Book U4^ZS^_ 
 
 CopyriglitN^.: :_ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
JAMES A. WATKINS 
 
GEORGE K. WATKINS 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 REPERTOIRE. 
 
 THE POWER OF EXPRESSION, 
 
 OR 
 
 LIFE IN ACTION. 
 
 CONTAINING INSTRUCTIONS AND SUGGESTIONS FOR THE 
 
 SUCCESSFUL DELIVERY OF BOTH SELECTED 
 
 AND ORIGINAL RECITATIONS. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 WATKINS BROTHERS, WARREN, ARK. 
 1903. 
 
THe LIBRARY OF 
 CONGRESS, 
 
 [T'VBU CuPlB* RtCEIVEB 
 
 I nm 23 tmB 
 
 BLAss a. yxft T3a, 
 
 COPY B, 
 
 Copyrighted 1902 by ^.Vatkins Brothers. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In publisMng the "Watkins Brothers' Repertoire," we are 
 giving the student, and the amateur and professional enter- 
 tainer, a collection of declamations, orations and recitations 
 far superior to any other collection now in print. This col- 
 lection is the result of seven years' study, teaching, and enter- 
 taining. During this time, over a hundred and fifty volumes 
 have been diligently searched, and all herein have proved to 
 be worthy a place in our Repertoire. 
 
 Successful entertainers have refrained from publishing a 
 successful repertoire, believing that it would handicap them 
 in their professional work. We do not think so. Even if it 
 does, we have a very vivid recollection of the time, worry, 
 search and expense incurred when taking up the study of ex- 
 pression, and we are willing to make the sacrifice in order to 
 help those who are striving to succeed in the great art of en- 
 tertaining. 
 
 A good recitation lives in the minds of an audience after 
 they have heard it well given. This has been our guide in 
 collecting the recitations for our Repertoire. Take for ex- 
 amples : ""Ben Deene," "Hard Old Brick," "The Facial Fam- 
 ily," "Uncle Pete and the Trolly Car," or any other selec- 
 tion in our Repertoire, and if it be well rendered, an audience 
 will always remember the reciter for having heard him deliver 
 such and such selections. Only those selections whose spirit 
 lives in the minds of an audience are permitted in this vol- 
 ume; and such selections given with any degree of ability at 
 all mvist necessarily win success before the public. 
 
 We take this opportunity of thanking the authors and pub- 
 lishers of selections protected by copyright, for permission to 
 use them in this form. 
 
 WATKINS BROTHERS. 
 
THE SAMUEL JONES PRINTING CO. 
 DALLAS, TEXAS 
 
mTEODUCTIO]\^ 
 
 In our teaching we have found that all students and be- 
 ginners fail to get the correct accents and emphasis in poeti- 
 cal composition. They always develop a sing-song reading, 
 and utterly fail to get the true meaning in the lines; there- 
 fore, we have had the poems set as prose matter. This gives 
 an opportunity to get at the meaning; and we believe this 
 arrangement will prove beneficial to every student of this 
 book. 
 
 The "suggestions" accompanying each selection, it must 
 be understood^ are very brief, and it is not to indicate that 
 only one interpretation can be given the recitation; but the 
 interpretation we suggest is only one of a dozen or more that 
 may be given each selection. The genius in the great art of 
 Expression will put his own interpretation into any selec- 
 tion he delivers, and stamp it with his own individuality. Oth- 
 ers imitate and fail. The personality of people is varied, and 
 that which might be a natural delivery for one person would 
 be a very unnatural delivery for another. The successful ar- 
 tist in this study will take the superior and climacterical parts 
 of a selection and spend most of the practice on them. 
 
 "Intelligent practice," is that kind of practice Avhere the 
 mind is firmly held on the details. In practicing a recitation 
 the mind should be held firmly on the thoughts being uttered, 
 seeking to originate, develop, and express more and more the 
 details in voice and action. It is the artistic execution of 
 the small, and seemingly insignificant, details that marks the 
 difference between the amateur and the artist in Expression. 
 It is impossible to do intelligent practice where the student 
 is conscious of being heard by other persons. It must be 
 done in private. 
 
 It has been the custom of all great orators and actors to 
 seek solitude for practice. Webster would go off to the marsh- 
 es near Marshfield, Mass., and practice for hours where no 
 one could hear him ; and there developed the greatest oratori- 
 cal powers that have appeared on the American continent. 
 Henry Clay did his practice on his father's truck farm, talk- 
 ing to cabbage heads. Demosthenes developed his great ora- 
 torical powers by practicing in a cave on the sea-shore. Henry 
 
6 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 Ward Beecher spent thirty years in developing his marvelous 
 powers of expression. The student who is not willing to make 
 the study of Expression a life-time's practice had as well not 
 begin the work, for there never has been a great orator, actor, 
 preacher or entertainer who did not develop their powers 
 through private practice. Since it is almost impossible for 
 most people to find a suitable place for practice, conveniently 
 located, we recommend the construction of a sound proof 
 practice room. It must be so constructed that a person on the 
 outside cannot hear the loudest shouts made on the inside. It 
 is very easily made; and one should be at the disposal of every 
 student of Expression. The walls should not be less than ten 
 feet high, and not less than eight feet square. The walls, both 
 inside and out, must be air tight; allowing no material con- 
 nection between the two. This can be done by having a sep- 
 arate set of studing for all the walls. Take for example, a 
 straight wall: There must be two rows of studing; one for 
 the outer wall, and one for the inner; the inner studing be- 
 ing set in so that the inner ceiling will be at least one inch 
 from the studs that support the outer wall; and if both rows 
 of studs be of the same size, of course the outer wall will be 
 clear of the studing that support the inner wall the same dis- 
 tance. The same principle applies to the floor, and the ceiling 
 overhead. The air between the^ walls acts as a cushion, and 
 when the walls are air tight and no material connection, the 
 sound made on the inside cannot penetrate the outer walls. 
 There must be two door shutters; one attached to each of the 
 walls, fitting very tightly. The room may be ventilated by 
 having two window shutters overhead ; one to drop downward, 
 the other to be drawn up. A room so constructed, and the 
 student is ready for intelligent practice. The amount of time 
 to be spent in practice in this room should not be less than 
 two hours a day, having two practice periods of one hour each. 
 The only caution necessary is to avoid straining the voice be- 
 fore it has become used to the extra tax placed upon it. 
 
 We have inserted on the opposite page our chart for grad- 
 ing, examination and contests. This chart will enable the 
 student to find out where his faults and defects are, which will 
 be of untold value to him. We recommend that each one of 
 these points be committed to memory, and that the student 
 thoroughly understands the requirements of them all; and 
 strive for a rating of one hundred per cent under each point. 
 
REPERTOIRE, 
 
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8 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 STAGE PEESENCE. 
 
 The ability to appear at ease on the stage or rostrum is the 
 result of careful preparation. The speaker who is at perfect 
 ease before an audience is one who knows exactly what he is 
 going to say and do, and how he is going to say and do it. A 
 lack of these essentials causes emlbarrassnient and often "stage 
 fright." Perfect mastery of the su_bject at hand is necessary 
 to give the confidence that leads to success. 
 
 Aside from the embarrased condition, there is another 
 which relates to the body as a physical thing : That is, appear- 
 ance. One whose body is stiff, awkward and ungainly in its 
 attitudes and actions is greatly handicapped. A thorough 
 training in a well-balanced system of physical culture will 
 eradicate these defects, and such a system practiced daily is 
 necessary to keep the body in its best condition. 
 
 The attitudes of the body can be perfected by observing the 
 following rules: The weight sustained chiefly on the ball of 
 one foot; the knees straight; chest well-raised; shoulders down, 
 but not thrown back; head back and well poised over the 
 shoulders, with chin drawn backward and downward; and a 
 steady gaze of the eye. (A great fault of many people who ap- 
 pear before the public is a winking and blinking of the eye.) 
 The condition of the body should be relaxed without laziness; 
 comspact without stiffness; erect without straightness. 
 
 A person meeting all these requirements would be marked 
 100 under "stage presence" in our chart. 
 
 PRONUNCIATION. 
 
 The speaker before an audience, whether on the platform, 
 rostrum, stage or pulpit, who mis-pronounces a half dozen 
 words in common use within an hour's time, had as well 
 never appear before that audience again. Be his or her 
 ability ever so great in other respects, there is no chance for 
 great success until this fault is overcome. An audience will 
 lose respect for any speaker who mis-pronounces words in 
 common use. Therefore, have a reliable authority (Webster's 
 international dictionary is the best) at your command when 
 committing the lines to memory; and before beginning to 
 commit, go through the entire selection and get the correct 
 
REPERTOIRE 
 
 pronunciation of every -word in it. The mis-pronunciation of 
 one word would take off ten points under our chart; and a 
 failure in ten words in one program would destroy the rating 
 altogether in this point of Expression. 
 
 AETICULATION. 
 
 Articulative speech is the chief means of distinguishing 
 humanity from the lower orders of creation. It is the fire 
 of all speech; why not develop it to the highest degree? We 
 believe it absolutely impossible for any person to win success 
 hefore the public who runs the words into a jumble as is too 
 commonly done by those who appear before the public. All 
 the great orators, actors, preachers, readers and singers have 
 been ahle to make every person in their audiences hear every 
 word distinctly. Unless the student is willing to undergo the 
 long and tedious training necessary to make a marking of at 
 least ninety per cent under this heading, he had as well hunt 
 in other fields for success. Articulation requires that each 
 syllable should be perfectly coined, as well as the words be 
 heard and understood. 
 
 For practice in this we give (to our students) many words 
 and sentences containing difficult consonant combinations; 
 and require them to spend hours and hours practicing what 
 we call, for lack of a better term, '^'consonant hammering." It 
 would be departing from our plan for this book to lay out a 
 course of training here; and then it would do but little good if 
 we were to give it, for there' are but few students who will 
 accomplish much without an instructor. In practicing, use 
 force in the voice, and great strength in the muscles that are 
 used in uttering each syllable. The muscles used in articula- 
 tive speech can be made strong and vigorous so that every 
 syllable and word will be perfectly coined. 
 
 What we call a "firm-lip position" will, if acquired, aid 
 greatly in articulation. The lips should be held in a firm, 
 solid condition, with the red parts drawn in until the red is 
 quite hid from view. It is best to carry the lips in this posi- 
 tion all the time, but all. "consonant hammering," practice 
 and execution must be done with the firm-lip position. 
 
10 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 MODULATION 
 
 Modulation is that use of tlie voice which, brings out the 
 correct meaning in the words uttered. It not only requires 
 emphasis on the thought- words, but there must be an easy 
 flow of voice from the lowest tones to the highest, varying 
 as the thought varies. By modulation the reciter can delight 
 and hold the attention of his audience; but without a rating 
 of at least ninety per cent under this heading, the mind of 
 the audience will wander and become listless as to what is 
 being said. This point marks the distinction between an 
 amateur and the artist. Many otherwise excellent efforts have 
 been complete failures because of a monotonous delivery. The 
 only natural modulation is that used in conversation; the 
 difference being tliat it is enlarged to suit the size of the 
 audience. It certainly requires great ability to bring out the 
 full meaning in a sentence, for it is a fact that words can be 
 so modulated that one hearing them uttered will get a meaning 
 opposite to that intended. It is not possible to reach a mark- 
 ing of ninety per cent under this heading unless the voice has 
 a range of at least eight notes in the musical scale. The range 
 of the voice can be rapidly increased by intelligent practice 
 in a sound proof practice room. 
 
 THE VOICE. 
 
 The human voice is the greatest musical instrument in 
 the world; and there is not a sound in animate or inanimate 
 nature the human voice cannot be trained to imitate. The 
 cramped environments of our civilization produce voices that 
 are full of defects. Eew indeed there are who have the free- 
 dom to let the voice out in a free and natural manner. The 
 nearest voice we find to a natural voice, though crude and im- 
 cultured as it is, is the voice of the negro on the Southern 
 plantations where they sing and hollow, and laugh the whole 
 day long, where his voice goes free with his feelings: and 
 though without any training, the richest and most melodious 
 songs of our day come from the throats of the negro. 
 
 We believe so thoroughly in the value of a sound proof prac- 
 tice room that we devote some space, elsewhere, to a discussion 
 of its construction. Aside from the one hundred tone 
 
REPERTOIRE 11 
 
 colors mentioned under another heading, there are nine 
 pitches, seven degrees of force, eight timbres, six elements, 
 forty-two qualities, and eight stresses, ten glides; and all of 
 them have their uses and meanings in the great art of Ex- 
 pression. And before the student can expect the full measure 
 of success all of them must be developed to their full strength. 
 Intelligent practice, however, produces marvellous results 
 in a few months time; and though it may seem a large un- 
 dertaking to master the details of voice-building, yet natural 
 principles applied in a sound proof room soon give the desired 
 results. If your ambition in life is fame before the public, let 
 your goal be a marking of 100 per cent on this point under our 
 chart. 
 
 ACTION. 
 
 The term "action" used in Expression is a movement of 
 the head, eye, face, hand, foot, or any part of the body that 
 expresses an idea. There is scarcely a selection^requiring 
 three minutes' time in delivery, but what there is an oppor- 
 tunity to express more with action than can be expressed in 
 words, it matters not how well they may be uttered. 
 
 The best practice for developing the art of acting is to 
 practice pantomiming. Endeavor to express ideas without 
 the use of the voice, and you will be surprised at the progress 
 made under this point of expression. And you must not ex- 
 pect the highest degree of success until you have attained 
 the ability of expressing thoughts in this manner; and then 
 suit the action to the words and success is yours. It will re- 
 quire much time and intelligent practice to reach a marking 
 of even ninety per cent in our chart under this heading; and 
 a rating of 100 per cent would soon place one among those 
 with national reputations. It is useless to say this ability 
 cannot be attained, for all art is acquired by intelligent prac- 
 tice, and the art of acting is no exception. 
 
 We are aware of the fact that the study of gesturing is held 
 by some to be of little value, if not worthless, but that idea 
 lias gained prevelance from the fact that there are certain 
 systems of elocutionary training that produce affectation, 
 "which, to an audience, looks ludicrous, and even bordering 
 ■on the ridiculous. Acting, to be effective, must have life in 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 it; be executed in a natural manner, and suited to the thought 
 and character you are portraying. 
 
 TOKE COLOE. 
 
 Every passion and emotion which the human mind is 
 capable of experiencing stamps itself on the voice. There are 
 one hundred fixed colors with all their combinations and vari- 
 ations, which the human voice is capable of expressing if prop- 
 erly trained. The ability to carry an audience from one ex- 
 treme to another, from pride to shame ; from love to hate; from 
 tears to laughter, insures success to the actor, orator, preacher, 
 singer, or entertainer. When the voice has been developed in 
 all its divisions, it naturally expresses the emotions the speak- 
 er feels. Tone color and feeling should be practiced together. 
 
 INTERPEETATIOF. 
 
 The<s."suggestions" given with the selections in this book 
 are not intended as the ouly successful interpretation, for each 
 selection may be successfully interpreted in many different 
 ways. A successful interpretation is a clear understanding of 
 what the author had in mind when he wrote or uttered the 
 words. The suggestions are intended merely as an aid to 
 understanding the meaning in the lines, and one way of de- 
 livering themi. The "coaching method;" that method that 
 makes so many imitators, has some value, in that it helps the 
 student to understand more fully the ideas the author had. 
 The larger the knowledge of literature in general, the better 
 the student is qualified for interpreting the thoughts of others. 
 
 FEELING. 
 
 The feeling of the speaker determines the feeling of the 
 audience. If the speaker feels nervous, the audience takes on 
 the same feeling. If the reciter feels the emotions in a reci- 
 tation, the audience feels exactly what the reciter feels. In 
 
REPERTOIRE 13 
 
 giving any selection, the reader must feel and live the thoughts 
 he is uttering; and unless this is done, the effort will always 
 be a failure. Affecting to feel the emotion creates disgust in 
 an audience; it must be real. The ability to throw feeling 
 into uttered words is developed b}^ long and continued prac- 
 tice. Without the inclination, yes the love, of hard tedious prac- 
 tice, it is not worth while to undertake the study of the great 
 art of Expression. When an entertainer has practiced a se- 
 lection until the thought and feeling has become thoroughly 
 disgusting to him, then, and not till then, is he ready to go 
 before an audience with it. In private practice is where 
 talent and genius are developed; they are never developed 
 in contact with the world. Do not go before an audience with 
 a selection until you have reached a marking of ninety per 
 cent under "feeling.'^ 
 
 MAGNETISM. 
 
 Personal magnetism are those charms of presence which 
 attract, such as a beautiful face, a beautiful eye, a well-formed 
 body, a graceful carriage, a rich melodious voice, etc., but 
 there is a force not seen or heard, but is felt, and that power 
 is known as magnetism. It was said of Henry W. G-rady that the 
 moment he entered a hall every person there felt his presence. 
 Personal magnetism without the magnetic life as a basis, 
 counts for but little; because the senses soon detect what it 
 is that attracts, and the power is gone. The power that wins 
 is always a hidden force. A person may be void of all the per- 
 sonal charms that attract, and yet possess a superabundance 
 of magnetism that will enable him to sway and control an 
 audience and carry it at will through all the varying passions 
 and emotions. 
 
 Until within the last few years it was thought this power 
 was bestowed by nature upon individuals who possessed it; 
 but investigation proved that all who have that power ac- 
 quired it throu-gh some course of training or conduct. It is 
 ethereal and electrical in its nature, and has its base in the 
 nerve cells of the body, and exists there as a living vital force. 
 As the vitality of the body can be increased by certain habits 
 and training, so this, the greatest personal power given to 
 
14 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 man, can be increased or diminished by certain habits and 
 training. 
 
 It will be necessary for the ambitious entertainer to have 
 in his repertoire a great variety of selections, for the occas- 
 ions at which he will have to appear are so varied that he 
 must be prepared for any and all kinds of audiences. The 
 speaker must study his audience, and make his selections 
 accordingly. In arranging a program there should be two 
 parts in practically the same order, which should be as fol- 
 lows : Part one, first a beautiful selection; number two, a 
 character selection; number three, a pathetic selection; num- 
 ber four, a tragic selection; number five, a comic selection; 
 number six, a series of anecdotes; number seven, several com- 
 edies. Part two should be about the same arrangemnt. The 
 program should not be over one hour and forty-five minutes, 
 with an intermission of several minutes at the end of part one. 
 
THE STAR SPANGLED BANISTEE. 
 Francis Scott Key. 
 
 Sug-gestions— This beautiful and oratorical selection is capable of 
 thrilling any American audience. It requires a large movement of the 
 glides, full orotund voice, a feeling of patriotic pride and a tensei 
 magnetism. 
 
 Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, what so 
 proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? ^Vhose 
 broad stripes and bright stars through the perillous fight, 
 o'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming; and 
 the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof 
 through the night that our flag was still there; oh ! say, does 
 that star-spangled banner yet wave o'er the land of the free 
 and the home of the brave ? 
 
 On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, 
 where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, what 
 is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, as it fitfully 
 blows, now conceals, now discloses ! ISTow it catches the gleam 
 of the morning's first beam, in full glory reflected, now shines 
 on the stream ; 'tis the star-spangled banner ! Oh, long may 
 it wave o'er ^the land of the free and the home of the brave ! 
 
 And where are the foes who so vauntingly swore that the 
 havoc of war and the battle's confusion, a home and a country 
 should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their 
 foul footstep's pollution. ISTo refuge could save the hireling 
 and slave from the terror of death and the gloom of the grave ; 
 and the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave o'er the 
 land of the free and the home of the brave ! 
 
 Oh ! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand between 
 their loved homes and the war's desolation; blest with victory 
 and peace, may the heaven-rescued land praise the power that 
 hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, 
 when our cause it is just, and this be our motto, "In God is 
 our trust." And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall 
 wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 
 
16 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 SOUTHERN HEEOES. 
 As arranged and adapted by G. K, Watkins. 
 
 Sugg-estions— This oratorical selection requires the orotund voice, 
 dark in form. A fine selection for arousing patriotic emotion. Fine for 
 Southern audietices, and for those who hold "The Lost Cause" dear. 
 
 The graves where the glorious heroes of the lost cause are 
 sleeping are very humble; no Grovernment pours out its wealth 
 to gather their dust into magnificent cemeteries, adorned with 
 all the taste that art can contribute to beautify those cities of 
 the dead. 
 
 In the deep bosom of the wild woods where human foot- 
 steps have rarely trod, many of them sleep the last sleep with 
 only nature and solitude as companions of their dreamless 
 rest. The birds of the forest sing their morning and evening 
 hymns above their unrecorded graves. No ancestral oak shall 
 ever cast its welcome shadow over their heroic dust and no 
 monumental marble sentinel the undiscovered spot where 
 their ashes repose, but they have monuments in hearts that 
 are warmer than marble and homes in memories that will 
 never cast them out. Dearer to me is their hallowed dust 
 than the golden sands of all California. No amount of de- 
 traction can shake my faith in their integrity, and no tempta- 
 tion of power ever malvc me false to the traditions of their 
 history. When the meed of victory is granted to the conqueror 
 who, by superior numbers, greater resources, the intervention 
 of foreign courage and the black cohorts of the line have over- 
 come the weaker in the contest, does that settle the question 
 of right and wrong? After a deadly conflict extending 
 through four long years,' when soldiers stood eye to eye and 
 hilt to hilt — a conflict in which every step was a battle field 
 and every battle field a grave yard — where on one point the 
 stars and stripes waved m triumph; at another where the stars 
 and bars with the cross of St. Andrew answered the shouts of 
 victory. When the battle axe of the crusader was met by the 
 magic blade of the Saracen and when the feebler party, worn 
 and weary, stood in the dark shadow of his native hills by 
 the tide that ran blushing with the best blood of the ill- 
 starred South, what must be our admiration for the gallant 
 Confederate hero ? When the last arrow from' his quiver was 
 spent, the last shot from his locker gone, grasping with one 
 mangled hand his broken blade as he held Avith the other his 
 
REPERTOIRE 17 
 
 battered shield with ^lanassas and Chancellorsville, Shiloh 
 and Chickamauga imprinted upon it, are we to be told that, 
 notwithstanding such courage and devotion, simply for the 
 want of success that he is a traitor and his cause is treason? 
 Away with such philosophy. I know they are stigmatized as 
 traitors, but never will this hand consent to write such a name 
 upon one of their graves. My heart must be as cold as death 
 can make it before it will cease to warm at the mention of 
 their names or cherish the memorials of their virtue. Thank 
 God this privilege is still left us; even the ingenuity of hate 
 has never yet invented a process by which the human heart 
 can be entered and robbed of its treasures. Xo spy can bring 
 reports from this enchanted land; no detective explore this 
 unknown region; no rude soldiery can put the forms of beauty 
 of that people in arrest: and no court martial pronounce its 
 bloody decrees against them for this hallowed ground where 
 no tyrant's footsteps ever trod cruelly and oppressive, and all 
 the dark cohorts which the human passion rallies to carry out 
 its orders stand baffled and powerless outside its walls. For 
 the angels of God mount guard on its parapets and their flam- 
 ing swords turn everywhere to guard the citadel of the soul. 
 
 To characterize that prolonged and terrific struggle as a 
 mere riot or mob and assume that every man engaged in it 
 was a conscious traitor unworthy of trust and devoid of honor 
 is to trifle with the truth and insult the common understand- 
 ing of mankind. Shall our fair country women be denounced 
 as rebellious because they gather the earliest and sweetest 
 flowers of spring and strew them upon the graves of our dead ? 
 Was she true to the cause of patriotism who, when a fair sol- 
 dier boy lay dead far away from his home, bent above his 
 corpse and with angelic sweetness said.: ' "Let me kiss him 
 for his mother's sake?" It is not treason to indulge in a nat-' 
 ural feeling of pride in the achievements of our arms, respect 
 to the men who led us, and veneration to those who fell in 
 the lost cause. Sad, sad indeed, if their comrades are forbid- 
 den the melanchoUy pleasure of shedding a tear upon their 
 graves. When reason shall mount her throne, when prejudice 
 which is both deaf and blind to reason shall cease to rule the 
 hour, justice will be done the motives of these men. Appeal- 
 ing from the passion of the present to the more impartial 
 judgment of posterity, let us submit their deed and the cause 
 in which they fell to the arbitrament of history. Sleep sweet- 
 
18 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 ly in your humble graves soldiers of the lost cause ! Though 
 yet no marble column craves the pilgrim here to pause^, reason 
 rejects such views of the subject as an absurdity; justice 
 brands it as a falsehood; the muse of history will scorn to 
 transfer it to her immortal pages. Questions that rallied mil- 
 lions of such intelligent men as America's masses to the bat- 
 tlefield for their solution^ must have had, yes did have, two 
 sides to them and we dare assert that in purity of motive, in 
 stainless honor, in dauntless courage and lofty devotion to 
 principle, the men who bore arms in the lost cause are the 
 peers to the proudest that ever marched under any banner. 
 
 Upon the floor of the United States senate an honorable 
 member who had the courage to speak a few words for this 
 much slandered and dishonored people, challenged our ma- 
 ligners to point to a single instant where a Confederate sol- 
 dier had violated his parole since the surrender. The chal- 
 lenge was not accepted and never will be. The history of the 
 world might safely be defied to produce from among its 
 mouldering records an instance parallel to the hightened 
 chivalrous manner in which the Confederate soldier has kept 
 his parole inviolate. After the bitterness of defeat and the 
 humiliations of failure, why should anyone wish to rob us 
 of the poor pleasure of believing that we are not disgraced. 
 But let us suffer and be strong. They cannot build a dungeon 
 to imprison the soul or forge manacles to confine the mind. 
 Thought, like the winged lightning or the wayward tempest, 
 scorns all futile attempts to subduo it. Shall the mother be 
 forbidden to mourn the loss of her gallant boy without con- 
 fessing he filled a traitor's grave. No human law can force 
 that mother to associate with his memory a traitor's shame, 
 she knows he was noble, brave and true, and when the last 
 trumpet sounds she shall rise from her grave with that same 
 opinion. Shall the father be stigmatized as disloyal and 
 stripped of all the attributes of a free man because his heart 
 beats with a quickened pulsation at the recital of the heroic 
 part his manly son bore in the bloody scenes of Chickamauga ? 
 If it be necessary to tear from his heart all feelings of pride 
 and affection before he can be loyal, he will never reach that 
 high state of political perfection. Ah no ! They Avill tell their 
 ]iames in storied song, the men of Chickamauga's fight, and 
 on the moss grown cottage walls "\^dll hang their pictures 
 brave and bright. In the seeds of laurels, in the earth, the 
 
REPERTOIRE 19 
 
 garlands of your fame are sown and somewhere waiting for 
 its birth the shaft is in the stone. 
 
 THE VETERANS. 
 Eobert G, In^ersol. 
 
 Suggestions— The voice sliould be' of orotund timbre and dark form. 
 The attitude and gestures should be that of grandeur. A feeling of 
 patriotism and a love for our soldiers and country should enthuse the 
 speaker. 
 
 The past rises before me like a dream. Again we are in 
 the great struggle for national life. We hear the sounds of 
 preparation, the music of the boisterous drums, the silver 
 voices of heroic bugles. We see thousands of assemblages, and 
 hear the appeals of orators ; we see the pale cheeks of women, 
 and the flushed faces of men; and in those assemblages we see 
 all the dead whose dust we have covered with flowers. We 
 lose sight of them no more. We are with them when they 
 enlist in the great army of freedom. We see them part from 
 those they love. Some are walking for the last time in quiet, 
 woody places, with the maidens they adore. We hear the 
 whisperings and the swet vows of eternal love as they lin- 
 geringly part, forever. Others are bending over cradles, kiss- 
 ing babies that are asleep. Some are receiving the blessings 
 of old men. Some are parting with those who hold them and 
 press them to their hearts again and again, and say nothing, 
 and some are talking with wives, and endeavoring with brave 
 words spoken in the old tones to drive from their hearts the 
 awful fear. 
 
 We seem them part. We see the wife standing in the door, 
 with the babe in her arms — standing in the sunlight sobbing — 
 at a turn of the road a hand waves — she answers by holding 
 high in her loving hands the child. He is gone, and forever. 
 We see them all as they march proudly away under the flaunt- 
 ing flags, keeping time to the wild, grand music of the war — 
 marching down the streets of the great cities — through the 
 towns and across the prairies — down to the fields of glory, 
 to do and die for the eternal right. We go with them one and 
 all. We are by their side on all the gory fields — in all the 
 hospitals of pain — on all the weary marches. We stand guard 
 with them in the vrild storm and under the quiet stars. We 
 
20 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 are with them in ravines running with blood — in the furows 
 of old fields. We are with them between contending hosts, 
 unable to move, wild with thirst, the life ebbing slowly away 
 among the withered leaves. We see them pierced by balls and 
 torn with shells in the trenches by forts, and in the whirlwind 
 of the charge, where men become iron, with nerves of steel. 
 We are with them in the prisons of hatred and famine; but 
 human speech can never tell what they endured. We are at 
 home when the news comes that they are dead. We see the 
 maiden in the shadow of her first sorrow. We see the silver 
 head of the old man bowed down with the last grief. 
 
 These heroes are dead. They died for liberty — they died 
 for us. They are at rest. They sleep in the land they made 
 free, under the flag they rendered stainless, under the solemn 
 pines, the sad hemlocks, the tearful willows and the embracing 
 vines. They sleep beneath the shadows of the clouds, careless 
 alike of the sunshine or of storm, each in the windowless pal- 
 ace of rest. Earth may run red with other wars — they are at 
 peace. In the midst of battle, in the roar of conflict they 
 found the serenity of death. I have one sentiment for the 
 soldiers living and dead — cheers for the living and tears for 
 the dead. 
 
 IP HE BUT LIVE TILL SUInTDOWN. 
 H. W. Grady. 
 
 iSug-g-estions^In this beautiful selection the reciter should endeavor 
 to make the audience seel and feel the pathetic situation of the soldier. 
 It is exceedingly ^ne for holding the attention of an audience. 
 
 A soldier lay wounded on a hard-fought field, the roar of 
 battle had died away, and he rested in the deadly stillness of 
 its aftermath. ISTot a sound was heard as he lay there, sorely 
 smitten and speechless, but the shriek of wounded and the 
 sigh of the dying soul, as it escaped from the tumult of earth 
 into the unspeakable peace of the stars. Off over the field 
 flickered the lanterns of the surgeons with the liter bearers, 
 searching that they might take away those whose lives could 
 be saved and leave in sorrow those who were doomed to die 
 with pleading eyes through the darkness. This poor soldier 
 watched, unable to turn or speak as the lanterns grew near. 
 At last the light flashed in his face and the surgeon with 
 
REPERTOIRE 21 
 
 kindly face, bent over him, hesitated for a moment, shook his 
 head, and was gone, leaving the poor fellow alone with death. 
 He watched in patient agon}^ as they went on from one part 
 of the field to another. As they came back, the surgeon bent 
 over him again. '"I believe if this poor fellow lives to sun- 
 down to-morrow he will get well." And again leaving him, 
 not to death but with hope; all night long these words fell 
 into his heart as the dews fell from the stars upon hi? lips, 
 '^if he but lives till sundown, he will get well." He turned his 
 weary head to the east and watched for the coming sun ! At 
 last the stars went out, the east trembled with radiance, and 
 the sun, slowly lifting above the eastern horizon, tinged his 
 palid face with flame. He watched it inch by inch as it 
 climbed slowly up the heavens. He thought of life, its hopes 
 and ambitions, its sweetness and its raptures, and he fortified 
 his soul against dispair until the sun reached high noon. It 
 sloped down its sIoav descent, and his life was ebbing away 
 and his heart was faltering, and he needed stronger stimu- 
 lants to make him stand the struggle until the end of the day 
 had come. He thought of his far-off home, the blessed house 
 resting in tranquil peace with the roses climljing to its door, 
 and the trees whispering to its windows, and dozing in the 
 sunshine, the orchard and the little brook running like a sil- 
 ver thread through the forest. 
 
 "If I live till sundown I will see it again. I will walk 
 down the shady lane. I will open the battered gate, and the 
 mocking-bird shall call me from the orchard, and I will drinlv 
 again at the old mossy spring." 
 
 And he thought of the wife who had come from the neigh- 
 boring farm house and put her hand shyly in his, and brought 
 sweetness to his life and light to his home. 
 
 "If I live till sundo-^^Ti I shall look once more into her 
 deep and loving eyes and press her brown head once more to 
 my aching breast." 
 
 And he thought of the old father, patient in prayer, bend- 
 ing lower and lor^er every day imder his load of sorrow and 
 old age. 
 
 "If I but live till sund-own I shall see him again and 
 wind my strong arm about his feeble body, and his hands shall 
 rest upon miy head while the unspeakable healing of his bles- 
 sings falls into my heart.^' 
 
 And he thought of the little children that clamored on 
 
22 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 his knees and tangled their hands into his heart-strings, mak- 
 ing to him such music as the world shall not equal or heaven 
 surpass. 
 
 "If I but live till sundown they shall again find my 
 parched lips with their warm mouths, and their little fingers 
 shall run once more over my face." 
 
 _ And he thought of his old mother, who gathered these 
 children about her and breathed her old heart afresh in their 
 brightness and attuned her old lips anew to their prattle, that 
 she might live till her big boy came home. 
 
 "If I but live till sundown I will see her again, and I will 
 rest my head at my old place on her knees, and weep away all 
 miemory of this desolate night." 
 
 And the Son of God who had died for men, bending from 
 the stars, put the hand that had been nailed to the cross on 
 the ebbing life and held on staunch until the sun went down 
 and the stars came out, and shone down in the brave man's 
 heart and blurred in his glistening eyes, and the lanterns of 
 the surgeons came^ and he was taken from death to life. 
 
 HENEY W. GBADY. 
 
 John Temple Graves. 
 
 Sugg-estions— This oratorical selection requires the orotund voice'. It 
 is one of the most beautiful in the English language, and if delivered 
 with dramatic oratory, it is a sure prize winner. The ehding is one 
 of the sublime productions of the age and should be delivered with 
 the steady on-beat. 
 
 I am one among the thousands who loved him, and I 
 stand with the millions who lament his death. I loved him 
 in the promise of his glowing youth, when, across my boyish 
 vision he walked with winning grace, from easy effort to suc- 
 loess. I loved him in the flush of splendid manhood when a 
 nation hung upon his words — and now, with the dross of hu- 
 man friendship smitten in my. soul — I love him best of all 
 as he lies yonder under the December skies, with face as tran- 
 quil and with smile as sweet as patrial ever wore. 
 
 I agree with Patric Collins that he was the most brilliant 
 son of this republic. If the annals of these times are told 
 with truth, they will give him place as the phenomenon of his 
 
REPTERTOIRE 23 
 
 period, the Admiral Crichton of the age in which he lived. 
 Xo eloquen«i has equalled his since Sargent Prentiss faded 
 from the earth. Xo pen has plowed such noble furrows in his 
 country's fallow fields since the wrist of Horace Groely rested; 
 no age of the: Republic ha-s witnessed such marvellous conjunction 
 of a magical i)en with the velvet splendor of a mellow ton gTie, 
 and although the warlike rival of these wondrous forces 
 never rose within his life, it is writ of all his living, that the 
 noble fires of his genius were lighted in his boyhood from the 
 jgleam that died upon his father's sword. 
 
 Xothing in the history of human speech will equal the 
 stately steppings of his eloquence into glory. In a single 
 might he caught the heart of the country into his warm em- 
 hrace and leaped from a l^anquet of revelfy into national 
 fame. It is, at last, the crowning evidence of his genius,, 
 that held to the end, unbroken, the high fame so easily won' 
 and sweeping from triumph unto triumph, with not one leaf 
 of his laurels withered by time or staled by circumstance, died 
 on yesterday — the foremost orator in all the world. 
 
 It is marvelous, past all telling, how he caught the heart 
 of the countiw in the fervid glow of his own ! All the forces 
 of our statesmansliip Jiave not prevailed for union like the 
 ringing speeches of this bright, magnetic man. His eloquence 
 was the electric current over which the positive and negative 
 poles of American sentiment were rushing to a warm em- 
 hrace. It was the transparent medium through which the 
 bleared eyes of sections were learning to see each other clearer 
 and to love each other better. He was melting bitterness in 
 the warmth of his patrial sympathies, sections were being 
 linked in the logic of his liquid sentences, and when he died 
 he was literally loving a Xation into peace. 
 
 If I should seek to touch the core of all his greatness, I 
 •^Kiild lay my hand upon lii.. h?drL I shculd speak of his hu- 
 manity — his almost inspired sympathies, his sweet philan- 
 thropy and the noble heartfulness that ran like a silver cur- 
 rent through his life. His heart was the furnace where he 
 fashioned all his glowing speech. Love was the current that 
 sent his golden sentences pulsing through the world, and in 
 the honest throb of human sympathies he found the anchor 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 that held him steadfast to all things great and true. He was 
 the incarnate triumph of a heartful man. 
 
 No fire that can be kindled upon the altar of speech can 
 relume the radiant spark that perished yesterday. No blaze 
 born in all our eulogy can burn beside the sunlight of his 
 useful life. After all there is nothing grander than such 
 living. 
 
 I have seen the light that gleamed at midnight from the 
 headlight of some giant engine rushing onward through the 
 darkness, heedless of opposition, fearless of danger, and I 
 thought it was grand. I have seen the light come over eastern 
 hills in glory, driving the lazy darkness like mist before a sea- 
 born gale, till leaf and tree, and blade of grass glittered in the 
 myriad diamonds of the morning ray; and I thought it was 
 g-rand. I have seen the light that leaped at midnight athwart 
 the storm-swept sky, shivering over chaotic clouds, mid howl- 
 ing winds, till cloud and darkness and the shallow-haunted 
 earth flashed into mid-day splendor; and I knew it was grand. 
 But the grandest thing, next to the radiance that flows from 
 the Almighty throne, is the light of a noble and beautiful 
 life, wrapping itself in benediction 'round the destinies of 
 men, and finding its home in the blessed bosom of the Ever- 
 lasting God ! 
 
 THE BLACK HOESE AND HIS BIDEE. 
 
 Charles Sheppard. 
 
 Sug-getions— This selection sould be given a conversational voice 
 until the Blaclc Horse and His Rider appear on the field, when it be- 
 comes exciting. The last part of the selection affords opportunity for 
 great dramatic action, but the last lines arel explanatory and pathetic. 
 
 It was the 7th of October, 1777. Horatio Gates stood be- 
 fore his tent, gazing steadfastly upon the two armies now ar- 
 rayed in order of battle. It was a clear, bracing day, mellow 
 with richness of Autvimn. The sky was cloudless; the foliage 
 of the wood scarce tinged with purple and gold. But the tread 
 of legions shook the ground ; from every bush shot the glim- 
 mer of tlie rifle barrel; on every hill side blazed the sharpened 
 bavonet. Gates was sad and thoughtful as he watched the 
 
REPERTOIRE 25 
 
 evolutions of the two armies; but all at once a smoke arose, a 
 thunder shook the earth, and a chorus of shouts and groans 
 yelled along the darkened air. The play of death had begun. 
 The two flags, this of the stars, that of the red cross, tossed 
 amid the smoke of battle, while the sky was clouded with 
 leaden -folds, and the earth throHed with the pulsations of a 
 mighty heart. Sudenly Gates and his officers were startled. 
 Along the height on which they stood, came a rider upon a 
 Ijlack horse, rushing toward the distant batle. There was 
 something in the appearance of this horse and his rider that 
 struck them Avith surprise. Look ! he draws his sword and the 
 glistening l^lade quivers through the air — he points to the dist- 
 ant battle, and lo ! he is gone; gone through those clouds, while 
 his shouts echo over the plains. A^lierever the fight is thick- 
 est, there through intervals of cannon smoke, yon may see 
 riding madly forward that strange soldier mounted on his 
 black steed. Look at him ! as with face red with British 
 blood he waves his sword and shouts to his legions. iSTow 
 you may see him fighting in the cannon's glare and the next 
 moment he is away off yonder, leading the forlorn hope up 
 that steep cliff. Is it not a magnificent sight, to see that 
 strange soldier and that noble black horse dashing, like a 
 meteor, down the long columns of battle? 
 
 liCt us look for a moment in to those dense war-clouds. 
 Over this thick hedge bursts a band of American militia- 
 men, their rude farmer coats stained with blood, while scat- 
 tering their arms by the way, they flee before that company 
 of redcoat hirelings, who come rushing forward, their solid 
 front of bayonets gleaming in the l^attle light. In this mo- 
 ment of their flight, a horse comes crashing over the plains. 
 The unknown rider reins his steed back on his haunches, 
 right in the path of a broad-shouldered militia-man. "Xow, 
 cowards ! advance another step and I'll strike you to the 
 heart !" shouts the unknown, extending a pistol in either 
 hand. "What ! are you Americans, men, and fly ])efore 
 British soldiers? Back again, and face tin .n once more, or 
 I myself will ride you down." This appeal was not withou,t 
 its effect. The militia-man turns; his comrades, as if by one 
 impulse, follow his example." In one line, but thirty nien in 
 all, they confront thirty sharp bayonets. The British ad- 
 vance. "Now upon the rebels, charge !" shouts the red-coat 
 officer. They spring forward at the same bound. Look ! their 
 
"26 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 baj'Onets almost touch the muzzles of their rifles. At this 
 m^oment the voice of the unknown rider was heard: "Now 
 let !hem have it ! Fire !" A sound is heard, a smoke is seen, 
 twent}^ Britons are down, some writhing in death, some crawl- 
 ing along the soil, and somie siDeechless as stone. The remain- 
 ing ten start back. "Club your rifles and charge them home !" 
 shouts the unknown. That black horse springs forward, fol- 
 lowed b}^ the militia-m'en. Then a confused conflict — a cry 
 for quarter, and a vision of twenty farmers grouped around 
 the rider of the black horse, greeting him with cheers. 
 
 Thus it was all the day long. Wherever that black horse 
 and his rider went, there followed victory. At last, toward 
 the setting of the sun, the crisis of the conflict came. That, 
 fortress yonder, on Bemiss' Heights, must be won, or the 
 American cause is lost ! That cliff is too steep — that death 
 is too certain. The officers cannot persuade the men to ad- 
 vance. The Americans have lost the field. Even Morgan, 
 that iron man among iron men, leans on his rifle and despair? 
 of the field. But look yonder! In this moment when all is 
 dismay and horror, here crashing on, comes the black horse 
 and his rider. That rider bends upon his steed, his frenzied 
 face covered with sweat and dust and blood; he lays his hand 
 upon that bold rifleman's shoulder, and as though living fire 
 had been poured into his veins, he seized his rifle and started 
 toward the rock. And now look ! now hold your breath, as that 
 Black Stfeed crashes up that steep cliff. That steed quivers I 
 he totters ! he falls ! No ! No ! Still on. still up the cliff, still 
 on toward the fortress. The rider turns his face and shouts, 
 ^'Come on, men of Quebec ! come^ on !" That call is needless. 
 Already the bold riflemen are on the rock. Now British 
 cannon pour your fires, and lay your dead in tens and twenties 
 on the rock. Now, red-coat hirelings, shout your battle-cry 
 if you can ! For look ! there, in the gate of the fortress, as 
 the smoke clears away, stands the Black Horse and his rider. 
 That steed falls dead, pierced by an hundred balls; but his 
 rider, as the British cry for quarter, lifts up his voice and 
 shouts afar to Horatio Gates waiting yonder in his tent, 
 "Saratoga is won !" As that cry goes up to heaven, he falls 
 with his leg shattered by a cannon ball. Wlio was the rider 
 of the black horse? Do you not guess his name? Then bend 
 down and gaze on that shattered limb, and you will see that 
 it bears the m.ark of a former wound. That wound was re- 
 
REPERTOIRE 
 
 ceived in the storming of Quebec. That rider was Benedict 
 Arnold. 
 
 THE HAND THAT EOCKS THE WORLD. 
 By William Eoss Wallace. 
 
 Suggestions— This beautiful selection should be given In an easy, 
 natural manner with strength, feeling and magnetism. 
 
 Blessings on the hand of women ! angels guard its strength 
 ana grace in the palace, cottage, hovel, oh, no matter where 
 the place ! Wi)uld that never storms assailed it, rainbows 
 ever gently curled; for the hand that rocks the cradle is the 
 hand that rocks the world. Infancy's the tender fountain; 
 power may with beauty flow; mother's first to guide the 
 streamlets, from them souls unresting grow. G-row on for 
 the good or evil, sunshine streamed or darkness hurled ; for the 
 hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rocks the world. 
 Woman, how divine your mission here .upon our natal sod ! 
 Keep, oh keep the young heart open always to the breath of 
 God I All true trophies of the ages are from mother-love im- 
 pearled, for the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that 
 rocks the world. Blessings on the hand of woman ! fathers, 
 sons and daughters cr}^, and the sacred song is mingled with 
 the worship in the sky — mingles where no tempest darkens, 
 rainbows evermore are hurled; for the hand that rocks the 
 cradle is the hand that rocks the world. 
 
 TOUS SAINT L'OUVEETUEE. 
 
 Wendell Phillips. 
 
 Suggestions— This is one of the finest gems in modern oratory. Its 
 delivery requires a full, strong, orotund voice and gestures that suit 
 the thoughts. 
 
 If I were to tell you the story of Napoleon, I should take 
 it from the lips of Frenchmen, who find no language rich 
 enough to paint the great captain of the nineteenth century. 
 
28 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 Were I to tell yon the story of Washington, I should take it 
 from your hearts — you, who think no marble white enough on 
 which to carve the name of the Father of his country. But I 
 am to tell you the story of Toussaint L'Overture, who has left 
 hardly one written line. I am to glean it from the reluctant 
 testimony of his enemies, men who despised him, hated him 
 because he had beaten them in battle. 
 
 Cromwell manufactured his own armjr. N'apoleon, at the 
 age of twent}^- seven, was placed at the head of the best troops 
 Europe ever saAV. Cromwell never "saw an army till he was 
 forty; this man never saw a soldier till he was fifty. Cromwell 
 manufactured his own army — out of what? Englishmen — 
 the best blood in Europe. This man manufactured his army 
 out of what? Out of what you call the despicable race of 
 negroes, debased, demoralized iDy tAvo hundred years of slavery, 
 one hundred thousand of them imported into the island Avith- 
 in four years, unable to speak a dialect intelligible even to 
 each other. Yet out of this mixed, and, as you say, despicable 
 mass he forged a thunderbolt and hurled it at Avhat ? At the 
 proudest blood in Europe, the Spaniard, and sent him. home 
 conquered; at the most warlike blood in Europe, the Erench, 
 and put them u.nder his feet ; at the pluckiest blood in Europe, 
 the English and they skulked home to Jamaica. Now, if 
 Cromwell was a general, at least this man was a soldier. 
 
 I would call him IsTapoleon, but jSTapoleon made his Avay 
 to empire o-ver broken oaths and through a sea of blood. This 
 man never broke his word. I Avould call him Cromwell, but 
 Cromwell was only a soldier, and the state he founded Avent 
 doAvn with himi into his grave. I would call him Washing- 
 ton, but the great Virginian held slaves. This man risked his 
 empire rather than permit the slave-trade in the humblest 
 village of his dominions. 
 
 You think me a fanatic, for you read history, not with your 
 eyes but with your prejudices. But fifty years hence, when 
 Truth gets a hearing, the Muse of history Avill put Phocion for 
 the Greek, Brutus for the Eoman, Hampden for England, 
 Fayette for France, choose Washington as the bright consum- 
 mate flower of our earlier civilization, then, dipping her pen 
 in the sunlight, Avill Avrite in the clear blue, above them all, 
 the name of the soldier, the statesman, the martyr, Tous- 
 Aint L'Ouverture. 
 
