Edwlf/G.Lrnvr^n:? Prof. Philip Lawr^. 9»»»§&|f33F-^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA? THE LAWRENCE RECITER: A SIMPLE YET COMPREHENSIVE SYSTEM OF ELOCUTION CONTAINING EXERCISES FOR THE DEVELOPING AND CULTIVA- TION OF THE VOICE, AND GRACE AND POWER OF GESTURE; RULES FOR BREATHING, ARTICULATION, MODULA- TION, ETC.; SELECTIONS FOR EXERCISES FOR VOICE, GESTURE AND DRAMATIC ACTION. DESIGNED FOR THE SPECIAL USE OF TEACHERS, STUDENTS, COLLEGES, SCHOOLS, AND ALL THOSE WHO WISH TO PER- FECT THEMSELVES IN THE NOBLE ART OF EXPRESSION. />/ EDWIN GORDON LAWRENCE, fy (Son of Prof . Philip Lawrence,) TEACHER OF ELOCUTION AND DIRECTOR OF " THE LAWRENCE SCHOOL OF ACTING," OF NEW YORK. TO WHICH IS ADDED A COLLECTION OF OLD AND NEW GEMS BOTH IN POETRY AND PROSE, COMPILED BY THE LATE PROF. PHILIP 1 LAWRENCE, AND ALSO A NUMBER OF HIS'OWN PIECES WHICH HAVE NEVER BEFORE APPEARED IN PRINT. PHILADELPHIA: B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 306 CHESTNUT STKEET. H u Copyright, 1891, T. B. Peterson & Brothers. CONTENTS. Page The Voice 23 The Breath 25 Positions of the Body 25 Form of Breath 26 Sounds 26 Register 26 Whispering Exercise 26 Effusive, Expulsive, Explosive Articulation 27 Modulation 23 Stress 23 Exercise in Modulation 23 Gesture 35 Positions of the Feet 36 Positions of the Arms 36 Postures and Motions of the Hand 37 The Motions of the Arras and Hands 39 The Head, the Eyes, the Shoulders, and the Body 41 Complex Significant Gestures 43 Dramatic Action 45 Abou Ben Adhem Leigh Hunt, 65 A Daughter's Song to her Father Philip Lawrence. '175 Adventure of a Universalis " M 280 (19) 20 • CONTENTS. Page Adventure with a Lion . Philip Lawrence, 234 A Father's Portrait of a Daughter " " 239 After the Battle 275 An Old Story told anew 110 An Order for a Picture Alice Gray. 272 Asleep at the Switch George Hoey. 159 Antouy's Address to the Romans Shakespeare. 69 Baby George Macdonald. 154 Baby's Stocking 96 " Bay Billy" Frank H.Gassaway. 119 Battle of Fontenoy Thomas Davis. 101 Beautiful Snow t J. W. Watson. 193 Ben Hazzard's Guests , Anna P. Marshall. 149 Bernardo del Carpio Mrs. Hermans. 127 Betsy and I are out Will M. Carleton. 281 Bugle Song Alfred Tennyson. 105 Burdock's Goat 137 Cassius against Csesar Shakespeare. 264 Catiline's Defiance George Croly. 205 Charge of the Light Brigade Alfred Tennyson. 99 Columbia's Iron Hearts Philip Lawrence. 228 Curfew must not ring To-night..... 190 " Did you speak ? " 55 Eloquence..... Philip Lawrence. 219 Eugene Aram's Dream Thomas Hood. 84 Fra Giacamo Robert Buchanan. 77 Gone with a Handsomer Man Will M. Carleton. 107 Gualberto's Victory E. C. Donnelly. 176 Hans Breitmann's Party Chas. G.Leland. 200 Horatius at the Bridge T. B. Macaulay. 72 How he saved St. Michael's M. A. P. Stansbury. 134 How Persimmons took cah ob de Baby Scribner y s Magazine. 260 How " Ruby " Played George W.Bagby. 123 Hurrah for the glorious Sea Philip Lawrence. 235 Independence Bell— July 4, 1776 62 Iron Hearts better than Iron Ships Philip Lawrence. 221 Jane Conquest 143 King Robert of Sicily H. W.Longfellow. 253 Little Annie's Prayer and Dream Philip Lawrence. 237 Little Jim 75 Little Rocket's Christmas Vandyke Brown. 172 Love is Happiness .Philip Lawrence. 229 CONTENTS. 21 Page Love waiting at the Door Philip Lawrence. 227 Maclaine's Child Charles Maclcay. 265 Nell Robert Buchanan. 161 New Year's Eve 121 Night Burial at Sea J. W. Watson. 223 Papa's Letter 155 Painting a Picture Philip Lawrence. 233 "Rarnon" Bret Harte. 94 Rum's Maniac T. W. Noti. 66 Schneider's Ride Gus. Phillips. 213 Schnitzerl's Philosopede Chas. G. Leland. 209 Sheridan's Ride Thos. Buchanan Read. 157 Socrates Snooks 114 Softly Murmur Philip Lawrence. 230 Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua Elijah Kellogg. 97 Strike for your Native Land Philip Lazvrence. 218 Tom Constance Fennimore Woolson. 182 Tommy and his Four Puppies Philip Lawrence. 231 The Angels of Buena Vista J. G. Whittier. 81 " Battle Schiller. 216 11 Blacksmith's Story Frank Olive. 206 " Bridge of Sighs , Thomas Hood. 140 " Church of the World Lord Houghton. 54 " Creeds of the Bells Geo. W.Bungay. 188 " Curse of Regulus 112 " Curtain Falls Tinsley's Magazine. 52 11 Deacon's Story N. S.Emerson. 201 " Death of the Old Squire 183 " Engineer's Story 195 " Fate of Virginia T.B. Macaiday. 60 " Famine H. W. Longfellow. 246 " Gambler's Wife Coates. 215 " Ghost 151 " Greenwood Shrift R.& C.Southey. 268 " Ladies , Philip Lawrence. 237 11 Little Hero 166 " Mango Tree Chas. Kingsley. 59 " Maniac , ...Matthew Gregory Lewis. 211 " Old Soldier ' 104 " Polish Boy Ann S. Stephens. 90 " Pride of Battery B F. H. Gassawat/. 59 " Queen of Love s Philip Lawrence. 237 22 CONTENTS. Page v^C The Raven Edgar A. Poe. 241 " Ride irorn Ghent to Aix Robert Browning. 105 « Ride of Collins Graves J. B. O'Reilly. 258 u The Snow Storm C. G. Eastman. 240 ■4* « Suicidal Cat 262 * c Sweetest of Smiles ...Philip Lawrence. 236 " Tiger and Serpent " " 226 " Three Bells J. G. Whittier. 171 " Vagabonds J. T. Trowbridge. 116 " Violet's Queen Philip Lawrence. 225 " Vision of the Monk Gabriel E. C. Donnelly. 197 " Water Mill D. C. McCallum. 279 il Widow's Cloak Samuel Ferguson. 49 Vat You Please , W. B. Fowle. 230 We meet upon the Level and part upon the Square 64 Whistling in Heaven... 179 You put no Flowers on my Father's Grave......... C. E. L. Holmes. 277 PREFACE. THE VOICE. Speaking is an art and can only be acquired by laborious practice. To speak naturally is to use the organs of speech as nature intended, and not in the perverted manner which ill- usage has fastened upon us. The child breathes and speaks in a natural way ; most grown persons in an artificial one. For instance : watch the infant as it lies in the cradle slumbering ; notice with every rise and fall of the chest the outward and in- ward action of the diaphragm pumping the air in and forcing it outof the lungs. All the organs of breath are now performing their functions fully and none are worked at the expense of the others. How different with many men and women ! They, in- stead of inflating the lungs fully by the action of the abdominal muscles and diaphragm, rely upon the costal muscles only, and consequently inflate the upper portion of the lungs alone, thus being able to produce only a very limited amount of air, and scanty volume of voice. As I shall devote considerable space to breathing as an exercise, I will pass it by for the present. As speaking is an art, we must learn the principles of it and gain the faculty of practically applying them. We all possess talent, but alas ! very few are gifted with genius. Possessing this faculty (talent) we are all capable of learning to use the human voice so as to express every emotion of which it is ca- pable. Vocal sounds are but the paths leading outward from the speaker's soul, and if the powers of the voice are developed we are then enabled to express just what we feel. "To hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time her form and pressure. ' ' In cultivating the voice we must pay particular attention to detail, both as to the mechanical and intellectual part of the work, for it is only by attending to little things that we can ex- pect to master the more difficult branches of the art. We must first furnish a good instrument ; but with most persons the voice is out of order and requires thorough overhauling. What is (23) 24 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. the cause of this noble instrument requiring readjusting ? One little word will fully answer — misuse. And what will readjust this grand organ of sound? Practice. In other words, a? one of the greatest orators, when asked what was the essential quality of oratory, replied by saying "Action." Work, and hard work, then, is the only remedy we possess for this serious evil that besets us. We should experience no pain or trouble whatever when speaking, and every tone of the voice should be produced without apparent effort. Deep breathing requires an effort, but it must not be perceptible to the audience. A very vital point is to control the breath and not allow it to rush through the larynx without being converted into sound. This will be dwelt upon and explained among the exercises. The principal rules of Elocution are Articulation, Modulation, Emphasis, and Delivery, for from these four golden rules all others arise and on them depend. Articulation is the art of pronouncing every letter, syllable and word, clearly and dis- tinctly. Modulation is changing the pitch and inflection of the voice so as to properly bring out the speaker ' ; s meaning, and fully explaining by the tones of the voice the meaning of the words to which you give utterance. For instance : the upper register of the voice is suggestive of joy, excitement, light, etc.; the lower register, all that is sad, slow and solemn ; the medium, that which is ordinary. Emphasis is laying greater stress on a word and making it stand out boldly. # The longer we hold the word and the greater the volume of voice employed, the stronger will be the emphasis. Delivery is the most important of the four rules, for it com- bines them all. To possess a good delivery we must have thor- ough control of the voice, eye, muscles of the face, and move- ments of the body ; for delivery is not speech alone, it is expression. Jn cultivating the voice, we must first find out the medium register, and then work below and above it. How are we to do this? By taking the ordinary speaking voice as a guide and gradually working the voice as far above and below this tone as possible. In a very little while the student will discover that his medium register is changing. And why is this ? Because in most instances the student has habitually (not naturally) pitched his voice either too high or too low, and the exercises are now bringing the different registers to their proper position. ^ If he has been accustomed to speak in too low a tone this register has grown at the expense of the upper, and consequently the medium has been drawn down a considerable number of tones, but as he strengthens the upper register, the compass will be ex- tended and the medium will be raised correspondingly. If the upper has been constantly used this will prove to possess the THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 25 strongest tones, and the lower register must suffer from the extra practice which the upper has received. Many teachers claim that such and such a tone on the scale represents the medium register. Now, I am bold to say that such is not the case, for what would be the medium for my voice might be above the medium for yours, and possibly below for another person's. Therefore, the teacher should find the key-note in the student's voice and commence his work from that, and not endeavor to force his own voice upon the student. There is a great quantity of dead wood clinging to Elocution, but in this simple system I shall endeavor to chop it all away, and make every one of my assertions perfectly clear to the stu- dent. In many cases the seeker after elocutionary knowledge is only mystified and led astray by the amount of matter which is heaped up before him in most of the so-called systems. In fact, Elocution is an art, and can be imparted by the living teacher alone. It cannot be learned from books. They will serve as assistants and guides, but to rely on them alone would be mad- ness. Elocution consists of both vocal and physical gymnastics. BREATH. POSITION OF THE BODY. First, place the body in an erect, easy position ; heels close together ; weight of the body placed equally on both feet ; arms hanging down at rest ; chest held up and open ; head erect, but not thrown back ; perfectly vertical. The student must take pains to prevent the shoulders from rising and falling with the inhaling and exhaling of the breath ; they must be held sta- tionary. There are three forms of breathing, viz., Effusive, Expulsive and Explosive. The Effusive form is merely breathing the sound into the air. Take the sound ah; draw a full breath into the lungs through the nostrils, at the same time expanding the chest fully and throwing out the diaphragm ; now open the mouth, draw in the diaphragm slowly, and effuse the breath into the air. The movement of the diaphragm must be continued as long as the sound, and the pressure of the abdominal muscles and diaphragm should be inward and upward. These waist muscles must be made to act just like a pair of bellows, pumping the air in and forcing the breath out of the lungs. Expulsive breathing is pushing the sound into the air, just as though it was meeting with opposition and you were compelled to force the breath out of the lungs. Use the same sound ah, 26 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. but stronger and quicker action of the diaphragm than when effusing the breath. Explosive, the third form of breathing, is shooting the breath out by a sudden action of the diaphragm, just as though a blow were aimed at the pit of the stomach ; the action is very quick and the breath is exploded from the lungs and the sound from the larynx. This form of breathing resembles an aspirated cough. The same sound ah should be used in producing the three forms of breathing, and the air must be inhaled through the nostrils and the breath exhaled through the mouth. VOICE. ^ Voice is articulated sound. There are three registers or di- visions to the voice : the upper, medium and lower. With the following exercise first take the medium register, effusive form of breathing, on all the vowel sounds ; then the expulsive, fol- lowed by the explosive. After getting these tones to your satis- faction, pitch the voice as low as possible and repeat the exercise. As soon as this has been accomplished, raise the voice to its highest pitch and go over the same exercise. Continue this until a tired feeling commences to show itself or a dizzy sensation is apparent. Form of breath. Sounds. Register. Effusive 1 f Upper Expulsive \ A E I U \ Medium Explosive j ( Lower WHISPERING EXERCISE. Effusive. All heaven and earth are still, — though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : — Expulsive. Angels and ministers of grace defend us I Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee : Explosive. Hark ! I hear the bugles of the enemy ! They are on their THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 27 march along the bank of the river. We must retreat instantly, or be cut off from our boats. I see the head of their column already rising over the height. Our only safety is in the screen of this hedge. Keep close to it ; be silent ; and stoop as you run. For the boats ! Forward ! There are twenty-six letters in the English alphabet, and the vowels, or such letters that can be uttered alone, are as follows : A (a as a letter, a as a word). Before words beginning with a vowel sound, it takes the letter n after it. This letter has six sounds, as in ale, arm, all, an, glass, care. E, e long as in mete, short e as in met I, I long as in fine, short % as in fin. O has various sounds, as in note, not, nor, move, done. U, as in tube, up, full, W, in diphthongs, is used as a vowel for u; as view, strew. Y, except at the beginning of English words and syllables, is a vowel, and has the sound of i. Practice the following table of words on three registers, and in the three forms of breathing : Ale Arm All An Eve file Old Tube Mete I Fine Lose Up End fin On Full Met J Fin ARTICULATION. In speaking we should utter the words so that every letter and syllable may be clearly heard. This will require considerable practice, and students will do well by attending particularly to this, the first rule of Elocution. The first vowel, a, is often indistinctly heard, and is frequently mispronounced. Sometimes it is too broad, and again too thin. For instance, in such words as mass, glass and pass, it is mis- pronounced mass, glass, pass ; and again, mass, glass, pass. The vowel o is at times drawn out until it sounds like aw. Gone being pronounced as though spelt gawne, dog as though written dawg. This is a grievous fault, and should be at once cor- rected. The letter u is ofttimes mispronounced oo, especially in such words as duke, which is generally uttered as though spelt dook. The termination sume, as consume and presume^ is rarely properly pronounced, being spoken as snmu. Pew and due should be pronounced du, and not doo, as is often the ease. Avoid doubling the consonants as d in ana. Do not utter it as chough there were two ds, thus, and-d. The letter d when coming at the end of a word is sometimes never heard, as in husband, a 28 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. large number of persons pronouncing the word as if written husban. Gr is another letter often slighted, in such words as ringing, singing, etc. The terminations ance and ence are often confounded, and uttered like unce, and ace like iss as in the word furnace. The letter h is a great sufferer, especially when the first letter of a word, or when coming after w, as in when, where, etc. I might keep on citing instances of mispronunciation and poor articu- lation, but I think the above will suffice. MODULATION. IIow fascinating it is to listen to a well modulated voice ! To have every word fully explained to us by the tones which the speaker utters. Yes, j t ou reply, but can this be done ? Most assuredly. Practice faithfully on the three registers and three forms of breathing, and you will be surprised in a very little time at the amount of melody which your voice will gain. STRESS. Radical Stress, t> Vanishing lt Compound " X Thorough " 1=1 Tremor " ~~- Exercise all the vowel sounds on the different forms of stress, and then the following : Attend All > I said All, not one or two ; What ! All f did they All fail ? X Come one, come All. □ Oh ! I have lost you All. **~* Produce the stress on the vowel a in all. Exercise in Modulation. Take Tennyson's beautiful little poem of "The Bugle Song," and read it as follows : The splendor (medium register) falls on castle walls (lower register) And snowy summits (medinm register) old in story (lower register), The long (hold long) light shakes (tremor stress) across the lakes, And the wild (full and round) cataract leaps (explosive) in glory. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 29 Blow v {falling inflection), bu' (rising) g\e^,( falling) blow 7 (rising) ; Set the wild echoes flying (very light on word flying to represent the echo, and four strokes on the word, in this manner, fly" / i y 'ng). In the second stanza, read the lines : Blow ( median stress), let us hear the purple glens replying (O echo) : Blow ( median stress), bu () gle (<0 > ) ', answer echoes dying (O), dying «>), dyin.ir «>), {gradu- ally decreasing volume on the repetition of the word dying until the last is very soft and appears to come from a great distance). The bugle sounds may be practiced on the three registers, but, when delivered in public, sound best on the upper. Exercises in Pitch and Form of Breathing. Medium Register. — Effusive. Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said. This is my own, my native land ? The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. We sat by the river, you and I, In the sweet Summer time, long ago ; So smoothly the water glided by, Making music in its tranquil flow. Medium Register . — Expulsive. Is it come to this ? Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his whole power of the Roman people, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture with fire and red-hot plates of iron, and at last put to the infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen ? I will love thee with a love that never falters, With a steadfast love that knows not rest or peace, And the incense I will burn upon thine altars Will be pure and sweet as memories of Greece. Ye call me chief, and ye do well to call him chief who, for twelve long years, has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. 30 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Medium Register. — Explosive. u Forward the Light Brigade ! Charge for the guns ! " he said. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; Or close the wall up with our English dead ! Lower Register. — Effusive. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! Now o'er the one-half world Nature seems dead, — For I love thee like the day, when sunshine-sated It sinks lingering in the twilight of its swoon, And I love thee with sweet fervor unabated, As some calm lake loves the glimmer of the moon. But thou, most awful form ! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above Deep is the air and dark, — substantial black,-— An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness. Lower Register. — Expulsive. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and heart to this vote ! It is my living sentiment, and by the blessing of God, it shall be my dying sentiment : — independence now and independence forever. Oh my sweet one, oh thou splendor of my yearning, Oh thou beauty that my nullity has won ; To thy love my spirit ever will be turning, Like the heliotrope's pale petals to the sun. And all the clouds that lower' d upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. With woeful measure, wan Despair, Low, sullen sounds her grief beguiled. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 31 Lower Register. — Explosive. Now, fire ! comrades ! fire ! up and at them ! Fight, men, fight for your wives and your children and your homes. Upper Register. — Effusive. Oh ! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming ; And the rockets' 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 0' er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? Upper Register. — Expulsive. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying clouds, the frosty light; The year is dying in the night — Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Upper Register. — Explosive. Awake ! awake ! Ring the alarm bell : — Murder and treason ! — Banquo, and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake ! Strike till the last armed foe expires ! Strike for your altars and your fires ! Strike for the green graves of your sires, God and your native land ! Sublimity. The Ocean. — Byron. (Deep, full tones, and effusive and expulsive utterance.) Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving ; boundless, endless, and subliinc — The image of eternity — the throne Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 32 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. Mont Blanc. — Coleridge. dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer 1 worshipped the Invisible alone. Fanciful and Humorous Style. Mercutios Queen Mob Speech. — Shakespeare. N. B. — This exercise must be practiced so as to produce that ?layful, laughing style, so necessary to its successful rendition, 'he selection is full of fancy and humor. Laughter must be frequently introduced. Especially at the first, before the word " Oh ! " also after " kisses " and at the conclusion. Oh ! then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn by a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses, as they lie asleep ; Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; The traces, of the smallest spider's web, The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams ; Her whip of cricket's bone ; the lash of film, Her waggoner, a small gray-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid ; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coachmakers, And in this state she gallops, night by night, Tli rough lovers' brains, and then they dream of love, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ; Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's npse, And then dreams lie of smelling out a suit ; And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose, as 'a lies asleep, Then 'dream's lie of another benefice : THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 33 Sometimes she driveth o'er a, soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathoms deep : and then anon Drums in his ear ; at which he starts and wakes ; And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, And sleeps again. En tliusiastic Imagination. Melnotte's Description of the Lake of Como. — EDWARD BuLWER Lytton. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint The home to which, could Love fulfil its prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen ! A deep vale Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world, Near a clear lake, margined by fruits of gold And whispering myrtles ; glassing softest skies As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, As I would have thy fate ! A palace lifting to eternal summer Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower Of coolest foliage musical with birds Whose song should Syllable thy name ! At noon We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder Why earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens Still left us youth and love ! We'd have no friends That were not lovers ; no ambition save To excel them all in love ; we'd read no books That were not tales of love — that we might smile To think how poorly eloquence of words Translates the poetry of hearts like ours ! And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens We'd guess what star should be our home when love Becomes immortal ; while the perfumed light Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, And every air was heavy with the sighs Of orange groves and music from sweet lutes, And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth In the midst of roses ! — Dost thou like the picture ? Tranquillity. (Medium and Lower Register ; Effusive and Expulsive utterance. ) Thanatopsis. — William Cullen Bryant. To him who in the Love of Nature holds 2 34 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart- Go forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from all around — Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice : Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course, nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix for ever with the elements — To be a brother to the insensible rock, And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good — Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun — the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between, The venerable woods — rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green, and poured rouna all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still la-pse of ages. All that tread THE LAWRENCE RECITER. £5 The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning ; pierce the Barcan wilderness, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there ; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, the sons of men, The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years — matron and maid, And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man — Shall one by one be gathered to thy side By those who in their turn shall follow them. Solive, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon ; but sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. GESTURE. When not gesticulating, the body should* be held in an erect, easy position, weight mainly on the retired foot ; arms hanging down at rest, head vertical, and eyes directed horizontal. POSITION OF THE FEET. First Position, Right Foot In this position the weight of the body should rest mainly on the left foot, right slightly in advance, and resting lightly, but in its whole length upon the floor ; the space of the width of your 36 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. own foot should separate the feet, the heels should be on a line, and the feet at an angle of about seventy-five degrees. Second Position, Right Foot Slide the right foot forward a distance of about its length ; transfer the weight of the body to the right foot ; raise the left heel from the ground, turning it slightly inward, allowing only the ball of the left great toe to rest upon the ground to prevent the body from tottering. First and Second Positions of the Left Foot. The positions are similar in every respect to those of the right, except that the left foot is in advance and performs the princi- pal movement. Third or Retired Position of the Right Foot The right foot being retired, bend that knee, throw the whole weight of the body upon that foot, retiring the body as much as possible ; at the same time brace the left knee which is advanced. Third or Refilled Position of the Left Foot This position is analogous to the retired position of the right. ^ These six positions of the feet constitute all that are necessary either on the stage or platform. POSITION OF THE ARMS. There are twelve primary movements of the arms, and from a combination of these all the gestures of the arms are made. They are as follows : Downwards forwards. " oblique. • u extended, 11 backwards. Horizontal forwards, oblique. " extended, backwards. Elevated forwards. " oblique. 