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DIALOGUES 
 
 AND 
 
 CONVERSATIONS, 
 
 DESIGNED FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS. 
 
 BY 
 
 EMILY S. OAKEY. 
 
 
 * A. S. BARNES 6- CO., 
 NEW YORK, CHICAGO, AND NEW ORLEANS. 
 J 879. 
 
 h 
 
"Y\^A V 
 
 a\ 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 
 S. BARNES & CO., 
 1879. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Animated Geography i 
 
 The Parts of Speech 6 
 
 Before the Centennial 14 
 
 Children of a Hundred Years Ago 24 
 
 Children of Story Land 31 
 
 The Flower Bringers , 44 
 
 The Queen of June 53 
 
 Fancy and Fact 63 
 
 Figures of Speech 70 
 
 People of One Idea 80 
 
 Mother Earth and the Seasons 94 
 
 Day and Night iog 
 
 Earth's Awakening 115 
 
 The Contest of Nations 119 
 
 Fruits of the Fifth Season 125 
 
 CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Writing Compositions • 141 
 
 What is Implied in Composition 149 
 
 How to Acquire Material for Thought 156 
 
 Order and Expression !7 2 
 
 Truth in Writing l8 3 
 
 Combination l8 9 
 
 Fancy and Imagination 19 8 
 
Dialogues and Conversations. 
 
 ANIMATED GEOGRAPHY. 
 
 Dora. Girls, I have been contriving a new amuse- 
 ment. Let us see who will be the quickest in guessing. 
 I will call it "Animated Geography." Did you ever 
 notice what queer shapes countries and seas and lakes 
 take on the map ? I have thought of several which 
 might be compared to animals. To begin : There is 
 a country which resembles a dog's head. The out- 
 line is a little rugged, and he has long, shabby ears, 
 tapering downward. 
 
 Lillie. Is it a small country ? 
 
 Dora. No ; it is a continent. 
 
 Lillie. I have it ; South America. 
 
 Dora. You are right. Next is one of the United 
 States, which looks like a camel lying down, with his 
 load upon his back. You can see his head, and his 
 long neck, stretched out upon the ground. 
 
 Fanny. Is it New York ? 
 
2 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Dora. O no! how can you make a camel out of 
 that? 
 
 Eva. The only one that looks at all like it to me is 
 Virginia, but it is not very much like a camel. 
 
 Dora. It is Virginia. Of course, I don't mean it 
 is a perfect likeness. There is a certain sea in Asia 
 that makes me think of the head and neck of a donkey, 
 with his long ears. 
 
 Lucy. By the aid of a lively imagination, I should 
 say it might be the Okhotsk Sea, but the donkey's ears 
 are not remarkably plain. 
 
 Dora. You are right, however. There is a sea 
 which does certainly bear a resemblance to a little 
 rabbit, with his fore-feet raised, and his long ears 
 erect. 
 
 Belle. I suppose you mean the Sea of Japan, but I 
 should never have made a rabbit out of it. 
 
 Dora. It looks as much like a rabbit as anything. 
 Now I will give you a country in Europe out of which 
 to make a bird of the same name. 
 
 Lizzie. Can it be Turkey ? 
 
 Dora. Of course it is. Look at his head, and his 
 big tail spread, and his claws. There is an island in 
 the Pacific which suggests a certain kind of hen, both 
 by its shape and name. 
 
ANIMATED GEOGRAPHY. 3 
 
 Lillie. A Guinea hen ? Oh, I know ; it is New 
 Guinea. 
 
 Dora. There is another island which looks like a fish. 
 
 Belle. Long Island. 
 
 Dora. So it does, I declare. That makes two fishes, 
 for it is not the one I meant. 
 
 Mary. Cuba looks like a fish. 
 
 Dora. That is it. And while we are upon the sub- 
 ject of fishes, here is a lake which has the shape of 
 one with its tail turned round. 
 
 Lucy. Lake Erie, I suppose you mean. But there is 
 a sea in Europe which looks still more like a fish. 
 
 Lizzie. It cannot be the North Sea, nor the Baltic. 
 I think the Caspian Sea is a little like one. 
 
 Lucy. That is not the one I meant. 
 
 Dora. The Adriatic, perhaps. 
 
 Lucy. Yes. 
 
 Dora. Here is a lake that looks like a seal. 
 
 Fanny. Ontario. 
 
 Dora. I cannot find any more islands to represent 
 whole animals, but here is one which might stand for 
 a part of an animal, that is, a hand pointing upward. 
 
 Eva. Is it Scotland ? 
 
 Dora. A clumsily-shaped hand that would be. It 
 is an island in the Mediterranean. 
 
 Eva. Then it must be Corsica. 
 
4 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Stella. Well, I have not guessed a single one of your 
 animals, and I think your resemblances very far- 
 fetched. Lake Erie looks like a fish, does it ? " Very 
 like a whale." 
 
 Dora. I did not say a whale. 
 
 Stella. Oh, I was only quoting. The fact is, this is 
 just like people looking at the clouds, where each one 
 sees what his own fancy puts into his head, and no 
 two see alike. To prove it, I will give you some more 
 comparisons, but I cannot call them Animated Geog- 
 raphy, except in a Pickwickian sense. 
 
 Belle. You do use such big words. 
 
 Stella. The first is an old one. You all know what 
 country in Europe resembles a boot. 
 
 Fanny. Italy. But Massachusetts is like a boot, too. 
 
 Stella. And a boot is animated when there is a foot 
 in it. That is what I mean by a Pickwickian sense. 
 There is a country in Europe which appears to me 
 like a coffee-pot, and that is animated when the coffee 
 is boiling hot. 
 
 Lillie. Is it Russia ? 
 
 Stella. Not at all. 
 
 Dora. France, then. 
 
 Stella. Yes. France is the coffee-pot, and there is a 
 milk-pitcher to go with it. But for that you must go 
 to America. 
 
ANIMATED GEOGRAPHY. 5 
 
 Lizzie. Is it Brazil ? 
 
 Stella. No, indeed. You would certainly upset the 
 pitcher and spill your milk, if you put it in Brazil, and 
 it would be animated then, if not before. It is in 
 North America, and belongs to Great Britain. 
 
 Mary. New Brunswick. 
 
 Stella. That is correct. Now find a small shoe, 
 rather short and thick, but with the strings properly 
 tied, in a sea of Europe. Shoes are, like boots, ani- 
 mated by their wearers. 
 
 Eva. The Black Sea. But how is it tied ? 
 