REPERTOIRE 
 
 THE MAN WITH A HOE. 
 Edwin Markham. 
 
 Sug-g-estions— This is undoubtedly the greatest poem written in the) 
 last decade; but however well it might be delivered before an audience 
 of millionaires, it would be a failure. But delivered to an audience' 
 of the common people, labor unions, or Socialists, it is a success. This 
 fact emphasizes the point of making the right selections for an au- 
 dience!. Give in orotund voice, dark tone, strong and condemning. 
 
 Bowed by the weight of centuries, lie leans upon his hoe 
 and gazes on the ground, the emptiness of ages in his face, and 
 on his back the burden of the world. Who made him dead to 
 rapture and despair, a thing that grieves not and that never 
 hopes, stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox ? Who loosen- 
 ed and let down his brutal jaw? Whose was the hand that 
 slanted back this brow, whose breath blew out the light within 
 this brain. 
 
 Is this the thing the Lord God made and gave to have 
 dominion over sea and land; to trace the stars and search the 
 heavens for power; to feel the passion of eternity? Is this 
 the dream He dreamed who shaped the suns and pillared the 
 blue firmament with light? Down all the stretch of hell to 
 its last gulf there is no shape more terril^le than this — more 
 tongued with censure of the world's l)lind greed, more filled 
 with signs and portents for the soul^ more fraught with men- 
 ace to the universe. 
 
 What gulfs between him and the seraphim ! Slave of the 
 wheel of labor, what to him were Plato and the swing of 
 Pleiades? What the long reaches of the peaks of song, the 
 rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose ? Through this dread 
 shape the suffering ages look. Time's tragedy is in that 
 aching stoop; through this dread shape, humlanit}^ betrayed, 
 plundered, profaned, and disinherited, cries protest to the 
 judges of the world; a protest that is also prophecy. 
 
 masters, lords, and rulers in all lands, is this the handi- 
 work you give to God — this monstrous thing distorted and 
 soul-quenched. How will you ever straighten up this shape; 
 give back the upward looking and the light; rebuild in it 
 the music and the dream; touch it again with immortality; 
 make right the immemorial infamies, perfidious wrongs, im- 
 medicable woes ? 
 
 masters, lords, and rulers in all lands, how will the 
 future reckon with this man? How answer his brute ques- 
 
'30 THE WATKINS BRITHERS' 
 
 tion in that hour when whirlwinds of rebellion shake the 
 world ? How will it be with kingdoms and with kings — with 
 those who shaped him to the thing he is when this dumb terror 
 shall reply to God after the silence of the centuries ? 
 
 WHY SHOULD THE SPIEIT OF MORTAL BE PEOUB? 
 President Lincoln's favorite Poem. 
 
 Suggestions— Give this with the orotund voice, free from pride and 
 ambition, yet strong and brave. It Is said this was the favorite poem 
 of Abraham Lincoln. It certainly harmonizes with his life. 
 
 Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? Like a 
 swift -floating meteor, a fast-flying cloud; a flash of the light- 
 ning, a break of the wave, man passeth from life to his rest 
 in the grave. The leaves of the oak and willow shall fade, be 
 scattered around and together be laid ; and the young and the 
 old, and the low and the high, should moulder to dust and 
 together shall lie, The infant and mother, attended and 
 loved, the mother that infant's affection who proved; the hus- 
 band that mother and infant who blessed, each, all are away 
 to their dwellings of rest. The maid on whose cheek, on whose 
 brow, in whose eye, shone beauty and pleasure, her triumphs 
 are by; and the memory of those who loved her and praised, 
 and alike from the minds of the living erased. The hand of 
 the king that the sceptre hath borne, the brow of the priest 
 that the mitre hath worn ; the eye of the sage and the heart 
 of the brave, are hid and lost in the depths of the grave. The 
 peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap, the herdsman, 
 who climbed with his goats up the steep; the beggar who wan- 
 dered in search for his bread, have faded away like the grass 
 that we tread. The saint who enjoyed the communion of 
 heaven, the sinner who dared to remain unforgiven; the wise 
 and the foolish, the guilty . and just, have quiety mingled 
 their bones in the dust. 
 
 So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed that 
 withers away to let others succeed; so the multitude comes, 
 even those we behold, to repeat every tale that has often been 
 told. For we are the same our fathers have been, we see the 
 same our fathers have seen; we drink the same stream and 
 view the same sun, and run the same course our fathers have 
 run. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think. 
 
REPERTOIRE 31 
 
 from the death we are shrinking our father -would shrinlc; 
 to the life we are clinging they also would cling, but it speeds 
 from us all like a bird on the wing. They loved, but the story 
 we cannot unfold, they scorned, but the heart of the haughty 
 is cold; they grieved, but no wail from their slumber will 
 come. They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. 
 They died; aye! they died; we things that are now, that walk 
 on the turf that lies over their brow ; and make in their dwell- 
 ings a transient abode, meet the things that they met on 
 their pilgrimage road. Yet! hope and despondency, pleasure 
 and pain, Ave mingle together in sunshine and rain; and the 
 smile and the tear, the song and the dirge, still follow each 
 other, like surge upon surge. 'Tis the wink of an eye, ^tis 
 the draught of a breath, from the blossom of health to the 
 paleness of death, from' the gilded saloon to the bier and the 
 shroud — Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 
 
 THE AMBITIOUS YOUTH. 
 
 Elihu Burret. 
 
 Sug-gestions— This dramatic declamtion should begin in a conversa- 
 tional voice, and so continues until the boy casts his first glance down- 
 ward. Then the delivery becomes exciting and more dramatic until 
 the climax is reached. It affords great opportunity for descriptive ac- 
 tion. This declamation has been a prize-winner on many occasions. 
 
 The scene opens with a view of the^ great natural bridge 
 in Virginia. There are three or four lads standing in the 
 valley below, looking up Avith awe to that vast arch of unhewn 
 rocks, which the Almighty bridged over those everlasting 
 hutments, "when the morning stars sung together." The 
 little piece of sky spanning those measureless piers is full of 
 stars, although it is mid-day. 
 
 It is almost five hundred feet from where they stand, upon 
 those perpendicular bulwarks of limestone, to the ke3''-rock of 
 that vast arch, which appears to them only the size of a man's 
 hand. The silence of death is rendered more impressive by 
 the little stream that falls from the rock down the channel. 
 The sun is darkened, and the boys have unconsciously un- 
 covered their heads, as if standing in the presence chamber 
 of the Majesty of the world. 
 
 At last this feeling begins to wear away; they begin to look 
 around them; they find that others have been there before 
 
32 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 them. They see the names of hundreds cut in the limestone 
 walls. A new feeling comes over their young hearts,, and 
 their knives are in tlieir hands in an instant. "What man has 
 done, man can do," is their watchword, while they draw them- 
 selves up, and carve their names a foot above those of a 
 hundred fu.ll-grown men who have been there before them. 
 
 They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion, 
 except one, whose example illustrates perfectly the forgotten 
 truth, that there is no royal road to intellectual eminence. 
 This ambitious youth sees a name just above his reach — a 
 name that will be green in the world when those of Alexander, 
 Caesar and Bonaparte shall be lost in oblivion. It was the 
 name of Washington. 
 
 Before he marched with Braddoek to that fatal field, he 
 had been there, and left his name above all his predecessors. 
 It was a glorious thought- of the bo}^, to write his name side 
 by side with that of the great father of his country. He grasp- 
 ed his knife with a firmer hand and clinging to a little jut- 
 ting crag he cuts again into the limestone, about a foot above 
 where he stands; he then reaches up and cuts another for his 
 hands. 
 
 This is a dangerous venture; l3ut as he puts his feet and 
 hands into those gains and draws himself up carefu-Uy to his 
 full length he finds himself a foot above every name chron- 
 icled in that mighty wall. A^Tiile his companions are regard- 
 ing him with concern and admiration, he cuts his name in 
 rude capitals, large and deep into that flinty album. 
 
 Plis knife is still in his hand, and strength in his sinews, 
 and a new created inspiration in his heart. Again he cuts 
 another niche, and again he carves his name in larger cap- 
 itals. This is not enough. Heedless of the entreaties of his 
 companions, he cuts and clim^bs again. The graduations of 
 his ascending scale grow wider apart. He measure his length 
 at every gain he cuts. The voices of his friends wax Aveaker 
 and weaker, till their words are finally lost on the ear. 
 
 He now, for the first time, casts a look beneath him. Had 
 that glance lasted a moment, that m'oment would have been 
 his last. He clings with a convulsive shudder to his little 
 niche in the rock. An awful abyss awaits his almost certain 
 fall. He is faint with severe exertion, and trembling from 
 the sudden view of the dreadful destruction to which he is 
 exposed. His knife is half worn away to the shaft. He can 
 
REPERTOIRE 33 
 
 hear the voices, but not the words, of his terror-stricken com- 
 panions below. What a moment ! What a meager chance to 
 escape destruction ! There is no retracing his steps. It is 
 impossible to put his hand into the same niche with his feet, 
 and retain his slender hold a moment. 
 
 His companions instantly perceive this new and fearful 
 dilema, and await his fall with emotions that freeze their 
 3^oung blood. He is too high, too faint, to ask for his father 
 and mother, and brothers and sisters to come and witness, 
 or avert his destruction. But one of his companions anticipat- 
 ing his desire, swift as the wind he bounds down the channel, 
 and the situation of the fated boy is told at his father's hearth- 
 stone. 
 
 Minutes of almost eternal length roll on, and there are 
 hundreds standing in that rocky channel, and hundreds on 
 the bridge above, all holding their breath and awaiting the 
 fearful catastrophe. The poor boy hears the hum of new 
 and numerous voices both above and below him. He can 
 distinguish the tones of his father, who is shouting with all 
 the energy of despair, "William ! William ! Don't look down ! 
 Your mother and Henry, and Harriet are all here praying 
 for you. Don't look down ! Keep your eye towards the top." 
 
 The boy didn't look down. His eyes were fixed like a 
 flint towards heaven and his young heart on Him who reigns 
 there. He grasps again his knife. He cuts another niche, and 
 another foot is added to the hundreds that remove him from 
 the reach of human help below. How carefully he uses his 
 wasting blade; how anxiously he selects the softest places in 
 that vast pier ; how he avoids every flinty grain ; how he econ- 
 omizes his physical powers, resting a moment at each gain 
 he cuts. How every motion is watched from below ! There 
 stand his father, mother, brother and sister on the very spot, 
 where, if he falls, he will not fall alone. 
 
 The sun is half way down the West. The lad has made 
 fifty additional niches in that mighty wall, and now finds 
 himself directly under the middle of that vast arch of rocks, 
 earth and trees. He must cut his way in another direction 
 to get from under this overhanging mountain. The inspira- 
 tion of hope is dying in his bosom; its vital heat is fed by 
 the increasing shouts of hundreds, perched upon cliffs and 
 trees; and others who stand with ropes in their hands on the 
 bridge above, or with ladders below. 
 
34 THE WATKIN9 BROTHERS' 
 
 Fifty more gains must be cut before the longest rope 
 can reach him. His wasting blade strikes again into the lime- 
 stone. The boy is emerging painfully, foot by foot, from 
 under that lofty arch. Eopes are spliced together and are 
 ready in the hands of those who are leaning over the outer 
 edge of the bridge. Two minutes more and all must be over. 
 The blade is worn to the last half inch. The boy's head 
 reels; his eyes are starting from their sockets. His last hope 
 is dying in his heart; his life must hang on the next gain 
 he cuts; that niche is the last. 
 
 At the last faint gash he cuts, his knife — his faithful 
 knife — falls from, his little nerveless hand, and ringing along 
 the precipice falls at his mother's feet. An involuntary groan 
 of despair runs like a death knell through the channel below, 
 and all is still as the grave. At the height of nearly three 
 hundred feet the devoted boy lifts his hopeless heart and 
 closes his eyes to commend his soul to God. 
 
 'Tis but a moment — there ! one foot swings off — he is reel- 
 ing, trembling, toppling, over into eternity ! Hark ! A shout 
 falls on his ear from those above. The man who is lying 
 with half his length over the bridge has caught the glimpse 
 of the boy's head and shoulders. Quick as thought the noose 
 is within reach of the sinlving youth. No one breathes. With 
 a fain convulsive effort, the swooning boy drops his arms into 
 the noose and darkness comes over him, as the tightening rope 
 draws him out of his last shallow niche. Kot a lip moves 
 while he is dangling over that fearful abyss; but when a 
 sturdy Virginian reaches down and draws up the lad, and 
 holds him up before the tearful, breathless multitude, such 
 shouting, and such leaping and weeping for joy never greeted 
 the ear of a human being so recovered from the yawning gulf 
 of eternity. 
 
 THE CUBAN HERO. 
 
 As adapted and recited by Watkins Brothers. 
 
 Suggestions — This intensely dramatic selection may be recited by 
 either boy or girl. It requires great intensity of feeling, voice color- 
 ing, acting and magnetism. It is one of the best dramatic selections 
 in print. The last paragraph is thei climax, and requires all the powers 
 of expression latent in the reciter. 
 
 My father was a loyal Spaniard, but a Cuban first; and 
 
REPEIRTOIRE 35 
 
 Cuban patriots found shelter 'neath his roof. For this he ^vas 
 arraigned, court-martialed and sentenced to be shot. My 
 mother and myself were forced to see the execution. Wild 
 with agon}', we plead for mercy from that merciless tri- 
 bunal; offered land and money for his life, and prayed with 
 our souls upon our lips. Our pleadings and prayers were 
 counted criminal; we were arrested and awaited sentence. 
 Then they led my father out before those hinchmen, who, 
 '"'dressed in a little brief authority," commanded him to kneel. 
 I saw his eyes flash up with all the racial fire that warmed 
 the Moorish Kings of old Granada, as he answered them, "I 
 kneel to none but God.'" My mother uttered one sharp cry 
 of pain and swooned into a surcease of agony. They fired; 
 and though each bullet pierced him through he did not fall, 
 but for a moment gazed with all the fierce splendor of an 
 eagle's eye upon them; then deliberately laid himself upon the 
 ground, and there died like a King. For every drop of his 
 warm blood, I swore to kill a Spaniard. 
 
 Mother and myself spent that night in a dungeon of old 
 Moro Castle. I\Iorning came, and with it came Castillo Ber- 
 nardo — she whom I loved. She came, and gaining entrance, 
 stealthily slipped through the bars some implements for our 
 escape. But innocense is never wary; the guard's keen eyes 
 detected my Castillo's scheme; and prison being her reward, 
 we three were put in chains. Aye, sir, before high heaven, 
 there is no pride or power that struts and vaunts itself as 
 military power ! Kings may conquer with it, but it cannot 
 make them, nor their nations great. 
 
 Oh, gentle priest ! Your ears have heard the robber's crime 
 confessed, and listened to the tale the murderer's told; and 
 startled in horror when queenly virtue whispered of her fall; 
 but never did- a priest of God command a subject to a task 
 like mine. Aye, sir, "man's inhumanity to man" makes hell 
 to frown where heaven should smile. Oh, Spain, what crimes 
 were committed in thy name ! 
 
 That night some secret deputies conducted me, my moth- 
 er, and Castillo to a secluded, dismal place far out by the sea, 
 and there revealed to us the verdict of a court we never saw : 
 One prisoner should die; my mother, or Castillo. And I must 
 act as judge. Priest, you shudder ! I shudder, too, when I 
 think of their awful fate. My precious mother, or my own 
 Castillo doomed, and I to name the one to die a death like 
 
86 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 that ; and which should live in unmeasured misery. Oh, hor- 
 rible horrors ! I can now see their white arms out stretched to 
 me. Oh, dead, irqmortal heroes; you whose brave hearts made 
 historic the Alhambra; where of old the lights shone o'er 
 fair women and brave men, are you not ministering spirits 
 to-night ? 
 
 Oh, but listen, priest ! If I refused to make decision, 
 then both should die. holy church; and you who teach 
 people holy things to do ! AVhat was the holy thing for me 
 to do? They placed a sea-shell and a death-cap in my hands; 
 the shell I must place at the feet of the one I would save; 
 the cap must hide the face of the one I condemned. 
 
 Can you believe it father, when I took the sea-shell in my 
 fingers, a clammy sweat poured on it from my hands. When 
 I touched the cap an icy shiver seized my soul, and my body 
 seemed cold as death. I dashed it to the ground and stamped 
 and spat upon it in my fury; and I cursed the hired servants 
 of Spanish power. Castillo pulled my sleeve and whispered, 
 "1 am youngest, let me die." My mother said, "I am oldest, 
 let me die." And deep in my heart there arose, "I am strong- 
 est, let me die." But this boon the guards denied me.. Then 
 when I swore I never would make choice between the two, 
 quick and sure the answer came, "If you do not make choice 
 between the two, then both their bodies -^dll be cut to pieces 
 and fed to SAvine." 
 
 Father, what could I do then. They gave me one minute 
 more to decide. I felt my heart beat through miy eager eyes, 
 while gazing upon these two angels of my heart's best love — 
 they Avere so beautiful and pure, it seemed to me they coald 
 not die. What could I do, good priest; what could I do ? In 
 some mechanical, half-conscious way I placed the shell — ► 
 where would you have placed it, priest? I placed it at my 
 mother's feet. I placed it there because — well, because she 
 was my mother. Then Castillo made a cross and gazed in 
 willing resignation far out beyond the o^ean and the stars, 
 and gave her soul back to God. I snatched the shell from 
 where it lay and placed it at Castillo's feet. I placed it 
 there because — well, because she Avas to be my Avife. But, 
 priest, my mother's smile of approbation seemed to mock the 
 love I bore her, and I snatched the shell again, and with 
 frantic, supernatural energy I crushed into a thousand pieces 
 in my hand. Ah, priest, my grip was like an iron vise, and 
 
REP0RTOIRB 37 
 
 my muscles were like steel cords; and when the guard ap- 
 proached to place the death caps on those sacred heads I 
 loved, with a supernatural power I broke the chains that 
 bound my feet, and quick as thought I snatched his sword 
 and drove it through his heart, then grasped his gun and 
 while holding his dying body up as a breast-work, killed 
 Weyler's servidors. Yes, killed them all, and cried for more 
 to feed my vengeance on. 
 
 DAUNTLESS. 
 Arthur Weir. 
 
 Suggestions— This dramatic recitation should be begun with a dark 
 voice. The young patriot should be characterized as a true hero, 
 while! Haynau's words should be gutteral and sarcastic. The oppor- 
 tunity for mental picturing is great, and its successful delivery re- 
 quires strong dramatic action. 
 
 Ah ! He is dead. A brave sad story clings about the mem- 
 ory of this dauntless man — a tale that strips war's tinsel off 
 and brings its horrors out, as only history can. You fain 
 would hear it? Then rob your eyes of all their tears, drive 
 feeling from your soul, forget love, honor, all that good men 
 prize, and o'er ycur heart hate's sullen waters roll. 
 
 Within a peaceful town he dwelt in youth — his sister's 
 hero and his mother's pride; the soul of honor, the abode of 
 truth, beloved and reverenced on every side. He had a sweet- 
 heart, lovely as the day — a gentle miaid who knew not half 
 his worth, who loved the sunshine, and who shrank away 
 from sorrow, and forever followed mirth. They were but 
 young, and hope's mirage upreared in their warm hearts its 
 rosy places; they deemed the real, and longing, only feared 
 life was too short for all the promised bliss. 
 
 And then came war, blood-spattered, cruel as hell, and 
 clamored with its iron voice for life — mother and sister and 
 the wedding bell, the hero left and hastened to the strife. 
 For liberty he struck in vain, but fell a captive in his earlicvst 
 affray; with threatening death, fierce Haynau bade him tell 
 where at, and in what way the patriots lay. "I will not tell," 
 he cried, with eyes aflame, "Do what thou wilt with me, I 
 will not bring death to my land and soil, my honored name — 
 from these sealed lips thou canst no secret bring." His captor 
 
38 THE W'ATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 onl}^ laughed. "He crowetli well. Go bring his mother 
 and sister here, and the}' shall die if he refuse to tell." The 
 hero answered not, but first felt fear. 
 
 The brutal soldiers to the brutish court dragged the wom- 
 en, and they stood over-awed, each to the other clinging for 
 support, and praying in their misery to God. The feel decree 
 the shrinking creatures heard, and long in vain essayed in 
 vain to make reply, for their weak speech could find no fit- 
 ting word to bear the burden of their agony. Tears came at 
 last. The brutal Haynau smiled, but all too soon. Weeping, 
 the mother said, "Be not thy country's traitor; oh, my child ! 
 Too old am I the loss of life to dread." Then spake the sis- 
 ter: "Brother mine, be brave. Life hath no charms if with 
 dishonor bought. Think not of us — our bleeding country 
 «!ave — ilife is so short at best, death matters not." 
 
 "He hath a sweetheart," Haynau said again, "go bring 
 her forth." And they brought her there, weeping with fear 
 and moaning low with pain, amid the golden showers of her 
 hair. She heard her doom ,and, as one stricken dead, with a 
 great cry she to the earth fell prone. "Oh, God," the hero 
 shrieked, and turned his head. Loud' Haynau laughed: 
 "Touched, oh, thou heart of stone." Then from the earth she 
 sprang, frenzied with fear, into her lover's arms, and kissed 
 his cheek and stroked his hair, and called him "love" and 
 "dear," and prayed him for her sake to yield and speak. He 
 thriTst her from him, clasped her form in his lithe arms again, 
 and then once more repulsed her gently ; and the deadly storm 
 that raged within him smote him to the floor. Groping, he 
 rose and spoke. Kone knew his voice; it grated like the hinges 
 of a tomb. "Oh, darling, it must be — 1 have no choice — thou 
 wouldst not have me bring my country's doom?" Haynau 
 made sign. "Away with her," he cried. They seized their 
 prey, but life to her was sweet, and, bounding from the sol- 
 diers at her side, moaning, she crouched, and clasped her 
 lover's feet. "Oh, for the love you bear me, save my life ! Tell 
 what he asks, and we will fly this place, into some unknown 
 land, where all this strife shall be forgotten in love's long 
 embrace." 
 
 He made no answer, save by bending low and kissing her 
 dam(p brow. They raised their prize, and bore her to the 
 door, as pale as snow, with all her soul outwelling from 
 her eyes. But here she turned, calm in her death despair, 
 
REiPBRTOIRE 
 
 and in a voice, ra'etallic in its hate, "My dying curse be on 
 you everywhere, false love/^ she cried, "who sends me to my 
 fate." There was a silence, then a fusillade of musketry, a 
 woman's screams and cries. A scuffling, a m'eeting of blade 
 vpith blade; the hero in his blood on the floor dies. 
 
 A MURDEEBR'S CONFESSION. 
 E. A. Poe. 
 
 Suggestions— We have so arranged this selection that its length 
 does not destroy it for a recitation. The strangel, weird, tragical story- 
 requires a strong dramatic delivery to make it successful. 
 
 True. Nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been 
 and am; but why will you say I am mad? Hearken, and 
 observe how calmly I can tell you the story. 
 
 It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; 
 but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object, 
 there was none. Passion, there was none. I loved the old 
 njan. He had never wronged me. He had never given me 
 insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye; 
 yes, that was it. One of his eyes resembled a vulture's eye — 
 a pale blue eye, with a film over it. It was not the old man 
 who frenzied me; but this evil eye. I had got so that when 
 in his presence I could see nothing but that demon eye. When- 
 ever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold and it froze the very 
 marrow in my bones. It drove me wild, and I made up my 
 mind to kill the old man, and thus rid myself of that eye 
 forever. 
 
 > The old man's time had come. The hour was about mid- 
 night. I could not harm the .old man unless I could see that 
 hideous eye, so with a loud yell I turned on the lantern and 
 leaped into his room. The light fell on that eye. He shriek- 
 ed once — only once. In an instant I dragged him to the 
 floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gay- 
 ly to find the deed so nearly done; but for many minutes 
 his heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did 
 not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At 
 length it ceased; and the old man was dead. I removed the 
 bed and examined the corpse. I placed mly hand over the 
 heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsa- 
 
40 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 tion. He was dead. His evil eye would trouble me no more. 
 
 If you think me mad, you wilL think so no longer when I 
 describe the wise precaiitions I took for the concealment of 
 the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in 
 silence. First of all I dismembered the body. 
 
 I then took up three planks from the flooring of the 
 chamber and deposited all between the scantlings. I then 
 replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human 
 eye — not even his — could have detected anything wrong. 
 
 When I had made an end of these labors it was four 
 o'clock — still dark as mid-night. As the bell sounded the 
 hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down 
 to open it with a light heart — for what had I now to fear? 
 Then entered three men who introduced themselves, with 
 perfect suavit)^, as officers of the police. A shriek had been 
 heard by a neighbor during the night; suspicion of foul 
 play had been aroused: information had been lodged at the 
 police office, and these officers had been deputed to search the 
 premises. 
 
 I smiled, for what had I to fear. I bade the gentlemen 
 welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The 
 old man, I mentioned was absent in the country. I took 
 my visitors all over the house. I bade them search — search 
 well. I led them at length to his chamber. I showed them 
 his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my 
 confidence I brought chairs into the room, and desired them 
 to rest here from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild 
 audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own chair over 
 the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of my victim. 
 
 The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced 
 them. I was singularly at east. But ere long I felt myself 
 getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I 
 fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat and chatted. 
 The ringing became more distinct; it continued and gained 
 definiteness — until at length I found that the noise was not 
 within my ears. 
 
 No doubt I now grew very pale; but I talked on more flu- 
 ently and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased; 
 what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound — much 
 like a sound a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I 
 gasped for breath — and yet the officers heard it not. I talk- 
 ed more quickly, more vehemently; but the noise steadily in- 
 
REPERTOIRE 41 
 
 creased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and 
 with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. 
 Why should they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro 
 with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations 
 of the men — but the noise steadily increased. Oh, God ! what 
 could I do ? I foamed, I raved, I swore. I swung the chair 
 upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, 
 but the noise arose over all, and continually increased. It 
 grew louder — louder — louder. And still the men chatted 
 pleasantly and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? 
 
 They heard; they suspected; they knew. They were 
 making a mockery of my horror. This I thought, and this 
 I think. But anything was better than this agony. Anything 
 was more tolerable than this derision. I could bear those 
 hypocritical smiles no longer. I felt that I must scream or 
 die — and now again, hark ! louder ! louder ! louder ! louder ! 
 
 "Villains !" I shrieked, "dissemble no more. I admit the 
 deed ; tear up the planks. Here ! here; it is the beating of 
 his hideous heart !" 
 
 THE POWER OF HABIT. 
 John B. Gough. 
 
 Sugg-estions^-This is wonderfully dramatic. It requires a good 
 knowledge of acting to give It successfully. Thd lines uttered by the 
 boy in the boat should sound like they were coming from off the water. 
 Those uttered by those along the bank should be suited to their posi- 
 tion in the scene. But the last lines of the boys in the boat should be 
 changed to the position of the reciter on the rostrum, who suits the 
 action to the words. The last line again changes the position of the 
 reciter to that of a laoker-on; but it is intensely dramatic. A run 
 forward with both hands upraised, the whole body tense, and shriek- 
 ing the words, is a very effective ending. 
 
 One day while riding along the broad highway that leads 
 from Buffalo down to the Niagara Falls I saw three young 
 men launch their boat on the Niagara river. Along the riv- 
 er's edge were men, women and children, fishing, picnicing, 
 and enjoying a day's outing in balmy June. These young 
 men set out on a pleasure sail ; oars, sails, and helm in proper 
 trim; the delightful breeze, the ripple at the bow and the sil- 
 ^'ery wake that is left behind, add to their enjoyment. All 
 nature seemed to add to their pleasure, as they glide down the 
 stream. They kept about even with my carriage drawn by 
 
42 THE WATKHOSrS BROTHEiRS' 
 
 two fine steeds. Suddenly some one from the bank cries out^ 
 "Young men, ahoy there!" "What is it?" "The rapids are 
 below you."' "Yes, we know of the rapids, but we are not 
 such fools as to get too near." On I went, watching them all 
 the time; and on they went with the swift current. Again 
 some one on the bank cries out, "Young men, ahoy !" "Well, 
 what is it ?" "The rapids are below you^the rapids." "Ah, 
 yes we know; but have no fears. Before we get to the danger 
 point we will, set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, up with 
 the helm and steer to the shore. Time enough yet." So, on 
 they go; and a rajbment later another call meets their ears, 
 "Young men, ahoy there! Beware ! beware ! You are in the 
 rapids!" "Oh God! Boys, see the water foaming all 
 around ! See how fast we pass that point ! Set the mast in 
 the socket ! hoist the sails ! up with the helm; now turn ! pull — 
 quick, quick, quick — pull hard; pull for your lives; pull 
 till the blood starts from your nostrils, and the veins stand 
 like whipcords, on your brow ! Oh God, it is too late ! too 
 lote !" Shrieking, cursing, howling, blaspheming, over they 
 
 OLD ACE. 
 Fred Emerson Brooks. 
 
 iSugg-estions— This is one of the most beautifiol selections in print. 
 Most of it should be given with a dash and the spirit of a race.' Use 
 a bright, cheerful voice, except where the characters speak. Give to 
 each of them a separate and distinct voice. An excellent opportunity 
 for facial expression and acting. Properly delivered, it always is a 
 success. 
 
 Can any pleasure in life compare with a charming drive 
 in the balmy air ? A buggy light with shimmering wheel; 
 springs whose resistance you barely feel; a spirited horse of 
 royal breed with just a little more style and speed than any 
 you meet, and it naatters not if his gate be a pace or a swing- 
 ing trot. - 
 
 The tassel sways on the graceful whip; you grasp your 
 lines with a tighter grip; your horse is off for a splendid 
 dash and needs no touch of the urging lash. You feel the 
 puff of the startled air; it floats his mane and it lifts your 
 hair. The hoof marks time in its measured beat, for the 
 swelling nostrils that scorn defeat. 
 
REPERTOIRE 43 
 
 One glorious day in the balmy spring, Jack Dorr was 
 out with his new horse, King. Though both were rich, it 
 was his design to buy him a faster horse than mine. By his 
 side the sweetest girl in town, of handsome features and eyes 
 so brown that gazing in where the lashes curled was like the 
 view of another world, where the angel lives and the angel 
 sings; and she was one that had dropped her .wings and come 
 to earth just to let men see how sweet the angels in heaven 
 :^ay be. I envied the breeze its constant bliss of passing her 
 nheek and stealing a kiss. 
 
 I loved that girl when I was young, but getting older I'd 
 lost my tongue. I learned in college Latin and Greek, 'but 
 Cupid's language I could not speak, while Jack was perfect 
 in Cupid's art, the only language he Imew by heart. I envied 
 Jack in his ride that day, and jogged old Spot in a leasure^ 
 way that two-mile drive to the sulphur spring, to test the 
 speed of his new horse. King. 
 
 Jack took the lead and it touched his pride, for the fast- 
 est horse and the fairest bride had been his boast. Did I 
 pass him by? My heart, 1 reckon, could answer why. I'm 
 almost certain I lost that race by lagging behind to look at 
 Grace. 
 
 Jack seemed more proud of his horse that day than he was 
 of Grace, which made me say : "Be sure of your gamje before 
 you boast, from dead defeat may rise a ghost. I'll race you 
 back to town," said I, "for Grade's glove." But he made 
 reply : "What use to you is the senseless glove from the soft 
 white hand of the girl I love? Suppose you win," he laugh- 
 ed in m.y face, "you get the mitten and I get Grace." Said 
 I : "No trophy would I prize" — and I caught a look from 
 her soft brown eyes that drove the rest of it out of my head. 
 I don't remember just what I said. 
 
 Jack laughed away until his eyes were wet. "Increase the 
 wager, I'll take the bet." "My glove," said Grace, "and the 
 hand within shall be the prize of the one to win." I looked 
 at Jack but he didn't chaff, he didn't smile nor he didn't 
 laugh. "Must I then race you for such a bride," said Jack, 
 "and carry the load beside?" 
 
 "I'll carry," said I, "the precious load." Her bright eyes 
 flashed and her fair cheeks glowed. She took her seat with 
 little ado; I tucked the robe and my heart in too. Said I : 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 ''Old Spot/'' as I stroked his neck and rubbed his nose and 
 loosened his check, "she's Bob's own Grace if you do your 
 best." He pricked his ears just as if he guessed the time had 
 come when his master's need had staked all happiness on his 
 
 When all was ready, Grace shouted "go," a word both 
 horses seemed to know. You heard the hoof with its measured 
 sway, pacing along the great highway. You saw the swell 
 of the panting side, the pink that glows in the nostril wide. 
 I knew Old Spot, if he kept that pace, would win my choice of 
 the human race. No word was spoken between the two; the 
 , tongue is silent when hope is new. A mile, a mile and a half 
 we sped, and still Old Spot was a neck ahead. 
 
 Jack touched his horse with the tasseled whip; then 
 Gracie, pursing her rosy lips, uttered a sound like a lover's 
 kiss — vss-ss, vss-ss. The world is moved by a sound like 
 this. To urge a horse, a capital plan, and often used to en- 
 courage man; but she had never dreamed she had let me in 
 to her fond desire that I should win. 
 
 The only time in the race she spoke was when, over urged, 
 Jack's trotter broke. "He's running his horse and that's not 
 fair." Then blushing up to her auburn hair, she grabbed 
 the whip from my willing hand, a move that Jack seemed to 
 understand, for she raised it high, as much as to say: Well, 
 running's a game that two can play. So he brought him 
 down to an honest trot, but he couldn't keep up with dear 
 Old Spot, who forged ahead when he saw the whip and pass- 
 ed the stake with never a skip. 
 
 On through the village he kept his speed, for I was too 
 happy to mind the steed; he would not stop when the race 
 was run, but started home with the prize he'd won, nor stop- 
 ped till he reached his farm house gate, where good old 
 mother was sure to wait. 
 
 I know the horse is a trifle old, but you can't buy him 
 with all your gold. My Gracie loves him and pats his neck, 
 and says he's the best card in the deck, and rubs his nose till 
 he kisses her face. She has changed his name to dear Old 
 Ace, and smilingly says : "It's the proper thing, for it takes 
 the Ace to beat the King." As she purses her lips for the 
 well known smack, I'm glad the Queen didn't take the Jack." 
 
REPERTOIRE 
 
 OUR CASEY AT THE BAT. 
 
 As adapted and recited by Watkins Brothers. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection, containing the changes we have made, 
 is capable of winning the audience. There is opportunity for splendid 
 action, and should be given with the spirit of enthusiasm and excite- 
 ment that exi.sts in an audience and players in a great ball gamel. 
 
 There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his 
 place; there was pride in Casey's bearing, and a smile on 
 Casey's face. And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly 
 doffed his hat — no stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas 
 Casey at the bat. 
 
 Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands 
 with dirt, five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped 
 them on his shirt. Then while the New York pitcher ground 
 the ball into his hip, defiance gleamed in Casey's eyes, a sneer 
 curled Casey's lip. 
 
 'Twas the day they played "The Giants" and the score 
 stood ten to eight; two men were on the bases, and great 
 Casey at the plate. "Swipe her, Casey," yelled the "rooters" 
 and again he doffed his cap; three to win and two to tie, and 
 Casey at the bat. 
 
 And now the leather covered sphere came hurling through 
 the air, and Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur 
 there. Close by the sturdy batsmian the ball unheeded sped — 
 "That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire 
 said. 
 
 From the benches, black with people, there went up a 
 muffled roar, like the beating of storm waves on a stern and 
 distant shore. "Kill him I Kill the umpire!" shouted some 
 one on the stand; and it's likely they'd have killed him, had 
 not Casey raised his hand. 
 
 With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage 
 shone; he stilled the rising tumult — he bade the game go 
 on. He signalled to Sir Timothy, once more the spheroid 
 flew; but Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike 
 two." 
 
 "Fraud," cried the maddened thousands, and echo an- 
 swered "fraud." But one scornful look from Casey and the 
 audience was awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold, 
 they saw his muscles strain, and they knew that Casey would 
 not let that ball go by again. 
 
46 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 The sneer is gone from] Casey's lip, his teeth are clinched 
 in hate; he pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate. 
 And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go; 
 and now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. 
 
 He struck the ball at its center, it cleared the big town 
 lot; it sailed above the high church tower — in vain the 
 fielders sought ; and Casey didn't even run, he stopped awhile 
 to talk; the game was his. 'Mid deafening cheers, he came 
 'round in a walk. 
 
 THE GLADIATOE. 
 
 Sug'gestions — This selection requires a strength, force, energy and 
 magnetism to make it effective'. The audience must not only hear 
 and understand, but they must be made to feel the power of the 
 reciter 
 
 Stillness reigned in the vast amphitheater, and from the 
 coimtless thousands that thronged the spacious enclosure not 
 a breath was heard. Every tongue was mute with suspense, 
 and every eye strained with anxiety toward the gloomy portal 
 where the gladiator was momentarily expected to enter. At 
 length the trumpet sounded, and they led him forth into the 
 broad arena. There was no mark of fear upon his manly 
 countenance, as with majestic step and fearless eye he entered. 
 He stood there, like another Apollo, firm and unbending, as 
 the rigid oak. His fine proportioned form was matchless, 
 and his turgid muscles spoke his giant strength. 
 
 "I am here," he cried, as his proud lip curled in scorn, 
 "to glut the savage eyes of Eomie's proud populace. Aye, like 
 a dog you throw me to a beast ; and what is my offence ? Why, 
 forsooth ! I am a Christian. But know ye, ye cannot fright my 
 soul, for it is based upon a foundation stronger than adaman- 
 tine rock. Know ye, whose hearts are harder than the flinty 
 stone, my heart quakes not with fear; and here I aver, I 
 would not change conditions with the blood-stained Nero, 
 crowned though he be, not for the wealth of Rome. Blow ye 
 your trumpet — I am ready." 
 
 The trumpet sounded, and a long, low growl was heard 
 to proceed from the cage of a half -famished ISTumidian lion, 
 situated at the farthest end of the arena. The growl deep- 
 ened into a roar of tremendous volume, which shook the enor- 
 
REPEHTOIRE 47 
 
 nious edifice to its very center. At that moment tlie door was 
 thrown open, and the huge iqonster of the forest sprang from 
 his den witli one mighty bound to the opposite side of the 
 arena. His eyes blazed with the brilliancy of fire^ as he 
 slowly drew his length along the sand, and prepared to make 
 a spring upon his formidable antagonist. The gladiator's 
 eye quailed not; his lip paled not; but he stood immovable as 
 a statue, waiting the approach of his wary foe. 
 
 At length the lion crouched himself into an attitude for 
 springing and with the quickness of lightning leaped full at 
 the throat of the gladiator. But he was prepared for him, 
 and bounding lightly on one side his falchion flashed for a 
 moment over his head, and in the next it was deeply dyed in 
 the purple blood of the monster. A roar of redoubled fury 
 again resounded through the spacious amphitheater, . as the 
 enraged animal mad with anguish from the wound he had just 
 received, wheeled hastily round, and sprang a second time 
 at the ISTazarene. 
 
 Again was the falchion of the cool and intrepid gladiator 
 deeply planted in the breast of his terrible adversary; but so 
 sudden had been the second attack, that it was impossible to 
 avoid the full impetus of his bound, and he staggered and 
 fell upon his knee. The monster^s paw was upon his should- 
 er, and he felt his hot fiery breath upon his cheek, as it rush- 
 ed through his wide distended nostrils. The ISTazarene drew 
 a short dagger from his girdle, and endeavored to regain his 
 feet. But his foe aware of his design, precipitated himself 
 upon him, threw him with violence to the ground. 
 
 The excitement of the populace was now Avrought up to 
 a high pitch, and they waited the result with breathless sus- 
 pense. A low growl of satisfacticfn now announced the noble 
 animal's triumph, as he sprang fiercely upon his prostrate 
 enemy. But it was of short duration ; the dagger of the glad- 
 iator pierced his vitals, and together they rolled over and 
 over, across the broad arena. Again the dagger drank deep 
 of the monster's blood, and again a roar of anguish reverber- 
 ated through the stately edifice. 
 
 The ISTazarene, now watching his opportunity, sprang with 
 the velocity of thought from the terrific embrace of his en- 
 feebled antagonist and regaining his falchion which had fallen 
 to the ground in the struggle, he buried it deep in the heart 
 
48 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 of the infuriated beast. The noble king of the forest, faint 
 from the loss of blood, concentrated all his remaining strength 
 in one mighty bound; but it was too late; the last blow had 
 been driven home to the centre of life, and his huge form 
 fell with a mighty crash upon the arena, amid the thunder- 
 ing acclamations of the populace. 
 
 DEATH BED OF BENEDICT ARNOLD. 
 Greo. Lippard. 
 
 Suggestions — In this selection the voice should be dark in form and 
 orotund timbre. The words of Arnold should be asperated, and some 
 of them whispeired. It requires strong facial expression and intense 
 dramatic acting. 
 
 Fifty years ago, in a rude garret, near the loneliest sub- 
 urbs of the City of London, lay a dying man. He was but half 
 dressed, though his legs were concealed in long military boots. 
 An aged minister stood beside the rough couch. The form 
 was that of a strong man grown old through care more than 
 age. There was a face that you might look upon but once, 
 and yet wear it in your memory forever. 
 
 Let us bend over the bed, and look upon that face. A 
 bold forehead seamed by one deep wrinkle visible between 
 the brows — long locks of dark hair, sprinkled with gray; 
 lips firmly set, yet quivering, as though they had a life sep- 
 arate from the life of the man; and then, two large eyes — 
 vivid, burning unnatural in their steady glare. Ay, there 
 was something terrible in that face — something so fvill of un- 
 natural loneliness — unspeakable despair, that the aged min- 
 ister started back in horror. But look ! those strong arms are 
 clutching at the vacant air; the death sweat stands in drops 
 on that bold brow — the man is dying. Throb — throb — throb 
 — beats the death-watch in the shattered wall. "Would you 
 die in the faith of the Christian?" faltered the preacher, as 
 he knelt there on the damp floor. 
 
 The white lips of the death stricken man trembled, but 
 made no sound. Then, with the strong agony of death up- 
 on him, he rose into a sitting posture. For the first time 
 he spoke. "Christian !" he echoed in that deep tone which 
 thrilled the preacher to the heart. "Will that faith give me 
 
REPERTOIRE 49 
 
 back my honor? Coroie with me, old man, come with me, 
 far over the waters. Ha ! we are there ! This is my native 
 town. Yonder is the church in which I knelt in childhood; 
 yonder the green on which I sported as a boy. But another 
 flag waves yonder, in place of the flag that waved when I 
 was a child." 
 
 "Look ye, priest ! this faded coat i;5 spotted with my 
 blood !" he cried, as old memories seemed stirring in his 
 heart. "This coat I wore when I first heard the news of 
 Lexington; this coat I wore when I planted the banner of 
 the stars on Ticonderoga ! that bullet hole was pierced in 
 the fight of Quebec; and now, I am a — let me whisper it in 
 your ear!" He hissed that single burning word into the 
 minister's ear: "Now help mJe, priest; help me to put on 
 this coat of blue; for you see" — and a ghastly smile came 
 over his face — "there is no one here to wipe the cold drops 
 from my brow; no wife, no child. I must meet death alone; 
 but I will meet him, as I have met him in battle, without a 
 fear." 
 
 The awe stricken preacher started back from the look of 
 the dying man, while throb — ^throb — throb beats the death 
 watch, in the shattered wall, "Hush ! silence along the lines 
 there !" he muttered, in that wild, absent tone, as though 
 speaking to te dead; "silence along the lines! not a word — not 
 a word, on peril of your lives ! Hark you, Montgomery ! we 
 will m'eet in the center of the town — we will meet there in 
 victory or die — Hist ! silence, my men — not a whisper, as we 
 move up those steep rocks ! Now on, my boys — now on ! Men 
 of the wilderness, we will gain the town ! Now up with the 
 banner of the stars — up with the flag of freedom, though the 
 night is dark, and the snow falls ! Now ! now, one more blow 
 and Quebec is ours !" 
 
 And look ! his eye grows glassy. With that word on his 
 lips he stands there ; ah ! what a hideous picture of despair; 
 erect, livid, ghastly; there for a moment, and then he falls — 
 he is dead. Who is this strange man lying there alone in 
 this rude garret— this man, who, in all his crimes, still treas- 
 ured up that blue imiform, that faded flag? Who is this 
 being of horrible remorse — this man whose memories seem, 
 to link something with heaven and more with hell ? 
 
 Let us look at that parchment and flag. The aged minis-- 
 ter unrolled that faded flag; it is a blue banner gleaming with 
 
50 THE! WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 thirteen stars. He unrolls that parchment; it is a colonel's 
 commission in the Continental army addressed to Benedict 
 Arnold ! And there in that rude hut, while the death-watch 
 throbbed like a heart in the shattered wall — there, unknown, 
 unwept, in all the bitterness of desolation, lay the corpse of 
 the patriot and traitor. 
 
 Oh that our own true Washington had been there to 
 sever that good right arm from the corpse; and, while the 
 dishonored body rotted into dust, to bring home that noble 
 arm and embalm it among the holiest memories of the past. 
 For that right arm struck many a blow for freedom; yonder 
 at Ticonderoga, at Quebec, Champlain and Saratoga, that 
 arm yonder, beneath the snow-white m«ountains, in the deep 
 silence of the river of the dead, first raised into light the 
 Banner of the Stars. 
 
 BEK HUE'S CHARIOT RACE. 
 
 Lew Wallace. 
 
 iSugg-estions— The successful delivery of this selection requires that 
 the foroe and power of the voice be reserved for the climax; but from 
 the beginning- to the climax should be quick and spirited. The descrip- 
 tive gesturing should thoroughly indicate the race around the track. 
 From the words, "That moment Ben-Hur leaned forward over his 
 Arabs," there is an increase of all the powers of deilvery, until thd 
 words, "On, Atair! On, Rigal! On, Antares!" is reached; and this 
 tremendous power must be maintained until the words, " 'Tis done! 
 'Tis done!" is reached, when the voice and action gradually calms down 
 to the end. 
 
 The trumpet sounded short and sharp . The starters, one 
 for each chariot, leaped down, ready to give assistance if any 
 of the fours proved unmanageable. Again' the trumpet blew, 
 and simultaneously the gate-keepers threw the stalls open. 
 Forth from each stall, like missiles in a volley from so many 
 great guns, rushed, the six contesting fours — ^the Corinthians', 
 Messala's, the Athenions', the Byzantines',' the Sidonion's, 
 and Ben Hur's — and up the vast assemblage rose, and, leap- 
 ing upon the benches, filled the circus with yells and screams. 
 This was the time for which they had so patiently waited, 
 this the moment of supreme interest. 
 
 Each driver looked first for the rope, then for the coveted 
 inner line. With all six aiming at the same point and speed- 
 ing fu^riously, a collision seemed inevitable. The crossing 
 
REPERTOIRE 51 
 
 was about 250 feet in width, and quick the eye, steady the 
 hand, unerring the judgment required. The fours neared the 
 rope together. Ben Hur was on the extreme left of the six. 
 At ]\Iessala, who was more than an antagonist to him, he gave 
 one searching look, and saw the soul of the man, cunning, 
 cruel, desperate, in a tension of watchfulness and fierce re- 
 solve. ' 
 
 in tliat brief instant all his former relations with MesSala 
 came vividly before him. First happy chikllTOod, v/hen, lov- 
 ing and beloved, they played together. • Then manhood that 
 iDrought a change in Messala, and the Eoman's inborn con- 
 tempt of Jews asserted itself and Ijroke the friendship. It 
 was Messala's influence that had banished him to the gal- 
 leys for life, that had consigned his mother and sister to an 
 uncertain fate, whose very uncertainty was more torturing 
 t"b>in their certain death would have been. It was his own 
 ■ J.-. ;'ry that had released him from the galley life, where 
 Messala even now supposed him to be, released him in time 
 to take vengeance against Messala for his cruelty. 
 