44 extended, backwards. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 37 The downward movements must be made within forty-five degrees of the nadir, or point directly beneath the feet. The horizontal forty-five degrees above the downward, or on a line with the horizon. The elevated forty-five degrees above the horizontal. The movements of the arms must not be angular, but should possess those graceful curves which the artist Hogarth so aptly styles "the curves of beauty." Care must also be taken in keeping perfect time with voice and gesture, the stroke of both coming on the same syllable. POSTURES AND MOTIONS OF THE HAND. # The postures of the hand are determined by four different circumstances : L By the disposition of the fingers. 2. By the manner of presenting the palm. 3. By the combined disposition of both hands. 4. By the part of the body on which they are occasionally placed. First Class of the Postures of the Hands, depending on the dis- position of the Fingers. The Natural State. The hand, when unconstrained, in ita natural and relaxed state, either hanging down at rest, or raised moderately up, has all the fingers a little bent inwards towards the palm ; the middle and third finger lightly touch ; the fore- finger is separated from the middle finger, and less bent, and the little finger separated from the third, and more bent. The ex- tremity of the thumb bends a little outwards ; and in its general length and disposition, is* nearly parallel with the fore-finger. When the arm is raised horizontal, the hand is held obliquely between the postures inward and supine. Cresollius recommends the public speaker to adopt this posture of the baud, and for this preference Jie adduces the authority of Hipprocates and Galen. But it is not necessary that a speaker should confine himself to any one posture of the hand ; variety may often de- mand the contrary ; if, however, he should prefer using only one. this posture merits the preference. Clinched. The fingers in this disposition, are firmly closed, and press their extremities upon the palm ; the thumb aids the pressure, and is lapped, particularly, over the middle finger. Extended. ^ The fingers, in this state, whatever may be the general position of the hand, are separated from each other with energy in proportion to the excitation of the speaker. Index. Pointing with the fore-finger, the. other fingers turned nwards, and contracted with more or less force, according to the 38 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. energy of the speaker. This gesture is used in reproach and in- dication, from the last of which it has its name, index. Holding. The finger and thumb are pressed together, either the fore or middle finger, or both ; the other fingers are con- tracted, more or less, according to the degree of energy required by the sentiment. Hollow. When the palm is held nearly supine, and the fin- gers turn inwards, without touching. Grasping. The fingers and thumb seizing the garments, or the hair. Second Class of the Postures of the Hands, depending on the manner of presenting the Palm. Prone. The hand is prone when the palm is turned down- wards. Supine. The hand is said to be supine, when the palm is turned upwards. Inwards. When the palm is turned towards the breast and the hand is held on the edge. Outwards. When the palm is turned from the body, and towards the object, the thumb downwards, the hand held on the edge. Vertical. When the palm is perpendicular to the horizon, the fingers pointing upwards. Forwards. When the palm is presented forwards, the arm hanging down, or placed in one of the extended, or backward positions. Backwards. When the palm is turned backwards, the arm hanging down, or placed in one of the extended, or backward positions. Third Class of the Postures of the Hands, arising from the combined disposition of Both Hands. Of this class a few only are noticed, and those are liny which are most in use among public speakers ; others may be supplied as occasion may require. Applied, When the palms are pressed together, and the fin- gers and thumbs of each are mutually laid against each other. Clasped, When all the fingers are inserted between each other, and the hands pressed closely together. Folded. When the fingers of the right hand, at the second joint, are laid between the thumb and fore-finger of the left, the right thumb crossing the left. Crossed, When the left hand is placed on the breast, and the right on the left, or the contrary. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 39 Inclosed. When the kauckles at the middle joint of one hand, moderately bent, are received within the palm of the other, the fingers of which stretch along the back of the inclosed hand nearly to the wrist, the thumbs crossing, or rather, laid at length over each other. Touching. When the points of the fingers of each hand are brought lightly into contact. Wringing. When both hands are first clasped together, and elevated, then depressed, and separated at the wrists, without disengaging the fingers. Enumerating. When the index finger of the right hand is laid successively upon the index, or the different fingers of the left. If the number of divisions be more than four, the enu- meration should begin from the thumb. Sometimes the finger and thumb of the right hand hold the finger of the left, which represents the division. Fourth Class of the Postures of the Hands, arising from the Part of the Body on tvhich they are occasionally placed. The fourth class of the postures of the hands arises from the part of the body on which they are occasionally placed. The parts of the body and head most remarkable in this respect are the breast, the eyes, the lips, the forehead, the chin. The Motions of the Arms and Hands, In ascertaining the import of any posture of either arm, or hand, it is important to consider the posture in connection with the action by which it is produced ; for any posture of the arm, or hand, may sustain different significant characters, because different actions give the same posture an entirely different im- port. This must be obvious to all who reflect that the effect of the posture greatly depends upon the exact character of the motion, which is produced partly by the direction which the motion takes, partly by the force with which it is commenced, and partly by the distance through which it passes. The motions of the hands and arms together are, therefore, considered ; first, as to their direction ; and secondly, as to their manner of moving. The energy is not here taken into account. As to the manner of motion, gesture may be considered, as Noting. When the hand is first drawn back and raised, and then advanced, and, with a gentle stroke, depressed. Projecting, or pushing. When the arm is first retracted, and then thrust forward in the direction in which the hand points. Waving. When the fingers are first pointed downwards, and 40 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. then, by a smart motion of the elbow and wrist, the hand is flung upward in a vertical direction. The flourish. A circular movement above the head. The sweep, A curved movement, descending from the op- posite shoulder, and rising with velocity to the utmost extent of the nini. or the reverse ; changing the position of the hand from feupine to vertical, in the first case, and from vertical to supine, in the latter. The sweep is sometimes doubled, by returning the arm through the same arch. Beckoning. When with the fore-finger, or the whole hand, the palm being turned inwards, a motion is made in the direction of the breast. Repressing, The reverse of the preceding gesture, when the forefinger, or the whole hand, the palm turned outwards, makes a motion in opposition to the person addressed. The motions, in these last two gestures, are often repeated. Striking. When the whole fore-arm. and the hand along with it, descend from a higher elevation rapidly, and with a degree of force like a stroke which is arrested, when it has struck what it was aimed against. Recoiling. When after a stroke, as in the former gesture, the arm and hand return to the position whence they proceeded. Advancing, When the hand being first moved downwards and backwards, in order to obtain greater space for action, is then moved regularly forwards, and raised as high as the horizontal position, a step being, at the same time, made in advance, to aid the action. Springing. When the hand, having nearly arrived at the in- tended limit of gesture, flies suddenly up to it by a quick motion of the wrist, like the blade of a pocket-knife, when it suddenly and decidedly snaps into its proper situation by the recoil of the spring. Throwing, When the arm, by the force of the gesture, is thrown, as it were, in the direction of the person addressed. Clinching, When the hand is^ suddenly clinched, and the arm raised in a posture of threatening. Collecting. When the arm, from an extended posture, sweeps inwards. Shaking. When a tremulous motion is made by the arm and hand. Retracting, When the arm is withdrawn, preparatory to projecting, or pushing. Rejecting. Is the action of pushing the hand vertically, to- wards the object, and, at the same time, averting the head. Bending. Is the gesture preparatory to striking. The gestures here given will suffice as a specimen of some o^ the most uselul in this class. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 41 THE HEAD, THE EYES, THE SHOULDERS, AND THE BODY. As the head gives the chief grace to the person, so does it principal!} 7 contribute to the expression of grace in delivery. The head should be held in an erect and natural posture ; for, when hung down, it expresses humility, or diffidence ; when thrown back, arrogance ; and when inclined to one side, languor or indifference. The movements of the head should be suited to the character of the delivery. They should accord with the gesture, and fall in with the action of the hands, and the mo- tions of the body. The head is capable of many appropriate expressions. "Be- sides those nods which signify assent, or approbation and rejec- tion, there are motions of the head, known, and common to all, which express modesty, doubt, admiration and indignation. But to use gesture of the head alone, unaccompanied by any other gesture, is considered faulty. It is also a fault to shake or nod the head frequently, to toss it violently, or to agitate the hair, by rolling it about. The most usual motions and postures of the head are as follows : Postures and Motions of the Head. Inclined. Erect. Assenting. Denying. Shaking. Tossing. Aside. Direction of the Eyes. Forwards. Averted. Downwards. Upwards. Around. Vacancy. The motions of the trunk contribute much to the effect in delivery. The gestures of the arms and hands, therefore, should always be supported by the accompaniment, of the body. Not by affected and ridiculous contortions, but by the manly and free exertions of the muscles of the body, the general consent of which is indispensable to the production of graceful motion. SIGNIFICANT GESTURES. The most important of the significant gestures are the fol- lowing : The Head and Face. The hanging down of the head denotes shame, or grief. The holding of it up, pride or courage. 42 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. To nod forwards implies assent. To toss the head back, dissent. The inclination of the head implies diffidence or languor. The head is averted, in dislike or horror. It leans forward, in attention. The Eyes. The eyes are raised, in prayer. They weep, in sorrow. They burn, in anger. They are downcast or averted, in shame or grief. They are cast on vacancy, in thought. They are cast in various directions, in doubt and anxiety. Tlte Arms. The placing of the hand on the head, indicates pain or distress. On the eyes, shame or sorrow. On the lips, an injunction of silence. On the breast, an appeal to conscience. The hand is waved, or flourished, in joy or contempt. Both hands are held supine, or they are applied or clasped, in prayer. Both are held prone, in blessing. They are clasped, or wrung, in affliction. They are held forward, and received, in friendship. The Body. The body, held erect, indicates steadiness and courage. Thrown back, pride. Stooping forward, condescension or compassion. Bending, reverence or respect. Prostration, the utmost humility or abasement The Lower Limbs. The firm position of the lower limbs signifies courage, or obstinacy. Bended knees indicate timidity ; or weakness. The lower limbs advance, in desire or courage. They retire, in aversion or fear. Start, in terror. Stamp, in authority or anger. Kneel, in submission and prayer. These are a few of the simple gestures which may be termed significant. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 43 COMPLEX SIGNIFICANT GESTURES. Complex Significant Gestures are employed chiefly in dra- matic representation. They are combinations of simple signifi- cant gestures, variously associated according to the mingled passions which they represent. The boldest and most magnifi- cent of them are termed attitudes. The following are examples of complex significant gestures : Reproach puts on a stern aspect ; the brow is contracted, the lip is turned up with scorn, and the whole body is expressive of aversion. Apprehension is the prospect of future evil accompanied with uneasiness of mind. Terror excites the person who suffers under it, to avoid the dreaded object, or to escape from it. If it be some dangerous reptile on the ground, and very near, the expression is repre- sented by starting back and looking downwards. If the danger threaten from a distance, the terror arising is expressed by look- ing forwards, and not starting back, but merely in the retired position. But if the dread of impending death from the hand of an enemy awaken his passion, the coward flies. Horror, which is aversion or astonishment mingled with terror, is seldom capable of retreating, but remains in one attitude, with the eyes riveted on the object, the arms, with the hands vertical, held forward to guard the person, and the whole frame trembling. Listening, in order to obtain the surest and most various in- formation, first casts the eye quickly in the apparent direction of the sounds ; if nothing is seen the ear is turned towards the point of expectation, the eye is bent on vacancy, and the arm is extended, with the hand vertical ; but all this passes in a mo- ment. If the sounds proceed from different points at the same time, both hands are held up, and the face and eyes alternately change from one side to the other with a rapidity governed by the nature of the sound ; if it be alarming, with trepidation ; if pleasing, with gentle motion. Admiration, if of surrounding natural objects, of a pleasing kind, holds both hands vertical, and across, and then moves them outwards. In admiration arising from some extraordinary or unexpected circumstances, the hands are thrown up supine elevated, together with the face and the eyes, Veneration crosses both hands on the breast, casts down the eyes slowly, and bows the head. Deprecation advances in the extended position of the feet, approaching to kneeling, clasps the hands forcibly together, throws back the head, sinking it between the shoulders, and looks earnestly up to the person implored. lu appealing to heaven, the right hand is laid on the breast, 44 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. then the left is projected supine upwards; the eyes are first directed forwards, and then upwards. In the appeal to conscience, the right hand is laid on the breast, the left drops unmoved, the eyes are fixed upon the person addressed ; sometimes both hands press the breast. Shame in the extreme sinks on the knee, and covers the eyes with both hands. This is a feminine expression of it. Mild resignation falls on the knee, crosses the arms on the breast, and looks forwards and upwards towards heaven. Resignation mixed with desperation, stands erect and unmoved, the head thrown back, the eyes turned upward, and fixed, the arms crossed. Grief arising from sudden and afflicting intelligence, covers the eyes with one hand, advances forwards, and throws back the other hand. Attention demanding silence, holds the finger on the lips, and leans forwards, sometimes repressing with the left hand. Distress, when extreme, lays the palm of the hand upon the •forehead, throws back the head and body, and retires with a long and sudden step. Deliberation on ordinary subjects, holds the chin and sets the arm a-kimbo. Self sufficiency folds the arms, and sets himself on his centre. This was a favorite posture of Bonaparte. Pride throws back the body, and holds the head high. These few complex significant gestures are some of the most obvious, and principally such as occurred in the illustration of other parts of this system ; they serve, however, in some degree, to explain the nature of these gestures. Surprise causes the body and lower limbs to retire, and af- fection stimulates the person to advance. When the thoughts flow without difficulty or opposition, the movement of the limbs is free and direct. But when difficul- ties occur, or obstacles are discovered, a man either arrests his action entirely, or changes it to something altogether different. The direction of his eyes, and the action of his head, are also, under similar circumstances, quite altered. The eyes, instead of moving freely from object to object, become fixed, and the head is thrown back, if before hanging down on the breast. Melancholy is a feeble and passive affection ; it is attended by a total relaxation of the muscles, with a mute and tranquil resignation, unaccompanied by opposition either to the cause or the sensibility of the evil. The character, externally, is languor, without motion, the head hanging at the "side next the heart," theeyes turned upon its object, or, if that is absent, fixed upon the ground, the hands hanging down by their own weight, without effort, and joined loosely together. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 45 Anxiety is of a different character ; it is restless and active, and manifest by the extension of the muscles ; the eye is filled with fire, the breathing is quick, the motion is hurried, the head is thrown back, the whole body is extended. The sufferer is like a sick man who tosses incessantly, and finds himself uneasy in every situation. The significant gestures, however numerous and correct, which a great actor makes in the representation of an entire dramatic character, bear no proportion to the number of those gestures which do not belong to this class, which are no less necessary, though they are not so splendid and imposing. The painter is struck by the boldest and finest of the significant gestures, which are called attitudes ; and he records them ; they are the proper objects of his art ; they are striking, and less evanescent than the other gestures which pass unnoticed by him, although the} 7 make up by far the greater and more impor- tant part of the gestures requisite for illustrating the sentiments. These less prominent gestures give to the declamation its precision and force. A slight movement of the head, a look of the eye, a turn of the hand, a judicious pause, or interruption of gesture, or a change of position in the feet, often illuminates the meaning of a passage, and sends it, full of life and warmth, into the under- standing. And the perfection of gesture, in a tragedian, will be found to consist more in the skilful management of the less 6howy action, than in the exhibition of the finest attitudes. Attitudes are dangerous to hazard ; the whole powers of the man must be wrought up to their highest energy, or they be- come forced and frigid. Excellent players have been seen, who have never ventured an attitude ; but none, deserving the name of excellence, have ever appeared, whose declamation has been deficient in precision or propriety. Where all the solid founda- tion of just and appropriate action has been laid, attitude, when regulated with taste and discretion, may be added to ornament the superstructure; but, when it is introduced unseasonably, or is overcharged, it is an evidence of deficiency of understanding, as well as of depravity of taste. DRAMATIC ACTION. Humanity is expressly designed for action, both mental and physical, and is so constructed that to develop and continue the natural powers a certain amount of exercise is absolutely neces- sary. Every muscle in the body should be thoroughly trained and brought; into subjugation to the will, so as to enable the speaker to perform any and every motion with as uiurh ease as he produces the different tones of the voice. Gesticulation is visible speech, and by proper manipulation 46 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. may be made just as effective as voice itself. This being the case, imagine the power of an orator "who thoroughly masters both branches^ of Elocution ! He would be enabled to sway an audience at will, compelling them to respond to his every ex- pression. It is a well-known fact that impressions received through the eye are far more lasting than those made through the medium of any of the other senses, so consequently the speaker who can by appropriate gesticulation make his oration plain through the sight, will stamp his discourse upon the minds of his hearers and leave an impression not easily erased. I have read in the works of some, who are considered masters of their art, where Students are advised to pay no attention whatever to the study of gesture. How then can these same teachers counsel vocal training? It seems to me one is just as important to the orator or actor as the other. What do they advise the Speaker to do? Rely upon the inspiration of the mo- ment. How ridiculous this must sound to one who has had prac- tical experience as a public speaker. On the platform or stage I assert that nothing should be left to chance. Suppose you should rely upon inspiration, and it should fail to make its ap- pearance. What would be the result? The utter failure of your oration. Imagine yourself before a cold, unsym pathetic audience. Where is the inspiration to come from ? You must call upon that other self, Art ; dive down into the recesses of your soul and make your audience respond to the passions you express. To do this you must feel what you utter, and give utterance to that feeling. It is not sufficient that you should feel what you are saying, but you must give outward expression to it. Here is where the art of Acting and Gesticulation comes into play. With proper gestures you can make all you say just as plain to the sight, as by the tones of the voice, you can the sounds to the ear. Therefore, I say, assiduously study the physical branch of Elocution. The stroke of the gesture, and that of the voice, should be simultaneous, otherwise its effect is marred and the force of the movement is lost. Some teachers claim that gesture should precede speech, but in this I think they are wrong. The action may commence long before you utter the word, requiring the stroke of the gesture, but when the word is spoken, the stroke of the gesture must be delivered at the exact moment that the stroke of the voice is heard. The arm and hand are the most important parts of the body in reference to oratory ; in fact, they may be considered as jointly constituting the grand oratorical weapon. I bold that both hands should be equally used in the formation of gesture. When the person addressed is on the right of the speaker, use the right hand, and when on the left, the one on that side of THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 47 the body, at the same time advancing the corresponding foot. I am aware that this advice is in direct conflict with that of the ancient orators, but then, we must bear in mind, that it was outside influences, bearing only on that age. that caused the old masters to say that the left hand should never perform gesture alone, and should be sparingly used even in conjunction with the other hand. Their form of dress precluded the use of the left arm, as it was generally engaged holding up the toga. consequently the principal part of gesticulation devolved upon the right Therefore, with the passing away of the ancient garment, I think the custom of employing the right arm alone, should also be a thing of the past. When the mason commences work^ on a building, he starts with the foundation, and after completing that sets about rearing the structure firmly upon it. Following out this plan I will com- mence with the positions of the feet. In the section of this work devoted to Gesture, the Student will find that I give only six positions of the feet, and I think, by the time he has finished perusing the book, he will agree with me in saying they are all that is necessary. Whenever the speaker extends the arms forward, whether downward, horizontal or elevated, he must take the second position of the foot. If the movement expresses joy, supplication, veneration, etc, he must take either the second position right, or second position left foot, according to whichever hand is performing the principal gesture ; but, if the movement is brought about by fear, horror, surprise, etc., he must take the second position retired, as by this action, the body is drawn away from the object which presents the motive for the movement. The examples among the exercises will, I trust, make this perfectly clear. Now ; as to the divisions of gesture. I divide them into three parts similar to the voice: downward, horizontal and elevated, corresponding with the three registers, and used to express the same feelings. These are the vertical gestures, and those that cross them have been termed transverse movements. Of the latter there are four, making twelve primary movements of the arms in all. This portion of my system is founded on that of the l\ev. Gilbert Austin, who devoted great study to gesticula- tion as a science, but I have seen fit to differ from him consider- ably, and only adopted some of his views, applying them in my own way. In their regular order among the exercises I shall consider the movements and positions of the body and head, expressions of the eyes, lips, face, etc. The different exercises that I have inserted in this work, both for the cultivation of voice and gesture, are those which I have found of most benefit to Students during my experience oi^ fifteen years as a teacher of elocution and dramatic action, and 48 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. the assertions in reference to positions and movements on the stage or platform have been practically tested by me before audiences in all parts of the country, and found to work admir- ably. Attached to this system of Elocution is a selection of Prose and Poetical pieces, made