 Stella. By the Crimea, of course. Now I invite you to 
 a comfortable arm-chair, in one of the Southern States, 
 which you may animate by placing yourself in it. 
 
 Lizzie. Louisiana, to be sure. 
 
 Stella. After you are seated in your arm-chair, light 
 your short-stemmed pipe, which you will find in an 
 Asiatic country, and I have no more attractions to 
 offer you. 
 
 Belle. Is it Kamtschatka ? 
 
 Stella. You are altogether at sea. Your country is 
 too cold to light a pipe in. 
 
 Lillie. Borneo, then. 
 
 Stella. No more like a pipe than a haystack. I see 
 I shall have to tell you. It is Persia, the country of 
 pipes and dreams. 
 
6 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Dora. Well, I must say your resemblances are as 
 far-fetched as mine. 
 
 Stella. I should not wonder. But they are just as 
 good for amusement. 
 
 THE PARTS OF SPEECH. 
 
 George [alone] reads: " Man never is, but always to 
 be, blest." Blest is the boy who has no grammar les- 
 son to study. It is as dry as a chip; as dry as a whole 
 wood-pile; as dry as a coalmine. Makes me thirsty to 
 think of it. If "Multiplication is vexation," what's 
 Grammar, I wonder ? It is a nuisance, a conglomera- 
 tion of all vexations. I ain't going to try any longer. 
 [Shuts Ms book.] I can't get along without bread and 
 butter, but I can get along very well without the parts 
 of speech. 
 
 [Enter Grammar.] 
 
 Geo. Halloo ! Who on earth are you ? 
 
 Gram. Polite, certainly. [In a stern voice.] I am 
 that "nuisance," that "conglomeration of all vexa- 
 tions," Grammar. 
 
 Geo. Didn't mean to insult you, old fellow. 
 
THE PARTS OF SPEECH. 7 
 
 Gram. I am an old fellow, certainly; as old as 
 Adam; but age should be treated with respect. 
 
 Geo. I thought Lindley Murray invented you. 
 
 Gram. Lindley Murray ! Ill-informed youth, I am as 
 old as the human race. I existed in the Garden of 
 Eden. Your first parents, unlike their degenerate de- 
 scendant, spoke pure — 
 
 Geo. Pure what ? Come, now ! 
 
 Gram. As to that, critics are not entirely agreed. 
 We will call it Edenese. But they certainly spoke 
 grammatically. I was an art, before I was a science. 
 
 \Enter Parts of Speech.'] 
 
 Geo. And who are all these queer-looking person- 
 ages? 
 
 Gram. These are my useful and venerable children, 
 the Parts of Speech. Children, this is the boy who 
 calls your father "a nuisance." This is the boy who 
 says "ain't." This is the boy who declares he can 
 get along very well without you. 
 
 Adv. How? Why? When? Where? 
 
 Art. The— 
 
 Noun. Simpleton ! Blockhead ! 
 
 Verb. Do tell! 
 
 Pron. He— 
 
 Verb. Can do — 
 
8 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Prep. Without — 
 
 Pron. \Stamping his foot^\ Us. 
 
 Adj. Impertinent ! 
 
 Adv. Very. 
 
 Interjec. Oh ! Alas ! Ah ! 
 
 Conj. Notwithstanding — 
 
 Gram. Notwithstanding he is dependent upon you 
 for all intercourse with his fellows, for all improve- 
 ment, and most of his happiness. He deserves to be 
 severely punished for his ingratitude, but we will give 
 him a chance to extend his scanty stock of informa- 
 tion. I will, therefore, invite you to present your 
 claims to his respect and veneration. 
 
 Noun. I am the oldest of my family. Adam first 
 named me, and I am familiarly known to all his de- 
 scendants who are possessed of reason and their senses. 
 Though often common, I am not despicable. I am 
 the sun, the moon, the earth, or, to speak more logically, 
 the sun is I, the moon is I, and the earth is I. I am 
 identified with continents and oceans, mountains and 
 rivers ; with statues, and pictures, and temples, with 
 the palace and cathedral, as well as the cottage and 
 hovel. I represent the most illustrious of mankind. I 
 am Homer and Herodotus, Socrates and Plato, Cicero 
 and Julius Caesar ; I am Shakespeare and Milton, 
 Napoleon and Wellington, Washington and Franklin; 
 
THE PARTS OF SPEECH. 9 
 
 but I am also Caligula and Nero, Robespierre and 
 Benedict Arnold. I am love and happiness, intel- 
 lect and wisdom, nobility and virtue ; but candor 
 obliges me to confess that I am also one with ignorance 
 and superstition, vice and misery. Without my aid, 
 you yourself would be unknown. What is your 
 name? 
 
 Geo. George. 
 
 Noun. And George is a noun. I am that Noun. 
 Can you do without me ? 
 
 Geo. Not exactly, sir ; especially when you stand 
 for dinner. 
 
 Verb. I stand before you, the representative of ac- 
 tion. I arm to meet the foe ; I strike for free- 
 dom. I govern and command, I submit and obey. 
 I build and overturn, hammer and forge, dig and 
 plough, sow and reap, write and paint, sing and 
 dance. I love, and hope, and admire, but I also hate, 
 and fear, and despise ; for I have various moods, and 
 I live in all time, past, present, and future. 
 
 Geo. O come ! I don't believe you are alive at 
 all. 
 
 Verb. Consider your speech. Did you never hear 
 of thoughts that breathe and words that burn ? I am 
 like the mind itself ; for I think, reason, and remem- 
 ber. But when I am insulted, I can revenge. Do 
 
10 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 you dare to deny that I exist, that I do, that I suffer ? 
 Do you presume to declare that I have never aided 
 you ? I pause for a reply. 
 
 Geo. Glad to have you pause for anything. 
 
 Adj. 1 am happy, young man, to inform you that I 
 am one of the quality. Indeed, I am quality itself. 
 Compare me with any other of my family — I am fond 
 of comparison — and you will be convinced. I am 
 rich, beautiful, elegant, and accomplished- I am re- 
 fined, fastidious, sensitive, and romantic. But I am 
 free to confess that I am sometimes cross, snappish, 
 and ugly, as well as haughty and vain; that I am poor 
 and ignorant, as well as affluent and illustrious. To 
 my enemies, I am dangerous and irresistible. Be 
 cautious, unthinking boy, how you deny my positive 
 aid, or my superlative excellence. 
 
 Geo. I cannot deny that you are positively conceited 
 and egotistical. 
 