 Ben Hur felt his own resolution harden at these thoughts. 
 At whatever cost he would humjble his enemy. He saw that 
 I\Iessala"s rush would if there was no collision, and the rope 
 fell, sive him the wall. It is one thing to see a necessity and 
 another to act upon it; Ben Hur yielded the wall for 
 the time. Just then the trumpeter blew a signal vigorously. 
 The judges dropped the rope, and not an instant too soon, 
 for the hoof of the one of Messala's horses struck it as it fell. 
 The Roman shook out his lash, loosened the reins, leaned for- 
 ward, and, with a triumphant shout, took the wall. 
 
 "Jove with us ! Jove with us !" yelled the Eoman faction, 
 in a frenzy of delight. 
 
 ^ Ben Hur drew head to the right, and, with all the speed 
 of his Arabs, darted across the trail of his opponents, and 
 took the course neck and neck with Messala, though on the 
 outside. And now, racing together side by side, a narrow 
 interval between them, the two neared the second goal. The 
 pedestal of the three pillars there made a stone* wall in the 
 form of a half circle, around which the course bent. Making 
 this turn was considered the most telling test of a charioteer. 
 A hush fell over the circus; so that for the first time in the 
 race the rattle and clang of the ears plunging after the tug- 
 ging steeds were heard. Then, it would seem, Messala oh- 
 
52 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 served Ben Hur, and recognized him; and at once the audacity 
 of the man flamed out in an astonishing manner. 
 
 "Down Eros, up Mars !" he shouted, whirling his lash. 
 *'Down Eros, up Mars !" he repeated, and gave the Arab steeds 
 of Ben Hur a cut the like of which they had never known. 
 
 The blow was seen in every quarter. Tlie silence deep- 
 ened, and the boldest held his breath. ISTo hand had ever been 
 laid upon them except in love. The affrighted four sprang 
 forward as with one imipulse, and forward leaped the car. The 
 chariot trembled with a dizzy lurch, but Ben Hur kept his 
 place, and gave the horses free rein, and called to them in 
 soothing voice, trying to guide them round the dangerous 
 turn; and before the fever of the people began to abate, he 
 liad l3ack the mastery. Nor that only; on approaching the 
 first goal, he was again side by side with Messala, bearing 
 with him the sympathy and admiration of every one not a 
 Eoman. Even Messala with all his boldness felt it unsafe to 
 trifle further. 
 
 On whirled the cars. Three rounds were concluded; still 
 Messala held the inside position; still Ben Hur moved with 
 him side by side; still the competitors followed as before. The 
 sixth round was entered upon without change of relative posi- 
 tion. Gradually the speed had been quickened, and m'en and 
 beasts seemed to know alike that the final crisis was near. 
 The interest which from the beginning had centered chiefly 
 in the struggle between the Eoman and the Jew, with an in- 
 tense and general sympathy for the latter, was first changing 
 to anxiety on his account. On all the benches the spectators 
 bent forward motionless. 
 
 "A hundred sestetii on the Jew !" cried Sanballat to the 
 Eomans ! There was no reply. 
 
 "A talant, or five talents, or ten ; choose ye !" 
 
 "I will take thy sestetii," answered a Eoman youth. 
 
 "Do not so," interposed a friend. 
 
 "Why?" _ ■ 
 
 "Messala hath reached his utmost speed. See him lean 
 over his chariot rim, the reins .loose as flying ribbons then 
 look at the Jew!" 
 
 "By Hercules!" replied the youth, "I see, I see! If the 
 gods help him not, he will be run away with by the Israelite. 
 'No, not yet ! Look ! Jove with us, Jove with us !" 
 
 If it were true that Messala had gained his utmost speed. 
 
REPEiRTOIRB 53 
 
 he was slowly but certainly beginning to forge ahead. His 
 horses were mnning with their heads low down; from the 
 balcony their bodies appeared actually to skim the earth; 
 their nostrils showed blood red in expansion; their eyes seemed 
 straining in their sockets. The good steeds were doing their 
 best ! How long could thej keep the pace ? It was but the 
 commencement of the sixth round. On they dashed. The 
 Joy of the Messala faction reached its bound. They screamed, 
 and howled, and tossed their colors, and Sanballat filled hu 
 tablets with their wagers. Ben Hur was hardly holding a 
 place at the tail of his enemy's car I All the factions except 
 the Eomans joined hope in him, and openly indulged their 
 feeling. 
 
 "Ben Hur ! Ben Hur !" they shouted, "Speed thee, Jew !" 
 
 "Take the wall now !" 
 
 "On ! loose the Arabs ! Give them rein and scourge !" 
 
 "Let Messala not have the turn on thee again. Now or 
 never \" 
 
 Over the balcony they stooped low, stretching their hands 
 imploringly to him. Either he did not hear, or could not do 
 better, for half-way round the course and he was still fol- 
 lowing; at the second goal even still no change ! 
 
 And now, to mjake the turn, Messala began to draw in his 
 left-hand steeds, which necessarily slackened their speed. His 
 spirit was high ; the Roman genius was still supreme. On the 
 three pillars only 600 feet away were fame, fortune, promo- 
 tion, and a triumph ineffably sweetened by hate, all in store 
 for him ! That moment Ben Hur leaned forward over his 
 Arabs and gave them the reins. Out fiew the many folded 
 lash in his hands; over the backs of the startled steeds it 
 writhed and hissed and hissed and writhed again and again; 
 and though it fell not, there were both sting and menace in 
 its quick report. Instantly not one, but the four as one, an- 
 swered with a leap that landed them along side the Roman's 
 car. Messala, on the perilous edge of the goal, heard, but 
 dared not look to see what the awakenings portended. He was 
 moving in a circle round the goal. To pass him, Ben Hur 
 had to cross the track in a forward direction. The thousands 
 on the benches understood it all. 
 
 The people arose and leaped, and shouted and screamed. 
 But above the noises of the race arose one voice, that of Ben 
 Hur, calling to his steeds. 
 
54 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 "On Atair ! On, Eigal ! On Antares ! Good horse ! Oho ! 
 Aldebaran ! I hear them singing in their tents. I hear the 
 children singing and the women singing of the stars, of Atair, 
 Antares, Eigal, Aldebaran, victory ! and the song will never 
 end. Well done ! On, Antares ! The tribe is waiting for us, 
 and the mlaster is waiting ? ^Tis done ! 'tis done ! Ha, ha ! 
 we have o'^f^rthrown the proud. The hand that smote us is in 
 the dust. Ours the glory ! Ha ! ha ! steady ! The work is 
 done ! soho ! Eiest !" - 
 
 And Ben Hur turned the goal of victory, and the race 
 was Won ! 
 
 THE FLYING- DUTCHMAN. 
 J. B. O'Eeilly. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection is one of the greatest of the age. Its 
 successful delivery requires a strong, powerful voice strongly colored 
 with sviperstition. The curse should be delivered with the voice low 
 in pitch, but strong in force, awe-inspiring and strong in emotion. 
 
 Long, long ago, from Amsterdam a vessel sailed away, 
 as fair a ship as ever rode amidst the dashing spray. Upon the 
 shore were tearful eyes, and scarfs were in the air; as to her 
 o'er Zuyder Zee they waft adieu and prayer. Her captain is 
 a stalwart man — an iron heart has he — from' childhood's 
 days he sailed upon the rolling Zuyder Zee: He nothing 
 feared upon the earth, and scarcely heaven feared, he would 
 have dared and done whatever mortal man had dared; he 
 turned him from the swelling sail, and gazed upon the shore — 
 Ah ! little thought the skipper then' twould meet his eyes no 
 more. 
 
 Away, away, the vessel speeds, but sea and sky alone are 
 round her as her course she steers across the torrid zone. 
 Away, away, the North Star fades, the' Southern Cross is 
 high, and myriad gents of brightest beam are sparkling in 
 the sky. The tropic winds are left behind; she nears the 
 cape of Storm, where awfid tempests sit enthroned in wild 
 and dread alarm!, where ocean in his fury, heaves aloft his 
 foaming crest, and races past the slender ship that rides upon 
 his breast. Fierce swelled the winds and waves around the 
 Dutchman's gallant craft, a crested moimtain struck the 
 ^hip, and like a frighted bird a pleading voice within the 
 
REPERTOIRK 55 
 
 gale — his better angel spoke, but tied before his scowling 
 look. Then mast-high blllo^\■s broke around the trembling, 
 fated ship; the crew with terror paled, but Vanderdecken 
 never flinched, nor 'neath the thunders quailed. With folded 
 arms and stern-pressed lips, dark anger in his eye, he. an- 
 swered back the wrathful frown, that lowered o'er the sky. 
 With i'lerce defiance in his heart, and scornful look of flame 
 he spoke, and thus with impious voice blasphemed God's holy 
 name : "Howl on, ye winds ! ye tempests, howl ! your rage is 
 spent in vain; despite your strength, your frowns, your hate, 
 I'll ride upon the main; defiance to your idle shrieks ! I'll sail 
 upon my path; I cringe not for thy Maker's smile — I care 
 not for his wrath !" 
 
 He ceased. An awful silence fell; the tempest and the 
 sea were hushed in sudden stillness by the Ruler's dread de- 
 cree. Tiir ship v/as riding motionless within the gathering 
 gloom; the Captain stood upon the deck and heard his awful 
 doom. The hapless crew were on the deck in swooning terror 
 prone — They, too, were doomied — their heart's blood froze T 
 in angered thunder tone the judgment words swept o'er the 
 sea — "Go, wretched ! accursed ! condemned ! Go sail forever 
 on the deep by shrieking tempests hemmed. No home, no 
 port, no calm., no rest, no gentle fav'ring breeze shall ever 
 greet thee. Go, accursed ! and battle with the seas ! Go, 
 braggart ! struggle with the storm, nor ever cease to live, but 
 bear a million times the pangs that death and fear can give.. 
 Away ! and hide thy guilty head, a curse to all thy kind who 
 ever see thee struggling, Avretch, with ocean and with wind. 
 Away, presumptious worm of earth ! ■ Go teach thy fellow 
 worms, the awful fate that waits on him, who braves the King 
 of storms !" 
 
 'Twas o'er. A lurid lightning flash lit up the sea and 
 sky around and o'er the fated ship; then rose a wailing cry 
 from every heart within her, of wild anguish and despair; but 
 mercy was for them no more — it died away in air. Again the 
 lurid light gleamed" out— the ship was still at rest, the crew 
 were standing at their posts, with arms across their bre'ast; 
 still stood the captain on the deck, but bent and crouching 
 now, he bowed beneath that fiat dread, and o'er his swarthy 
 brow swept lines of anguish, as if he a thousand years of 
 pain had lived and suffered. Then across the heaving, angry 
 main the tempest shrieked triumphant, and the angry waters. 
 
56 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 hissed their vengeful hate against the toy they oftentimes had 
 kissed. And ever, ever through the storms that hapless crew 
 must speed ; they try to round the Stormy Cape, but never can 
 succeed. And oft when gales are wildest, and the lightning's 
 vivid sheen illumines the ocean's anger, still the phantom ship 
 is seen, unrelenting, unforgiving, and 'tis said that every 
 word of his blasphemous defiance still upon the gale is heard. 
 But heaven help the ship near which that dismal sailor steers 
 — the doom of those is sealed to whom that phantom ship ap- 
 pears: they'll never reach their destined port — ^they'll see 
 their homles no more — They who see the flying Dutchman 
 never, never reach the shore. 
 
 HOW SALVATOE WON. 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
 
 Suggestions — This beautiful selection should begin with a good 
 deal of feeling and emotion in the voice. The love for his horse and 
 the desirei to win, is apparent. These emotions grow stronger and 
 stronger until the climax is reached. A great deal of action is required 
 in urging the horse at the end of the race. 
 
 The gate was thrown open, I rode out alone, more proud 
 than a monarch who sits on a throne. I am but a jocky, but 
 shout upon shout went up from the people who watched me 
 ride out, and the cheers that rang forth from the warm- 
 hearted crowd were as earnest as those to which monarch e'er 
 bowed. My heart thrilled with pleasure, so keen it was pain, 
 as I patted my Salvator's soft silken mane ; and a sweet shiver 
 shot from his hide to my hand as we passed by the multitude 
 down to the stand. The great waves of cheering came billow- 
 ing back, as the hoofs of brave Tenny ran swift down the 
 track; and he stood there beside us, all bone and all muscle. 
 Our noble opponent well trained for the tussle that waited 
 us there on the smooth shining course. My Salvator, fair to 
 the lovers of horse, as a beautiful woman is fair to man's 
 sight — Pure type of the thoroughbred, clean limbed and 
 bright, stood taking the plaudits as only his due and nothing 
 at all unexpected or new. 
 
 And then, there before us the bright flag is spread, 
 there's a roar from the grand stand, and Tenny 's ahead; at 
 
REPERTOIRE 57 
 
 the sound of the voices that shouted 'a go !' he sprang like an 
 arrow shot straight from the bow. I tighten the reins on 
 Prinee Charlie's, great son, he is off like a rocket, the race 
 is begun, half way down the furlong, their heads are together, 
 scarce room 'twixt their noses to wedge in a feather. Past 
 grand stand and judges, in neck-to-neck strife, ah, Salvator, 
 boy ! 'tis the race of your life. I press my knees closer, 1 coax 
 him, I urge — I feel him go with a leap and a surge; I see 
 him creep on, inch by inch, stride by stride, while back- 
 ward, still backward, falls Tenny beside. We are nearing the 
 turn, the first quarter is passed — 'twixt leader and chaser the 
 daylight is cast; the distance elongnates, still Tenny sweeps 
 on, as graceful and free limbed and swift as a fawn. His 
 awkwardness vanished, his muscles all strained, a noble op- 
 ponent, well born and well trained. 
 
 I glanced o'er my shoulder, hah, Tenny, the cost of that 
 one second's flagging will be — the race lost. Otie second's 
 weak yielding of courage and strength. And the daylight 
 between us has doubled its length. The first mile is covered, 
 the race is mine — no ! For the blue blood of Tenny responds 
 to a blow. He shoots through the air like a ball from a gun, 
 and the two lengths between us are shortened to one. My 
 heart is contracted, my throat feels a lump — for Tenny's long 
 neck is at Salvator's rump ; and now, with new courage, grows 
 bolder and bolder, I see him once more running shoulder to 
 shoulder. With knees, hand and body I press my great steed. 
 I urge him, I coax him, I pray him to heed ! Oh, Salvator ! 
 Salvator! List to my calls, for blow of my whip will hurt 
 both if it falls. There's a roar from the crowd like the ocean 
 in storm, as close to my saddle leaps Tenny's great form; one 
 more mighty plunge, and, wdth knee, limb, and hand, I lift 
 my horse first by a nose past the stand; we are under the 
 string now — the great race is done — and Salvator Salvator, 
 Salvator won ! 
 
 Cheer hoar-headed patriarchs; cheer loud, I say, 'tis the 
 race of the century witnessed to-day ! Though ye live twice 
 the space that's allotted to men, ye never will see such a grand 
 race again. Let the shouts of the populace roar like the surf, 
 for Salvator, Salvator, king of the turf ! He has rivalled the 
 record of thirteen long years, he has won the first place in the 
 vast line of peers ; 'twas a neck-to-neck contest, a grand, hon- 
 est race, and even his enemies grant him the place ; down into 
 
58 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 the dust let old records be hurled, and hang out 2 :05 in the 
 gaze of the world. 
 
 ASLEEP AT THE SWITCH. 
 
 Suggestions— Although this is a dream, it must bd given with all 
 the vividness of an actual occurrence. It should be made intensely 
 dramatic, and permit no thought to reach th6 audience that it is a 
 dream. But when his wife calls to him and awakens him, the whole 
 nature of the reciter changes. Then is the time to make the auaience 
 clearly understand that it was a dream. 
 
 The first thing that I rem,eniber was Carlo tugging away, 
 with the sleeve of my coat fast in his teeth, pulling, as much 
 as to say : "Come, master, awake and tend to the switch, lives 
 now depend upon you, think of the souls in the coming train, 
 and the graves you're sending them to; think of the mother 
 and babe at her breast, think of the father and son, think of 
 the lover, and loved one, too, think of them, doomed every 
 one to fall, as it were, by your very hand, into yon fathomless 
 ditch, murdered by one who should guard them from harm, 
 who now lies asleep at the switch." 
 
 I sprang up amazed scarce knew where I stood, sleep had 
 o'ermastered me so; I could hear the wind hollowly howling 
 and the deep river dashing below; I could hear the forest 
 leaves rustling as the trees by the tempest were fanned, but 
 what was that noise in the distance ? that — I could not under- 
 stand ! I heard it at first distinctly, like the rolling of some 
 muffled drum, then nearer and nearer it came to me, and made 
 my very ears hum; what is this light that surrounds me and 
 seems to set fire to m^y brain? What whistle's that yelling so 
 shrilly, oh, God ! I know now, it's the train ! We often stand 
 facing some danger, and seem to take root to the place; so I 
 stood with this demon before mje, its heated breath scorching 
 my face, its headlight made day of the darkness, and glared 
 like the eyes of some witch; the train was almost upon me 
 before I remembered the switch. I sprang to it, seizing it 
 wildly, the train dashing fast down the track, the switch re- 
 sisted my efforts — some devil seemed holding it back. On, on, 
 came the fiery-eyed monster and shot by my face like a flash; 
 I swooned to the earth the next moment, and knew nothing 
 after the crash. 
 
 How long I lay there unconscious were impossible for me 
 
REPERTOIRE) 59 
 
 to tell. My stupor was almost a heaven, my -waking almost a 
 hell — For I then heard the piteous moaning and shrieking 
 of husbands and wi^-es, and I thought of the day we all shrink 
 from, when I must accoamt for their lives; mothers rushed by 
 me like m.aniacs, their eyes staring madly and wild. Fathers 
 losing their courage, gave way to their grief like a child ; 
 children searching for parents, I noticed, as by me they sped, 
 and lips that could form naught but 'Mama,' were calling for 
 one perhaps dead. My mind was made up in a second, the 
 river should hide me away. When, under the still burning 
 rafters, I suddenly noticed there lay a little white hand, she 
 who owned it was doubtless an object of love to one Avhom her 
 loss would drive frantic, tho' she guarded him now from 
 above ; T tenderly lifted the rafters and quickly laid them one 
 side, how litle she thought of her journey, when she left f^r 
 this last fatal ride ; I lifted the last log from off her, and while 
 searching for some spark of life, turned her little face up to 
 the starlight, and recognized — Maggie, my wife ! 
 
 Oh, Lord ! Thy scourge is a hard one, at a blow thou hast 
 shatered my pride, my life will be one endless night time, with 
 Maggie away from my side; how often we've sat down and 
 pictured the scenes in our long, happy life, how I'd strive thro' 
 all of my life time to build up a home for my wife. How peo- 
 ple would envy us always in our cozy and neat little nest, 
 when I would do all of the labor, and Maggie should all the 
 day rest; how one of Q-od's blessings might cheer us, when 
 some day I p'r'aps should be rich, but all of my dreams have 
 been shattered, while I lay there asleep at the switch. I fan- 
 cied I stood on my trail, the jury and judge I could see, and 
 every eye in the court room was steadfastly fixed upon me; 
 and fingers were pointed in scorn, till I felt my face blushing 
 red, and the next thing I heard were the words, "Hung by the 
 neck until dead." 
 
 Then I felt myself pulled once again, and my hand caught 
 tight hold of a dress. And I heard, "What's the matter, dear 
 Jim ? you've had a bad nightmare, I guess !" And there stood 
 Maggie, my wife, with never a scar from the ditch, I'd b«°eL. 
 taking a nap in my bed and had not been asleep at the 
 switch. 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 THE VAGABOiq"DS. 
 J. T. Trowbridge. 
 
 Suggestions— This recitation siiould be given a didactic and colloqual 
 delivery. It requires a great amount of acting to malie it successful. 
 To merely recite it is to make a failure of it. Live, feel and act th.e 
 thoughts and it will win. 
 
 We are two trav'lers, Eoger and I. Eoger's my dog, come 
 here, you scamp. Jump for the gentleman — mind your eye ! 
 over the table, look out for the lamp ! The rogue is growing a 
 little old, five years we've tramped through wind and weather, 
 ilnd slept out doors when nights were cold and ate and drank, 
 ajid starved together. We've learned wliat comfort is, I tell y/ou ! 
 a bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, a fire to thaw our thumbs 
 (poor fellow ! the paw he holds up there's been frozen), plenty 
 of catgut for my fiddle (this outdoor business is bad for the 
 strings), then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle 
 and Eoger and I set up for kings ! No, thank ye, sir — I never 
 drink; Eoger and I are exceedingly moral — aren't we Eoger? 
 see him wink, well somethin' hot then, we won't quarrel; he's 
 thirsty too, see him nod his head? what a pity, sir that dogs 
 can't talk, he understands every word that's said — and he 
 knows good milk from water and chalk. 
 
 The truth is, sir, now I reflect, I've been so sadly given to 
 grog, I wonder I've not lost the respect (Here's to you, sir?) 
 even of my dog, but he sticks by me through thick and thin, 
 and this old coat, with its empty pockets, and rags that smell 
 of tobacco and gin, he'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. 
 There isn't another creature living would do it, and prove, 
 thro' every disaster, so fond, so faithful, and so forgiving to 
 such a miserable thankless miaster ! No, sir, see him wag his 
 tail and grin ! By George ! it makes my old eyes water ! That 
 is, there's something in this gin that chokes a fellow, but no 
 matter ! We'll have some music if you're willing, and Eoger 
 (hem! what a plague a cough is, sir!) shall march a little. 
 Start, you villain ! stand straight; 'bout face ! salute your 
 officer! Put up that paw! dress! take your rifle! (some dogs 
 have arms, you see ! ) Now hold your cap while the gentle- 
 men give a trifle, to aid a poor old patriot soldier! March, 
 Halt ! Now show how the rebel shakes when he stands up to 
 hear his sentence. Now tell us how many drams it takes to 
 honor a jolly new acquaintance. Five yelps— that's five; he's 
 
KEPURTOIRB 61 
 
 mighty knowing ! the night's before us, fill the glasses ! Quick, 
 sir! I'm ill — my brain is going! some brandy — thank you — 
 there ! it passes ! 
 
 "UTiy not reform? that's easily said; but I've gone thro' 
 such wretched treatment, sometimes forgetting the taste of 
 bread, and scarce remembering what meat meant, that my 
 poor stomach's past reform; and there are times when, mad 
 with thinking, I'd sell out heaven for something warm to 
 prop a horrible inward sinking. Is there a way to forget to 
 think? at your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, a dear girl's 
 love, but I took to drink, the same old story; you know how it 
 ends. If you could have seen those classic features — you needn't 
 laugh, sir, — ^they were not then such a burning libel on God's 
 creatures, I was one of your han'some men. If you had seen 
 her, so fair and young, whose head was happy on this breast ! 
 If you could have heard the songs I sung when the wine went 
 round, you wouldn't have guessed that ever I, sir, should be 
 straying from door to door, with fiddle and dog, ragged and 
 penniless and playing to you to-night for a glass of grog. 
 
 She's married since, a parson's wife; 'twas better for her 
 that we should part — Better the soberest, prosiest life than a 
 blasted home and a broken heart. I have seen her — once, I 
 was weak and spent, on the dusty road a carriage stopped; 
 but little she dream'd as on she went, who kissed the coin 
 that her fingers dropped ! You've set me talking, sir I'm 
 sorry; it makes me Avikl to think of the change ! What do you 
 care for a beggar's story? is it amusing? you find it strange? 
 I had a mother so proud of me ! 'twas well she died before — Do 
 you know if the happy spirits in heaven can see the ruin and 
 wretchedness here below. Another glass and strong to 
 deaden this pain, then Roger and I will start. I wonder, has 
 he such a lumpish, leaden, aching thing in place of a heart? 
 He is sad sometimes, and would weep if he could, no doubt, 
 remembering things that were — A virtuous kennel, with 
 plenty of food, and himself a sober, respectable cur. I'm 
 better now, that glass was warming, you rascal, limber your 
 lazy feet we must be fiddling and performing for supper and 
 bed, or starve in the street. Not a very gay life to lead, you 
 think? but soon we shall go where lodgings are free, and the 
 sleepers need neither victuals nor drink — the sooner the bet- 
 ter for Eoger and me ! 
 
62 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 BRIDGE KEEPER'S STORY. 
 W. A. Eaton. 
 
 Sugg-estions^This dramatic selection begins in a conversational 
 voice and so continues until the cry of the boy for help, then it be- 
 comes very fast and exciting. It requres strong dramatic acting to 
 portray the part of th.e father in rescuing his boy. 
 
 "Do we have many accidents here, sir?" Well, no ! but of 
 one I could tell, if you wouldn't mind hearing the story, I 
 have cause to remember it well. You see how the drawbridge 
 swings open when the vessels come .in from the 'bay, when 
 the New York express comes along, sir ! that bridge must be 
 shut right away ! 
 
 You see how it's worked by the windlass; a child sir, could 
 manage it well; my brave little chap used to do it, — but that's 
 part of the tale I must tell. It is two years ago this autumn, 
 I'll never forget it, I'm sure; I was sitting at work in the 
 house here, and the boy played just outside the door. 
 
 You must know that the wages I'm getting for the work 
 on the line are not great, so I picked up a little shoemaking; 
 and I manage to live at that rate. I was pounding away on 
 my lapstone, and singing as blithe as could be. Keeping time 
 with the tap of my hammer at the work I held on my knee. 
 And Willie, my golden-haired darling, was tying a tail on his 
 kite ; his cheeks all aglow with excitement, and his blue eyes 
 lit up with delight; when the telegraph bell at the station 
 rang out the express on its way. "All right, father I" shouted 
 my Willie, ''remember I'm pointsman to-day." 
 
 I heard the v/heel turn at the windlass, I heard the bridge 
 swing on its way, and there came a cry from my darling; a cry 
 that filled my heart with dismay. "Help, father ! quick, help 
 me," he shouted. I sprang through the door with a scream. 
 Has clothes had got caught in the windlass; there he hung o'er 
 te swift, rushing stream. And there like a speck in the dis- 
 tance, I saw the fleet on-coming train; and the bridge that I 
 thought safely fastened, unclosed and swung backward again. 
 I rushed to my boy ; ere I reached him he fell in the river be- 
 low. I saw his bright curls on the water, borne away by the 
 current's swift flow. 
 
 I sprang to the edge of the river, but there was the onrush- 
 ing train, and hundreds of lives were in peril, till that bridge 
 was refastened again. I heard a loud shriek just behind me, 
 
REPERTOIRE 63 
 
 I turned, and his mother stood there, looking just like a 
 statue of marble, with her hands clasped in agonized prayer. 
 Should I leap in the swift-flowing torrent while the train 
 went headlong to its fate, or stop to refasten the drawbridge, 
 and go to his rescue too late? I looked at my wife, and she 
 whispered, with choking sobs stopping her breath, "Do your 
 duty and heaven will help you to save our own darling from 
 death !" Quick as thought, then, I flew to the windlass, and 
 fastened the bridge with a crash, then, just as the train rushed 
 across it, I leaped in the stream with a splash. 
 
 HoAv I fought with the swift-rushing water, how I battled 
 till hope almost fled, but just as I thought I had lost him, up 
 floated his bright golden head. How I eagerly seized on his 
 girdle, as a niiser would clutch at his gold, but the snap oif 
 his belt came unfastened, and the swift stream unloosened 
 my hold. He sank once again, but I followed, and caught at 
 his bright, clustering hair, and biting my lip till the blood 
 came, I swam with the strength of despair ! We had got to the 
 bend of the river,_wherc the water leaps down with a dash, I 
 held m,y boy tighter than ever, and steeled all my nerves for 
 the crash. The foaming and thundering whirlpool engulfed 
 us, I struggled for breath, then caught on a crag in the cur- 
 rent, just saved for a moment, from death ! and there, on the 
 bank, stood his mother, and some sailors were flinging a rope; 
 it reached us at last, and I caught it, for I knew 'twas our 
 very last hope ! And right up the steep rock they dragged 
 us, I cannot forget, to this day, how I clung to the rope while 
 my darling in my arms like a dead baby lay. And down on 
 the greensward I laid him till the color came back to his 
 face, and, oh, how my heart beat with rapture as I felt his 
 warm, loving embrace ! There, sir ! that's my story, a true 
 one. Though it's far more exciting than some, it has taught 
 me a lesson, and that is, "Do your duty, whatever may come !" 
 
 THE POLISH BOY. 
 
 Suggestions— This tragical selection begins witli an awe-inspiring 
 voice. The mother's pleading for her boy gives opportunity for dra- 
 matic and pathetic acting. The boy's part must be heroically por- 
 trayed in both voice! and action in reaching the tragical conclusion. 
 
 Whence come those shrieks so wild and shrill that cut like 
 blades of steel, the air, causing the creeping blood to chill with 
 
64 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 the sharp cadence of despair? Again they come^ as if a heart 
 were eleft in twain by one quick blow, and every string had 
 voice apart to utter its peculiar woe. Whence came they? 
 from yon temple where an altar, raised for private prayer, 
 now forms the warrior's marble bed who Warsaw's gallant 
 armies led. The dim funeral tapers throw a lustre o'er his 
 brow, and burnish with their rays of light the mass of curls 
 that gather bright above the haughty brow and eye of a young 
 boy that's kneeling by. What hand is that, whose icy press 
 clings to the dead with death's own grasp, but meets no an- 
 swering caress ? No thrilling fingers seek its clasp ? It is the 
 hand of her whose cry rang wildly, late upon the air, 
 when the dead warrior met her eye outstretched upon the altar 
 there. With pallid lip and stony brow she murmurs forth 
 her anguish now. But hark ! the tramp of heavy feet is heard 
 along the bloody street; nearer and nearer yet they come, with 
 clanking arms and noiseless drum, Now whispering curses, 
 low and deep, around the holy temple creep; the gate is burst; 
 a ruffian band rush in and savagely demand, with brutal voice 
 and oath profane, the startled boy for exile's chain. 
 
 The mother sprang with gesture wild, and to her bosom 
 clasped her child, then with pale cheek and flashing eye 
 shouted with fearful energy, "Back, ruffians, back, nor dare to 
 tread too near the body of my dead; nor touch the living 
 boy — I stand between him and your lawless band. Take me, 
 and bind these arms, these hands, with Eussia's heaviest bands 
 and drag me to Siberia's wild to perish, if 'twill save my 
 child !" "Peace, woman, peace !" the leader cried, tearing the 
 pale boy from her side, and in his ruffian grasp he bore his 
 victim to the temple door. "One moment!" shrieked the 
 mother, "one ! will land or gold redeem my son ? Take herit- 
 age, take name, take all, but leave him free from Eussian 
 thrall ! Take these !" and her white arms and hands she 
 stripped of rings and diamond bands, and tore from braids of 
 long black hair the gems that gleamed like starlight there; 
 her cross of blazing rubies last down at the Eussian's feet she 
 cast he stooped to seize the glittering store, uprising from the 
 marble floor. 
 
 The mother with a cry of joy, snatched to her leaping 
 heart the boy. But no! the Eussian's iron grasp again undid 
 the mother's clasp. Forward she fell with one long cry of 
 
REPERTOIRE 65 
 
 more than mortal agony. But the brave child is roused at 
 length, and breaking from the Russians hold, he stands a 
 giant in the strength of his young spirit fierce and bold. 
 Proudly he towers; his flashing eye, so blue, and yet so bright, 
 seems kindled from the eternal sky, so brilliant is its light, 
 his curling lips and crimson cheeks foretell the thoughts be- 
 fore he speaks; with a full voice of proud command he turned 
 upon the wondering band. "Ye hold me not ! no, no, nor can ! 
 this hour has made the boy a man ! I knelt before my slaught- 
 ered sire, nor felt one throb of vengeful ire. I wept upon 
 marble brow, yes, wept! I was a child; but now — My noble 
 mother on her knee, hath done the work of years for me !" He 
 drew aside his broidered vest, and there, like slumbering ser- 
 pent's crest, the jeweled haft of poniard bright glittered a 
 moment on the sight. ''Ha ! start ye back ! Fool ! coward ! 
 knave ! think ye my noble father's glaive would drink the life- 
 blood of a slave ? The pearls that on the handle flame would 
 blush to rubies in their shame, the blade would quiver in thy 
 breast, ashamed of such ignoble rest. No I thus I rend the 
 tyrant's chain, and fling him back a boy's disdain !'' 
 
 A moment and the funeral light flashed on the jeweled 
 weapon bright; another, and his young heart's blood leaped 
 to the floor a crimson flood. Quick to his mother's side hi 
 sprang, and on the air his clear voice rang ; "Up, mother, up ! 
 I'm free ! the choice was death or slavery. Up mother, up ! 
 Look on thy son ! his freedom is forever won; and now he waits 
 one holy kiss to bear his father home in bliss — one last em- 
 brace, one blessing — one ! to prove thou knowest, approvo.jt 
 thy son. What ! silent yet? Canst thou feel my warm blood 
 o'er my heart congeal ? Speak, mother, speak ! lift up thy 
 head! what! silent still? Then art thou dead? — Great Gou, 
 I thank Thee! Mother, I rejoice with thee — and thus — tc 
 die !" One long, deep breath, and his pale head lay on his 
 mother's bosom — dead. 
 
 'YES, I'M GUILTY 
 
 J. M. Munyon. 
 As adapted and recited by Watkins Brothers. 
 
 Suggestions— This is a pathetic and dramatic selection without many 
 
66 THE WATKINS BROTHEflRS' 
 
 equals. The pathetic lines must be in the dark sympathetic tones, 
 and action to suit the thoughts. The last lines are emotionally sympa- 
 thetic, and should be uttered very slowly. 
 
 He's like a preacher in his ways : He never drinks, nor 
 swears, nor plays, but kinder sighs and weeps all day; 'twould 
 break yer heart to hear him pray. Why, sir, many and many 
 a night, when grub was scarce and I was tight, no food, no 
 fire, no light to see when home was hell if hell there be, I've 
 seen that boy in darkness kneel, and prayed such words as 
 cut like steel; which somehow warmed and lit the room, and 
 sorter chased away the gloom. Smile if you must, but facts 
 are facts, and deeds are deeds, and acts are acts; and though 
 Fm black as sin can be his prayers have done a heap for me, 
 and make me think that God, perhaps, sent him on earth to 
 save us chaps. 
 
 This man what squealed and pulled us in, he 
 keeps a place called Fiddlers' Inn, where faiks, and 
 snides, and lawless scamps connive and plot with thieves and 
 tramps. Well, Tim and me, we didn't know just what to do 
 or where to go, and so we stayed with him last night, and this 
 is how we had the fight : They wanted Tim to take a drink, 
 but he refused, as you may think, and told them how the fiow- 
 ing bowl contained the fire that killed the soul. 'Drink ! Drink !' 
 they cried, 'this foaming beer ; 'twill make you strong and give 
 you cheer. Let preachers groan and prate of sin, but give to 
 us the flowing gin !' Then Tim knelt down beside his chair, 
 and offered up this little prayer: 'Help me, dear Lord,' the 
 child began, as down his cheeks the big tears ran, 'to keep the 
 pledge I gave to you, and make me strong, and good, and true. 
 I've done my best to do what's right, but. Lord, I'm sad and 
 weak tonight. Father, mother, oh, plead for me — tell Christ 
 I long with you to be !' • 
 
 'Get up, you brat, don't pray 'round here,' the landlord 
 yelled with rage and fear. Then caught Tim's foot and pulled 
 his crippled leg, and then the sainted boy began to beg ; he 
 wrenched it hard, then threw it down. Oh, God ! my blood 
 began to bound. Then, like a brute, he kicked the lad — 
 couldn't stand it judge; I was b'iling mad. I guess I must uv 
 hurt his head, for I struck hard for the man that's dead. 
 
 No, he hain't no folks or friends but me his dad was killed 
 in sixty-three. Shot at the front, where bursting shell and 
 cannon sang their song of hell, and musketf hissed with fiery 
 
REPERTOIRE 67 
 
 breath, as brave men fell to -their tune of death. I promised 
 his father before he died, as the life-blood rushed from his 
 wounded side, I promised him, sir, and it gave him ioy 
 that I'd protect his darling boy. I simply did what his father 
 would, and helped the weak, as all men should. Yes, I 
 knocked him down and blacked his eye, and used him rough 
 I'll not deny; but think of it, Judge, a chap like him striking 
 the likes of little Tim. If I did wrong send rae below, but 
 spare the son of comrade Joe. You forgive him; and me? 
 Oh, no ! A fact ? God less you ! Come, Tim, let's go." 
 
 THE LAST STEI^G BEOKE. 
 
 Everett Ealston. 
 
 Suggestions— This is a thrilling recitation . The first part is bright 
 and cheerful; but the pathetic parts require sad tones. The word 
 "wolves" should be shouted at the top of the voice. Thd action of 
 snapping of the strings should be indicated by a sound. 
 
 The dance is over and late is the night; the fiddler starts 
 forth without guide or light. The weather is cold, he has far 
 to go, and the road is covered with drifted snow. His home 
 is distant, some seven miles good, but a shorter cut lies through 
 the wood. "Great Heavens ! what cold ! I am chilled to the 
 bone! Through the wood I'll go, through dark and lone." 
 Ere long the light of the rising moon shed a few rays o'er the 
 mid-night gloom. And all around him the cedars throw long- 
 drawn shadows on the sheeted snow. Step by step he is plod- 
 ding along while his merry heart is full of song. And he hears 
 the clink as his pockets go up and down while he steps through 
 the snow. His fiddle has earned him a goodly fee so he 
 whistles an air quite merrily. 
 
 "Hark ! what do I hear in the thicket there ? I have startled 
 from sleep somte harmless hare !" But no ! he stops and sees in 
 surprise a pair of glittering fiery eyes. "A ]>oor starving dog ! 
 But why do you show your teeth at me? "Be off! I say go! 
 What's this ? another ? one, two, three, four ! Wild eyes all 
 around me ? more and more ! Wolves ! fierce, fiery, starving, 
 wild and mad ! God save me now ! there's no help to be had !" 
 And through the wood his cries of terror ring, "is there no 
 one, no one that help will bring?" His hair stands on end; 
 on every side he sees death threaten from jaws flung wide. He 
 
68 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 thinks of his fiddle and quickly takes the friendly bow while 
 his poor heart quakes. The fiddle he finds and touches the 
 stringS;, far out through the forest a wild tune rings. It 
 moans and wails like wild, Aveird thing: "Is there no one, no 
 one, that help will bring ?' The wolves in wonderment stand 
 and gaze at his haggard face in blank amaze. They have hedged 
 their helpless victim in, now let the music of death begin. 
 
 'Tis life while he plays, but death if he stops, or only a 
 second his fiddle he drops. What an eldric din ! what a hell- 
 like strain he plays to the wolves, though vrrithing in pain. 
 Never poor beggar drew bow such as he now a roistering 
 tune, or wild melody; then a laugh, rough, grating, sonorous 
 thing; then a piercing note — crack! goes a string! He shud- 
 dered and trembled in every limb while closer approached that 
 death circle grim. One string is broken, but three yet remain. 
 Alas ! woe indeed ! the next snaps in twain. Fainter and faint- 
 er the music grows now while cold drops of blood ooze forth on 
 his brow. He doubles his force to keep the wolves back and 
 quickly he hears another string crack ! Like the soul's cry 
 when meeeting its God, is the sound he draws from that one 
 poor cord. The wolves came near, but with terrible stroke he 
 drew his bow and the last string broke. Along with the sound 
 that to silence went the fierce hungry howl of the wolves was 
 blent. He saw them approach from every side ; he felt the hot 
 breath of jaws open wide. "Great God ! in thy hands my 
 poor soul I lay." And falling backward he fainted away. For 
 aught that he knew his life work was done — a demoniac howl ! 
 A flash from a gun ! A shot ! then a second ! The hand tbat 
 drew on the bevy of howling wolves was true. And up came 
 the hunters, twenty or so and scattered the wolves through the 
 drifted snow. And he whom they saved as though from the 
 dead awoke from his swoon as homeward they sped. 
 
 At the fiddler's door stands an image fair of the blessed 
 virgin — and near it there is the instrumicnt and the bow 
 whose stroke saved the fiddler's life till the last string broke. 
 
 THE UHCLE. 
 H. G. Bell. 
 
 Suggestions— There is no selection more intensely dramatic than the 
 Uncle. The mental picture should be complete in all its details: "In 
 
REPERTOIRE 69 
 
 m> Uncle's room there hung the picture of my mother," the mental 
 picture should be placed to the right hanging on the wall, and fre- 
 quently referred to with gestures both of hand and eye. The Uncle 
 has a seat bet-ween the boy and the picture. "Then on my mind a 
 shadow fell" the hands should be about the head, for when "the 
 damning thought stuck in my heart, and cut me like a knife," the 
 right hand comes down and strikes the body at the hfiart and moves 
 in the act of cutting, while the left hand is quickly placed on the 
 right: while the facial expression and body cringing must suit the 
 thought. The voice for the boy's words should be dark, varying of 
 course with the thoughts: while the Uncle's words should be spoken 
 in a low. husky, gutteral voice. "He disappeared," and "He died," 
 sit[Ai. -B ui pajai^n aq pinoqsper. loud enough of course for every one 
 in the au'dience to hear. The old chest, in the mental picture, is also • 
 to the right of the Uncle, and he goes to it and stoops to touch the 
 "secret spring," looking at the boy while doing so. "A sudden 
 crash— the lid fell down— three strides he backwards gave," is best not 
 spoken, but a heavy stamp of the foot accompanied by a slap of the 
 hands rising and stepping back several strides, the hands going to the 
 throat, choaking and writhing (;f the body, and on the words "will 
 no one help or save?" give the stage fall, if there is a curtain to 
 drop: otherwise fall to the knee. A nervous, magnetic, tensity is re- 
 quired. 
 
 I'had an uncle once — a man of three score years and three, 
 and when my reason's dawn began he'd take me on his knee, 
 and often talk, whole winter nights, things that seemed strange 
 to me. He was a man of gloomy mood, and few his con- 
 verse sought; but, it was said, in solitude, his conscience with 
 him wrought; and there, before his mental eye, some hideous 
 vision brought. There was not one in all the house, who did 
 not fear his frown, save I, a little careless child, who gam- 
 bolled up and down, and often peeped into his room, and 
 plucked him by the gown. 
 
 I was an oq^han and alone — my father was his brother, and 
 all their lives I knew that they had fondly loved each other: 
 and in my uncle's room there hung the picture of my mother. 
 There was a curtain over it, 'twas in a darkened place, and 
 few or none had ever looked upon my mtother's face ; or seen 
 her pale expressive smile of melancholly grace. One night I 
 do remember well. The wind was howling high, and through 
 the ancient corridors it sounded drearily. I sat and read in 
 that old hall ; my uncle sat close by. I read but little under- 
 stood the words upon the book, for with a sidelong glance I 
 marked my uncle's fearful look, and saw how all his quiv- 
 ering frame in strong convulsions shook. A silent terror o'er 
 me stole, a strange, unusual dread; his lips were white as 
 bone — his eyes sunk far down in his head; he gazed on me, but 
 'twas the gaze of the unconscious dead. 
 
 Then suddenly he turned him 'round, and drew aside the 
 veil, that hung before my m'other's face; perchance my eyes 
 
70 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 might fail;, but ne'er before that face to me, had seemed so 
 ghastly pale. "Come hither boy !" my uncle said — I started 
 at the sound ; 'twas choked and stifled, in his throat, and hardly 
 utterance found, "come hither, boy !" then fearfully he cast his 
 eyes around, "that lady was thy mother once — thou wert her 
 only child; God ! IVe seen her when she held thee in her 
 arms and smiled, she smiled upon thy father, boy, 'twas that 
 which drove me wild. He was my brother, but his form 
 was fairer far than mine; I grudged not that; — ^he was the 
 prop of our ancestral line, and manly beauty was of him a 
 token and a sign. Boy! I had loved her too, — nay, more. 
 'Twas I who loved her first; for months — for years — the gold- 
 en thought within my soul was nursed; he came — ^he conquer- 
 ed, they were wed. My air-blown bubble burst ! Then on 
 my mind a shadow fell, and evil hopes grew rife; the damn- 
 ing thought stuck in my heart and cut me like a knife, that 
 she, whom all my days I loved, should be another's wife ! I 
 left my home — I left the land — I crossed the raging sea in 
 vain — in vain — where'er I turned, my memory went with me; 
 my whole existence, night and day, in memory seemed to be. 
 
 "I came again, I found them here — thou'rt like thy father, 
 bo}^ — he doted on that pale face there;I've seen them kiss and 
 toy, I've seen him locked in her fond arms, wrapped in de- 
 lirious joy. By heavens ! it was a fearful thing to see my 
 brother now, and mark the placid calm that sat forever on 
 his brow, that seem in bitter scorn to say, I am more loved 
 than thou. He disappeared — draw nearer, child ! He died — 
 no one knew how ; the murdered body ne'er was found, the tale 
 is hushed up now ; but there was one who rightly guessed the 
 hand that struck the blow. It drove her mad, yet not his 
 death — no — not his death alone; for she had clung to hope, 
 when all knew well that there was none; no, boy ! it was a 
 sight she saw that froze her into stone ! 
 
 "I'm thy uncle, child — why stare so frightfully aghast? 
 The arras waves, but know'st thou not 'tis nothing but the 
 blast? I, too, have had my fears like these, but such vain 
 fears are past. I'll show thee what thy mother saw, I feel 
 twill ease miy breast, and this wild tempest-laden night suits 
 with the purpose best, come hither; thou hast often sought to 
 open this old chest. It has a secret spring ; the touch is known 
 to me alone;" slowly the lid is raised, and now — "what see you 
 
REPERTOIRE 71. 
 
 that you groan so heavily? That thing is but a hare-ribbed 
 skelton." A sudden crash — the lid fell down — three strides he 
 backwards gave, "oh, God ! it is my brother's self returning 
 from the grave ! His grasp of lead is on my throat, will no 
 one help or save?" 
 
 BEN DEENE. 
 G. E. Blanchard. 
 
 Sug-gestions— Few recitations have the thrilling qualities of Ben 
 Deenc. Up to the time where the "axle broke," it is descriptive', re- 
 quiring a strong, vigorous voice, pure in quality. When the axle 
 breaks the recitation changes to the dramatic and so continues until 
 "slept unwounded of blood." The action for the engineer in throw- 
 ing on the air breaks, reversing, and giving her steam, may be 
 learned by asking somel engineerman. As a recitation, Ben Deene 
 is almost perfect in its structure; and if the action is suited to the 
 words accompanied with magnetic tensity, it is always a success. 
 
 The Pacific Express dashing into the West, should have 
 left "Mountain Junction" at half past eight, but with pushing 
 and switching a crippled night freight, she was an hour late. 
 There were thirteen cars in her train, all told, and all of them 
 filled. The schedule was fast, the night was steel cold* and 
 the glittering daggers that flashed from the stars, cut the air 
 into blasts as sharp as wolves teeth or like flying glass. They 
 chilled the great boiler of the racer and toiler, stanch old 
 "89" and though her engineer was the best on the line, (long- 
 bearded Ben Deene), she wouldn't make steami, so he couldn't 
 make time. 
 