by the late Prof. Philip Lawrence, who was for over forty years acknowledged to be one of the finest elocutionists and teachers of his time. Many of the prominent Speakers of the present day were his students, and owe much to his simple yet thorough method of imparting elocutionary knowledge. A number of his poems will be found among the selections. Before parting with my reader, I would impress on him the necessity of thoroughly understanding his subject, then identi- fying himself with it, and, if this is done, he will succeed, for then we can safely say, in the language of Richelieu, 41 There's no such word as fail." Edwin Gordon Lawrence. THE IAWEEHCE RECITES. THE WIDOWS CLOAK. (BY SAMUEL FERGUSON.) I. There's a widow lady worthy of a word of kindly tone From all who love good Neighborhood, and true alle- giance own To motherly Humanity in love and sorrow tried, Who lives, some season of the year, Adown Dee-side. n. To her sister in the cottage, to the Highland hut, comes she; She takes the old wife by the hand, she shares her cup of tea; She loves the lowly people : years of life have taught her well, In God's great household, they, the bulk Of inmates, dwell. in. She loves the Highland nature; and the Dalriad deeps beyond, To every pressure of her palm the Irish hearts respond. What though we seldom see her St. Patrick's hall within, The Gael her presence yearly cheers Are kith and kin. 4 (49) 50 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. IV. The Castle of Balmoral stands proudly on its bill ; This simple widow lady has a finer castle still — Where hill-big keep and chapel soar up the southern sky, Above the woods of Windsor, And Thames swells by. v. The iron castles on the shore that sentry Portsea beach — The iron castles on the sea, their guns a shipload each, That ride in Spithead anchorage — the ordnance, great and small, Of Woolwich and of London Tower— She owns them all. VI. Ten thousand are her men-at-call, that ride in golden spurs ; The citied margins of the seas, half round the world, are hers ; And mightiest monarchs, fain to sit at her right hand, are seen ; For she's the Queen of the Three-joined-Realm. God save the Queen ! VII. And sons she has, good plenty, and daughters, if need were Of issue of the lawful line, to sit St. Edward's chair: For God has filled the quiver; and, with countenance elate, He, next in lawful right, may speak His foe in gate. VIII. And Denmark's gracious daughter, who leads the bright array — Our. darling, ever welcome as flowers that come in May — God, shield the precious creature beneath Thy angels' wings, And send her lovely nature Down lines of kings ! THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 51 IX. Fine men the princely brothers 5 and time is coming when, By sea and land, they all may show that they are manly men ; Alert, at clear-eyed Honor's call, to give their duty-day Afield — on deck — in battery — Come what come may. x. Now mark yon, Kings' and Emperors who rule this peo- pled ball That nourishes us. man and beast, and graveward bears us all, The blood of horses and of men, and lives of men, will lie Main heavy on their souls that break Her amity. XI. Victoria's sheltering mantle is over India spread ; Who dare to touch the garment's hem, look out for men in red : Look out for gun and tumbril a-crash through mound and hedge, For shot and shell and Sheffield shear- Steel, point and edge ! XII. The fires are banked 5 in road and port the seaman-heart swells large ; The horses from the Irish fields are champing for the charge $ Stand back ! keep off ! the changing cheek of Peace has lost its smile, And grave her eyes, and grave her prayer, To heaven the while : XIII. "Maker, Preserver of Mankind, and Savior that Thou art, Assuage the rage of wrathful men ; abate their haughty heart ; Or, if not so Thy holy will, suppress the idle sigh, And God Sabaoth be the name We know Thee by!" 52 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. THE CURTAIN FALLS. (from tinsley's magazine.) Clowns are capering in motley, drums are beaten, trum- pets blown, Laughing crowds block up the gangway — husky is the showman's tone. Rapidly the booth is filling, and the rustics wait to hear A cadaverous strolling player, who will presently appear. Once his voice, in tones of thunder, shook the crazy caravan : Now he entered, pale and gasping, and no sentence glibly ran : Sad and vacant were his glances, and his memory seemed to fail, While with feeble effort striving to recall Othello's tale. O'er his wasted form the spangles glittered in the lamp's dull ray ; Ebon, tresses, long and curling, covered scanty locks of gray ; Rouge and powder hid the traces of the stern relentless years, As gay flowers hide a ruin, tottering ere it disappears. Not with age, serenely ebbing to the everlasting sea, Calmly dreaming of past pleasures, or of mysteries to be, Nay, the melancholy stroller kept his onward pilgrimage, Until Death, the pallid prompter, called him from Life's dusky stage. Lofty hopes and aspirations all had faded with his youth, And for daily bread he acted now in yonder canvas booth ; Yet there flashed a fire heroic from his visage worn and grave, Deeper, fuller, came his accents — Man was master, Time the slave. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 53 And again with force and feeling he portrayed the loving Moor; Told the story to the Senate — told the pangs which they endure Who are torn with jealous passion, while delightedly the crowd Watched the stroller's changing aspect, and applauded him aloud. Was it butf a trick of acting, to depict a frenzied mood, That there came a sudden silence, and Othello voiceless stood ? Ah, 'twas all Othello's story Nature left the power to tell — 'Twas his own sad drama ending as the dark-green curtain fell. While they shouted for the stroller, and the hero's fate would see, He had made his final exit — joined a higher company. With no loving kiss at parting, with no friend to press his hand, The invisible scene-shifter had unveiled the Spirit-land. Huskier still became the showman as he forward came and bowed, Vaguety muttering excuses to appease the gaping crowd; Then he knelt beside the stroller, but his words were lost on air — Never more uprose the curtain on the figure lying there; One brief hour their cares forgetting, his old comrades of the show Stood around his grave in silence, and some honest tears did flow. Then the booth again was opened, crammed with many a rustic boor, And another strolling player told the story of the Moor. 54 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. THE CHURCH OF THE WORLD. BY &ICHABD MONCKTON MILNJES, (LORD HOUGHTON.^ I stood one Sunday morning Before a large church-door ; The congregation gathered, And carriages a score. From one outstepped a lady I oft had seen before. Her hand was on a prayer-book, And held a vinaigrette : The sign of man's redemption Clear on the book was set, Above the cross there glistened A golden coronet. For her the obsequious beadle The inner door flung wide, Lightly, as up a ball-room, Her footsteps seemed to glide ; There might be good thoughts in her, For all her evil pride. But after her a woman Peeped wistfully within, On whose wan face was graven Life's hardest discipline, The trace of the sad trinity Of weakness, pain, and sin. The few free seats were crowded Where she could rest and pray. With her worn garb contrasted Each side in fair array. Gods house holds no poor sinners, She sighed, and walked away. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 55 Old Heathendom's vast temples Hold men of every state ; The steps of fair Benares Commingle small and great ; The dome of St. Sophia Confounds all human state ; The aisles of blessed Peter Are open all the year. Throughout wide Christian Europe The Christian's right is clear To use God's house in freedom, Each man the other's peer, Save only in that England Where this disgrace I saw — England, where no one crouches In Tyranny's base awe — England, where all are equal Beneath the eye of law. Yet there, too, each cathedral Contrasts its ample room; No weary beggar resting Within the holy gloom ; No earnest student musing Beside the famous tomb. Who shall remove this evil That desecrates our age — A scandal great as ever Iconoclastic rage ? Who to this Christian people Restore their heritage ? "DID YOU SPEAK ?» I SAW the prettiest picture Through the garden -fence to-day, Where the lilies look like angels Just let out to play, And the roses laugh to see them, All the sweet June day. 66 THE LAWRENCE RECITER, Through a hole behind the woodbine, Just large enough to see (By begging the lilies' pardon), Without his seeing me — My neighbor's boy, and Pharaoh The finest dog you'll see, If you search from Maine to Georgia For a dog of kingly air, And the tolerant high-bred patience, The great St. Bernard's wear, And the sense of lofty courtesy In breathing common air. I called the child's name — " Franko ! w Hands up to shield my eyes From the jealous roses — " Franko ! " A burst of bright surprise, Transfixed the little fellow With wide bewildered eyes. " Franko ! " Ah, the mystery ! Up and down, around, Looks Franko, searching gravely Sky and trees and ground, Wise wrinkles on the eyebrows ! Studying the sound. " Franko ! " Puzzled Franko ! The lilies will not tell, The roses shake with laughter But keep the secret well ; The woodbine nods importantly, " Who spoke ? » cries Franko. " Tell ! " Grave wrinkles on his eyebrows, Hand upon his knee, Head bared for close reflection, Lighted curls blown free — The child's soul to the brute's soul Goes out earnestly. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 57 From the child's eyes to the brute's eyes And earnestly and slow, The child's young voice falls on my ear: ''Did you speak, Pharaoh?" The bright thought growing on him — " Did you speak, Pharaoh ? n THE PEIDE OF BATTERY B. (f. h. gassaway.) South mountain towered upon our right, far off the river lay, And over on the wooded height we held their lines at bay. At last the muttering guns were still ; the day died slow and wan ; At last the gunners' pipes did fill, the sergeant's yarns began. When, as the wind a moment blew aside the fragrant flood Our brierwoods raised, within our view a little maiden stood. A tiny tot of six or seven, from fireside fresh she seemed (Of such a little one in heaven one soldier often dreamed). And as we stared her little hand went to her curly head In grave salute: " And who are you?" at length the sergeant said. " And where's your home ? " he growled again. She lisped out, u Who is me ? Why, don't you know? I'm little Jane, the Pride of Battery B. My home ? Why, that was burned away, and pa and ma are dead, And so I ride the guns all day along with Sergeant Ned. And I've a drum that's not a toy, a cap with feathers too, And I march beside the drummer boy on Sundays at review. But now our 'bacca's all give out, the men can't have their smoke, And so they're cross — why, even Ned won't play with me and joke ; 58 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. And the big colonel said to-day — I hate to hear him swear — He'd give a leg for a good pipe like the Yank had over there. And so I thought when beat the drum and the big guns were still, I'd creep beneath the tent and come out here across the hill And beg, good Mister Yankee men, you'd give me some Lone Jack ; Please do — when we get some again I'll surely bring it back. Indeed I will, for Ned, says he, if I do what I say, I'll be a general yet, maybe, and ride a prancing bay." We brimmed her tiny apron o'er ; you should have heard her laugh As each man from his scanty store shook out a generous half. To kiss the little mouth stooped down a score of grimy men, Until the sergeant's husky voice said, " 'Tention, squad ! " and then We gave her escort, till good-night the pretty waif we bid, And watched her toddle out of sight — or else 'twas tears that hid Her tiny form — nor turned about a man, nor spoke a word, Till after awhile a far, hoarse shout upon the wind w r e heard ! We sent it back, and cast sad eyes upon the scene around ; A baby's hand had touched the ties that brothers once had bound. That's all — save when the dawn awoke again the work of hell, And through the sullen clouds of smoke the screaming missiles fell, Our general often rubbed his glass, and marveled much to see Not a single shell that whole day fell in the camp of Battery B." THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 59 THE MANGO TREE. (BY CHARLES KINGSLEY.) He wiled me through the f urzy croft ; He wiled ine down the sandy lane ; He told his boy's love, soft and oft, Until I told him mine again. We married, and we sailed the main ; The soldier and the soldier's wife. We marched through many a burning plain; We sighed for many a gallant life. But his — God kept it safe from harm. He toiled and dared and earned command, And those three stripes upon his arm Were more to me than gold or land. Sure he would win some great renown; Our lives were strong, our hearts were high. One night the fever struck him down. I sat and stared and saw him die. I had his children — one, two, three. One week I had them, blithe and sound; The next — beneath this mango tree, By him in barrack burying-ground. I sit beneath the mango shade ; I live my five years' life all o'er: Round } T onder stems his children played; He mounted guard at yonder door. 'Tis I, not they, am gone and dead. They live, they know, they feel, they see; Their spirits light the golden shade Beneath the giant mango tree. All things, save I, are full of life; The minas, pluming velvet breasts; The monkeys, in their foolish strife; The swooping hawks, the swinging nests. 60 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. The lizards, basking on the soil, The butterflies who sun their wings, The bees about their household toil — They live, they love, the blissful things. Each tender purple mango-shoot, That folds and droops so bashful down- It lives; it sucks some hidden root; It rears at last a broad green crown. It blossoms, and the children cry: " Watch when the mango apples fall." It lives; but rootless, fruitless, I — I breathe and dream — and that is all. Thus am I dead, yet cannot die ; Hut still within my foolish brain There hangs a pale blue evening sky, A furzy croft, a sandy lane. THE FATE OP VIRGINIA. (t. b. macaulay.) In order to render the commencement less abrupt, six lines of Introduction have been added to this extract from the tine ballad by Macaulay. "Why is the Forum crowded? What means this stir in Rome?" "Claimed as a slave, a free-born maid is dragged here from her home. On Fair Virginia, Claudius has cast his eye of blight; The tyrant's creature, Marcus, asserts an owners right, 0, shame on Roman manhood ! Was ever plot more clear ! But look! the maiden's father comes! Behold Virginius here!" Straightway Virginius led the maid a little space aside, To where the reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 61 Hard by, a batcher on a block had laid his whittle down, — Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown. And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to swell, And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, "Farewell, sweet child, farewell ! The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls, — The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble halls, Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom, And for the music of thy voice, the silence of the tomb. "The time is come. The tyrant points his eager hand this way; See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey; With all his wit he little deems that, spurned, betrayed, bereft, Thy father hath, in his despair, one fearful refuge left; He little deems that, in this hand, I clutch what still can save Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave; Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and blow, — Foul outrage, which thou knowest not, — which thou shalt never know. Then clasp me round the neck more once, and give me one more kiss ; And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this!" With that, he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side, And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died. Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath ; And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of death ; 62 THE LAWREKCE RECITER. And in another moment brake forth from one and all A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall ; Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Virginius tottered nigh, And stood before the judgment seat, and held the knife on high: " 0, dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain, By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us twain ; And e'en as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and mine, Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line!" So spake the slayer of his child ; then, where the body lay, Pausing, he cast one haggard glance, and turned and went his way. Then up sprang Appius Claudius : " Stop him, alive or dead ! Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings his head ! » He looked upon his clients, — but none would work his will ; He looked upon his lictors,— but they trembled and stood still. And as Virginius through the press his way in silence cleft, Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left ; And he hath passed in safety unto his woful home, And there ta'en horse to tell the camp what deeds are done in Rome. INDEPENDENCE BELL— JULY 4, 1776. There was tumult in the city, In the quaint old Quaker town, And the streets were rife with people Pacing restless up and down — People gathering at the corners, Where they whispered each to each, And the sweat stood on their temples With the earnestness of speech. As the bleak Atlantic currents Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, So they beat against the State House, So they surged against the door; THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 63 And the mingling of their voices Made a harmony profound, Till the quiet street of Chestnut Was all turbulent with sound. So they surged against the State House, While all solemnly inside Sat the " Continental Congress," Truth and reason for their guide. O'er a simple scroll debating, Which, though simple it might be, Yet should shake the cliffs of England With the thunders of the free. Far aloft in that high steeple Sat the bellman, old and gray ; He was weary of the tyrant And his iron-sceptered sway. So he sat, with one hand ready On the clapper of the bell, When his eye could catch the signal, The long-expected news, to tell. See ! See ! The dense crowd quivers Through all its lengthy line, As the boy beside the portal Hastens forth to give the sign ! With his little hands uplifted, Breezes dallying with his hair, Hark ! with deep, clear intonation, Breaks his young voice on the air : Hushed the people's swelling murmur, Whilst the boy cries joyously; "Ring!" he shouts, "King! grandpapa, Ring ! oh, ring for Liberty ! " Quickly, at the given signal The old bellman lifts his hand, Forth he sends the good news, making Iron music through the land. 64 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. How they shouted ! What rejoicing ! How the old bell shook the air, Till the clang of freedom ruffled The calmly gliding Delaware ! How the bonfires and the torches Lighted up the night's repose, And from the flames, like fabled Phoenix, Our glorious liberty arose ! That old State House bell is silent, Hushed is now its clamorous tongue ; But the spirit it awaken'd Still is living — ever young ; And when we greet the smiling sunlight On the fourth of each July, We will ne'er forget the bellman Who, betwixt the earth and sky, Rung out, loudly, " Independence ; " Which, please God, shall never die ! WE MEET UPON THE LEVEL AND WE PART UPON THE SQUARE. We meet upon the level, and we part upon the square — What words of precious meaning those words Masonic are! Come, let lis contemplate them — they are worthy of a thought — In the very soul of Masonry those precious words are wrought. We meet upon the level, though from every station come — The rich man from his mansion, and the poor man from his home; For th« one must leave his heritage outside the Mason's door, While the other finds his best respect upon the checkered floor. We part upon the square, for the world must have its due ; We mingle with the multitude — a faithful band, and true, But the influence of our gatherings in memory is green ; And we long, upon the level, to renew the happy scene. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. G5 There's a world where all are equal — we are journeying toward it fast, We shall meet upon the level there when the gates of Death are past, We shall stand before the Orient, and our Master will be there To try the blocks we offer with his own unerring square. We shall meet upon the level there, but never thence depart ; There's a Mansion — 'tis all ready for each faithful, trusting heart — There's a Mansion and a welcome, and a mulitude is there Who have met upon the level, and been tried upon the square. Let us meet upon the level, then, while laboring patient here — Let us meet and let us labor, though the labor be severe ; Already, in the Western sky, the signs bid us prepare To gather up our working tools, and part upon the square. Hands round, ye faithful Masons, in the bright, fraternal chain ! We part upon the square below to meet in Heaven, again. O ! what words of precious meaning those words Masonic are — We meet upon the level, and we part upon the square. ABOU BEN ADHEM. (letgh hunt.) Abou Ben Adhem — may his tribe increase — Awoke one night from a sweet dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel, writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the Presence in the room he said, "What writest thou ?" The vision raised its head, 5 66 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answer'd, "The names of those who love the Lord." u And mine is one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd ; And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. RUM'S MANIAC. (t. w. kott.) Why am I thus? the maniac cried, Confined 'mid crazy people ? Why ? I am not mad, — knave, stand aside ! I'll have my freedom, or I'll die ; It's not for cure that here I've come 5 I tell thee, all I want is rum, — I must have rum ! Sane ? yes, and have been all the while ; Why, then, tormented thus? 'Tis sad: Why chained, and held in duress vile ? The men who brought me here were mad; I will not stay where spectres come ; Let me go home ; I must have rum, — I must have rum ! *Tis he ! 'tis he ! my aged sire ! What has disturbed thee in thy grave? Why bend on me that eye of fire ? Why torment, since thou canst not save? Back to the church-yard whence you've come! Return, return ! but send me rum, — Oh, send me rum ! Why is my mother musing there, On that same consecrated spot THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 67 Where once she taught me words of prayer? But now she hears, she heeds me not. Mute in her winding-sheet she stands; Cold, cold, I feel her icy hands, — Her icy hands ! She's vanished ; but a dearer friend, — I know her by her angel smile, — Has come her partner to attend, His hours of misery to beguile ; Haste, haste ! loved one, and set me free ; 'Twere heaven to 'scape from hence to thee, — ■ From hence to thee. She does not hear ; away she flies, Regardless of the chain I wear^ Back to her mansion in the skies, To dwell with kindred spirits there. Why has she gone ? Why did she come ? God, I'm ruined ! Give me rum, — Oh, give me rum ! Hark, hark ! for bread my children cry, A cry that drinks my spirits up; But His in vain, in vain to try; Oh, give me back the drunkard's cup! My lips are parched, my heart is sad ; This cursed chain ! 'twill make me mad, — ■Twill make me mad ! It won't wash out, that crimson stain ! I've scoured those spots and made them white; Blood reappears again, again, Soon as the morning brings the light! When from my sleepless couch I come, To see, to feel, — oh, give me rum! I must have rum. 'Twas there T heard his piteous cry, And saw his last imploring look, But steeled my heart and bade him die, Then from him golden treasures took ; 68 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Accursed treasure ! stinted sum ! Reward of guilt ! Give, give me rum, — Oh, give me rum ! Hark ! still I hear that piteous wail ; Before my eyes his spectre stands; And when it frowns on me I quail ! Oh, I would fly to other lands ; But, that pursuing, there 't would come ; There's no escape ! Oh, give me rum, — Oh, give me rum ! Guard, guard those windows ! bar that door ! Yonder I armed bandits see ! They've robbed my house of all its store, And now return to murder me ; They're breaking in ; don't let them come ! Drive, drive them hence ! but give me rum, — Oh, give me rum ! See how that rug those reptiles soil ; They're crawling o'er me in my bed; I feel their clammy, snaky coil On every limb, — around my head; With forked tongue I see them play, I hear them hiss; — tear them away, — Tear them away ! A fiend ! a fiend, w T ith many a dart, Glares on me with his bloodshot eye, And aims his missiles at my heart, — Oh ! whither, whither shall I fly ? Fly? No, it is no time for flight ; Fiend! I know thy hellish purpose well; Avaunt ! avaunt, thou hated sprite, And hie thee to thy native hell ! He's gone, he's gone ! and I am free: He's gone, the faithless, braggart liar; He said he'd come to summon me — See there again, my bed's on fire ! THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 69 Fire ! water ! help ! Oh haste, I die ! The flames are kindling round my head! This smoke ! — I'm strangling ! — cannot fly ! Oh ! snatch me from this burning bed ! There, there, again! that demon's there, Crouching to make a fresh attack ; See how his flaming eyeballs glare ! Thou fiend of fiends, what's brought thee back? Back in thy car? for whom ? for where? He smiles, he beckons me to come : What are those words thou st wrirten there ? " In hell they never want for rum ! n Not want for rum ? Read that again ! I feel the spell ! haste, drive me down Where rum is free, where revellers reign And I can wear the drunkard's crown. Accept thy proffer, fiend ? I will ; And to thy drunken banquet come ; Fill the great cauldron from thy still With boiling, burning, fiery rum. There will I quench this horrid thirst; With boon companions drink and dwell ; Nor plead for rum, as here I must, — There's liberty to drink in hell. Thus raved that maniac rum had made ; Then starting from his haunted bed, On, on ! ye demons, on ! he said, Then silent sunk, — his soul had fled. ANTONY'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS. (SHAKSPEARE.) Friends, Romans, countrymen ! lend me your ears j I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them ; The good is oft interred with their bones: TO THE LAWRENCE RECITER. So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious; If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answered it. Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, — For Brutus is an honorable man, So are they all, all honorable men, — Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me : But Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Home, Whose ramsoms did the general coffers fill : X>id this in Caesar seem ambitious ? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff : Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honorable man. You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambitiuJ? V Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And, sure, he is an honorable man. I apeak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without ca ise: What cause withholds you then to mour'i air huii V judgment, thou art fled to brutish bfusts, And men have lost their reason ! — Bear yvibl. mo ; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me. But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world ; now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. Masters ! if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men. I will not do thein wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 71 Thau I will wrong such honorable men. But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar ; I found it in his closet; 'tis his will. Let but the commons hear this testament, — Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read, And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle ; I remember The first time ever Csesar put it on ; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent ; That day he overcame the Nervii. — Look ! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through; See what a rent the envious Casca made ; Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed, And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Csesar followed it ! As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ; For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel ; Judge, 0, ye gods, how dearly Caesar loved him ! This was the most unkindest cut of all ; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statue, Which all the while ran blood, great Csesar fell. 0, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. Oh ! now you weep ; and I perceive you feel The dint of pity ; — these are gracious drops. Kind souls ! What, weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look ye here ! Here is himself, marred, as you see, by traitors. 72 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honorable ! What private griefs they have, alas! I know not, That made them do it. They are wise and honorable, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; I am no orator, as Brutus is; But as you all know me, a plain, blunt man, That love my friend ; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood ; — I only speak right on ; I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny ! HORATIUS AT THE BEIDGE. (t. b. macaulay.) The Consul's brow was sad, and the Consul's speech was low, And darkly looked he at the w T all, and darkty at the foe. "Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down; And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the town ? " Then out spoke brave Horatius, the Captain of the gate: "To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late. Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may; I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play. "In yonder straight path a thousand may well be stopped by three, Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me ? " THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 73 Then out spake Spurius Lartius — a Ramnian proud was he— "Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with thee." And out spake strong Herminius — of Titian blood was he— " I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee." " Horatius," quoth the Consul, " as thou sayest, so let it be." And straight against that great array, forth went the dauntless Three. Soon all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless Three. And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Romans stood, The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood. But meanwhile axe and lever have manfully been plied, And now the bridge hangs tottering, above the boiling tide. "Come back, come back, Horatius!" loud cry the Fathers all: "Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! back, ere the ruin fall!" Back darted Spurius Lartius ; Herminius darted back ; And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the tim- bers crack ; But when they turned their faces, and on the further shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once more. But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam, And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream ; And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome, As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam. 74 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. And, like a horse unbroken, when first he feels the rein, The furious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny mane, And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free, And battlement, and plank and pier, whirled headlong to the sea. Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind ; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind. " Down with him ! " cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale face. "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "now yield thee to our grace." Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see ; Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus naught spake he ; But he saw on Palatums the white porch of his home, And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rome. "0, Tiber! father Tiber! to whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day!" So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side, And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide. No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank ; But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, stood gazing where he sank. And when above the surges they saw his crest appear, Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer. But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain : And fast liis blood was flowing; and he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows, And oft they thought him sinking — but still again he rose. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 75 Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil ease, Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing place : But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within, And our good father Tiber bare bravely up his chin. "Curse on him ! " quoth false Sextus ; " will not the villain drown ? But for this stay, ere close of day we should have sacked the town ! w (i Heaven help him !" quoth Lars Posena, u and bring him safe to shore ; For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before." And now he feels the bottom; — now on dry earth he stands ; Now round him throng the Fathers to press his gory hands. And, now with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud, He enters through the River Gate, borne by the joyous crowd. LITTLE JIM. The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean, But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean ; The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child ; A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim: It was a collier's wife and child, they called him little Jim. And oh ! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek, As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was afraid to speak, Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life; 76 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier** wife. With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer's bed, And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead. She gets her answer from the child : soft fall the words from him, " Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim, I have no pain, dear mother, now, but 0! I am so dry, Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, don't you cry." With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip; He smiled to thank her, as he took each little, tiny sip. "Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him, And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas ! poor little Jim ! She knew that he was dying ; that the child she loved so dear, Had uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear: The cottage door is opened, the collier's step is heard, The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word. He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead, He took the candle in his hand and walked towards the bed; His quivering lips gave token of the grief he'd fain conceal, And see, his wife has joined him— the stricken couple kneel : With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly ask of Him, In heaven once more to meet again their own poor little Jim. Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust. Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death? THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 77 FRA GIACAMO. (ROBERT BUCHANAN.) Alas. Fra Giacamo, Too late ! — but follow me; Hush ! draw the curtain — so ! — She is dead, quite dead, you see. Poor little lady ! she lies With the light gone out of her eyes, But her features still wear that soft Gray meditative expression, Which you must have noticed oft, And admired too, at confession. How saintly she looks, and how meek ! Though this be the chamber of death, I fancy I feel her breath As I kiss her on the cheek. With that pensive religious face, She has gone to a holier place! And I hardly appreciated her — Her praying, fasting, confessing, Poorly, I own, 1 mated her ; I thought her too cold, and rated her For her endless image-caressing. Too saintly for me by far, As pure and as cold as a star, Not fashion'd for kissing and pressing — But made for a heavenly crown. Aye, father, let us go down — But first, if you please, your blessing! Wine ? No ? Come, come you must ! You'll bless it with your prayers, And quaff a cup, I trust, To the health of the saint upstairs? My heart is aching so ! And I feel so weary and sad Through the blow that I have had — You'll sit, Fra Giacamo? My friend ! (and a friend I rank you For the sake of that saint) — nay, nay! 73 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Here's the wine — as you love me, stay ! — 'Tis Montepulciano ! — Thank you. Heigho ! 'Tis now six summers Since I won that angel and married her: I was rich, not old, and carried her Off in the face of all comers. % So fresh, yet so brimming with soul ! A tenderer morsel, I swear, Never made the dull black coal Of a monk's eye glitter and glare. Your pardon ! — nay, keep your chair ! I wander a little, but mean No offense to the gray gaberdine: Of the church, Fra G-iacamo, I'm a faithful upholder, you know. But (humor me !) she was as sweet As the saints in your convent windows, So gentle, so meek, so discreet, She knew not what lust does or sin does. I'll confess, though, before we were one I deemed her less saintly and thought The blood in her veins had caught Some natural warmth from the sun. I was wrong — I was blind as a bat — Brute that I was, how I blundered! Though such a mistake as that Might have occurred as pat To ninety-nine men in a hundred. Yourself, for example : you've seen her? Spite her modest and pious demeanor, And the manners so nice and precise, Seem'd there not color and light, Bright motion and appetite, That were scarcely consistent with ice? Externals implying, }^ou see, Internals Jess saintly than human? Pray speak, for between you and me You 're not a bad judge of a woman! A jest — but a jest ! . . . Very true : 'Tis hardly becoming to jest, And that saint upstairs at rest — THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Her soul may be listening, too ! Well may your visage turn yellow — I was always a brute of a fellow ! To think how I doubted and doubted, Suspected, grumbled at, flouted That golden-hair'd angel — and solely Because she was zealous and holy ! Noon and night and morn She devoted herself to piety; Not that she seemed to scorn Or dislike her husband's society; But the claims of her soul superseded All that I asked for or needed, And her thoughts were afar away From the level of sinful clay, And she trembled if earthly matters Interfered with her aves and paters. Poor dove, she so fluttered in flying Above the dim vapors of hell — Bent on self-sanctifying — That she never thought of trying To save her husband as well. And while she was duly elected For place in the heavenly roll, I (brute that I was !) suspected Her manner of saving her soul. So, half for the fun of the thing, What did I (blasphemer !) but fling On my shoulders the gown of a monk — Whom I managed for that very day To get safely out of the way — And seat me, half sober, half drunk, With the cowl thrown over my face, In the father confessor's place. Eheu ! benedicite I In her orthodox sweet simplicity, With that pensive gray expression She sighfulty knelt at confession, While I bit my lips till they bled, And dug my nails in my hand, And heard with averted head What I'd guess'd and could understand. 80 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Each word was a serpent's sting, But, wrapt in my gloomy gown, I sat, like a marble thing, As she told me all ! — Sit down ! More wine, Fra Giacamo! One cup — if you love me ! No? What, have these dry lips drank So deep of the sweets of pleasure — Sub rosa, but quite without measure- That Montepulciano tastes rank ? Come, drink ! 'twill bring the streaks Of crimson back to your cheeks ; Come, drink again to the saint Whose virtues you loved to paint, Who, stretched on her wifely bed, With the tender gray expression You used to admire at confession, Lies poisoned, overhead ! Sit still — or, by Heaven, you die ! Face to face, soul to soul, you and I Have settled accounts in a fine Pleasant fashion, over our wine. Stir not, and seek not to fly — Nay, whether or not, you are mine ! Thank Montepulciano for giving Your death in such delicate sips ; 'Tis not every monk ceases living With so pleasant a taste on his lips; But, lest Montepulciano unsurely should kiss, Take this ! and this ! and this ! Cover him over, Pietro, And bury him in the court below — You can be secret, lad, I know ! And, hark you, then to the convent go- Bid every bell of the convent toll, And the monks say mass for your mistress's soul. An honest man, and a pure woman, are two of the noblest works of God. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 81 THE ANGELS OP BUENA VISTA. (jOHX G. WHITTIER.) In the terrible fisht of Buena Vista, Mexican women were seen hovering near the field of death, for the purpose of giving aid and succor to the wounded. One poor woman was found surrounded by the maimed and suffering of both armies, ministering to the wants of Americans as well as Mexicans with impartial tenderness. Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away, O'er the cimp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array, Who is iosing ? w r ho is winning ? are they far or come thoy near? Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear. "Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls; Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their souls i " Who is losing ? who is winning ? " Over hill and over plain, I -see but smoke of cannon, clouding through the mountain Holy Mother, keep our brothers ! Look Ximena, look once more: l( Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse, Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course." Look forth once more, Ximena! "Ah! the smoke has rolled away; And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray. Hark ! that sudden blast of bugles ! there the troop of Minon* wheels ; There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels. * Minon (pronounced rain-yon) was a Mexican general. 6 82 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. il Jesu, pity ! how it thickens ! now retreats and now advances ! Right against the hlazing cannon shivers Puebla's charg- ing lances ! Down they go, the brave young riders ; horse and foot together fall ; Like a ploughshare in the fallow, through them ploughs the Northern ball." Nearer came the storm, and nearer, rolling fast and fright- ful on. Speak, Ximena, speak, and tell us who has lost and who has won : a Alas ! alas ! I know not ; friend and foe together fall ; O'er the dying rush the living ; pray, my sisters, for them all ! " Lo ! the wind the smoke is lifting ; Blessed Mother, save my brain ! I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain ; Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, and strive to rise; Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes ! " Oh, my heart's love ! oh, my dear one ! lay thy poor head on my knee ; Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee ? Canst thou hear me? Canst thou see ? Oh, my husband, brave and gentle ! oh, my Bernard, look once more On the blessed cross before thee! Mercy! mercy! all is Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena ; la} r thy dear one down to rest ; Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his breast ; Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses said ; To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 83 Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay, Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away; But, as tenderly before him the lorn Ximena knelt, She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol belt With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head ; With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon he? dead; But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain, And she raised the cooling water to his parched lips again. Whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand, and faintly smiled ; Was that pitying face his mothers ? did she watch beside her child ? All his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart supplied ; With her kiss upon his forehead, u Mother ! " murmured he, and died. "A bitter curse upon them, poor bo} r , who led thee forth From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping lonely, in the North!" Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead, And turned to soothe the living still, and bind the wounds which bled. Look forth once more, Ximena: "Like a cloud before the wind Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death behind ; Ah! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded strive ; Hide your faces, holy angels! 0, thou Christ of GoJ, forgive." € 1 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Sink, Night, among thy mountains! let the cool, gray shadows fall; t)ying brothers, fighting demons, — drop thy curtain over all! Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle rolled, In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's lips grew cold. But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued, Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn, and faint, and lacking food ; Over weak and suffering brothers with a tender care they hung, _ And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and Northern tongue. Not wholly lost, Father ! is this evil world of ours"; 1 Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the Eden flowers; From its smoking hell of battle Love and Pity send their prayer, And still thy white- winged angels hover dimly in our air. EUGENE ARAM'S DREAM. (THOMAS HOOD.) 'Twas in the prime of summer-time, An evening calm and cool And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school ; There were some that ran, and some that leapt Like troutlets in a pool. Away they sped, with gamesome minds, And souls untouched by sin ; ^To a level mead they came, and there They drave the wickets in : Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over the town of Lynn. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. £5 Like sportive deer they coursed about, And shouted as they ran, — Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can ; But the usher sat remote from all, A melancholy man ! His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch Heaven's blessed brpeze ; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease ; So he leaned his head upon his hands, and read The book between his knees. Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, Nor ever glanced aside, For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide: Much study had made him very lean, And pale, and leaden-eyed. At last he shut the ponderous tome, With a fast and fervent grasp He strained the dusky covers close, And fixed the brazen hasp : "0 God ! could 1 so close my mind, And clasp it with a clasp ! " Then leaping on his feet upright, Some moody turns he took, — Now up the mead, then down the mead, And past a shady nook, — And lo! he saw a little boy That pored upon a book. "My gentle lad. what is't you read, Romance or fairy fable ? Or is it some historic page, Of kings and crowns unstable ?" The young boy gave an upward glance,— "It is 4 The Death of Abel ! ' " 86 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. The usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain, — Six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again ; And down he sat beside the lad, And talked with him of Cain ; And, long since then, of bloody men Whose deeds tradition saves ; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves ; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves ; And how the sprites of injured men Shriek upward from the sod. — Ay, how the ghostly hand will point To show the burial clod ; And unknown facts of guilty acts Are sqen in dreams from God ; He told how murderers walked the earth Beneath the curse of Cain, With crimson clouds before their eyes, And flames about their brain ; For blood has left upon their souls Its everlasting stain. " And well," quoth he, "I know for truth, Their pangs must be extreme, — Woe, woe, unutterable woe, — Who spill life's sacred stream ! For why? Methought, last night, I wrought A murder in a dream ! "One that had never done me wrong,— A feowery gallery ; there it mattered But little what the play might be — Broad farce or point-lace comedy — He meted out his just applause By rigid, fixed, and proper laws. A father once he had, no doubt, A mother on the Island staying, TIIE LAWRENCE RECITER. 173 Which left him free to knock about And gratify a taste for straying Through crowded streets. 'Twas there he found Companionship and grew renowned. An ash-box served him for a bed — As good, at least, as Moses 3 rushes — And for his daily meat and bread, He earned them with his box and brushes. An Arab of the city's slums, With ready tongue and empty pocket, Unaided left to solve life's sums, But plucky always — that was Rocket! 'Twas Christmas eve, and all the day The snow had fallen fine and fast; In banks and drifted heaps it lay Along the streets. A piercing blast Blew cuttingly. The storm was past, And now the stars looked coldly down Upon the snow-enshrouded town. Ah, well it is if Christmas brings Good will and peace which poet Hugs! How full are all the streets to-night With happy faces, flushed and bright! The matron in her silks and furs, The pompous banker, fat and sleek, The idle, well-fed loiterers, The merchant trim, the churchman meek, Forgetful now of hate and spite, For all the world is glad to-night! All, did I say? Ah. i o, not all, For sorrow throws on some its pall And here, within the broad, fair city, The Christinas time no beauty brings To those who plead in vain for pity, To those who cherish but the stings Of wretched ii ess and want and woe, Who never love's great bounty know. Whose grief no kindly hands assuage, Whose misery mocks our Christian age. Pray ask yourself what nvain to them That Christ is born in Bethlehem! W& THE LAWRENCE RECITER. But Rocket? On this Christmas eve You might have seen him standing where The citj^s streets so interweave They form that somewhat famous square Called Printing House. His face was bright, And at this gala, festive season, You could not find a heart more light— I'll tell you in a word the reason : By dint of patient toil in shining Patrician shoes and Wall street boots, He had within his jacket's lining, A dollar and a half — the fruits Of pinching, saving, and a trial Of really Spartan self-denial. That dollar and a half was more Than Rocket ever owned before. A princely fortune, so he thought, And with those hoarded dimes and nickels What Christmas pleasures may be bought! A dollar and a half ! It tickles The boy to say it over, musing Upon the money's proper using; "I'll go a gobbler, leg and breast, With cranberry sauce and fixin's nice, And pie, mince pie, the very best, And puddin' — say a double slice! And then to doughnuts how I'll freeze ; With coffee — guess that ere's the cheese ! And after grub I'll go to see The i Seven Goblins of Dundee.' If this yere Christmas ain't a buster, I'll let yer rip my Sunday duster!" So Rocket mused as he hurried along, Clutching his money with grasp yet tighter, And humming the air of a rollicking song, With a heart as light as his clothes — or lighter. Through Centre street he makes his way, When just as he turns the corner at Pearl, He hears a voice cry out in dismay. And sees before him a slender girl, THE LAWRENCE RECITER. ]75 As ragged and tattered in dress as he, With hand stretched forth for charity. In the street-light's fitful and flickering glare He caught a glimpse of the pale, pinched face- So gaunt and wasted, yet strangely fair, With a lingering touch of childhood's grace On her delicate features. Her head was bare, And over her shoulders disordered there hung A mass of tangled, nut-brown hair. In misery old as in years she was young, She gazed in his face. And, oh ! for the eyes — The big, blue, sorrowful, hungry eyes, — That were fixed in a desperate frightened stare. Hundreds have jostled by her to-night — The rich, the great, the good and the wise, Hurrying on to the warmth and light Of happy homes — they have jostled her by, And the only one who has heard her cry, Or, hearing, has felt his heartstrings stirred, Is Rocket — this youngster of coarser clay, This gamin, who never so much as heard The beautiful story of Him who lay In the manger of old on Christmas day ! With artless pathos and simple speech, She stands and tells him her pitiful tale; Ah, well if those who pray and preach Could catch an echo of that sad wail ! She tells of the terrible battle for bread, Tells of a father brutal with crime, Tells of a mother lying dead, At this, the gala Christmas-time ; Then adds, gazing up at the starlit sky, 11 I'm hungry and cold, and I wish I could die." What is it trickles down the cheek Of Rocket — can it be a tear? He stands and stares, but does not speak; He thinks again of that good cheer Which Christmas was to bring; he sees Visions of turkey, steaming pies, 176 THE LAWRENCE RECITER, The play-bills — then, in place of these, The girl's beseeching, hungry eyes; One mighty effort, gulping down The disappointment in Ids breast, A quivering of the lip, a frown, And then, while pity pleads her best, He snatches forth his cherished hoard, And gives it to her like a lord ! "Here, freeze to that; I'm flush, yer see, And then yon needs it more 'an me!" With that he turns and walks away, So fast the girl can nothing say, So fast he does not hear the prayer That sancifies the winter air. But He who blessed the widow's mite Looked down and smiled upon the sight. No feast of steaming pies or turkey, No ticket for the matinee, All drear and desolate and murky, In tru?h, a very dismal day. With dinner on a crust of bread, And not a penny in his pocket, A friendly ash-box for a bed — Thus came the Christmas day to Rocket, And yet — and here's the strangest thing— As best befits the festive season, The boy was happy as a king — I winder can you guess the reason ? GUALBERTO'S VICTORY. (ELEANOR C. DONNELLY.) A mountain pass so narrow that a man Riding that way to Florence, stooping, can Touch with his hand the rocks on either side, And pluck the flowers that in the crannies hide. Here, on Good Friday, centuries ago. Mounted and armed, John Gualbert met his foe; THE LAWKENCE RECITER. 