEAKS. Characters :— A little girl with golden hair ; three boys, per- sonating the hears— one large, one medium, one small. SCENE: — Room in a cottage. A window, through which trees are seen, at back L. Door, centre. Three beds in a row, the smallest in front, the largest at back R. A rough table with three bowls, each with a spoon in it, between door and beds R.C. back. A kitchen dresser with some bits of china over it, and one or two bits of simple furniture. The room must be pretty but very simply arranged. Muslin curtains at window, rack for hats between door and window. Three chairs — big, medium, little — around a table down L. Big chair R. , medium chair L. , little chair down in front of table. As curtain rises, Goldenbair peeps in at the window, draws back as if frightened, peeps again, then pushes door open cautiously and enters. Her dress is dis- ordered and dusty, her hat hangs by the ribbons ; she walks as if much fatigued, and seems very much heated, fans herself with hat. , She stands for a moment bewildered, and then her eyes fall on the chairs. Her face lights up with an expression of pleasure, and she runs to the big chair and drops into it. Comes down hard. Jumps up with an expression of utter discomfort and rubs herself. Catches sight of medium chair on the 130 PANTOMIMES; OR other side of table, hastens to it, seats herself in it and sinks almost out of sight. Jumps up again, pulls hat off, tosses it on the table crossly, which brings her a step forward, and she sees the little chair. She claps her hands and drops into it with a sigh of relief, throws head back, stretches out feet and closes eyes, with an expression of comfort and satisfaction. A slight pause. Then she opens eyes, puts hand to mouth, and makes the motion of eating, looking around wistfully. Catches sight of table with bowls on it. Claps hands, runs to table, and, seizing the big bowl, greedily takes a spoonful. It is hot and burns her. She dances about for a second, then runs to the door and comes back breathing hard, as if to cool month, and touching lips with hand. She looks longingly at medium bowl, puts out hand, draws it back, then takes a spoonful and tastes it with excess- ive care. Puts spoon down with shiver and expression of disgust. The porridge is cold. She clasps hands in despair and leans head on table, repeating the gesture of hunger. In raising head she sees the little bowl, takes it cjuickly and tastes it ; hugs bowl to her, runs to little chair and sits down. Eats rather hurriedly, and when she has emptied bowl throws herself back in chair. The seat gives way and lets her down. (This can easily be arranged by having a canvas seat to the small chair, fastening on one side on a peg, and when Goldenhair WORDLESS POEMS. 131 throws herself back in the chair, one hand can easily slip the canvas off the peg.) She sits for a moment surprised, then jumps up, stamps foot, and pushes chair away so that it falls over. Yawns, rubs eyes and stretches as if suddenly overcome with sleep. She moves wearily up stage and puts bowl on table at back; yawns again. Turning as she yawns, she catches sight of beds and claps hands joyfully. She runs to big bed, makes a jump, and lands so far over on the bed that she slips down on the other side. (This should be done from the back of bed toward footlights.) She looks at bed ruefully, rubs shoulder, and then turns to medium bed and lies down on it. Raises herself im- patiently, pulls pillows about, and finally jumps out of that bed half yawning, half crying. A pause. She rubs eyes, getting more and more sleepy, moves to little bed, drops on it, and with one big sigh is asleep. The door is pushed open and Big Bear comes in, fol- lowed by Medium Bear. Big Bear goes to rack, hangs hat on it, and puts his stick in the corner. Medium Bear goes to table, puts hat down, and reaches out for his bowl. Sees that the spoon is in it and stops, aston- ished ; sees the little bowl empty, and calls to Big Bear by clapping hands smartly. Meanwhile, Big Bear has gone down to his chair; seeing that it is displaced, turns crossly to Medium Bear just as he claps his hands. At this moment, Little Bear enters, running, throws 132 PANTOMIMES; OR hat on floor, runs to table, and grabs his bowl. Find- ing it empty, rushes passionately at Medium Bear and slaps at him, crying and dancing with rage. Medium Bear tries to pacify him, but he pulls away and going toward his chair looks bewildered to find it lying on its side. Lifts it and finds it broken. Stops, throws up hands, and begins to cry again. Big Bear has gone to table, sees that his bowl has been touched, wags his head suspiciously ; trots over to his bed, finds it dis- ordered, growls angrily ; turns to Medium Bear, and pointing to bed with one hand, extends the other with the question ' ' Who has done this ? ' ' expressed in his face. Medium Bear answers by throwing both arms out, shaking head and shrugging shoulders. Then walks toward his own bed, and seeing pillows displaced repeats questioning gesture of Big Bear. Little Bear, who has been running around the room, looking into cupboard, under table, etc. suddenly spies Goldenhair asleep on his bed ; runs to the other Bears and pulls them down stage, pointing to his bed, and then runs to examine Goldenhair more closely. The other two Bears get behind the bed and stoop over, all looking closely at Goldenhair. The movements rouse her. She sits up, sleepily rubbing her eyes and sighing. Then, opening her eyes wide, sees Little Bear ; turns away from him in terror, and finds herself face to face with the other two Bears. She jumps from bed and, throwing her WORDLESS POEMS. 133 arms up in terror, starts to run toward door. The two bears stop her, extending their hands in a friendly man- ner. Big Bear pats her on the shoulder, Medium Bear smooths her hair, and Little Bear kneels at her feet. She hides face in hands for a second, and then looks up with a smile, at which all the Bears clap their hands. Little Bear runs off, gets his bowl and holds it out to her, pointing his paw at her. She hangs her head for a moment, then takes bowl and runs to stove, Little Bear following. She takes a saucepan from the back of stove, looks into it, nods approvingly, and puts it on the front. Opens door of stove to see that the lire is all right, shuts it, pats Little Bear on shoulder, and stirs in the saucepan vigorously. Little Bear watches her, holding bowl in both hands. He makes gesture of hunger, and dances impatiently, first on one foot, then on the other. She fills his bowl, and they run down together to the chair. G-oldenhair picks it up, puts it back in its place, and fixes seat. Little Bear sits down and begins to eat very fast. The other Bears come down to Goldenhair and point to beds. She laughs, runs to beds aud smooths them out, replacing pillows. Bears laugh, each takes one of her hands, and they execute a little dance as the curtain falls. 134 PANTOMIMES; OR SCENE FROM "THE WINTER'S TALE. Characters: — Leontes, King of Sicilia; Polixenes, King of Bohemia ; Florizel, son of Polixenes ; Caraillo, Sicilian lord ; Her- mione, Queen of Sicilia ; Perdita, her daughter ; Paulina, Sicilian lady ; lords and ladies. LEONTES conceives an insane jealousy of his wife, _> Hermione, brings her to trial, and orders her infant to be left in a desolate place by Antigones, the husband of Paulina. Antigones loses his life in a storm. The child is rescued and brought up by Bohemian peas- ants, and is discovered by the son of Polixenes, who becomes enamored of her and returns with her to her father's court, where she is acknowledged by the repent- ant King. Paulina has reported Hermione as dead, and has kept her concealed for sixteen years. She now announces to the King that she has a beautiful statue of Hermione which she wishes the husband and the daugh- ter to see. It is the unveiling of this statue which we have chosen for our pantomime. A room in Paulina's house. Enter Leontes, Polix- enes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Lords and Attendants. Leontes thanks Paulina for many acts of friendship, bows to her and kisses her hand. Paulina kneels before him, then welcomes them all to her house. She is saying : ' ' All my services you have paid home ; but that you have vouchsafed, with your crowned brother, and these WORDLESS POEMS. 135 your contracted heirs of your kingdom, my poor house to visit, it is a surplus of your grace, which never my life may last to answer. ' ' "All my services you have paid home" — she lays hand on heart, shakes head, and wipes tears from eyes. Kneels at his feet, kisses his hand, crosses hands on bosom, then rises and thus expresses the rest of her welcome. u But that you have vouchsafed," etc. Extends hand to Leontes and bows ; then indicates by succeeding strokes of right hand, including in a graceful sweep of her arm Polixenes, Perdita, and Florizel. "It is a surplus of your grace, which never my life may last to answer. ' ' Turns again fully to Leontes, stretches out both hands obliquely (" surplus of grace "), sinks on knees, presses hands on heart, and shakes head. u But we came to see the statue of our queen. Your gallery have we passed through, not without much con- tent in many singularities ; but we saw not that which my daughter came to look upon, the statue of her mother. ' ' Leontes takes Paulina's hand and raises her very gra- ciously, then indicates the rest of the company ; makes step forward, and with both hands outlines the form of a statue ; then extends left arm as if embracing a form at his side, and with right index finger makes the form of a crown upon its head, then draws Perdita forward 136 PANTOMIMES; OR to this imaginary form and puts his left arm around her. Paulina points to a curtain, as saying " Here it is." Raises finger, "Behold! " withdraws curtain and dis- covers Hermione on a pedestal. Leontes raises hands in wonderment, while all the rest make gestures of admira- tion. Leontes kneels before it and clasps hands as if in entreaty. Perdita hides face in hands. Leontes rises and, advancing toward Paulina, says : " And yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrin- kled." Makes stroke with index finger, then makes lines on his own face to indicate wrinkles, then extends his hand to the statue. Polixenes shakes head for, " Oh, not by much! ' : Paulina steps forward and says, shaking head : ' ' JS"o, that is true, but so would she be now " — makes marks on her face indicating wrinkles, points to the statue, then extends both hands to indicate present time. Leontes advances to statue ; ' ' Oh ! thus she stood when I first woo'd her. I am ashamed!" — extends hands toward her, raises them to indicate majesty, then buries face in hands. Perdita advances to statue and kneels, raising hands to implore blessing ; rising and advancing still further, she would take the statue's hand, but Paulina interposes, puts arms around Perdita and leads her back. Camillo and Polixenes now advance to Leontes, raise him from his knees and entreat him to take comfort. WORDLESS POEMS. 137 Polixenes puts arm in Leontes's arm, and Camillo takes his hand, while Paulina advances to draw the curtain. Leontes starts away from his friends and forbids her ; then, going nearer, turns to Polixenes and points with much excitement to the statue. " See, my lord, would you not deem it breathed ? ' ' Breathes visibly himself to indicate his meaning. Polixenes nods head emphatically, then pointing to the statue, touches his lips with finger : u Masterly done. The very life seems warm upon her lip." They both draw nearer and look more eagerly. Paulina attemps to draw the curtain, but Leontes lays his hand upon her arm and again forbids it. Paulina now steps in front of statue, and holding up hand, enjoins silence, then turns to statue and beckons to it. The music strikes up, and Hermione descends from pedestal. Movement of intense astonishment, even terror, from everybody except Paulina and Hermione. Paulina takes Leontes's hand and leads him to Her- mione; they embrace. Leontes beckons to Perdita, who comes forward, and her mother clasps her in her arms and kisses her. Polixenes comes forward and kisses Hermione' s hand; then Camillo kneels and kisses her hand. Perdita runs forward, bringing Florizel to her mother, who embraces him. Hermione puts out hand to Paulina, still leaning on Leontes. Paulina kneels. Curtain. 138 PANTOMIMES; OR RORY O'MORE. SAMUEL LOVER. THIS pantomime can be performed by either one person or two persons. The dress is a peasant's costume, which can be easily improvised. If more convenient, the part of Rory may be taken by a lady, who can wear a peasant's smock or a carter's dress. If taken by one person, the simple movement from the position of Rory to that of Kathleen is easily made with a little practice, turning on the foot from Position 1 to Position 2. This is good practice, but I think the pan- tomime gains in beauty with two figures. "When Rory O'More courted Kathleen Bawn," Rory stands before Kathleen, holding hat with both hands before his chest, and an expression upon his merry face of intense admiration. " He was bold as a hawk and she soft as the dawn. " He puts hat on the side of head with a swaggering air ; she looks at him coquettishly. " He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please," Rory takes a step or two behind her. ' 'And he thought the best way to do that was to tease. ' ' Leaning over her shoulder, he tries to steal a kiss. " 'Now, Rory, be aisy!' sweet Kathleen would cry," Kathleen turns toward him with uplifted hand, as if about to box his ears for the impertinent liberty he is taking. ' ' Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye. ' ' WORDLESS POEMS. 