 Pron. Though of small personal pretensions, and, 
 in fact, only representative of my brother Noun, to 
 me belong the egotists, the characters oppressed with 
 " the mountainous Me ;" to me also the magnanimity 
 of confession : 
 
 " Me ! Me ! I did it ; turn your swords on me, 
 O Rutuleans ! mine was all the fraud." 
 
 To me also belong the sweets of union ; the 
 
THE PARTS OF SPEECH. II 
 
 "Thou and I' of an unalterable constancy." Mine is the 
 symbol of universal brotherhood : " United we stand, 
 divided we fall." I keep fresh the memory of the 
 potent Mrs. Grundy and her compeers, when "they 
 say" what the world shall do, be, and wear. Who, 
 what is the individual that denies my relative im- 
 portance ? That is the culprit, and these are his 
 accusers. 
 
 Geo. Rather personal, Mr. Pronoun. But go 
 ahead. You seem to be having it pretty much your 
 own way. 
 
 Adv. Properly speaking, I may be said, like my 
 brother Pronoun, to have no independent existence, 
 as I always imply that of some other of my family, 
 with whom I am generally found in juxtaposition. In 
 fact, the others can seldom find full expression with- 
 out me. I am certainly the great Modifier. What- 
 ever is done well, justly, nobly, elegantly, gracefully, 
 is done by my aid ; though I not unfrequently have a 
 hand in what is done ill, ignorantly, harshly, and 
 cruelly. Yet, unquestionably, I exert a most impor- 
 tant influence. Whoever care more for " how well" 
 than "how much," are ever my lovers and friends. 
 But I must close abruptly, for 
 
 41 If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
 It were done quickly." 
 
12 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Geo. That is the most sensible remark you have 
 made ; and that isn't yours, either ; it is Shakes- 
 peare's. 
 
 Adv. Very true. 
 
 Art. I am the youngest of my family, but on inti- 
 mate terms with the eldest Though often confounded 
 with my brother Adjective, I prefer being recognized 
 in an individual capacity, as the Limiter. I render 
 material service in discrimination. Thus: "A king is 
 dead ; the king never dies." 
 
 Geo. You don't amount to much. 
 
 Art. A serious mistake. When I say "Thou art 
 a boy," I simply state a well-known fact ; but when 
 I say {advancing in a threatening manner), "Thou 
 art the boy," I am capable of striking terror into 
 the heart. 
 
 Geo. Well, for a small article, you are a pugnacious 
 one. 
 
 Conj. Though unpretending, yet am I significant. 
 Neither the Noun nor the Verb is more useful than I. 
 Whether I am old or young, matters little. I am con- 
 cise and logical ; therefore I conclude. 
 
 Geo. Short and sensible. I'll shake hands with 
 you. 
 ' Conj. Neither advisable nor practical. Since I only 
 
THE PARTS OF SPEECH. 1 3 
 
 connect verbs of the same mood and tense, and nouns 
 and pronouns of the same case, it is impossible for me 
 to join hands with a boy who is both inconsiderate 
 and ungrammatical in his speech. 
 
 Geo. I'll survive it, I think. 
 
 Inte?jec. Oh ! how shall I present my claims to your 
 recognition ? Alas ! I am not eloquent, like the Ad- 
 jective, nor logical, like the Conjunction, nor active, 
 lik*e the Verb. Ah me ! I am like a reed shaken by 
 the wind of every emotion, a harp trembling to every 
 whisper of the air. Strange ! that you should have 
 no sympathy for my sensitive nature, no appreciation 
 of my character. But farewell ! my feelings are too 
 deep for utterance. 
 
 Geo. O pshaw for your feelings and emotions ! 
 
 Prep. If you would know of my capabilities, in- 
 quire of my relations. These are numerous and in- 
 fluential ; among them I sustain an important part. 
 About me, many things are related ; by and through 
 me, much has been accomplished. In me, behold a 
 useful member of society, for whom you should be 
 grateful, and without whom you would often find 
 yourself at loss. 
 
 Geo. After all, you cannot make out that you are 
 anything but an insignificant preposition. 
 
 Prep. To arms ! to arms ! {Raising his pen) By. 
 
14 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 these we acquired our rights, and with these we will de- 
 fend them. {All the Parts of Speech rush forward, 
 brandishing their pens}) 
 
 Geo. Have mercy ! I am unarmed. 
 
 Gram. Enough, my children. Ye " are but parts of 
 one stupendous whole," and that is, Grammar. Your 
 claims have been fairly represented, your dignity has 
 been maintained, and the offender cries for mercy. 
 March on to higher conquests. {Gram, and P. of S. 
 march out) 
 
 Geo. {Rubbing his eyes) What a queer dream I have 
 had ! I think I'll go and take a walk, and then attack 
 that grammar lesson in good earnest. 
 
 BEFORE THE CENTENNIAL. 
 
 Annie. Everybody is talking about going to the 
 Centennial. What is a centennial ? Is it some kind 
 of a party ? 
 
 Bertha. Well, yes; I think it is a birthday party. 
 
 Carrie. The birthday of a very old lady. 
 
 Per. Not so very old, either. 
 
 Car. Don't you call a hundred years old ? I am sure 
 she ought to have white hair and spectacles and a 
 cane, and to have lost all her teeth — only she hasn't. 
 
BEFORE THE CENTENNIAL. 15 
 
 Ber. Pretty old for a woman, but not for a nation. 
 
 Car. Now you have let the cat out of the bag. 
 
 An. I'm sure I don't know what you are talking 
 about at all. 
 
 May. I'll tell you, Annie. "Centennial" means 
 something that happens once in a hundred years ; and 
 it will be just a hundred years next Fourth of July 
 since — America was made. 
 
 Ber. Well, I should just like to know where the In- 
 dians were before America was made. 
 
 May. Oh, I didn't mean that exactly. I mean it is 
 just a hundred years since — the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence was made. It is the nation's birthday. 
 
 An. So the nation is the old lady. I should think a 
 hundred years was old enough for a nation. 
 
 Julia. What do you think of England, then ? She 
 has been a nation for a thousand years. 
 
 Ber. So has Iceland. The Icelanders celebrated 
 their thousandth birthday a few years ago. Mr. 
 Bayard Taylor told all about it. 
 
 Helen. That is nothing to old Rome. Our teacher 
 says there was a Roman Empire of some kind for 
 more than two thousand years. 
 
 An. Well, I always thought it was strange to call 
 America the New World, but I see now. The other 
 nations have been going on a great while longer. 
 