 For nineteen miles — twelve near the river's side — the 
 track was as straight as a railway can be 'till it 
 reached a sharp curve near a leaning oak tree. 
 Here the engineers always said: "Now let her glide," 
 and make up the timfe perhaps lost on the climb. 
 Down the "run" she flew with her thirteen cars, her driving 
 wheels looking like million-rayed stars, surging on o'er the 
 ground with loud thrumming bounds ran this mietal muscled 
 and steam-drinking hound. With hand on the lever, her 
 brave engineer peered into the night through the dancing 
 arc of her yellow head light; every muscle alert, with vigi- 
 lant care untroubled by fear, to make up his time without 
 mishaps or hurt. 
 
 He at last struck the curve near the "leaning Oak." had 
 
72 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 just leaned out, proudly patting her cab, when an axle broke 
 on her forward truck; she reeled for a second as if she were 
 struck, then began to thump, and to bump, hump and jump 
 over the live oak ties, as if they were stumps. Deene set 
 the air brakes; he reversed; gave her steam; then, grasping 
 her throttle as a drunkard a bottle and his hand were a vise, 
 saw below him the river half filled with floe ice. How her 
 speed sends her smiashing on over the ties ! Will she never 
 stop! How she shakes and shivers! How every inch of his 
 train seems to quiver! No I a glance back tells him each car 
 runs as still as it did on the upward side of the hill. Good ! 
 only the engine is off the track — But she's off to the right ! 
 Great God, that's the side where the deep iced river rides. 
 "Here Jack ! climb this tank ! Quick as thought, man, get 
 back, and pull that pin when I reverse again, or when she 
 goes over she'll pull 'em all in." 
 
 Stumbling over the wood, clamoring over coal as the en- 
 gine limped, then staggered, now rolled, Jack Ford pulled the 
 pin, just as "89'' lunged down into the stream with a hissing 
 phmge. But there stood the cars as still as if stopped at 
 some signal switch when a red light's dropped. The fireman 
 stood on the baggage car step peering into the stream where 
 the engine leapt, as we fixedly stare in some aching dream. 
 What is that creeps slowly over the tank from the half frozen 
 flood ? Then crawls like a worm up the stony bank ? 'Tis the 
 engineer covered with ice, while his blood flows fast through 
 a cruel gash in his head, that is horribly red. But his great 
 steadfast soul, supreme still it fled, illumined the blood as he 
 whispered, "Jack, get a red light, somewhere; quick, run up 
 the track — think — the east-boimd express — I'm all right — 
 hurry back." 
 
 As the two expresses stood nose to nose, Deene lay down 
 between them, in frozen clothes. Pie had saved two trains — 
 and babes, fair maidens, fond mothers, strong men, rode un- 
 chilled by the flood, slejDt unwounded of blood. 
 
 When the Omnipotent Ken scans eternity's realms to give 
 crowns to true men, and the angel of record calls "Deene, 
 engineer!" Can you doubt that then he will answer there 
 as he did at the oak when the axle broke — "I am here." 
 
REPERTOIRE 73 
 
 LASCA. 
 F. Desprez. 
 
 Suggestions— This beautiful and thrilling recitation requires consid- 
 erable skill to make it successful. The voice brightens and darkens, 
 tender and beautiful tones, gutteral and Eispirated, and will pass 
 through a dozen qualities if well rendered. A dramatic climax should 
 be reached on the words, "for we rode for our lives." The climacteric 
 part begins on "was that thunder?" and continues until the other 
 quoted lines are reached, when on the word "lives" the voice has 
 reached its highest pitch and tensity. The last three words, "Lasca 
 was dead," should be uttered with stifled sobs. 
 
 J want free life and I want fresh air; and I sigh for the 
 canter after the cattle, the crack of the whips like shots in 
 battle, the mellay of horns and hoofs and heads that wars 
 and wrangles and scatters and spreads; the green beneath 
 and the blue above, and dash and danger, and life and love. 
 
 Atid Lasca ! Lasca used to ride on a mouse gray mus- 
 tang, close to my side, with blue serape and bright-belled 
 spur; I laughed with joy when I looked at her ! little knew 
 she of books or creeds; an Ave Maria sufficied her needs; little 
 she cared, save to be by my side, to ride with me, and ever 
 to ride, from San Saba's shore to Lavaca's tide. She was as 
 bold as the billows that beat, she was as wild as the breezes 
 that blow; from her little head to her little feet she was 
 swayed, in her suppleness, to and fro by each gust of passion; 
 a sapling pine, that grows on the edge» on a Kansas bluff, 
 and. wars wdth the wind when the weather is rough is like 
 this Lasca, this love of mine. She would hunger that I 
 might eat, would take the bitter and leave me the sweet; 
 but once, when I made her jealous for fun, at something I'd 
 whispered, or looked, or done, one Sunday in San Antonio, 
 to a glorious girl on the Alamo, she drew from her clothing 
 a dear little dagger and — sting of a wasp ! — it made me stag- 
 ger ! an inch to the left or an inch to the right, and I shouldn't 
 be maundering here tonight; but she sobbed, and, sobbing, 
 so swiftly bound her torn rehoso about the wound that I quite 
 forgave her. Scratches don't count in Texas, down by the 
 Eio Grande. Her eye was brown — a deep, deep brown; her 
 hair was darker than her eye; and something in her smile 
 and frown, curled crimson lip, and instep high, .showed that 
 there ran in each blue vein, mixed with the milder Aztec 
 strain, the vigorous vintage of old Spain. 
 
 The air was heavy, the night was hot, I sat by her side and 
 
74 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 forgot — fogot; forgot the herd that were taking their rest; 
 forgot that the air was close opprest, that the Texas norther 
 conies sudden and soon, in the dead of night or the blaze of 
 noon; that once let the herd at its breath take fright, and 
 nothing on earth can stop the flight ; and woe to the rider and 
 woe to the steed, who falls in front of their mad stampede ! 
 Was that thimder ? No, by the Lord ! I sprang to my saddle 
 without a word, one foot on mine, and she clung behind, 
 away on a hot chase down the wind ! But never was fox-hunt 
 half so hard, and never was steed so little spared, for we rode 
 for our lives. Yon shall hear how we fared in Texas down 
 by the Rio Grande. 
 
 The mustang flew, and we urged him on; there is one 
 chance left, and you have but one — halt, jump to ground, and 
 shoot your horse; crouch under his carcass and take your 
 chance; and if the steers in their frantic course don't batter 
 you both to pieces at once, you may thank your star; if not 
 good-bye to the quickening kiss and the long drawn sigh, and 
 tlie open air and the open sky, in Texas down by the Eio 
 Grande. The cattle gained on us and then I felt for my old 
 six-shooter, behind my belt, down came the mustang, and 
 down came we, clinging together, and — what was the rest? 
 A body that spread itself on my breast two arms that shielded 
 my dizzy head, two lips that hard on my lips were pressed; 
 then came thunder in my ears as over us surged the sea of 
 s.teers; blows that beat blood into my eyes, and when I 
 could rise Lasca was dead. 
 
 THE GYPSY FLOWER GIRL 
 
 Suggestions— This selection is more suited for a young lady, and for 
 such, we know/of no recitation more thrillingly dramatic. The first 
 part, which is djescriptive, should be given in a bright cheerful 
 voice with a tinge of the weird. From the time Zingarella says, "sic, 
 sic! upon them Zhock," the action becomes more frenzied to the 
 close. The last ilines, where she is fighting the lion, it is best to 
 have the back to the audience. It w-ill require much time in practice 
 and training to work out all the fine action in this selection. 
 
 Buy my roses, senorita, you sen or, you fair In glees maid- 
 en, not like the mountain rose with perfume laden; only 
 tame roses with the morning blush gone, like wild Zingarella 
 whose lover has flown. Wha,t is my name? Wild Zingarella, 
 daughter of the Nevadas am I called. Where was I born? 
 
REPERTOIRE! 75 
 
 Aloft and beyond the eagle's nest, far up in yon Sierra Xe- 
 vadas. My childhood was a wild-cat life. From early morn 
 until the stars shone o'er the Mediterranean I nothing did but 
 laugh and sing and dance with my wild gypsy belled tam- 
 bourine and fling defiance in the face of death and swing 
 far out fromi cliffs and mountain peaks where sea gulls build 
 and wild-cats shriek;, shrieks that my wild heart loved to 
 hear, nor dreamed of such a thing as fear. 
 
 Fear? Climbing to where the Sierras lift their snow- 
 draped foreheads against the skies, then swing off and down 
 on a swift snowdrift to where the summer queen reigns and 
 the ice king dies. Fear? Hunting the leopard in dark sun- 
 less glades, whipping the tiger with my wild-cat braids, 
 'midst the innermost dangers that beset gypsy tribes whose 
 life is but strife and whose law is the knife, there was I born. 
 
 There lived I; there was I named Zingarella. Then Don 
 Jose came; he of the Sierra Morena tribe; and camped near 
 the grape hills of old Malaga; yes, Don Jose came; and I, I, 
 Zinga, wild Zingarella, frowned even at his feet. But 0, 
 when love is not returned, meeting with looks but sternly 
 kind, it turns the heart to fire, then ashes, and makes a 
 ghost- walk of the mind. In the kingly majesty of Don Jose's 
 presence, I stood as one entranced, Jaewildered )'et joyously 
 amazed at my too-fond heart's deep bewilderment; aye, as a 
 broken winged bird I fluttered at his feet. 
 
 Then Egypta came, she of the proud Cordova tribe, and 
 camped on the slopes above the roar of the sea; Egypta 
 came, and dared to come between my love and me. She stood 
 before my king, my idol, my adored, with imperious brow 
 and mocking airs, she dared to stand before him, with her 
 enchanting, snaky eyes aglow, unbashed, defiant and un- 
 awed she stood, and, and and Don Jose's heart and head 0, 
 I cannot, cannot, tell the rest; there, at the foot of yon moun- 
 tain pass, Don Jose met Egypta. There she stole my lover 
 from m,e, there she palmed her faith into his soul; she prac- 
 ticed on Don Jose's palms, and read his fate as foreordained 
 with hers, and she forged him tales of their twin destinies till 
 Jose' soul was at her feet, his every thought her slave : Thus 
 woed they. 
 
 One dark and starless, storm-portending night, I, with my 
 faithful Afric lion, sought forgetfulness in the mountains. 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 Sought in vain to cool my feverish burning blood. A sud- 
 den flame of lightning startled me; frightened my soul with 
 a sense that I had wandered too near the purple cliffs of 
 Malaga, too near the spot I hated most, and prayed to keep 
 most distant from. My Zhock, my faithful Afric lion, my 
 childhood^s faithful lover and trusty, true, and only friend, 
 my faithful Zhock — whose native fierce and fiery nature seem- 
 ed now m/ost like my own — was at my side. Thrice, as we 
 moved along the slope, had Zhock growled hard, and snapped 
 his glittering teeth and crouched, as 'twere to spring, and 
 thrice had I, as fiercely, yet more silently, warned him baqk 
 and down. 
 
 But when I heard Egypta's cursed kiss, and saw her 
 snaky, coiling arms around Don Jose's neck, and heard him 
 swear by Egypta's ^'ods that he was her's alone — "Sic, sic ! 
 upon ^them Zhock;" I cried, with all my wild-cat nature 
 boiling, seething, hissing hot, through all my veins, hissing 
 through my lips and brain, "sic, sic ! upon them Zhock !" 
 I cried, and urged my Afric lion on. The thunderous heav- 
 ens now stormed, and lightnings flashed, but storm nor thun- 
 der peals were aught to the roar of my kingly lion, or the 
 flashing, blazing eyes of that defiant God-like man. Don 
 Jose's long stiletto flashed athwart the lightning's lurid 
 gleams. Thus armed he stood covering Egypta with his 
 left, his right well sinewed arm upheld and daggered. Thus 
 armied, he stood sternly, waiting the attack. Zhock sprang 
 and bore Don Jose to the ground. "Back Zhock! back 
 Zhock ! l)ack to thy mistress, back !" In vain I cried, I cried 
 in vain through the glare of the storm.. Lo, Egypta has 
 siezed Don Jose's dirk, quickly it falls across my Afric lion's 
 eyes. Zhock reluctantly releases his weakened hold, and 
 sneaks away with hurt, blood blinded eyes. ISTow Don Jose 
 and Egyptia fly toward the sea, thank heaven they reach the 
 cliff, now disappear. 
 
 "Help ! Why Zhock how you startled me; why, Zhock, how 
 you glare ; how you stare. Down, doAvn, shame !" Ha, I 
 know now, Zhock is mad. Hungry with the taste of Don 
 Jose's blood, my Afric lion now returns, eager for mine own. 
 Where shall I flee ? Back down ! sic ! upon them Zhock, 
 yonder Zhock, down by the sea. Zhock, how dare you, peace 
 
REPERTOIRE 77 
 
 Zhock, I am wild Zingarella, thy mistress, fair boy, down 
 back, away, down, down ! 
 
 I feel his thorny claws around my neck, his hot breath 
 on my throat, thrice with ray stiletto do I cut the monster 
 do^vn. Backward toward the cliffs of Malaga I fight my hor- 
 rible way. I near the clifFs, keeping the frenzied l)east at 
 bay, backwardly fighting, parrying, evading with supernat- 
 ural strengih. I hold the treacherous wretch at bay. At 
 length I reach the cliffs. Twice, thrice, my good steel pierces 
 the raging, foaming lion's side. Then, with a prayer to the 
 Christians' God, I plunge far down in the roaring tide. 
 Zhock's eyes like crackling gypsy camp-fires shine, or as twin 
 danger-signals out on the sea, with a roar of rage far out he 
 leaps: But the Christian's God was kind to me; for e'en 
 as Zhock sprang some hunter's gun spake, and Zhock from 
 the sea will never awake. 
 
 THE OLD ACTOE'S STOEY, 
 George E. Simms. 
 
 lions— The first part of this thrilling story begins in a conver- 
 sational voice. It requires intense emotion when his wife grows ill, 
 and increases in intensity when he thinks she is dead. When the 
 fire breaks out. it requires great physical action. His terrible agony 
 in breaking out of the prison-cabin r-nd rescuing his wife requires 
 to be portrayed with artistic acting. The last paragraph ends in a 
 conversational voice. 
 
 Mine is a wild, strange story, — the strangest you ever 
 heard; there are many who won't believ-e it, but it's gospel, 
 every word; it's the biggest drama of any in a long, adven- 
 turous life; the scene was a ship, and the actors — were myself 
 and new-wed wife. You mustn't mind if I ramble, and lose 
 the thread now and then; I'm old, you know, and I wander — 
 it's a way with old women and men, for their lives lie all 
 behind them and their thoughts go far away, and are tempted 
 afield, like children lost on a summer day. 
 
 The vears must be five-and-twenty that have passed since 
 that awful night, but I see it again this evening, I can never 
 shut out the sight. We were onlv a few weeks married, I and 
 my wife, you know, when we had offer of Melbourne, and 
 made up our minds to go. We'd acted together in England, 
 traveling up and down with a strolling band of players, going 
 
78 THEi WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 fromi town to town; we played the lovers together — we were 
 leading lady and gent — and at last we played in earnest, and 
 straight to the church went. 
 
 The parson gave us his blessing, and I gave Nellie the 
 ring, and swore that I'd love and cherish, and endow her 
 with everything. How we smiled at that part of the service 
 when I said, "I thee endow," but as to the "love and cher- 
 ish," I meant to keep that vow. We were only a couple of 
 strollers; we had coin when the show was good, when it 
 wasn't we went without it, and did the best we could. We 
 were happy, and loved each other, and we did the best we 
 could, and laughed at the shifts we made — where love makes 
 plenty of sunshine, there poverty casts no shade. 
 
 Well, at last we go to London, and did pretty well for a 
 bit; then the business dropped to nothing, and the manager 
 took a flit, — stepped out one Sunday morning, forgetting the 
 treasury call; but our luck was in, and we managed right on 
 our feet to fall. We got an offer for Melbourne, — got it that 
 very week. Those were the days when thousands went over 
 fortune to seek, the days of the great gold fever, and thco 
 manager thought the spot good' for a "spec," and took us as 
 actors among his lot. 
 
 We hadn't a friend in England — we'd only ourselves to 
 please — and we jumped at the chance of trying our fortune 
 across the seas. AVe went on a sailing vessel, and the jour- 
 ney was long and rough; we hadn't been out a fortnight be- 
 fore we had had enough. But use is a second nature, and we'd 
 got not to mind the storm, when misery came upon us, — 
 came in a hideous form. My poor little wife fell ailing, grew 
 worse, and at last so bad that the doctor said she was dying, — 
 I thought 'twould have sent me mad — dying where leagues 
 of billows seemed to shriek for their prey, and the nearest 
 land was hundreds — aye, thousands — of miles away. 
 
 She raved one night with a fever, and the next lay still 
 as death, so still I'd to bend and listen for the faintest sign 
 of breath. She seemed in a sleep, and sleeping with a smile 
 on her thin wan face, she passed away one morning, while I 
 prayed to the throne of grace. I knelt in the little cabin, and 
 prayer after prayer I said, till the surgeon came and told me 
 it was useless — rrty wife was dead. Dead ! I wouldn't be- 
 
REPERTOIRE 79 
 
 lieve it ! They forced me away that night, for I raved in 
 my wild despairing, the shock sent me mad outright. 
 
 I was shut in the farthest cabin, and I beat my head on 
 the side, and all day long in my madness, "They've murdered 
 her !" I cried. They locked me away from my fellows, — put 
 me in cruel chains — it seems I had seized a weapon to beat 
 out the surgeon's brains. I cried in my wild, mad fury, that 
 he was a devil sent to gloat o'er the frenzied anguish with 
 which my heart was rent. I spent that night with the heavy 
 irons upon my wrists, and my wife lay dead quite near me. 
 I 1icat with my fettered fists at my prison panels, and then — 
 
 God I — and then I heard the shrieks of women and the 
 tramp of hurrying men. 
 
 I heard the cry, "Ship afire !" caught up by a hundred 
 throats, and over the roar the captain shouting to lower the 
 boats ; then cry upon cry, and curses, and the crackle of burn- 
 ing wood, and the place hot as a furnace, I could feel it 
 where I stood. 1 beat at the door and shouted, but never 
 a sound came back, and the timbers above me started, till 
 right through a yawTiing crack I could see the flames shoot 
 upward, seizing on mast and sail, fanned in their burning 
 fury by the breath of the howling gale. 
 
 I dashed at the door in fury, shrieking, "I will not die! 
 die in this burning prison!" — but I caught no answering 
 cry. Then suddenly, right upon me, the flames crept up with 
 a roar, and their fiery tongues shot forward, cracking my 
 prison door. I was free — with the heavy iron door dragging 
 me down to death ; I fought my way to the cabin, choked with 
 the burning breath of the flames that danced around me like 
 man-mocking fiends at play, and then — God ! T can see it, 
 and shall to my dying day. 
 
 There lay my Nell as they'd left her in her berth that 
 night: the flames flung a smile on her features, — a horrible, 
 lurid light. God knows how I reached and touched her, but 
 
 1 found myself by her side; I thought she was living a mo- 
 ment, I forgot that my Nell had died. In the shock of those 
 awful seconds reason came back to my brain; I heard a sound 
 as of breathing, and then a low cry of pain; Oh, was there 
 mercy in heaven? Was there a God in the skies? The wo- 
 man's lips were moving, the dead woman opened her eyes. 
 
 I cursed like a m;ad man ravings — I cried to her, "Nell! 
 
80 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 my Nell !'" They had left us alone to perish — forgotten me 
 living — and she had been left for the fire to bear her to 
 heaven, instead of the seas. I clutched at her, roused her 
 shrieking, the stupor was on her still; I seized her in spite of 
 my fetters, — fear gave a giant's will. God knows how I did 
 it, but blindly I fought through the flames and wreck, up — 
 up to the air and brought her safe to the untouched deck. 
 We'd a moment of life together, — a moment of life, the time 
 for one last word to each other, — 'twas a moment supreme, 
 sublime ! 
 
 From the trance we'd for death mistaken, the heat had 
 brought her to life, and I was fettered and helpless, so we lay 
 there, husband and wife ! It was but a moment but ages 
 seemed to have passed away, when a shout came over the 
 water, and I looked, and lo, there lay, just away from the 
 vessel, a boat that was standing by; they had seen our forms 
 on the vessel, as the flames lit up the sky. I shouted one 
 prayer to heaven, then called to my wife, and she tore with 
 new strength at my fetters — God helped her, and I was free: 
 then over the burning ship's bulwarks we leaped for one chance 
 of life. 
 
 Did they save us? Well, here I am, sir; and yonder is 
 my dear old wife. We were out in the boat till daylight, 
 when a great ship passing by took us on board, and at Mel- 
 bourne landed us by and by. We've played many parts in 
 dramas since we went on that famous trip, but ne'er such a 
 scene together as we had on that burning ship I 
 
 A LEAP FOE LIFE. 
 
 Colton. 
 
 Suggestions— This is a strong dramatic selection and requires the 
 most artistic acting. The father's part must be thoroughly acted, 
 and the child's leap from the high mast must be followed with both 
 eye and hand. 
 
 Old Ironsides at anchor lay in the harbor of Mahon; a 
 dead calm rested on the l)ay, — the waves to sleep had gone; 
 when little Hal, the captain's son, a lad both brave and good, 
 in sport, up shroud and rigging ran, and on the main truck 
 stood. 
 
 A shudder shot through every vein, — all eyes were turned 
 
REPERTOIRE 81 
 
 on high ! Tliere stood the boy, with dizzy Ijrain, between 
 the sea and sky; no hold had he above, below; alone he stood 
 in air. To that far height none dared to go, — no aid could 
 reach him there. 
 
 We gazed, but not a man could speak, — with horror all 
 aghast,— in groups, with pallid brow and cheek, we watched 
 the quivering mast. The atmosphere grew thick and hot, 
 and of the lurid hue — as riveted unto the spot stood officers 
 and crew. 
 
 The father came on deck. He gasped, "Oh God, Thy 
 will be done." Then suddenly a rifle grasped; he aimed it at 
 his son. "Jump far out boy, into the wave ! Jump or I fire !" 
 he said; "the only chance your life to save; jump, boy, jump !" 
 He obeyed. 
 
 He sank, he rose, he lived, he moved, and for the ship 
 struck out. On board we hailed the lad we loved, with many 
 a manly shout. His father drew, in silent joy, those wet 
 arms around his neck, and folded to his heart the boy. — then 
 fainted on the deck. 
 
 JACK, THE EXGINEEE'S S0?^~. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection has been giv^n with very great success. 
 It gives excellent opportunities to display talent in handling the sev- 
 eral characters. The pathetic ending must have strong impersona- 
 tion. 
 
 When Jack Conner was promoted to the position of en- 
 gineer on a Washington and Chattanooga railroad, which 
 cuts the state of Tennessee, he moved his family into a pret- 
 ty little cottage standing side by side with crippled tferry 
 Croner's on the hill just above the railroad track, in the town 
 of Antioch. The trainmen were very well acquainted with 
 the Antioch people, but there was not one among the crew, 
 from conductor down, who didn't know little Jack Conner, 
 the engineer's son. They called him "Little Jack;" and the 
 train never whistled for Antioch but they would look out to 
 see the little fellow sitting on the wood-pile watching his 
 father's engine go by. Sometimes his mother would take him 
 down to speak to his father; and the little fellow would al- 
 most go wild over the big engine, with the glowing furnace, 
 the great bell ringing and the shrill whistle. 
 
 He had his father's head, the trainmen said, but the 
 
82 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 neighbors said he had his mother's simny, happy heart. But 
 one day sorrow came to the Conner home. The engineerman 
 was brought home with both eyes smashed, and one arm gone, 
 while his engine lay in a ruined wreck under the bridge 
 across a Tennessee creek. Every man of the crew jumped 
 and saved his life — conductor, fireman, brakemen, — all 
 jumped, — but Jack. 
 
 "Jump, Conner, jump ! jiimp for your life !" the train- 
 men called when the timbers began to crack and break. Jack 
 had grasped the throttle and made reply, "You forget Fm 
 the engineer !" 
 
 He was not quite dead when the boys found him in the 
 ruined heap; and all the time they were working with him 
 he kept praying just for life to get home and die with his 
 wife and boy. His prayer was granted; he reached home 
 alive, and there, with the two on earth he loved best, he 
 said, "Jack, my little man, I leave your mother to you; take 
 care of her, my boy. The company will do something for 
 you by and by. Jack, stick to your engine and stand by your 
 mother." Then his great soul took its flight to the God who 
 gave it. 
 
 Little Jack turned to his mother and said, "Mother, I 
 am here." It was then and there Little Jack's life began. 
 She called him "My son," or "Mother's man." for "Baby 
 Jack" no longer suited the resolute, courageous and brave 
 heart that beat within him. 
 
 Every day when the whistle sounded, the cottage ' door 
 would open, the gate swing ajar, and a pair of little legs 
 went hurrying down to the platform. "Pies ! pies ! fresh pies 
 and cookies !" for a tiny, industrious little pedler he was ; 
 and with so many rough, big warm-hearted friends among 
 the trainmen, little Jack's business was bound to flourish. 
 
 One day when ISTo. 6 pulled in, Engineer Eobinson stepped 
 down from his cab and caught the little fellow in is arms 
 and tossed him up to the fireman, saying, "Catch the little 
 engineerm;an, Sam; I've promised to let him' run ISTo. 6 to- 
 day." There was a happy little laugh, and then a vision of 
 golden curls appeared at the cab window and called, "Mother ! 
 Mother, can you spare me a whole day? I'll be back at 5 :10." 
 She smiled and nodded. "The wood is all in, mother, and a 
 hox full of kindlings — good bye mlother !" The train was 
 
REPERTOIRE 83 
 
 moving and the bell a-ringing, the steam escaping, the Avhis- 
 tle blowings the furnace glowing, and the mighty power of 
 that great engine thrilled the boy through and through; it was 
 a marvellous experience for the boy. But in spite of all this 
 pleasure, there was a shadow all day on the boyish face. 
 Once the train stopped at a switch to wait for a delayed 
 freight to pass, and the engineer spoke to the boy sitting si- 
 lent at the window. "Hello, Jack ! you are not asleep, are 
 you? An engineer can't sleep; you must remember that. 
 He's got to keep his eyes open." "Yes, sir; that's just what 
 father said, 'Stick to your engine, and stand by your moth- 
 er. Jack;' and I've been thinking, Mr. Kobinson, maybe I 
 hadn't ought to leave her by herself all day." "Oh, she's all 
 right, Jack." "But you know father said, 'Stand by your 
 mother. Jack,' and'here I am off on your engine all day." 
 
 The delayed freight went thundering by, twenty minutes 
 late. The fireman threw in some coal, the steam began to 
 puff, the wheels began to roll, and No. 6 sped on her way, and 
 drew up at Antioch at the close of the day, not one niinute 
 late. 
 
 A door flew open as the whistle blew, which seemed to 
 say, "Here I am, mother ! here I am." A little form was 
 lowered from the engine and went flying towards the lighted 
 door. 
 
 It was one evening in June when Jack's mother went to 
 see a sick friend at a station just above Antioch. "You 
 may come to meet me at 12 o'clock. Jack," she said. "I'll 
 be sure to come on that train, unless something happens." 
 "I'll be there, mother." When the noon train came in, it 
 slowed up sooner than usual, and Jack thought the whistle 
 sounded mournful. The telegraph operator laid his hand on 
 Jack's little head, as he stood there waiting for the train to 
 stop. When the engine passed him, Engineer Eobinson never 
 once looked out to speak to him; and the fireman, too, turned 
 his face the other way. The brakemen would not look at 
 little Jack. When the train came to a stop, the little boy en- 
 tered the car, and his sweet, clear voice rang out, "Here I am,, 
 mother; here I am." The conductor cleared his throat whert 
 the well-known voice rang throughout the train. The pas- 
 sengers knew of the horrible accident to his mother, and 
 many there were who placed a handkerchief to their faces 
 
84 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 to wipe away a sympathetic tear. "Here I am, mother/' he 
 called time and again, as he ran through the cars eagerly 
 looking for his mother. He stepped otf on the platform, 
 and was running through the crowd calling, "Mother, mother ; 
 here I am." The conductor caught the little fellow as he 
 was passing by, and held him close, and said, "Jack, my boy, 
 your mjother did not come. No, Jack, she will never come. 
 Your mother is dead." 
 
 They did not explain to him that his mother's foot slipped, 
 and she fell under the train, and the wheels passed over her 
 body; and the little boy could not understand why his mother 
 did not come. Day after day he would meet the 12 o'clock 
 train, crying, "Here I am, mother; here I am." Some one 
 would explain that it's little Jack Conner here to meet his 
 mother again. 
 
 One day they missed him on the platform. He was sick, 
 raving with fever. Jerry Croner's wife bent over his pillow; 
 the heart-broken life was ebbing away. At 10 o'clock he 
 opened his eyes. "Is No. 6 in yet?" he asked. "Not yet. 
 Jack," she told him. "Mother will be here on that train, and 
 I must go down and meet her when No. 6 comes in." When 
 the clock struck eleven he started, and sat up in bed. "Is 
 she in? Is No. 6 in yet?" "Not yet. Jack, dear boy," and 
 he dropped back on his pillow, and murmured, "Stick to your 
 engine and stand by your mother. Jack." 
 
 At twelve o'clock the train whistle sounded sharp and 
 shrill, and he gave a joyous cry. "She is in; No. 6 is in. 
 Here I am, mother I Here's my mother ! Oh, mother, — " 
 and with a smile of sweetest peace, held out his little white 
 arms to meet her. They fell at his side, and he was dead, 
 and his soul went to meet his mother. 
 
 THE yiCTOE OF MARENGO. 
 
 Suggestions— This is a thrilling declamation, requiring the orotund 
 timbre with a great deal of life and magnetism in the latter part. 
 
 Napoleon was sitting in his tent, and before him lay a map 
 of Italy. He took four pins and stuck them up; measured, 
 moved the pins, and measured again. "Now," said he, "that 
 is right; I will capture him there !" "Who, sir ?" inquired 
 
REPERTOIRE 85 
 
 an officer. "Milas, the old fox of Austria. He will retire 
 from Genoa, pass Turin, and fall back on Alexandria. T shall 
 cross the Po, meet him on the plains of Laconia, and con- 
 quer him there/' and the finger of the child of destiny pointed 
 to Marengo. 
 
 Two months later the memorable campaign of ISOO be- 
 gan. The 20th of May saw Xapoleon on the heights of St. 
 Bernard. The 22nd, Lannes, with tlie army of Genoa held 
 Padau. So far, all had been well with Xapoleon. He had 
 compelled the x\ustrians to take the position he desired; re- 
 duced the army from one hundred and twenty thousand, to 
 forty thousand men; dispatched Murat to the right, and 
 June 14th moved forward to consum.mate his masterly plans. 
 
 But God threatened to overthrow his scheme ! A heavy 
 rain had fallen in the Alps, and the Po could not be crossed 
 in time. The battle was begun. Milas, pushed to the wall, 
 i.tolved to cut his way out, and Xapoleon reached the field 
 to see Lannes beaten — Champeaux dead — Desaix still charg- 
 ing old Milas, with his Austrian phalanx at Marengo, till 
 the consular guard gave way, and the well-planned victory 
 was a terrible defeat. Just as the day was lost, Desaix, the 
 boy general, sweeping across the field at the head of his cav- 
 alry, halted on the eminence where Napoleon stood. 
 
 There was in the corps a drummer-boy, a lad whom Dogaix ' 
 picked up in the streets of Paris. He had followed the vic- 
 torious eagle of France in the campaigns of Egypt and Ger- 
 maiiy. As the columns halted. Napoleon shouted, "Beat a 
 retreat !'' The boy did not stir. "Gamin, beat a retreat !" 
 The boy stopped, gras-psd his drum-sticks, and said : "Sir, 
 I do not know how to beat a retreat; Desaix never taught 
 me that. But I can beat a charge. Oh, I can beat a charge 
 that will make the dead fall in line. I beat that charge at 
 the Pyramid; I beat that charge at Mount Tabor; I beat it 
 again at the bridge of Lodi. Oh, may I beat it here ?" 
 
 Napoleon turned to Desaix, and said: "We are beaten 
 here. What shall we do ?" "Do ? Beat them back ! It is 
 only three o'clock, so there's time plenty to win a victory yet. 
 Up ! the charge ! beat the old charge of Mount Tabor and 
 Lodi !"' A moment later the corps, following the gleaming 
 sword of Desaix, and keeping step with the furious roll of 
 the gamin's drum-charge, swept clown on the host of Aus- 
 
86 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 trians. They drove the first line back on the second; then 
 both back on the thirds, and there they died, Desaix fell at 
 the first volley^ but the line never faltered; and as the smoke 
 cleared away, the gamin was seen in front of his line march- 
 ing right on, and still beating his furious charge. 
 
 Over the dead and wounded, over breastworks and fallen 
 foe, over cannon belching forth their fire of death, he led the 
 way to victory; and the fifteen days in Italy were ended. 
 To-day men point to Marengo in wonder. They admire the 
 power and foresight that so skillfully handled the battle 
 but they forget that a general only thirty years old made 
 a victory of defeat. They forget that a lad of France put 
 to shame "the child of destinv." 
 
 THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 Suggestions— This dramatic recitation should commence with the 
 pure timbre and so continue until her lover fails to return. From 
 this on to the last it increases in emotion and feeling. During the 
 journey and the assassination a great opportunity is given for dra- 
 matic action. The remainder of the selection changes to the weird. 
 
 Forgive me, father; those were wild, bad words from the 
 foul bottom of my heart stirred up by agitation. Turn not 
 thus- away; I will repent — I think I do repent. 
 
 I was not all to blame. You have heard so many tales 
 of passion; lend your ear, and I will tell you mine : 'Twas 
 twilight, and the early-lighted lamps were flickering into the 
 Arno's tide. I was returning from my work, and paused 
 upon the bridge of Santa Trinity to rest, when, by some in- 
 ward sense, I know not what, I felt that I was gazed at, drawn 
 away by eyes that had a strange, magnetic will. And so I 
 turned from those far hills to see — a stranger ? No ; even 
 then he did not seem a stranger, but as one I once had 
 known; not here in Florence, — not in any place — ^but some- 
 where in my spirit, known and seen. I knew that it was he. 
 What could I do? He knew I loved him, and I knew he 
 loved, and I was happy, oh, so happy then. It seemed as if 
 this earth could never add one little drop more to the Joy 
 I owned. He was a Venetian, and that radiant hair we black- 
 haired girls so covet, haloed ^round his sunny Northern face 
 and soft blue eyes. I know not why he loved me, — me so 
 
REPERTOIRE 37 
 
 black — with these black eyes, black hair, that I so hate. Why 
 loved he not Berta? She is fair. Yet he often swore that 
 Bcrta's l:)ody was not worth one-half my finger; and then 
 he kissed me full npon the mouth, as if to seal his oath. Glo- 
 rius seal I Ah, well: those days are gone! Xo. no; not gone! 
 I love him mjadly now, as I loved him then. 
 
 Oh God ! how blissfully those days went by. Bleeding 
 autumn came at last. Two words made all things plain: 
 "Love, I must go to Venice.^' "Must?" "Yes, must." 
 "Then I go too." "Xo, no ! ah, Kina, no. Four weeks 
 pass swiftly — one short month — and then I shall return te 
 Florence, and to you." 
 
 Alas, he went, and I was alone, the weary weeks out of 
 that hateful month. Another month I waited — nervous, 
 fierce — I could not stay! Consumed with jealous fears that 
 bore me down into a fever — necklace, ear-rings, all I sold, 
 and on to Venice rushed. In a black gondola I sailed the 
 sea-built city. I only gave the gondolier his name, and said, 
 "You know him?" "Yes." Then row me quickly to where 
 he is." 
 
 AVe reached the place at last. The boatman said, "This is 
 the palace." It flared with lights. "Oh, this is some mis- 
 take! ^Y}lY are these lights? He owns no palace." "Par- 
 don," answered he, "I fancied thee, Signora, wished to see 
 the mlarriage feasts; and all Venice knows the bride receives 
 to-night." "What bride? Whose bride?" I snapped, im- 
 patient. "Count Alberti's bride; whose else?" 
 
 For a moment I was stunned and crushed. Then came 
 the wild revulsion of despair. "Eow me to the steps," I said. 
 He rowed. I leaped on their wet edge, and stared in at the 
 door. My eyes run lightning zig-zags through the crowd. He 
 was not there. There was a sudden murmur near the door, 
 and I beheld him walking at her side. I saw here smiling — 
 could not bear her bliss. I felt for my stiletto in my vest. 
 I struck ! Before me, at my feet she fell ! 
 
 Who was the queen then? Ah Your rank and wealth, 
 your pearls and splendors — you will not smile again as then 
 you smiled. And I alone of all the crowd stood calm. I was 
 avenged ! avenged ! until I saw the dreadful look he gave me, 
 as he turned from her dead face, and looked in mine. I es- 
 
88 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 caped ! Oh God ! it haunts me; scares me; will not let me 
 
 When will he come and tell me he forgives^ and loves me 
 still? Oh, father! bid him come; come quickly; come and let 
 me die in peace. I was mad; but I repent. 1 suffer; he at 
 least should pity and forgive me. Oh, make him come and 
 say he loves me; and then let me die. I shall be ready then 
 to die, but now I cannot think of God. My heart is hell, is 
 hell, until I know he loves me still. 
 
 JOE SEIGG. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection may be be!gun in the orotund timbre, 
 drifting into the descriptive and heroic coUoqual style, then into the 
 dramatic. Rushing through the flames and saving the train requires 
 strong dramatic action. The ending may be given in the orotund 
 timbre. < 
 
 Who are the heroes we hail to-day and circle their brows 
 with wreaths of Bay? Is it the warrior back again, to be 
 girt by throngs of his fellow-men ? The statesman fighting in 
 keen debate for the laws that will make his country great? 
 Or the poet, whose spirit in liis song withers like fire the 
 front of wrong? Yes, these are heroes on whom we may call, 
 but a greater still, is behind them all. Who ? Joe Seigg, the 
 railroad engineer. And we shout with ringing cheer: "Joe 
 Seigg, the railroad engineer, who did his duty, and nev^er 
 thought he ever did more than a driver ought." 
 
 Look at Seigg, I say, as he stands with the levers clutched 
 in his oily hands, and hearing naught but the grind of the 
 wheel, or the clanking rail underneath his heel; or, lighting 
 his pipe for a whiff or two, yet looking ahead as drivers do. 
 Kow, any one seeing him thus Avould have said with a very 
 doubtful shake of the head : "Poor stuff, after all, out of 
 ivhich to plan your hero when action calls for a man." So 
 you would think, but listen and hear the story of Seigg, the 
 engineer. 
 
 Down the Pennsylvania line in the light of an afternoon's 
 sunshine came Seigg with a train of cars behind and hun- 
 (irec-G o' ]^Y9s that ^vere his "lo i-ind. Little thought he of 
 danger near as he watched for signals set at clear. If he 
 thought at all, and that thought could be said, as he stood 
 on the foot-plate looking ahead, it was this: To do what a 
 
REPERTOIRE 89 
 
 driver could do — run sharp to his time, nor be overdue. So 
 along the metals, in smoke and glare, with Seigg at his post 
 by the levers there, engine and cars like a whirlwind tore, 
 till just as the fireman opened the door of the furnace, at 
 once through each black flue came the quick back-draft, bring- 
 ing with it the flame that, scorching with lightning fingers 
 of pain, drove Seigg and his fireman back in the train. 
 
 Back they went, bearing all the brunt of the fiery tongues 
 that were hissing- in front. They caught at the cars in their 
 wild desire, that in less than a moment were muffled in fire. 
 The engine, like some wild steed that is free, shot ahead, with 
 a shriek of defiant glee. Behind v/ere hundreds of lives in 
 a tomb that was hot with the breath of their awful doom. 
 To leap from the train would be certain death. To stay 
 would be food for the flames' wild breath. ISTow was the time 
 for our hero to plan; the hour had come and Joe Seigg was 
 the man. Not a moment he stood, for at once he saw his duty, 
 and th^t was law. Not a single thought of self came near 
 to shake his grand, brave spirit with fear. Only there 'rose, 
 like a flash in his eye, as in those when the last stern moment 
 is nigh, a look that would do all that duty could claim, and 
 with a wild rush Seigg was into the flame. 
 
 The red tongues quiver'd and clutched at him: they burnt 
 the flesh from his arm and limb ; they wove like scarlet 
 demons, between the engine and him, a fiery screen. But 
 he fought his way to his terrible fate till he felt hi? feet touch 
 the tender-plate. Tlien blind with flame and its scorching 
 breath, and weak from his terrible struggle with death, he 
 groped for the levers, clutched them at length, and, with one 
 wild effort of failing strength, 'mid the hissing of fire and the 
 engine's roar, threw off the steam and could do no more. 
 
 A\Tien the engine at last was brought to a stand, not a life 
 was lost out of all that band. No life, did I say ? Alas ! 
 there was one, but not till his duty was nobly done. For, 
 back in the tender, silent and grim, blacken'd and scalded 
 in body and limb, lay Seigg, who had, without aid and alone, 
 saved himdreds of lives and lost his own. 
 
 That is the story, plain and clear, of Seigg, the railroad 
 engineer. Honor to him, and no stint of praise from the 
 best hearts in these modern days. Honor to Seigg, I say, and 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 hail this last Jim' Bludsoe of the rail, who did his duty and 
 never thought he did any more than a driver ought. 
 
 THE SEMINOLE^S REPLY. 
 G. W. Patton. 
 
 Suggestions— This is intensely dramatic, and is capable of the most 
 artistic acting. The voice should be full of intense hatred, contempt 
 and defiance. On the words, "the scalp of vengeance still is red and 
 warns you — come not here," let the left hand be raised as though 
 holding a scalp, and the right hand, with index finger, is brought 
 to the left shoulder, giving a warning shake. This is a splendid se- 
 lection to practice to keep the voice in certain dramatic qualities. 
 
 Blaze with your serried columns ! I will not bend the 
 knee! The shackles ne'er again shall bind the arm which 
 now is free. I've mailed it with the thunder, when the tem- 
 pest muttered low; and where it falls, ye may well dread the 
 lightning of its blow! 
 
 I've scared you in the city, and I've scalped you on the 
 plain; go count your chosen few where they fell beneath my 
 leaden rain ! I scorn your proffered treaty ; the pale face I 
 defy; revenge is stamped upon my spear, and blood my battle- 
 cry ! 
 
 Some strike for hope of booty, some to defend their, all; 
 but I fight for the joy I have to see the white man fall; I 
 love among the wounded to hear his dying moan, and catch, 
 while chanting at his side, the music of his groan. 
 
 You've trailed me through the forest, you've tracked me 
 o'er the stream; and struggling through the everglade, your 
 bristling bayonets gleam; but I stand as should the warrior, 
 with his rifle and his spear; the scalp of vengeance still is 
 red and warns you come — not here. 
 
 I loathe you in my bosom, I scorn you with my eye, and 
 I'll taunt you with my latest breath and fight you till I die. 
 I ne'er will ask your quarter, and I ne'er will be your slave; 
 but I'll swim the sea of slaughter till I sink beneath its wave. 
 
 CATALINE'S DEFIANCE. 
 
 Suggestions— This strong dramatic selection requires an intense 
 hatred in the voice, strong facial expression and action. For devel- 
 oping dramatic power in practice we suggest this selection. It cannot 
 
REPERTOIRE 91 
 
 be successfully rendered until great powers of expression have been 
 developed. It should be recited in the Sound Proof Room a thousand 
 times before it is recited before an audience. But this practice will 
 develop the powers necessary for the successful delivery of any dra- 
 matic recitation; it is therefore the best for practicing. 
 
 Conscript fathers ! I do not rise to waste the night in 
 words; let that plebeian talk; 'tis not my trade; but here I 
 stand for right — let him show proofs — for Eoman right; 
 though none, it seems, dare stand to take their share with 
 me. Ay, cluster there ! Cling to your master, judges, Eom- 
 ans, slaves ! His charge is false; — I dare him to his proof. 
 You have my answer. Let my actions speak ! 
 
 But this I will avow, that I have scorned, and still do 
 scorn, and hide my sense of wrong! Who brands me on the 
 forehead, breaks my sword ! Or lays the bloody scourge upon 
 my back, wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts the 
 gates of honor on me — turning out the Eoman from his birth- 
 right; and for what? To fling your offices to every slave! 
 Vipers that creep where man disdains to climb. And, having 
 wound their loathesome track to the top of this huge, molder- 
 ing monument of Eome, hang hissing on the nobler man be- 
 low! Come, consecrated lictors, from your thrones; fling 
 down your scepters; take the rod and ax and make the murder 
 as you make the law ! 
 
 Banished from Eome ! What's banished, but set free from 
 daily contact with the things I loathe? "Tried and con- 
 victed traitor !" Who says this ? Who'll prove it. at his 
 peril, on my head ? Banished ! I thank you f or't. It breaks 
 my chain! I held some slack allegiance till this hour; but 
 now niy sword's my own. Smile on, my lords! I scorn to 
 count what feelings, withered hopes, strong provocations, bit- 
 ter burning wrongs , I have within my heart's hot cells shut 
 up, to leave you in your lazy dignities. But here T stand and 
 scoff you ! here I fling hatred and full defiance in your face ! 
 Your consul's merciful — for this all thanks; he dares not 
 touch a hair of Cataline! 
 
 "Traitor !" I go; but I return. This — trial ? Here I de- 
 vote your senate ! I've had wrongs to stir a fever in the 
 blood of age or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. 
 This day's the birth of sorrow ! This hour's work will breed 
 proscriptions ! Look to your hearths, my lords ! For there, 
 henceforth, shall sit, for household gods, shapes hot from 
 Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes ! Wan treachery with his 
 
92 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 thirsty dagger drawn; suspicion poisoning his brother's cup; 
 naked rebellion, with the torch and ax, making his wild sport 
 of your blazing thrones; till Anarchy comes down on you like 
 night, and massacre seals Eome's enternal grave ! I go ; but 
 not to leap the gulf alone. 
 
 I go; but, when I come, 'twill be the burst of ocean in 
 the earthquake: — rolling back in swift and mountainous ruin. 
 Fare you well ! You build my funeral pile ; but your 
 best blood shall quench its flame ! Back, Slaves ! I will re- 
 turn! 
 
 THE ROMA^v^ HEEO. 
 Miss M. E. Mitford. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection, like Cataline's Defiance, is one of the 
 very Lest for practicing. There is none better to practice for de- 
 veloping intense dramatic powers. The voice must be of intense 
 feeling, moving rapidly from hate to love. "Struck like a ciog," the 
 voice must be powerful in its gutteral timbre, strong in force and full 
 of hatred. "Look to see them live," on the word, "live." the voice 
 has reached its highest pitch and falls wth a double falling glide. 
 The oath and solemn vow at the end must be given with the most 
 intense feeling. It will require a thousand rehearsals in the Sound 
 Proof Practice Room before this selection can be successfully given. 
 