139 Her merry eyes contradict the action of displeasure. u 'With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about — Faith, you've tazed till I've put on my cloak inside out!'" Seizing both sides of her turned-inside-out cloak, she turns her back to show him the situation. ' ' ' Och, jewil, ' ' says Rory , ' that same is the way You've thrated me heart for this many a day ; ' " Rory takes advantage of the opportunity to seize her, cloak and all, and prevents her from righting it, because it is all for good luck. She struggles out of his grasp and faces him with feigned indignation. He shakes finger at her in playful accusa- tion, at the same time laying hand on heart. " 'And it's plazed that I am, an' why not, to be sure ?' " Dropping hands, he bends forward with the question "Why not ? " in face. u ' For 'tis all for good luck,' says bold Rory O'More. " With a sort of dancing shuffle backward, he expresses good luck by throwing hands over head and snapping fingers, finishing by bending toward her and laughing in her face. " ' Indade, thin,' says Kathleen, 'don't think of the like,' " She turns to Rory, nods head to emphasize, shakes finger at "don't think of the like." " ' For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike.' " Points behind her with a mock expression of sentiment on face to signify the " soothering " and absent Mike. " 'The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound!' " 140 PANTOMIMES; OR Hand prone downward to signify ' ■ the ground ; " waving for motion "walk on." Throws kiss from fingers over shoulder for "he loves." Nods emphatically toward Rory for "I'll be bound!" " Says Rory, ' I'd rather love you than the ground/ Rory suddenly seizes and kisses her, laughing, then lets hand fall, pointing to the ground. " 'XoWj Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go!' Kathleen struggles to release herself, making motion of push- ing him from her, with half -crying expression of face. " ' Sure, I clhrame ivry noight that I'm hating you so!' " Lays head on folded hands toward shoulder to signify " dhrames! " Awakes and shakes fist and stamps foot at him in playful anger. "'Och!' says Rory, "that same I'm deloighted to hear,' "' Rory dances in glee and kisses hand to her. u 'For dhrames always 2:0 by conthraries, me dear.' : Repeats her movement for "dhrames " ; then both pass hands around each other to the right, reversing to the left for ' ' con- thraries ;" then dance off and snap fingers for good luck. " ' Och, jewil, kape dhraming that same till you die. ' ; Approaches with saddened sobriety, emphasized by shaking finger at her, then nods with closed eyes, letting hands fall prone for "till you die." " 'An' broight morning shall give dhirty noight the black lie.'" For "bright morning" raise eyes and right hand toward the east to signify the rising sun, face bright and joyous ; then with hand moving toward west, let it fall suddenly ; face darkens as WORDLESS POEMS. 141 in anger. End with emphatic stroke of clenched hand, oblique west. " 'An' 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure ? Since 'tis all for good luck,' says bold Rory O'More. " Suddenly break into laughter ; dancing movement and snap- ping fingers as before. "• ' Arrah, Kathleen, me darlint, you've tazed me enough,' " Rory, with sudden gravity, approaches Kathleen, emphasizing line with index finger and movement of head. " 'Sure, I've thrashed, for your sake, Dinny Grimes an' Jim Duff;' " Motion of prostrating foes on right and left. " 'An' I've made myself, dhrinkin' your health, quite a baste, ' ' ' Throws back head and drinks imaginary bumper, staggers a little toward Kathleen. " ' So I think, afther that, I may talk to the j)raste.' " Takes her arm and while standing in position for a marriage, points over shoulder to imaginary priest. " And Rory, the rogue! stole his arm round her neck, So soft and so white, without freckle or speck, And he looked in her eyes, that were beaming w T ith light, And he kissed her sweet lips — don't you think he was right ? ' ' With roguish expression, puts arm about her, leans over and looks in her eyes, then without opposition kisses her. Without changing position, he looks at audience and with eyes says, " don't you think he was right ? " 142 PANTOMIMES; OR WORDLESS POEMS. "'Now, Rory, leave off, sir; you'll hug me no more ! ' " Kathleen feebly struggles to get away from him, pushing him off and wiping her lips with the back of her hand. " ' That's eight times to-day you have kissed me be- fore!' " Counts off eight fingers to him. ki ' Then here goes another,' says he, ' to make sure,' ' Rory seizes her and kisses her again, holding up one finger. "'For there's luck in odd numbers,' says Rory O'More! " Repeats dancing movement with snapping of fingers for good luck. Scene ends by Kathleen allowing him to take her arm, and they bow in position. Now, Rory, be aisy ! " ; ' You've tazed till I've put on my cloak inside out ! Says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground.-' Now, Kory, I'll cry if you don't let me go ! So I think after that I may spake to the Praist." For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More. PANTOMIMES; OR WORDLESS POEMS. 157 RECITATIONS. SIS. [From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1886, by Harper and Brothers.] TJ ER name is Ferginia, but dey calls her Lily, I I 'case she's so white; en my name is Sajane, en dey calls me Sis, 'case — 'case — well, I don' know no reason, 'cept de debil had a spite agin me." This forms the introduction to Sis and her nursling, and a strange contrast the two presented. Sis, elfish, grotesque, hump-shouldered, and black as the ace of spades; and Lily, petite, fairy-like, and fair as her name-flower, with eyes as blue as the heavens, and flaxen hair which crinkled and curled about her shoul- ders and formed a pretty framework for the baby face. Sis, in her blue cotton dress and white apron, with her woolly head enveloped in the inevitable ' ' head-hancher ' ' of the negro ; Lily, dainty and spotless from the crown of her fair head to the toe of her little blue slipper — and yet the two were as closely bound by ties of affec- tion as if born of the same mother. These ties were first riveted when Sis was permitted to lift the exquisite specimen of babyhood from the cradle, and was estab- 158 PANTOMIMES; OR lished second nurse. For, in spite of her deformity, Sis was in great demand as a nurse — she was so faithful and bright, devoted to children. Her misfortune had made her a sort of pet in the family, ' ' Ole Mis' ' ' early transferring her from the rougher life of the negro quarters to the easy servitude of the family. They were not too devoted to have many a sharp skirmish, however, as the little lady, under her soft exterior, possessed a wilful nature and a strong sense of what was due to her small self, and Sis, occupying the superior position of guardian of the little lady, was not disposed to abate a tittle of her authority. Sis had a great objection to her nickname, and early determined that her little Miss Lily should give her her proper title ; but Lily soon learned that this concession could be used as a means of obtaining many indulgences, and used it accordingly. "Sis!" " I ain't name no Sis; I name Sajane, en so I dun tol' you time en agin. I don' love nobody what call me dat ugly name. ' ' " Well, if I call you Sajane, will you take me down to the quarters to see Aunt Dolly's little baby ? " u Miss Lily, chile, I can't do dat. Yo' mammy say I mils' keep yo' outen de sun." " Then you des ole Sis, en I ain't goin' to call you Sajane." WORDLESS POEMS. 159 " Dyare, now, yon is des a bad chile, en I haffer take yon to ole mammy. ' ' Then quickly would follow the reconciliation, and they were more devoted than ever. Lily early discovered that Sis's form was not quite like other people's, and some instinctive feeling of deli- cacy made her shy about speaking of it. One day, however, the child said, touching the hard protuberance which was so different from any other back she knew, ' ' Sajane, what makes you have this on your back ? ' ' Sis shook herself a little impatiently, and did not answer. Then Lily said, " I is sorry, Sajane;" and she was, though she did not know why. Sis clasped her arms a little tighter about the tiny form at the sound of the sympathizing words, and then blurted out : " Well, yo' see, when I was a little baby, littler den yo' is, Miss Lily, my mammy lef ' me on de bed while she went out to hang out her clothes, en somehow or udder I fell off dat bed, en when she cum back she find her little black baby layin' under de bed, wid her back all broke ; en dat what make it lump up ugly dis way." Lily did not raise her head, but Sis could feel the sobs which shook the little form, and she said, in a shaky voice : "Don' cry, Miss Lily." 160 PANTOMIMES; OB ' ' Oh, Sajane, ' ' broke out the child, as her little arms stretched out to embrace the misfortune on Sajane' s back, "Oh, Sajane! poor Sajane! I love you. Lily thinks you is buful, if ev'ybody does think you is ugly. ' ' " Humph!" said Sis, her sense of humor coming in to break up the pathos, which was becoming too strong for her, "Humph! Cose I's b'utiful! Who says Sajane is ugly?" and then she laughed, so that in a minute Lily had to wipe away her tears and laugh too. One bright Sabbath afternoon in midsummer Sis had been permitted to go to church, and Lily, now five years old, after spending the hours between mammy in her nursery and mamma in her room, was permitted to go out with a small ebon attendant, Fanny by name, to watch for the return of Sis. Soon they saw her approaching, dressed in her new homespun dress and white apron, and mamma's last summer bonnet sur- mounting her bright cotton ' ' head-hancher. ' ' The two children ran to meet her with eager cries of joy, but Sajane retained an aspect of forbidding solemnity as she said: " Chillun, you wouldn' laf uv a Sunday ef you had heyard Bro' Peter Stubbs hold fofe like I did dis bressid Sabbat day, en you am' nudder uv you bin to church. Oh, I's oneasv 'bout you!" Here followed a deep groan of anguish, which melted the two young WORDLESS POEMS. 161 culprits like wax before the fire. They fairly cowered in the presence of their judge. " I spec I better hab church fur you. Don't you want me to preach fur you like Bro' Peter Stubbs? I tell you, de people jest howled like wolfs 'fo' he wuz dun wid 'em." A trembling assent was given by the two children, and Sis, mounting a moss-covered rock, with her small audience before her on the grassy carpet, proceeded to hold a service — in direct imitation of "Bro' Peter," it must be presumed, as she completely smothered her own identity. First she struck up the hymn, in which Fanny joined with fervor, and even Lily took up the chorus. ' ' Sister, dus you want to git aligion ? Go down in de lonesome valley. Sister Mary got de letter, Sister Martha got de letter, To meet my Jesus dere, 'Way down in de lonesome valley. " Next followed the sermon, " fum de tex' w'ich is foun' in de Holy Book whens all our comforts comes, w Dese here shill go to eberlastin' fire.' "My bredren and sisters, to you I speaks in dese solem' words, en may de Lord in His marcy sen' down fire and brimstone en melt you' hard hearts!" Sis had not quite calculated upon the speedy effect of her eloquence. First the undue solemnity of her salutation, then the weird singing, and now the stirring 162 PANTOMIMES; OR petition for lire and brimstone, so wrought upon the excitable little girl that she broke into loud cries, in which she was joined by Fanny, and both children fled into the house before Sis could stop them. " What's the matter with my darling ? " said mam- ma, opening her arms wide. tc Oh, mamma, I'm such a sinner!" "Fur de lor's sakes, what is cle matter?" said old mammy, catching Fanny by the shoulders. " I's sech a sinner, too!" exclaimed the little mourner. "Sinner indeed!" exclaimed the irate guardian, as she commenced a tattoo upon the mourner's shoulders. " I'll teach you to be a sinner here in de house wid de white folks ! Go long to de quarters, en be a sinner dere wid de niggars! You's jest fittin' to stay dar, bein' a sinner en skeerin' de chillurn to def. Go 'long wid you, en don't lemme see you till you stops bein' a sinner ! ' ' Passing years touch the fair nursling of Sajane with developing hand, transforming her from the baby into a little maiden who knows how to read. Sis has attained to womanhood in years, but still looks like an elfish child. A new lire burns in her eyes ; it is a thirst for knowledge. She must know all that is in the books she sees Lily reading. So she sets her wits to work to per- suade the little lady to teach her. It is not a hard WORDLESS POEMS. 163 thing to do at first. She could lord it over Sajane to her full satisfaction, and for once Sajane made no resistance. But after a while Lily found her pupil so apt that her own laurels were in danger ; and then, too, she tired of her task; and so one day she announced that she would not teach Sis any more. In vain Sis pleaded ; in vain she offered rewards ; taffy and peanuts w T ere rejected. Sis reproached her. " Law, Miss Lily, you ought to be 'shamed. Whar would you 'a bin ef Sis hadn't nuss you? You'd 'a bin ded, en in yo' coffin — dat you would. ' ' Sis took a little time to form her plans. Lily had not been quite well. Mamma said she had been sitting up too late, and Sis was instructed to see that her charge was in bed at an earlier hour. The sun had scarcely disappeared, and the rosy light of his face still illuminated the western sky, when Lily was disturbed at her play by Sis's voice, saying, " Come Miss Lily, you mus' go to bed. ' ' "Oh, Sis, I won't! " "Yes, you mus' ; yo' mar said I was to put you to bed early, en de sun is down, en you mus' go." Lily knew of the order, and was forced to yield, which she did rather sulkily ; but Sajane, with an ob- ject to accomplish, spared no blandishments to restore her to good humor. As she undressed her she told her all the stories she knew Lily liked best, those of a re- 164 PANTOMIMES; OR ligious tendency having the predominance, as best calcu- lated to produce a proper frame of mind. The salutary influence of this treatment was apparent in the meek tones of the little maiden's voice as she knelt in her white nightdress at Sis's knee, and repeated: ' Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep; If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. " Once fairly ensconced in bed, Sis's plan bloomed forth suddenly in all its diabolical wickedness. "■Tfowj Miss Lily, chile, I gwyin' to read you to sleep." Lily rose in her wrath. " You can't read; you shan't read to me." "Miss Lily, dat's bery wicket in you, not to want to hear me read de Bible to you — jist after you sed yo' Dravers too. God won't love you, en maybe you will die befo' you wakes. What you tink yo' mudder gwine say when .she hyar you don' wan' hyar de Bible read? You sholy ought to be 'shame' of yo'self, Miss Lily, chile. I is on easy 'bout you — 'deed I is; you bettah ax God to forgif you 'fo' you shets yo' eyes." And Sis's voice became cpiite plaintive as she painted with master touch the perils awaiting the young reprobate. If it had been broad daylight, with the whole day ahead. Sis would have scored no easy victory in the con- test; but the gathering shadows fell upon the little WORDLESS POEMS. 