1 6 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 May. Wouldn't it be fun if we could look back a 
 hundred years, and see just how our great great — I 
 don't know how great — grandfathers and grandmothers 
 looked then ? 
 
 Car. Why, we can, by books. I have just been 
 reading in United States History about the appear- 
 ance of a New England village in those times: 
 
 " If we could carry ourselves back to those days, 
 and were to approach a New England village about 
 nine o'clock on Sunday morning, we should hear some 
 one beating a drum, or sounding a horn, or blowing a 
 conch-shell, or possibly ringing a bell, to call people to 
 worship. As we came nearer still, we should see a 
 flag waving from a little log-built church, or ' meeting- 
 house.' Entering the village, we should see a strong 
 fence of stakes around the meeting-house, and a senti- 
 nel in armor standing near it; and we should see some 
 of the men, as they went in, leaving their muskets 
 under his care. We should see, perhaps, a cannon or 
 two placed near the meeting-house, and we should also 
 see some strange wooden frames not far off, these be- 
 ing the stocks and the pillory, put there to punish of- 
 fenders. Looking at the church itself, we should see 
 that it had very few glass windows, and that these had 
 very small and thick panes, diamond-shaped, and set 
 in leaden frames. We should observe that the other 
 
BEFORE THE CENTENNIAL. 1 7 
 
 windows had oiled paper, instead of glass; and we 
 should see between the windows the heads of wolves 
 that had been killed and displayed there during the 
 past year. 
 
 " Looking round at the houses of the Puritan vil- 
 lage, we should see that the older ones were made of 
 earth or logs, one story high, with very steep roofs, cov- 
 ered with thatch. Entering any of these, we should 
 find the fireplaces made of rough stones, and the 
 chimneys either of boards, or of short sticks cross- 
 ing each other, and smeared with clay. Here and 
 there we should see newer and better houses, made 
 of wood and brick, two stories high in front, and one 
 story behind." Bertha, tell us about the people. 
 
 Ber. " If we could see the people occupying these 
 houses, we should find the men wearing jerkins, small 
 clothes, ruffs around their necks, and, when in the open 
 air, short cloaks and steeple-crowned hats, under which 
 the elders wore velvet caps. We should find the young 
 men, on public occasions, wearing showy belts, gold 
 and silver buttons, and great boots rolled over at the 
 top. We should find the young women wearing plain 
 and homespun clothing when about their work, but 
 appearing on Sundays in silk hoods, lace neckerchiefs, 
 slashed sleeves, and embroidered caps. But the law 
 required that they should dress according to their 
 
1 8 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 means; and, if they wore such things, they must prove 
 that they were rich enough to afford it." 
 
 Kate. But that was in New England. My very 
 great grandfather and grandmother were Dutch. 
 
 Hel. I have just been reading about them too, 
 in the same book. Hear what it says about New Am- 
 sterdam. That was the old name for New York: 
 
 " The houses in New Amsterdam were of wood, with 
 gable-ends built of small black and yellow bricks, 
 brought over from Holland. Each house had many 
 doors and windows, and the date when it was built 
 was often marked in iron letters on the front. The 
 roof usually bore a weathercock, and sometimes 
 many. The houses were kept very clean inside and 
 out, — as clean as they still are in Holland, where you 
 may see the neat housekeepers scrubbing their door- 
 steps when the rain is pouring down upon their heads. 
 The furniture in these houses was plain and solid; 
 heavy claw-footed chairs, polished mahogany tables, 
 and cupboards full of silver and china. Clocks and 
 watches were rare; and the time was told by hour- 
 glasses and sun-dials. The floors were covered with 
 white sand, on which many neat figures were traced 
 with a broom. There were great open fireplaces, set 
 round with figured tiles of different colors and pat- 
 terns, commonly representing Scriptural subjects, — the 
 
BEFORE THE CENTENNIAL. 1 9 
 
 ark, the prodigal son, and the children of Israel pass- 
 ing the Red Sea. In the evening they burned pine- 
 knots for light, or home-made tallow candles. Every 
 house had two or more spinning-wheels; and a huge 
 oaken chest held the household linen, all of which 
 had been spun upon these wheels by the women of the 
 family." 
 
 Alice. And this is the way the people dressed: 
 " The women used to wear close muslin caps, beneath 
 which their hair was put back with pomatum; and they 
 wore a great many short and gayly-colored petticoats, 
 with blue, red, or green stockings of their own knitting, 
 and high-heeled shoes. The men had broad-skirted 
 coats of linsey-woolsey, with large buttons of brass or 
 silver; they wore several pairs of knee-breeches, one 
 over another, with long stockings, and with great buckles 
 at the knees and on the shoes; and their hair was worn 
 long, and put up in an eel-skin cue." 
 
 May. You said New York used to be called New 
 Amsterdam. Does any one know the old name of 
 Albany ? 
 
 Kate. It was known as Beverswyck and Willemstudt, 
 but chiefly by the name of Fort Orange, in honor of 
 the Prince of Orange, who then presided over the 
 Netherlands. 
 
 Ber. The Indians called it Skenectad^a. 
 
20 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Car. That must be where "Schenectady" comes 
 from. 
 
 An. Is Albany a very old city ? 
 
 Hel. Yes, for America. Captain Hendrick Hudson 
 discovered our river in 1609, and — 
 
 An. Discovered it ! Why, it is right down here. 
 
 Hel. It wasn't "right down here" to him, for he 
 came all the way from Holland, and no white man had 
 ever seen it before. The Dutch settled at Albany 
 within the next three or four years, so it is the oldest 
 colony in the Union except Jamestown. In the early 
 times it was surrounded by a kind of wooden wall, 
 for protection against the French and Indians, and 
 there were six city gates. 
 
 May. But it wasn't a city then, was it ? 
 
 Hel. O yes; it has been a city nearly two hundred 
 years. 
 
 Alice. What funny names they used to have in those 
 days! One of the old ministers in the Dutch Church 
 was the Rev. Johannes Megapolensis. The men used 
 to sit with hats and muffs during service, and in the 
 midst of the sermon the deacons used to hand round a 
 little black bag on the end of a staff, with a bell in it, 
 to awaken the sleepy people, and get the contributions. 
 Then the^minister would go on with his sermon. 
 
 An. All this is very interesting, but I want to know 
 
BEFORE THE CENTENNIAL. 21 
 
 something more about the Centennial. Why is it held 
 in Philadelphia ? I should think it would be in New 
 York. 
 