 Friends, I come not here to talk. You know too well the 
 story of our thralldom. We are slaves ! The bright sun rises 
 to his course and lights a race of slaves! He sets, and his 
 last beams fall on a slave ; not such as, swept along by the full 
 tide of power, the conqueror led to crimson glory and undying 
 fame, but base, ignoble slaves; slaves to a horde of petty ty- 
 rants, feudal despots, lords, rich in some dozen paltry villages ; 
 strong in some hundred spearmen ; only great in that strange 
 spell — a name. 
 
 Each hour dark fraud, or open rapine, or protected mur- 
 der, cries out against them. But this very day an honest 
 man, my neighbor — there he stands — was struck — struck like 
 a dog by one who wore the badge of ITrsini; because, for- 
 sooth, he tossed not high his ready cap in the air, nor lifted 
 up his voice in servile shouts at sight of that great ruffian ! 
 Be we men, and suffer such dishonor? Men and wash not 
 the stain away in blood? Such shames are common. I have 
 known deeper Avrongs; I, that speak to ye. I had a brother 
 
REPERTOIRE 93 
 
 once — a gracious boy, full of gentleness, of calmest hope, of 
 sweet and quiet joy; there was the look of heaven upon his 
 face, which limners give to the beloved disciple. 
 
 How I loved that gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, 
 brother at once, and son ! He left my side; — a summer bloom 
 on his fair cheek, a smile parting hs innocent lips. In one 
 short hour that pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw the 
 corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried for vengeance ! 
 Rouse, ye Eomans ! rouse, ye slaves ! Have ye brave sons ? 
 Look in the next fierce brawl to see them die. Have ye fair 
 daughters? Look to see them live, torn from your arms, 
 distained, dishonored; and if ye dare call for justice, be an- 
 swered by the lash ! 
 
 Yet this is Eome, that sat on her seven hills ; and from 
 her throne of beauty ruled the world ! Yet we are Romans ! 
 Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman was greater than a 
 king ! and once again — hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the 
 tread of either Brutus ! once, again, I swear the eternal city 
 shall be free ! 
 
 THE HAT. 
 
 *_ 
 
 Suggestions— This beautiful monologue is best given with a silk 
 hat in the hand. It requires artistic acting all the way through, and 
 especially in the controversy between the gentleman 'wanting his 
 hat and the young lady's father. The voice in the conversational 
 parts must be thoroughly adapted to each character. 
 
 Well, yes ! On Tuesday last the knot was tied — tied hard 
 and fast; that canriot be denied. I'm caught, I'm caged, from 
 the law's point of ^dew. Before two witnesses, good men and 
 true, I'm licensed, stamped; undo the deed who can; three 
 hundred francs made me a married man. ^^^lo would have 
 thought it ! Married! How? What for? I, who was ranked 
 a strict old bachelor ; I, who declined — and gave lame reasons 
 why — five, six good, comfortable matches; I, married ! A mar- 
 ried man! Beyond a doubt! How, do you ask. came such 
 a thing about? What prompted me to dare connulnal liliss? 
 Imagine. Guess. You give it up ! A hat ! A hat, in short, 
 like all the hats you see — a plain, silk, stove-pipe hat. This 
 did for me. A plain black hat, just like the one that's here. 
 
 One day this winter I went out to dine. All was first- 
 rate — ^the style, the food, the wine. A concert afterward — 
 
94 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 en regie — just so. The hour arrived. I entered, bowing 
 low, my heels together. Then I placed my hat on something 
 near, and joined the general chat. At half-past eight we dined. 
 All went off well. The concert was announced tor half -past 
 ten, and that hour I joined a crowd of men. The ladies, 
 arm to arm, sweet, white, we founds like rows of sugared 
 almonds, seated round. I leaned against the door — there was 
 no chair. A stout, fierce gentleman got up with care (a cui- 
 rassier I set him down to be), leaned on the door post, hard by 
 me, whilst far off in the distance some poor girl sang, with 
 her love-lorn ringlets out of curl some trashy stuff of love, 
 and love's distress; I could see nothing, and could hear still 
 less. Still, I applauded for politeness' sake. 
 
 ISText, a dress-coat of fashionable make came forward and 
 began. It clad a poet. That's the last mode in Paris. Did 
 you know it?. Your host, or hostess, after dinner, chooses 
 to serve you up some efforts of the muses, recited with vim, 
 gestures, and by-play, by some one borrowed from the great 
 Francais. I blush to write it — poems, you must know, all 
 make me sleepy; and it was so now, for as I listened to the 
 distant drone of the smooth lines, I felt my eyelids droop 
 down, and a strange stupor I could not ignore came creeping 
 over me. 
 
 "Heavens ! suppose I snore ! Let me get out," I cried, "or 
 
 else " With that I cast my eyes around to find my hat. 
 
 It lay beyond where all the ladies sat, under a candelabrum, 
 shiny bright, smooth as when I last brushed it, in full sight. 
 Whilst I, far off, with yearning glances tried whether I 
 could not lure it to my side. And all the while did that dull 
 poem creep drearily on, till, sick at last with sleep, my eyes 
 fixed straight before me with a stare, I groaned within liie : 
 '^Come, my hat — fresh air !" 
 
 Here a voice cried : "Sir, have you done staring at my 
 daughter yet? By jove! sir." My astonished glance here 
 met the angry, red face of my cuirassier. I did not quail 
 before his look severe, but said politely, "Pardon, sir, but I 
 do not Imow so much as know her." "What sir ! AVhy, my 
 daughter's yonder, sir, beside that table. Pink ribbons, sir. 
 
 Don't tell mie you're unable to understand." But, sir " 
 
 ^'I dont suppose you mean to tell me " "Eeally " 
 
 "Who but knows your way of dealing with young ladies, sir ? 
 
REPERTOIRE 95 
 
 I'll have no trifling, if you please, with her." "Trifling?" 
 "Yes, sir. You know you've jilted five : every one knows it — 
 
 every man alive.'"' "Allow me " "ISTo, sir. Every father 
 
 knows your reputation, damaging to those who " "Sir, 
 
 indeed " "How dare you in this place stare half an hour 
 
 in m(y daughter's face ?"" "Sapristi, monsieur ! I protest — I 
 swear — I never looked at her." "Indeed ! What were you 
 looking at then ?" "Sir, I tell you that; my hat, sir." "Mor- 
 bleu ! Looking at your hat !" "Yes, sir, it was my hat." My 
 color rose; he angered me, this man who T^ould suppose I 
 thought of nothing but his girl. "It was my daughter, sir." 
 "N"o, sir — my hat." "Speak lower, gentlemen," said some 
 one near. "You'll give an account for this, sir. Do you 
 hear?" "Of course, sir." 'Then, before the world's astir 
 you'll get my card, sir." "I'll be ready, sir." 
 
 A pretty quarrel! Don't you think it so? A moment 
 after, all exclaimed, "Bravo !" Black coat had finished. All 
 the audience made a general move toward ice and lemonade, 
 the coast was clear, my way was open now; my hat was mine. 
 I made my foe a bow, and hastened, fast as lover could have 
 moved through trailing trains, toward the dear thing that 
 I loved. I tried to reach it. "Here's the hat, I think, you are 
 in search of." Shapely, soft and pink, a lovely arm. a perfect 
 arm held out my precious hat. Impelled by sudden doubt, 
 I raised my eyes. Pink ribbons trimmed her dress. "Here, 
 nflonsieur, take it. 'Twas not hard to guess what made you 
 look this way. You longed to go. You were so sleepy, nod- 
 ding — see! — just so. Ah, how I wished to help 3^ou if I 
 could ! I might have passed it possibly. I would have tried 
 my ladies' chain, from hand to hand, to send it to you, but you 
 understand, I felt a little timid, don't you see ? — for fear they 
 might suppose — Ah ! pardon me, I am prone to talk. I'm 
 keeping you. Take it. Good night." 
 
 Sweet angel, pure and true, my looks to their real cause she 
 could refer, and never thought one glance was meant for her. 
 0', simple trust, pure and debasing wiles ! I took my hat from 
 her fair hand with smiles and hurrying back, sought out 
 miy whilom foe, exclaiming: "Hear me, sir. Before I 
 go, let me explain. You, sir, were in the right. 'Twas not 
 my hat attracted me to-night. Forgive me, pardon me, I en- 
 
96 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 treat, dear sir. I love your daughter and I gazed at her." 
 *'You, sir?" He turned his big, round eyes on me. Then 
 held his hand out. "Well, well, we will see." 
 
 Kext day we talked. That's how it came about, and the 
 nesult you see. My secret's out. It was last Tuesday, as I 
 said, and even add, she's an angel, and my home is— heaven. 
 Her father, mild in spite of mien severe, holds a high office 
 — is no euirrassier. Besides — a boon few bridegrooms can 
 command. He is a widower — so — you understand. Now, all 
 this is happiness, beyond a doubt, by this silk hat I hold, was 
 brought about, *or by its brother. Poor old English tile ! 
 Many have sneered at thy ungainly style; they, as aesthetics, 
 are not far wrong, may be; but I, for all thou hast done for 
 me, raise thee, in spite of nonsense sung or said, with deep 
 respect, and place thee on my head. 
 
 ANGELINA. 
 
 Suggestions — This is one of the most musical selections to be found. 
 It requires the full impersonations of the negro in a happy, halle- 
 lujah mnod. The grunts, whines, groans and exclamations character- 
 itic of the negro, add greatly to the effe'ctive rendition of this selec- 
 tion; and there may be also Clogg, or Buck and Wing dancing added 
 with great advantage; but the dancing must be done while the lines 
 are being re'ciited, keeping time in the dance step to the rythm of 
 the words. 
 
 When, de fiddle gits to singin' out an ole Verginny reel, 
 an' you "menee to feel a ticklin' in yo'r toe an' in yo'r heel; 
 ef you t'ink you got u-ligion an' wants to keep it, too; you 
 jes' bettali take a hint an' git yo'sef clean out o' view. 'Ca'se 
 de time am mighty temptin' when de chune is in de swing, 
 fur a darkey, saint er sinner man, to cut de pigeon-wing. An' 
 yo' eotildnt' lic'p fo"m dancin' ef yo'r feet wuz bound wif 
 twine, when Angelina Johnsing comes a-swingin' down de 
 line. 
 
 Don't you know Miss Angelina? She's de dahlin' ob de 
 place; w'y de ain't no hig-ton'd lady wif such mannahs an' 
 sich grace. She can move across de cabin, wif its planks all 
 rough an' wore, jes' de same's ef she wuz dancin' on ole 
 
 mistus' ball-room floo'. Fact is, you don't see no cabin 
 
 evaht'ing you see look grand, an' dat ole squeaky fiddle so an' 
 
REPERTOIRE 97 
 
 to YOU jes' like a ban'; cotton britches look lak broadclof, an' 
 a linsey dress look fine when Angelina Johnsing comes 
 a-swingin' down de line. 
 
 Some fo'ks say dat dancin's sinful, an' de blessed Lawd, 
 dey say, gwdne to punish us fur steppin' when we heah de 
 music play. But I tell you, I don't b'lieve it, for de Lawd is 
 wise an' good, an' He made de banjo's metal an' He made 
 de fiddle's wood; an' he made de music in dem, so I don't 
 quite t'ink He'll keer ef our feet keeps time a little to de 
 melodies we heah. Wy dey's somef'n downright holy in do 
 way our faces shine, when Angelina Johnsing comes aswingin' 
 down de line. 
 
 Angelina steps so gentle; Angelina bows so low, an' she 
 lif * her sku't so dainty huh shoetop skacely show ; an' dem teef 
 o' huh'n a-shinin', ez she take you by de ban' — go way, people, 
 d'aint anodah such a lady in de Ian'. When she's movin' thoo 
 de figgers or a-dancin' by huhse'f, folks jes' stan' stock-still 
 a-stahin', an' dey mos' nigh hoi's dey bref ; an' de young mens, 
 dey's a-sayin', "I'se gwine mak' dat damsel mine," when An- 
 gelina Johnsing comes a-swingin' down de line. 
 
 THE FACIAL FAMILY. 
 J. A. Watkins. 
 
 Sue:g:estlons— In this selection it is well not to show the audience 
 the different mouth positions in the explanatory part, but wait till the 
 coversation begrins. The boy should be given his distinct face and 
 voice: and so with the other three characters. Be sure the mental 
 picturing is correct, so as not to be blurred, and so arranged that the 
 audience can see your face when each one says his or her part. 
 Make each character stand out clear and distinct. The action in 
 blowing- out the candle should b-e so artistic that the audience will 
 always remember the old lady burning her nose; or the manner in 
 which the old gent put out the candle. 
 
 In one of the pretty cities in the "Hbosier" State there 
 lived in a nice little cottage, a man. his wife, and their daugh- 
 ter. Each one had a peculiar facial defect. In talking, the 
 man's under-lip would rise and pass the upper lip, striking his 
 nose; the old lady's upper lip would go down, passing the 
 under lip, and striking her chin ; the girl's mouth was drawn 
 around on the right side of her face, with the right corner of 
 her miouth drawn up. One day the door bell rang, and the 
 girl went to answer the call. She met a young man at the 
 
98 THE AV ATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 door who also had a bad facial defect, his mouth being drawn 
 to the left side of his face, with the left corner being drawn 
 very low down. She spoke to him, "Good morning." "Good 
 morning. Miss. I would like to see your father." "What 
 you mocking me for ?" "I beg your pardon' madam, but I am 
 not mocking you." "Yes you are too." "Why, no I am not 
 mocking you. I — I — I — " "Oh ma ! ma ! come here ! A 
 young man is here mocking me." "Why, I am not mocking 
 you." "'Look here, sir, what are yon mocking my daughter 
 for?" "Madam, I am not mocking your daughter. It's my 
 
 natural way of tal -" "Yes, you are, too. Pa ! pa ! come 
 
 here; here's a young man standing here mocking our daugh- 
 ter." "Madam, I beg your pardon, but it's my way of ." 
 
 "Look here, young man, what are you mocking my daughter 
 for?" "^My dear sir, I am not mocking your daughter; it's my 
 
 way of " ^Yes, you are too; and I'll teach you a lesson 
 
 you'll not soon for " 
 
 The young man saved himself of a good shaking up by 
 making them understand that he couldn't help his facial de- 
 fect. The young man's business with the old gent took him 
 to that little cottage many times, during which time he and 
 the girl fell in love; and, strange to say, they were married. 
 
 The first night they experienced much trouble in blowing 
 out the light. When he was ready to retire, he took the can- 
 dle and blew at the light, but owing to the shape of his 
 mouth he couldn't strike the light with his breath. He 
 puffed away several times, but utterly failed. Then he 
 called to "Sallie" to come and blow it out. "Ah, Johnnie, 
 dear; a great big man, and can't blow out a cadle. Let me 
 have it. I'll blow it out." But owing to her facial defect 
 she failed to hit the light; and it still burned. "Oh ma, come 
 here and blow out this candle; we can't blow it out." "Well, 
 well; if I ever did hear so much fuss about blowing out a can- 
 dle. Give it here. Give it here ; I'll blow it out. Ah-ps-ps- 
 ah-ps-ps. Oh dear me; I've burned my nose. Oh pa pa, come 
 here and blow out this candle; we can't blow it out." "Well, 
 well, if you all ain't a great lot of folks; can't blow out a 
 candle. Give it here; I'll blow it out. Ah-ps-ps ah-ps-ps-ps. 
 (The old man snuffs it out.) There I knew I could blow it 
 out." 
 
REPERTOIRE 
 
 SIXCE PA SHAVED OFF HIS WHISKERS. 
 
 Sugg-estons— To make this selection a great success, impersonate a 
 te!n-year-old boy. He is full of laughter, and ready to "bust" any 
 moment, though he holds it back until the words "Pa shaved off his 
 whiskers," are uttered, and then he explodes into a burst of laughter. 
 
 I haven't had such joll}^ fun for forty thousand years; 
 just iaughed until I thought my eyes were running out in 
 tears. An' ma, ' she slapt me on the back to help me catch 
 my breath, an' said she couldn't blame me if I laughed my- 
 self to death. My ribs got sore like they wuz biles, my head 
 got to achin' and my inside fixings hurt like they had more 
 than they could stand; an' every time I see him yit, I have 
 to fetch a grin, because he looks so awful queer with nothin' 
 on his chin. There never wuz a father's son that's had such 
 jolly, roaring fun ez me since children was begun, since 
 Pa shaved off his whiskers. 
 
 He blushed just like a gigly girl when he come home that 
 night; an' ma, she met him at the door, an' nodded real po- 
 lite, an' asked him if he'd not come in a lookin' of him o'er, 
 just like she wuz a wonderin' where she seen them clothes 
 afore ,an' offered him the rocking chair, an' ast him fer his 
 hat; an' when she hung it up, she looked suspiciously at 
 that, an^ him a grinnin' all the while, an' her a lookin' 
 skeered, an' me a sizin' of him up, an' honestly af eared; but 
 when he looked almighty shy at me, an' winked the other 
 eye, I yelled to bust, "Why, ma, the guy! It's pa shaved off 
 his whiskers !" 
 
 Pa heaved l)ack in the rocking chair an' fetched a long haw 
 — haw. I had a real hysteric fit, an' roared an' squealed, an' 
 ma, she stood like she was paralyzed, an' stared in a stupid 
 way; just like to save her life she couldn't think of what to 
 say; an' then she reached her fingers out an' rubbed them 
 on his chin, an' neither one of them could do a thing but 
 grin; an' then she stooped an' took a kiss, an' say, I'll just 
 be blamed, that awful naked mouth of pa's looked like it was 
 ashamed. 'Twas awful mean of me, I know, but I just had 
 to laugh, or go insane. It paralyzed me so when pa shaved 
 off his whispers. 
 
 When mla regained her consciousness, I heard her softly 
 say, "Why, William, you ain't looked so young for many an' 
 many a day; look something like you used to look when me 
 
 L.ofC. 
 
100 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 an' you wuz courtin' up to married life. Indeed, indeed, you 
 do." An' then she sat upon his knee a-feelin' of his chin, 
 just like they wuz a lovin' pair, an'wuzn't any kin; an' me 
 a-rollin' on the floor just like a dyin' calf. For every time 
 I'd take a peep at pa I'd have to laugh; but now he doesn't 
 look so bad, an' never wuz a prouder lad than me to have so 
 young a dad, since pa shaved off his whiskers. 
 
 EOYAL BUMPEE DEGEEE.' 
 
 Suggestions'— Impersonate a fourteen-year-old boy. Give him a 
 smile all the way through, except in the serious parts, such as "Bring 
 forth the royal bumper and let him bump." The action should be ar- 
 tistic. Setting the Buck beer sign up behind the father should be done 
 in such a manner as to leave no doubt in the minds of the audience 
 as to where it is: the action of butting is well indicated by striking 
 the hand with the fist, and looking over the banisters should b© 
 well acted. There are great possibilities in this selection, and it 
 will pay to work out all the details perfectly. 
 
 Say, Mr. Vanbumbleberg, do you know anything about 
 lodges? I wish me and my chun»,-had muzzled our goat with 
 a pillow; pa would have enjoyed becoming a member of our 
 lodge better. You see, Pa had been telling us about the good 
 the Masons and Odd Fellows were doing, and said we ought 
 to grow up good so we could join them when we got a little 
 bigger. I asked Pa if it would do any hurt for us to play lodge 
 and pretend to 'nitiate; and he said no it wouldn't do any 
 hurt; it would only improve our minds, and make us like 
 men. 
 
 That afternoon, when Pa and Ma were out driving, me 
 and my chum borrowed an old billy goat from a livery stable, 
 and carried the old fellow up to my room. Then we got a 
 Buck beer sign from a saloon man and hung it up on the back 
 of a chair. Well, sir, we practiced with that old goat uutil 
 he got so he would butt the picture of that goat every time. 
 The old goat bleated, so we just tied a towel around his nose. 
 And his hoofs made such a noise on the floor that we put 
 some baby socks on his feet. 
 
 Well, when Pa and Ma came back, they heard us up stairs. 
 Pa said, "Boys, what are you doing up stairs ?"andmy chum 
 said, "We are playing lodge and pretending to 'nitiate." Pa 
 said that was all roht; that there was nothing half so bene- 
 ficial to boys' minds. My chum asked Pa if he didn't want 
 to come up and take the Grand Bumper degree. Pa laughed 
 and said he didn't care if he did, just to encourage us boys 
 
RBPEIRTOIRE 101 
 
 in innocent pastime that was so beneficial to our intellects. 
 So I told Pa that if he wanted to take the degree to come up 
 and give three distinct raps at the door. And when we ask, 
 "WTio comes there?" you must say, '''A weary pilgrim who 
 wishes to join your order and ride the goat." 
 
 Well, Pa rapped, and I opened the door and let him in. 
 The old goat had got over his bleating spell, and we had 
 pulled the towel off his nose, and had put him in the closet 
 where he was eating some of my old paper collars and gal- 
 luses. I told Pa he would have to be blindfolded, so he got 
 down on his knees, and I tied the towel what we had around • 
 the goat's nose, over Pa's eyes, and he didn't smell goat a bit. 
 I told Pa he had time to retrace his steps yet if he wanted 
 to. But he said no; he wanted the whole business; to go 
 ahead with our menagerie. -Pa was kind o' laughing all the 
 time; but I told him it was a serious business, and if he want- 
 ed to take the degree, to repeat the following after me : "^'Bring 
 forth the Eoyal Bumper and let him bump." And I told pa he 
 would have to get down on his hands. Then T took that 
 Buck Beer sign what the old goat had been butting, and put 
 
 it right up against Pa's pants. My chum rubbed some 
 
 red pepper in the old goat's nose, ears and eves, and he 
 began to sneeze and look sassy. Say, Mr. Vannbumbleberg, 
 the next time you go to 'nitiate a man into your lodge, you 
 just try red pepper on him; you'll get ten times as much 
 goat to the square inch. ) 
 
 I opened the door and the old goat saw the picture of that 
 goat what he had been butting, setting up side o' Pa, and he 
 started for it just like a cow-catcher, bleating and sneezing. 
 Pa's real fat, but he knew he got hit; and he jumped up and 
 said, "^'The deuce! What are you boys doing?" And the old 
 goat gave him another degree. Pa pulled off the towel and 
 started for the stairs, and so did the goat. Now, Ma was down 
 at the foot of the stairs listening, and when I looked over the 
 banisters, Pa, Ma and the goat were all in a heap. Pa was 
 yelling murder; Ma was yelling fire; and the old goat was 
 just a-butting, a-sneezing, and a-bleating. Pa and Ma went 
 into their room and closed the door. Me and my chum slipped 
 down stairs, and were intending to drive the old goat out, but 
 the minister what comes to see Ma three times a week, was 
 ringing the door bell. So I opened the door. Now, that old 
 
102 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 goat thought the minister was coming in to get an 'nitiation, 
 so he gave him a degree, and went down on the street, bleating 
 and a-sneezing. The minister came in to the parlor and said 
 he was stabbed. Pa came out of his room with hoth galluses 
 hanging down, and he was a-rubbing and using cuss words, 
 
 too. Ma said you will go down to sure. Pa said he 
 
 didn't care a cent if he did; he would kill that cussed old 
 goat before he went. I says, "Pa, ithe minister is in the 
 parlor." And he and Ma went in and said the weather was 
 propituous for a revival; but none of them didn't sit down 
 iDut Ma, 'cause the sroat didn't butt her. 
 
 THE JKs^EBS. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection is capable of great action. The reciter 
 should, in enumerating the lodges, lay them off with an over-hand 
 swing of the right arm, giving one swing for each lodge. In address- 
 ing the judge, stand with arms akimbo, occasionally giving the judge 
 a warning gesture with her right indexed finger, and when she says, 
 "I believe you are a jiner yourself," step towards the judge shoving 
 the right fist at him. This can be made a wonderful success by 
 working out all the details of action. 
 
 She Avas about forty-five years old, well dressed, had black 
 hair, rather thin and tinged with gray, and eyes in which 
 gleamed the fires of a determination not easily ballced. She 
 walked into the Judge's office and requested a private inter- 
 view, and, having obtained it, and satisfied herself 'that the 
 laAv students were not listening at the key-hole, said slowly, 
 solemnly and impressively, "I want a divorce." "What for? 
 I had supposed you had one of the best of husbands," said the 
 Judge. 
 
 " I s'pose that's what everybody Ithinks ; but if they knew 
 what I've suffered in the last ten years, they'd wonder how I 
 hadn't scalded him long ago. I ought to; but for the sake 
 of the young ones, I've borne it and said nothing. I've told 
 him, though, what he might depend on, and now the time's 
 comie; I won't stand it, young ones, or no young ones. I'll 
 have a divorce and if the neighbors want to blab themselves 
 hoarse about it, they can, for I won't stand it another day." 
 
 "But what's the matter? Don't your husband provide 
 for you ? Don't he treat you kindly ?" asked the Judge. 
 
REPERTOIRE 103 
 
 "We get victuals enough, and I don't know but he's as 
 true and kind in this respect as men generally are; and he's 
 never knocked any of us down. I wish he had; then I'd get 
 him in jail and know where he was of nights." 
 
 "Then what is your complaint against him'?" 
 
 "Well, if you must know, he's one of them pesky jiners." 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A ]iner — one of them blamed fools that's always jining 
 something. There can't nothing come along that's dark, sly 
 and hidden bult what he jines it. If anybody should come 
 along with a society to burn down his house, he'd jine it Just " 
 as soon as he could get in; and if he had to pay for it, he'd 
 jine all the quicker. We hadn't been married more'n two 
 months before he jined the Know Nothings. We lived on a 
 farm then, and every Saturday night he'd come tearing in 
 hefore supper and grab a fist full of grub and go off gulping 
 it down, and that's the last I'd see of him till morning. Then 
 the other nights he'd roll and tumhle in his bed, and holler in 
 Ms sleep. Tut none but Americans on guard — G-eorge Wash- 
 inglton ;' and on rainy days he would go out in the corn-crib 
 and jab at a picture of King George with an old bagnet that 
 was there. I ought to put my foot down then, but he fooled 
 mie so with his lies that I let him s-q on. Then he jined the 
 Masons. P'raps you know what them be, but I don't 'cept 
 they think they are the same kind of critters that built Sol- 
 omon's temple; and of all the nonsense and gab about a 
 "worshipful master" and squares and compasses and sich like 
 that we had in the house for the next six months, you never 
 saw the beat. And he's never outgrown it, nuther. What 
 do you think of a man, Judge, that'll dress himself up in a 
 whiite apron, about big enoua-h for a monkey's bib, and go 
 marching up and down making motions and talking foolish 
 Jlingo at a picture of George Washington in a green jacket 
 and an apron covered with eyes and columns and other queer 
 thinars. Ain't he a loonatick? Well, that's my Sam, and I've 
 stood it as long as I'm going to. 
 
 The next lunge the old fool made was into the Odd Fel- 
 lows. I made it warm for him when he came home and 
 told me he had jined them; but he kind o' pacified me by tell- 
 ing me they are a sort of branch show that took in women, 
 
104 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 and he'd get me in as soon as he found how to do it. Well, 
 one night he came home and said I'd been proposed, and 
 somebody had blackballed me. Did it himself: of course he 
 did ! Didn't want me around knowing about his goings on. 
 Of course he didn't and I told him so, too I 
 
 "Then he jined the Sons of Malter ! Didn't say nothin' to 
 me about it; but sneaked off one night pretending he had to 
 sit up with a sick Odd Fellow, and I never found it oi^t, 
 only he come home looking like a man who had been run 
 through a threshing machine, and I wouldn't do a thing for 
 him until he 'fessed up. And so it's gone from bad to wus, 
 jining this thing, and that, till he's Worshipful Minister of 
 the Masons, and Goodness of Hope in Ithe Odd Fellows, and 
 Sword Swallower of the Finnegans, and Virgin Cerus of the 
 Grange and Grand Mogul of the Sons of Insolence, and 
 Grand Euler in the Knights of Pythias, and the Exalted 
 Monarch in the Elks, and the Bull puncher in the' Buffaloes, 
 and the Two-Ed2:ed Tomahawk of the United Order of Eed 
 Men, and the Tale Bearer of the Merciful Manikins, and 
 Skipper for the Guild-Caratrine Culumbus, and the Big 
 Wizard of the Arabian Nights, and the Pledge Passer of the 
 Peform Club, and Chief Bulger for the Irish Mechanics, and 
 Purse Keeper of the Guard of Canadian Conscience, and the 
 Double-Barreled Dictator in the Knights of the Brass Circle, 
 and Standard Bearer for the Poval Archangels, and Sublime 
 Port of the Onion Lea2:ue, and Chief Butler for the Celes- 
 tial Cherubs, and the Fly Catcher for the Petrified Polly wogs, 
 and 2:oodnpps knows what else. I've borne it. and borne it. 
 and borne it. hopin' he'd get them all jined after awhile, and 
 quit; but 'tai'nt not use; and when he'd got into a new one, and 
 had been made Grand Guide for the Nights of ITorror, I told 
 him I'd quit, and I will." 
 
 Here the Judge interrupted her, saying: "Well, your 
 husband is prettv well initiated, that's a fact: but the court 
 can hardly call that a good cause for divorce. Most of the 
 societies you mention are composed of honorable men with 
 excellent reputations. Many of them', though called lodges, 
 are relief associations and mutual insurance companies, which, 
 if vouT husband should die, would take care of you if you were 
 sick, or in want." 
 
REPERTOIRE 105 
 
 ^'Fiidge ! See me suffer when I'm sick ! Take care of me 
 when he's dead ! Well, guess not ! I can take care of myself 
 when he is dead. If I can't I can get another ! There's plenty of 
 'em ! And they needn't bother themselves when I'm sick, 
 either. If I want to get sick and suffer, it's none of their 
 business; especially after all the suffering I've had when I 
 ain't sick, all because of their carryings on. And you needn't 
 try to make me believe it's all right, either. I know what it 
 is to live with a man who Jines all the lodges that comes along, 
 until now he never lodges at home any more." 
 
 "Oh, I think that is harmless amusement," quietly re-, 
 marked the Judge. She looked him square in the eyes and 
 said : "I believe you are a jiner yourself." The Judg admit- 
 ted he had joined some of them. Oh, but this made her rag- 
 ing mad. "I wouldn't have thought it. Judge ! A man like you, 
 holding your high office, and chairman of the Sunday School, 
 — why, it's enough to make a woman take pizen ! I won't have 
 nothing more to do with you, sir ! I want to find a lawyer that 
 don't belong to nobody nor nothin'. Good day, sir !" With 
 that ^he bolted out of the office and slammed the door, and 
 went to hunt a man who was not a jiner. 
 
 AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE. 
 James Whitcomb Eiley. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection is beautiful from beginning to end. It 
 may be given sittipg. The voice is soft and sympathetic; the action 
 damty and delicate". It requires considerable ability to make it 
 effective. 
 
 As one who cons at evening o'er an album all aloue, and 
 muses at the faces of the friends that he has known, so I turn 
 the leaves of fancy till in shadowy design I find the smiling 
 features of that old sweetheart of mine. 
 
 'Tis a fmgrant retfospeetion — for the loving thoughts Lhat 
 start into being are like perfumes from the blossoms of the 
 heart — and to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine 
 whea my truant fancies Avander with that old sweetheart 
 of mine. 
 
106 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 Though I hear beneath my study, like a fluttering of 
 wings, the voices of my children, and the mother as she sings, 
 I feel no tinge of conscience to deny me any theme when 
 care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream. 
 
 In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm to 
 spice the good a tri;le with a little dust of narra for 1 find 
 an extra flavor in memory's mellow wine that makes me drink 
 the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine. 
 
 A face of lily beauty, and a form of airy grace, floats 
 out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase, and I thrill be- 
 neath the glances of a pair of azure eyes, as glowing as the 
 summer, and as tender as the skies. 
 
 I can see the pink sun-bonnet, and the little checkered 
 dress she wore when first I kissed her, and she answered the 
 caress with the written declaration, that as "surely as the 
 vine grew around the stump," she loved me, that old sweet- 
 heart of mine. 
 
 And again I fell the pressure of her slender little hand, 
 as we used to talk together of the future we had planned — 
 when I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do, would 
 write the tender verses that she'd set the music to. 
 
 When we should live together in a cozy little cot hid in 
 a nest of roses in a fairy garden spot, where the vines were 
 ever fruited, and the weather ever fine, and the birds were 
 ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine. 
 
 When I should be her lover forever and a day, and she 
 my faithful sweetheart till her golden hair was gray — and 
 we should be so happy that, when cither's lips were dumb, they 
 would not smile in heaven till the other's kiss had come. 
 
 But ah ! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, and 
 the door is softly opened, and my wife is standing there; 
 yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions T resign, tO' 
 greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine. 
 
 THE WONDERFUL ONE-HOSS SHAY. 
 
 Suggestions— This is a difficult selection to deliver successfully. It 
 may be given in a bombastic and labored effort; with much halting 
 and running of words; shaking of the head, squinting of the eyes and 
 grunting. The getures should be exagerated; over-done. 
 
 Have you heard of tlie wonderful one-hoss shay, that was 
 built in such a logical way, it ran a hundred years to a day, 
 
REPERTOIRE 107 
 
 and then of a sudden it — ah, but stay, I'll tell you how it 
 happened, without delay ; scaring the parson into fits, fright- 
 ening people out of their wits — ^have you heard of it, I say ? 
 
 Seventeen hundred and fifty-five, Georgius Secundus was 
 then alive, — snuffy old drone from the German hive! That 
 was the year when Lisbon town saw the earth open and gulp 
 her down, and Braddoek's army was done so brown — left 
 without a scalp to its crown. It was on that terrible earth- 
 quake day that the deacon finished the one-hoss shay. 
 
 N'ow, in building of chaises, I tell you what, there is al- 
 ways, somewhere, the weakest spot — in hub, tire, felloe, in 
 spring or thill, in panel or cross-bar, or floor, or sill, in screw, 
 bolt, thoroughbrace — lurking still; find it somewhere, you 
 must and will, above or below, or within or without; and 
 that's the reason beyond a doubt, a chaise breaks down, but 
 doesn't wear out. 
 
 But the deacon swore, as deacons do, with an "I vum" or 
 an "I'll tell yeou." He would build one shay to beat the 
 teown 'n' the keountry 'n' keountry reoun'; it should be so 
 built that it couldn't break deown. "For," said the deacon, 
 " 'tis mighty plain that the weakes' place mus' stan' the 
 strain, 'n' the way to fix it, uz I maintain, is only jest to make 
 that place uz strong as the rest." 
 
 So the deacon inquired of the village folk where he could 
 find the strongest oak, that couldn't be split, nor bent, nor 
 broke — that was for spokes, and floor, and sills; he sent for 
 lancewood, to make the thills; the crossbars were ash, from 
 the straightest trees; the panels of white wood, that cut like 
 cheese, but lasts like iron for things like these ; the hubs from 
 logs from the "Settler's ellum," last of its timber, they 
 couldn't sell 'em; never an ax had seen their chips, and the 
 wedges flew from between their lips, their blunt ends frizzled 
 like celery tips ; step and ])rop-iron, bolt and screw, tire, axle, 
 and lynchpin, too; steel of the finest, bright and blue; thor- 
 oughbrace bison skin-thick and wide; boot top, dasher, from 
 tousfh old hide, found in the pit where the tanner died. That 
 was the way he put her through. "There," said the deacon, 
 "neow she'll dew !" 
 
 Do ! I tell you, rather I guess she was a wonder and noth- 
 ing less ! Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, deacon and 
 
108 THE WIATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 deaconess dropped away, children and grandchildren — where 
 were they? But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay, as 
 fresh as on Lisbon earthquake day ! 
 
 Eighteen hundred : It came and found the deacon's 
 masterpiece strong and sound. Eighteen hundred, increased 
 by ten, — "hansum kerridge," they called it then. Eighteen 
 hundred and twenty came, — running as usual, much the same. 
 Thirty and forty at last arrive; then came fifty tnd fifty- 
 five. 
 
 Little of all value here wakes on the morn of its hun- 
 dredth year without both feeling and looking queer. In fact, 
 there's nothing keeps its youth, so far as I knoAV, but a tree 
 and truth. (This is a moral that runs at large; take it, you're 
 welcome. No extra charge.) 
 
 First of November — the earthquake day — there are no 
 traces of age in the one-hoss shay, a general flavor of mild de- 
 cay, but nothing local, as one may say. There couldn't be — • 
 for the deacon's art had made it so like in every part that 
 there wasn't a chance for one to start. 
 
 For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, and the 
 floor was just as strong as the sills, and the panels just as 
 dstroug as the floor, and the whipple-tree neither less nor more, 
 and the back cross-bar as strong as the fore, and spring, and 
 axle, and hub encore. And yet as a whole it is past a doubt 
 in another hour it will be worn out ! 
 
 First of November fifty-five; this morning the parson 
 takes a drive. Now, small boys, get oiif of the way; here 
 comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, drawn by a rat-tailed, 
 ewednecked bay. "Huddup !" said the parson; off they went. 
 
 ■The parson was working his Sunday text — had got to 
 fifthly, and stopped perplexed at what the — Moses — was com- 
 ing next ! All at once the horse stood still, close by the meet- 
 in' house on the hill. First a shiver and then a thrill, then 
 something decidedly like a spill; and the parson was sitting 
 upon a rock, at half past nine by the meetin' house clock, — 
 just the hour of the earthquake shock I 
 
 What do you think the parson found, when he got up and 
 looked around? The poor old chaise in a heap, or mound, 
 as if it had been to the mill and ground ! You see, at once. 
 
REPERTOIRE 109 
 
 if you're not a dunce, how it went to pieces all at once, — all 
 at once and nothing first, just as bubbles do when they burst. 
 End of the wonderful one-hoss shay: Logic is logic: that's 
 all I say. 
 
 THE OLE MAX AND JIM. 
 
 James "Whitcomb Eilev. 
 
 Suggestions— This affectionate and pathetic recitation requires a 
 strong impersonation. ; The speech of Jim's father in telling him 
 good-bye must be suited to the thoughts preceding it each time. His 
 last speech at the dying boy's side must be full of pathos. 
 
 Old man never had much to say — 'ceptin' to Jim — and 
 Jim was the wildest boy he had, and the old man Jes' wrapped 
 up in him ! never heerd him speak but once or twice in my 
 life — and first time was when the army broke out, and Jim he 
 went, the Old man backin' him, fer three months. And all 
 'at I heerd the Old man say was, jes' as We turned to start 
 away — "Well; good-bye, Jim: Take keer yourse'f !" 
 
 'Peered like he was more satisfied jes' lookin' at Jim and 
 likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see? — cause he was jes' wrapped 
 up in him ! and over and over I mind the day the Old man 
 come and stood round in the way while he was drillin', a- 
 watchin' Jim — and down at the depot a-he'rin' him say — 
 "Well; good-bye, Jim: Take keer yourse'f!" 
 
 Never was nothin' about the farm disting'ished Jim; 
 neighbors all ust to wonder why the Old man 'peared wrapped 
 up in him but when Cap. Biggler, he writ back 'at Jim was 
 the bravest boy we had in the whole regiment— white er black, 
 and his fightin' good as his farmin' bad — 'at he had led, with 
 a bullet clean bored through his thigh, and carried the flag 
 through the bloodiest battle you ever seen — the Old man 
 wound up a letter to him 'at Cap. read to us, 'at said — "Tell 
 Jim good-bye; and take keer of hisse'f !" 
 
 Jim comie back jes' long enough to take the whim 'at he'd 
 like to go back in the calvery — and the Old man jes' wrapped 
 up in him ! — Jim 'lowed 'at he'd had sich luck afore, guessed 
 he'd tackle her three years more. And the Old man give him 
 a colt he' d raised and follered him over to Camp Ben Wade, 
 
110 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 and laid around for a week or so, watcliin' Jim on dress-pa- 
 rade — tel finally he rid away, and last he heard was the Old 
 man say — "\Yell; good-bye, Jim: Take Keer of yourse'f !" 
 
 Tuk the papers, the Old m!an did, a-watchin' fer Jim — 
 fully believin' he'd make his mark some way — jes' wrapped 
 up in him] ! — and miany a time the word 'u'd come 'at stirred 
 him up liko the tap of a drum — at Petersburg, fer instance, 
 where Jim rid right into their cannons there, and tuk 'em, 
 and p'inted 'em t' other way, and socked it home to the boys 
 in gray, as they skooted fer timber, and on and on — Jim a 
 lieutenant and one arm gone, and the Old man's words in his 
 mind all day — "Well; good-bve, Jim,': Take keer of your- 
 se'f!" 
 
 Think of a private, now, perhaps, we'll say like Jim, 'at's 
 dumb clean up to the shoulder-straps — and the Old man jes' 
 wrapped up in him! Think of him — with the war plum' 
 through, and the glorious old Eed-White-and-Blue a-laughin' 
 the news down over Jini and the Old man, bendin' over him — 
 the surgeon turnin' away with tears 'at hadn't leaked fer 
 years and yearg — as the hand of the dyin' boy clung to his 
 father's, the old voice in his ears — "Well; good-bye, Jim: 
 Take keer of yourse'f !" 
 
 GIN-E^nRA. 
 
 Susan Coolidge. 
 
 Suggestions — This strange, weird story will, if well delivered, leave 
 a lasting impreission. It requires artistic acting, and a voice colored to 
 suit the thoughts. Where Ginevra leaves her husband's home and 
 goes to her father's house and pleads to let her in is one of the most 
 touching pictures to be found. It affords an lopportunity for the 
 most artistic acting. 
 
 So it is come ! The doctor's glossy smile deceives me not. 
 I saw him shake his head, whispering, and heard poor Giulia 
 sob without, as, slowly creaking, he went down the stair. 
 Were they afraid I should be afraid? I, who have died once 
 and been laid in the tomb ? They need not. Little one, look 
 not so pale. I am not raving. Ah ! you never heard the story. 
 Climb up there upon the bed: Sit close and listen. After 
 this one day I shall not tell you stories any more. 
 
REPERTOIRE 111 
 
 How old are you, my rose? What! almost twelve? Al- 
 mjost a woman! Scarcely more than that was your fair 
 mother when she bore her bud; and scarcely more was I when, 
 long years since, I left my father's house, a bride in May. You 
 know the house, beside St. Andrea's church, gloomy and rich, 
 which stands and seems to frown on the Mercato, humming 
 at its base. That was my play-place ever as a child; and 
 with me used to play a kinsman's son, Antonio Eondinelli. 
 Ah, dear days! Two happy things we were, with none to 
 chide or hint that life was anything but play. 
 
 Sudden the play-time ended. All at once ''You must be 
 wed," they told me. "What is wed?" I asked; but with the 
 word I bent my brow, let them put on the garland, smiled to 
 see the glancing jewels tied about my neck; and so half- 
 pleased, half-puzzled, was led forth by my grave husband, 
 older than my sire. the long years that followed ! It would 
 seem that the sun never shone in all those years, or only with 
 a sudden, troubled glint flashed on Antonio's curls, as he 
 went by doffing his cap, with eyes of wistful love raised to my 
 face — ^my conscious, woeful face. 
 
 Were we so much to blame? Our lives had twined to- 
 gether, none forbidding for so long. They let our childish 
 fingers drop the seed, unhindered, which should ripen to tall 
 grain; they let the firm, small roots tangle and grow, then 
 rent them, careless that it hurt the plant. I loved Antonio, 
 and he loved me. , 
 
 Life was all shadow, but it was not sin. I loved Antonio, 
 but I kept me pure, not for my husband's sake, but for the 
 sake of him, my first-born child; mine for a few short weeks, 
 whose touch, whose look thrilled all my soul, and thrills it 
 to this day. I loved ; but, hear me swear, I kept me pure ! 
 (Eememher that Madonna, when I come before thy throne 
 to-morrow. Be not stern, or gaze upon me with reproachful 
 look, making my little angel hide his face and weep, while 
 the others turn glad eyes rejoicing on their mothers.) 
 
 It was hard to sit in darkness while the rest had light, 
 to move to discords when the rest had song, to be so young 
 and never to have lived. I bore, as women bear, until one 
 day soul said to flesh, "This I endure no more," and with 
 the word uprose, tore clay apart, and was what was blank 
 before grew blanker still. 
 
112 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 It was a fever, so the leeches said. I had been dead so 
 long, I do not know the difference, or heed. Oil on ihy breast. 
 The garments of the grave about me wrapped, they bore me 
 forth and laid me in the tomb. 
 
 Open the curtain, child. Yes, it is night. It was night 
 then, when I awoke to feel that deadly chill, and see by 
 ghostly gleams of moonlight, creeping through the grated 
 door, the coffins of my fathers all about. Strange, hollow 
 clam:ors rang and echoed back, as, struggling out of mine, I 
 dropped and fell with frantic strength I beat upon the grate. 
 It yielded to my touch. Some careless hand had left the bolt 
 half-slipped. . My father swore afterward, with a curse, he 
 would make sure next time. Next time. That hurts me 
 even now ! 
 
 Dead or alive I issued, scarce sure which, and down the 
 darkling street I wildly fled, led by a little cold and wander- 
 ing mioon, which seemed as lonely and as lost as I. I had no 
 aim, save to reach warmth and light and human touch; but 
 still my witless steps led to my husband's door, and there I 
 stopped, by instinct, knocked, and called. A window opened. A 
 voice— 'twas his — ^demianded : "Who is there ?" " 'Tis I, 
 Ginevra." Then I heard the tone change into horror, and he 
 prayed aloud and called upon the saints, the while I urged, 
 "0, let me in, Francesco; let me in ! I am so cold, so fright- 
 ened, let me in !" Then with a crash the window was shut 
 fast; and, though I cried and beat upon the door and wailed 
 aloud, no other answer came. 
 
 Weeping, I turned away, and feebly strove down the hard 
 distance toward my father's house. "They will have pity and 
 let me in," I thought. "They loved me and will let me in." 
 Cowards ! At the high window overhead they stood and 
 trembled, while I plead and prayed. "I am your child, 
 Ginevra. Let me in ! I am not dead. In mercy, let me !" 
 "The holy saints forbid !" declared my sire. My mother 
 sobbed and vowed whole pounds of wax to St. Eustachio, who 
 would remove this fearful presence from her door. Then 
 sharp came click of clock, and a long tube was thrust from 
 out the window, and my brother cried, "Spirit or devil, go, 
 or else I fire." Where should I go ? Back to the ghastly tomb 
 and the cold coflfined ones ! Up the long street, wringing my 
 hands and sobbing low, I went. Mv feet were bare and bleed- 
 
REPERTOIRE 113 
 
 ing from the stones; my hands ^rere bleeding too; my hair 
 hung loose over my shroud. So wild and strange a shape 
 saw never Florence since. 
 
 At last I saw a flickering point of light high over head, in 
 a dim window set. I had laid down to die; but at the sight I 
 rose, and with expiring strength knocked and sank, again, 
 and knew not even then it was Antonio's door by which I lay. 
 A window opened, and a voice called out: "Quie" "I am 
 Ginevra.'"' And I thought, "now he will fall to trembling, 
 like the rest, and bid me hence." But, lo, a moment more, 
 the bolts were drawn, and arnns whose very touch was life, 
 lifted and clasped and bore me in'. "0 ghost or angel of my 
 buried lov^, I know not, care not which, be welcome here ! 
 Welcome, thrice welcome, to this heart of mine !" I heard him 
 say, and then I heard no more. 
 