165 heart, and the thought of the long, dark night she must pass, and the possible appearing at the awful Judgment bar, broke her spirit of resistance, and a very meek little voice answered, " Go on, then, Saiane. " Not a shadow of the triumphant bound her heart gave showed itself as she opened the Bible and began : "'Noww-h-e-n — ' What do- v-h-e-n spell, Miss Lily?" ' ' When, ' ' was the answer from ihe bed, in a very patient voice. " ' Now when Jesus was b-o-y-^-— ' Oh, Miss Lily, what do dat spell? " ' ' Born ! ' ' came in louder tones fitom the bed. "'Now when Jesus was born in Be-be-t-h-1-e- h-e-m — ' Laws gracious, Miss Lily, what is all dis ? I neber see sich a big word. 'Tis a whole Bible at oncet. What do it spell, Miss Lily? " " Oh, Sis, let me go to sleep! ' tied the tormented child, her indignation overmastering her fears. "Oh, you wicked chile, not to want to know where Jesus was born ! ' ' said Sis, in sad rebuke. ' ' Bethlehem ! ' ' shouted Lily at the top of her voice. Sis resumed her reading without any change of tone. "Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of J-u- d-e-a — ' Oh, Miss Lily. Lily rose up in bed, thoroughly aroused. " Sis, if you don't let me alone and let me go to sleep, I'll scream 166 PANTOMIMES; OR as loud as I can, and tell mamma that you put me to bed in broad daylight just to teach you to read." "Miss Lily, chile " — Sis's voice was tremulous with tender reproof — "I don't know what's cum over you. You ain' like you wuz when you wuz a little baby, en I use to nuss you en cyar you roun'. I's feard de ole Satan is gittin' hoi' of you — " " Sis," said Lily, sitting up straight in bed, " I just know ezakly what you put me to bed for ; but I'll teach you to read five verses if you will promise to go away then and let me go to sleep. ' ' The required promise was given, and the lesson fol- lowed, upon which Sajane could be heard to say under her breath: "Well, I dun larn consider' ble to-night. I'll git it out of dat chile yit." A few more years and Lily is a big girl, still fairy- like and fair, disposed to be dreamy and self-absorbed, but first in the constant affections of Sajane, who tyran- nized over her as only Southern nurses know how to do. It was a rule in the well-ordered household that every child must be at morning prayers, the unfortunate de- linquent being punished by having a breakfast of dry bread. Lily was apt to pick up a book and idle the time away until the last moment, and then hurry Sis to dress her. If Sis happened to be in a good humor, she made no trouble about it, but woe be to Lily if she had "put on any a'rs " and provoked her. WORDLESS POEMS. 167 One morning this had been the case. Lily had been very provoking. The prayer bell was imminent. Lily was fnlly aronsed to the danger of her situation. " Oh, Sis, dress me ! ' ' had sounded several times. Sis was busy with the other children. ' ' Miss Lily ' ' must wait. At last, goaded to the utmost, Lily exclaimed, with flashing eyes : ' ' Sis, I order you to dress me at once. What were you made for, miss, but to wait on me ? ' ' 1 ' What was I made for but to wait on you ! You better ax yo' mudder dat question. What she gwine to say when she hear how you talks to her po' niggar ? What was /made fur but to wait on you ? I'll show you what. Jist wait till I ready to dress you; I's busy now. ' ' Lily was shocked at herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but not so sorry as she was as she munched her "bread of affliction" morning after morn- ing, in sad repentance, with her hair plaited back so tight that every hair pricked, and she could hardly shut her eyes ; and she did not complain, as she knew further punishment would be meted out to her if her mother should hear of her unkind and arrogant speech. It was a principle with Virginia mothers never to encourage children to " tell tales." Lily's mamma heard the whole of this contest, and left it to work out its own result, which was repentance on both sides, and renewed affec- tion. 168 PANTOMIMES; OR BOKKOWEKS. ALMOST every neighborhood has its borrowers. Generally, they are great pests ; but the follow- ing, no doubt, is an extreme case. Mr. Butterwick called in to see me the other day, and in the course of the conversation said : " I am going to move. I can't stand those Thomp- sons next door to me any longer. They are the awfulest people to borrow things I ever saw. Coffee and butter and sugar and flour, I don't mind so much, although when a woman borrows high-priced sugar and Java coffee and sends back sand and chicory, a man naturally feels bilious mad. But they've borrowed near every- thing in the house. First it's one thing and then another from morning till night, right straight along. "Now, there's the poker. A poker is a piece of machinery that you would think anyone might go around and buy, or, if they couldn't afford it, they might use a fence paling to shake up the fire. But Mrs. Thompson seems to hanker after our poker. She borrows it fifteen or twenty times a day, and last Saturday she sent for it thirty-four times. She pays a boy $2 a week to run over and borrow that poker, and she's used it so much that it's all bent. "Now, take chairs, for instance. She asks me to lend her our chairs three times a day, at every meal, and WORDLESS POEMS: 169 she borrows the rocking-chair whenever she wants to put the baby to sleep. A couple of times she sent over for a sofa, and when the boy came back with it, he said Mrs. Thompson was mad as thunder and kept growling round the house all because there were no casters on it. On Monday she borrowed our wash-boiler, and we had to put off washing till Tuesday. She did her preserv- ing in it, and the consequence was, all our clothes were full of preserved peaches. I've got on an under- shirt now that I'm mighty doubtful if I'll ever get off, it's stuck to me so tight. " Every now and then she has company, and then she borrows our hired girl and all the parlor furniture. Once, because I would not carry the piano for her and take down the chandelier, she told our girl that there were rumors about town that I was a reformed pirate. Per- fectly scandalous ! They think nothing of sending over after a couple of bedsteads or the entry carpet, and the other day Thompson says to me : ' ' Butterwick, does your pump-log pull up easy ? ' And when I said I thought it did, he said : " Well, I would like to borrow it for a few days till I can get one, for mine's all rotted away.' The only wonder to me is that he didn't try to borrow the well along with it. "And then on Tuesday Mrs. Thompson sent that boy over to know if Mrs. Butterwick wouldn't lend her our front door. She said theirs was being painted, and she was afraid that baby would catch cold. When I asked 170 PANTOMIMES; OR him what he supposed we were going to do to keep comfortable without any front door, he said Mrs. Thompson told him if I wouldn't send over the front door, to ask Mrs. Butterwick to lend her a pair of striped stockings and a horse-hair bustle, and to borrow the coal-scuttle till Monday. AVhat in the name of Moses she is going to do with the bustle and the coal- scuttle, I can't conceive. But they're most extraor- dinary people. "Last Fourth of July, the boy came over and told Mrs. Butterwick that Mrs. Thompson would be much obliged if she'd lend her the twins for a few minutes; said Mrs. Thompson wanted them to suck off a new bottle- top, because it made her baby sick to taste fresh India rubber ! Cheeky, wasn't it ? But her way. Why, I've known her to take off our Johnny's pants, when he's been playing over there with the children, and send him home bare-legged to tell his mother that she bor- rowed them for a pattern. And on Thompson's birth- day she said her house was so small for a party, that if we'd lend her ours, we might come late in the even- ing and dance with the company, if we wouldn't let on that we lived there. u Yes, sir; I'm going to move. I'd rather live next to a lunatic asylum, and have maniacs pouring red-hot shot over the fence every hour in the day. Indeed I would!" WORDLESS POEMS. 171 AU.NT AKARKY'S PKESENTS. A TRUE STORY. AUNT ANAKKY was an old servant in the family in slave days, and Las never gotten over the idea that she has a lien upon her old masters and mistresses, and with the greatest freedom she makes them respon- sible for the fulfilment of all her wants and wishes. I was walking up and down the gallery of my South- ern home one morning before breakfast, when I saw the old woman come through the gate into the yard with a large basket on her arm, which, I may remark, was her invariable accompaniment. She came toward me with a broad smile of greeting, and said : "Good mornin', mistis, I'm monsus glad to see yo' dis mornin 1 , an' hopes yo' 's well an' slep' good las' night, an' dat ol' massa's got ober de rheumatis in his back, an' dat dem chilluns is all well when yo' heerd from 'em. Law me! jes' to t'ink it was jes' t'other day I was a-nussin' clem boys an' gals! Now dey's got a lot o' babies o' dey own. Yes, suttinly time does pass! I t'ink, mistis, it pass mo' de older yo' gits. An', mistis, I done fotch yo' some eggs " (setting her basket down and bringing up her hands full of white, new laid eggs), 172 PANTOMIMES; OR " 'case I know' d eggs was sca'ce. Dey's a dozen all but five." Although I knew the dangerous results of such pres- ents, yet, womanlike, I accepted the situation and the eggs, saying : " I'm much obliged to you, Aunt Anarky. Eggs are scarce. What do you ask for them ? ' ' " Lor', chile, can't anybody bring yo' a present wid- out axin' nothin' fur 'em ? Dem eggs is a present." Again I thanked her. Another dive into the basket. " An', mistis, here's two years o' popcorn dat Froney Ann sont yo', 'case she says popcorn 's so good endur- in' de winter." More thanks, more rummaging in my brain for the means of repaying these accumulating and vast obliga- tions. Another dive into the basket. u An', mistis, here's some flower seed dat Mely sont yo', 'case she know'cl yo' so fond o' nasturslmn. " More thanks, and as there were no more gifts, I said : " Aunt Anarky, won't you go into the kitchen and get your breakfast ? ' ' My invitation was received with the most bewildering astonishment. " De Lor' sakes, chile, ain' yo' done yo* breakfas' yit ? I bin down at breakfas' so long I mos' done forgot it. Why, mistis, the sun clone three hours' high, but I 'spec' I can eat sumpin. " So, setting her basket down where I would see it, and WORDLESS POEMS. 173 seeing fill it, she trotted off toward the kitchen, turning as she got to the door to say waggishly : ' ' Mistis, I bet I dreen dat coffee-pot fur yo' . ' ' She went down town after breakfast and came back in time for her dinner, after which she came in for her basket, into which I had put a number of articles which I thought might be useful to the family. She picked it up, shook hands, said good-bye, stopped with a start of con- sternation, and exclaimed: " De Lor' sakes, mistis, I like to done forgot de message Froney sont yo'. She axed me to ax yo' would yo' please, marm, sen' her some needles an' thed, an' one ob yo' ol' hoop-skirts, ef yo' got it, mistis; an' Mely say, would yo' sen' her apyare ob yo' old Sunday shoes. Dem yo' got on do jes' as well as any udder, mistis ; Mely don'' want to be on- reasonable noways. An' one ob yo' ol' dresses, mistis, she ain' got no thin' to wear to church. An' she'd like some quilt pieces, ef yo' please, marm ; she wants to 'serve her mem'ry ob youse an' de chillun's frocks." As far as possible, these demands were complied with, and as she pressed them down into the basket, she said, with a gratified chuckle : "I te' yo', won' dem gals be proud when dey see all dese t'ings comin' ! " Then, looking at me with a curious expression, she said: "Mistis, yo' ain' got no old kaliky curtains to line my bed-quilt with, is yo' ? An' a little dus' o' flour, an' a cup or two o' rice, 174 PANTOMIMES; OB mistis, an' any little t'ing yo' got handy ? You know I didn't charge yo' nothin' fur dem eggs, mistis. An', mistis, Efrim say, would you please, marm, sen' him a little sweeten' fur his coffee?" With her basket piled up to the very top and burst- ing through every crevice, she tottered off toward the door, turning as she reached it to say, u De Lor' knows, mistis, what dat nigger wants with de sweetenin' fur his coffee when he ain' a got a grain o' coffee fur to put it in!" ■~4^~ WORDLESS POEMS. 175 SMITH'S BOY. H IS astonishing revelations concerning the members of his own family were told to Mr. Brown's boy, who told them to me. " Yeth, me an' him 'th right intimate. He knowth more than I do, 'cauth he'th had more exthperienth. Bill thay hith father wath a robber. (Smith, by the way, is an elder in the Presbyterian church, and is considered a man of exemplary piety.) " Bill thay that he'th got ten millionth of dollarth of gold buried down in hith thellar along with a lot of human boneth, people he'th killed. An' Bill thay that hith father makth all the earthquakth that happen any- where in the world, an' when the old man comth home thometimes, he feelth tlio thorry for him, 'cauth he'th all tired to death makin' earthquakth. It thtandth to reathon it'th hard work tearin' up the earth that way. An' Bill thay that hith father juth taketh bith out of people if he don't like 'em, an' a lightnin'-rod man come along one day, an' Bill- thay hith father juth ate him right up, 'cauth he got mad at him. " An' Bill thay one day he wath a-iryin' of a kite, an' he had one of theth little dogth that juth run along, an' Bill thay he tied the kite to the dogth tail juth for fun, 176 PANTOMIMES; OR an' prethently the wind thruck her an' the went boom- in' down the thtreet about a mile with her hind legthin the air. Prethently the kite commenthed going up. Thoon the dog was fifteen milth high, an' could thee California an' Egypt, an' Oshkosh, I think Bill thed, or it thound like that, but I don't like to thay for ther- tain. Anyhow, I know he come down in Brathil, an' he thwam all the way home in the Atlantic ocean, an' when he got there all hith legth wath et off by the tharkth. I with my father would give me a dog tho I could thend it off that way, but he never givth me nothin'. I never have no fun like Bill doth; he's too thtrick. " Bill thay another time he wath a-flyin' of hith kite, an 1 he went up on top of the houth to give himthelf plenty of room, an' thet up on the chimley, an' the old man had put a keg of powder down below there to blow thethut out of the .chimley, an' he thet her off juth then, an' Bill wath blowed over against the Baptith church thteeple, an' he hung on there for four dayth before they could get him off. He juth lived by eatin' the crowth that come an' thet on him, 'cauth they thought he wath made out of theet-iron and put there for pur- puth. ' ' Bill thay that hith brother invented a thothage thtuffer onth. It wath a kind of a mathine what worked with a treadle. You put the mathine on the hog'th WORDLESS POEMS. 