177 Mounted and armed as well, but riding down To the fair city from the woodland brown, This way and that, swinging his jeweled whip, A gay old love-song on his careless lip, And on his charger's neck the reins loose thrown. An accidental meeting ; but the snn Burned on their brows, as if it had been one Of deep design, so deadly was the look Of mutual hate their olive faces took ; As (knightly courtsey forgot in wrath,) Neither would yield the enemy his path. 11 Back ! " cried Gualberto. " Never ! " yelled his foe And on the instant, sword in hand, they throw Them from their saddles, nothing loath And fall to fighting, with a smothered oath. A pair of shapely, stalwart cavaliers, Well-matched in stature, weapons, weight, and years, Theirs was a long, fierce struggle on the grass, Thrusting and parrying up and down the pass; Swaying from left to right, in combat clenched. Till all the housings of their steeds were drenched With brutal gore : and ugly blood-drops oozed Upon the rocks, from head and hands contused. But at the close, when Gualbert stopped to rest, His heel was planted on his foemairs breast; And looking up, the fallen courtier sees, As in a dream, gray rocks and waving trees Before his glazing vision faintly float, While Gualbert's sabre glitters at his throat. "Now die, base wretch !" the victor fiercely cries, His heart of hate outflashing from his eyes : "Never again, by the all-righteous Lord ! Shalt thou with life, escape this trusty sword.— Revenge is sweet !" And upward glanced the steel But ere it fell, — dear Lord ! a silvery peal Of voices chanting in the town below, Grave, ghostty voices chanting far below, Rose, like a fountain's spray from spires of snow, And chimed and chimed to die in echoes slow. 12 178 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. In the sweet silence following the sound, Gualberto and the man upon the ground Glared at each other with bewildered eyes, (The glare of hunted deer on leashed hound) ; And then the vanquished, struggling to arise, Made one last effort, while his face grew dark With pleading agony : i% Gualberto ! hark ! The chant — the hour — thou know'st the olden fashion, - The monks below intone our Lord's dear Passion. Oh ! by this cross!" — and here he caught the hilt Of Gualbert's sword, — " and by the Blood once spilt Upon it for us both long years ago, Forgive — forget — and spare a fallen foe ! '* The face that bent above grew white and set, (Christ or the demon ? — in the balance hung) : The lips were drawn, — the brow bedewed with sweat ; But on the grass the harmless sword was flung : And stooping down, the hero, generous, wrung The outstretched hand. Then, lest he lose control Of -the but half-tamed passions of his soul, Fled up the pathway, tearing casque and coat To ease the tempest throbbing at his throat; Fled up the crags as if a fiend pursued, And paused not till he reached a chapel rude. There, in the cool dim stillness, on his knees, Trembling, he flings himself, and, startled, sees Set in the rock a crucifix antique, From which the wounded Christ bends down to speak: " Thou hast done well, Gualberto. For My sake Thou did? st forgive thine enemy ; now take My gracious pardon for thy times of tsin } And from this day a better life begin." White flashed the angel's wings above his head, Rare, subtile perfumes through the place were shed And golden harps and sweetest voices poured Their glorious hosannas to the Lord, Who in that hour, and in that chapel quaint, Changed by His power, by His dear love's constraint, Gualbert the sinner into John the saint. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 179 WHISTLING IN HEAVEN. You're surprised that I ever should say so? Just wait till the reason I've given Why I say I shan't care for the music, Unless there is whistling in heaven. Then you'll think it no very great wonder, Nor so strange, nor so bold a conceit, That unless there's a boy there a- whistling, Its music will not be complete. It was late in the autumn of '40 ; We had come from our far Eastern home Just in season to build us a cabin, Ere the cold of the winter should come; And we lived all the while in our wagon That husband was clearing the place Where the house was to stand ; and the clearing And building it took many days. So that our heads were scarce sheltered In under its roof, when our store Of provisions was almost exhausted, And husband must journey for more ; And the nearest place where he could get them Whs yet such a distance away, That it forced him from home to be absent At least a whole night and a day. You see, we'd but two or three neighbors, And the nearest was more than a mile ; And we hadn't found time yet to, know them, For we had been busy the while. And the man who had helped at the raising Just staid till the job was well done ; And as soon as his money was paid him Had shouldered his axe and had gone. Well, husband just kissed me and started — I could scarcely suppress a deep groan 180 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. At the thought of remaining with baby So long in the house all alone ; For, my dear, I was childish and timid, And braver ones might well have feared, For the wild wolf was often heard howling, And savages sometimes appeared. But T smothered my grief and my terror Till husband was off on his ride, And then in my arms I took Josey, And all the day long sat and cried, As I thought of the long, dreary hours When the darkness of night should fall, And I was so utterly helpless, With no one in reach of my call. And when the night came with its terrors. To hide ev'ry ray of light, I hung up a quilt by the window, And almost dead with affright, I kneeled by the side of the cradle, Scarce daring to draw a full breath, Lest the baby should wake, and its crying Should bring us a horrible death. There I knelt until late in the evening, And scarcely an inch had I stirred, When suddenly, far in the distance, A sound as of whistling I heard, I started up dreadfully frightened, For fear 'twas an Indian's call ; And then very soon I remembered The red man ne'er whistles at all. And when I was sure 'twas a white man, I thought, were he coining for ill, He'd surely approach with more caution- Would come without warning, and still. Then the sounds, coining nearer and nearer, Took the form of a tune light and gay, And knew I needn't fear evil From one who could whistle that way. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 1S1 Very soon T hoard footsteps approaching, Then came a peculiar dull thump, As if some one was heavily striking An axe in the top of a stump; And then, in another brief moment, There came a light tap on the door, When, quickly I undid the fast'ning, And in stepped a boy, and before There was either a question or answer, Or either had time to speak, I just threw my glad arms around him, And gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then I started back, scared at my boldness, But he only smiled at my fright, As he said, "I'm your neighbor's boy, Elick, Come to tarry with you through the night. II We saw your husband go eastward, And made up our minds where he'd gone, And I said to the rest of our people, * That woman is there all alone, And I venture she's awfully lonesome, And though she may have no great fear, I think she would feel a bit safer If only a boy were but near.' II So, taking my axe on my shoulder, For fear that a savage might stray Across my path and need scalping, I started right down this way; And coming in sight of the cabin, And thinking to save you alarm, I whistled a tune, just to show you I didn't intend any harm. "And so here I am, at your service; But if you don't want me to stay, Why, all you need do is to say so. And should'ring my axe, I'll away." I dropped in'a chair and near fainted, Just at thought of his leaving me then, And his e3 r e gave a knowing bright twinkle As he said, u 1 guess 1 11 remain." 182 THE LAWRENCE RECITER, And then I just sat there and told him How terribly frightened I'd been, How his face was to me the most welcome Of any I ever had seen ; And then I lay down with the baby, And slept all the blessed night through, For I felt I was safe from all danger Near so brave a young fellow and true. So now, my dear friend, do you wonder, Since such a good reason I've given, Why I say I shan't care for the music, Unless there is whistling in heaven ? Yes, often I've said so in earnest, And now what I've said I repeat, That unless there's a boy there a- whistling, Its music will not be complete. TOM. (CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON.) Yes, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew. Just listen to this : — When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through, And I with it, helpless there, full in my view What do you think my eyes saw through the fire That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher, But Kobin, my baby-boy, laughing to see The shining? He must have come there after me, Toddled alone from the cottage without Any one's missing him. Then, what a shout — Ob ! how I shouted, " For Heaven's sake, men, Save little Robin !" Again and again They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall. I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call, " Never mind, baby, sit still like a man ! We're*coming to get you as fast as we can." They could not see him, but I could. He sat Still on a beam, his little straw hat Carefully placed by his side ; and his eyes THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 183 Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise, Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept. The roar of the fire up above must have kept The sound of his mother's voice shrieking his name From reaching the child. But I heard it. It came Again and again. God, what a cry ! The axes went faster: I saw the sparks fly Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat That scorched them, — when, suddenly, there at their feet f The great beams leaned in — they saw him — then, crash, Down came the wall ! The men made a dash, — Jumped to get out of the way, — and I thought, u All's up with poor little Robin ! " and brought Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide The sight of the child there, — when swift, at my side, Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame, Straight as a dart — caught the child — and then came Back with him, choking and crying, but — saved ! Saved safe and sound ! Oh, how the men raved, Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed ! Then they all Rushed at the work agaiu, lest the back wall Where I was lying, away from the fire, Should fall in and bury me. Oh ! you'd admire To see Robin now : he's as bright as a dime, Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time. Tom, it was, saved him. Now, isn't it true Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew ? There's Robin now ! See, he's strong as a log ! And there comes Tom too — Yes, Tom was our dog. THE DEATH OF THE OLD SQUIRE. 'TwAS a wild, mad kind of night, as black as the bottom- less pit ; The wind was howling away, like a Bedlamite in a fit, Tearing the ash boughs off, and mowing the poplars down, In the meadows beyond the old flour mill, where you turn off to the town. 1 31 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. And the rain (well, it did rain) dashing against the window glass, And deluging on the roof, as the Devil were come to pass; The gutters were running in floods outside the stable-door, And the spouts splashed from the tiles, as they would never give o er. Lor*, how the winders rattled! you'd almost ha ? thought that thieves Were wrenching at the shutters; while a ceaseless pelt of leaves Flew to the doors in gusts ; and I could hear the beck Falling so loud 1 knew at once it was up to a tall man's neck* We was huddling in the harness-room, by a little scrap of fire, And Tom, the coachman, he was there, a-practising for the choir; But it sounded dismal, anthem did, for squire was dying fast, And the doctor said, Do what we would, Squire's breaking up at last. The death-watch, sure enough, ticked loud just over th' owld mare's head; Though he had never once been heard up there since master's boy lay dead ; And the only sound, besides Tom's toon, was the stirring in the stalls, And the gnawing and the scratching of the rats in the owld walls. We couldn't hear Death's foot pass by, but we knew that he was near ; And the chill rain and the wind and cold made us all shake with fear; We listened to the cluck up-stairs, 'twas breathing soft and low, For the nurse said — At the turn of night the old Squire's soul would go. Master had been a wildish man, and had led a roughish life ; Didn't lie shoot the iiowton squire, who dared write to his wife ? THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 185 He beat the Rads at Hindon Town, I heard, in twenty-nine, When every pail in market-place was brimmed with red port wine. And as for hunting, bless your soul, why forty year or more He'd kept the Marley hounds, man. as his fay ther did afore ; And now to die, and in his bed — the season just begun — "It made him fret," the doctor said, "as it might do any one." And when the young sharp lawyer came to see him sign his will, Squire made me blow my horn outside as we were going to kill ; And we turned the hounds out in the court — that seemed to do him good ; For he swore, and sent us off to seek a fox in Thornhill Wood.' But then the fever it rose high, and he would go see the room Where mistress died ten years ago when Lammastide si) all come ; I mind the year, because our mare at Salisbury broke down ; Moreover the town-hall was burnt at Steeple Dinton Town. It might be two, or half-past two, the wind seemed quite asleep; Tom, he was off, but I. awake, sat watch and ward to keep; The moon was up, quite glorious like, the rain no longer fell, When all at once out clashed and clanged the rusty turret bell That hadn't b.en heard for twenty year, not since the Luddite days. Tom he leaj ed up, and I leaped up, for all the house a-blaze Had sure not scared us half as much, and out we ran like mad, I, Tom, and Joe, the whipper-in, and the little stable lad. "He's killed himself," that's the idea that came into my head; I felt as sure as though I saw Squire Barrow ly was dead; 186 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. When all at once a door flew back, and he met us face to face ; His scarlet coat was on his back, and he looked like the old race. The nurse was clinging to his knees, and crying like a child ; The maids were sobbing on the stairs, for he looked fierce and wild ; "Saddle me Lightning Bess, my men/' that's what he said to me ; "The moon is up, we're sure to find at Stop or Etterly. " Get out the dogs ; I'm well to-night, and young again and sound, I'll have a run once more before they put me under ground ; They brought my father home feet first, and it never shall be said That his son Joe, who rode so straight, died quietly in his bed. "Brandy!" he cried; "a tumbler full, you women howl- ing there ;" Then clapped the' old black velvet cap upon his long gray hair, Thrust on his boots, snatched down his whip, though he was old and weak ; There was a devil in his eye that would not let me speak. We loosed the dogs to humor him, and sounded on the horn; The moon was up above the woods, just east of Haggard Bourne ; I buckled Lightning's throat-lash fast; the Squire was watching me ; He let the stirrups down himself so quick, yet carefully. Then up he got and spurred the mare, and, ere I well could mount He drove the yard gate open, man, and called to old Dick Blount, Our huntsman, dead five years ago — for the fever rose again, And was spreading like a flood of flame fast up into his brain. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 187 Then off lie flew before the dogs, yelling to call us on, While we stood there, all pale and dumb, scarce knowing he was gone ; We mounted, and below the hill we saw the fox break out, And down the covert ride we heard the old Squire's parting shout. And in the moonlit meadow mist we saw him fly the rail, Beyond the hurdles by the beck, just half way down the vale ; I saw him breast fence after fence — nothing could turn him back; And in the moonlight after him streamed out the brave old pack. 'Twas like a dream, Tom cried to me, as we rode free and fast, Hoping to turn him at the brook, that could not well be passed, For it was swollen with the rain; but ah, 'twas not to be ; Nothing could stop old Lightning Bess but the broad breast of the sea. The hounds swept on, and well in front the mare had got her stride ; She broke across the fallow land that runs by the down side ; We pulled up on Chalk Linton Hill, and as we stood us there, Two fields beyond we saw the Squire fall stone dead from the mare. Then she swept on, and in full cry the hounds went out of sight; A cloud came over the broad moon and something dimmed our sight, As Tom and I bore master home, both speaking under breath ; And that's the way I saw th' owld Squire ride boldly to his death. 188 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. THE CREEDS OF THE BELLS. (GEORGE W. BUNGAY.) How sweet the chime of the Sabbath bells ! Each one its creed in music tells^ In tones that float upon the air, As soft as song, as pure as prayer; And I will put in simple rh3*me The language of the golden chime ; My happy heart with rapture swells Responsive to the bells, sweet bells. " In deeds of love excel ! excel ! " Chimed out from ivied towers a bell ; "This is the church not built on sands, Emblem of one not built with hands; Its forms and sacred right revere, Come worship here ! come worship here! In rituals and faith excel ! " Chimed out the Episcopalian bell. "Oh heed the ancient landmarks well !" In solemn tones exclaimed a bell ; "No progress made by mortal man Can change the just eternal plan : With God there can be nothing new; Ignore the false, embrace the true, While all is well ! is well ! is well ! " Pealed out the good old Dutch church bell. "Ye purifying waters swell !" In mellow tones rang out a bell; "Though faith alone in Christ can save, Man must be plunged beneath the wave, To show the world unfaltering faith In what the Sacred Scriptures saith : swell ! ye rising waters, swell ! " Pealed out the clear-toned Baptist bell. THE LAWRENCE RECITER, 189 " Not faith alone, but works as well, Must test the soul ! " said a soft bell ; "Come here and cast aside your load, And work your way along the road, With faith in God, and faith in man, And hope in Christ, where hope began; Do well ! do well ! do well ! do well!" Rang out the Unitarian bell. "Farewell! farewell! base world, farewell !" In touching tones exclaimed a bell; "Life is a boon, to mortals given, To fit the soul for bliss in heaven; Do not invoke the avenging rod. Come here and learn the way to God; Say to the world, Farewell ! farewell !" Pealed forth the Presbyterian bell. "To all, the truth, we tell ! we tell!" Shouted in ecstasies a bell ; " Come all ye weary wanderers, see ! Our Lord has made salvation f ree ! Repent, believe, have faith, and then Be saved, and praise the Lord, Amen! Salvation's free, we tell! we tell!" Shouted the Methodistic bell. " In after life there is no hell ! " In raptures rang a cheerful hell " Look up to heaven this holy day, Where angels wait to lead the way ; There are no fires, no fiends to blight The future life ; be just and right. No hell! no hell! no hell ! no hell!" Rang out the Universalist bell. "All hail, ye saints in heaven that dwell Close by the cross ! " exclaimed a bell ; "Lean o'er the battlements of bliss, And deign to bless a world like this; Let mortals kneel before this shrine — Adore the water and the wine ! 190 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. All hail ye saints, the chorus swell l" Chimed in the Roman Catholic bell. " Ye workers who have toiled so well, To save the race ! " said a sweet bell ; " With pledge, and badge, and banner, come, Each brave heart beating like a drum j Be royal men of noble deeds, For love is holier than creeds ; Drink from the well, the well, the well," In rapture rang the Temperance bell. CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT. England's sun was slowly setting o'er the hills so far away, Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day; And the last rays kiss'd the forehead of a man and maiden fair, He with step so slow and weakened, she with sunny, floating hair; He with sad bowed head, and thoughtful, she with lips so cold and white, Struggling to keep back the murmur, "Curfew must not ring to-night." "Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old, With its walls so dark and gloomy, — walls so dark, and damp, and cold, — "I've a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die, At the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly help is nigh. Cromwell will not come till sunset," and her face grew strangely white, As she spoke in husky whispers, " Curfew must not ring to-night." u Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton — every word pierced her young heart Like a thousand gleaming arrows — like a deadly poisoned dare j THE LAWRENCE RECITER- 191 "Long, long years I've rung the Curfew from that gloomy shadowed tower ; Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour; I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right, Now I'm old, I will not miss it ; girl, the Curfew rings to-night!" Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow, And within her heart's deep centre, Bessie made a solemn vow ; She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh, "At the ringing of the Curfew — Basil Underwood must die. 9 ' And her breath came fast and faster, and her e} r es grew large and bright — One low murmur, scarcely spoken — " Curfew must not ring to-night ! " She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old church door, Left the old man coming slowly, paths he'd trod so oft before ; Not one moment paused the maiden, but with cheek and brow aglow, Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro : Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of light, Upward still, her pale lips saying: "Curfew shall not ring to-night." She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great dark bell, And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell ; See, the ponderous tongue is swinging, 'tis the hour of Curfew now — And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath and paled her brow. 192 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Shall she let it ring? No, never! her eyes flash with sudden light, As she springs and grasps it firmly — " Curfew shall not ring to-night !" Out she swung, far out, the city seemed a tiny speck helow ; There, 'twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to and fro; And the half-deaf Sexton ringing (years he had not heard the bell,) And he thought the twilight Curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell; Still the maiden clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and white, Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating — "Curfew shall not ring to-night." It was o'er — the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped once more Firmly on the damp old ladder, where for hundred years before Human foot had not been planted; and what she this night had done, Should be told in long years after — as the rays of setting sun Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires with heads of white, Tell their children why the Curfew did not ring that one sad night. O'er the distant hills came Cromwell ; Bessie saw him, and her brow, Lately white with sickening terror, glows with sudden beauty now ; At his feet she told her story, showed her hands all bruised and torn ; And her sweet young face so haggard, with a look so sad and worn, Touched his heart with sudden pity — lit his eyes with misty light; " Go, your lover lives!" cried Cromwell; " Curfew shall not ring to-night." THE LAWRENCE ItECITER. 193 BEAUTIFUL SNOW.* (.J. W. WATSON.) Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow, Filling the sky and the earth below; Over the house-tops, over the street, Over the heads of the people you meet; Dancing, Flirting, Skimming along. Beautiful snow ! it can do nothing wrong. Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek ; Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak. Beautiful snow, from the heavens above, Pure as an angel and fickle as love ! Oh ! the snow, the beautiful snow ! How the flakes gather and laugh as they go: Whirling about in its maddening fun, It plays in its glee with every one. Chasing, Laughing, Hurrying by, It lights up the face and it sparkles the eye ; And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound, Snap at the crystals that eddy around. The town is alive, and its heart in a glow To welcome the coming of beautiful snow. How the wild crowd goes swaying along, Hailing each other with humor and song ! How the gay sledges like meteors flash by — Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye. Kinging, ^ Swinging, Dashing they go Over the crest of the beautiful snow : ♦Copied, with permission, from the complete illustrated edition of " Beautiful Snow and other Poems," twenty-six in all, written by J. W. Watson, and published in one large volume by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia. 13 194 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Snow so pure when it falls from the sky, To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by; To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet Till it blends with the horrible filth in the street. Once I was pure as the snow — but I fell : Fell, like the snow-flakes, from heaven — to hell; Fell, to be tramped as the filth of the street : Fell, to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat. Pleading, Cursing, Dreading to die, Selling my soul to whoever would buy, Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread, Hating the living and fearing the dead. Merciful God ! have I fallen so low ? And yet I was once like this beautiful snow. Once I was fair as the beautiful snow, With an eye like its crystals, a heart like its glow; Once I was loved for my innocent grace — Flattered and sought for the charm of my face. Father, Mother, Sisters all, God, and myself, I have lost by my fall. The veriest wretch that goes shivering by Will take a wide sweep, lest I wander too nigh; For of all that is on or about me, I know There is nothing that's pure but the beautiful snow. How strange it should be that this beautiful snow Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go ! How strange it would be, when the night comes again, If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain! Fainting, Freezing, Dying alone, Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan To be heard in the crash of the crazy town Gone mad in its joy at the snow's coming down To lie and to die in my terrible woe. With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 195 THE ENGINEER'S STORY. No, children, my trips are over, The engineer needs rest; My hand is shaky ; I'm feeling A tugging pain i' my breast ; But here, as the twilight gathers, I'll tell you a tale of the road, That'll ring in my head forever, Till it rests beneath the sod. We were lumbering along in the twilight, The night was dropping her shade, And the "Gladiator" labored- Climbing the top of the grade ; The train was heavily laden, So I let my engine rest, Climbing the grading slowly, Till we reached the upland's crest. I held my watch to the lamplight — Ten minutes behind the time ! Lost in the slackened motion Of the up grade's heavy climb; But I knew the miles of the prairie That stretched a level track, So I touched the gauge of the boiler, And pulled the lever back. Over the rails a-gleaming, Thirty an hour, or so, The engine leaped like a demon, Breathing a tier} 7 glow ; But to me — ahoid of the lever — It seemed a child alway, Trustful and always ready My lightest touch to obey. I was proud, you know, of my engine, Holding it steady that night, 196 THE LAWKKXCE RECITER. And my e}^e on the track before us, Ablaze with the Drummond light. We n eared a well-known cabin, Where a child of three or four, As the up train passed, oft called me, A playing around the door. My hand was firm on the throttle As we swept around the curve, When something afar in the shadow, Struck fire through every nerve. I sounded the brakes, and crashing The reverse lever down in dismay, Groaning to Heaven — eighty paces Ahead was the child at its play! One instant — one, awful and only, The world flew round in my brain, And I smote my hand hard on my forehead To keep back the terrible pain ; The train I thought flying forever, With mad irresistible roll, While the cries of the dying, the night wind Swept into my shuddering soul. Then I stood on the front of the engine, — How I got there I never could tell, — My feet planted down on the crossbar. Where the cowcatcher slopes to the rail, One hand firmly locked on the coupler, And one held out in the night, While my eye gauged the distance, and measured The speed of our slackening flight. My mind, thank the Lord ! it was steady; I saw the curls of her hair, And the face that, turning in wonder Was lit by the deadly glare. I know little more — but 1 heard it — The groan of the anguished wheels, And remember thinking — the engine In agony trembles and reels. THE LAWRENCE RECITER- 197 One rod! To the day of my dying I shall think the old engine reared back, And as it recoiled with a shudder, I swept my hand over the track; Then darkness fell over my eyelids, But I heard the surge of the train, And the poor old engine creaking, As racked by a deadly pain. They found us, they said, on the gravel, My fingers enmeshed in her hair, And she on my bosom a-climbing, To nestle securely there. We are not much given to crying — We men that run on the road — But that night, they said, there were faces, With tears on them, lifted to God. For years in the eve and the morning As I neared the cabin again, My hand on- -the lever pressed downward And slackened the speed of the train. When my engine had blown her a greeting, She always would come to the door; And her look with a fullness of heaven Blesses me evermore. THE VISION OF THE MONK GABKIEL. (ELEANOR C. DONNELLY.) Listen to what befell Monk Gabriel, In the old ages ripe with mystSry — A bearded man with grave, but gentle look — His silence sweet with sounds With which the simple-hearted spring abounds; Lowing of cattle from the abbey grounds, Chirping of insect, and the building rock- Mingled like murmurs of a dreaming shell; 198 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Quaint tracery of bird, and branch, and brook. Flitting across the pages of his book, Until the very words a freshness took?