 Car. Because it was in Philadelphia that the Conti- 
 nental Congress met, and the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence was made. 
 
 Kate. Who wrote the Declaration of Independence ? 
 
 An. General Washington, of course. 
 
 Jul. O no ! it was written by Thomas Jefferson, but 
 I believe Mr. Adams and Dr. Franklin had something 
 to do with it. 
 
 Car. John Hancock was the first one who signed it. 
 He said, "There must be no pulling different ways; 
 we must all hang together." Benjamin Franklin re- 
 plied: 'Yes, we must all hang together, or we shall 
 all hang separately." 
 
 May. Can any one tell anything more about it ? 
 
 Hel. " It had been privately resolved that when it was 
 passed, the bell of the old State-House should be rung. 
 This was a bell which had been up twenty years before, 
 and which bore the inscription, * Proclaim liberty 
 throughout all the land, to all the inhabitants thereof.' 
 So the old bell-ringer placed his little boy at the hall- 
 door to await the signal of the door-keeper; and when 
 independence was declared at last, the door-keeper gave 
 the signal, and the boy ran out exclaiming, ' Ring ! ring ! 
 
22 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 ring! ring! ring!' Then the bell rang out joyfully, 
 proclaiming liberty to all the land. There were re- 
 joicings everywhere; and the Declaration was read to 
 each brigade in the army." 
 
 Kate. Then, I suppose, they put up the American flag ? 
 
 Hel. They did not really decide what their standard 
 should be until Congress decided in 1777, that the flag 
 of the thirteen States be thirteen stripes, alternately 
 red and white, and the union thirteen stars in the blue 
 field. A new star has been added for every new State. 
 
 An. Well, I should like to go to the Centennial. 
 What do you suppose will be there ? 
 
 Ber. There is to be a World's Fair also, and the art 
 and industry of all nations will be represented. 
 
 Jul. What a strange medley of people there will be ! 
 English and French and Germans, Swedes and Danes, 
 Russians and Turks, Chinese and Japanese, Egyptians 
 and South Americans, of all colors, and in all sorts of 
 costumes. 
 
 An. How will there be room for them all ? 
 
 Hel. There will be plenty of room in Fairmount 
 Park, where the great buildings are, for it extends over 
 three thousand acres. I should like to see the Main 
 Exhibition Building and Machinery Hall, with their 
 long walls of glass and iron, with turrets at all the 
 corners, and flags above them. 
 
. BEFORE THE CENTENNIAL. 23 
 
 Car. I should like above all to see the Art Gallery, 
 with its bronze doorways and arcades, and the dome 
 and colossal figure of America. I should like to be in 
 the great hall, which can hold eight thousand persons, 
 to walk through the galleries filled with beautiful 
 paintings, and the pavilions and central hall, adorned 
 with works of sculpture. 
 
 Al. For my part, I think nothing will be so beauti- 
 ful as the Grand Conservatory. It rises on the 
 further side of a stream, shaded by forest-trees. From 
 it you can see green meadows, and the Schuylkill 
 River, flowing between banks of flowers. You enter by 
 flights of blue marble steps into the great in-door gar- 
 den, and there you will see represented the trees and 
 fruits and flowers of all parts of the continent, from 
 the fir-trees of the north to the palmettos and oranges 
 and bananas of Florida, and the grapes and other 
 fruits of California. 
 
 Ber. I suppose the farmers will be most interested 
 in the Agricultural Building, with all the different kinds 
 of grain, and farming implements, and the stock-yards 
 for the horses and cattle. Of course, the irrepressible 
 rooster will " crow at morn" to awaken the denizens 
 of the big poultry-yard, without even taking off his 
 hat to the American eagle. 
 
 Kate. There must be a great deal to see in the Gov- 
 
24 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 ernment building, with its collection of stuffed animals 
 and birds, its great aquarium full of fishes, its variety 
 of ores, metals, stones, and gems. 
 
 Jul. There will be other buildings, erected by dif- 
 ferent nations, for the exhibition of useful and beauti- 
 ful articles of all sorts. 
 
 An. What will be the use of it all ? 
 
 Car. One use will be to show what America has 
 been doing all these hundred years, and how she com- 
 pares with other nations. Another use will be to bring 
 the people of the world together, and to make them 
 feel that they are all brethren, and children of one 
 Father. 
 
 CHILDREN OF A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 [Scene. — A School-room in a New England village. Inter- 
 mission. Thankful Whitmore, Patty Powell, Faith Powell, 
 Abigail Barlow, Betsy Fairbanks, Hannah Dearborn, Mehitable 
 Garrett, Hope Seabury, Temperance Mills, Sally Harden, and 
 others. ] 
 
 Thankful. Patty Powell, do you really think there 
 will be war ? 
 
 Patty. I don't know, Thankful. Father says it looks 
 very much like it. And if there is, he and Timothy 
 
CHILDREN OF A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 2$ 
 
 will have to go. They " will return victorious, or re- 
 turn no more." 
 
 Faith. How can you talk so, Patty ! 
 
 Patty. Why, you wouldn't have them return any 
 other way, would you ? Timothy says we are sure to 
 win, because we are in the right. 
 
 Faith. Does the right always win ? 
 
 Patty. Of course it does. 
 
 Faith. Then what made the Greeks kill Socrates, as 
 we learned in Ancient History yesterday ? 
 
 Patty. Oh, it always wins in the end, I mean. 
 
 Thankful. But Socrates didn't win in the end. 
 
 Faith. As if that was the last of him ! 
 
 Patty. However, the Americans will. Father says 
 "the contest may be severe, but the end will be glori- 
 ous." I am sure I'd rather have anybody I cared for 
 killed, than to have him give up when he is in the 
 right. 
 
 Faith. So had I, but I cannot bear to talk about it. 
 
 Abigail. [Who has been writing .] There, that's 
 done. 
 
 Thankful. What's your copy, Abigail? 
 
 Abigail. "On Morning Wings, how active springs 
 the Mind!" 
 
 Faith. I should like to work that on my sampler. 
 
 Betsy. You have taken a great deal of pains. 
 
26 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Abigail. A thing well done is twice done, and a 
 thing half done isn't done at all. 
 
 Betsy. Here comes Hannah Dearborn, with the new 
 scholar. She's Hannah's cousin, and she's come all the 
 way from Philadelphia. But you ought to hear her talk. 
 
 Abigail. Hush ! She's a Quakeress. 
 