177 back an' the hog'th foot on the treadle, an' you thuck him with a pin an' that made the hog move the treadle, you know, 'an in a minute the hog wath cut up in fine pieces in the treddle an' thtuffed an' thkinned, an' Bill thay hith brother called every hog hith own thtuffer. That muth o' bin a right curiouth kind of a mathine to work. I can't juth thee how he did it, but I know ith tho, 'cause Bill'th a good boy, he ith, an' never tellth no thtorieth. He goeth to Thunday thkool, he doeth. " He' th a good boy, he ith, an' he told me about hith uncle what lived out in Authtralia, what wath et by a big oythter; an' he thtayed there till he et the oythter. Then he thplit the thellth open, took one of 'em for a boat, an' he thailed along, an' he thailed along, till he come to a thea-therpent, an' juth caught it an' thripped ith thkin all off of it, an' thold it to an engine company to put out fireth with, He thold it for forty thouthand dollarth. " An' Bill thay the Injunth took him wunth an' they cut hith thcalp off, an' thtuck him half a dothen timeth through the body, an' never hurt him a bit. He juth made hith ethcape by the daughter of the chief takin' him out of the wigwam an' givin' him a north to ride. Bill thay — Bill thay — he ! he ! — that the wath in love with him. He thay he could thow me the holth in hith body now, but he'th afraid to take hith cloth off, fear he'd bleed to death. Nobody don't know about 178 PANTOMIMES; OR it. Wouldn't tell the old man 'cause lie'th 'fraid he'd worry about it. "Bill tkay he ain't goin' to Tkunday thkool no more; thay he'th goin' to turn a heathen, 'cauth kith father's got a brath idol at kome. He'tk goin' to wear a blanket an 1 carry a tomakawk atk tkoon atk tke weatker gets warm. ' ' Bill tkay kith father dug a big hole under thith thity , an' got it all tilled up with dynamite an' powder an' thingth, an' lie'th goin' to blow her up when he geth ready. An' Bill thay he goin' to tell me, tko I can get away. Bill liketh me, lie do. An' Bill tkay — but tkar'tk Bill now; do you kear kim wkitklin' ? I ectk- pec' ke got tkometkin' more to tell me. I mutk go. Good-bye. * *x 38* WORDLESS POEMS. 179 CABIN PHILOSOPHY. Irwin Russell. COME turn dat backlog over dyar, an' draw your stools up higher, An' watch dat 'possum cookin' in de skillet 'fore de fire. Let me stretch my feet out on de harf ter mek my feelin's flow, An' I'll grine you out a few fac's ter take afore you go. In dese busy latter workin'-days deys changed de Scrip- ter fashions, An' you needn't look ter miracles ter furnish you wid rations. Now, when you'se wantin' loaves o' bread, you got ter go an' fetch 'em, An' when you'se wantin' fishes, you urns' dig de worms an' ketch 'em. You may set it down as sartain dat de day is long gone by When sassengers an' taters does rain furm out de sky. Ef you t'ink about it karefully, an' put it to de dis, You'll fine out dat de safes' place is giner'ly de bes\ 180 PANTOMIMES; OR When you stum'els on a hornets' lies' an' meks de crit- ters scatter, Don' stan' dyar like a fool an' argufy de matter. An' when de yaller fever cum an' settle all aroun', It's better dan de karintine ter shuffel out er town. Dar's a hea' o' drefful music in de very fines' fiddle, An' a ripe an' yaller apple may be rotten in de middle, De wises' lookin' traveler may be de bigges' fool ; En dyar's heap o' solid kickin' in de 'umblest lookin' mule. Dat preacher ain' de holies' dat wares de meekes' look, An' does de bigges' bangin' on de kiver ob de book. De people spends dey bigges' bills in buyin' lots an' lands, An' scatters all dey pickeyimes aroun' de peanut stan's. De fifties an' de twenties goes ter payin' ob de rents, An' heaben an' de organ-grinder gits de copper cents. I neber likes dem niggers dat t'inks so much ob eatin', Dat frolics all de workin'-days, den snoozes at de meetin's. Dat jines de temp'ance sideys an' keeps on gettin' tight, An' picks de watermilyuns in de middle ob de night. Dese milmgtery nigger chaps, wid der muskets in der han', Dat marches thro' de country ter de music ob de ban's, Had better drop de muskets an' take ter marchin' wid de hoe, WORDLESS POEMS. 181 While dey arns an' hones' libbin' a-hoein' de cotton row, Or de State will hab dem arter while a-drillin' in de ditches, Wid more dan a single stripe a-rnnnin' 'roun' der britches. You t'ink dat doin' nothin's bery sof an' nice, But it busted up de renters in de lubly Paradise. You see dey was human bein's jes' like me an' you, An' dey couldn' regerlate demselves wid nothin' 'tall ter do ; Wid a hard day's work before 'em, an' a cottin crat ter make, Dey'd nebber thot ob loafin' an' chattin' wid dat snake. 182 PANTOMIMES; OR THE BAKEK'S WIFE. OTUDENTS of Ollendorff's grammars have often *^ found fault with the frequent mention made of the baker, the baker's wife, and the butcher in the exer- cises. They have asked, " Why should we be annoyed with puerile questions regarding the baker and his wife, and why should we be told whether the butcher is hungry or thirsty ? ' ' Critics have often spoken of the puerility of the information concerning bakers and butchers which Ollendorff conveys to his students, and ridicule without measure has been poured upon Ollen- dorff by humorous writers. Fortunately for the reputation of the grave German professor of languages, the true meaning of his allu- sions to the butcher, the baker, and the baker's wife has just been discovered. While the primary object of Ollendorff's grammars is to furnish instruction in lan- guages, the author has woven into the exercises a roman- tic and painful story. If we take an isolated sentence concerning the butcher and the baker's wife, it will, of course, seem foolish and impertinent ; but if we group together in their order all the remarks made concerning those persons by Ollendorff, we shall find in our pos- session a story of crime and passion worthy of a French realistic novelist. WORDLESS POEMS. 183 We are first introduced to the baker in one of the earliest pages of Ollendorff, where it is asserted that, c ' The baker is neither hungry nor thirsty ; he is sleepy. ' ' Thus, in a few words, the character of this man is set before us. He has enough to eat and drink ; he lives in a state of drowsy contentment. A little later, and the baker's wife appears on the scene. She is " neither warm nor sleepy." Obviously she is a cold, cunning, wide-awake person, and we can easily see that she would have no affection for her dull, prosaic partner. She has "the cotton dress aud the leather shoes." In other words, she is plainly dressed, according to her station in life, and, as the sequel shows, she is dissatisfied. Presently the butcher enters. He is a bad man, for Ollendorff expressly says: "The butcher is not good; he is bad." We are told that, "He is thirsty," and without doubt he slakes this chronic thirst with beer ! He is evidently a prosperous man, for, ' ' He has the large, handsome horse and the golden carriage. ' ' Such is the brief but masterly description of this bold, bad man. How the butcher made the acquaintance of the baker's wife, we are not told, but the disastrous consequences of their acquaintance are forcibly pictured. We then hear that, "The baker's wife has a silk dress and a gold watch," and we instinctively know that they were given to her by the wicked butcher. A little further on we 184 PANTOMIMES; OR are told that "The baker's wife has tea, coffee, sugar, and milk, ' ' and we need not ask how she came by these articles. The baker evidently has his suspicions, for we find that "He is not sleepy, but he is cold." He lias awakened at last to the danger which threatens his home, and he may well feel chilly and uncomfortable. The butcher, not content with destroying the baker's happiness, proceeds to rob him. We learn that ' ' The butcher has the silver candlesticks of the baker's wife." Unquestionably, the baker was the real owner of these candlesticks, but his wretched wife gave them to her partner in guilt. Then we are told that, ' ' The butcher has the silk handkerchief of the baker," and we per- ceive that the butcher, with the help of the baker's wife, is systematically obtaining possession of the baker's property. No wonder that a few pages further on we learn that, "The baker is hungry and cold;" that, " The baker has no money ; " and that, " The baker is ill." Poor deceived, robbed, and heart-broken man! This is the last that we hear of the baker, and it is not long before the butcher vanishes from Ollendorff. The last we hear of him is that, "He has the fine, black coat of the baker." Probably the baker has died of grief, and the heartless butcher has seized even the baker's clothes. But by this time the butcher has prob- ably grown tired of the baker's wife, and is ready to desert her. Whether he simply runs away or whether WORDLESS POEMS. 185 he is accidentally killed by ' ' the large, handsome horse, ' ' we shall never know. He disappears as soon as he gets the baker's coat, and is never heard of more. As for the wicked woman, we are casually told that, "The blacksmith is well, but the baker's wife has the fever." Doubtless this fever proved fatal, for with these few significant words the romance of the " Baker's Wife " comes to an abrupt end. Let us hear no more of the puerility of Ollendorff, but rather let us honor in him the novelist as well as the grammarian. 186 PANTOMIMES; OR t A MAY-DAY FLITTING. MARY TUCKER MAGILL. [From Harper's Bazar. Copyright, 1886. by Harper and Brothers.] THERE is no day in the whole year which brings such anguish to the hearts of the citizens of New York City who contemplate a change of residence, as the first day of May. Mrs. Lightlace is a citizen of the great metropolis, and Mrs. Lightlace is obliged to move ; consequently, that lady is the victim of care and anxiety. It is true that she has moved before ; but, unhappily, familiarity with the operation does not engender love for it, and in all her other moves she has had the assist- ance of Mr. Lightlace, and he has made his last move, with the assistance of the undertaker, and his sorrowing partner has to " go it alone, 1 ' or with the meagre as- sistance afforded by her little daughter Alice. It is very provoking that her landlord has sold the house over her head, and to a man who is so unreasonable as to wish to live in it himself, and has given her notice to evacuate the premises by the 1st of May. Now, Mrs. Lightlace is both an ambitious and an energetic woman. She savs to Alice, "What other women have done I can do, and I am determined that your Aunt Grimshaw and your Cousin Jemima Strong and your Uncle James and his WORDLESS POEMS. 187 wife shall not have it to say, as I know they will if they get a chance, that poor Mary is so little fitted to fight the battle of life alone. I am going to show them that I am equal to any emergency. ' ' And on the emphatic " any " Mrs. Lightlace threw up her head like a " war- horse scenting the battle afar off," and Alice looked the awe she felt over the astounding spirit of her heroic parent. So when Uncle James came, as in duty bound, to his brother's widow, and offered to assist her, she said, with praiseworthy unselfishness, as she laid her hand on his arm in true sisterly fashion : ' ' You are most kind, my dear brother, but I must decline with thanks. I made up my mind when my dear husband left me," (here Mrs. Lightlace wiped away from her eyes a tribute to the dear departed) ' ' that I would never burden any- one with my troubles. Each one has his own to bear, and I must learn to take care of myself and little Alice here. I shall do very well. ' ' So Brother James went away with an easy mind, greatly relieved that he might devote himself to his own moving with an easy conscience ; and Mrs. Lightlace would have been pleased had she overheard him telling Sister Grimshaw and Jemima Strong and his wife that, ' ' Poor Mary is a very sensible woman ; has very good ideas of taking care of herself." After many disappointments, a house was secured^ 188 PANTOMIMES; OR and then the all-important matter of an expressman with his wagon was to be considered. ' ' He must be reliable and he must be reasonable," said the woman of judgment. If Mrs. Lightlace had been as wise as she fancied herself, she would have consulted Brother James on this all-important question, as anyone experienced in the business of May moving knows the demoralizing in- fluence of that fateful day on the most trustworthy expressman. The only question which agitates him is how large a harvest he can reap from the necessities of his fellowman, and he will compass sea and land to wring the last cent possible. She started on her search in good spirits. Her first surprise was at the astound- ing prices with which they confronted her ; eight, nine, ten, and up to twenty dollars a load they asked, with the most unblushing effrontery. At this rate, it would take all she had to live on for six months to get into her new house. At last a happy chance, as she thought, conducted her to the stand of Paddy O'Kourke, who, after some haggling, agreed to "do the job" at five dollars a load. " Have you a large wagon ? " asked Mrs. Lightlace. " Indade, an' I have that same, mum." ' 4 And two strong horses ? ' ' "Why, surely, mum; two as foine bastes as you iver set your two eyes on." "And you'll be very careful ? " WORDLESS POEMS. 189 "Yis, mum; you may thrust Paddy O'Rourke iny day in the year. I refar you to Mr. Dinnis Mulligan, av Brooklyn, an' Mr. O'Shaunesay, av Jarsey City; they'll till you that it's mesel' is the bye that does the fair thing. The saints forgi'e me if I chate a widdy woman, an' a lady at that! " So the engagement was made. And after Mrs. Light- lace had charged him to be sure and be on time, at ten o'clock, and Paddy had called down anathemas on his head if he should be ' ' the twintieth pace av half a sicund out av the hour, ' ' the lady returned home with a light heart. In her enthusiasm she said to Alice : u I do like the Irish ; they are so full of heart ! Now that poor, rough fellow, only think of his taking notice of my weeds ! His manner was really — well, yes, it was really tender. ' ' And Mrs. Lightlace wiped away another tribute to the late Mr. Lightlace. May morning dawned bright and propitious. Mrs. Lightlace said she felt as if fortune w T as smiling, and the spirit of the ' ' dear departed was hovering over her. ' ' Alice and she rose with the dawn and finished the pack- ing of the last articles in the midst of the comfortless- ness of bare, uncarpeted rooms ; for, with commendable judgment, the carpets had all been put down in the other house, ready for the furniture to be moved upon them. Ten o'clock came, but no Paddy; eleven, twelve, one, two, and still no Paddy. Mrs. Lightlace developed first 190 PANTOMIMES; OR restlessness, then uneasiness, then perplexity, then indig- nation ; and finally, in the midst of the direst wrath, a small one-horse wagon drove up to the door, and out of it leaped the delinquent Paddy. ' ' Goodness gracious ! ' ' exclaimed Mrs. Lightlace. ' ' Gracious goodness ! ' ' chorused Alice ; while faith- ful black Nancy grumbled : " Dat's what comes ob trussin' de Irisher. " Paddy made his appearance in the midst of the indig- nant crowd with his rubicund nose more rubicund than ever. u Is this ten o'clock by your watch?" asked Mrs. Lightlace, with bitter irony. " Indade, thin, missus, an' it's not mesel's to blame. Sure an' it wriz the ; leddy what lives on Tinth Avenue beyant Fartith Street. I Wuz ingaged to move her at sivin; an' she tauld me she had one load, an' a small wan at that ; an', be jabers, it tarned oot to be three. ' ' ' ' Perhaps you told her, as 'you did me, that you had a large-sized furniture wagon and two fine horses, ' ' said Mrs. Lightlace, with a cold tone, and a glance which sparkled with wrath toward the wagon and the tired horse that was standing on two legs and resting on the other two. "Faith, mum," said Paddy, "an' isn't it the foinest wagon in the city, the strongest an' the roomiest fur the WORDLESS POEMS. 