 It was high noontide when I awoke again, to hear fierce 
 voices wrangling by my bed — my father's and my husband's; 
 for, with dawn, gathering up valor, they had sought the 
 tomb, had found me gone, and tracked my bleeding feet, 
 over the pavement to Antonio's door. Dead, they cared noth- 
 ing; living, I was theirs. Hot raged the quarrel; then came 
 Justice in, and to the court we swept — I in my shroud — to try 
 the cause. This was the verdict given: "A woman who has 
 been to burial borne, made fast and left and locked in with 
 the dead; who at her husband's door has stood and plead for 
 entrance, and has heard her prayer denied; who from her 
 father's house is urged and chased, must be adjudged as dead 
 in law and fact. The Court pronounces the defendant — 
 dead ! She can resume her former ties at will, or may re- 
 nounce them, if such be her will. She is no more a daughter 
 or a spouse, unless she choose, and is set free to form new ties 
 if so she choose." 
 
 0, blessed words ! That very day we knelt before the 
 priest: my love and I were wed, and life began. 
 
 Child of my child, child of Antonio's child, bend down 
 and let me kiss your wondering face. 'Tis a strange tale to 
 tell a rose like you. But time is brief, and, had I told you 
 not, haply the story would have met your ears from them, 
 the Amieris, my own blood, now turned to gall, whose foul 
 and bitter lips will wag with lies when once my lips are dumb. 
 (Pardon me. Virgin. I was gentle once, and thou hast seen 
 
114 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 my wrongs. Thou wilt forgive.) Now go, my dearest. When 
 they wake thee up, to tell thee I am dead, be not too sad, I 
 who have died once, do not fear to die. Sweet was that wak- 
 ing, sweeter will be this. Close to heaven's gate my Antonio 
 sits waiting, and, spite of all the Frati says, I know I shall 
 not stand long at the gate, or knock and be refused an en- 
 trance there, for he will start up when he hears my voice, the 
 saints will smile, and he will open quick. Only a night to 
 part me from that joy. Jesu Maria! let the dawning come. 
 
 THE WOMAN I LOVED. 
 
 Suggestions^-This selection gives a splendid opportunity for facial 
 expression, showing the varying moods of disgust and relief. Gestures 
 suited to the thoughts will add much to its rendition. He is sarcastic 
 and sneets at the sights he sees just over the way. 
 
 I am a bachelor, merry and gay, with nothing to trouble 
 me here. I've seen at a window, just over the way, the 
 changes of many a year; when the curtain is down at the 
 close of the day, there are shadows that often appear. Shall 
 I tell you the story ? Ah, well ! you will find it is only a tale 
 of the commonest kind. I was romantic when young — you 
 may smile — A very "Beau Brummel" in manner and style; 
 my features were ruddy, my teeth were like pearls; I was 
 handsome, and fond of the beautiful girls, till an incident 
 happened I faintly recall : I loved and I lost, but I lived 
 through it all. What comfort it was, in those moments of 
 gloom, as I sat in the shade of my desolate room, when my 
 labor was done, at the close of the day, and gazed at a window 
 just over the way, where a pair of young lovers, devoted and 
 true, had built them a nest, and were hidden from view. The 
 curtain was down, and nobody could see; but their "tattle- 
 tale" shadows presented to me such pictures of rapture, of 
 joy and delight, I forgot my own grief at beholding the 
 sight. 
 
 I am a bachelor, merry and gay, I've toiled and I've pros- 
 pered in trade; my wishes are heeded; my servants obey; 
 mly bills are all settled and paid. There's nothing on earth 
 that I know of .to-day to trouble or make me afraid. Many 
 months passed away; many changes and cares I could see, o'er 
 the way, in my neighbor's affairs; their kisses grew scanty. 
 
REPERTOIRE 115 
 
 their curtain unclean, and seldom together the lovers were 
 seen. Then came o'er the curtain new forms of delight, like 
 '•imps in a bottle," that danced in m^^ sight. Some chidings, 
 low spoken, were brought to my ear that I was reluctant and 
 sorry to hear; and loud cries of children in rage and affright 
 were wafted away on the winds of the night. There were 
 shadows of care that were novel to me^ that made me rejoice 
 that my spirit was free, that my life was untrammteled by 
 fetters and bars, that my peace was unbroken by family jars. 
 I am a bachelor, merry and gay, with no one to love but 
 myself; I know I am old, I know I am gray — I've plenty to 
 eat on the shelf. My nephews and nieces are kndly to-day; 
 they love me and long for my pelf. The window is down, but 
 my neighbors are there; the lover is living, without any hair 
 — His ringlets have vanished and gone to decay, for fingers, 
 once loving, have plucked them away, and his shadowy head, 
 boLh behind and before, ih as amooLh and as bare as the 
 Imoo of a dooj. The daughters are married, the sons all are 
 grown, the lovers are left in the mansion alone, and sounds 
 of contention are brought to my ear, discordant, u^npleasani 
 and frightful to hear. I see her triumphant, T hear her com- 
 mand, i see him submit at a wave of her hand; and the 
 sounds that I hear and the sights that I see bring comfort, 
 delight and contentment to me, For the ivoman I loved is still 
 liviu'j to-day, the ivife of my neighhor.jiisr uoer the vay. 
 
 AUX TTALIENS. 
 
 Robert Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 Suggestions— This strange story has proved to be successful before 
 many audiences. It will require much thought to understand it 
 thoroughly. There is splendid opportunity for .action, especially 
 where he turns and sees his early love and goes to her. 
 
 At Paris it was, at the opera there; and she looked like 
 a queen in a book that night. With the wreath of pearl in her 
 raven hair, and the brooch on her breast so bright. Of all 
 the operas that A^erdi wrote, the best, to my taste, is the 
 Trovatore: and Mario can soothe, with a tenor note, the 
 souls of purgatory. Well, there in our front-row box we sat 
 together, my bride betrothed and I; my gaze was fixed on my 
 opera hat, and hers on the stage hard by. And both were 
 
116 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 silent, and both were sad; — like a queen she leaned on her 
 full white arm, with that regal, indolent air she had; so con- 
 fident of her charm ! 
 
 Meanwhile I was thinking of my first love as I had not 
 been thinking of aught for years, till over my eyes there be- 
 gan to miove something that felt like tears. I thought -of the 
 dress that she wore last time, when we stood 'neath the cy- 
 press trees together, in that lost land, in that soft clime, in 
 the crimson evening weather; of that muslin dress (for the 
 eve was hot); and her warm white neck in its golden chain; 
 and her full soft hair, just tied in a knot, and falling loose 
 again; and the Jasmine flower in her fair young breast; (Oh, 
 the faint sweet smell of that jasmine flower ! ) And the one 
 bird singing alone in his nest; and the one star over the 
 tower. For I thought of her grave below the hill, which the 
 sentinel cypress-tree stands over; and I thought, "Were she 
 only living still, how I could forgive her and love her !" And 
 I swear, as I thought of her thus, in that hour, and of how, 
 after all, old thiup-s are the best that I smelt the smell of that 
 jasmine flower wdiich she used to wear in her breast. 
 
 And I turned and looked; she was sitting there, in a dim 
 box over the stage; and drest in that muslin dress, with that 
 full soft hair, and that jasmine in her breast! To my early 
 love from my future bride one momient I looked. Then I 
 stole to the door, I traversed the passage; and down at her 
 side I was sitting, a mom/ent more. My thinking of her, or 
 the music's strain, or something which never will be exprest, 
 had brought her back from the grave again, with the jasmine 
 in her breast. She is not dead, and she is not wed ! But she 
 loves me now, and she loved me then ; and the very first word 
 that her sweet lips said, my heart grew youthful again. The 
 Marchioness there, of Carabas, she is wealthy and young and 
 
 handsome still; and but for her well, we'll let that pass; 
 
 she may marry whomever she will. But I will marry my own 
 first love, with her primrose face, for old things are best; and 
 the flower in her bosom, I prize it above the brooch in my 
 lady's breast. And I think, in the lives of most women and 
 men, there's a moment when all would go smooth and even, 
 if only the dead could find out when to come back and be 
 forgiven. 
 
REPERTOIRE 117 
 
 THE PATHAVAY OF GOLD. 
 Homer Greene. 
 
 Suggestions— The tender pathos and exquisite beauty of this selec- 
 tion are seldom found. Its successful delivery depends upon deep 
 pathos, mingled with the beauty of the description. Graceful and 
 delicate gesturing is necessary. 
 
 In the light of the moon, by the side of the water, as I sit 
 on the sand and she on my knees we watch the bright billows, 
 do I and my daughter, my sweet little daughter Louise. We 
 wonder what city the pathway of glory, that broadens away to 
 the limitless west, leads up to ; — she minds her of some pretty 
 story and says : "To the city that mortals love best." Then 
 I sav : "It must lead to the far awav citv, the 1>eautiful City 
 of Eest." 
 
 In the light of the m'oon, by the side of the water, stand 
 two in the shadow of the whispering trees, and one loves my 
 daughter, my beautiful daughter, m!y womanly daughter 
 Louise. She steps to the boat with the touch of his fingers, 
 and on the diamond pathway they move ; the shallop is lost in 
 the distance, it lingers, it waits, but I know that its coming 
 will prove that it went to the walls of the wonderful city, the 
 magical City of Love. 
 
 fn the light of the moon, by the side of the water, I wait 
 for her coming from over the seas; I wait to but welcome the 
 dust of my daughter, to weep for my daughter Louise. The 
 path, as of old, reaching out in its splendor, gleams bright, 
 like a way that an angel has trod; I kiss the cold burden its 
 billows surrender, sweet clay to lie under the pitiful sod; but 
 she rests at the end of the path in the city whose "Iniilder 
 and maker is God." 
 
 PLATONIC LOA^E. 
 
 Suggetions— This selection must be begun in a cold, hard didactic 
 style as though the reciter never felt a touch of the great passion of 
 love. The gradual melting of the hard heart will require voice modu- 
 lation and coloring that is difficult to give. 
 
 I had sworn to be a bachelor, she had sworn to be a maid, 
 for we both agreed in doubting whether matrimony paid. Be- 
 sides I had mv higher aims, for science filled mv heart, and 
 
118 THE WATKINS BROTHEfRS' 
 
 slie said her young affections were all wound up in her art. 
 So we laughed at those wise men who say that friendship can- 
 not live 'twixt man and woman unless each has something 
 else to give. We would be friends, and friends as true as e'er 
 were nian and man, I'd be a second David and she Miss Jona- 
 than. We'd like each other, that was all, and quite enough to 
 say, so we just shook hands upon it in a business sort of way. 
 
 We shared our sorrows and our joys, together hoped and 
 feared, with common purpose sought the goal which young 
 ambition reared. We dreamed together of the days, the 
 /dream bright days to come, we were strictly confidential and 
 rcalled each other "chum." And many a day we wandered 
 :tog«ther o'er the hills — I seeking bugs and butterflies, and she 
 the ruined mjills, and rustic bridges and the like, which pic- 
 -ture makers prize to run in with their waterfalls, and groves, 
 ;and sunny skies. And man}- a quiet evening, in hours of full 
 release, we floated down the river or loafed beneath the trees. 
 And talked in long gradation from the poet to the weather, 
 while the sumlmer skies and my cigar burned slowly out to- 
 gether. But through it all no whispered word or telltale 
 look or sigh told aught of warmer sentiment than friendly 
 sympathy, we talked of love as coldly as we talked of nebulae, 
 and thought no more of being one than we did of being three. 
 
 "Well, good-bye, old fellow," I took her hand, for the 
 time had come to go, my going meant our parting when to 
 meet we did not know. I had lingered long and said farewell 
 with a very heavy heart, for though we were but friends, you 
 know, 'tis hard for friends to part. "Well, .good-bye, old fel- 
 low; don't forget your friends across the sea, and some day, 
 when you've lots of time, just drop a line to me." The words 
 came lightly, ga3dy, but a great sob just behind rose upward 
 with a story of quite a different kind ; and then she raised her 
 eyes to mine, great liquid eyes of blue, full to the brim and 
 running o'er, like violet cups with dew; one long, long look, 
 and then I did what I never did before; perhaps the look 
 meant friendship, but I think the kiss meant more. 
 
REPERTOIRE 
 
 SEVEN AGES OF MAN". 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Suggestions- -This is very effective when given with proper action. 
 It falls flat without it. The impersonations and gestures should be 
 thoroughly artistic. 
 
 All the world is a stage, and all the nuen and women 
 merely players; they have their exits and their entrances; and 
 one man in his timje plays many parts, his acts being seven 
 ages. At first, the infant, mewling and puking in the nurse's 
 arms. And then the whining school boy, with his satchel 
 and shining nxoming face, creeping like a snail, unwillingly 
 to school. And then the lover, sighing like furnace, with a 
 woful ballad made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, 
 full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, jealous in 
 honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, seeking the bubble repu- 
 tation even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, 
 in fair round belly with good capon lined, with eyes severe, 
 and beard of formal cut, full of wise saws and modern in- 
 stances; and so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts into 
 the lean slippered pantaloon, with spectacles on nose, and 
 pouch on side; his youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 
 ~for his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, turning again 
 toward childish trebble, pipes and whistles in his sound. Last 
 scene of all, that ends this strange eventful history, is second 
 childishness and mere oblivion, — sans teeth, sans eyes, sans 
 taste, sans everything. 
 
 JIM BLUDSO. 
 
 John Ha v. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection is of the same nature as John Maynard. 
 A deep feeiing for the heroic soul will give the voice the right color- 
 ing. Suit the action to the words and you can make this a success. 
 
 Wall no ! I can't tell where he lives, because he don't live, 
 you see; leastways, he's got out of the habit of livin' like you 
 and me. A¥har have you been for the last three years, that 
 you haven't heard folks tell how Jimmy Bludso passed in his 
 checks, the nio-ht of the "Prairie Belle." He warn't no saint 
 
120 THE WATKIKNS BROTHERS' 
 
 — them engineers is all pretty nxuch alike — One wife in 
 ISTatchez-under-tlie-Hill, and another one here in Pike. A 
 careless man in his talk was Jim, and an awkward man in a 
 row — but he never pinked, and he never lied, I reckon he 
 never knowed how. And this was all the religion he had — to 
 treat his engine well; never be passed on the river; to mind 
 the pilot's bell; and if ever the "Prairie Belle" took fire, and a 
 thousand times he swore he'd hold her nozzle agin the bank 
 ^\l\ the last soul got ashore. All boats has their da,y on the 
 Mississip', and her day came at last, the Movastar was a bet- 
 ter boat, but the Belle, she wouldn't be passed, and so came 
 tearin' along that night, the oldest craft on the line, with a 
 nigger squat on her safety valve, with her furnaces crammed, 
 rosin and pine. 
 
 The fire bust out as she clared the bar, and burnt a hole in 
 the night, and quick as a flash she turned, and made for that 
 wilier bank on the right. There was runnin' and cursin', 
 but Jim yelled out over all the infernal roar, "I'll hold her 
 nozzle agin the bank till the last galoot's ashore." Thro' the 
 hot, black breath of the burnin' boat Jim Bludso's voice was 
 heard, and they all had trust in his cussedness, and knowed 
 he would keep his word. And sure's you're born, they all ffot 
 off afore the smoke-stacks fell, and Bludso's ghost went up 
 alone in the smoke of the "Prairie Belle." He warn't no 
 saint — but at judgment I'd run my chance with Jim 'long 
 side of somie pious gentlemen that wouldn't shook hands 
 with him. He'd seen his duty a dead sure thing, and went 
 for it thar and then; and Christ ain't a-going to be too hard 
 on a man that died for men. 
 
 JOHN MAYNAED. 
 Horatio Alger, Jr. 
 
 Suggestions— This beautiful, sad, heroic selection requires artistic 
 acting and voice coloring to make it thoroughly successful. The 
 voice should be full, strong and heroic, in the descriptive parts; 
 while the conversation between the captain and John Maynard should 
 be in a loud, anxious tone for the captain, and a stifled and choking, 
 though courageous and determined voice for John Maynard. It is 
 one of the best selections. 
 
 'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse one bright summer 
 day, the gallant steamer "Ocean Queen" swept proudly on her 
 
REPERTOIRE 121 
 
 way. Bright faces clustered on the deck, or leaning o'er the 
 side, watched carelessly the feathery foam that flecked the rip- 
 pling tide. 
 
 Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky, that smiling bends 
 serene, could dream that danger, awful, vast impended o'er 
 the scene; could dream that ere an hour had sped that frame 
 of sturdy oak would sink beneath the lake's blue waves, black- 
 ened with fire and smoke ? 
 
 A seaman sought the captain's side, a moment whispered 
 low; the captain's swarthy face grew pale; he hurried down 
 below. Alas, too late! Though quick, and sharp, and clear 
 his orders came, no human efforts could avail to quench the 
 angry flame. 
 
 The bad news quickly reached the deck; it sped from lip 
 to lip, and ghastly faces everywhere looked from the doomed 
 ship. "Is there no hope, no chance of life?" a hundred lips 
 implore; "But one" the captain made reply, "to run the ship 
 to shore." 
 
 A sailor, whose heroic soul that hour should yet reveal, 
 by name John Afaynard, eastern-born, stood calmly at the 
 wheel. "Head her south-east !" the captain shouts above the 
 smothered roar, "Tiead her south-east without delay ! make for 
 the nearest shore !" 
 
 N"o terror pales the helmsman's cheek, or clouds his daunt- 
 less eye, as, in a sailor's measured tone, his voice responds, 
 "Ay ! ay !" Three hundred souls, the steamer's freight, crowd 
 forward wild with fear, while at the stern the dreadful flames 
 above the deck appear. 
 
 John Maynard watched the nearing flames, but still with 
 steady hand, he grasped the wheel, and steadfastlv he steered 
 the ship to land. "John Maynard, can you still hold out?" 
 he heard the captain cry; a voice from out the stifling smoke 
 faintly responds, "ay ! ay I" 
 
 But half a mile ! a hundred hands stretch eagerly to shore. 
 But half a mile ! that distance sped all peril shall be o'er. 
 But half a mile! yet stay, the flames no lono-er slowly creep, 
 but gather round that helmsman bold, with fierce, impetuous 
 sweep. 
 
 "John Maynard !" with an anxious voice the captain cries 
 once ihore, "stand by the wheel five minutes yet, and we shall 
 reach the shore." Through flame and smoke that dauntless 
 
122 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 heart responded j&rmly still, imawed, though face to face with 
 death, "With God's help I will V 
 
 The flames approach with giant strides, they scorch his 
 hand and brow, one arm disabled seeks his side, ah ! he is con- 
 quered now. But no, his teeth are firmly set, he crushes down 
 his pain, his knee upon the stanchion pressed, he guides the 
 ship again. 
 
 One moment yet! one moment yet! brave heart thy task 
 is o'er, the pebbles grate beneath the keel, the steamer touches 
 shore. Three hundred grateful voices rise in praise to God 
 that he had saved them from the raging fire and from the 
 engulfing sea. 
 
 But where, is he, that helmsman bold ? The captain saw 
 him reel, his nerveless hands released their task, he sank be- 
 side the wheel. The waves received his lifeless corpse, black- 
 ened with smoke and fire. God rest him ! Never hero had a 
 nobler funeral pyre. 
 
 OlJIi CHAMPION SNOEEE. 
 Watkins Brothers. 
 
 Suggestions— A successful delivery of this selection requires the 
 alDility to imitate all the various ways of snoring. When all the! im- 
 itations are being given, it may be intensified by facial expression, 
 yawning, grunting, groaning, "chawing," etc. In th«( descriptive parts 
 the voice should be colored to suit the thoughts of a mad. sleepless, 
 irritable person. 
 
 We were on the night train from Little Rock to St. Louis 
 to fill an engagement. The service on this road is not ex- 
 celled by any in the United States. We were tired out from 
 traveling and had planned for a good night's sleep, and re- 
 tired early in the "Niagara" sleeper. Every berth in the 
 sleeper was taken, and by ten o'clock everybody had retired. 
 Before everything was quiet, there came a low terrific gut- 
 teral rattling from "lower berth thirteen" that opened ev- 
 ery eye in the car. "Gu-r-r-art — ga-r-r-arti gwoffpt." Our 
 first impression was that some one was in intense agony. 
 Our sympathies were aroused and we were ready to go to 
 his aid, when lo and behold he gave another "Gwa-h-hhah !" 
 which left no doubt in the iruind as to what it was. 
 
REPERTOIRE 122 
 
 When boys, our father employed a laboring man whom 
 Ave had considered the champion snorer; but he was not "in 
 it" with the fellow who occupied berth thirteen that night. 
 He possessed wonderful staying powers. He struck it high; 
 he struck it low ; he struck it soft ; he struck it hard ; and 
 he struck all the combinations possible in the human voice. 
 Again he struck it hard with a "Gwa-ar-rt-art." Some fel- 
 low in the car shouted: "Put him out," and this was an- 
 swered by a chorus of shouts, "Put him out !'' It did no 
 good, for again he tore loose with a "Gwook ! Gur-r-r-och ! 
 Gwock !" Some fellow shouted "Turn over there." Another 
 shouted, "Lower his head." "Wake him up." "Throw some 
 cold water on the scoundrel." All had remedies, but no one 
 had the courage to apply them. Despite the swearing and 
 shouts and yells of the sleepless sleepers, the agonizing 
 performance continued. "Gwa-a-ah ! Ker-r-r-erk ! Kwotft !'" 
 Oh. the cold blooded diabolism of that "cussed" fellow. 
 After an hour or two the unfortunate travelers gave up 
 in despair. All night long there was a low muttering of 
 cursing and swearing; but above it all there was that sleep- 
 destroying snorer. "Gwookt ! Gur-r-r-r-art ! Gwah-ah-ah-ahrt ! 
 Gah-wah-ah-gwart ! Gur-r-r-rock ! Gawokt ! Gur-r-raht; 
 Kowpft ! Goo-oo-oo-yooft ! Kyah-yah-yah-yahft ! Kow-or-or- 
 ort ! Woock-ock-ck-Avorkft !" He kept it up all night long, 
 entermingled with groans and grunts and "chawing" like 
 a hog. 
 
 At the dawning of morning there was an early rising 
 of travelers — something unusual in a sleeping car. Every 
 one kept his eye on "lower berth thirteen." After all were 
 up and attired, there was a rustling of the curtain at this 
 berth thirteen; and all eyes were fixed with a steady gaze 
 at the fiendish place. Another rustling of the curtain, when 
 great heavens ! there appeared the features and form of a 
 beautif irl girl ! 
 
 COUNTRY COUETING IN ARKANSAS. 
 J. A. Watkins. 
 
 Sug-gestions— This selection gives a splendid opportunity lor action. 
 The character of the big, bashful boy must be thoroughly portrayed, 
 and all his actions exagerated or over-done. When he catches at the 
 
124 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 fly, give a large, full sweep of the arm, the mouth stretched as 
 widely as possible, showing the teeth, and the eyes opened wide, 
 showing their whites. In addresing the girl, let the mouth open, the 
 tongue moving, biting his lips, and varied emotions playing on the 
 face. 
 
 In a country district down in the southern part of Arkan- 
 sas, a big two hundred pound red-headed, red-faced, big- 
 shouldered, double-fisted, bow-legged, box-ankled, bashful 
 chump of a fellow was courting a dark-haired brown-eyed 
 miss. He had made up his mind that he would "pop"' the 
 question that day, so he carried his big cur dog along with 
 him in order to have his faithful servant there in case any 
 trouble should arise. 
 
 It was a hot, sultry day. She sat in a little willow 
 rocking chair on one side of the room fanning for dear 
 life to keep cool; while he sat in another rocker on the oth- 
 er side of the room, fanninsf and playing with his dog. After 
 grinning at one another for awhile, and fanninof and rock- 
 ing, she said: "Simpy, wut's your dorg's name?" "Bulger." 
 She fanned and rocked and he fanned and rocked, but neith- 
 er anv cooler grew. A flv was lighting on "Burger's" nose, 
 disturbing that faithful dog's repose, and "Simpy" under- 
 took to catch it. With ;i grin on his face tbat stretched 
 his mouth from ear to car, he made a dive for that fly. 
 She hitched her chair over a foot or two, and asked, "Wut's 
 'Bulger' good fur ?" "Catchin' bu-bu-cows." She fanned and 
 rocked, and he fanned and rocked, but neither any cooler 
 grew. 
 
 Presently he hitched his chair over two or three feet 
 ("Bulger" got up and moved with him), and he asked, "Will 
 you have — you have-have ?er-will your mother raise many 
 geese this year?" "Yes; and ganders, too." Then he went 
 after that fly again, and they both fanned and rocked and 
 fanned and rocked, but neither any cooler grew. After a 
 pause, he hitched his chair over two or three feet more, 
 and "Bulger" moved with him. Everything quiet for a mo- 
 ment, and he made a dive for that fly again. He mustered 
 up courage, and said, "Do you love — you love — love-er-do you 
 love per- turnips ?" "Yes, I'm very fon' of pertaters." Again 
 and again he went after that fly with that monstrous grin cov- 
 ering his face; and she fanned and rocked, and he fanned 
 nnd rocked, but neither any cooler grew. Again he hitched 
 his chair over two or three feet, and old "Bulger" got up 
 
REPERTOIRE 125 
 
 and moved too: and then she hitched her chair a foot or 
 two. That encouraged him, so he hitched is chair over 
 again, and by this time they were so close that rocking was 
 impossible. "Bulger" got up and lay down at their feet. 
 She fanned, and he fanned; but neither any cooler grew. 
 He again went after that fly; and after a pause he leaned 
 toward her, and said, "I'm a good min' to bite you." "Wut 
 3'-ou a good min' to bite me fur?" ''Ca'se you won't have 
 me, that's why. "Ca'se you ain't axed me, that's why." 
 ''Then I axes you." "Then you has me." 
 
 Suddenly "Bulger" sprang from his slumibers with a 
 bound, thinking his master was calling him ; but he was 
 mistaken — the sound he heard was something else. 
 
 DE PINT WID UXCLE MOSE. 
 J. A. Watkins. 
 
 Suggestions— Give the old citizen a dignified talk and bearing; while 
 Uncle Mose is nervous and frightened and talks back rather rapidly 
 and excited. A good dmpersonatlon of these two characters wiU 
 make a splendid "hit." 
 
 Uncle Mose was a good old darky on a Southern plantation 
 when "our late unpleasantness" broke out. He ran away 
 from his master, and joined the Northern army to fight for 
 his freedom. H5s first, and only, fight was in the Fort 
 Donaldson battle; and when the firing began and his com- 
 rades were dropping dead around him, Uncle Mose's courage 
 failed him — he could not stand it, so he "scooted." After 
 the battle, an old citizen found him sitting by the road-side 
 m'cditating on the sad vicisitudes of life; dressed in his 
 soldier clothes, which seemed to make him uncomfortable. 
 The old citizen began questioning the old darky. 
 
 "Hello, uncle, what are you doing here?" "Boss, I'se 
 skeered!" "The deuce you say; were you in the fight?", 
 "Yes massah, I tasted of it." "Of course you stood your 
 ground and fought like a soldier?" "No sah, boss; I runs. 
 Bles' de Lawd you never see'd sich runnin'." "Well there 
 is nothing in that like a brave soldier." "No sah, boss; dat 
 ain't in my line — farmin's my perfeshun." "Well I don't 
 think you have much regard for your reputation." "No sah, 
 boss; rep'tashun's nothin' by de side ob my life." "But you 
 
126 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 are fighting for your freedom' and your country." "Ah, boss, 
 dem t'ings ain't nothing compar'd to my life." "You must 
 consider your life worth a great deal; worth more than most 
 people's ?" "Deed, boss, it am' wort' mo' to me. Wort' 
 mo' dan a million dollahs; wort'mo'n all de world to me; 
 fur wut would all dat be wort' to dis yere niggah wld de 
 bref blown out'n him. My life ain't on de mia'ket — and 
 den dese yere feet want let dis niggah stan' up 'fore dem 
 white fo'ks to shoot at." "Well, all I can say; you are not 
 much of a hero." "No sah, boss; any time I see'd I'd rethur 
 be a livin' niggah dan a deed hero." "Then patriotism and 
 honor are nothing to you?" "Nothin' 'tall, boss; I consider 
 dem 'mong do foolish noshuns o' fo'ks." "But if you fight 
 for your country and win your freedom, you will be given 
 suffrage." "Fur de good Lawd, boss; I'se dun suft'er'd nuff 
 now." "Well, if all our soldiers were like you, our country 
 would be broken up without resistance." "Dats wut it would, 
 boss; dere would be no help fur it." "Do you think any of 
 your company would have missed you, if you had been 
 killed in the fight?" "Didn't wait to see massah. Dead 
 white man wa'n't nothin* to demi solgers, let 'lone a dead 
 niggah; but I'd miss myse'f, boss, and dat was de pint 
 wid Uncle Mose." 
 
 DAT SIXTY DOLLAH TONE. 
 J. A. Watkins. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection requires that each of the negroes be 
 given a certain character or stamp, and they maintained throughout 
 the delivery. Uncle Jerry is an old darkey, with an old negro voice 
 and hard of hearing; while Ike is proud and stuck-up negro buck with 
 egotism in his voice and action. The conversation must be carried on 
 as loud as the size of the hall will permit. 
 
 Uncle Jerry, who is a deaf old negro, meets Ike with his 
 banjo on his. way to a dance. 
 
 Uncle Jerry — "Hello Ike, wich way you gwine?" Ike — 
 "I'se gwine down to de ball." "Eh?" "I say I'se gwine 
 down to de ball." ""Where am dat?" "Down to Missus 
 Wheeler's." "Go way niggah ! down 'm.ong de white fo'ks." 
 "Yes." "You don't tol' me so; gwine to wait on de table?" 
 "No. I'se gwine to make de musik." "Eh?" "I say, I'se 
 gwine to make de musik." "Oh, no you ain't." "Yes, I'se 
 
REPERTOIRE 127 
 
 gwine to play on dis." "Wiit; on dat banjo; you don't tol' 
 me so?" "Yes, I sho^ am gwine to make de musik for dem 
 white fo'ks to dance." "Eh?" "1 say, I'se sho gwine to 
 make de musik fur dem white fo'ks." "Ike, am dis de 
 same banjo wut you's got now?" "No, dis am a new one," 
 "Eh ?" "Xo. I say dis am not de one wut I alius had 
 now. Dis am a new one." "It am nice," "Yes, it am very 
 nice." "Eh?" "I say it am a fine musik box." "Does it 
 cos' much to occupy one like dat ?" "It cos' dis niggah sixty 
 dollahs." "Eh ?" "I say it cos' me sixty dollahs." "Wut ! 
 Sixty dollars for a t'ing like dat?" "It am de tone wut 
 cos'." "Eh ?" "I say it am de tone wut cos'." "Oh ! sixty 
 dollahs for de tone. Wut am dat?" "Dat am de kin* o' 
 musik the banjo makes." "Eh?" "I say it am de tone 
 wut de banjo's got." "An' you paid sixty dollahs for de 
 tone." "Yes, sixty dollahs for all togedder." "Eh?" "I 
 say I paid sixty dollahs for de tone and de banjo togedder." 
 **Where am de tone?" "It am in de banjo." "Where? I 
 sho' want to see dat t'ing." "Oh, you can't see it; you hear 
 it." "Eh?" "I say, you can't see it; you hear it." "M^ell 
 den I sho' want to hear dat tone." "Oh, it aint strung 
 up." "Eh?" "I say it aint keyed up." "Wut's dat?" "Oh 
 you'll hav' to go down to Missus Wheeler's to hear it." "Eh ?" 
 "Oh' you ol' fool." "Eh?" "I say de house am gwine to 
 be full ! Come and go wid mfe." "Do you s'pose dem 
 white fo'ks would keer if dis old niggah wa'ch dem ?" "Ko I 
 don't t'ink so." "You gwine to play dat banjo so I kin hear 
 de tone?" "Yes, I'se gwine to play de banjo, and den you 
 kin hear de tone." "Eh?" "Yes, I say I'se gwine to play 
 de banjo, and den you kin hear de tone; so come on, dis 
 niggah's p-ot to be ffwine." "Well, Ike, I'se g^yine wid you, 
 for T sho' wont to hear dat sixty dollah tone." 
 
 FEW m HEAVEN. 
 G. K. Watkins. 
 
 Sug-gestions— The little boy in this selection is thoroughly in earnest. 
 He, like all children, is interesting, and if his character is thoroughly 
 portrayed, this selection is very successful. 
 
 The mother and her little boy were sitting on the porch 
 
328 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 where they could see the orchard containing the cherry 
 and apple trees. The mother thought it would be a good time 
 to impress the importance of telling the truth. She had 
 just finished telling her son the story of George Washing- 
 tor- ho^v lip cut thr cherry tree with his little hatchet, and 
 could not tell a lie about it, when the boy began : 
 
 "Ma, do all truthful folks go to heaven when they die?" 
 "Yes, certainly they do." "If they steal, do they?" ":No." 
 *'Liars and thieves won't go to heaven when they die, will 
 they, ma?" "'No, the Bible says they will not." "Well, ma, 
 will George Washington go to heaven when he dies?"' "Yes, 
 my son; he was a great and truthful man. He died many 
 years ago^ and went to heaven." "Ma, did George Wash- 
 ington have any little Georges?" "No." "He was too good 
 to have any story-telling boys, wasn't he, ma? Ma, did pa 
 ever tell a lie?" "I don't know. I suspect he has told 
 some things that were not exactly true." "Well, did grandma 
 and uncle Tom, and auntie ever tell a lie?" "I guess they 
 told some little ones when they were small." "Well, ma, did 
 my Sunday school teacher ever tell a lie?" "I suspect she 
 has." "And our preacher, too?" "I am afraid so, my son." 
 "Ma, did — you — ever — tell — a — lie?" "Yes, my son, your 
 mother has told some things that were not true." "But 
 George Washington never did, did he?" "No indeed." "Ma! 
 T don't believe I w^nt to p-o to heaven when I die." "Why. 
 dearie?" "Cause it will be so lonesome up -there with just 
 God and George Washington. 
 
 A HARD OLD BRICK. 
 
 Sua-gestions— This selection is interesting all the way through, but 
 to make it highly successful, the character of the boy must be thor- 
 oughly portrayed. The! boy's words are occasionally tinged with sar- 
 casm, and ion the last line his mischievous sarcasm reaches the 
 climax. 
 
 A little boy and his father were out for a walk one after- 
 noon and they came to a brick yard, where the following 
 conversation took place : 
 
 Little boy : "Papa, what place is this ?" Father : "This 
 my son, is a brick yard." "Whose brick yard is it papa?" 
 ''It belongs to me, my sop." "Who does that big pile of 
 
REPERTOIRE 129 
 
 brick belons: to, papa?" "They belong to me, too." "Well, 
 do those dirty men belong to you too, papa ?" "ISTo, my son. 
 Those men are free; there is no more slavery in this coun- 
 try." "Well, what makes them work so hard for then if 
 they are free?" "Because they are poor, and are obliged 
 to work for a living." "But, papa; why are they so poor 
 when they work so hard ?" "Oh, I don't know." "Well, don't 
 sorSiebody steal from them what they make?" "Ko. What 
 makes you ask such rediculous questions ?" "Well, I thought 
 maybe some of that dirt got in their eyes and blinded them; 
 but, papa, don't the bricks belong to them after they have 
 made them?" "No. They belong to me." "Papa, what are 
 the bricks made of?" "Clay, my son." "Wliat, that dirt 
 down there?" "Yes, nothing else." "Papa, who does that 
 dirt belong to?" "It belongs to me." "Did you make the 
 dirt, papa?" "No, mV son; God made it." "Did he make 
 it especially for you?" "No. I bought it." "Well, did you 
 buy it of Grod." "No. I bought it the samfe as I buy any- 
 thing else." "Well, did the man you bought it of, buy it 
 of God?" "Oh, I don't know; ask me something easier." 
 Well, its a good thing you have got the dirt, aint it papa?" 
 "Why, my son?" "Because you would have to work for a 
 living like those dirty men if you didn't have it; but papa, 
 will I have to work for a living when I'm a man?" "No, 
 my son; I will leave you the land when I die." "Papa, don't 
 people turn to clay when they die?" "Yes; what is left of 
 them returns to clay." "Papa, when are you going to die?" 
 "Oh, I don't know. Why do you ask?" "Oh, nothing; only 
 I was just thinking what a hard old brick your clay would 
 make." 
 
 AEKANSAS WITNESS. 
 
 Suggestions— The drawl, style and actions of a backwoods farmer 
 should be in strong contrast with the dignity of the judge and the 
 sharpness of the lawyer. The judge, lawyer and witness should be 
 given a distinct voice and character and carried through the entire sa- 
 lection. Impersonation with voice characteirization make this se- 
 lection a great success. 
 
 "What is you name?" asked a United States attorney of 
 an old "squatter," who had been summoned before the court 
 as a witness. 
 
130 THE WATKINS BUOTHERS' 
 
 "Which name. Squire?" "Your right name, of course." 
 I ain't got none." "What, you don't miean to say that you 
 haven't got a name?" "Oh, no sir." "This summons says 
 that your name is Ananias Peters. Is that so?" "Eeckin 
 it is." "Thought you didn't have a right name ?" "I ain't." 
 "Look here, sir. Don't trifle with this court. Your pre- 
 varication will not be tolerated here. Why did you say 
 that Ananias Peters was not your right namle?" "'Ca's^ it 
 wasn't right to name a boy Ananias, therefore it ain't a 
 right name. The Bible, I believe, sorter called Ananias a 
 liar." "Which," interposed the judge, "makes it peculiarly 
 applicable in your case." "Look a-here, judge, I don't want 
 to progic with you, 'ca'se you've got the upper hand of me, 
 but I don't want you to hit me with the Bible. A mian's 
 in a bad enough fix when yer fling the law at him, but when 
 yer fling the law an' the gospel both, he ain't got no show." 
 "Where do you live?" asked the attorney. "At home." "But 
 where is your home?" "In the neghborhood o' whar I live." 
 The judge turned away to conceal a smile, and the attorney 
 giving the "squatter" a look of extreme severity, said, "Do 
 you know where you are, sir?" "Yes, sir; I'm here." "You 
 won't be here nunch longer, unless you answer my qu.es- 
 tions." "I'm answerin' your questions. Squire, go on with 
 your rat killin.' " "\^niere were you when Mr. Jasen, the 
 defendant, cut timber from government land?" "When did 
 he do the cuttin' ?" "That's what I want to find out. I think 
 it was sometime in October." "Wal, sometimes in October I 
 was in one place an' sometimes in another." "Did you ever 
 see him cutting government timber?" "I believe I did." 
 "When ?" "Durin' the war when he was in the army." "None 
 of your foolishness now. Didn't you come along the road 
 one day in October and talk to the defendant while he was 
 choppin down a tree?" "No, sir." "Remember you are un- 
 der oath. So you didn't see him while he was chopping 
 down a tree?" "Didn't say, that, Squire, for I did see him 
 choppin' the tree." "Did you stop and talk to him?" "Yes 
 sir." "Thought you said you didn't stop and talk to him?" 
 "Didn't say it." "You did." "Didn't say it." "What did 
 you say?" "Said I didn't talk to him while he was chop- 
 pin', fur when I come up an' spoke, he quit choppin'." "How 
 long have you been living here?" "Too long." "How many 
 years?" "Been here ever since my oldest boy was born." 
 
REPERTOIRE ISl 
 
 •^'What year vas he born?" "The year I come here." "How 
 old is your boy?" "Ef he had lived, he would have been 
 the oldest until yit, but as he died, Jim^s the oldest." "How 
 old is Jimi?" "He ain't as old as the one that died." "Well, 
 how old was the one that died?" "He was older than Jim." 
 "What do you do here for a living?" "Eat." "That will 
 do," said the lawyer. "Is there anything else you want to 
 know?" asked the witness. 
 
 ASKING HER PAPA. 
 
 Webster Edgerly. 
 
 (Written expressly for J. A. Watkins by the president of 
 Ralston LTniversity of Expression.) 
 
 Suggestions— This selection may be given by one or two persons. 
 If given by two, each one should bd "made up" to represent the two 
 characters. It is equally effective if given by one person, though it 
 requires artistic acting to thoroughly portray each character. It is 
 one of the best humorous selections. 
 
 Bertie Winsom calls upon Esquire Sourcross to ask for 
 his daughter's hand in marriage. The young man finds the 
 old gentleman in his office, seated at his desk, looking over 
 the morning's mail, when the following conversation took 
 place : 
 
 Bertie: "Good morning 'squire." ( No response. ) "Good 
 morning 'squire." (Still no response.) "I came for your 
 daughter's hand." Squire: "What?" "I beg your par- 
 don; but I am in love with your daughter, and she told me 
 I might ask you for her hand." "For what?" "Your daugh- 
 ter's hand." "You com'e to me for it. I haven't it. Has 
 she lost it?" "N"o, no, no, no, you don't understand. I love 
 her, and came to ask you for her hand. That is — to ask 
 your consent for her to give me her hand." "Dear me; 
 doesn't she want it herself." "Yes, yes, we both want it." 
 "Which hand." "Oh, her right hand." "Don't you want 
 her left hand, too?" "Yes, yes, I want both her hands." 
 "Why didn't you say so in the first place." "Oh, you don't 
 understand." "Yes I do. You want my daughter's hand, 
 then you want her two hands. That's plain." "But I don't 
 want the. hands." "You said you did." "You are stupid." 
 
132 THE WiATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 "What?'' "Oh, I beg your pardon. I mean yon are dnll.-" 
 "Me dnll and stnpid? How dare yon?" "Of conrse I don't 
 mean that ! I am excited ! I love yonr daughter, and I came 
 to ask you for her hand." "And then both hands?" "Yes, 
 yes." "Well, what will you do with her hands? Have you 
 ever made a living with your own ! D'o you need four hands?" 
 "I don't want her hands to use." "What for then? to pre- 
 serve in alcohol?" "No, no, no, no, her hands stand for 
 her." "Stand ! Her hands stand ? Look here, young man, I 
 have heard of boys standing on their hands, but never of 
 young ladies. Do you Imow what you are talking about?" 
 "Ko." "I thought not." "But I do." "You said you 
 did not." "Well. I love your daughter, and I want to know 
 if you will part, will part — " "Will part with part of my 
 daughter. Do you want me to divide her up, and distri- 
 bute her around, and give you the hands?" "ISTothing of the 
 sort. I want her heart." "Oh, the heart! Then you have 
 abandoned the hands?" "ISTo, I want her heart and hand." 
 "You want her heart and one hand ?" "ISTo, no, hands, hands, 
 hands; all the hands she's got, and her whole heart." "But 
 what can you do with this limited amount of human anatomy? 
 A heart and two hands are not enough to begin business 
 with, or to start life on." "But I love your daughter; and 
 she loves me. You are angry with me and have sent her 
 away." "Why, I am not angry with you. I am; here in my 
 office attending to business and common sense. You come in 
 here and make certain requests of me which I am unable to 
 ^onderstand. When you make yourself sufficiently clear, or 
 at least, give me a partial idea of what you are driving at, then 
 I will give you a definite answer." "Well, you have sent your 
 daughter away from me, and I want her back." "You want 
 what?" "I — want — her — ^back." "Look here, young man, 
 I have listened patiently to your request for various parts of 
 my daughter's physiological construction; but this is too 
 much for mle. You will next be wanting her ears, her nose. 
 
REPERTOIRE 133 
 
 her mouth, licr chin, her neck, her shoulder hhide or her wish 
 bone. You don't know what you want. You get out of 
 here, or I will give you my boot.'' "Well, 'squire, yon can 
 use your boot; but I am not going to give it up until I let 
 you know I want your daughter." "Whole? complete? in- 
 separable?" "Yes, yes." "Well, why didn't yon say so 
 in the tirst place? She is yours. May heaven bless you 
 both, my young man." 
 
 TALLS. 
 
 Suggestions— The secret in giving- such selections as this lies in the 
 ability to completely impersonate the child. All children are not 
 alike, yet all 'are interesting. Give the childs voice, actions and man- 
 nerisms, and this is a telling success. 
 
 The Eev. Mr. Littleton, after having successfully con- 
 ducted a church fair, returned to his home and entered the 
 library; when his little son came in,' and began asking 
 questions : 
 
 "Papa, where have you been?" "To the fair." "What 
 fair?" "Oh, our church fair." "Did they have it out to 
 the fair grounds?" "No." "Where then?" "Down in our 
 church." "Did thev have horses and cows?" "Oh, no, they 
 didn't show anything."' "Well, what did they do?" "Oh, 
 they sold toys, and clothes and something for people to eat." 
 "Did they sell them to the poor?" "Not especially; they 
 sold to anybody who had the money." "Oh, I know; it was 
 the feast of the passover." "IT-h-h." "Papa, do you want 
 me to be a preacher when I'm a man?" "Yes, if the Lord 
 calls you." "Did the Lord call you, papa ?" "Yes," "What 
 did he say?' "Told me to go and preach the gospel to every 
 living creature." "Didn't tell von to preach to niggers, did 
 he?" "Now, that will do." "Papa, you thought "the Lord 
 called you again the other day, didn't you?" "Oh, I don't 
 know what you are talking about." "Well, the other day I 
 heard you tell ma you had another call to some place; and 
 you said you would go if you could get two hundred dol- 
 lars more. Wouldn't the Lord give you two hundred dol- 
 lars more to go there?" "Didn't I tell you to hush?" "No, 
 sir." "Well, I want you to hush, and don't bother me with 
 your questions." "Well, you tell me about that calL and I 
 
124 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 -will." "Well a church in another town wanted me to go 
 there and preach." ''Why didn't you go?" "Couldn't af- 
 ford to. They didn't oifer pay enough." "Then the call 
 wasn't loud enough, was it?" "Hardly." "If it had been 
 louder and stronger, would you went." "I would have gone 
 if they had offered me enough money." "Then that wasn't 
 the Lord calling you, was it?" "1 don't think so.'' "How 
 much does the Lord give vou to preach?" "You see that 
 door?" "Which door?" "That one." "Yes,, sir." "Well, 
 you get out of here." "But I want to stay in here ?" "Yes, 
 and I want to study; and you are too foolishly inquisitive?" 
 "Papa, ain't I your boy?" "Yes, but don't ask so many 
 questions?" "Well, how many must I ask?" "Oh, none; 
 don't bother me; I'll give you ten cents if you will get out." 
 "Call ain't strong enough." "Well, here's a quarter; get out." 
 "Call is strong enough." 
 
 PAPA AND THE BOY. 
 J. L. Harbour. 
 
 Sugg-estions — This beautiful selection is always interesting to an 
 audience, because it comes so near the realistic. The run of the con- 
 versation is winning itself, but when the child's part is thoroughly 
 stamped with voice and action, it becomes very effective. 
 
 The following conversation took place about two o'clock 
 in the morning: 
 
 Little Boy: "Papa, (no reply) papa." Papa: "Well?" 
 '^ou 'wake, papa?" "Yes." "So's me." "Yes, I hear that 
 you are; what do you want." "Oh, nuflfin'." "Well, lie still 
 and go to sleep then." "I isn't s'eepy, papa." 
 "Well J am. "Is you ? I isn't not a bit. Say, papa ?" "Well." 
 "If you was rich what would you buy me ?" "I don't know — 
 go to sleep." "Wouldn't you buy me nuffin' ?" "I guess so; 
 now you go — " "What, papa ?" ''^Vell, a steam engine, may- 
 be; now you go right to sleep." "With a bell that would 
 ring, papa?" "Yes, yes; now you — " "And would the wheels 
 go round, papa?" "'Oh yes, yes; shut your eyes and — " 
 "And would it go choo, choo, choo, choo, papa?" "Yes?, 
 yes; now go to sleep." A short wait. "Papa." '^o answer 
 from papa. "Sav, papa?" "Well, what now?" "Is you 
 'faid of the dark?" "No." "I isn't either, papa." "Well?" 
 