 Hannah. Thankful, this is my cousin, Mehitable 
 Garrett, from Philadelphia. Mehitable, this is Thank- 
 ful Whitmore. 
 
 Mehitable. How does thee do, Thankful ? 
 
 Hannah. This is Patty Powell, and this is Faith 
 Powell. I believe you know the others. 
 
 Mehitable. I am glad to see thee, Patty, and thee, Faith 
 
 Faith. Hannah has often spoken to me of you. 
 
 Patty. I should like to know how Philadelphia looks. 
 It is so far off, we don't very often see any one from 
 there. 
 
 Mehitable. It is "a faire green town," and we have 
 many pleasant orchards, and much fruit. 
 
 Thankful. But now you are at such a distance, you 
 cannot hear from your friends very often. 
 
 Mehitable. Oh, doesn't thee know, there is to be a 
 mail now twice as often ? So I can write a letter and 
 get an answer in three weeks, instead of in six. 
 
 Patty. That is fine. How many improvements there 
 are in travelling now ! 
 
CHILDREN OF A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 2J 
 
 Faith. If we go on improving so, perhaps in a hun- 
 dred years from now people will get letters every day 
 or two. 
 
 Patty. You said that the other day, and Aunt Polly 
 told you children should be seen and not heard. 
 
 Betsy. That is what grandmother always says. 
 But the other day she made a mistake, and said, 
 "Children should be heard and not seen;" and what 
 does my little brother Hezekiah do but get inside our 
 new clock and make a great noise. Grandmother 
 made him stand in the corner for half an hour. 
 
 Mehitable. Has thee a clock, then ? That is another 
 of the great improvements. 
 
 Abigail. And I heard of still another this morning. 
 Hope Seabury, what was that about the Flying Ma- 
 chine ? 
 
 Hope. The Flying Machine is a fast coach, which 
 has made the journey from New York to Philadelphia 
 in two days. 
 
 Several Voices. In two days ? 
 
 Hope. Yes, and from Philadelphia to Baltimore in 
 five days. 
 
 Patty. Who can beat that ? 
 
 Faith. The birds can beat it, and perhaps in a hun- 
 dred years from now people can go a mile in ten 
 minutes. 
 
28 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Patty. Fie, child, with your hundred years from 
 now ! A mile in ten minutes ? That would be im- 
 possible. 
 
 Faith. Why so ? The world will be always improv- 
 ing. I see it plainly. 
 
 Patty. Aunt Polly says you always think you can 
 see what no one else can. 
 
 Faith. That's because I'm Faith. 
 
 Mehitable. Hannah, what does thee do after inter- 
 mission ? 
 
 Hannah. Those of us who have finished our cipher- 
 ing can take our needlework. We have all done 
 but Deliverance Dummer. She never is ready. 
 
 Thankful. Pity there isn't a Flying Machine to do 
 ciphering. 
 
 Hannah. I am knitting a pair of stockings. See, I 
 spun that yarn myself. 
 
 Patty. It is good yarn. I have a cambric handker- 
 chief to hemstitch. 
 
 Betsy. And I a checked apron to hem. Where's 
 my housewife ? 
 
 Abigail. There it is, under your English Reader. 
 You should have a place for everything and everything 
 in its place. 
 
 Betsy. As you do, Miss Prim. Temperance Mills, 
 what are you going to do ? 
 
CHILDREN OF A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 29 
 
 Temperance. I have some patchwork. 
 
 Faith. And I my sampler. It's the trial of my life. 
 
 Betsy. Isn't that sampler done yet ? I finished mine 
 long ago. 
 
 Patty. No; she'd rather read by the hour. She has 
 read all " Montgomery's Poems," and the " Rising Glory 
 of America," and the " Memoirs of Sidney Bidulph," and 
 the " Pilgrim's Progress " and the " Hosannahs of Chil- 
 dren," and everything. 
 
 Temperance. The "Hosannahs of Children" is our 
 Sabba'day book. But last Sabba'day I read in the 
 " Dissenting Gentleman's Answer." 
 
 Thankful. Answer to what ? 
 
 Temperance. I don't know. I didn't quite under- 
 stand it. 
 
 Mehitable. I like to read in the Pennsylvania Maga- 
 zine. Does thee ever see it, Thankful ? 
 
 Thankful. No; but we take the Boston Gazette. 
 
 Betsy. What have you there, Patty ? 
 
 Patty. It is a button brother Timothy brought me 
 from Concord. It has the motto, " Union and Lib- 
 erty in all America." 
 
 Sally. \Who has just come in] That's a rebel 
 button. 
 
 Several Voices. Fie, Sally ! A Tory ! A Tory ! 
 
 Sally. God save the King. 
 
3© DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Patty. God save the King, and the Continental 
 Congress. 
 
 Sally. I wish I was a man. 
 
 Patty. I wish I was a man, too, and you'd have to 
 fight me. 
 
 Sally. If you were men, you might all be hanged 
 for rebels. 
 
 Thankful. Then we'd be martyrs for liberty. 
 
 Master. Not so loud, children. [Exit Sally. 
 
 Hope. I declare, I hope there will be war, and she'll 
 find out who's right. 
 
 Mehitable. Thee shouldn't say that. All war is 
 wrong. 
 
 Thankful. What, all war wrong ? 
 
 Mehitable. Yea; we must forgive our enemies. 
 
 Patty. Beat 'em first, and forgive 'em afterwards. 
 
 Mehitable. We must love our enemies, and do good 
 to them that hate us. Hasn't thee read that in the 
 good Book? 
 
 Patty. But if it came to this — to give up the right, 
 or to fight for it, which would you do ? 
 
 Mehitable. I would do neither. I would try to make 
 other people see the right, too. 
 
 Patty. But suppose you couldn't; and suppose you 
 must kill or be killed ? 
 
 Mehitable. Then I would die for the right, as some 
 
THE CHILDREN OF STORY LAND. 3 1 
 
 of my people have done; but I would not fight, because 
 I think it is wrong. They might burn me at the stake, 
 if they would. It is glorious to be a martyr. 
 
 Thankful. Isn't she right, after all ? 
 
 Faith. This is the way it looks to me: We must not 
 fight for ourselves, because we are angry; but we may 
 for a good cause, for our country, for the rights of a 
 whole nation. 
 
 Hope. 
 
 "While Freedom's cause her anxious breast alarms, 
 She flashes dreadful in refulgent arms." 
 
 That is, Columbia; not Faith Powell. 
 
 Abigail. Intermission is over; the master is turning 
 the hour-glass. 
 