— Deep in his cell Sat the monk Gabriel. In his book he read The words the Master to His dear ones said : " A little while and ye Shall see, Shall gaze on Me ; A little while again, Ye shall not see Me then." A little while! The monk looked up — a smile Making his visage brilliant, liquid-eyed: "Thou who gracious art Unto the poor of heart, O blessed Christ ! " he cried, " Great is the misery Of mine iniquity ; But would I now might see, Might feast on Thee ! " — The blood with sudden start, Nigh rent his veins apart — (Oh condescension of the Crucified :) In all the brilliancy Of his humanity — The Christ stood by his side ! Pure as the early lily was His skin, His cheek out-blushed the rose, His lips, the glows Of autumn sunset on -eternal snows; And His deep eyes within, Such nameless beauties, wondrous glories dwelt, The monk in speechless adoration knelt. In each fair hand, in each fair foot there shone The peerless stars He took from Calvary; Around His brows in tenderest lucency The thorn marks lingered, like the flash of dawn j THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 199 And from the opening in His side there rilled A light, so dazzling, that all the room was filled With heaven; and transfigured in his place, His very breathing stilled, The friar held his robe before his face, And heard the angels singing ! 'Twas but a moment — then, upon the spell Of this sweet presence, lo ! a something broke : A something trembling, in the belfry woke, A shower of metal music flinging O'er wold and moat, o'er park and lake and fell, And through the open windows of the cell In silver chimes came ringing. It was the bell Calling monk Gabriel, Unto his holy task, To feed the paupers at the abbey gate; No respite did he ask, Nor for a second summons idly wait ; But rose up, saying in his humble way; " Fain would I stay, Lord ! and feast alway Upon the honeyed sweetness of thy beauty ; But His Thy will, not mine. I must obey. Help me to do my duty ! " The while the Vision smiled, The monk went forth, light-hearted as a child. An hour hence, his duty nobly done, Back to his cell he came ; Unasked, unsought, lo! his reward was won! — Rafters and walls and floor were yet aflame With all the matchless glory of that sun, And in the centre stood the Blessed One (Praise be His Holy Name !) Who for our sakes our crosses made His own, And bore our weight of shame. Down on the threshold fell Monk Gabriel, 200 THE LAWRKNCE RECITER. His forehead pressed upon the floor of clay And while in deep humility he lay, (Tears raining from his happy eyes away) Whence is this favor, Lord ? " he strove to say. The Vision only said, Lifting its shining head ; "If thou hadst staid, son, / must have fled!" HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY.* (CHARLES G. LELAND — u HANS BREITM ANN," ) Hans Brettmann gife a harty, Dey had hiano-blayin ; I felled in lofe mit a Merican frau, Her name vas Madilda Yane. She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel, Her eyes vas himmel-plue, Und ven dey looket in do mine, Dey shplit mine iieart in two. Hans Breitmann gife a barty, I vent dere voir 11 pe pound. I valtzet mit Madilda Yme Und vent shpinnen round und round. De pootiest Fraeulein in de House, She rayed 'pout dwo hoondred pound, Und efery dime she gife a shoomp She make de vindows sound. Hans Breitmann gife a barty, I dells you it cost him dear. Dey rolled in more ash sefen kecks Of t'oosr-rate Lager Beer. Und reliefer dey knocks de shpicketin De Deutschers gifes a cheer. •Copied, with permission, from the complete edition of "Hans Breitmann's Ballads," fifty-six in all, written by Charles Gk Lelaucl, (*' Hans Breitmann,") published in one large volume by Ti b. Peterson & brothers, Philadelphia. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 201 I dinks dat so vine a barty, Nefer coom to a het dis year. Hans Breitmann gife a barty; Dere all vas Souse and B rouse, Yen de sooper coomed in. de gompany Did make demselfs to house ; Dey ate das. Brot and Gensy broost, De Bratwurst and Brateu fine, Und vasli der Abendessen down Mit four barrels of Neckarwein. Hans Breitmann gife a barty We all cot troonk as bigs. I poot mine moufc to a parrel of bier Und emptied it oop mit a sen wigs. Und den I gissed Madilda Yane Und she shlog me on de kop, Und de gompany fited mit daple-leeks Dill de coonshtable made oos shtop. Hans Breitmann gife a barty — Where ish dat barty now ! Where ish de lofely golden cloud Dat float on de moundain's prow? Where ish de himmelstrahlende Stern — De shtar of de shpirit's light? All goned afay mit de Lager Beer — Afay in de ewigkeit ! - THE DEACON'S STORY. (N. S. EMERSON.) The solemn old bells in the steeple Are ringin'. I guess you know why, No? Well, then, I'll tell you, though mostly It's whispered about on the sly. Some six weeks ago, a church meetin' Was called — for — nobody knew what ; But we went, and the parson was present, And I don't know who or who not. 202 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Some twenty odd members, I calculate, Which mostly was women, of course ; Though I don't mean to say aught ag'in 'em ; I've seen many gathering worse. There, in the front row, sat the deacons, The eldest was old Deacon Pryor — A man countin' fourscore-and-seven, And gin'rally full of his ire. Beside him, his wife, countin' fourscore, A kind-hearted, motherly soul ; And next to her young Deacon Hartley, A good Christian man on the whole. Miss Parsons, a spinster of fifty, And long ago laid on the shelf, Had wedged herself next ; and beside her, Was Deacon Munroe— -that's myself. The meetin' was soon called to ordor, The parson looked glum as a text; We gazed at each other in silence, And silently wondered "What next!" Then slowly uprose Deacon Hartley; His voice seemed to tremble with fear As he said : " Boy and man you have known me, My good friends, for nigh forty year. " And you scarce may expect a confession Of error from me ; but — you know, My dearly loved wife died last Christmas, It's now nearly ten months ago. The winter went by long and lonely, The spring hurried forward a-pace; The farm-work came on, and I needed A woman about the old place. "The children were wilder than rabbits, And still growing worse every day; No help to be found in the village, Although I was will in' to pay. In fact, I was nigh 'bout discouraged For everything looked so forlorn; THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 203 When good little Patience McAlpine Skipped into our kitchen, one morn. " She had only run in of an errand ; But she laughed at our miserable plight, And set to work, just like a woman, A putting the whole place to right. And though her own folks was so busy, And illy her helpin' could spare, She flit in and out like a sparrow, And most every day she was there. "So the Summer went by sort o' cheerful, And one night my baby, my Joe, Seemed feverish and fretful, and woke me By crying, at midnight, you know. I was tired with my day's work and sleepy, And couldn't no way keep him still ; So, at last I grew angry, and spanked him, And then he screamed out with a will. "Just about then I heard a soft rapping, Away at the half-open door; And then little Patience McAlpine Walked shyly across the white floor. Says she: 'I thought Josey was cryin', I guess I'd best take him away. I knew you'd be gettin'* up early To go to the marshes for hay, So I stayed here to-night to get breakfast; I guess he'll be quiet with me. Come, Josey, kiss papa, and tell him What a nice little man you will be !" She was stooping low over the pillow, And saw the big tears on his cheek; Her face was so close to my whiskers, I darsn't move, scarcely, or speak ; Her hands were both hold'n' the baby, Her eye by his shoulder was hid; But her mouth was so near and so rosy, I — kissed her. That's just what 1 did." 204 THE LAWRENCE RECITER, Then down sat the tremblin' sinner, The sisters they murmured of "shame," And "she shouldn't oughter a let him, No doubt she was mostly to blame." When straightway uprose Deacon Pryor, "Now bretherin and sisters," he said, (We knowed then that suthin' wascomin/ And all sot as still as the dead), "You've heard brother Hartley's confession, And I speak for myself when I say. That if my wife was dead, and my children Were all growin' worse every day; And if my house needed attention, And Patience McAlpine had come And tidied the cluttered up kitchen, And made the place seem more like home; And if I was worn out and sleepy, And my Baby wouldn't lie still, But fretted and woke me at midnight, As babies, we know, sometimes will ; And if Patience came in to hush him, And 'twas all as our good brother sez — I think, friends — I think I should kiss her, And 'bide by the consequences." Then down sat the elderly deacon, The younger one lifted his face, And a smile rippled over the meetm* Like light in a shadowy place. Perhaps, then, the matronly sisters Remembered their far-away youth, Or the daughters at home by their firesides Shrined each in her shy, modest truth; For their judgments grew gentle and kindly, And — well — as I started to say, The solemn old balls in the steeple Are riugin' a britial to-day. Fire and water, oil and vinegar, heat and cold, light and darkness, are not more opposed to each other, than is honesty to fraud, or vice to virtue. THE LAWK EXCE RECITER. 205 CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. (george croly.) 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 Roman right, though none, it seems, dare stand To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there! Cling to your master, judges, Romans, slaves! His charge is false; — I dare him to his proofs. You have my answer. Let my actions speak ! But this I will avow, that I have scorned And still do scorn, to 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 Roman from his birthright; and for what? To fling your offices to every slave ! Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb, And, having wound their loathsome track to the top Of this huge, mouldering monument of Rome, Hang hissing at the nobler man below. Come, consecrated Lietors, from your thrones ; {To the Senate.) Fling down } r our sceptres ; take the rod and axe, And make the murder as you make the law. Banished from Rome ! What's banished, but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe ? " Tried and convicted traitor!" Who says this? Who r ll prove it, at his peril, on my head? Banished ! I thank you for't. It breaks my chain ! I held some slack allegiance till this hour; But noiv my sword's my own. Smile on. my Lords! I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, To leave you in your lazy dignities. 206 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. But here I 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 Catiline! " Traitor ! " I go ; bat, I return I This— trial ! Here I devote 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 thirsty dagger drawn; Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe, Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones; Till Anarchy comes down on you like night, And Massacre sepals Rome's eternal grave. I go ; but not to leap the £ulf al<>ne. 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 ! (To the Lictors.) I will return. THE BLACKSMITH'S STORY. (frank olive.) Well, No ! My wife ain't dead, sir, but I've lost her all the same ; She left me voluntarily, and neither was to blame. It's rather a queer story, and 1 think you will agree — When you hear the circumstances — 'twas rather rough on me. She was a soldier's widow. He was killed at Malvern Hill; And when 1 married her she seemed to sorrow for him still; THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 207 But I brought her here to Kansas, and I never want to see A better wife than Mary w T as for five bright years to me. The change of scene brought cheerfulness, and soon a rosy glow Of happiness warmed Mary's cheeks and melted all their snow. I think she loved me some — I'm bound to think that of her, sir, And as for me — I can't begin to tell how I loved her ! Three years ago the baby came our humble home to bless ; And then I reckon I was nigh to perfect happiness ; 'Twas hers — 'twas mine — ; but I've no language to explain to you, How that little girl's weak fingers our hearts together drew ! Once we watched it through a fever, and with each gasping breath, Dumb with an awful, wordless woe, we waited for its death ; And, though I'm not a pious man, our souls together there, For Heaven to spare our darling, went up in voiceless prayer. And when the doctor said 'twould live, our joy what words could tell ? Clasped in each other's arms, our grateful tears together fell. Sometimes, you see, the shadow fell across our little nest. But it only made the sunshine seem a doubly welcome guest. Work came to me a plenty, and I kept the anvil ringing; Early and late you'd find me there a hammering and singing ; Love nerved my arm to labor, and moved my tongue to song, And though my singing wasn^t sweet, it was tremendous strong ! One day a one-armed stranger stopped to have me nail a shoe, And while I was at work, we passed a compliment or two; 203 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. I asked him how he lost his arm. He said 'twas shot away At Malvern Hill. "At Malvern Hill! Did you know Eobert May?" "That's me," said he. "You, you!" I gasped, choking with horrid doubt ; u If you're the man, just follow me ; we'll try this mystery out ! " With dizzy steps, I led him to Mary. God ! 'Twas true ! Then the bitterest pangs of misery, unspeakable, I knew. Frozen with deadly horror, she stared with eyes of stone, And from her quivering lips there broke one wild, despairing moan. 'Twas he ! the husband of her youth, now risen from the dead. But all too late — and with one bitter cry, her senses fled. What could be done ? He was reported dead. On his return He strove in vain some tidings of his absent wife to learn. 'Twas well that he was innocent ! Else I'd have killed him, too, So dead he never would have riz till Gabriel's trumpet blew ! It was agreed that Mary then between us should decide, And each by her decision would sacredly abide. No sinner, at the judgment seat, waiting eternal doom, Could suffer what 1 did, while waiting sentence in that room. Rigid and breathless, there we stood, with nerves as tense as steel, While Mary's eye sought each white face, in piteous appeal. God! could not woman's duty be less hardly reconciled Between her lawful husband and the father of her child? Ah, how my heart was chilled to ice, when she knelt down and said : u Forgive me, John! He is my husband ! Here! Alive! not dead ! " I raised her tenderly, and tried to tell her she was right, But somehow, in my aching breast, the prisoned words stuck ti p ea -l on peal, how they boom in their thunder ! THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 217 From host to host with kindling sound, The shouted signal circles round ; Freer already breathes the breath ! The war is waging, slaughter raging, And heavy through the reeking pall The iron death-dice fall ! Nearer they close — foes upon foes — '* Fire ! " — from square to square it goes. They kneel as one man from flank to flank, And the fire comes sharp from the foremost rank. Many a soldier to earth is sent, Many a gap by the balls is rent; O'er the corpse before springs the hinder man, That the line may not fall to the fearless van. To the right, to the left, and around and around, Death whirls in its dance on th»* bloody ground. God's sunlight is quenched in the fiery fight, Over the hosts falls a brooding night ! "Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'er, In the life to come me may meet once more." The dead men are bathed in the weltering blood, And the living are blent in the slippery flood, And the feet, as they reeling and sliding go, Stumble still on the corpse that sleeps below. " What ? Francis ! "— " Give Charlotte my last farewell." As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell — "I'll give — Oh God! are the guns so near? Ho! comrades! yon •olley! look sharp to the rear! I'll give to thy Charlotte thy last farewell ! Sleep soft! where death thickest &* scendeth in rain, The friend thou forsake th thy side may regain !" Hitherward, thitherward reels the tight; Dark and more darkly day glooms into night. "Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'er, In the life to come that we meet once more \ n Hark to the hoofs that galloping go! The adjutants flying — The horsemen press hard on the panting foe, Their thunder booms in dying — Victory ! 218 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Terror has seized on the dastards all, And their colors fall ! Victory ! Closed is the brunt of the glorious fight ; And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night! Trumpet and fife swelling choral along, The triumph already sweeps marching in song. ki Farewell, fallen brothers ; though this life be o'er, There's another, in which we shall meet you once more ! " STRIKE FOR YOUR NATIVE LAND. (PHILIP LAWRENCE.) Hark ! Europe's Tyrants with their countless host Of veteran warriors, land upon our coast ; Rise fellow men ! each with a freeman's might, And grasp your weapons for the glorious fight. Strike for your Native Land ! Avenge your Country's wrongs ! Come from the North, where freedom sits enthroned, Come from the South, where liberty has roamed, Come from the East, and from the Western land, And join your brothers in the " Patriots' Band." Strike for your Native Land ! Avenge your Country's wrongs! Come Southern Chivalry, and hand in band, With Northern Puritans like brothers stand, And once again, as in the days of yore, Hurl the Invaders lifeless to the shore. Strike for your Native Land ! Avenge your Country's wrongs ! Come Mountain Boys, sons of heroic sires, Come Western Men, whom liberty inspires, Virginia's Sons, answer your country's cry, And swear to save your own dear land, or die ! Strike for your Native Land ! Avenge your Country's wrongs! THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 219 Sons of Columbia, come from every State, Stay not to parley, lest you be too late, Grasp the bright rifle in your brave right hand, And crush the Invaders of your Noble Land ! Strike for your Native Land ! Avenge your Country's wrongs! Rise for the land of beauty and of worth ! Arm for your land, the glory of the earth! Fight for the land of liberty this day! And Victory shall round your banners play ! Strike for your Native Land ! Avenge your Country's wrongs ! ELOQUENCE. (PHILIP LAWRENCE.) Eloquence is the most glorious gift bestowed by God upon man. By this noble art, Nations have been made free; Christianity has been extended over the greater part of the earth ; Cities and Countries have become renowned from being the birthplace of the "Children of Genius," whose names are household words in the land of their birth. When Greece and Rome were in their glory, Eloquence was studied and cultivated by all who aspired to honor and distinction. In the golden days of Greece, Peiides not only adorned Athens with Paintings, Statuary, and magnificent Public Buildings, but he also glorified it by Ins sublime eloquence. Cicero saved Rome by his Orations against Catiline. What roused the noblest emotions in the breasts of our Forefathers, and caused them to dare all and do all for their country's freedom ? The burning words of Patrick Henry ! When the eloquent speaker puts all the powers of his art into requisition, the voice with its exquisite modula- tions, the vy^s which flash with indignation or beam with tenderness the graceful gestures of the hands, the o grand, so noble ? The Ocean's the home for me ! While over the waves we're roaming, Hurruh for the glorious Sea ! 236 THE LAWRENCE RECITER, With its rolling billows foaming, A Sailor's life for me. Chorus. — While over the waves we're roaming, Hurrah, etc. When the Sea is wildly raging, And fierce waves o'erwhelm the deck, Angels bright spread their wings of light, And guard us from storm and wreck. Winds may blow yet fearless we go, From our hearts all cares we fling, Spread our sail, we will face the gale, And merrily, merrily sing. While over the waves we're roaming, Hurrah for the glorious Sea ! With its rolling billows foaming, A Sailor's life for me. Chorus. — While over the waves we're roaming, Hu-rah, etc. THE SWEETEST OF SMILES. (philip lawrence.) Father. The sweetest of smiles and the smile I most prize, My wife gave to me on the morn we were wed, It played round her lips and it beamed from her eyes, As M I love you my husband," it tenderly said. Mother. The sweetest of smiles is the first smile which meets, The glad mother's eyes from the babe at her breast; Hew swel s her fond heart, with what rapture it beats, While she looks on her dove as she lulls it to rest. Son. The sweetest of smiles is the fond smile which dwells, In tin 1 eyes, on the lips, of the maiden you love: Tho' silent, the heart's treasured secret it tells, 'Tis a sunbeam sunt down from the bright orb above. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 237 Daughter. The sweetest of smiles is when true lovers meet, It is pure as the smile of the spirits above; No language so eloquent, music so sweet, As the glance and the voice, of the being you love. THE LADIES. (PHI LIP LAWRENCE.) The smiles of the ladies our homes grace and bless; England's fair ladies are famed for their duty, The ladies of France are famed for their dress, American ladies are famed for their beauty. The praise of the ladies 'tis pleasing to sing. Who bless all our lives and each care can dispel, If you gain one fond heart quickly offer a ring, And bind in love's chains an American Belle. No riches can purchase the bliss of her love, But the truejnoble man may aspire to the prize, For her heart is as pure and as fond as the dove, And the brightness of Eden is seen in her eyes. I have heard of Angels, can such things be? Look on her you love, an Angel yon will see! She will make your life like the spirit life above, And your home a palace full of light and love. LITTLE ANNIE'S PRAYER AND DREAM. (PHILIP LAWRENCE. Little Annie knelt by the side of her bed, And folding her pretty white hands, she said, "Dear Father in Heaven ! oh listen, I pray To all that thy own little child will say, Bless Papa and Mamma, and Grandma so mild, And sweet little Kitty, the old Pussy's child, 238 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Kind Grandpa, who draws me about so nice, And Pearl and Snowdrop, my pretty white mice." When I'm put in my bed and go to sleep, I think angels their watch around me keep, For when I lie down I have pleasant dreams. I seem to be walking by beautiful streams, Where the bright silver fishes swim and glide, And in the white lilies the fire-flies hide, On the river's bank the red roses bloom, And fill all the air with their sweet perfume. There beautiful angels in robes of white, Played on golden harps and sung all the night, And the loveliest form in that lovely band, My angel aunt Annie took me by the hand; When I looked in her face she sweetly smiled, And kissed me and called me her darling child, Then showed me a palace of purest white, Encircled by rainbows of radiant light. Then she told me, within that blest home above Dwelt creation's God, and his name was " Love," Who bestowed his blessings on great and small, Who returned good for evil to one and all. While I joyfully listened I heard the sweet hymn, That was sung by Archangel and Seraphim." If that is God's heaven where he doth reign, I want to return to heaven again. THE QUEEN OF LOVE. (PHILIP LAWRENCE.) Fair as the blush which summer morn Imprints upon the rose, With smiles as bright as early dawn, When flowers their buds unclose, A lovely spirit of the skies Has come from realms above, The light of heaven is in thine eyes My charming u Queen of Love!" THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 239 Young Cupid dwells in every curl That doth thy head adorn ; Venus her girdle doth unfurl To bind thy matchless form ; The Graces come with loving arms, A sister Grace to greet, My heart a captive to thy charms Lies panting at thy feet. Oh lovely one ! if yet ungiven, A gift to me impart, A gift I'll value next to heaven, The tribute of thy heart. Thy gentle voice so sweet and clear, An echo from above, With melody enchants mine ear My peerless " Queen of Love ! " A FATHER'S POETRAIT OF A DAUGHTER, (PHILIP LAWRENCE.) To Annie.