191 size ? An' sure an' I tauld ye no lie about the horses naither, fur didn't wan av 'em toomble down dead in the stall no later thin last noight ? An' wasn't I oot this marnin' be the break av day to hire anither? An' isn't ivery hide av 'em busy? Sure, mum, it's the truth I'm tellin' you this blissid day ; the horse you see there is aquel to anny tin animals you iver see. He's got the sperret in him av a divil, mum, an' will wark from marnin' to noight widout iver axin fur rist. I wouldn't take foive hunderd dollars fur him. A valable animal he is, mum. But you mustn't be afther kapin' me waitin', av you plase, mum. I'm sorry to hurry you, but I've got three people a-cursin' me in as miny differint places now." What was the lady to do ? She was obliged to move ; she knew that it would be impossible to get another wagon now ; so, with tears in her eyes and bitter anger in her heart, she let Paddy and his wild Irishmen in among her cherished treasures, sending Alice and Nancy to the other house to receive them. Is there any sufferer who has passed through this trial, with inefficient workmen, who cannot supply a descrip- tion of what followed ? Mrs. Lightlace looked on with compressed lips, as one after another of her -cherished treasures was battered and badgered, Paddy sealing her lips by his voluble complaints. ' ' Sure an it's a shame that I didn't know all I wuz in 192 PANTOMIMES; OR fur. I wudden'thev ondertook the job av a saint undher tin dollars a load. Stiddy, byes ! stiddy. Lift a little higher. Och, ye'll ruinate the farnichure av ye're not keerful. Hould on, Tim, what do ye mane be bein' so rackless ? I know the farnichure is sinful hivvy, curses on the man that made it; he desarves burnin' in a place which I won't mintion in the prisence av a lady. Bedad, Dinnis, you'll toomble the sofy over the banisters av ye're not more keerful! An' as shure as ye do, it's mesel' that will toomble ye afther it. Marcy on us ! look at the plasther that ye've brought down at that stroke! — enough to plasther iny house ye'll iver own. It's the truth, mum; av I niver spake anither ward, it's a far- chunit leddy ye are this day to make the ingageinint wid me. There's not anither man in the three kingdoms, lit alone Amerikey, that wudden't break ivery shingle av your big farnichure into small bits, an' I a-movin' av it at the starvation price av foive dollars a load, an' a leetle extra fur trates fur the poor min that are ruinin' thimselves in your sarvis. ' ' Poor Mrs. Lightlace ! where was the spirit that was to support her in the battle of life ? In the dust, at the feet of Paddy O'Rourke. Vainly she struggled against the insane conviction — that offspring of Paddy's ora- tory — that she was under obligations to him. What matter that she recalled the burning wrongs she had suffered at his hands ? Her woman's nature felt a per- WORDLESS POEMS. 193 sonal responsibility in the weight of the furniture, and every drop of perspiration which trickled down the faces of the laboring men made a furrow in her heart. She fairly quailed when she thought of her large-sized Hale & Kilburn folding-bed, with its heavy weights. Up to this time it had been a great pride with her. She had paid one hundred dollars for it ; at this moment anyone could have purchased it at twenty. Load after load went off; Mrs. Lightlace, counting them up at five dollars each, trembled at the sum. The poor tired horse stood on two legs whenever it was pos- sible, and bore up with superhuman endurance. The men groaned and sweated, and curses both loud and deep smote the ears of the wretched Mrs. Lightlace. At length the torture neared a conclusion, and in doing so approached its climax, which was the folding-bed. Mrs. Lightlace had not exaggerated the gravity of the situa- tion. Paddy fairly raved. " Hale ! Kill ! Burn !" he read, with dramatic empha- sis. " Ay, it's joust what I'd do wid de invinters av I could lay hands on 'em, the murtherin' varmints. Surely, mum, ye'llnivergo to burthenin' your conshens wid the sin av axin' us to move sich a mountain as that widout exthra pay ? I sees it in yer face this blissid minnit that ye cudden't do it." Poor Mrs. Lightlace ! She was too worn out to con- tend, the sun was nearly down, and she was faint from 194 PANTOMIMES; OB long fasting, so she promised a dollar more with very little delay. " An' shure, mum, it's the coostum to secure me pay befure the last load is delivered, ' ' said the mendacious Paddy. Mrs. Lightlace looked her astonishment, but was swept away by a torrent of energetic oratory from her tor- mentor ; so she yielded the point again for the sake of peace, paid him, and promised to meet him at the new home, which was only a few blocks away. When she reached this goal of her hopes, she found everything in quite a settled state, and she gathered ' ' heart of grace' ' as she drank the cup of tea which Alice had ready. It gave her time to put herself right upon her real status with Paddy, and without his elo- quence to counteract the result of her reflections, she, more and more indignant over his conduct, had just reached a climax, when his voice at the door, announ- cing that his work was done, except a few articles which the u byes " were "fitchm" up," inspired her with a great desire to give him, what the ladies are wont to style "a piece of my mind." Paddy forestalled her, how- ever. "An' shure, mum," he said, bowing low; " ye' 11 stand trate fur me an' the byes; a dollar will be chape. ' ' ' ' No, I will not ! Not one cent more will I give WORDLESS POEMS. 195 you. You've cheated me, you've broken my things, and I have already paid you far more than you deserve. Now go, and never let me see you again ! ' ' Paddy looked astonished at her unexpected energy, but he did not " go " ; instead, he answered in a tone more of sorrow than of anger : "Ye won't stand trate, won't ye, mum? It's the right we allers claims, an' the byes won't bring up the weights fur the big stand- in' -up bed till ye gives us our rights. The saints for- gi'e me if I lets mesel' be imposed on becase I'm a poor man. Good-evenin', mum; a plisint noight to ye. Whin ye foind yersel' ready to gie me the dollar, I'll fitch yer weights; ye' 11 foind me at me sthand." And away went Paddy, and before Mrs. Lightlace recovered from the shock, Nancy rushed in to say that the wagon had gone off with some of the things in it. If Mrs. Lightlace had been wise, she would have sent for Brother James to help her out of her embar- rassment ; but she could not make up her mind to sacri- fice her reputation for independence and strength of character ; she would win the battle herself. It was too late to take any steps that evening, but in the morn- ing she would " have that wretch arrested, as sure as I am born." As nothing had been surer than that fact for more years than Mrs. Lightlace would care to ac- knowledge, we need not be surprised that the morning found her with no diminution of her determination. 196 PANTOMIMES; OR She took a seat at the breakfast table, and ordered Nancy to summon a policeman ; and that official pre- senting himself, she informed him that she wished him to arrest Paddy O'Rourke at once. She was somewhat dismayed by the intelligence that she would have to ob- tain a warrant at the police court before that could be done. But even this news did not alter her determina- tion. At ten o'clock she sallied forth. Mrs. Lightlace, it must be confessed, felt a quicken- ing of her heart- beats as with nagging footsteps she mounted the steps leading into the court of justice. If she had not had a character to sustain she would have turned back then and there; but as that could not be, she confided her trouble to the tall policeman at the door. It was reassuring to mark his indignation at the recital. " The villain ! " he exclaimed; "he will get six months sure. Just you go in, ma'am, and sit down till your time comes; then go up and tell the judge all about it, and he will have it all right in a minute. ' ' While he had been speaking, our heroine had been looking past the speaker into the untried field upon which she was about to enter. It was a strange sight to her inexperienced eyes — the immense hall filled with a motley crowd of black, white, and yellow men, women, and children, culminating in the judge's plat- form at the farther end, where he now sat administer- WORDLESS POEMS. 197 ing justice by the wholesale. About the judge were grouped men who were writing at tables., ' ' Keporters ! ' ' exclaimed Mrs. Lightlace, as a recol- lection darted into her brain of numerous paragraphs in which these gentlemen of the quill had entertained the public with dramatic scenes from the police court. " Only suppose they should make an item of me and Paddy O'Rourke." The policeman assured her that there was no danger, and she at last got up courage enough to follow his in- structions and seek a seat. Tremblingly she advanced down the middle aisle, looking right and left for a vacancy. When near the front she was arrested by the voice of the judge, who exclaimed with startling severity, "But, madam, you are drunk." Her dismay at hearing such an accusation, even when addressed to another, the novelty of her surroundings, the perplexity of her position, bewildered our adven- turer to such an extent that she neglected to take heed to her ways. She did not see that she was on the brink of a step, and the next moment fell forward headlong, prostrate before the assembled court. In her mortifica- tion she would fain have lain there forever ; and it did not console her anguish to hear a voice from the re- porters' tables say : ; ' Another drunk, evidently. Re- spectable, middle-aged woman in widows' weeds. A terrible example of the increase — ' ' 198 PANTOMIMES; OB Just here she felt her arm pulled, and raising her head, found a bloated woman tugging energetically at her arm, as if anticipating some difficulty in getting her upon her feet. The dreadful suspicion conveyed by this intimation, the ' ' hail-fellow-well-met ' ' expression upon the coarse features of her assistant, brought Mrs. Light- lace to her feet in a second. Vainly she tried to shake oif her companion. She held her as in a vise, and whispered, audibly: " Never mind, hinny ; hould on to me ; sich akserdunts will happen. I fell joust here meself six months ago, and got off with ten days. ' ' The judge never interviewed Mrs. Lightlace ; Paddy O'Rourke was never arrested by that lady. The tall officer at the door had a vision of a female flitting past him ; and little Alice, watching, saw her mother rush down the steps as if she had lost her senses. Flying to meet her, she cried : ' ' Mamma, what can have hap- pened ? Oh, what can it be ? " " Don't ask me, my child. Oh, that dreadful place! Your poor mother is disgraced for life. Go at once, Alice — go at once to that wretch, Paddy O'Rourke. Pay him all he asks. What is money to such troubles as these ? ' ' The Herald of the following morning sported an interesting item, which was read by Mrs. Lightlace at breakfast: "A respectable-looking, middle-aged woman WORDLESS POEMS. 199 in widows' weeds fell , in the Jefferson Market Police Court yesterday in a state of beastly intoxication. She was assisted to her feet by another female scarcely better off. The shock seemed to restore her reason ; she rushed from the building before anyone could stop her. We could not learn her name. ' ' e ^fHP r ' e 200 PANTOMIMES; OR KASSEKBANKEK. [The drollery of the following selection depends upon the re- citer putting himself in the place of the child. Do not attempt too much. Let nature have her full sway ; think how you would have felt at seven years old when overcome by an audience. A lisping tongue helps to make your boy young. Make awkward gestures. When a right word is whispered to him, let him speak out loud ; when again overwhelmed, his voice sinks away, his eyes stare into vacancy, he rubs his eyes, puts his fingers in his mouth, looks over his shoulder. But do not exaggerate or pro- long it too much. " Brevity is the soul of wit," and all humor- ous stories are better for being short. I have put a few sugges- tions through the piece. It is extremely effective if well ren- dered.] I HA YE a little friend who rejoices in the name of Mrs. Smith. She is the happy possessor of half a dozen children, and is firmly convinced, mother-like, that no mother ever had such remarkable progeny. Each one, in her opinion, is an extraordinary genius, and she never gets over her astonishment that she, Mrs. John Smith, Mary Jones that was, should have produced such a wonderful variety of talent. One curious point about it is, that she is entirely ignorant of any undue partiality on her part. She thinks herself a stern critic of these same children, unduly severe in her judgment of them. She said to me one day, not long ago : " Now, my dear friend, I have a favor to ask of you, a very great favor. ' ' "Well, dear, it is granted before asked. What is it?" WORDLESS POEMS, 201 ' ' I want you to go with me to the school exhibition to hear my Johnny recite ' Casabianca. ' I know these things are often bores, yet I do think that you will be repaid in this instance ; that child has a most extra- ordinary talent for oratory. Now you have known me too long to think, for an instant, that I say this because he is my child ; that very fact makes me more keenly alive to any failing. Nobody can beat me in finding a defect in my children, but this little fellow (you know he's only seven years old) has, from the time he could speak plain, shown this extraordinary talent for oratory. He knows his piece perfectly, and my only fear for him is an excess of sensibility ; for as he describes the scene of poor young Casabianca' s death, he becomes so wrought up by his emotions that he sometimes breaks down from very anguish. I have talked to him about it and told him how much depends upon exercising control over his emotions, and I think that he feels the necessity fully. I hope that he will not be overcome at the critical moment. That is my only fear for him. ' ' I went with Mrs. Smith to hear Johnny's oratorical effort, and will try to give you some idea of it ; but it is at best a difficult task, unless by some magic I could transform myself into a fat little boy with rosy cheeks and shining black hair and round black eyes, who, at first sight of his audience, loses all his self-possession and never recovers it. 202 PANTOMIMES; OR [Here the imitator of Johnny must come forward a few steps, then draw back with signs of dire confusion, raising his shoul- ders in childish fashion, looking helplessly around for assistance. At last he finds voice and says in lispingly childish tones, but rather loudly, the first effort:] " The burnin' boy stood on the The bo j stood burnin' on the [Some kind friend suggests the proper beginning.] The — boy — stood — on the — burnin' deck, The boy stood on the burnin' deck Whence all had gone but him Whence all had gone but him But he stood beautiful, just as he was born to rule The storm, a creature of blood and form. " He wouldn't go 'thout his father said so, The old man was lain' dead downstairs, and couldn't Say nothin' 't all. He said, ' Father, urns' I go ? ' Old man didn't say nothin' 't all. He said, ' Father mils' I stay ? ' Old man didn't have nothin' to say. ' ' The flames rolled on, rolled on The flames rolled on [dire confusion] I know — they — rolled on [in depressed tones'] They rolled on. There come a buss of thunder sound, WORDLESS POEMS. 