 Hannah. Hush. Here comes the minister. Now 
 we must all stand up. 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF STORY LAND. 
 
 Marion. Why, how strange ! Here is the gate at 
 the back of our garden, and just beyond there are 
 thick woods. I never saw them there before. Can all 
 these trees have grown up in a single night, like Jack's 
 bean-stalk ? I will go a little further, and see what it 
 
32 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 means. Oh, there is a little girl, with a red cloak and 
 hood. Can it be — but no, that was only a story. 
 
 {Enter Red Riding-Hood.] 
 
 R. R. Welcome, little stranger. Welcome to Story 
 Land. 
 
 M. Oh, is that the name of this beautiful new coun- 
 try? And who are you? It seems as if I had seen 
 you before. 
 
 R. R. They call me Little Red Riding- Hood. I am 
 going to carry this pat of butter to my grandmother, 
 and I shall be glad of your company. It is not far. 
 
 M. Why, I thought the wolf killed you and ate you up. 
 
 R. R. Oh, no ! I am as much alive as' ever, you 
 see. The fact is, Jack the Giant Killer came in and 
 killed that wolf, before he had a chance to do me any 
 harm. 
 
 M. And didn't the wolf eat up your grandmother, 
 either ? 
 
 R. R. No; she had hidden in the closet. She is 
 alive and well yet. 
 
 M. I think I will not take that walk with you now. 
 I am afraid of the wolves. 
 
 R. R. You need not be, for since Jack the Giant 
 Killer came to live here, ever so many years ago, not 
 
THE CHILDREN OF STORY LAND. 33 
 
 a wolf dares to show his face. Jack would soon dis- 
 pose of them.. 
 
 M. How old are you, Red Riding- Hood? 
 
 R. R. I suppose I must be several hundred years old, 
 but I feel about seven. Children never grow old in 
 Story Land. 
 
 M. How funny ! And when did all these trees grow 
 up ? I never saw them before. 
 
 R. R. They are always here, but you cannot always 
 see them. They are visible only when you come 
 through the right gate. 
 
 M. I came through our garden gate. 
 
 R. R. But you must have opened the other at the 
 same time or you wouldn't be here. 
 
 M. What gate is that ? 
 
 R. R. The gate that opens into Story Land. 
 
 M. Let us sit down under this tree and talk 
 about it. 
 
 R. R. I cannot now, because grandmother will be 
 
 expecting me. But here comes somebody who can 
 
 tell you more, if you want to know. Good-by. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 [Enter Cinderella] 
 
 C. I wish I could see her now, right here in this 
 wood. 
 M. Who? 
 
34 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 C. Oh, I didn't know any one was here. Only my 
 fairy godmother. 
 
 M. Why, I really believe you are — Who are you? 
 
 C. Only Cinderella. 
 
 M. Where are your glass slippers ? 
 
 C. One of them is in my pocket. I have lost the 
 other. 
 
 M. And are you married to the Prince ? 
 
 C. I married ? Why, I am not old enough yet. But 
 perhaps I shall marry a prince when I grow up. 
 
 M. Why do you want to see your fairy godmother ? 
 
 C. Because she always tells me what to do, when I 
 am in difficulty. 
 
 M. Are you in difficulty now ? 
 
 C. Yes, they have set me some very hard work to do. 
 
 M. Poor little girl ! I am just as sorry for you as I 
 can be. 
 
 C. You need not be, because I have a fairy godmother, 
 and there are good times coming. There always are in 
 Story Land. 
 
 [Enter Little Boy Blue, who lays himself down under a 
 tree.] 
 
 M. Tell me, who that is lying down there, with a 
 horn in his hand. 
 
 C. Oh, that is Little Boy Blue. He is the sleepiest 
 fellow you ever saw. Set him to watch the sheep, in- 
 
THE CHILDREN OF STORY LAND. 35 
 
 deed ! I wonder his master doesn't discharge him. I 
 mean to startle him before I go. Little Boy Blue, why 
 are you sleeping there? The sheep are in the meadow, 
 and the cows are trampling down all your master's 
 corn. 
 
 L. B. B. Oh, dear ! Can't a fellow ever catch a 
 nap, without having that dinned in his ears ? 
 
 \_Exit, rubbing his eyes. 
 
 C. The trouble with him is he was born in the Land 
 of Nod, and never fairly woke up since he came here. 
 
 M. The Land of Nod ? Where is that ? 
 
 C. It lies just east of Story Land. But I must go, or 
 they will be calling me. [Exit. 
 
 [Enter Goody Two Shoes.] 
 
 G. T. S. Two shoes ! Two shoes ! What a lucky 
 girl I am ! 
 
 M. What is your name, little girl ? 
 
 G. T. S. My real name is Margery Meanwell, but I 
 am known as Goody Two Shoes. 
 
 M. Oh, are you ! Pray tell me why you are called so. 
 
 G. T. S. I used to be so poor that I could not af- 
 ford to wear two shoes. So, when I had a new pair, 
 I wore first one on my right foot then the other on my 
 left, till they were worn out. I always put my best 
 
3$ DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 foot foremost. But better days came, and then I could 
 afford to wear two shoes at once. The whole village 
 were so rejoiced at my luck that they called me Little 
 Goody Two Shoes. I am sure I don't know why every- 
 body is so kind to me. 
 
 [Enter Jenny Wren^\ 
 
 J. W. I know your tricks and your manners. 
 Everybody is kind to you because you are kind to 
 everybody. 
 
 M. I have heard all about your school, Goody, and 
 how much all the neighbors thought of you. 
 
 J. IV. And all about your raven Ralph, your 
 pigeon Tom, your lark Tippy, and your lamb Will. 
 
 G. T. S. Yes; by their aid I taught the children to 
 rise with the lark and lie down with the lamb. 
 
 M. Don't go, Goody Two Shoes. I should like to 
 talk with you longer. 
 
 G. T. S. I thank you, my little friend, but one of 
 my neighbors wants my help about something, so I 
 must bid good-by for the present. [Exit. 
 
 J. W. Almost as quiet and sensible as a grown-up. 
 I like her. 
 
 M. Do you like me, too ? 
 
 J. W. Don't know yet. If you are quiet and sensi- 
 ble. I don't like children in general. 
 
THE CHILDREN OF STORY LAND. 37 
 
 M. But you haven't told me who you are yet. 
 
 J. W. Nobody but Jenny Wren. Just allow me, 
 will you, to see how your dress is cut. I am a dolls' 
 dressmaker, and I must have an eye to business. 
 