* In fondest words of tenderness, My heart doth speak of thee, Altho 5 no words of mine can tell, How dear thou wert to me. Thy lovely form I still can see Clear imaged on my brain, Where, 'till I breathe my latest sigh, It ever will remain. By day and night all other tkoughts Are banished from my mind ; Within the church, or at the play, No pleasure can I find j * Annie Lawrence, daughter of Prof. Philip Lawrence, born Nov. 6th, 1857, died March 24th, 1877, in the 20th year of her age* This loving child, by her conduct, never gave her father's heart one pang. 240 THE LAWRENCE KECITER, No sweet harmonious music Can now delight mine ear, Because I cannot hear the voice Of her I love so dear. Let me try to paint the picture Of one who was so fair: Her brow was as the lily white, And dark brown was her hair; Soft hazel eyes so full of truth, Yet radiantly did shine, The graces and the virtues met Within that form divine. The color of the soft moss-rose, Was on that damask cheek, Her lips were like twin cherries, And almost seemed to speak ; Within those slightly parted lips Were seen two rows of pearls, And Love had touched the dimpled chin Of this paragon of girls. My Annie's form was beautiful, Above all woman kind, Yet that fair form was far surpassed By the beauty of her mind. Thy thoughts were chaste, thy voice was sweet, My gentle, tender dove! Thy soul, too pure to tarry here, Returned to realms above. Her love for me was wonderful, It came direct from God! But now. alas! that loving heart Lies underneath the sod. Yet one sweet thought doth comfort give To this poor aching heart, "Our Father' 1 will unite our souls, Never again to part. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 241 THE KAVEN. (edgar a. poe.) Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, — "While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber- door. " J Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, "tapping at my chamber- door — Only this, and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost L en ore, — For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, — Nameless here forevermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, Thrilled me, — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, " ? Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber- door, — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door; That it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; 16 242 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber- door, That I scarce was sure I heard you " — here I opened wide the door : Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, won- dering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before ; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, " Lenore ! " This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, " Lexore ! " Merely this, and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again 1 heard a tapping, something louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my win- dow-lattice ; Let me see then what thereat is and this mystery explore, — Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ; — 'Tis the wind, and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed lie ; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my cham- ber-door, — Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber- door — Perched, and sat, and nothing more. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 243 Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven; Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore, Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore ? " Quoth the raven, "Nevermore ! " Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore ; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber- door, Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber- door With such name as " Nevermore ! " But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered — Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends have flown before, On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, " Nevermore ! " Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly spoken, " Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster Follow'd fast and follow'd faster, till his songs one burden bore, Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore, Of — ' Never — nevermore ! ? " 244 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling. Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door, Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore ! " This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burn'd into my bosom's core ; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er She shall press — ah ! nevermore ! Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore ! " Quoth the raven, "Nevermore ! " "Prophet ! " said I, "thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore, — Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, I implore ! " Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!" THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 245 " Prophet !" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore, Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore ; Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore ! " Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend !" I shrieked, upstarting, — "Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore ! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door ! w Quoth the raven, "Nevermore ! " And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door j And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore! Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounce it to you: trippingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of our pla}^ers do, I had as lief the town-crier spake my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that will give it smooth- ness. 246 THE LAWRENCE RECITER, THE FAMINE. (H. W. LONGFELLOW.) Oh the long and dreary winter I Oh the cold and cruel winter ! Ever thicker, thicker, thicker Froze the ice on lake and river £ Ever deeper, deeper, deeper Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, Fell the covering snow, and drifted Through the forest, round the village. Hardly from his buried wigwam Could the hunter force a passage ; With his mittens and his snow-shoes Vainly walked he through the forest, Sought for bird or beast and found none, Saw no track of deer or rabbit, In the snow beheld no footprints, In the ghastly, gleaming forest Fell, and could not rise from weakness. Perished there from cold and hunger. Oh the famine and the fever! Oh the wasting of the famine! Oh the blasting of the fever ! Oh the wailing of the children I Oh the anguish of the women ! All the earth was sick and famished; Hungry was the air around them, Hungry was the sky above them, And the hungry stars in heaven Like the eyes of wolves glared at them Into Hiawatha's wigwam Came two other guests, as silent As the ghosts were, and as gloomy; Waited not to be invited, Did not parley at the doorway, Sat there without word of welcome In the seat of Laughing Water; THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 217 Looted with haggard eyes and hollow At the face of Laughing Water. And the foremost said : " Behold me I am Famine, Bukadawin ! " And the other said : " Behold me ! I am Fever, Ahkosewin!" And the lovely Minnehaha Shuddered as they looked upon her, Shuddered at the words they uttered, Lay down on her bed in silence, Hid her face, but made no answer ; Lay there trembling, freezing, burning At the looks they cast upon her, At the fearful words they uttered. Forth into the empty forest Rushed the maddened Hiawatha; In his heart was deadly sorrow, In his face a stony firmness, On his brow the sweat of anguish Started, but it froze and fell not. Wrapped in furs and armed for hunting With his mighty bow of ash-tree, With his quiver full of arrows, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Into the vast and vacant forest On his snow-shoes strode he forward. u Gitche Manito, the mighty ! n Cried he with his face uplifted In that bitter hour of anguish, "Give your children food, Father! Give us food, or we must perish ! Give me food for Minnehaha, For my dying Minnehaha!" Through the far-resounding forest, Through the forest vast and vacant Rang that cry of desolation, But there came no other answer Than the echo of his crying, Than the echo of the woodlands, " Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! w 248 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. All day long roved Hiawatha In that melancholy forest, Through the shadow of whose thickets, In the pleasant days of summer, Of that ne'er forgotten summer, He had brought his young wife homeward From the land of the Dacotahs ; When the birds sang in the thickets, And the streamlets laughed and glistened, And the air was full of fragrance, And the loving Laughing Water Said with voice that did not tremble, "I will follow you, my husband! 77 In the wigwam with Nokomis, With those gloomy guests that watched her, With the Famine and the Fever, She was lying, the beloved, She the dying Minnehaha. "Hark! 77 she said, "I hear a rushing, Hear a roaring and a rushing, Hear the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to me from a distance l" "No, my child! 77 said old Nokomis, " 7 Tis the night- wind in the pine-trees \" "Look! 77 she said, "I see my father Standing lonely at his doorway, Beckoning to me from his wigwam In the land of the Dacotahs ! 77 "No, my child! 77 said old Nokomis, " 7 Tis the smoke that waves and beckons! 7 ' "Ah! 77 she said, "the eyes of Pauguk Glare upon me in the darkness, I can feel his icy fingers, Clasping mine amid the darkness! Hiawatha! Hiawatha! 77 And the desolate Hiawatha, Far away amid the forest, Miles away among the mountains, Heard that sudden cry of anguish, Heard the voice of Minnehaha THE LAWREKCE RECITER 249 Calling to him in the darkness, " Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " Over snow-fields waste and pathless, Under snow-enciimbered branches, Homeward hurried Hiawatha, Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing; " Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! Would that I had perished for you, Would that I were dead as you are! Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " And he rushed into the wigwam, Saw the old Nokomis slowly Rocking to and fro and moaning, Saw his lovely Minnehaha Lying dead and cold before hii And his bursting heart within hii£ Uttered such a cry of anguish, That the forest moaned and shuddered, That the very stars in heaven Shook and trembled with his anguish. Then he sat down still and speechless, On the bed of Minnehaha, At the feet of Laughing Water, At those willing feet, that never More would lightly run to meet him, Never more would lightly follow. With both hands his face he covered, Seven long days and nights he sat there, As if in a swoon he sat there, Speechless, motionless, unconscious Of the daylight or the darkness. Then they buried Minnehaha; In the snow a grave they made her, In the forest deep and darksome, Underneath the moaning hemlocks; Clothed her in her richest garments, Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, Covered her with snow, like ermine: 250 THE LAWRENCE RECITER- Thus they buried Minnehaha. And at night a fire was lighted, On her grave four times was kindled, For her soul upon its journey To the Islands of the Blessed. From his doorw r ay Hiawatha Saw it burning in the forest, Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks ; From his sleepless bed uprising, From the bed of Minnehaha, Stood and watched it at the doorway, That it might not be extinguished, Might not leave- her in the darkness* "Farewell!" said he, "Minnehaha; Farewell, my Laughing Water! All my heart is buried with you, All my thoughts go onward with you! Come not back again to labor, Come not back again to suffer, Where the Famine and the Fever Wear the heart and waste the body. Soon my task will be completed, Soon your footsteps I shall follow To the Islands of the Blessed', To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Land of the Hereafter V 7 THE SNOW-STORM. (C. G. EASTMAN.) 'Tis a fearful night in the winter time, As cold as it ever can be ; The roar of the blast is heard like the chime Of the waves on an angry sea ; The moon is full, but her silver light The storm dashes out with its wings to-night; And over the sky, from south to north, Not a star is seen, as the wind comes forth In the strength of a mighty glee. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 251 All day had the snow come down — all day, As it never came down before, And over the hills at sunset lay Some two or three feet or more The fence was lost, and the wall of stone ; The windows blocked, and the well-curbs gone 5 The hay-stack had grown to a mountain-lift ; And the wood-pile looked like a monster drift, As it lay by the farmer's door. The night sets in on a world of snow, While the air grows sharp and chill, And the warning roar of a fearful blow Is heard on the distant hill : And the Norther! See^ on the mountain-peak, In his breath haw the old trees writhe and shriek ! He shouts on the plain, Ho-ho! ho-hot He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow, And growls with a savage will. Such a night as this to be found abroad In the drifts and the freezing air! Sits a shivering dog in a field by the road, With the snow in his shaggy hair; He shuts his eyes to the wind, and growls ^ He lifts his head, and moans and howls ; Then, crouching low from the cutting sleet, His nose is pressed on his quivering feet % r Pray, what does the dog do there ?: A farmer came from the village plain, But he lost the traveled way; And for hours he trod with might and main A path for his horse and sleigh ; But colder still the cold winds blew, And deeper still the deep drifts grew; And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, At last in her struggles floundered down, Where a log in a hollow lay. In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort, She plunged in the drifting snow, While her master urged, till his breath grew short, With a word and a gentle blow : 252 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight; His hands were numb, and had lost their might; So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh, And strove to shelter himself till day, With his coat and the buffalo. He has given the last faint jerk of the rein, To rouse up his dying steed ; And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain For help in his master's need ; For awhile he strives with a wistful cry, To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, And wags his tail if the rude winds flap The skirt of the buffalo over his lap, And whines when he takes no heed. The wind goes down and the storm is o'er,— ; Tis the hour of midnight, past; The old trees writhe and bend no more In the whirl of the rushing blast ; The silent^moon, with her peaceful light, Looks down on the hills with snow all white; And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump, Of the blasted pine and the ghostly stump, Afar on the plain are cast. But, cold and dead, by the hidden log Are they who came from the town, — The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog, And his beautiful Morgan brown, — In the wide snow desert, far and grand, With his cap on his head, and the reins in his hand; The dog with his nose on his master's feet, And the mare half soon through the crusted sleet, Where she lay when she floundered down. la this a time to be gloomy and sad When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the doe]) blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 253 KING ROBERT OF SICILY. (h. w. longellow.) Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Appareled in magnificent attire With retinue of many a knight and squire, On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudty sat And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. And as he listened, o'er and o'er again Repeated, like a burden or refrain, He caught the words, " Deposuit jpotentes De sede, et exaltavit humiles /" And slowly lifting up his kingly head, He to a learned clerk beside him said, " What mean those words ? " The clerk made answer meet, " He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree." Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, " 'Tis well thatsuch seditious words are sung Only by priests, and in the LaHn tongue ; For unto priests and people be it known, There is no power can push me from my throne !" And leaning back he yawned and fell asleep, Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. When he awoke, it was already night ; The church was empty, and there was no light, Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint, Lighted a little space before some saint. He started from his seat and gazed around, But saw no living thing and heard no sound. He groped towards the door, but it was locked ; He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, And imprecations upon men and saints. The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls. At length the &exton, hearing from without The tumult of the knocking and the shout, 254 THE LAWRENCE RECITER, And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, Came with his lantern, asking, " Who is there ? " Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, " Open ; 'tis I, the king ! Art thou afraid ? " The frightened sexton, muttering with a curse, u This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! " Turned the great key and flung the portal wide; A man rushed by him at a single stride, Haggard, half-naked, without hat or cloak, Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spok«, But leaped into the blackness of the night, And vanished like a spectre from his sight. Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Despoiled of his magnificent attire, Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire, With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, Strode on and thundered at the palace gate ; Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage To right and left each seneschal and page, And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed; Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, Until at last he reached the banquet-room, Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. There on the dais sat another king, Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring — King Robert's self in features, form, and height, But all transfigured with angelic light ! It was an angel ; and his presence there With a divine effulgence filled the air, An exaltation, piercing the disguise, Though none the hidden angel recognize. A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, The throneless monarch on the angel gazed, Who met his look of anger and surprise With the divine compassion of his eyes! Then said, "Who art thou, and why com'st thou here?" To which King Robert answered with a sneer, THE LAWRENCE KE€ITER. 255 H I am the ting, and come to claim my own From an impostor, who usurps my throne !' ? And suddenly, at these audacious words, Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords ; The angel answered with unruffled brow, "Nay^ not the king, but the king's jester; thou Henceforth shall wear the bells and scalloped cape And for thy counselor shalt lead an ape ; Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, And wait upon my henchmen in the hall ! " Deaf to King Hobert's threats and cries and prayers, They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs; A group of tittering pages ran before, And as they opened wide the folding door, His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring With the mock plaudits of " Long live the king ! " Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, He said within himself, "It was a dream !" But the straw rustled as he turned his head, There were the cap and bells beside his bed; Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls, And in the corner, a revolting shape, Shivering and chattering, sat the wretched ape. It was no dream ; the world he loved so much Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch ! Days came and went ; and now returned again To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; Under the angel's governance benign The happy island danced with corn and wine, And deep within the mountain's burning breast Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. Meanwhile King Eobert yielded to his fate, Sullen and silent and disconsolate. Dressed in the motley garb that jesters wear, With look bewildered, and a vacant stare, Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, 256 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. His only friend the ape, his only food What others left — he still was unsubdued. And when the angel met him on his way, And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, " Art thou the king ? " the passion of his woe Burst from him in resistless overflow, And lifting high his forehead, he would fling The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the king ! " Almost three years were ended, when there came Ambassadors of great repute and name From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane By letter summoned them forthwith to come On Holy Thursday to his City of Rome. The angel with great joy received his guests, And gave them presents of embroidered vests, And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined, And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. Then he departed with them o'er the sea Into the lovely land of Italy, Whose loveliness was more resplendent made By the mere passing of that cavalcade, With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir Of jeweled bridle and of golden spur. And lo ! among the menials, in mock state, Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, His cloak of foxtails flapping in the wind, The solemn ape demurely perched behind, King Robert rode, making huge merriment In all the country towns through which they went. The Pope received them with great pomp, and blare Of bannered trumpets, on St. Peter's Square, Giving his benediction and embrace, Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. W hile with congratulations and with prayers He entertained the angel unawares, Robert, the jester, bursting through the crowd, Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud: THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 257 "I am the king ! Look and behold in me Robert, your brother, King of Sicily ! This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, Is an impostor in a king's disguise. Do you not know me ? Does no voice within A nswer my cry, and say we are akin ? " The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, Gazed at the angel's countenance serene; The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport To keep a madman for thy fool at court ! " And the poor, baffled jester, in disgrace Was hustled back among the populace. In solemn state the holy week went by, And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky ; The presence of the* angel, with its light, Before the sun rose, made the city bright, And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. Even the jester, on his bed of straw, With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw; He felt within a power unfelt before, And kneeling humbly on his chamber floor, He heard the rustling garments of the Lord Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. And now the visit ending, and once more Valmond returning to the Danube's shore, Homeward the angel journeyed, and again The land was made resplendent with his train, Flashing along the towns of Italy Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea. And when once more within Palermo's wall, And, seated on the throne in his great hall, He heard the Angelus from convent towers, As if the better world conversed with ours, He beckoned to King Bobert to draw nigher, And with a gesture bade the rest retire. And when they were alone, the angel said, " Art thou the king ? " Then, bowing down his head, King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, And meekly answered him, "Thou knowest best! 17 258 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence, And in some cloister's school of penitence, Across those stones that pave the way to heaven Walk barefoot till my guilty soul be shriven ! " The angel smiled, and from his radiant face A holy light illumined all the place, And through the open window, loud and clear, The} 7 heard the monks chant in the chapel near. Above the stir and tumult of the street, H He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree I" And through the chant a second melody Hose like the throbbing of a single string: "I am an angel, and thou art the king !" King Robert, who was standing near the throne, Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone ! Kut all appareled as in days of oid, With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold ; And when his courtiers came, they found him there, Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. THE KIDE OF COLLINS GRAVES. (JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY.) No SONG of a soldier riding down To the raging fight of Winchester town; No song of a time that shook the earth With the nation's throe at a nation's birth ; But the song of a brave man, free from fear As Sheridan's self, or Paul Revere ; Who risked what they risked, — free from strife And its promise of glorious pay, — his life. The peaceful valley has waked and stirred, And the answering echoes of life are heard; The dew still clings to the trees and grass, And the earlier toilers smiling pass, As they glance aside at the white-walled homes, Or up the valley where merrily (tomes The brook that sparkles in diamond rills As the sun comes over the Hampshire hills. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 259 What was it that passed like an ominous breath ? Like a shiver of fear or a touch of death ? What was it? The valley is peaceful still, And the leaves are afire on the top of the hill; It was not a sound, nor a thing of sense — But a pain, like a pang in the short suspense That wraps the being of those who see At their feet the gulf of eternity. The air of the valley has felt the chill; The workers pause at the door of the mill; The housewife, keen to the shivering air, Arrests her foot on the cottage stair, Instinctive taught by the mother-love, And thinks of the sleeping ones above. Why start the listeners ? Why does the course Of the mill-stream widen ? Is it a horse — "Hark to the sound of his hoofs," they say — That gallops so wildly Williamsburg way? God! What was that, like a human shriek, From the winding valley ? Will nobody speak ; Will nobody answer those women who cry As the awful warnings thunder by? Whence come they? Listen 1 And now they hear The sound of the galloping horse-hoofs near; They watch the trend of the vale, and see The rider, who thunders so menacingly, With waving arms and warning scream To the home-filled banks of the valley stream. He draws no rein, but he shakes the street With a shout and the ring of the galloping feet, And this the cry that he flings to the wind : " To the hills for your lives/ The flood is behind I " He cries and is gone ; but they know the worst — The treacherous Williamsburg dam 1ms burst! The basin that nourished their happy homes Is changed to a demon — It comes! it comes! A monster in aspect, with shaggy front Of shattered dwellings to take the brunt 260 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. Of the dwellings they shatter, — white-maned and hoarse, The merciless terror fills the course Of the narrow valley, and rushing raves, With death on the first of its hissing waves, Till cottage and street and crowded mill Are crumbled and crushed. But onward still, In front of the roaring flood is heard The galloping horse and the warning word. Thank God, that the brave man's life is spared ! From Williamsburg town he nobly dared To race with the flood and to take the road In front of the terrible swath it mowed. For miles it thundered and crashed behind, But he looked ahead with a steadfast mind : " They must be warned ! " was all he said, As away on his terrible ride he sped. When heroes are called for, bring the crown To this Yankee rider; send him down On the stream of time with the Curtius old : His deed, as the Roman's, was brave and bold. And the tale can as noble a thrill awake, For he offered his life for the people's sake. HOW PERSIMMONS TOOK CAH OB DEE BABY. Persimmons was a colored lad ? Way down in Lou'sianny ; And all the teaching that he had Was given him by his granny. But he did his duty ever, As well as you, it may be : With faithfulness and pride always, He minded missus' baby. He loved the counsels of the saints, And, sometimes, those of sinners, — To run off 'possum-hunting, and Steal "water-million" dinners. And fervently at meetin', too, On every Sunday night, He'd with the elders shout and pray By the pine-knots' flaring light, THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 2G1 And sing their rudest melodies, With voke so full and strong, You could almost think he learned them From the angels' triumph-song. SONG. " We be nearer to de Lord Dan de white folks — and dey knows it. See de glory-gate unbarred ! Walk in darkies, past de guard : Bet you dollar he won't close it ! " Walk in, darkies, troo de gate ; Hear de kullered angels holler! Go 'way, white folks : you're too late : We's de winnin' kuller. Wait Till de trumpet blow to foller." He would croon this over softly As he lay out in the sun ; But the song he heard most often, Was his granny's favorite one, " Jawge Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Persimmons Henry Clay, be Quick ! shut de do' ; Get up off dat flo'; Come heah and mind de baby." One night there came a fearful storm, Almost a second flood : The river rose, a torrent swollen Of beaten, yellow mud. It bit at its embankments, And lapped them down in foam, Till, surging through a wide crevasse, The waves seethed round their home. They scaled the high veranda; They filled the parlors clear, Till floating chairs and tables Clashed against the chandelier. 