203 The bo j, oli, where was he The boy, oh, where was he ? [Here Johnny, completely overcome by confusion and sensi- tiveness combined, digs his fists in his eyes and sobs out :] " He was all blowed to pieces, an' I can't say no more." Mrs. Smith admitted that Johnny was a little con- fused, but said that his sensibility was all there. ^st 204 ' PANTOMIMES; OR ELOPEMENT IS SEVENTY-FIVE. THE STORY HER GREAT-GRANDCHILD TOLD. MORE than a century gone, to-day, Great-grandmamma Baldwin ran away. Great-great-grandfather rose with a frown : Something unpleasant he'd heard in town That day had angered his powdered head. He was a Tory, the neighbor's said — Believed in the right divine of kings, The Stamp Act, and other ridiculous things 'Gainst which the general discontent Which had arisen of late found vent In widespread rumors of imminent war. The old man, scowling, in accents far From mild, said, suddenly : "Margery, hark! I hear Jack Baldwin, the wild young spark Who has dangled of late at your apron-string, Will join these rebels against the King, Who are plotting now, and will soon unfurl Their traitorous banner. Hark ye, girl ! Sooner than see my daughter wed With a rebel, I'd see her lying dead. Whatever has gone, let it be forgot, And pass him as if you saw him not WORDLESS POEMS. 305 When next you meet in the street. ' Od zounds ! On all sides now this sedition sounds ! I'll have no speech with traitors who brave His sacred Majesty's might. God save The King ! The troops down Boston way Will have work for their hands some fine spring day. ' ' Margery's cheek turned white and red, As she courtesied low with a drooping head ; And her heart was thumping in rapid beats, That rustled the closely written sheets Of a letter that nestled within Her snowy 'kerchief of cambric thin. ' l Sweetheart Margery ! " so it began ; Never mind how the rest of it ran ! Plenty of raptures and fulsome praise, Passionate pleading in stilted phrase, As the fashion was — but the vows, you know, Were not for us, so we'll let them go, And come to a sentence or two that were penned, In bold, free characters, close to the end. ct Eleven o'clock, at the garden gate, With Firefly saddled, sweet, I'll wait. Oh! if you love me" — (Here some more Vows and raptures we'll just skip o'er) ww Sixteen miles into Middlebrook town, At Sister Charity's lighting down, We'll find them waiting, however late, 206 PANTOMIMES; OR With the parson ready to join our fate In the bond no father on earth can sever. Love, if you love me, come ! Forever Your own Jack Baldwin." Well, as I said, Margery hung her blushing head At the sound of her father's stern command, And courtesied, though she could hardly stand; Then sad and silent and sick at heart, To her own little chamber stole apart. Forth from its hiding-place she drew The letter, and read it through and through; Then with a colorless, wistful face Sat eagerly gazing away into space Through wondering, frightened eyes. Below, She heard the hurrying footsteps, go ; The noisy closing of shutter and door, The clattering stride o'er the oaken floor. The old stair creaked 'neath the heavy tread, As the latest laggard passed to bed. Then all was silent ; the household slept, And lonely the maiden her vigil kept. Thrilled and tilled with longing and dread, She thought of the day when her mother said (She blushed the while with a conscious pride) : ' 4 No honester youth in the countryside She could find for a girl to wed, than Jack;" WORDLESS POEMS. 207 And minded how, only a few months back, Her father had smiled when her lover came, With his hasty stride and his cheek on flame, Up the garden-walk. Oh, how could she fling Her lover aside ! Yet an awful thing Is a father's curse for a daughter to brave. What if at last she sank to her grave Still unforgiven ? All this and more The damsel pondered o'er and o'er; One minute faint with a wild despair, And ready the next to do and dare All for her love. And so — and so — The end of the struggle, of course, you know ; E'en while she wavered her fingers flew, Nimble and deft, to their office true, Till she stood by the oval mirror, dressed From head to foot in her Sunday best. Stiff white damask with flowers of gold, Falling in many a stately fold, With rich old laces at arm and throat ; Wide open in front o'er a petticoat Of pale blue satin, quilted in fine Crisscrosses, and 'broidered with leaf and vine. Quaint little slippers, with tall, red heels, And burnished buckle, that half conceals The open- worked stocking with scarlet clocks. Perched on the top of her powdered locks, 208 PANTOMIMES; OR Which, piled over lofty cushions, grew Into a structure grand to view, Sat the most coquettish, dangerous cap That e'er caused a lover's heart to rap Against an embroidered waistcoat. Xigh To the pouting red lips — Oh, lie! oh, fie! — Rested the most provoking patch That ever tempted a man to snatch A kiss from a rounded, glowing cheek, Where the roguish dimples play hide-and-seek. Gloves that reached to the elbow quite, Woven of silk, and so line and slight The two might be drawn through a wedding-ring, To the plump arms clung ; and loving to cling To a slender neck, as white as the snow, Was a necklace — only a single row Of bright gold beads, held back and tied With white love-ribbon a half inch wide. Solemn and slow the moments pass, As Margery stares at herself in the glass, Looks and listens. The great hall clock Is striking eleven ! A sudden shock Of terror runs through her quaking heart. Another, too, waiting there apart — Waiting and glancing over the edge Of the garden's thickset, thorny hedge, WORDLESS POEMS. 209 Hearkens the old clock's steady stroke : A stalwart form in a horseman's cloak — Handsome Jack, with his winsome face, White almost as his ruffles of lace, With the struggle sore of hope and despair, That has rent his heart in his vigil there. Hist ! a step on the garden walk ! Is it a vision that comes to mock His whirling senses ? A figure dim, Cloaked and hooded, steals out to him, Trembling. ' ' God be praised ! Margery, darling! — at last! at last! " One forward stride, and he holds her fast, Close to his heart, and the fond lips meet Once more, in a love-kiss long and sweet. Quick to the saddle the gallant springs, Light to the pillion behind he swings The pale-faced maiden ; and then the hush Of the silence gives place to the rapid rush Of beating hoofs ; they are off and away ! Well, of course, on the following day, When the old man Curzon woke at dawn, To find his daughter Margery gone, There was a scene. For a day and a year, They say, the old man never would hear The runaway's name. But at last he, too, 210 PANTOMIMES; OR Behaved as a sensible parent should do — Forgot and forgave. So when the first sound of Concord's gun Told that the battle had truly begun — The long, sore battle for freedom and right — Jack inarched away to the thick of the fight, With Margery's kiss on his lips. And she Through the long, dark days sat patiently — Like many another matron and maid — Waiting at home, and worked and prayed Till Jack came back, and the old " king's arm " Was hung o'er the chimney-shelf, safe from harm And the old regimentals, tattered enough — The worn Continental blue -and- buff — He hung away, with a spasm of pride, With his sword and bayonet close beside ; And donning the suit he had worn before, Went back to his everyday work once more. For the struggle was over, the war was done, And the freedom we hold to-day was won ; And Jack and Margery settled down, The happiest couple in all the town. One lesson learned from them, good to-day: They are not all cowards who run away ; And the one elopement that no one harms, Is that of true love to faithful arms. WORDLESS POEMS 211 THE WOKDEKFUL ECONOMY OF A WIFE. T KETUKKED from the funeral of the lamented Mrs. -1 Peacock in the same carriage with the bereaved widower, who thus lamented his loss : "A-h-h-h-h-h! In some respects that woman that we've just laid out there in that graveyard was the most remarkable woman that ever lived or died. A-h-h-h-h-h! ' ' As a saving and economical wife she never had her equal. Why, I've known her to take an old pair of worn-out pants of mine and make out of them a brand-new suit of clothes for each of the boys, besides a coat for Johnny and a cap for the baby. And then she made pocket-handkerchiefs out of the linings. Why, I believe she could have made a brand-new over- coat out of an old pair of socks. There's a shirt of mine now that's been doing duty around the world for five or six years as pantalets and pillow-cases, and such things. A-h-h-h-h-h ! " It was just a year ago last first day of July when our old gridiron gave out, and it wasn't no time 'fore Mary Jane had it rigged up at the side of the house as fine a lightning-rod as you ever saw, and then she saved enough of what was left to make an ice-pick. Why, I knew her once to make sixteen princely chicken -coops 212 PANTOMIMES; OR out of her old hoop-skirts, and she used to cut all the buttons for the boys' clothes out of the ham bones. A-h-h-h-h-h ! "How well I remember the day our old cat died, for the very next day Mary Jane came out in a beauti- ful set of furs, and — she — never — forgot me ; the same day I found my favorite mince pies on the table. Why, she made a feather bed and a pair of pillows out of the feathers of one small rooster ! She had a way of dress- ing up potato parings so you couldn't tell them from canvas-back ducks, and when we were building the addition to our house, she used to fix up the sawdust so the pigs would eat it, and fatten on it, too. Why, I believe she could have built a house out of a few deal boards, or a steamboat out of a wash boiler. A-h-h-h-h-h ! "Willi ever forget her last words! Just as the breath was going out of her body, in her dear, failing voice, she said : ' Bury me in the garden, where I can keep on doing my duty, a-helping to shove up the cabbages ! ' A-h-h-h-h-h ! I'll never see her like again ! ' ' I don't think he ever will, but I am obliged to record that he tried before six months were over. WORDLESS POEMS. 313 FAIEY HILL. COL. ST. GEORGE TUCKER. [This little metrical drama was written in 1781, by Col. St. George Tucker, afterward Judge Tucker, who fought in the bat- tles of the Revolutionary war. He left a manuscript book of poems, written during those stirring times, from which, I, his great-granddaughter, have ventured to cull one or two. A voice from the past may serve to awaken or at least to keep alive the patriotism which once burned so brightly in the hearts of those who won for us our 'present freedom, and with whose blood were purchased our present prosperity and happiness. Col. Tucker prefaces the poem with this explanation : ' ' I was traveling from Bizarre to Fredericksburg in a single chair. A letter Just received from Mrs. Bland, the wife of my brother-in-law, Col. Bland, then a member of Congress, gave rise to the poem. I quote an extract from it: " 'Yesterday we left the noise and smoke of the city [Phila- delphia] and took possession of this country seat, the seat of the fairies. I shall expect a poem addressed to the Queen of that little race. It is four miles from Philadelphia, on the banks of the Skuylkill. It is delightfully situated amid scenes of every disposition. It is called Fairy Hill. ' A very applicable name ! I shall expect to see fairies dance on the grass by moonlight."— M. T. M.] Dramatis Personm. Oberon, King of the Fairies . 1st Fairy. 2nd Fairy. 3rd Fairy. Puck, otherwise known as Robin Goodfellow, 214 PANTOMIMES; OR Recitative. WHEN winter's storms began to disappear, And spring with blossoms had perfumed the year; When round the verdant mead the woodbine blows, And murmuring Skuylkill on the margin Hows; While Cynthia's silver orb diffused its light And Philomela cheers the silent night ; In troops descending, midnight elves were seen, In various sports upon the enameled green. {Enter Puck.] Puck. From the mountains of the West, Where the sun retires to rest, Beyond the savage Indians' ken, Or rugged Bruin's wintry den; Where Mississippi hides its head, And mortal footsteps never tread, The midnight elves and fairy train Seek again the verdant plain ; Through the darkling, misty air To their wonted haunts repair. [Sings. ] Hither haste, ye banished sprites ! Haste and join the festive throng, Share our midnight sylvan rites, Join our dance and rural song. WORDLESS POEMS. 215 No unhallowed footsteps here Shall profane the sacred green ; ISTo dusky gnome shall taint the air, Here no satyr shall be seen. Truth and beauty, peace and love Are the guardians of the grove. [Enter Fairies dancing and singing.'] 