'REPERTOIRE 135 
 
 "Papa, if I was wich, I would buy you somefin'." "Would 
 you?" "Yes; Fd buy some ice cweam and some chocolate 
 drops, and a toof brush, and some panties wiv bwaid on 'em 
 like mine, and a candy wooster, and — " "Well, now that 
 will do; you must go to sleep/' A short silence, and then — 
 "Papa, papa!" "Well, what now?" "I want a jink." "No 
 you don't." "Yes I do, papa." 
 
 Past experience -has taught you there will be no peace 
 until you have brought the "jink" and you go blundering, 
 in the dark after that "jink" knocking your shins against 
 everything in the room. You bring the "link" and, "Now 
 I don't want to hear another word from you to-night; you 
 go to sleep." Ten minutes later the little boy says : "Papa !" 
 "See here now, papa will have to punish you if you don't — " 
 "I can spell 'dog', papa." "Well, nobody wants to hear you 
 spell it at two o'clock in the morning." "B-o-g — dog; is 
 that right?" "No it is not; but nobody cares if — " "Then 
 it is '^d-o-g' isn't it ?" "Yes, yes ; now you lie right down and 
 go to sleep." "Then I'll be a good little boy, wont I ?" "Yes, 
 you will be the best little boy on earth; good night dearie." 
 A short wait, and then its-: "Papa !" "Well, well, what now ?" 
 "Is I your little boy?" "Yes, yes, of course." ■ "Some mans 
 haven't got any little boys; but you have, haven't you?" "Yes." 
 "Don't you wish you had two, free, nine, 'leven, twent-six, 
 ninety-nine, free hundred little boys ?" 
 
 The mere. possibility of such a remote and contingent ca- 
 lamity so stuns you that you lie speechless for ten minutes, 
 during Avhich time you hear a yawn or two in the bed by 
 your side, the little fellow rolls over two or three timjes, a 
 pair of heels fly into the air, a warm moist little hand reaches 
 over and touches your face to be sure that 3'ou are there, 
 and the boy falls asleep, with his hells where his head ought 
 to be. 
 
 EDUCATING TO A PUEPOSE. 
 
 Suggestions— The boy in tliis selecton must be given a distinct 
 character. Being ignorant and uneducated, yet with lots of "horse 
 sense," he is intensely interesting. His speech, actions and manner- 
 isms are entirely different from that of a boy of his age, and yet ed- 
 
136 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 ucated and refined. The teacher should be impersonated as being 
 composed and dignified, yet thoroughly interested in his would-be 
 farmer. 
 
 "Look here/^ said the teacher, "what are you going to 
 do with that book ?"' " ^Lowd I'd study hit," replied the kid. 
 "But it is not a school book, and you cannot study it here." 
 "It's got readin' in it, 'hain't it?" "Yes, it has reading in 
 it." "Hain't other books got readin in 'em?" "Yes, gen- 
 erally." "Then why kaint I study this 'un?" "Because 
 it is not a school book." "School books got readin' in 'em, 
 hain't them?" "Yes." "This 'un's got readin' in it, hain't 
 it?" "Yes." "Then why kaint I study hit?" "Because 
 it is not the right kind of a book." "Pap 'low'd it wuz." 
 "Why did he 'low that?" "Cause it tells 'bout farmin', an' 
 I'm goin' to be a farmer. Pap said wa'n't no use goin' to 
 school 'less a feller larnt somethin' wut 'ud be o' use to him, 
 an' he 'low'd if I wuz goin' to be a farmer, I got to larn 
 'bout hit." "Can you read ?" "Guess I kaint none to hurt." 
 "Can you spell?" "Eekon not." "Do vou know the let- 
 ters ?" "Yes, I know 'em." "Do you know them' all ?" "Yes, 
 I know 'em when I see 'em, an' I know thar names, but I 
 don't know one from t'other." "Then what do you expect 
 to do with that book?" "Tow'd to study hit." "But you 
 can't unless you learn the letters." "Kaint I larn 'em in 
 hit?" "No.'' "Hain't they in hit?" "Yes, but they are 
 not arranged so you can learn them conveniently." "Pap 
 "low'd they was sorter flung in togther an' mixed up, but he 
 said he rekin you could help me pick 'em out, 'cause you 
 wouldn't have nothin' o' no 'count to do." "Your father is 
 slightly mistaken. Is this little fellow your brother ?" "Yes." 
 "What kind of a book has he?" "A boss doctor book." "D<Des 
 he expect to study it?" "He 'low'd he'd study hit a few 
 jerks." "Does he know his letters?" ":NTot 'nuff to hurt." 
 "He'll have to get another book." "Pap 'low'd he ort to 
 study this 'un, 'cause he's goin' to be a doctor." "A horse 
 doctor, eh?" "ISTo, a shore 'nuff doctor wut waits on sick 
 fo'ks. Pap 'low'd that 'ud pay, 'cause doctors git alfired 
 big prices. You don't kech 'em workin' like a dog fer six 
 bits a day." "No; but if your brother is going to be a 
 doctor, why does your father want him to study a horse 
 doctor book?" "'Cause he 'low'd wut wuz good for horses 
 wuz good fer fo'ks. I rekin it is too, 'cause once when mam 
 
REPERTOIRE 137 
 
 wuz sick pap dosed her with some hoss medicine, an' she 
 got well. She come mouty nigh not makin' the riffle, though." 
 "Indeed." "Yes-sir-ee. Pap said he never see nobody come 
 so nigh kerflmnixin' as she did, an' that if he hadn't a'dosed 
 her with hoss medicine, she'd a-kicked out o' the traces 
 shore." "That's too bad, too bad." "Bet your hide. It 'ud 
 'a been a powerful slam on pap. if mam had kicked the 
 bucket, 'cause the corn-gatherin' an' winter-wood-gittin' 
 hadn't been tended to yit. But say, I've got 'nother brother 
 wufll come to school to-m,orro'." "Yes?" "He's going' to 
 fetch a Bible 'long 'cause he's laid oif to be a preacher." 
 "How old is he?" "Most five I rekin." "He doesn't know 
 the letters either, I presume?" "No." "Does he want to 
 be a preacher?" "Eekin he ain't keerin' much, but pap 
 'low'd he ort to be. He rekon'd thar wuz a right smart o' 
 money in hit, countin' the marriage o' fo'ks and all such 
 things." "Well, well; you all are starting in early to study 
 for your professions ?" "Wut's 'em ?'' "Professions are 
 your callings in life." "Yes, we 'low'd we mout as well. Pap 
 says if a feller's goin' to be a thing, he mout jist as well larn 
 to be hit at first. Hain't no use m'onkeyin' with doctor 
 books and the Bible if a feller's goin' to be a farmer, is there. 
 I'm a-goin' to be a farmer?" "I presume not." "That's 
 wut pap says, an' he's powerful long-headed." 
 
 KISSING. 
 L. E. Hamlberlin. 
 
 Suggestions— This parody on "The Raven" may be given with thd 
 Dundreary lisp and drawl; making 's' the sound of 'tli;' 'r' as 'w,' 
 thust: 'Once' is pronounced 'wunth,' 'was' is 'wath,' 'dreary' Is 
 'dweawy.' It is equally effective uttering the words as they appear. 
 The facial expression must portray every thought in an exagerated 
 form. The opportunity for acting is very great. On the words "old 
 man's hoots," a jump is effective: 'Whoop! ye gods!" should be ac- 
 companied by another jump in to the air. The action on "closed and 
 locked the door," should suit the thought. A feeling of scars and 
 fear should permeate the whole selection. 
 
 Once upon a midnight dreary, ere December's winds grew 
 weary, I was sitting on a sofa with my girl behind the door; 
 vainly there I had been trying, with entreaties and with 
 
138 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 sighing, and my soul was almost dying, for the kiss I did 
 implore; oh, to kiss that pretty creature! merely this I said 
 before, "Only this and nothing morel" 
 
 Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 
 while each separate corn-cob ember wrought its ghost upon 
 the floor, how I tried, till near the morrow, how I tried, in 
 vain, to borrow Just one smack — but, oh ! I sorrow, sorrow as 
 I think it o'er; "Just one little kiss, my darling !" this I 
 pleaded o'er and o'er, but she answered, "Talk no more." 
 
 Here, the doggone, quick, uncertain rustling of a window 
 curtain thrilled me, filled with paternal terrors never felt 
 before; so that now, to still the breathing of my heart, I 
 stood repeating: "'Tis some stranger, cold, entreating en- 
 trance, but he's missed the door; some poor stranger, cold, en- 
 treating entrance, but he's missed the door — probably this 
 and nothing more." 
 
 There awhile I stood to listen, and I thought I saw eyes 
 glisten, thought I saw the old man's frownings through the 
 window shutters pour; and the fact is, I was frightened, 
 when, all suddenly, it lightened, and the window by it bright- 
 ened, while a light fell 'cross the floor, for I thought it was 
 a lantern throwing light across the floor — but 'twas light- 
 ning, nothing more. 
 
 But I tell you I was "skeered" up, and my brain was 
 slightly stirred up — dreamings of that old man's boots aroused 
 me then as ne'er before; for I oft had been forbidden, by her 
 father been forbidden ever to be found there hidden with 
 that girl behind the door, and I thought that he had caught 
 me with his girl behind the door, but 'twas lightning, noth- 
 ing more. 
 
 Backward to the sofa turning, all my soul within me 
 burning, soon again I took to begging for the boon I asked 
 iDef ore ; for, that beauteous girl beguiling all my fancy into 
 smiling, I straightway went to piling stronger prayers than 
 e'er before; and she tumbled toward me, saying, "only one, 
 then ask no more" — then we kissed behind the door ! 
 
 AA^hoop ! ye gods ! and fiends of evil ! — may I never see the 
 devil, if I did not feel that minute, nettles hot that made 
 me roar ! I had knelt to kiss a maiden and my soul was in an 
 Aidenn, when my back was sudden laden with whip-lashes 
 falling sore ! and my soul recoiled within me at those lashes 
 falling sore — these I felt and nothing more. 
 
REPERTOIRE • 139 
 
 But that whip was sign of jDarting, and I quickly set to 
 starting, with no hat in double-time, too, out the opening 
 of that door: I had blue stripes as a token of that anger 
 never spoken; and, sometimes, there is a broken, funny itch- 
 ing as of yore. Xow I vow I'll kiss no girl till I've closed 
 and locked the door — oh, no ! never — nevermore ! 
 
 HOW "EUBY" PLAYED. 
 
 Sug-sestions— This is one of the most humerous selections ever writ- 
 ten, but it requires great acting-. It must be given rapidly, and yet 
 every word must be utteVed distinctly so that the audience will not 
 lose any of them. The wnoxe front of the stage or rostrum must be 
 used as the keyboard. The reciter should have a chair on the stage 
 or platform so he can actually jump into it and give the shout, "Go 
 it Rube!" The ending we have added is much more effective than the 
 original. 
 
 WeU, sir, he had the blamedest, biggest, catty-cornedest 
 planner you ever laid eyes on; somethin' like a distracted 
 billard- table on three legs. The lid was hoisted, and mighty 
 well it was. If it hadn't been he'd a tore the entire inside 
 clean out, and scattered 'em to the four winds of heaven. 
 
 Played well? You bet he did; but don't interrupt me. 
 When he first sit down, he 'peared to keer mighty little 'bout 
 playin', and wisht he hadn't come. He tweedle-leee'd a lit- 
 tle on the treble, and twoodle-oodled some on the bass — just 
 foolin' and boxin the thing's jaws for bein' in his way. But 
 presently his hands commenced chasin' one another up and 
 down the keys, like a passel of rats scamperin' through a 
 garret very swift. 
 
 "ISTow," I says to my neighbor, "he's showin' off. He 
 thinks he's a-doin it, but he ain't got no idee, no plan of 
 nothin'. If he'd play me a tune of some kind or other I'd — " 
 
 But my neighbor says "heish !" very impatient. 
 
 I was just about to git up and go home, bein' tired of 
 that foolishness, when I heerd a little bird waking up away 
 off in the woods, and call sleepy-like to his mate, and I 
 looked up and see that Rubin was beginning to take some 
 interest in his business, and I sit down again. It was the 
 peep of day. The light came faint from the east, the breezes 
 blowed gentle and fresh, some miore birds waked up in the 
 orchard then some more in the trees near the house, and all 
 
140 - THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 begun singin' together. People began to stir^ and the gal 
 opened the shutters. Just then the first beam of the sun 
 fell upon the blossoms a leetle more;, and it techt the roses on 
 the bushes, and the next thing it was broad day; the sun 
 fairly blazed, the birds sung like they'd split their little 
 throats; all the leaves was movin', and flashing diamonds of 
 dew, and the whole wide world was bright and happy as a- 
 king. Seem;ed to me like there was a good breakfast in ev- 
 ery house in the land, and not a sick child or woman any- 
 where. It was a fine mornin'. 
 
 And I says to my neighboT: "That's music, that is." 
 
 But he glared at me like he'd begun to thicken up, and a 
 kind of gray mist camje over things; I got low-spirited di- 
 rectly. Then a silver rain begun to f".ll. I could smell the 
 flowers in the meadow. But the sun didn't shine, nor the 
 birds sing; it was a foggy day, but not cold. 
 
 Then it got dark, the wind moaned and wept like a lost 
 child for its dead mother, and I could a got up then and 
 there and preached a better sermon than any I ever listened 
 to. There wasn't a thing in the world left to live for, not 
 a blame thing, and yet I didn't want the mtusic to stop 
 one bit. It was happier to be miserable than to be happy 
 without being miserable. I couldn't understand it. I hung 
 my head and pulled out my handkerchief, and blowed my 
 nose loud to keep from cryin'. M|y eyes is weak anyway; 
 I didn't want anybody to be a gaziu' at me a-sniv'lin' and 
 it's nobody's business what I do with miy nose. It's mine. 
 But some several glared at me mad as blazes. Then, all 
 of sudden, old Eubin changed his tune. He ripped out and 
 he rared, he tip-toed and he tared, he pranced and he charged 
 like the grand entry at a circus. 'Feared to me that all 
 the gas in the house was turned on at once, things got so 
 bright, and I hilt up my head, ready to look any man in 
 the face, and not afraid of nothin'. He lit into them keys 
 like a thousand of brick; he gave 'em no rest day or night; 
 he set every livin' joint in me a-goin', and not being able 
 to stand it no longer, I jumped, sprang onto my seat, and 
 jest hollered: 
 
 "Go it, my Eube." 
 
 Every blamed mian, woman, and child in the house riz on 
 me and shouted, "Put him out ! put him out !" 
 
REPERTOIRE • 141 
 
 "Put your great-grandiriother's grizzly gray greenish cat 
 into the middle of next m'onth I" I says. "Tech me if you 
 dare ! I paid my money, and you jest come a-nigh i^ie !'' 
 
 With that some several policemen run up, and I had to 
 simmer down. But I would a fit any fool that laid hands 
 on me, for I was bound to hear Euby out or die. 
 
 He had changed his tune again. He hop-light ladies and 
 tip-toed fine from end to -end of the key board. He played 
 soft and low and solemm. I heard the church bells over the 
 hills. The candles of heaven was lit one by one; I saw the 
 stars rise. The great organ of eternity began to play from 
 world's end to world's end, all the angels went to prayers. 
 
 He stopt a moment or two to ketch breath. Then he 
 got mad. He run his fingers through his hair, he shoved up 
 his sleeve, he opened his coat tail a leetle further, he drug up 
 his stool, he leaned over, and, sir, he just went for that old 
 planner. He slapt her face, he boxed her jaws, he pulled 
 her nose, he pinched her ears, and he scratched her cheeks 
 until she fairly yelled, and then he wouldn't let her up. 
 He run a quarter stretch down the low grounds of the bass, 
 till he got clean in the bowels of the earth, and you heard 
 thunder galloping after thunder, through the hollows and 
 caves of perdition; and then he fox-chased his right hand 
 with his left till he got out of the treble into the cloiids, 
 whar the. notes was finer than the pints of cambric needles 
 and you couldn't hear nothin' but the shadder of 'em. And 
 then he wouldn't let the old planner go. He for'ard two'd 
 he crost over first gentleman, he chassed right and left, back 
 to your places, he all hands'd aroim', ladies to the right, 
 promenade all, in and out, here and there, back and forth, 
 up and down, perpetual motion, double twisted and turned 
 and tacked and tangled into forty eleven thousand double 
 bow knots. 
 
 And then he woiildn't let the old jnanner go. He fetcht 
 up his right wing, he fetcht up his left wing, he fetcht up 
 his center, he fecht up his reserves. He fired by file, he 
 fired by platoons, by company, by regiments and by brigades. 
 He opened his cannon — siege guns down thar. Napoleons here, 
 twelve pounders yonder — big guns, little guns, middle-sized 
 guns, round shot, shells, shrapnels, grape, canister, mortar, 
 mines, and magazines, every livin' battery and bomb a-goin' 
 
142 THE WATKINS BROTHEiRS' 
 
 at the same time. The house tremhled, the hghts danced, 
 the walls shuk^ the floor come up, the ceiling come down, 
 the sky sj)lit, the ground rokt — heavens and earth, creation, 
 sweet potatoes, Moses, nine-pences, glory, tenpenny nails, 
 Sampson in a 'simmion tree. Tump, Tonipson in a Tumbler 
 cart, roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle — ruddle-uddle-uddle-iuddle-rad- 
 dle-addle-addle-addle — riddle iddle-iddle-id die — r e e d 1 e 
 eedle pedle eedle — p-r-r-r-rlank ! Bang ! ! ! lang ! perlang ! p- 
 r-r-r-r-r ! ! ! Bang! ! ! 
 
 With that bang he lifted himself bodily into the a'r and 
 he come down ^dth his knees his ten fingers, his ten toes, 
 his elbows, and his nose, striking every single solitary key on 
 the planner at the same time. The thing busted and went off 
 into seventeen hundred and fifty-seven thousand five hundred 
 and forty-two hemd-demi-semi-quivers, and I again jumped 
 into my chair and shouted, "Go it Eube !" and they put me out. 
 
 THE DESEETEE. 
 
 Sug-g-estions— The voice in the beginning shoiold be low in pitch, 
 but strong and brave, and so continues until hel shouted, "Comrades, 
 adieu!" The last sentence should be given with deep pathos. In tell- 
 ing his dream a great deal of artistic acting will add materially to 
 its successful delivery. 
 
 "Deserter!" Well, Captain, the word's about right, and 
 its uncommon queer I should run from a fight, or the chance 
 of a fight; I, raised in the land where boys, you may say, 
 are born rifle in hand, and who've fought all my life for 
 the right of m}^ ranch, with the wily Apache and the 
 cruel Comanche. But it's true, and I'll own it, I did run away, 
 "drunk?" No sir! I'd not tasted a drop all day; but — smile 
 if you will — I'd a dream in the night, and I woke in a fever 
 of sorrow and fright and went for my horse; 'twas up and 
 away : And I rode like the wind like the break of the day. 
 
 "What was it I dreamt?" I dreamed of my wife — the 
 true little woman that's better than life — I dreamt of my 
 boys — I have three — one is ten, the youngest is four — all 
 brave little men — of my one baby girl, my pretty white 
 dove, the star of my home, the rose of its love. I saw the 
 log house on the clear San Antoiae. And I knew that around 
 it the grass had been mown, for I felt, in my dream, the 
 
REPERTOIRE 143 
 
 sweet breath of the ha}- — I was there, for I lifted a jassamine 
 spray ; and the dog that I loved heard my whimpered command, 
 and whimpered and put his big head in my hand. The place 
 was so still; all the boys were at rest; and the mother lay 
 dreaming, the babe at her breast, I saw the fair scene for a 
 moment; then stood in a circle of flame, amid shrieking and 
 blood. The Comanche had the place — captain spare me the 
 rest; you know what that means, for you come from the 
 West. 
 
 I woke with a shout, and I had but one aim — to save or 
 revenge them — my head was aflame, and my heart had stood 
 still; I was mad I dare say, for my horse fell dead at the 
 dawn of the day ; then I knew what I'd done, and with heart 
 broken breath, when the boys found me out I was praying 
 for death. "A pardon V No, captain, I did run away, and 
 the wrong to the flag it is right I should pay with my life. 
 It is not hard to be brave when one's children and wife have 
 gone over the grave. Boys, take a good aim ! When I turn 
 to the west put a ball through my heart; its kindest and 
 best. 
 
 He lifted his hat to the flag — bent his head and the 
 prayer of his childhood solemnly said — Shouted: "Comrades, 
 adieu !" — spread , his amis to the west — and a rifle ball in- 
 stantly granted his rest. But o'er that sad grave by the M(>x- 
 ican sea, wives and mother have planted a blossoming tree, 
 and m]aidens bring roses and tenderly say; "It was love — 
 sweetest love — led the soldier awav." 
 
 PYRAMUS AND THISBE. 
 John Gr. Saxe. 
 
 tions— This selection has been given with as much success as 
 any we' know of. The delivery should run with a musical swing, giv- 
 ing stress to the rliyming words. It affords opportunity for displajnng 
 talent in acting. The sequel should be made with a bombastic appeal, 
 direct to the audience. 
 
 This tragical tale, which, they say, is a true one. is old; 
 but the manner is wholly a new one. One Ovid, a writer 
 of some reputation, has told it before in a tedious narra- 
 tion; in a style, to be sure, of remarkable fullness, but which 
 nobody reads on account of its dullness. 
 
144 THE! WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 Young Peter Pyramus — I call him Peter — not for the 
 sake of the ryhme or the nietre, but merely to make the 
 name completer; for Peter lived in the olden times, and 
 in one of the worst pagan clim'es that flourish now in 
 classical fame^ long before either noble or boor had such a 
 thing as a Christian name. Young Peter was then as nice 
 a young beau as any young lady would wish to know; in 
 year^ I ween, was rather green, that is to say, he was just 
 eighteen— a trifle too short, a shaving too lean, but as nice 
 a young mian as was ever seen, and fit to 'dance with any 
 May Queen. 
 
 Now Peter loved a beautiful girl as ever ensnarled the 
 heart of an earl in the magical trap of an auburn curl^- 
 a little Miss Thisbe, who lived next door (they lived, in 
 fact, on the very same floor with a wall between them, and 
 nothing more; those double dwellings were common of yore), 
 and they loved each other, the legends say, in that very beau- 
 tiful, bountiful way, that every young maid and every young 
 blade are wont to do before they grow staid, and learn to 
 love by the laws of trade. But (alackaday for the girl and 
 the boy) a little impediment cheeked their joy, and gave them 
 aAvhile the deepest annoy — for some good reason, which his- 
 tory cloaks the match didn't happen to please the old folks. 
 
 So Thisbe's father and Peter's mother, began the young 
 couple to worry and bother, and tried their innocent passioil 
 to smother by keeping the lovers from seeing each other. 
 But who ever Jieard of a marriage deterred, or even deferred, 
 by any contrivance so very absurd as scolding the boy and 
 caging the bird? ISTow Peter, who was not discouraged at 
 all by obstacles such as the timid appall, contrived to dis- 
 cover a hole in the wall, which wasn't so thick, by removing 
 a brick, made a passage, though provokingly small. Through 
 this little chink the lover could greet her, and secrecy made 
 their courting the sweeter, while Peter kissed Thisbe, and 
 Thisbe kissed Peter, for kisses, like folks with diminutive 
 souls, will manage to creep through the smallest of holes. 
 
 'Twas here that the lovers, intent upon love, laid a nice 
 little plot, to meet at a spot, near a mulberry tree in a 
 neighboring grove; for the plan was all made by the youth 
 and the maid, whose hearts it would seem, were uncomxaon- 
 ly bold ones. In the shadows of evening, as still as a mouse, 
 
REPERTOIRE 145 
 
 the beautiful maiden slipped out of the house, the mulberry 
 tree impatient to find; while Peter, the vigilant matrons to 
 blind, strolled leisurely out, some minutes behind. 
 
 While waiting alone by the trysting tree, a terrible lion, 
 as e'er you set eye on, came roaring along quite horrid to 
 see, and caused the young maiden in terror to flee (a lion's 
 a creature whose regular trade is blood, and a terrible thing 
 among ladies), and losing her veil as she ran from the wood, 
 the monster bedabbled it over with blood. 
 
 Xow Peter arriving, and seeing the veil all covered o'er 
 and reeking with gore, turned all of a sudden, exceedingly 
 pale, and sat himself down to weep and to wail. For soon 
 as he saw the garment, poor 'Peter made up his mind in 
 very short metre, that Thisl^e was dead, and the lion had eat 
 her. So, breathing a prayer, he determined to share the 
 fate of his darling, the loved and the lost, and fell on his dag- 
 ger, and gave up the ghost. 
 
 Now Tliisbe returning, and viewing her beau lying dead 
 by her veil, which she happened to know, she guessed in a 
 momjent the cause of his erring; and seizing the knife that 
 had taken his life, in less than a jiffy was dead as a herring. 
 
 Young gentlemen, pray recollect, if you please, not to 
 make appointments near mulberry trees. Should your mis- 
 tress be missing, it shows a weak head to be stabbing yourself, 
 till you know she is dead. Young ladies, you shouldn't go 
 strolling about when your anxious mammas don't know you 
 are out; and remember that accidents often befall, from kiss- 
 ing young fellows through holes in the wall. 
 
 AUNT JEMIMA'S COUETSHIP. 
 Sola Wood Eusk. 
 
 Suggestion— This selection refqulres a great deal of facial expres- 
 sion and characterization. It should be given faster and with more 
 interest toward the last. Its success depends on portraying the char- 
 acter of Aunt Jemima. It can b^ made very humerous. 
 
 Waal, girls, if you must know, reckon I must tell you. 
 Waal 'twas in the winter time, and father and I were sitting 
 alone in the kitchen. We wur sitting thar sort o' quiet 
 like when father sez, sez he to me, ^'Jemima." And I sez. 
 
146 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 sez I, "What, sir?" And he sez, sez he, "Wa'n't that a rap 
 at the door?" And I sez, sez I, "ISTo, sir." "Bimeby, father 
 sez to me again, sez he, "Jemim'a." And I sez, sez I, "What, 
 sir?" And he sez, sez he, "Are you sure?" And I sez, sez I, 
 ^"^ISro, sir." So I went to the door, and opened it, and sure 
 enough there stood a man. Waal, he camte in and sat down 
 by father, and father and he talked about the farm, they 
 talked about the crops, and they talked about politics, and 
 they talked about all other kind o' ticks. 
 
 Bim.eby father sez to to me, sez he, "Jemima." And I sez, 
 sez I, "What, sir?" And he sez, sez he, "Can't we have some 
 cider?" And I sez, sez 1, "I suppose so." So 1 went down 
 in the cellar and brought up a pitcher of cider, and I handed 
 some cider to father, and then I handed some to the man; 
 and father he drinks, and then the man he drinks, and 
 father he drinks, and the man he drinks, until they drink 
 it all up. After awhile father sez to me, sez he, "Jemima." 
 And I sez, sez I, "What, sir?" And he sez, sez he, "Ain't 
 it about time for me to be going to bed?" And I sez, sez I, 
 ^'Ineed, father, you are the best judge of that yourself," 
 "Wall" he sez, sez he, "Jemimia, bring me my dressing 
 gown and slippers, and I will go to bed." And he put them 
 on and soon went to bed. 
 
 And there sot that man. Bimeby he begin a-hitching his 
 chair up towards me — oosh. Oh, my. I was all in a flutter. 
 And he sez, sez he, "Jemima." And I sez, sez I, "What, sir ?" 
 And he sez, sez he, "Will you have me?" And I sez, sez I, 
 "ISTo, sir." For I was most scared to death. Waal, there 
 he sot; and arter awhile, will ye believe me, he began hitch- 
 ing his chair up closer, and closer to me; and he sez,sez he, 
 ^Memima." And I sez, sez I, "What, sir," Ahd he sez, sez 
 he, "'Will ye have me?" And I sez, sez I, "No, sir." Waal, 
 he hitched his chair close up agin mine, and put his arm 
 around my waist — oh-h-h-h my — and I hadn't the heart to 
 tell him to take it away, 'cause the tears was a-rollin' down 
 his cheeks; and he sez, sez he, "Jemima." . And I sez. sez I, 
 '''What, sir?" And he sez, sez he, "I'or the third and last 
 time; I want ask ye again, will ye have me?" And I sez, 
 sez I, "Yes, sir." — fur I didn't know what else to say. 
 
REPERTOIRE 
 
 THE POWEE OE PEAYER. 
 
 Alice Mav Yoiise. 
 
 Suggestions— The most effectivd way to deliver tliis beautiful selec- 
 tion is to have the hymn sung by a tenor concealed, and to have 
 soft music where indicated. The whole recitation may be delivered 
 by one person. 
 
 j "Jesu.s, lover of my soul, 
 i lyCt me to Thy bosom fly; 
 While the nearer waters roll, 
 
 While the tempest still is high." 
 
 Sing 
 
 It was on an ocean steamer, 
 
 And one voice above the rest. 
 Beautiful, pure, rich and mellow. 
 
 All the air with music blest : 
 [ "Hide me, O my Savior, hide, 
 ^ I Till the storm of life is past, 
 
 ^^'^ ' 1 Safe into that haven guide, 
 O receive my soul at last. ' ' 
 
 Something more, a faint remembrance 
 
 Broke upon the listener's ear — 
 Yes, he thought, 'tis not the first time 
 That sweet voice is mine to hear. 
 [ "Other refuge have I none, 
 q I Hangs my helpless soul on Thee, 
 
 Leave, ah, leave me not alone. 
 Still support and comfort me." 
 
 Silence followed. Then the stranger 
 
 Stept up to the singer rare, 
 "Were you in the Civil War, sir?" 
 
 "A Confederate, I was there." 
 Then a time, a place, were mentioned — 
 
 "Were you?" "Yes, and strange to say 
 This same hymn was then my comfort, 
 
 That you hear us sing to-day." 
 
 *This selection may be had in book form with photographic illus- 
 trations— 17 in number— from the Shafte'sbury College of Expression, 
 Baltimore, Md. 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 "Dark the night, so cold and dreary, 
 
 And my boyish heart felt low. 
 Pacing there on sentry duty. 
 
 Dangerously near the foe. . ;^ 
 
 Midnight came, the darkness deepened, I (« 
 
 Thoughts of home forebodings brought §^ 
 So, for comfort, prayer and singing. 
 
 Dissipated gloomy thought." 
 
 [ "All my trust in Thee is stayed, 
 o . I All my hope from Thee I bring, 
 ] Cover my defenseless head. 
 
 Then a strange peace came upon me, ] -5 
 
 No more, fear and gloom that night, I | 
 
 Dawn came, heralding the morrow, f" ^ 
 
 Bre the first faint streak of light." o 
 
 Then the other told his story, 
 
 ',1, a Union soldier, true. 
 In those woods that very evening, 
 
 With my scouts was passing through, 
 You were standing, and our rifles 
 
 Covered you. We heard you sing: 
 
 Ottv-to f 'Cover my defenseless head 
 
 MNG : I ^.^j^ ^^^ shadow of Thy Wing.' 
 
 'Twas enough. "Boys," I said "'come, ) o q iJ 
 lyower rifles ; we'll go home." I ^1^5 
 
 5;! 
 
I 
 
 REI>ERTOIRB 
 
 UXCLE PETE AND THE TROLLY CAR. 
 W. H. Neal. 
 
 Suggestions— If this recitation is well rendered, an audience will al- 
 ways remember the reciter for having heard him give Uncle Pete 
 and the TroUeycar. The negro voice and dialect alone will win; but 
 add to this the excellent acting possible in the selection, and it is 
 wonderfully effective. The action in telling the man to "turn off your 
 coffee-grinder," and where he uses his "persuader," and where he 
 pulls and jerks, and pushes, and kicks, and strikes, and bites the 
 old mule, should be the height of the realistic. 
 
 You' needn't look so s'prized at me, Mand}^, for a-comin' 
 home wiffout sell in' dis yere garding sass. I couldn't git nigh 
 to de to'\ni, no how; dat ar fool mewl, Absal'm, was de'casion 
 of de whol' trubble; deed he was. It was dis yere way: I was 
 a riddin' 'long kinder slow like, in de dirt road 'long side 
 de cah track^, a-thinkin' dat de stuff would bring a mighty 
 smart price in de ma'ket, when I heerd some-m a singin' 
 an' a-buzzin' an' humtain' like a million bees right behin' 
 me, jist dis yere way — whiz-zi-ziz-ziz-ziz-iz-zip ! an' dar was 
 a ringing' ob a bell like dis yere way: Clang-lang-lang-clang ! 
 an' I dun thought dat de bees had swa'med an' de folks were 
 a-hiven' ob dem again. Den I looked mighty quick like 
 and, Mandy, dar I saw a hoss cah cummin' down de hill all 
 by itself; de bosses left 'way back in de dust, kase I couldn't 
 see dem nowhar, an' dat cah jist a-comin' a-bilin' an' a man 
 on de front end a-turnin' a coffee-grinder to stop it; 'twant 
 no use, dat ar cah was jist a-runnin' away. I pulled old 
 Absal'm up mighty sudden. "Whoa dar, Absal'm," I said, 
 "dat car has dun got bey on control." 
 
 Den I thought to myself, if de man can keep it on de 
 track till it ^it down to de bottom of de hill, de cah will stop 
 f o' sure, an' de passengers kin git out an' walk up, till dey git 
 de bosses to pull de cah up. M'andy, yo' dun open yo' ears 
 an' heah wut I'se gwine to say; dat ar cah nebber stopped 
 but slid up de odder hill jist as slick an' fast as if de debbel 
 was arter it. 
 
 Don't you roll yo' eyes dat ar way, Mandy, like if you 
 didn't b'lieve me; I dun seed it, 'deed I did; an' de only 
 thing dat was strange about it dat ar cah had a clothes-prop 
 a-stickin' outen de top, hitched onto a telegraff wiah. 
 
 '"Dat's mighty curis," I said to a man gwir.e 'long de 
 road, den I dun axed what 'casioned it. "Dat's a trolly cah," 
 
150 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 said he, "run by electricity.'^ "Go 'long hunny," I said, "you 
 can't fool dis yere niggah wiff yo' elextrixity; grabitation 
 got some^n to do wiff dat ar thing." 
 
 Ole Absal'm was still a-pickin' up his ears, an' den he look 
 'roun' at rae, kinder skeerd like, much as to say, '^'Some'n 
 'rong 'bout dat boss." Den I clucked to ole Absal'm to git 
 up — jess so — (imitate clucking) — fo' I wanted to git into de 
 town mighty smart an' early wiff de garden sass an' sich 
 like things. But ole Absal'm dun stan' as if he was glued to 
 de dirt. 
 
 ''Go on dar, you dun heah me? Dat ar trolly cab ain't a- 
 gwine to hurt you'." But he jess shake his head — jess so 
 (imitate) — an' I dun know wut dat ar mean. Den I per- 
 suaded him to m!ove wiff dat bundle ob switches wich I call 
 my persuader, but ole Absal'm jist shake his head an' kick 
 outen his feet an' wouldn't move a peg. I reckon' dat it 
 was better to spile de switch dan it be to spile de mewl, so 
 dat I dun persuade him some mo', an' I mos' wair out dem 
 switches on de ole mewl's back, but he jess wag his ears, 
 kind 'o aggervatin' like. Den I dun git outen de caht an' 
 took him by der bridle. "See heah, Absal'm," I said kinder 
 sad like. "I'm a-gwine to try moral 'suasion on you now: I 
 dun want you to quit yo' foolin', you min' my words? I dun 
 m'us' go and git into town at once or else I'm a-gwine to miss 
 de ma'ket." De ole mewl wouldn't mov', so I took de bridle 
 an' pulled him wiff all de force ob dese yere armis; and den 
 I push him back, but, Mandy, dat ole mewl jess wouldn't 
 mov' nohow. 
 
 "See heah, Absal'm, you dun heah? You jist get up and 
 git outen yere, or I mi' ten lose my temper." De old mewl 
 jess set out his feet some mo' and' lay back his ears an' go 
 to sleep like. Den dat get my dander up like an' I 'lam 
 dat ole mnle ober de head wid my 'fist, an' I pull his ears 
 an' bite one ob de^; an' den I kick, and slam wid de lines 
 but taint no use. Mandy, dat ole mewl want mov' nohow. 
 Den I climbed back into de caht and waited. 
 
 "'You ole fool you, I can be as stubbo'n as you can, and I 
 don't stir- outen dis yere spot till you do." Wiff dat, ole 
 Absal'm he done switch his tail, an' he start an' pull de 
 caht on de street cab track; an' dere he stop agin. An', 
 Mandy, de berry next minnit I dun heah de whiz-ziz-ziz-ziz- 
 ziz-zip ! klang-lang-lang-blang ob de trolly cab a-cummin'. 
 
REPERTOIRE 151 
 
 "Heah you Absal'm, git offen dat track, you dun lieah me 
 in good an' earnes' " an' den I laid on de persuader mighty 
 heavy. De ole mewl wouldn't stir; and de cah war a-cum- 
 min' like greased lightnin'. "Hoi' on dere, mistah, hoi' on 
 dar ; turn off your coffee-grinder; dis yere ole mewl got de 
 ba^vks. Hbl" on dar, turn off your coffee-grinder, turn off 
 your coffee-grinder." But do cah com' on jess as fas, an' he 
 yell for me to git outen de way; an' I thought dat I was 
 bound fo' du kingdom com'; but de mlan stopped de cah be- 
 fo' it hit me an' ole Absal'm. Den anodder man cum up, all 
 in blue solger clothes and brass buttons. He said, "Com' dar 
 ole man, get offen de track." Den I sa': "I'd like to 'blige 
 you, boss, but ole Absal'm dun acted scanlus ; he wont mov'." 
 
 "I dun make him mov'," he said, an' fo' I know'd it, he 
 had hoi' de old mewl. De berry nex' minnit ole Absal'm 
 dun struck dat man in de stum^ack wiff his fo' paw an' fetch 
 him up dubble; an' dey had to sen' for de 'trol to take him 
 away. Den de man on front of de cah, he sa' : "Jess watch 
 me clear de track," an' wiff dat he turns his coffee-grinder, 
 an' de cah com' an' strik mly caht in de back, an' turn ole 
 Absal'm clear 'round' an' made him hump hisself. But, 
 Mandy, he fetched him, 'deed he did. He dun push me an' 
 de caht, an' de ole mewl 'long at a mighty rapid rate; an' de 
 ole mewl he war a-rarin', an' a-pitchin', an' a-terin', an' 
 a-tryin' to dig his hoofs in de dirt so he could hoi' back; but, 
 Mandy, 'twant no use. Dat ole mewl was a kickin' an' a- 
 slidin', an' I war a holdin like grim death, and a hollerin, 
 '"turn off your coffee-grinder, turn off your coffee-grinder," 
 but, Mandy, dat man jess lafft; an' all de people in de cah 
 dey poked out dere heads an' lafft too. 
 
 Den ole Absal'm dun fin' out dat it war no use buckin' 
 up agin a thing like dat, so he dun start fo' hom', and like 
 to eapsiz' mp an' de garden sass. Golly how he did run, 
 an' he nebber stopped runnin' till he Ian' me heah befo' de 
 door. 
 
 Dere's no use talkin, Mandy, I've dun larned by 'sperience 
 dat de force ob grabitation in a trolly cah has mo' power 
 dan de heels ob an ole white m^ewl ; yo' heah me ? 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 BEOTHER WATKIIsTS. 
 John B. Gough. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection is more effective given in a linnen dus- 
 ter, with green eye-goggles, a red bandanna handkerchief and ruffled 
 hair. The words, "fare ye well brother "VVatkins — ah!" each time 
 should be given with a whining voice, and on the word "ah," the 
 whine should be continued until all the air is exhausted from the 
 lungs, then a gasp and asthmatic noise in filling the lungs is won- 
 derfully effective. The facial expression should have the corners of 
 the mouth down, and eyes rolled upward when catching the breath. 
 
 My beloved brethren, before I take my text I Avant to 
 tell you about my parting with my old congregation last 
 Sunday. When I began my farewell discourse, just in front 
 of me sot the good old fathers and mothers in Israel; the 
 tears coursed down their furrowed cheeks, and their totter- 
 ing forms and quivering lips breathed out a sad fare ye well 
 Brother Watkins ah ! Just back of them sot the middle- 
 aged men and matrons; health and vigor beamed from every 
 countenance, and as they looked up I could see in their 
 dreamy eyes a fare ye Avell Brother Watkins ah! Behind 
 them so the boys and girls that I had baptized and gathered 
 into the Sabbath school. Man3^ times had they been rude and 
 boisterous, but now their merry laugh was hushed, and in the 
 silence I could hear them say fare ye well Brother Watkins, 
 ah, oh. Around on the back seats and standing in the aisles 
 were the colored brethren, with their black faces and honest 
 hearts, and I could hear them murmur a fare ye well Broth- 
 er Watkins, ah! 
 
 When I had finished my discourse and shaken hands with 
 all the brethren, ah ! I passed out to take a last look at the 
 old church house — ah, the broken steps, the flopping blinds, 
 and moss covered roof, suggested only a fare ye well Brother 
 Watkins — ah ! I mounted my old gray mare with all my 
 earthly possessions in my saddle bags, and as I passed down 
 the streets and on through town, the servant girls stood in the 
 door, and with their aprons waved me a fare ye well Brother 
 Watkins — ah! As I passed out of the village, the low wind 
 blew softly among the branches of the trees and moaned out 
 a sad fare ye well Brother Watkins — ah ! I came on down to 
 the creek, and as the old mare stopped to drink, I could hear 
 the water rippling over the rocks, seeminlg to say fare ye 
 
REPERTOIRE 153 
 
 u-ell Brother Watkins — ah ! And even the little fishes gath- 
 ered around and seemed to say as best they could — fare ye 
 well Brother Watkins — ah ! 
 
 I was slowly passing a lane meditating on the sad vicis- 
 situdes and mutations of life, when suddenly out bounced a 
 big hog from the fence corner with a boosh ! boosh; boosh ! 
 and mv old gray mare threw p« e and my saddle bags there in 
 the middle of the road — ah ! and as I lay there in the dust, 
 she ran up the hill, and as she turned the top she waived her 
 tail back at me saying — fare ye well, Brother Watkins — ah ! 
 
 OPPOETUmTY. 
 John J. Ingalls. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection should be given with the orotund voice 
 large, full and strong. 
 
 Master of human destinies am I; fame, love, and fortune 
 on my footsteps wait. Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate des- 
 erts and seas remote — and passing by hovel and mart, and 
 palace, soon or late, I knock unbidden at every gate. If 
 sleeping, wake; if feasting, rise before I turn away; it is the 
 hour of fate. And they who follow me reach every state mor- 
 tals desire and conquer every foe save death; but those who 
 doubt or hesitate, condemlned to penury and woe, seek me in- 
 vain and uselessly implore ; I answer not, and I return no 
 more. 
 
 THE BUGLE SONG. 
 Tennyson. 
 
 Suggi^slions— A successful delivery of this beautiful selection requires 
 that the bugle be imitated. On the words, "blow bugle, blow!" the 
 song of the bugle must be made. Then thd words, "dying, dying 
 dying!" the song is again made, but to sound as the echo. This is 
 done with the ventriloquial tone. 
 
 The splendor falls on castle walls, and snowy summits 
 old in story the long light shakes across the lakes, and the 
 cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes 
 flying; blow, bugle; answer echoes, dying, dying, dying. 
 
154 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 hark ! hear ! how thin and clear, and thinner, clearer, farther 
 going! sweet and far, from cliff and scar the horns of 
 Elf land faintly blowing ! Blow ; let ns hear the purple glens 
 repljring; blow, bngle, answer, echoes — dying, dying, dying! 
 love, they die in yon rich sky; they faint on hill, or field, or 
 river; our echoes roll from soul to soul, and grow forever 
 and forever. Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying, 
 and answer echoes, answer — dying, dying, dying! 
 
 LITTLE BOY BLUE. 
 
 Euo-ene Field. 
 
 Suggestions — This little poem is one of the most beautiful in. the 
 English language. It will bring tears to an audience if recited with 
 deep feeling, emotion and magnetism. 
 
 The little toy dog is covered with dust, but sturdy and 
 staunch he stands ; and the little tin soldier is red with rust, 
 and his musket moulds in his hands. Time was, when the 
 little toy dog was new and the soldier passing fair, but that 
 was the time when our Little Boy Blue kissed them, and put 
 themi there. "Now don't you go till I come," he said, "and 
 don't you make any noise." So, toddling gff to his trundle 
 bed he dreamt of the pretty toys; and, as he lay dreaming, 
 an angel-song awakened our Little Boy Blue. Oh, the years 
 are many, the years are long,' but the little toy friends are 
 true. Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, each in 
 the same old place, awaiting the touch of a little hand, the 
 smile of a little face. And they wonder, as waiting these long 
 years through, in the dust of that little chair, what has be- 
 come of our Little Boy Blue since he kissed them, and put 
 them there. 
 
 CEOSSIFG THE BAE. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 Suggestions^This beautiful selection requires deep, emotional feel- 
 ing and magnetism for its successful delivery. 
 
 Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me; and 
 may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea. 
 
REPERTOIRE 155 
 
 For such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound or 
 foam, when that which drew from out the boundless deep 
 turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, and after that 
 the dark; and may there be no sadness of farewell when I 
 embark; for though from out our borne of time and place 
 the flood may bear me far, 1 hope to see mly pilot face to face 
 when I have crossed the bar. 
 
 THE AEIIY MULE. 
 
 Suggestions— The success of this selection lies in Its bountiful sup- 
 ply of adjectives. On the last run of adjectives there should he 
 sufficient air in the lungs to utter all of them without halting or 
 hesitaing, and still make each word clear and distinct. 
 
 Let others sing of the noble horse, high-stepping, brave 
 and gay, who prances proudly o'er the course in his patrician 
 way. A humbler figure claims my song — a victim of misrule — 
 the poor oppressed, yet tough and strong American army 
 mule; the long-eared mule, Missouri mule; the balking, bit- 
 ing, kicking, fighting, rough and rusty, tried and trusty, 
 tough old army mule. 
 
 He's no prize beauty, and, beside, he wasn't made for show. 
 The meat inside his leathery hide is gristlier than crow. But 
 warring nations wait until he comes across the sea before their 
 armies miove to kill the blarsted enemy. He's ugly, churlish, 
 crabbed, glun\, and cross, and sullen, yet he's won his crown 
 of martydom a thousand times, you bet; that tough old mule, 
 Missouri mule; that aw-he-hawing, kicking, jawing, bucking, 
 biting, swearing, fighting, ugly, rancorous, rude, cantankerous, 
 old mioth-eaten, weather-beaten, measly, piebald, grouty, 
 grumpy, rope-tailed, dumpy, darned old mule, Missouri mule, 
 American army mule. 
 
 WHAT I WOULD DO FOE HER. 
 
 Suggestions— This reauires splendid breath control as a basis, and 
 should be delivered with a steady on-beat, getting louder and stronger 
 as progress is made in its delivery. Give a strong accent on every 
 "her" and every verb should receive a strong accent. 
 