262 THE LAWRENCE RECITER. •> 'Twas then that Persimmons' granny, Stout of arm and terror-proof, By means of axe and lever, Pried up the veranda roof; Bound mattresses upon it With stoutest cord of rope ; Lifted out her fainting mistress, Saying, il Honey, dar is hope I " Jawge Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Persimmons Henry Clay, be Quick on dat raft ! Don't star' like a calf, But take good cah ob baby \ n The frothing river lifted them Out on its turbid tide ; And for awhile they floated an Together, side by side ; Till, broken by the current strong. The frail raft snapped in two, And Persimmons saw his granny Fast fading from his view. The deck-hands on a steamboat Heard, as they passed in haste, A child's voice singing in the dark, Upon the water's waste, — A song of faith and triumph, Of Moses and the Lard; And, throwing out a coil of rope, They drew him safe on board. Full many a stranger city Persimmons wandered through, " A-toting ob der baby," and Singing songs he knew. At length. some City Fathers Objected to bis plan, Arresting as a vagrant Our valiant little man. THE LAWRENCE RECITER. 263 They carried out their purposes: Persimmons " 'lowed he'd spile 'em ; " So, sloping from the station-house, He stole baby from the 'sylum. And on that very afternoon, As it was growing dark, He sang beside the fountain in The crowded city park, A rude camp-meeting anthem, Which he had sung before, While on his granny's fragile raft He drifted far from shore : — SONG. " Moses smote de water, and De sea gabe away: De chilleren dey passed ober, for De sea gabe way. O Lord ! / feel so glad ! It am always dark fo J day : So, honey, don't yer be sad: A lady dressed in mourning Turned with a sudden start, Gave one glance at the baby, Then caught it to Jier heart, W'hile a substantial shadow That was walking by her side Seized Persimmons by the shoulder, And. while she shook him, cried, — u You, Jawge Washington. Thomas Jefferson, Persimmons Henry Clay, Be quick, splain yourself, chile, Stop dat ar fool smile ! Whar you done been wid b Brothers. It teems with absorbing interest throughout, the narrative dashing on from one intensely exciting incident to another equally thrilling, and this, too, without the slightest pause. Just at the point ' where " 7 he Count of Monte-Cristo" ends "Edmond Dantes" takes up the thread of the grandly conceivea Plot and develops at once into a work of rare power, thorough originality and irresist- ible fascination. The volcaiiic storm on the Mediterranean, in which the Alcyon, with Monte-Cristo and Haydee on board, is wrecked, is an extraordinarily vivid and effective episode, while the conflict with the brigands on the Island of Salmis and the burning of Monte Cristo^ palace are in the highest degree graphic and dramatic. Further on comes a striking and minute account of the French Revolution of 1848, with the fierce struggles in the Chamber of Deputies and the bloody battles at the bar* ricades in the streets of Paris. The love element is plentifully represented in the romantic reunion of Dantes and Merckdes, Captain Jolietie' , s cowtship of the myste~ rious prima donna and the telling scenes between Dantes 1 daughter, Zuleika, and her Italian admirer, the Viscount Massetti. 1 he hero of the charming novel is, of course, Edmond Dantes, the Deputy from Marseilles, who appears as a politiciafi labo?'ing to ameliorate the condition of the oppressed classes of mankind and employing his im- mense wealth to promote that end. He takes a promiiient part in the Revolution, his co-workers being the foremost communists of that time, namely, Lamartine, Ledru Rollin, Louis Blanc, Armand Marrast, Flocon, Albert and others. Thiers, Guizot, Odillon Barrot, General Lamoriciere, General Bugeaud and other famous historical characters are introduced, as well as Lucien Debray, Chateau- Renaud, Beauchamp, Maximilian Morell, Albert de Morcerf, Valentine de Villefort, Eugenie Danglars, Louise d'Armilly and Monte- Crises Son, Espkrance, to say nothing of Bated etto and Ali, the Nubian. But to thoroughly appreciate the vast attractions of "Edmond Dantes" the great novel must be read. In addition to this superb romance, Petersons' only original, coinplete and unabridged editions of the "Monte-Cristo " Series includes "The Count of Monte-Cristo," "The Countess of Monte-Cristo," "The Wife of Monte- Cristo, 1 ' and " The Son of Monte-Cristo," all of which will delight the reader. Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. g®" "Edmond Dantes" the Sequel to "The Count of Monte-Cristo," will be found for sale by all Booksellers and at all News Stands everywhere, or copies of it will be %mt t9 any one, to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the pub/ishers t T. B. PETKKSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, F*, MONTE-CRISTQ'S DAUGHTER Petersons 9 Editions of "Monte-Cristo Series.'* » >, ^ .» » tlONTE-CRISTO'S DAUGHTER. Sequel to Alexander Dumas' Cele brated Novel of "The Count of Monte-Cristo," and Conclusion of "E dm one Dantes." With an Illustrated Cover, with Portrait of " Monte-Cristo' s Daugh ter> Zuleika" on it. Every person that has read "The Count of Monte- Cristo should get "Monte- Crista'' 's Daughter" at once, and read it. It is complete one large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or $1.25 in cloth. fGDMONB DANTES. The Sequel to " The Count of Monte- Cristo," by Alex ander Dumas. " Edmond Dantes" is one of the most wonderful romances eve* issued. Tust at the point where "The Count of Monte-Cristo " ends, "Edmonc Dantis" takes up the fascinating narrative and continues it with marvelloa power and absorbing interest unto the end. Every person that has read " Th- Count of Monte-Cristo" should get "Edmond Dantes" at once, and read ii Complete in one large duodecimo volume, paper, price 75 cents, or $1.25 in clottl EHE COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO. Petersons" New Illustrate Edition. By Alexander Dumas. With full-page Engravings, illustrative of va rious scenes in the woyk. Petersons' Edition of "The Count of Monte-Cristo* is the only Complete and Unabridged Edition of it ever translated, and it is con ceded by all to be the greatest as well as the most exciting and best historical novel ever printed. Complete in one large octavo volume of six hundred pages with illustrations, paper cover, price One Dollar, or $1.50 bound in morocco cloth THE WIFE OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Continuation of AUjc ander Dumas' Celebrated Novel of "The Count of Monte-Cristo.'''' With an Illustrated Cover, with Portraits of "Monte-Cristo" "Hay dee," and their faith&i servant, "AH" on k. Every person that has read "The Count of Monte-Cristo 9 ' should get " The Wife of Monte-Cristo " at once, and read it. Complete in one large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or $1.25 in cloth. ffHE SON OF MONTE-CRISTO. Bein^ the Sequel to "The Wife o) Monte-Cristo." With an Illustrated Cover, with Portraits of the heroines in the Y'ork on it. Every persoji that has read " The Cotmt of Monte-Cristo " or " Thi Wife of Monte-Cristo" should get "The Son of Monte-Cristo " at once, and rcaA it. One large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents-, or $1.25 in ciotlfc f*?E COUNTESS OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Companion to Alexander Dumas' Celebrated Novel of "The Count of Monte-Cristo" an5 fully equal to that world-renowned novel. At the very commencement of ihg povd the Count of Monte Cristo, Haydee, the wife of Monte-Cristo, and Espfr ranee, the son of Monte-Cristo, take part in a weird scene, in which Mercede^ Albert de iVforcerf and the Countess of Monte-Cristo also participate. Compldfc hi one large octavo volume, paper cover, price One Dollar, or $i.$o in cloth, ^g* Petersons' editions of" The Monte-Cristo Series" are Tor sate by all Bookse3a% " met MS BREITMAI'S BALLADS, NEW, ENLARGED, AND COMPLETE EDITION. IBY CHARLES Gk LEH.-A.3STID- AUTHOR OF "MEISTER KARL'S SKETCH BOOK." WITH PORTRAIT and AUTOGRAPH OF THE AUTHOR. 3Iessrs. T. B. Peterson & Brothers, of Philadelphia, have just published a new, com* plete and elegant edition of "Hans Breitmann's Ballads/ 7 with a Portrait of "Ham Breitmann, 11 as well as a Portrait and Autograph of the Author, Charles G. Lcland, Esq. It comprises all the Ballads ever written by Hans Breitmann, fifty-si? in all, containing his entire five books, viz. : "Hans Breitmann 1 s Party ; with Other Ballads 11 fi Hans Breitmann About Town ; and Other Ballads, 11 "Hans Breitmann in Church; and Other Ballads, 11 u Hans Breitmann as an Uhlan; with Other Neiv Ballads, 11 and ^Hans Breitmann in Europe ; with Other New Ballads, 11 being the "First, 11 li Second, 11 ** Third, 11 "Fourth, 11 and "Fifth Series 11 of the famous "Breitmann Ballads 11 with a Complete Glossary to the whole work. As a writer of humorous dialect verses, Hans Breitmann stands alone, and all will recall the delight they experienced when Mr* Iceland's humorous Ballad of "Hans Breitmann 1 s Party 11 first made its appearance; and now that all his Ballads are in one volume, it will be welcomed with renewed pleasure. The humor of Leland's volume is well expressed in the opening ballad: "Hans Breitmann gife a barty — dey had biano-blayin ; I felled in lofe mil a Merican frau, her name was Madilda Yans, She hat haar as proivn ash a pretzel, her eyes vas himmcl-plue, Vnd ven dey looket indo mine, dey shplit mine heart in two. 11 The fertility of Leland's imagination was very great. Ballad after ballad with widely varied themes and changing character were thrown off with easy rapidity, and from none were there wanting that relish for the comic, that rough but kindly bonhom- mie which first floated them into favor. It is only on looking through a volume like this that one gets an idea of how much work and what good icork the author has done. Mr. Leland is a master of dialect, a specialist, so to speak, and the jargon in which he writes has a positive value as a j)hilo- logical study. As a, result, Hans Breitmann has become a classical figure, and his Ballads are well worthy, for their wit, wisdom and, pathos, of the elegant and enduring form in which they are now presented to the public, and they will continue to b< a source of pleasure to thousands long after th* incidents, upon which some of them were founded^ have been forgotten. The volume is complete in o large octavo volume, printed on the finest ti n fed plate paper, and bound in morocco cloth, with beveled boards, with full gilt edges, side, and back. Price Four Dollars, HAN, liKEITMANN. ow 5? ne xo ' "TTans Breitmann's Ballads, 11 complete and enlarged edition, will be found for i'flc hy olt first-class Booksellers everywhere, and by the Publishers, o) copies of it it HI ie sent to any one, post-paid, on remitting the price of it to the Publishers, T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. i( I consider k IshmaeV to be my very best book" — Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. . E. D. E. N. Southworth's Last and Best Book. IRS. SOUTHWORTH'S GREAT M NEW YORK LEDGER" STORY. IS H MA EL OR, fN THE DEPTHS. BY MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. Being Mrs. Southworth's Greatest "New York Ledger " Story. ONE VOLUME, MOROCCO CLOTH.— PRICE $1.50. MBS. EMMA JD. E. N. SOUTHWORTH'S COMTLETJBi TVORKS* An entire new edition has just been published, in duodecimo form, printed on fine paper, complete in forty -three volumes, by T. B. Peterson 6° Brothers, Philadelphia. They are bound in 711 or o ceo cloth, library style, with a full gilt back, and % old by all Booksellers, everywhere, at the low price of $1.50 each, or $64.50 for a com- plete set. Send for a complete list of them, which will be sent free on application. * This edition contains a new Portrait of Mrs. Southworth, and her Autograph* also a view of her beautiful Home on the banks of the Potomac, both engraved on SuteL %^?**Mrs. Southworth? s books have great originality, fine descriptions, startling incidents, scenes of pathos, are of pure moral tone, and should be read by everybody. f $g$*Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth is acknowledged to be the greatest of all Amer lean female writers, and a set of her books should be in every home and in every library Copies of "ISHMAEL; or, IN THE DEPTHS," Mrs. Southworth greatest work, or any one or more of i( Mrs. Southworth' *s Works," or a complete set of **'Mrs. Southworth's Works," bound in morocco cloth, will be sent to any one, to any address, at once, free of freight or postage, on remitting $1.50 for each book wanted* to the Publishers, T. B. Peterson 6° Brothers, 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. frs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth 's books will be found for sale by all Bccksellext and Nc-ws Agents everywhere. Canvassers wanted everywhere to engage in tlu./ sain. JfHp 00 Booksellers, News Agents and Canvassers will be supplied at very lew rates, amd tkey will please send in their orders at once to the publishers, T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, F% Gndt&ey will receive immediate and prompt attention* Mrs. Southworth's Works. EACH IS IN OXE LARGE DUODECIMO VOLUME, CLOTH, GILT BACK, PRICE $1.50 EACH. Copies of all or any will be sent postpaid, to any place, on receipt of remittances. ISHMAEL; or, IN THE DEPTHS. ('Self-Made; or, Out of Depths.') SELF-RAISED ; or, From the Depths. The Sequel to " Ishmael." CRUEL AS THE GRAVE; or, Hallow Eve Mystery. TRIED FOR HER LIFE. The Sequel to " Cruel as the Grave." THE MISSING BRIDE; or, MIRIAM, THE AVENGER. VICTOR'S TRIUMPH. The Sequel to "A Beautiful Fiend." THE FAMILY DOOM; or, THE SIN OF A COUNTESS. THE MAIDEN WIDOW. The Sequel to "The Family Doom." FAIR PLAY; or, BRITOMARTE, THE MAN-HATER. HOW HE WON HER. The Sequel to "Fair Play." A BEAUTIFUL FIEND; or, THROUGH THE FIRE. THE LADY OF THE ISLE ; or, THE ISLAND PRINCESS. THE CHANGED BRIDES; or, Winning Her Way. THE BRIDE'S FATE. The Sequel to " The Changed Brides." THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW; or, The Brothers. A NOBLE LORD. Sequel to " The Lost Heir of Linlithgow.' 1 THE " MOTHER-IN-LAW;" or, MARRIED IN HASTE. THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; or, The Children of the Isle. FALLEN PRIDE: or, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL'S LOVE. THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS; or, HICKORY HALL. THE TWO SISTERS; or, Virginia and Magdalene. THE FATAL MARRIAGE; or, ORVILLE DEVILLE. THE GIPSY'S PROPHECY; or, The Bride of an Evening. THE PHANTOM WEDDING; or, The Fall of the House of Flint THE FORTUNE SEEKER; or, Astrea, the Bridal Day. THE THREE BEAUTIES; or, SHANNONDALE. THE CHRISTMAS GUEST; or, The Crime and the Curse. INDIA ; or, PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. THE CURSE OF CLIFTON. WIDOW'S SON; or, LEFT ALONE. THE WIFE'S VICTORY, THE MYSTERY OF DARK HOLLOW. THE SPECTRE LOVER. ALLWORTH ABBEY; or, EUDORA. THE ARTISTS LOVE. THE BRIDAL EVE. (ROSE ELMER.) THE FATAL SECRET. VIVIA; or, SECRET OF POWER. LOVE'S LABOR W0N o THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. THE LOST HtlRESS. BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. DESERTED WIFE. RETRIBUTION. p&* Mr -a. Southworth's works will be found for sale by all Bookseller*. < opies of any one, or more of Mrs. Stmt h worth's works, will be seni te my place, post-paid, on remitting price of the ones wanted to the Publisher^ V. IS, PJGTJEKSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. Mrs. Ann S. Stephen s' Works 23 Volumes, at $1.50 each; or $34.50 a Set. T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, ifcj lave just published am entire new, complete, and uniform edition of all the worJcs write ten by Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, the popular American Authoress. This edition « t* iuodecimo form, is printed 07i the finest paper, is complete in twenty-three volumes, an4 iach volume is bound in morocco cloth, library style, with a full gilt back, and is sold oi the low price of $1.50 each, or $34.50 for a full and complete set of the twenty-three vol* umes. Every Family, Reading Club, and every Private or Public Library in this country, should have in it a complete set of this new and beautiful edition of ih% works of Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. The following are the names of the volumes : FASHION AND FAMINE, THE REIGNING BELLE. BERTHA'S ENGAGEMENT. MARRIED IN HAST& BELLEHOOD AND BONDAGE; or, Bought with a Price. LORD HOPE'S CHOICE; or, More Secrets Than One. THE OLD COUNTESS. Sequel to "Lord Hope's Choice," RUBY GRAY'S STRATEGY; or, Married by Mistake. PALACES AND PRISONS; or, The Prisoner of the B as tile. A NOBLE WOMAN ; or, A Gulf Between Them. THE CURSE OF GOLD ; or, The Bcund Girl and The Wife's Trials. MABEL'S MISTAKE ; or, The Lost Jewels. THE OLD HOMESTEAD; or, The Pet of the Poor Hou** THE REJECTED W*FE; or, The Ruling Passion. SILENT STRUGGLES; or, Barbara Stafford. A TaJe of Witchcraft, THE HEIRESS; or, The Gipsy's L^acy. THE WIFE'S SECRET; or, GUIfeifc WIVES AND WIDOWS; or, The Broken Ufa. OOUBLY FALSE; ^r, Alike and Not Alike, THE SOLDIER'S ORPHANS. THE GOLD BRICK, MARY DERWENT. NORTON'S REST. $&* Above books are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.50 *ach, or $34.50 for a eo*m pUte set of the twenty-three volumes. Copies of either one +r more of the above booh* %r a complete set of them, will be sent at once to any one. to an*; vlace, pc§$o0 *-^ irid, or free of freight, on remitting their price in a letter t<* the Piibitsher% T. B, PETERSON & BROTHERS, PM*aUeU>*aia* Vm MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S WORKS. LIBRARY EDITION, IN MOROCCO CLOTH. 12 Volumes, at S1.50 Each; or $18.00 a Set. T. B. PETERSON & BBOTHEBS, No. 306 Chestnut Street, Phila- delphia, have just published an entire new, complete, and uniform edition of all the celebrated Novels written by the popular American Novelist, Mrs. Car- oline Lee Hentz* in twelve large duodecimo volumes. They are printed on the fwest paper, and bound in the most beautiful style, in Green Morocco cloth, %nth a new, full gilt back, and sold at the low price of $1.5i» each, or $18.00 for a full and complete set. Every Family r nd every Library in this country, should have in it a complete set of this new j>nd beautiful edition of the works of Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. The following is a complete list of MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S WORKS. LINDA; or, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. With a Complete Biography of Mrs. Caroline Lee Kentz. ROBERT GRAHAM. A Sequel to " Linda." RENA; or, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tele of Real Life. MARCUS WARLAND; or, The Long Moss Spring. ERNEST LINWOOD ; or, The Inner Life of the Author. EOLINE; or, MAGNOLIA VALE; or, The Heiress of Glenmore. THE PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE ; or, Mrs. Hentz's Childhood. HELEN AND ARTHUR ; or, Miss Thusa's Spinning-Wheel. COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; or, The Joys of American Life. LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE; and other Stories of the Heart. THE LOST DAUGHTER ; and other Stories of the Heart. THE BANISHED SON ; and other Stories of the Heart. HgT Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.50 each, or $18.00 for a complete set of the twelve volumes. Copies of either one of the above works, or u complete set of them, will be sent at once to any one, to any place, postagt vre-paid, i>r frt e affreight, on remitting their price in a h tter to the Publishers, T. B. I'ETISKSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Fa. DE MOLAI: THE LAST OF THE MILITARY GRAND MASTERS OF THE ORDER OF TEMPLAR KNIGHTS. BY EDMUND FLA66, 3F VIRGINIA, A TEMPLAR KNIGHT, AND AUTHOR OF ''THE PRIME MINISTER," "THE BRIGAND, - "THE MARTYR-STUDENT," "MARION DE LORME," " LUCY ASHLIN," "THE FAR WEST," "THE HOWARD QUEEN," " THE NORTH-WEST," " SKETCHES OF A TRAVELLER," "THE DUCHESS OF FERARA," "VENICE! THE CITY OF THE SEA," "BEATRICE OF PADUA," " GABRIELLE DE VERGI," ETC. "De Molai : the hast of the Military Grand Masters of the Order of Templaf Knights" is a powerful, picturesque and absorbing novel of the Fourteenth Century , historical in character and crowded with information conveyed in the most pleasing manner. The seme is laid principally in Paris, and the the?7ie is the suppression of the Order of Knights Templar by Philip the Fourth of France. Throughout the romance town's the commanding form of jfacques de Molai, the noble old warrior- monk, who was ready to bear the tortures of the Inquisition, and even to suffer mar- tyrdom at the stake, for the cause of the persecuted Order of which he was the chief. A complete history of the Knights Temolar is given, which will be found of great value and interest by the Masonic Fraternity as well as by the general reader. The descriptions of old Paris and of the abbeys and castles of that day are vividly and vigorously drawn. The loves of Blanche of Artois and Adrian de Marigni are set forth in glowing style, and the narrative of the disappointed affections of sweet Marie Morfontaine is replete with tender pathos. Blanche 's share in the persecution of the Knights Templar and her untiring efforts to procure revenge against the Order form an important element of the novel, and add effectiveness to the strong plot. The compact between Philip the Fourth and Bertrand de Goth in the Abbey of St. fean (TAngely during the thunderstorm is a highly dramatic incident, as is also Marie Morfontaine' s discovery of Adrian's treachery, while the scene in Notre Dame in which the Grand Master figures so conspicuously is intensely exciting. The political intrigues of the king and the Roman Pontiff claim a large share of attention, as also do the flirtations of the ladies of the French court with the noble gallants of the period, who were as ardent in love as they were brave in war. The fate of Blanche of Artois is to some extent a compensation for her evil deeds, and the final denouement of the romance is a happy one. "De Molai" is undoubtedly destined to become a Standard work of permanent popularity It will be read with vast interest and enjoy- ment by all Templar Knights, the whole Masonic Fraternity, scholars and the public. Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.50. "De Molai: the Last of the Military Grand Masters of the Order of Templar Knights" is issued in a large duodecimo volume, and will be found for sale by all Booksellers ant by all News Agents eve iy where. Canvassers wanted in every Lodge to canvass and get subscribers to it. Copies 7V/11 be sent to any one, to any place, on remitting price to the publishers^ T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa, %i ;• Petersons 9 Complete and Unabridged Editions. Foremost among the greatest novels of any age stand the Jive absorbing romances farming "The Three Guardsmen Series" as published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, They are entitled respectively "The Three Guardsmen; or } The Three Mousquetaires," u Twenty Years After," the Sequel to "The Three Guardsmen, 71 "Bragelonne, the Son sf Athos; or, Ten Years Later," "The Iron Mask; or, The Feats and Adventures of Eaoul de Bragelonne" and "Louise de la Valliere" the Sequel to "The Iron Mask," mnd conclusion of the famous "Three Guardsmen Series." Written by the world-re* downed novelist, Alexander Dumas, the best and, most powerful writer of fiction Francr has ever produced, when first published they created an excitement unparalleled in Uttrary annals, and their vast popularity has been steadily maintained ever since. This cannot be wondered at when the books are read, for their fascination, strength etnd interest are unexampled. The original translations from the French of these superb romances were made by that celebrated translator, Thomas Williams, Esq.,fo+ T B. Peterson & Brothers, and are published only by them. They are altogether complete and unabridged, faithfully reproducing every line that Dumas wymote just as it came from his pen, without the slightest editing, adaptation or modification. They are historical romances, filled to overflowing with love, stirring adventures, gallantry \ soldierly daring and manliness, plots and counterplots, dark deeds, political machi- nations, virtue, vice, innocence and guilt. D y Arta,gnan, Athos, Aramis and Portltoi are the leading personages, and hosts of others fill their varied and important roles. Much light is thrown upon the history of France and the French Court, and that mys* tery which puzzled the world for nearly two centuries, the identity of the Prisoner in the Iron Mask, is completely solved in a manner so powerful, interesting and ingeni- ous that this episode alone makes this series invaluable. THE THREE GUARDSMEN, or THE THREE MOUSQUETAIRES. By Alexander Dumas. Translated by Thomas Williams, Esq. Paper cover, 75 cents; morocco cloth, Library style, $1.75. TWENTY YEARS AFTER. The Sequel to "The Three Guardsmen." By Alexander Dumas. Translated by Thomas Williams, Esq. Being the "Sec- ond Book " of " The Three Guardsmen Series." Paper cover, 75 cents ; mo rocco cloth, Library style, $1.75. BRAGELONNE, THE SON OF ATHOS, or TEN YEARS LATER The Sequel to " Twenty Years After." By Alexander Dumas. Translated by Thomas Williams, Esq. Being the " Third Book " of " The Three Guardsmen Series." Paper cover, 75 cents ; morocco cloth, Library style, $1.75. THE IRON MASK, or THE FEATS AND ADVENTURES OF RAOUL Dti ISRAUELONNE. The Sequel to " Bragelonne, the Son of Athos." By Al<\r<< inter Dumas. Translated by Thomas Williams, Esq, Being the " Four! h Hook " of " The Three Guardsmen Series." Paper cove^ $1.00; morocco cloth, Library style, $1.75. LOUISE DE LA VALLIERE, The Sequel to and end of "The Iron Mask.'* Jiil Alexander Dumas. Translated by Thomas Williams, Esq. Being the "Fifth Book" and end of "The Three Guardsmen Series." Paper co^er, $1.00; morocco cloth, Library style, $1.75. p^rAI me five works are for sale by all Booksellers and News Aients , at all Nev* Stands everywhere, and on all Railroad Trains, or copies of an'j w-i, of all of thea^ wtil be 4