1st Fairy [sings or recites]. When the sultry sun is set, When the grass with dew is wet, When the moon's full orb is seen, And the stars around their Queen Twinkling had a fainter light, When the meteor mocks the signt,— [Fairies in chorus.] Elves and fairies, in a ring, 'Round the maypole dance and sing. 2nd Fairy [sings or recites]. Where the purple violet grows, Where the fragrant woodbine blows, Where the humble hairbell creeps, Where the painted daisy peeps, On the dew besprinkled lawn, E'er the peep of early dawn, — 216 PANTOMIMES; OB [Chorus.] Elves and fairies, in a ring, 'Round the maypole dance and sing. 3rd Fairy [sings or recites]. When the lily scents the morn, When the rose bedecks the thorn, When the honeysuckle blooms, Shedding 'round its rich perfumes, When the bending willows weep On the margin of the deep, — [Chorus] Elves and fairies, in a ring, 'Round the maypole dance and sing. Trio of Fairies. When the midnight bell has tolled, When the wolf besets the. fold, When the fox the henroost gains, When the whippoorwill complains, When the wind thro' forest yells, And when ghosts desert their cells, — [Chorus.] Elves and fairies, in a ring, 'Round Jie maypole dance and sing. Oberon. Ere proud Britannia from the briny wave Her head upraised the nations to enslave, WORDLESS POEMS. 217 Ere fell Ambition had unveiled her face, Or hellish Discord curst the human race, The fairies, prompted by the sylvan scene, Their seat had chosen on this mossy green; Were wont their midnight revels here to pass, In sportive gambols on the silky grass. But when on Skuylkill's banks the battle brayed, The frightened elfins fled the blissful glade ; Amidst the din of war their favorite spot With all their wonted vigils was forgot. [Chorus of Fairies.] Ill fated day ! when Britain's tyrant hand Was raised to spread oppression through the land. When ruin and murder threatened from afar, And desolation marked the rage of war. Then elves and fairies left their chosen seat, And sought in dreary wilds a safe retreat. Oberon. Gallia heard the sounds of war ; From Albion's cliffs the din arose. " Haste! " she cried, "your arms prepare, Haste to meet your ancient foes ! ' ' The tempest passed innoxious by ; Columbia felt its ruthless force. 218 PANTOMIMES; OR Her dauntless sons the storm defy, Her godlike chieftain stopped its course! \Gra/nd, chorus.] Auspicious day ! when Freedom nerved their hands, And sacred Friendship knit the mutual bands, Songs of triumph tilled the air ; Britain listened with despair; Fame proclaimed the cause. Hark ! the sons of Freedom sing, Praises of their patriot king, While Heaven's vast concourse echoed with applause. Puck [sings or recites]. Now the drum is heard no longer, Nor the appalling cannon's roar; Sacred Freedom's arm is stronger, Peace is won from shore to shore. Obeeox. Now the clarion trump of Fame, Joyful tidings doth proclaim. Catch the iiotes which float around, Echo back the joyful sound : ' ' Peace is won from shore to shore ! ' ' [Chorus, in which all Faieies join.] Since Tyranny's banished this happy domain, And war with its terrors has quitted the plain, WORDLESS POEMS. 219 Gentle Peace far and wide shall her banners display, And Liberty heighten the joys of each day. While the trumpet proclaims the glad tidings around, Let the mountains and valleys re-echo the sound, That America's free! Let each heart and each voice In unison shout and in concert rejoice. For virtue revered and for wisdom renowned, May her States still with freedom and glory be crowned. May their union be stronger cemented each year, And dissentio ;s of old ne'er the future impair. Puck. Hark ! the cock salutes the morn. Hark ! the huntsman winds his horn. See ! the lovely moon grows pale, Breath of morning taints the gale. [ Chorus. ] 'Round the maypole, in a ring, Cease we now to dance and sing. [Fairies vanish, dancing and singing.] 220 PANTOMIMES; OR AUNT MEKRANDY. MARY TUCKER MAGILL. [By permission of Bacheller Syndicate.] TO one who remembers the negro of the past in all his inimitable individuality, the negro of the present, with his cultivation and " white-folk" man- ners, is a matter of regret. Not that one would stop the march of progress or have him back again as he was for our amusement. But still fond memory brings him to us as he was, a perfectly unique character and not an imitator of any person or people, and we regret him; we mourn him as Ave do a friend in his grave, even though we feel he is far better off. But while it is still not a very rare occurrence to meet with a good old-time darky in the South, it is hardly to be expected that New York should present to us an old Virginia negro, lingo and all complete, an imaginative, story-telling darky, whose narrations are not limited by possibility and whose confidence in your credulity is boundless. It was my privilege to find one of the rarest specimens of this class in one of the numerous parks with which New York abounds. She was seated on a bench, a little apart from the nonde- script herd of idlers who throng the seats, the most con- WORDLESS POEMS. 221 spicuous object in the place. She might have been any age from 50 to 70, and like many another of her sex, she seemed anxious to recall past charms by especial at- tention to her attire, which in its variety and brilliancy of coloring resembled the plumage of a tropical bird. Let me draw her picture, as she stands unfaded in my mind's eye: Her amply flounced and furbelowed dress of light blue had, perhaps in the past, been the pride of some successful modiste, but the hand of time and the soil of various contacts had marred its comeliness and obscured without obliterating the complexion of its showy white trimming. The upper section of her ample proportions was enveloped in a shawl of as many colors as Joseph's coat; there was a general predomi- nance of orange, however, which made it a very pic- turesque drapery ; a pair of royal purple gloves, some- what the worse for wear, still clung to her hands and served to lend an appropriate hue to the rapidly develop- ing rainbow ; a bonnet which had once been red velvet adorned with black plumes, surmounted the whole. My muse here makes a rapid leap from her head to her feet, which were of ample proportions, with the characteristic " long heel," and were incased in what must have once been fine prunella boots, but a button hook was wanted to bring them into shape. Nay, more, buttons — nay, more, prunella, was scarcer than was at all desirable. These pedal extremities were filling the role of guardi- 222 PANTOMIMES; OR ans over an immense bag or bundle upon which they were planted with an air of defiant protection. This bag, it may be conjectured, contained her surplus ward- robe, and oh ! the revelation of past glories a sight of its contents would have given ! It was this same bag which especially appealed to my sympathies in her be- half. As I approached her I discovered that she was munch- ing contentedly from a loaf of bread, which employ- ment gave her an unembarrassed ' ' at home ' ' air. She nodded familiarly to me when she found that I was steering toward her. I said : "Why are you here ? Have you no home ?" As soon as she could choke down enough of her dry bread to leave a passage for her voice, she answered, with the most unmistakable Virginia accent I ever heard : lfc Ko, mistis, t'ank de Lord, I ain' got no home 'cept right hyar. You see, dey won' take me in de color' d peoples 1 home 'case I'se a f urrener. " 1 c Foreigner ! " I exclaimed. ' c You are from Vir- ginia, are you not ? " " Laws, no, mistis! Wat I doiir fum Furginny ? I'se fum Portoogal, I is, des as sho' as you is born. Wat mek you 'low I'se fum ole Furginny, mistis ? ~No- n-deed, I'se fum Portoogal." "Portugal," I said, thinking she meant some ob- WORDLESS POEMS. 223 scure place in the South not down on the map ; ' i where is Portugal ? ' ' "Law, mistis, ain' you know dat ? 'Pears to me like you white folks wat goes to school all you life orter know wha' Portoogal lay. Portoogal is on de coas' ob de rock ob Giberaltar, mistis. ' ' ' ' Pshaw ! " I exclaimed, ' ' you are not from that Portugal. ' ' "Yes I is, mistis, yes I is; I'se fum Portoogal on de coas' ob de rock ob Giberaltar sho' I'se a f us' -class cook, too, mistis, I is." "You went from this country to Portugal," I said, with a laudable desire to make the edges of this strange statement fit. "No-n-deed, mistis, I was borned dyar; I nebber kum to dis country 'till dis time." " And how did you learn to talk English ? " "Why, mistis, I wus 'bleeged fur to larn it, 'case, bein' a fus' -class cook, I couldn't git no place, d'out I could talk like 'em." ' ' How did you get here ? " I asked, determined to lead her into a trap, if possible. "Why, mistis, ain' you hyar 'bout dat ? 'Pears t'me like eberybody mus' hyar tell 'bout dat. Set down, mistis, en lemme tell you how it all cum to pars : "Well, you see, mistis, I was 'lected schewdes on bode de boat dat wus name de ' Dorfin. ' I wus de cook, 224 PANTOMIMES; OR en de washwoman, en de eberyt'ing else. It warn' no passinger boat, but dey wus as many as 200 sailors on bo'd it, en by de time I had dun all dey cookin' en brushin' en dey washin' en dey cleanin' up en all dat, I wus kep' purty busy, you see ; it wus ' Aunt Merrandy here,' en 'Aunt Merrandy dyar,' from mornin' till night. But I'se rael smart w'eu I gits started, I is ; en so I got 'long purty well, consid'in', tell one day we had a awful shiprack, owin' to a big storm de Lord sent us, w'en de waves fyarly ris up tell dey wus as high as dat Steepler yonder, en w'en dey cum down, dem boys wus wet to dey skins, dey wus ; den nuttin' would do but Aunt Merrandy mus' git 'em dry close. At las' de shiprack cum, en all de 'visions gin out, tell dey had a fambine on bode. We 'sisted fur a few days on a dog en two cats en all de rats dey could ketch, en den mar- ters got wus en wus, tell it cum to pass dat de cap'n he up en say, hit warn' no use fur all dem men to starve to def. Hit dun kum to dat, dat som'body got to be 'voured by de res', en dey wus to drar lots who 't wus gwine to be, den eberybody say, ' dat's so,' en w'en it wus 'cided clat dey wus goin' to drar lots, dey wus a great trimlin' en a-quakin', en Aunt Merrandy trimled en quaked wid de res', but hit warn' no use, dem lots wus to be drared, en dey wus drarecl, en de lot hit des failed on Aunt Merrandy. Yes, mistis, dat's so. De nex' t'ing I knowed hyar wus dem 200 sailors WORDLESS POEMS. 225 cumin' at me wid dey knifes drared as hongry as wolfs. Well, I backs, en I begs, en begs, but 'twarn' no use to was'e bref on beggin', kase dem men wus too hongry to lis'en to no po' old niggar a-pleadin' fur her lif w'en she got good meat on to her bones. I t'inks I wus gone sho', w'en des as I wus a-backin' todes de end ob de boat, de good Marster sont a plank des onder my feet, en w'en my foot knoc' 'gins it, den 'twarn' no time 'fo' Aunt Merrandy had dat timber in her gras' en had lay out fifty ob dem hongry men on dat dec'. You see, mistis, I wus a-fightin' fur my lif, en I fit. Den, bress 3 t o' sole, 'fo' dey could git on to dey feet, Aunt Merrandy had lep' overbode en wus sailin' away on dat bressid bode. Well, I sails along en I sails along, tell pre'erntly I sees de spires ob dis same New York, des whar we is now, en dat's de truf. Well, eberybody took to torkin' 'bout dis here 'venchur, en dey wus inakin' a fuss ober dis chile, en de nex' t'ing a likely young niggar w'at wan' to git sum ob de tork on him 'swaded me to mar-e him. You know, mistis, 'omens is always fools w'en de mens cums 'roun'. En Aunt Merrandy wus des an- odder one, 'case she up en mar-e dat 'ceatful niggar, sho' as you is born, en des as soon as he fin' out dat dey ain' goin' to tork 'bout him, he up en 'sert me fur anodder 'oman, en dem two, dat 'oman en dat man, is 'sum' me all ober dis town to kill me, en do I is a fus'- class cook, I kyan' git no place to cook, 'case dey saturates 226 PANTOMIMES; OR all de places gins me, mistis. I went to no less den fo' hundred en fifty places las' Sat' day, en dey Lad been to 'em all en saturate dem 'gins me, en obco'se dey won't tech me. ' ' " Where did you learn to cook ? " I asked. "Fum my ole mistis in Furginny, mistis." ' ' I thought you were from Portugal, ' ' I exclaimed ; ' ' you told me you were from Portugal. ' ' A look of embarrassment came over her face for an instant, but only for an instant. When she answered, her tone was as assured as ever : " Dat's de truf, mistis, but you see dis wus 'fo' dat. " ' 'Before you were born?" I cried, with the tri- umphant smile of a detective when he scores a success and after many difficulties has bagged his game. "Law, mistis," and Aunt Merrandy's speaking coun- tenance expressed indulgent commiseration for ignorance and stupidity, " ain' you neber hyarn tell ob folks be- in' borned ag'in ? You see, I wus borned ag'in. You see, I fus' see de light in Afercer, my farder wus de king ob Afercer, en dis chile des lay 'roun' in de silks en de satins, en de gol' en de silber. Well, my nus she stole me en sole me to my ole marster, who had dun cum ober dyar to git a fus' -class, likely young niggar to train fur a cook. I hyarn tell dat he pay as much as a milyun ob dollars fur me, en I 'spec' 'tis so, 'cause he sot a power ob store by me. Well, he tuk me home en WORDLESS POEMS. 227 my ole mistis she train me to be a f us' -class cook, hit jes' like I tell you, mistis, you kin 'pen' pun Aunt Mer- randy w'en you wants de fac' ob a t'ing. She nebber tells no story, sho' as you is born." While Aunt Merrandy had been making these most satisfactory explanations, she had risen from her seat, thrown the mysterious bundle over her shoulder, and with these last words commenced what looked like an ignominious flight. She covered her retreat with some grace, however, by a stream of words which she flung back at me as she mingled with the crowds and resisted my earnest efforts to continue the argument : "Dat's a fac', mistis, dat's de hole truf, you kin al- lars 'pen' pun Aunt Merrandy, she nebber tells no story. Sorry I cyan stay no longer dis mornin', but I'se got a degagemun'. Good mornin', mistis, good mornin'." And I saw her no more. NOTE. As music is indispensable for the successful rendering of these pantomimic poems, I have thought it best to publish a suitable arrangement for each. 