 Fd sAvear for her, I'd tear for her; the Lord knows what 
 I'd bear for her; I'd lie for her, I'd sigh for her. I'd drink a 
 
156 THE WIATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 river dry for her. I'd cuss for her, do worse for her; kick up 
 a thundering fuss for her; I'd weep for her, I'd leap for 
 her, I'd go without my sleep for her. I'd fight for her, 
 I'd bite for her, I'd walk the streets all night for her; I'd 
 plead for her, I'd bleed for her, I'd go without my feed 
 for her. I'd shoot for her, I'd boot for her any rival who'd 
 come to suit for her; I'd kneel for her, I'd steal for her; 
 such is the love I feel for her. I'd slide for her, I'd ride 
 for her, I'd swim against wind and tide for her, I'd try 
 for her, I'd cry for her; but I'll be goldarned if I'd die for 
 her — or any other woman. 
 
 PICTUEES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Alee Carv. 
 
 Sugg-estions— This poetic gem wiU be prized for its beauty as long 
 as humanity holds sacred and dear the memory of the dead. It Is 
 very effective when rendered with the spirit that permeates it. 
 WHAT WOULD I DO FOR HER 
 
 Among the beautiful pictures that hang on memory's wall 
 is one of a dim old forest, that seemeth best of all. Not 
 for its gnarled oaks olden, dark with the mistletoe; not for 
 the violets golden that sprinkle the vale below; not for the 
 milk-white lilies that lean from the fragrant hedge coquet- 
 ting all day with the sunbeams, and stealing their golden 
 edge; not for the vines on the upland where the bright red 
 berries rest, nor the pinks, nor the pale, sweet cowslips, 
 it seemeth to me the best. I once had a little brother with eyes 
 that were dark and deep — in the lap of that dim old forest, he 
 lieth in peace asleep. Light as the down of the thistle, free 
 as the winds that blow, we roved there, the beautiful sum- 
 mers, the summers of long ago; but his feet on the hills 
 grew weary, and one of the autum^n eves I made for my 
 brother a bed of the yellow leaves. Sweetly his pale arms 
 folded my neck in a meek embrace, as the light of immortal 
 beauty silently covered his face; and when the arrows of sun- 
 set lodged in the tree-tops bright, he fell, in his saint-like 
 beauty, asleep by the gates of light. Therefore, of all the 
 pictures that hang on memory's wall the one of the dim old 
 forest seemieth best of all. 
 
REPERTOIRE 157 
 
 BILLY GO ODIN'. 
 
 James Whitcomb Riley. 
 
 Suggestions— A strong child impersonation will make this selection a 
 great success. By substituting other names for "Billy Goodin' " the 
 selection may be specially adapted to any community. 
 
 Look SO neat an' sweet in all yer frills an' fancy pleatin' ! 
 Better shet yer kitchen, though, afore you go to meetin' ! 
 Better hide yer mince pies an' stewed fruit an' plums ! Better 
 hide yer pound cake an' bresh away the crumbs ! Better 
 hide yer cubboard key when Billy Goodin' comes a-eatin' I 
 an' a-eatin' ! an' a-eatin' ! 
 
 Sight o' Sund'y-doin's done 'at ain't done in meetin' ! Sun 
 acrost yer garden patch a-pourin' an' a-beatin' ; meller apples 
 drappin' in the weeds an' roun' the groun'; clingstones an' 
 sugar pears a-ist a-plunkin' down ! Better kindo' comb the 
 grass 'fore Billy comes aroun', a-eatin' ! an' a-eatin' ! an' 
 a-eatin' ! 
 
 Billy Goodin' an't ago' to go any meetin' ! We'll watch 
 and ketch an' give the little sneak a-beatin' ! Better hint we 
 want 'o stay'n' snoop wr grapes and plums ! Better eat 'em all 
 yerse'f an' suck yer stingy thumbs. Won't be nothin' anyhow 
 when Billv Goodin' comes ! a-eatin' ! an' a-eatin' ! an' a-eatin' ! 
 
 TOMMY'S THANKSGIVING DINNER. 
 
 Sugge'stions'— This requires the impersonation of a little boy. Th,- 
 first part is full of enthusiasm and the voice and action should suit 
 the thought. When he falls to sleep the voice and action change to 
 fright. When he awakens his voice is weak, and he grunts and 
 groans with thd pain. 
 
 Fer Thanksgiving dinner, we had the best you ever see; 
 took no breakfas' — not ,a bite — jes' sav'd up my appetite 'till 
 they filled my dinner plate, then I jes' sat down an' ate 
 turkey! turkey; Such a lot an' perturnips, steaming hot! an' 
 pertaters ! stuffin' too ! Celery, an' ist a few lima beans, an' 
 they wuz great; an' I ate ! an' ate ! an' at)e ! 
 
 Ma 'ist gave m;e everything — first a drum stock, 'en a 
 wing, 'en some dark meat, an' some light; an' pa said it 
 wuzn't right. But I wuz feelin 'ist first rate, an' I ate ! an' 
 ate ! an' ate ! 
 
158 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 Nen we had plum piiddin' too ! Ma sed I'd have to do 
 with 'ist four slices. Pa sed, "My! hate to be you bye an' 
 bye !" An' that mince pie, it was great, an' I ate ! an' ate ! 
 an' ate! 
 
 IsTen we had some nuts an' cake; seemed somehow I 
 couldn't take very much; but rather die than not eat a lot, I 
 ist sailed right in, an' done first rate; an' I ate! an' ate! 
 an' ate ! 
 
 Nen, bye an' bye, I fell asleep — first thing that chased 
 me wuz a sheep, nen a lion chased me, too; nen a tiger, 
 "Say, kid, guess I'll start in with your feet, little boys is 
 good to eat!" Nen a big black snake come an' said to me, 
 "Say, what's your name?" I said, "Tommy." Snake said, 
 "Oh ! guess I'll eat you awful slow." ISTen I cried a dreadful 
 lot, an' snake said, "Eat you, cry or not !" 
 
 Nen I waked up, an' I saw there wuz ma an' there wuz 
 pa, an' the doctor shook his head, "Indigestion," doctor 
 said, "Get him alright soon again." Oh my ! Tommy's got 
 a pain. 
 
 THE CONFESSION. 
 
 Suggestions — This selection requires a nervous and somewhat bom- 
 bastic delivery. Restless movements of the body and the hands fre- 
 quently placed on the stomach and head, help in making it a success. 
 
 There's somewhat on my breast, father, there's somewhat 
 on my breast ! The live-ling day I sigh, father, at night I 
 cannot rest; I cannot take my rest, father, though I would 
 fain do so, a weary weight oppresseth me — the weary weight 
 of woe ! 
 
 'Tis not the lack of gold, father, nor lack of worldly 
 gear; my lands are broad and fair to see, my friends are 
 kind and dear; my kin are leal and true, father, they mourn 
 to. see my grief, but, oh! 'tis not a kinsman's hand can 
 give my heart relief! 
 
 'Tis not that Janet's false, father, 'tis not that's she's 
 unkind; though busy flatterers swarm around, I know her 
 constant mind. 'Tis not the cold of her heart that chills 
 my laboring breast; it's that confounded cucumber I ate, and 
 can't digest ! 
 
REPERTOIRE 
 
 THE STUTTERING MAK. 
 As Adapted and Recited by Watkins Brothers. 
 
 Sug;Erestions— This selection requires complete impersonation. The 
 words uttered bv the stuttering characters should be practiced until 
 they can be imitated perfectly. Those who stutter naturally, usually 
 have some mannerism that is very effective if added in the action. 
 
 "C-a-a-can you t-t-t-tell we where I c-c-c-can f-f-find sonie 
 t-t-t-tin t-t-t-tacks?" "Yes I can tell yon: Just go one square 
 north, then one square west, and one square south, then half a 
 square east, and you will find a hardware store. They keep 
 tacks there." "l"^ t-t-thank you." The stuttering man went 
 his way looking for the hardware store. The other man went 
 directly to the hardware store, which was only half a block 
 away, and began asking the dealer about tacks and stuttering 
 like the man he had directed to his store : "D-d-do you k-k- 
 keep t-t-t-tacks ?" "Yes sir, we have some tacks." "i)-d-d-do 
 you sell t-t-them?" "Why, of course; that's what we keep 
 them for." "Are t-t-t-they t-t-t-tin t-t-t-tacks?" "We have 
 some tin tacks if you desire them." "'Have t-t-t-they g-g-got 
 p-p-p-points ?" "Yes, certainly." "Are t-t-t-thev s-s-sharp ?" 
 "Yes ! What's the matter with you !" "T-t-t-then will you 
 s-s-sit d-d-d-down on one of t-t-them t-t-t-till I c-c-c-come 
 back ?" Biff ! bang ! went a ball of thread at the man's head; 
 and he ran out of the store. The anger of the hardware 
 dealer was intense. 
 
 All this time the real stutterer was winding his way 
 arotmd the block, looking for the hardware store. After the 
 imitator had left the store, the dealer's anger became greater. 
 The real stutterer at last found the store and he entered and 
 began, innocently, asking "D-d-d-do you k-k-k-keep t-t-t- 
 tacks?" The dealer more enraged than ever let fly a paper 
 weight which grazed his ear; and that was followed by a ball 
 of twine that struck the innocent man on the nose, mashing 
 it flat and splattering blood all over the house. Apologies 
 were soon in order. 
 
 AGNES, I LOYE THEE. 
 
 Suggestions— The first two sentences are descriptive. Thd third 
 sentence begins in disgust and contempt, gradually drifting into a 
 
160 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 flight of sublime oratory, and while holding the poise on the tip-toes 
 with the right hand pointing to the heavens, look to the audience 
 uttering the last dozen words in assuring triumphant tone. The 
 effect is magical. 
 
 I stood on the ocean's briny sliore^ and with a fragile reed 
 I wrote upon the sand^ "Agnes, I love thee." The tossing waves 
 came rolling in and blotted out the fair impression. Frail 
 reed, cruel waves, treacherous sand; I'll trust you no more. 
 But with a giant's hand I'll pluck from Norway's fro.?;en 
 shore her tallest pine, and dipping its top in the crater of 
 Vesuvius, I'll write up on the high and burnished heavens, 
 "Agnes, I love thee," and I'd like to see any goldarned ocean 
 wave wash that out ! 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT MUEDEEER. 
 
 As Adapted and Eecited by Watkins Brothers. 
 
 Suggestions— This should be given in a loud bombastic voice, with 
 artistic acting. On the word "killed" the position is held long enough 
 to make the sound of the mosquito heard bj^ every person in thd au- 
 dience; then it is killed on the face, and thrown to the floor, at the 
 same time uttelring the last two words. 
 
 'Twas midnight, a black murderous looking cloud en- 
 veloped the earth; the lightning streaked the heavens with 
 its sulphurous flames; the deafening thunders rolled along 
 the vaulted sky; the wind was moving everything before its 
 raging course. A cyclone was coming! Then suddenly the 
 sleepless murderer sprang from his couch and grasped his 
 dagger, while vengeance and murder raved in his heart. 
 
 And still the storm increased ; the lightning flashed with a 
 brighter glare; the thunder growled -with a deeper energy; 
 the winds whistled with a Avilder fury; the confusion of the 
 hour was congenial to his soul and the stormy passion which 
 raged in his bosom. He clenched his weapon with a sterner 
 grasp; a demoniac smile came upon his lips; he grated his 
 teeth; raised his arm, sprang with a yell of triumph upon his 
 victim, and relentlessly killed — a mosquito. 
 
 SO WAS I. 
 
 Suggestions— A jolly, jovial, good nature permeates the whole of 
 this selection, and such must be thoroughly portrayed. Much acting 
 
REPERTOIHE 161 
 
 is required at the end where he finds out that Jack has been re- 
 jected. Laughter, facial expression, gesticulation enter into the la^t 
 paragraph. 
 
 Jack, I hear 3'ou have gone and done it ; yes, I know., most 
 fellows will; went and tried it once myself, sir, but you see 
 I'm single still. And you met her — did you tell me ? down at 
 Brighton last July, and resolved to "pop" the question at a 
 soiree? So did I 
 
 I suppose you left the ballroom, Avith its music and its 
 light; for they say love's flame is brightest in the darkness of 
 the night. Well we walked along together, over head the* star- 
 lit sky; and I'll bet old man confess it you were fright- 
 ened. So was I. 
 
 So you strolled along the terrace, saw the summer moon- 
 light poor all its radiance on the waters as they rippled on 
 the shore, till at length you gathered courage, when you 
 saw that none were nigh, and you drew her close and told 
 her that you loved her? So did I. 
 
 Well I needn't ask you further, and I'm sure I wish you 
 joy; think I'll wander down and see you when you're mar- 
 ried — eh, miy boy? When the honeymoon is over, and 
 you're settled down, we'll try — what ? The deuce you say ! 
 Eejected ! You rejected? So was I. 
 
 UNDEE THE MISTLETOE. 
 
 Suggestions— The climax to this selection is In the' action after the 
 last word "kissed" has been uttered. Here, spitting, wiping the 
 mouth, frowning, groaning and stamping of the foot should let the 
 audience know there has been some mistake; then speak the last 
 three words. 
 
 Out of doors the twilight shadows deepened fast as even- 
 ing came; on the hearth the fire was crackling, sending forth 
 its lurid flame. Soon the flames began to dwindle and its 
 light gave place to gloom, just as tender-hearted Romeo softly 
 walked into the room. There the mistletoe is hanging; and 
 beneath its spreading leaves Eomeo thinks he sees his Juliet, 
 and his breast with- rapture heaves. Up he rushed to take 
 the vantage which time-honored custom gave. O'er and o'er he 
 kissed her^ for the darkness made him brave. But a sudden 
 draft now kindles back to life the smouldering flame, filling 
 all the room with brightness — and the hunter sees his game ! 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHEiRS' 
 
 Xow, poor Eonieo is distracted, and his brain begins to whirl, 
 for, mistaking her for Juliet, he has kissed — the negro girl ! 
 
 MOLLIE'-S LAMB. 
 
 Suggestions— The sheep has the right of way through this selection. 
 To indicate the butting, clinch the right fist and drive it against the 
 palm of the left hand, grunting, groaning, or screaming with every 
 blow lammy makes in clearing the house. The minister's voice should 
 be soft and sympathetic, and his action that of caressing the sheep. 
 
 Mollie had a little lamb as black as a rubber shoe, and 
 ever}' where Mollie went he emigrated too. He went with her 
 to church one day; the folks hilarious grew, to see him walk 
 demurely into Deacon Allen's pew. The worthy deacon quick- 
 ly let his angry passion rise, and give it an unchristian kick 
 between the sad-brown eyes. This landed lammy in the 
 aisle; the deacon followed fast, and raised his foot again; 
 alas ! that first kick was his last. For Mr. Sheep walked 
 slowly back about a rod, 'tis said, and ere the deacon could 
 retreat he stood him on his head. The congregation then 
 arose, and went for that '"ere sheep ; several well-directed butts 
 Just piled them in a heap. Then rushed they straightway for 
 the door, with curses long and loud; while lammy struck the 
 hindmost man and shoved him through the crowd. 
 
 The minister had often heard that kindness would subdue 
 the fiercest beast. "Aha !" he said, "I'll try that game on 
 you." And so he kindly, gently called, "Come, lammy, lammy, 
 lamib; to see the folks abuse you so, I grieved and sorry am." 
 With kind and gentle words he came from that tall pulpit 
 down, saying, "Lammy, lammy, lamb; best sheepy in the 
 town." The lamb quite dropped his humble air, and rose 
 from off his feet: and when the parson landed, he was behind 
 the hindmost seat. As he shot out the door, and closed it with 
 a slam,, a gentle smile stole o'er the face of Mollie's little lamb. 
 
 THE SMACK TN SCHOOL. 
 W. P. Palmer. 
 
 Suggestions— In this humerous selection, give the teacher a dignified 
 bearing, yet ready to burst with laughter. The little tongue-tied fel- 
 low who tells on Will can be made very humerous. The chief char- 
 acter is the boy who did the kissing. It requires considerable acting 
 
REPERTOIRE 163 
 
 to thoroug-hly portray the boy while explaining to the teacher his ex- 
 cuse for kissing the teasing girl. 
 
 A district school not far away, 'mid Berkshire hills, one 
 winter's day, was humming with its wanted noise of three- 
 score girls and boys. Some few, upon their tasks intent, but 
 more, on furtive mischief bent; while the master's downward 
 look was fastened on a copy book; when suddenly, behind his 
 back rose sharp and clear a rousing smack ! as 'twere a bat- 
 tery of bliss let off in one tremendous kiss ! 
 
 "What's that?" the startled master cries. "That, thir," 
 a little chap replies, "wath William Willith, if you pleathe — 
 I thaw him kith Thuthanna Peathe !" With frown to make 
 a statute thrill, the master yelled, "Come hither Will !" Like 
 wretch o'ertaken in his track, with stolen chattels on his 
 back; AVill hung his head in fear and shame — to the grave 
 master's presence came, a great big, bashful simpleton, the 
 butt of all good-natured fun. With smile suppressed, and 
 switch upraised, the threatener faltered — "I'm amazed that 
 you, m'y biggest pupil, should be guilty of an act so rude; 
 before the whole set school to boot; what evil genius put you 
 to 't?" 
 
 "'Twas she herself, sir," sobbed the lad, "I did not mean 
 to be so bad, but when Susannah shook her curls, and whis- 
 pered I was afraid of girls, and darn 't kiss a baby's doll, I 
 couldn't stand it, sir, at all; but up and kissed her there on 
 the spot! I know — boo-hoo — I ought to not, but, somehow, 
 from' her looks — boo-h6o — I thought she kind o' wished 
 me to !" 
 
 THE RIVAL SPEAKEES. 
 
 Suggestions— This may be given by one or by two persons. The 
 voice should impersonate each char^cte^, if recited by one person. 
 The action should indicate a phyical scuffle for the position on the 
 platform. It must be a spirited conf^'St throughout. 
 
 Thomas — (turning to Samuel) — What do you want here? 
 Samuel^I want to speak nxy pieces, to be sure. Thomas — 
 Well, you'll be sure to wait; 't is my turn now. Samuel — 
 No, it isn't, my learned friend; excuse me, but my turn came 
 before that fellow's who spoke last — ^him whose voice "was 
 still for open war." Thomas — It's your own fault if you lost 
 your turn. Go. Samuel — Well, that's cool — as cool as an 
 
164 THE! WATKINS BROTHEKS^ 
 
 iced cucTimber. Can't you ask some other favor, Mr. Trotter? 
 Thomas — Yes. Hold your tongue. Samuel — Can't do it. 
 Am bound to let off my speech; here goes: "My name is Nor- 
 val; on the Grampian hills — ■" Thomas — (In a louder tone.) 
 —"Friends, Eomans, countrymen !" Samuel — "Greeks, Eegi- 
 cides and f ellow-sojers !" Thomas — "Lend me your ears." 
 Samuel — Don't do it; he has enough of his own. Thomas — "I 
 come to bury Caesar, not to praise him." Samuel — (Mimics 
 l?estures.) — I come to speak my piece, and I'll do it, Caesar or 
 no Caesar. "My name is Norval — " Thomas^Sam Sly, stop 
 your fooling, or I'll put you off the stage. Samuel — Don't, 
 TomI; you'll joggle my piece all out of me. Thomas — Then 
 keep still till I get through. "Friends, Eomans, countrymen, 
 lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him." 
 Samuel — I say. Tommy, whose calf have you been trying to 
 imitate? Thomas — "The evil that men do lives after them, 
 the good is oft interred with their bones; so let it be with 
 Caesar." (Again interrupted by Sam mimickng his ges- 
 tures.) Now, Sam, I tell you to stop your monkey-shines; if 
 you don't I'll nuake you. Samuel — Try it on. 0, you needn't 
 think you can bully me because you wear higher-heeled shoes 
 than I do. Thomas — Nothing but your size, sir, saves you 
 from a flogging. Samuel — Well, that is a queer coincidence; 
 for nothing but your size saves you from the same. (To the 
 audience.) "What can be done with him? He's too big to 
 be whipped, and he isn't big enough to behave himself.' Now 
 all keep still while I try it again: "My name is Norval — " 
 Thomas — "I come to bury Caesar — " Samuel — How many 
 more times are you going to do it? A nice man you'd be 
 for an undertaker. Thomas — Sam, I'm for peace, but if you — - 
 Samuel — You're for peace? I'm for piece, too, but for my 
 piece, not yours. As I was saying, "My name is — " Thomas — 
 "Here, imder leave of Brutus and the rest (For Brutus is an 
 honorable man — so are they all, all honorable men), come I 
 to speak at Caesar's funeral." Samuel — Caesar is played out, 
 -I tell you. "My name is — " Thomas — "He was my friend, 
 faithful and just to me; but Brutus says he was ambitious; 
 and Brutus is an honorable man." Samuel — No such thing ! 
 BrutLTs was a brutal fellow. Thomas — Come, Sammy, let me 
 finish my piece and then you can have the whole platform to 
 Yourself. Samuel — You're verv kind, Mr. Trotter; kind as 
 
REPERTOIRE 165 
 
 the Irishman who couldn't live peaceably with his wife, and 
 so they agreed to divide the house between them. "Biddy," 
 said he, "you^ll just take the outside of the house, and I'll kape 
 the inside." Thomas — (To the audience.) — You see it is use- 
 less for me to attempt to proceed so I trust you will excuse 
 me. (Exit.) Samuel — Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I hope 
 you will excuse him. He means well, but he is lacking here. 
 (Touching his dead.) He might make a decent crier, or auc- 
 tioneer; but when it comes to oratory — to playing the part of 
 ]\Iark Antony — well, modesty forbids me to say more, except as- 
 the coast is clear, I Avill proceed with my part : "My name is 
 Norval; on the Grampion hills my father feeds his" flock — a 
 frugal swain — whose — whose — whose — " (Asid^ to a boy near 
 by. ) "\^Tiat is it ? "A frugal swain, whose — whose — whose — " 
 There ; if I'm not stuck already ! So much for that fellow's 
 attempt to bury Caesar ! He buried my memory instead, and 
 your patience too, I fear. "A frugal swain — whose — whose — 
 whose — " Well, I must give it up! (Exit with hands over 
 face. ) 
 
 THE MAN WHO APOLOGIZED. 
 
 Sug-g-estions — The voice and actions must impersonate these two 
 characters. The laughter of the apolog-izlng man should be exces- 
 sive, with an attempt to suppress it. 
 
 It was at the corner of Woodward avenue and Congress 
 street, and the time was ten o'clock in the forenoon. A citizen 
 who stands solid at 200 pounds was walking along with bright 
 eyes and the birds singing in his heart, when all at once he 
 found himself looking up to the cloudy heavens, and a voice 
 up the street seemed to say : 
 
 "Did you see the old duffer strike that icy spot and claw 
 for grass?" 
 
 Then another voice down the street seemed to say: 
 
 "You bet I did ! He's lyin' there yit, but he'd git right 
 up if he knew how big his foot looked !" 
 
 The solid citizen did get up. The first thing he saw the 
 beautiful city of Detroit spread out before him. The next 
 thing was a slim man with bone colored whiskers, who was 
 leaning against a building and laughing as if his heart would 
 break. 
 
166 THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 "I can knock yer jaw off in three minutes !" exclaimed 
 the citizen^, as he fished for the end of his broken suspender. 
 
 The slim msan didn't deny it. He hadn't time. He had 
 his hands full to attend to his laughing. The solid man 
 finally found the suspender, counted up four missing but- 
 tons and his vest split up the back, and slowly went on, 
 looking back and wondering if he could be held for dam- 
 ages to the sidewalk. He- had been in his ofl&ce about ten 
 minutes, and had just finished telling a clerk that an ex- 
 press team knocked him down, when in came the slim man 
 with bone colored whiskers. The solid man recognized him 
 and put on a f rownj but the other held out his hand and said : 
 
 "^'Mister, I came to beg your pardon. You fell on the 
 walk and I laughed at you, but — ha ! ha ! ha ! — upon my soul 
 I couldn't help it. It was the — ha ! ha ! ha ! — funniest sight 
 I ever saw, and — oh ! no ! ho ! ho ; ha ! ha ! — I couldn't help 
 laughing !" 
 
 "I want none of your penitence and none of your com- 
 pany !" sharply replied the solid man, and the other went out. 
 
 In about an hour the "fallen man'' had to go over to the 
 express office. The man with the bone colored whiskers was 
 there with a package, and he reached out his hand and began : 
 
 "Sir I ask your forgiveness, I know what belongs to dig- 
 nity and good manners, but — ^but — ^ha ! ha ! — when I saw your 
 heels shoot out and your shoulders — ha ! ha ! ha ! — double up 
 I had to— ho ! ho ! ha; ha ! ah-h-h-h !" 
 
 "I'll lick you if I ever get a good chance !" remarked the 
 citizen, but yet the man sat down on a box and laughed till 
 the tears came. 
 
 In the afternoon as the citizen was about to take a car for 
 home some one touched him on the elbow. It was the man 
 with the bone colored whiskers. His face had a very serious, 
 earnest look, and he began: 
 
 "Citizen, I am positively ashamed of myself. I am going 
 to settle in Detroit, and shall see you often. I want to ask 
 your forgiveness for laughing at you this morning." 
 
 He seemed so serious that the solid man began to relax 
 his stern look, and he was about to extend his hand, when 
 the other continued: 
 
 "Yo^^ see we are all — ha ! ha ! — liable to accident. "^- my- 
 self, have often — ha ! ha ! ha ! — struck an icy spot and^ — ^ha ! 
 
REPERTOIRE 167 
 
 ha ! ha ha ! ha ! — gone down to grass — ah I ha ! ho ! ha ! ho ! 
 ha !" 
 
 The soHd citizen withdrew his hand, braced his feet, drew 
 his breath and struck to mash the other fine. His foot slip- 
 ped, and next he knew he was plowing his nose into the hard 
 snow. When he got up the man with the bone-colored whiskers 
 was hanging to a hitching post, and as black in the face as 
 an old hat. The citizen should have killed him then and 
 there, but he didn't. He made for a car like a bear going 
 over a brush fence, and his efforts to look innocent and un- 
 concerned after he sat down broke his other suspender dead in 
 two. Such is life. N"o man can tell what an icy spot will 
 bring forth. 
 
 THE EAGGEDY MAN. 
 James Whitcomb Eiley. 
 
 Suggestions— This recitation requires the impersonation of a Uttle 
 boy. It is effective by twisting the body from right to left, hinging 
 at the ankles, and other actions and mannerisms of a child. 
 
 the Raggedy Man ! He works f er pa; an' he's the goodest 
 man ever you saw ! He comes to our house every day an' 
 waters the horses ah' feeds 'em hay, an he opens the shed — 
 an' we all 'ist laugh when he drives out our little old wobblely 
 calf; an' nen, ef our hired girl says he can, he milks the cows 
 for 'Lizabuth Ann. Ain't he a' awful good Eaggedy Man? 
 Eaggedy ! Eaggedy ! Eaggedy Man ! 
 
 W'y, the Eaggedy Man — he's 'ist so good he splits the 
 kindlin' an' chops the wood, an' nen he spades in our garden, 
 too, an' does most things 'at boys can't do. He cliin'ed clean 
 up in our big tree an' shooked a' apple down fer me, an' 
 nother'n', too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann. an' nother'n', too, fer the 
 Eaggedy Man. Ain't he a' awful kind Eaggedy Man? Eag- 
 gedy ! Eaggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 
 
 An' the Eaggedy Man, he loiows most rhymes, an' tells 
 'em, if I be good, sometimes. Knows 'bout Giunts an' Griffins 
 an' Elves, an' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swallars theirselves, 
 an' wife by the pump in our pasture lot he showed me the hole 
 'at the Wunks is got, 'at lives way deep in the ground, an' 
 can turn inter me or 'Lizabuth Ann ! ain't he a funny old 
 Raggedy Man ? Eaggedy ! Eaggedy ! Eaggedy Man ! 
 
16S THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 The Raggedy Man — one time when he was makin' a little 
 bow-'n'-orry fer me says: "When you^re big like your pa is 
 air you go' to keep a fiie store like his, an' be rich merchant, 
 an' wear fine clothes? Er what air you go' to be, goodness 
 knows?" An' nen he laughed at 'Lizebuth Ann, an' I says: 
 '"M go' to be a Raggedy Man ! I'm 'ist go' to be a nice Raggedy 
 Man !" Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 
 
 THE GOBBLE-UNS' 'LL GIT YOU. 
 
 James Whitcomb Riley. 
 
 Sug-gestions — This requires the impersonation of a little child. When 
 children are telling a story or news, they are generally very active 
 with hands, eyes, facial changes. When they emphasize a word they 
 hold on to it, and "drawl" it out. 
 
 Little orphan Annie's come to our house to stay, an' 
 wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, an' 
 shoo the chickens off the pOrch, an' dust the hearth an' sweep 
 an' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board an' 
 keep; an' all us other children, when the supper things is 
 done, we set around the kitchen fire an' has the m'ostest fun, 
 a list'nin to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about, an' the 
 gobble-uns 'at git you, ef you don't watch out ! 
 
 Onct there was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs an' 
 when he went to bed at night, away up stairs, his mamma 
 heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him bawl, an' when 
 they turn't the kivvers down he was't there at all! an' they 
 seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby hole an' press, an' 
 seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' everywheres, I guess, but 
 all they ever found was thist his pants an' round-a-bout ! an' 
 the gobble-uns '11 git you ef you don't watch out ! 
 
 An' one time a little girl 'ud alius laugh an' grin, an' 
 make fun of ever one an' all her blood an' kin, an' onct, when 
 they was "company," an' ole folks was there ,she mocked 'em 
 an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! An' thist as she 
 kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide, they was two great, 
 big, black things a standin' by her side, an' they snatched her 
 through the ceilin' 'fore she know what she's about. An' the 
 gobble-uns '11 git you ef you don't watch out. 
 
 An' little Orphan Annie says when the blaze is blue, an' 
 the lamp Avick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo ! An' you 
 
REPERTOIRE 169 
 
 hear the crickets quit an' the moon is gray, an' the lighten' 
 bugs in dew is squenched away, you better mind yer par- 
 ents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear, an' cherish them 'at loves 
 you an' dry the orjDhan's tears, an' he'p the po' an' needy 
 ones 'at clusters all about, er the gobble-ims '11 git you, ef 
 you don't watch out ! 
 
 THE EAILEOAD CROSSING. 
 
 Hezekiah Strong. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection requires an artistic imDersonation of an 
 old farmer. The voice and action count for more than the words. The 
 description must be so vivid that there is no doubt left in thei minds 
 of the audience about the old fellow stopping his wagon across 
 the railroad track. 
 
 I can't tell much about the thing, 'twas done so powerful 
 quick; but 'pears to me I got a most outlandish heavy lick; it 
 broke my leg, and tore my skulp, and jerked my arm 'most 
 out. But take a seat; I'll try and tell jest how it kem about: 
 You see, I'd started down to town, with that 'ere team of 
 mine, a-haulin' down a load o' corn to Ebenezer Kline, and 
 drivin' slow; for, jest about a day or two before, the off-hoss 
 run a splinter in his foot, and made it sore. 
 
 You know the railroad cuts across the road at Martin's 
 Hole, well, thar I seed a great big sign, raised high upon a 
 pole; I thought I'd stop and read the thing, and find out 
 what it said. And so I stopped the hosses on the railroad 
 track, and read. I ain't no scholar, rekollect, and so I had 
 to spell: I started kinder cautious like, with E-A-I and L: 
 And that spelt "rail," as clear as mud; E.-0-A-D was "road."^ 
 I lumped 'em: "railroad" was the word, and that 'ere much 
 I knowed. C-E-0 and double S, with I-N-G to boot, made 
 "crossing" jest as plain as Noah Webster dared do't. "Eail- 
 road crossing" — good enough — L double 0-K, "look ;" and I 
 was looldn' all the time, and spellin' like a book. 0-U-l^ spelt 
 "out" jest right ; and there was, "look out," I's kinder cur'us, 
 like to know jest what 'twas all about; F-O-E and T-H-E; 
 'twas then "look out for the:" and then I tried the .next 
 word; it commenced with E-N-G. 
 
 I'd got that fur, when suddintly there came an awful 
 whack; a thousand fiery thunderbolts just scooped me off 
 the track ; the hosses went to Davy Jones, the wagon went to 
 smash, and I was histed seven yards above the tallest ash. 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 I didn't come to life ag^in fur ^bout a day or two; but, though 
 I'm crippled up a heap, I sorter struggled through; it ain't 
 the pain, nor 'tain't the loss o' that 'ere team of mine; but, 
 stranger, how I'd like to know the rest of that 'ere sign. 
 
 THE A^-CIENT MAIDEN'S PEAYER. 
 
 Sug-gestions— A cracke'd voice, a nervous, irritable action. Where 
 she prays, the attitude and action should suit the words. When she 
 thinks her prayer is being- heard and answered, she becomes much en- 
 thused and excited. 
 
 Once upon a time there was an old maid; not that maids 
 are particularly rare; but this old maid just came under my 
 care. Long she had painted, primped and primped, ruffled, 
 bustled and aired. The beaux didn't, nor Avouldn't, come 
 nigh. So at last she dispaired, she looked at the men; but they 
 looked the other way. She heaved a heavy, heart-broken sigh 
 of care. 
 
 "This ceases to be a matter of work — it becomes a mat- 
 ter of prayer." So out in the woods on a Sabbath day; she 
 knelt and prayed with all her soul : "Oh Lord, I beg of Thee 
 a husband, 1 pray for a man, I can't stand this no longer 
 — to live alone in this old world, and no one to hug or kiss.'' 
 
 Now up in a tree rested an owl, who being disturbed in 
 his afternoon snooze, called out an angry "To who ! to who !" 
 The maiden thrilled with joj^, her hope like a bird took wing. 
 "Asketh thou of me, who, oh Lord- Oh Lord just any old 
 thing, just so it is a man !" 
 
 OEATOE PUFF. 
 
 Suggestions — This selection requires strong characterization. The 
 two voices of the orator must be very decided and given at the right 
 place. It is very effective when given the correct interpretation and 
 magnetic delivery. 
 
 Mr. Orator Puff had two tones in his voice, the one squeak- 
 ing thus, and the. other down so: in each sentence he uttered 
 he gave you your choice, for one half was B alt, and the 
 rest Gr below. Oh ! oh ! Orator Puff, one voice for an orator's 
 surely enough! 
 
 But he still talked away, spite of coughs and frowns, so 
 distracting all ears with his ups and his down, that a wag 
 
REPERTOIRE 171 
 
 once, on hearing the orator say, "My voice is for war,'^ asked 
 him, ""'Which one of them, pray ?" Oh ! oh ! Orator Puff, one 
 voice for an orator's surely enough ! 
 
 Eeeling home one evening, top-heavy with gin, and re- 
 hearsing his speech on the weight of the crown, he tripped 
 near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in — "sinking fun," the last 
 words as his noddle came down. Oh ! oh ! Orator Puff, one 
 voice for an orator's surely enough. 
 
 "Oh, save !" he exclaimed, in his he-and-she tones, "Help 
 me out ! help me out ! I have broken mv bones !" "Help you 
 out!'' said a Paddy wlio ]):l^-:l]. '•What a l^otber! why, 
 there's two of you there ; can't you help one another ?" Oh ! 
 oh ! Orator Puff, one voice for an orator's surely enough ! 
 
 THE WOODEN ARM MAN. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection requires that the reciter train his left 
 arm to make the gestures indicated. "When appearing before the 
 audience, the arm must be held stitT and awlvward like a wooden arm 
 would appear; and it is moved at the joints bj- the right liand. When 
 he is trying to tell the girl of his love ,the hand slips down at the 
 left side, because of a screw loose. 
 
 There was a man of wondrous gifts, born of dramatic 
 instincts rife ; he loved to talk, orate, recite upon the many 
 themes of life. But he a wooden arm possessed, hinged at 
 the elbow and the Avrist. A stiff and awkward piece of oak 
 hinged from the shoulder with a twist. 
 
 He trained this arm to act his thought — ^his varied feel- 
 ings to define — and thus "'to charge the light brigade," he 
 raised it in a forward line. To point to heaven he bent 
 his arm, and could turn it either way. He lowered the hand, 
 and this was thought; as I am thinking now today. The 
 outward gesture was not hard; a little turn would make it 
 true; the meaning all could understand, 'tAvas this for me, and 
 that for you. 
 
 One day a girllet came his way; a tripping, dainty, pink- 
 eyed miss. He caught his arm and raised it thus, then turned 
 the elbow and the wrist. "Oh ,this is love; no this is; no love 
 is this !" But fate, alas, was sore unkind. The elbow hinge 
 had one screw loose, so when he told her of his love the ges- 
 ture was of little use. 
 
 He swore by heaven's eternal blue, his heart M^as right, his 
 
THE WATKINS BROTHERS' 
 
 love was true. To swear, he swore with his left hand up- 
 lifted; at the word he said — ^but ere his thoughts he could 
 comimand, the arm fell down on his head — he swore, but he 
 swore with words instead ! 
 
 A CHICAGO DUDE. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection requires acting, and a play on the words, 
 "ah there!" An exagerated facial expression makes it more interesting. 
 
 A dude from Chicago went North one July, ah there ! 
 This dandy dude's collar was three inches high, ah there ! 
 His cuffs were too long, his gloves were too white, his hat 
 was too tall, and his pants were too tight, ah there ! 
 
 This dude from Chicago went out for a ride, ah there ! Of a 
 mean mustang he sat him astride, ah there ! The pony when 
 spurred, like a wild spirit fled; but soon made a hault, and 
 stood the dude on his head ; and a wicked young cub in a meat 
 wagon said, "ah there !" 
 
 ONLY A PIN. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection requires acting to make it highly suc- 
 cessful. The mental picturing must be complete. The boy, when hd 
 EJees the pin, and when he picks it up and places it in the ohair, 
 should be almost pantomimed. When the man sits down on the pin, 
 the reciter should act it out completely, and on the word, "whoop!" 
 a jump into the air is necessary. 
 
 Only a pin — yet it calmly lay on the carpeted floor in the 
 light of day, and shone serene and clear and bright, deflecting 
 back the noonday's light. Only a boy but he saw that pin, 
 and his face assumed a fiendish grin; and he slyly stooped 
 with look intent, till both he and the pin alike were bent. Only 
 a chair — yet upon its seat that well-bent pin found safe re- 
 treat; nor could the keenest eye discern that heavenward its 
 point did turn. Only a man — but he chanced to drop upon 
 that chair, when whoop ! bang ! pop ! like the cork from a 
 bottle of champagne, he bounded up from that chair again. 
 
 Only a yell — but an honest one; it lacked the remotest idea 
 of fun, and man and boy, and pin and chair in close com- 
 munion mingled there. Only the pin — out of all the four, 
 alone no traces of damage bore; the man was mad and dread- 
 fully sore — and he lathered that boy behind and before — the 
 
REPERTOIRE 
 
 chair lay smashed upon the floor, its seat was not hurt- 
 but the boy^s was sore ! 
 
 ajst humble boy. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection, if merely recited, has but little value. 
 It requires artistic action to make it highly successful. In practicing 
 it, it is better to endeavor to pantomime it so that an on-Jooker 
 would get thei ideas in the selection. 
 
 An humble boy with a shining pail, went gladly singing 
 down the dale, to where a cow with a brindle tail on clover 
 her palate did regale. An humble bee did gayly sail far over 
 the soft and shadowy vale, to where the boy with a shining 
 pail was millcing the cow with a brindle tail. The bee lit 
 down on the cows left ear, (zip!) her heels flew up through 
 the atmosphere, and through the leaves of a chestnut tree, 
 that boy soared into futurity. 
 
 IP I DAR'ST. 
 
 Suggestions— This sa'sy, sarcastic little girl must be thoroughly im- 
 personated. It requires strong facial expression. 
 
 If I dar'st, I'd lick my pa, for the times he's licked me. 
 I'd lick my brother, and my teaqher, too. I'd lick the fellows 
 that calls around on sister after tea ; and I'd keep on licking 
 folks till I got through. You bet I'd run away from my 
 lesson to play. And I'd shoot the hens, and tease the cat, 
 and the boys (or girls) all day — if I dar'st, but I dar'sent. 
 
 THE KITCHEN MAID. 
 
 Suggestions— This selection requires acting, acting, acting. It is all 
 action. On the words, "a match," it is well to have a match and 
 strike it, and have a small firecracker on a table, and set the fuse. 
 When It explodes the reciter must give a scream and jump to one 
 side of the stage and look into the heavens for fully thirty seconds as 
 though watching the maid go outof sight, and then while! holding that 
 attitude, utter the last words. The action requires the impersona- 
 tions of the maid engaged in her work in the kitchen. 
 
 A kitchen maid ! A kerosene lamp ! A match ! God save 
 the queen ! 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PRE^FACE 3 
 
 INTRODUCTION 5 
 
 OUR GRADING CHART 7 
 
 STAGE PRESENCE 8 
 
 PRONUNCIATION 8 
 
 ARTICULATEON 9 
 
 MODULATION 10 
 
 VOICE 10 
 
 ACTION 11 
 
 TONE COLOR 12 
 
 INTERPRETATION 12 
 
 FEELING 12 
 
 MAGNETISM 13 
 
 STAR SPANGLED BANNER, THE 15 
 
 SOUTHERN HEROES 16 
 
 VETERANS, THE 19 
 
 IF HE BUT DIVE TILL SUNDOWN 20 
 
 HENRY W. GRADY 22 
 
 BLACK HORSE AND HIS RIDER 24 
 
 HAND THAT ROCKS THE WORLD, THE 27 
 
 TAUiSSAINT L' OVERTURE 27 
 
 MAN WITH A HOB, THE 29 
 
 WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OP MORTAL BE PROUD? 30 
 
 AMBITIOUS YOUTH, THE 31 
 
 CUBAN HERO, TPIB 34 
 
 DAUNTLESS 37 
 
 MURDERER'S CONFESSION, A 39 
 
 POWER OP HABIT, THE 41 
 
 OLD ACE 42 
 
 CASEY AT THE BAT, OUR 45 
 
 GLADIATOR, THE 46 
 
 DEATH BED OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 48 
 
 BEiN HUR"S CHARIOT RACE ^ 50 
 
 FLYING DUTCHMAN, THE 54 
 
 HOW SALVATOR WON 56 
 
 ASLEEP AT THE SWITCH 58 
 
 VAGABONDS, THE 60 
 
 BRIDGE KEEPER'S STORY, THE 62 
 
 POLISH BOY, THE 63 
 
 YES, I'M GUILTY 65 
 
 LAST STRING BROKE, THE 67 
 
 UNCLE, THE £3 
 
 BEN DEENE 71 
 
 LASCA 73 
 
 GYPSY FLOWER GIRL, THE .__74 
 
 OLD ACTOR'S STORY, THE 77 
 
 LEAP FOR LIFE, THE 80 
 
 JACK, THE ENGINER'S SON 81 
 
 VICTOR OF MARENGO, THE 84 
 
 CONFESSIONAL, THE 86 
 
 JOE SEIGG 88 
 
 S'BMINOLE'S REPLY, THE 90 
 
 CATALINE'S DEFIANCE 90 
 
 ROMAN HERO, THE 92 
 
 HAT, THE 93 
 
 ANGELINA 96 
 
 FACIAL FAMILY, THE 97 
 
 SINCE PA SHAVED OFF HIS WHISKERS 99 
 
 ROYAL BUMPER DEGREE, THE ..100 
 
 JINERS. THE 102 
 
 AN OLD SWEETHEART OP MINE 105 
 
 WONDERFUL ONE HOSS SHAY, THE 106 
 
OLE MAN AN' JIM, THE 109 
 
 GINEVRA 110 
 
 WOMAN I LOVED. THE 114 
 
 AUX ITALIENS 115 
 
 PATHAVAY OF GOLD, THE 117 
 
 PLATONIC LOVE 117 
 
 SEVEN AGES OF MAN 119 
 
 JIM BLUDSO 119 
 
 JOHN MATNARD 120 
 
 CHAMPION SNORBR. OUR 122 
 
 COUNTRY COURTING IN ARICANSAS 123 
 
 DE PINT AVID UNGLE MOSE 125 
 
 DAT SIXTY DOLLAH TONE. 126 
 
 FEW IN HEAVEN 127 
 
 HARD OLD BRICK, A 128 
 
 ARKANSAS WITNESS 129 
 
 ASKING HER PAPA 131 
 
 CALLS 133 
 
 PAIA AND THE BOY 134 
 
 EDI'CATING TO A PURPOSE 135 
 
 KISSING 137 
 
 HOW RUBY PLAYED 139 
 
 DESERTER, THE .' 142 
 
 PYRAMUS AND THISBE ;.143 
 
 AUNT JBML^'S COURTSHIP 145 
 
 POWER OF PRAYER, THE 147 
 
 UNCLE PETE AND THE TROLLEY CAR 149 
 
 BROTHER WATKINS ^ 152 
 
 OPPORTUNITY 153 
 
 BUGLE SONG, THE 153 
 
 LITTLE BOY BLUE 154 
 
 CROSSING THE BAR 154 
 
 ARMY MULE, THE 155 
 
 WHAT I WOULD DO FOR HER 155 
 
 PICTURES OF MEMORY 156 
 
 BILLY GOO DIN' 157 
 
 TOMMY'S THANKSGIVING DINNER 157 
 
 CONFESSION, THE 158 
 
 STUTTERING MAN, THE 159 
 
 AGNES. I LOVE THEE 159 
 
 MIDNIGHT MURDERER, THE 160 
 
 SO WAS I 160 
 
 UNDER THE MISTLETOE 161 
 
 MOLLIE'S LAMB 162 
 
 SMACK IN SCHOOL, THE 162 
 
 RIA^AL iSPEAKERS, THE 163 
 
 MAN WHO APOLOGIZED, THE 165 
 
 RAGGEDY MAN, THE 167 
 
 GOBBLE'UNS 'LL GIT YOU, THE ■. 168 
 
 RAILROAD CROSSING, THE 169 
 
 ANCIENT MAIDEN'S PRAYEiR, THE 170 
 
 ORATOR PUFF 170 
 
 WOODEN ARM MAN, THE 171 
 
 CHICAGO DUDE, A 172 
 
 ONLY A PIN 172 
 
 AN HUMBLE BOY 
 
 KITCHEN MAID, THE 173 
 
SCHOOLS OF EXPKESSIOK 
 
 We are often asked for names of good schools of Expres- 
 sion. Below is a list of a few of the best in the country : 
 
 RALSTON UNIVERSITY OF EXPRESSION, 
 Washington, D. C. 
 
 SHAFTESBURY COLLEGE OF EXPRESSION, 
 Baltimore, Md. 
 
 HMMBRSON SCHOOL OF ORATORY, 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
 BOSTON SCHOOL OF ORATORY, 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
 NEW YORK SCHOOL OF EXPRESSION, 
 New York City. 
 
 NATIONAL CONSERVATORY OF DRAMATIC ART. 
 •New York City. 
 
 STANHOPE-WHEATCROFT DRAMATIC SCHOOL, 
 New York City. • 
 
 NATIONAL SCHOOL OF ORATORY, 
 J'hiladelphia, Pa. 
 
 SOPER SCHOOL OF ORATORY, 
 Chicago, 111. 
 
 LECTUEES. 
 
 Jam'es Andrew Watkins. 
 
 "BEAUTY AND DUTY." 
 
 "THE RACE PROBLEM." 
 
 'AT THE ENDS OP TWO CENTURIES. 
 
 "THE TREE OP LIFE." 
 
 • "RALSTONISM." 
 
 G-eorge K. Watkins. 
 
 'FACTS, FADS AND FUN." 
 
 For Lectures or Eecitals, address Watkins Brothers, War- 
 ren, Arkansas. 
 
 "The Watkins Brothers' Eeportoire" will be mailed to 
 any address upon receipt of One Dollar. 
 
NOV 
 
 ^903