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IS SEARCHING *- or fac . ts where with to create a vocal and an elocution- . &ry science 5 I S W ATPHlNr. * ne world's literature and the world's specialists, and IJ vw '* ' V ^ 1111 ^ VJ places whatever they have to offer at once before its readers; ISL PUBLISHING tne Delsarte System of Expression ; news ; anecdotes ; ■ vj r ^^^'^ ' MVJ lessons ; hints ; sketches ; portraits ; reports of meet- ings ; analyses of songs ; recitations ; plays ; drills ; monologues; methods of vocal, elocutionary, panto- mimic, dramatic and aesthetic physical training; cures for stuttering, stammering, and other vocal defects; —and— IS rAlMrFRMFH about the hygienic care and artistic culture of the 10 VvVjg^v>i^rM^i^i^ yoice in all of its phages— from infancy to old age ; from the kindergarten to the university; from the first crude attempts at declamation and singing to the heights of pulpit, bar and rostrum oratory and ora- torio and operatic singing. Published monthly at $2.00 a year; single numbers, 25 cents. (Send 10 cents for a back number sample copy.) Make all orders payable and address all communications to Edgar S. Werner, 108 East 16th Street, New York, 4th EDITION, CONTAINING DELSARTE'S OWN WORDS. Delsarte System of Oratory, CONTAINING THE UNABRIDGED WORKS OF M. I'Abbe Delaumosne and Mme. Angelique Arnaud, (PUPILS OF DELSARTE), AND THE LITERARY REMAINS of FRANCOIS DELSARTE, WITH THE FAMOUS " Chart of Angels" and " Chart of Man," Printed in Colors, as Drawn by Delsarte. These writings were purchased of Mme. DELSARTE. with the understanding that they were all the manuscripts left by her illustrious husband. They are Dublishpd in the same condition DELSARTE left them in, thereby affording the best means of becom- ing acquainted with the thoughts and methods of the unparalleled master of the sripnrp and the art of expression. In them is found THE GENUINE DELS \RTE SYSTFM nn mixed with the views and purposes of other persons, but presented just as the master sxpoTincicci re* THIS BOOK CONTAINS ALSO: LECTURE AND LESSONS OF Mme. MARIE GERALDY, during her visit in America. ARTICLE BY F. A. DURIVAGE, the first writer to bring DELSARTE to the notice of the American public. ARTICLE BY ALFRED GIRAUDET, the celebrated French singer who was for years a pupil of DELSARTE. ARTICLE BY HECTOR BERLIOZ, a contemporary of DELSARTE, de- scribing one of DELSARTE'S inventions. MEDALLION PORTRAIT OF DELSARTE. PORTRAIT OF Mme. GERALDY, DELSARTE'S DAUGHTER. A BOOK OF OVER 600 PAGES Of Great Value to all Delsartians, Teachers of Elocution, Public Speakers, Singers, Actors, Sculptors, Painters, Psychologists, Theologians, Scholars in any Department of Science, Art and Thought. Many Charts, Diagrams, Cuts, etc. Teachers 1 price, $2.50 net. NOT FOR SALE AT BOOK-STORES. Send draft on New York, postal order or registered letter direct to the publisher, EDGAR S. WERNER, - 108 East 16th St., New York. Monologues, Plays, Drills, Entertainments. THE VAGABOND PRINCE. By ED. L. McDowell. This love and tragedy mon- ologue for a man is designed as a companion piece to "Zingarella, the Gypsy Flower Girl " (monologue for a woman, 15 cts.). Effective with gypsy costume, and tambourine. Price, 20 cts. THE DEATH DREAM. By LIVINGSTON Russell. Intensely dramatic monologue for a man, from the play of " The Bells,' 1 played by Henry Irving. Five full-page illustrations. Full business. Price, 25 cts. WHERE THE LILIES BLOOM. By H. L. Piner. Pathetic temperance monologue for a man, who is restored to wife by a song. Opportunity to*sing,with gliitar ac- companiment. Music given. Price. 15 cts. CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. Recited by Salvini. Monologue for a man. Colum- bus reviews his wonderful career, begin- ning, "Forlorn, alone and old— I die," and ending, "I die content. Columbus will be known in every clime." Very effective, especially if recited in costume. With this come 15 other pieces. Price, 25 cts. ENGAGED. By Livingston Russell. Ro- mantic, humorous monologue for a woman. Companion piece to "Cupid's Victim" (monologue for a man, 20 cents). A young woman who has just become engaged calls her departing lover back several times, and then falls into a gush- ing and hysterical reverie. She sorts over her love letters, plans how their room will be arranged, and runs off stage singing the Lohengrin Wedding March. Full business given. Price, 20 cts. PLAYING THE SOCIETY BELLE. By Bertha M. Wilson. Comedy monologue for a woman. Much of the fun arises from a dog running off with her slipper that she takes off at a ball to rest her foot. One of the characters assumed is that of a "wild, woolly Western girl." Full directions. Price, 15 cents. THE DOOR IS LOCKED. Trans, and Arr. by Ada Webster Ward. Comedy mono- logue for a woman. A wife, working herself into a fit of jealousy over the absence of her husband, locks the door and throws away the key. She keeps him standing outside, scolding him, until she learns that he has been fighting a duel for her sake. Then she eagerly hunts for the key. Full business. Price, 15 cts. THE SILVER DOLLAR. By Charles Barnard. A romantic, temperance mon- ologue for a woman, bringing in five characters. Mr. Barnard, the success- ful dramatist, has originated a new monologue, this being his latest. Suited to temperance, religious and other occa- sions. Full business. Price, 25 cents. WHEN JACK COMES LATE. By Helen C. Bergen. A comedy monologue for a woman. A young lady indulges in vari- ous kinds of emotions while impatiently awaiting the coming of her lover. Op- portunity for banjo work. Price, 15 cts. MAYPOLE EXERCISES. By A. Alex- ander. For outdoor and indoor use, with musical accompaniment and illus- trations. Price, 25 cents. GUN DRILL. By A. ALEXANDER With musical accompaniment and illustra- tions. Price, 20 cents. COLUMBIA'S FLORAL EMBLEM. By Ella Sterling Cummins. A play for floral festivals and public school enter- tainments for the purpose of awakening an interest in choosing a national floral emblem for this country. Price, 25 cts. AND ALL ABOUT NOTHING. By Gar- rett W. Owens. A comedy drama in one act for three men and four women. Costume and scenery described and full business given. Price, 25 cents. MAYANNI. By Anne Henley. A fairy play for children, either indoor or out- door; ten characters for boys and girls, or for girls only. Price, 15 cents. CHRISTMAS BELL DRILL. By Lily Hoffner Wood. Suitable for Christmas time and other occasions. For 12 girls. Fully described; illustrated. Price,15cts. SCARF DRILL. By A. ALEXANDER. Mu- sical accompaniment and 30 illustra- tions. A unique and easily produced entertainment. Price, 25 cents. THE SHADES OF SHAKESPEARE'S WOMEN. By A. Laurie West. Brings in Ariel, Portia, Juliet, Katharine (the Shrew), Lady Macbeth, Miranda, Desde- mona, Cornelia, Ophelia, Witches. Cos- tumes described and business given. Price, 25 cents. THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLF. . Poem by Longfellow. Illustrated tab- leaux, with musical accompaniment, by Marguerite W. Morton. A most charm- ing romantic, pathetic entertainment. Tableaux minutely described and all the music given. Price, 25 cents. COLUMBIA. By Mrs. Belle T. Speed. A drama bringing in a queen, 16 girls rep- resenting principles of the Republic, 6 girls the navy, and six girls the army . Patriotic and poetic dialogue, and a concerted piece. Directions for cos- tumes and evolutions. Price, 25 cents. COMEDY OF THE QUEENS. By Jennie P. Buford. A one-act play for school commencements, church entertain- ments. Characters: Titania, Eve, Isa- bella of Castile, Pocahontas, Queen Eliz- abeth, Mary, Queen of Scots, Christine . of Sweden, Bathsh^ba, Empress Joseph- ine, Cleopatra, Queen of Sheba, and Queen Victoria. Price, 25 cents. Edgar S. Werner, Publisher, 108 East 16th Street, New York. REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION JUST ISSUED. Frimer of Elocution and fiction. By F. TOWNSEND SOUTHWICK. Arc you dissatisfied with the Of course you are. Then throw stilted and mechanical old meth- them aside, and jjet the newest ods and the cumbersome old and best manual of elocutionary books? ( and dramatic technique,— Tie Only "New Elocution" Text-Book. Based on Common-Sense and Thoroughly in Accord with Modern Ideas. Plain, Concise and Comprehensive Lessons Arranged for Progressive Study, Showing not only what to do, but also how to do it. The "Selections for Practice" — chosen from Standard Literature — are for the Elocutionary and Dramatic Student what Etudes and. Vocalises are for the Music Student. Specially Suited for Schools of all Grades. The Book is Endorsed by Educational Journals and Eminent Teachers, and is now in use in the most Progressive Schools of the United States and of Canada. Original illustrations. The cheapest (250 pages) Elocutionary Text- book published. Teachers' net price, 75 cents; 60 cents for class use, postpaid. Extremely liberal exchange price will be made for the books you are now using. Edgar S. Werner, Publisher, 108 E. 16th St., New York. Musically Accompanied Re citations ! The Reader does not Sing but recites the Piece in the Usual Way, while another Person Plays the Accompaniment on Piano or Organ, thus Lending the Power of Music to the Reader's Voice in Bringing Out the Effects of the Recitation. & & MAILING PRICE. AUX ITALIEN8. Poem by Owen Meredith. Music by G. Verdi. As arranged and recited by Mr. Charles Roberts, Jr. This poem is too well known to need descrip- tion. With this musical accompanim ent it is doubly effective $0 . 60 THE LAST HYMN. Poem by Marianne Farningham. Music by P. Giorza. Story of a shipwreck near the shore. A man is seen clinging on a spar, without hope of rescue. The people hear him sing " Jesus, lover of my soul. " The reader that can sing this simple, familiar hymn will have a most powerful and pathetic piece 50 THE SHADOW OF A SONG. Poem by Campbell Rae-Brown. Music by Edgar S. Place. Story oZ a girl>ho sings to her dead, blind, twin brother whom she had tended with marvelous affection. Her lover overhearing her sing, suspects her of communing with a dead love and accuses her. She is so wounded by his suspicion that she leaves him forever, saying as she goes, that she will sing the song again iust before she dies. A year afterward, the lover, who is alone and disconsolate,, hears the song, and realizes that she (who is unseen) is dying. Introduces a song. Poth the singer and the piano are invisible. This is the greatest reading of the year, and, with proper rendering, produces wonderful effect upon an audience 50 PERT DARK. Music by G. M. Rosenberg. The pathetic death of a soldier whose last words are " It is growing very dark, mother. '' 50 THE BENEDICTION. Poem by Francois Coppee. Music by Edgar S. Place. This, as is well known, is a story of the siege of Saragossa, where the troops shot flown a lot of monks, finally shooting an old priest at the altar who was in the act ©f giving the benediction. Very dramatic, and one of the chief pieces in the repertoire of Prof. J. W. Churchill and Mr. Charles Roberts, Jr 70 THE RED FAN. Words by Grace Ada Brown; music by Nettie Arthur Brown. Humorous account of how a lady, by fanning his cigar smoke back into his face, squelched a pompous man 60 THE UNCLE, as recited by Henry Irving. Poem by H. G. Bell. Music composed by Sir Julius Benedict, expressly for Mr. Irving. Very dramatic story of two brothers who loved the same woman. The unsuccessful suitor m urders his brother by locking him in a chest. Years afterward the murderer, in a lit of remorse, tells the story to his nephew, and dies , 60 THE STORY OF SOME BEIXS. Music by Edgar S. Place. Story of an artisan who, having cast a tuneful chime that was carried off in war, became disconsolate and wandered for years through foreign lands in search of his bells. At last he finds them, and as they play " Home, Sweet Home," he dies. Very appropriate for young ladies 50 THE STATUE SCENE FROM SHAKESPEARE'S " WINTER'S TAIiE." Music arranged from Beethoven, by Edgar S. Kelley. A very fine recitation 50 COUNTRY SUEIGHING. Poem by E. C. Stedman. Charming, semi-humorous description of an old-fashioned country sleigh-ride. Light and frolicsome, with splendid opportunity for by-play 50 BIUSIC ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK. Poem by C. C. Somerville. Story of Northern and Southern armies encamped on the banks of the river, so near that each can hear the other's band. When one army plays a war-tune, the ether army responds with its war-tune, until, finally, one side plays "Home, Sweet Home," which so touches the other side that it joins in, and for the time being the North and the South are one. Appropriate for G. A. R. meetings, etc 50 I ©REAM. Poem by Rev. D wight Williams. The happiness and beauty of the here after as foreshadowed in a dream. Suitable for Sunday-school and church enter- tainments, as well as for other occasions 50 SJHE FUGITIVES. Poem by Shelley. Music by Robert Schumann. Story of runaway lovers, who are cursed by her father, and who are exposed to a storm .40 (Sent on receipt Of price. Address the publisher, EDGAR S. WERNER, 108 East 16th Street, New York. WERNER'S READINGS AND RECITATIONS, This series furnishes material for all styles of readers and reciters, and for all occasions. Nothing is repeated, and every piece is good — No padding ! All the pieces either are original, or have been specially arranged for these books, which contain THE BEST RECITATIONAL LITERATURE. No. 1 .—Compiled by Sara Sigourney Rice. "English Classics." Specially suit- able for schools, as it contains masterpieces of English literature. No. a.— Compiled by Elsie M. Wilbor. w All-Round Recitations." No. 3.— "Original Character Sketches," by George Kyle and Mary Kyle Dal- las, with pieces by other authors. No. 4.— Compiled by Elsie M. Wilbor. " All-Round Recitations." No. 5.— Compiled by Sara Sigourney Rice. "American Classics." Specially suit- able for schools, as it contains masterpieces of American literature. No. 6.— Compiled by Elsie M. Wilbor. Specially suitable for Religious Occasions. Catholics will find nothing objectionable in it. No. 7.— Compiled by Elsie M. Wilbor. " All-Round Recitations." No. 8.— Compiled by Jean Carruthers. Part I. of " First Prize Recitation Book." No. 9.— Compiled by Jean Carruthers. Part II. of " First Prize Recitation Rook." No. 10.— Compiled by Caroline B. Le Row. " America's Patriotic Recitation Rook." This book supplies material for the celebration of all the national holi- days, and has many declamations. No. 11.— Compiled by Sara Sigourney Rice. " World Classics." Specially suit- able for schools, as it contains masterpieces of the world's literature. No. 12.— Compiled by Elsie M. Wilbor. " All-Round Recitations." Any number in paper binding sent postpaid for 35 cents; in cloth binding, 60 cents; $3.00 per dozen in paper; $6.00 per dozen in cloth. Udnss the Publisher, EDGAR S. WERNER, 108 East 16th St., Rew York. ^v ^ \0o > oo x ./: \V v V / ^ ^ ^ ~°> ^ * V 'c^ ,0 o \> v« . ^ *£ 1 -*p : v vV r -> ,0o A C .,v .s. r^ <$» % NT u v^ %.$ ^ .#' %. ,0 O ,> • ^ x 0o o -