 [Enter Jack Horner with a pie in his hand.] 
 
 M. Who is that boy, Jenny ? 
 
 J. W. That is Jack Horner. Now just watch him. 
 He'll sit down in some corner and eat that pie without 
 ever asking us to join him. / know his tricks and his 
 manners. \_Jack seats himself under a tree and begins 
 to eat. Holds up a large plum.] 
 
 J. H. Hurrah ! What a hero I am, to be sure ! 
 
 [Jack the Giant Killer rushes in with a drawn sword in 
 his hand.] 
 
 J. G. K. You a hero ? You great lump of selfish- 
 ness ! A hero is one who acts nobly for others, not 
 who claims all good things for himself. Why don't 
 you share that pie ? Get up out of that corner, and 
 make yourself of some use in the world. 
 
 /. H. What right have you to dictate to me ? Who 
 are you, I should like to know. 
 
 J. G. K. I am Jack the Giant Killer, and I was 
 born to redress wrongs, and fight for the right. Here 
 goes for the Giant Selfishness ! 
 
 J. H. Oh! Oh! Don't kill me. You may have my 
 pie, plums and all. I have eaten all I want. [Exit. 
 
38 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 J. G. K. I don't want his pie. Allow me, ladies, to 
 offer this greedy boy's dainty where it is better de- 
 served. 
 
 M. I am much obliged to you, but I couldn't think 
 of taking it. 
 
 J. W. Nor I, thank you. 
 
 /. G. K. Then I shall take it to the Old Woman 
 who lives in the Shoe. How she contrives to feed all 
 those children is a mystery to me. [Exit. 
 
 J. Horner [Looking in:] I know where I can get 
 another pie, at Little King Boggen's. I shall take a 
 slice right out of his front door. He can easily mend 
 it again. [Exit. 
 
 M. What does that ridiculous boy mean ? 
 
 J. W. Your education must have been greatly neg- 
 lected if you have never heard of Little King Boggen, 
 who built a fine hall entirely of pies and puddings, 
 and slated it with pancakes. It is one of the curiosi- 
 ties of Story Land. But I must go now. There is 
 no knowing what my bad child may be up to while I 
 am away. [Exit. 
 
 M. What does she mean ? 
 
 [Enter Little Bo-Peep^ 
 
 if. Oh-! I know who you are. What are you look- 
 ing for, Little Bo-Peep ? 
 
THE CHILDREN OF STORY LAND. 39 
 
 Z. B.-P. I have lost my beautiful white sheep, and 
 I cannot tell where to find them. I have looked up 
 the meadow and down the meadow, and all through 
 the woods of Story Land. 
 
 M. Don't be troubled about them, Little Bo- Peep. 
 Just let them alone, and they will be sure to come 
 home of themselves. 
 
 L. B.-P. Well, perhaps they will. One day they 
 strayed away and got mixed with the flocks of Little 
 Boy Blue, while he was asleep in the meadow. I went 
 to sleep, too, for it was a very warm day, and I had 
 wandered to the borders of the Land of Nod, where 
 the air is always drowsy. Then I dreamed I heard 
 them bleating in great distress, but when I awoke with 
 a start, I found it was all a joke of Dicky Dilver's, who 
 was making a noise to imitate them, and my sheep were 
 all quietly feeding near by. 
 
 [A voice is heard singing ;] 
 
 " Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep, 
 And cannot tell where to find 'em; 
 Let 'em alone, and they'll come home, 
 With their true loves behind 'em." 
 
 M. Who is that ? 
 
 Z. B.-P. Nobody but Tommy Tucker, singing for 
 his supper. He always has the best of white bread 
 
40 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 and butter, but he has no knife to cut it with. *I must 
 
 go and help him. But I wish I could find my sheep 
 
 first. [Exit 
 
 [Enter Puss in Boots.] 
 
 P. in B Room for my master, the great, the 
 good, the kind, the rich, the brave Marquis of 
 Carabas! 
 
 M. Oh, dear ! What shall I do in the presence of 
 so mighty a personage ? 
 
 [Enter Mar. of Car.] 
 
 M. of C. Good-morning, little maiden. 
 
 M. Good-morning, sir. I hope your lordship will 
 excuse me if through ignorance I do not treat you with 
 all the respect due to your distinguished name and 
 position. 
 
 M. of C. Pray do not treat me with any ceremony. 
 All that I have I owe to the disinterested service of 
 my friend, the illustrious Puss in Boots. 
 
 [Enter Page.] 
 
 P. My lord marquis, the King of Story Land de- 
 sires your attendance at the royal palace. 
 
 M. of C. I will attend upon his majesty immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 [Exeunt M. of C. and P. in B. 
 
THE CHILDREN OF STORY LAND. 4 1 
 
 P. A singular affair ! a very singular affair ! 
 
 M. What is it, sir ? 
 
 P. Haven't you heard of it ? But I perceive you 
 are a stranger here. You must know that I am a page 
 in the palace, so I am well acquainted with all the cir- 
 cumstances. At the royal breakfast this morning a 
 bird-pie was set before his majesty, a present from 
 Little King Boggen, whose skill in the culinary art, as 
 well as his peculiar taste in architecture, is well known. 
 The pie was large and unusually tempting in appear- 
 ance. But when it was cut, imagine the consternation 
 of the king, and of all present, when twenty-four 
 blackbirds immediately flew out of the dish and began 
 to sing. After the first shock of surprise, his majesty 
 was rather inclined to be displeased with Little King 
 Boggen, but afterwards concluded to treat the matter 
 as a good joke. The queen remarked that she should 
 console herself for the disappointment by partaking of 
 her favorite refreshment of bread and honey. The 
 king replied that he had lost his appetite, and if her 
 majesty would excuse him, would repair to the royal 
 treasury. But this was not the last of the birds. 
 While one of the maids employed in the laundry of 
 the palace was engaged in her usual occupation a black- 
 bird flew suddenly out of the window, and bit her nose 
 so severely that if the king s surgeon had not immedi- 
 
42 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 ately come to her relief, she would have been disfigured 
 for life. A very singular affair ! 
 
 M. It is, indeed, sir. [Exit Page. 
 
 [Enter Little Nell] 
 
 L N. Pray, little girl, have you seen my grand- 
 father, an old man with long white hair and bright blue 
 eyes ? He has gone out without his hat and cloak, 
 and I am afraid he will take cold. 
 
 M. No, I have not. What is your name, little girl ? 
 
 L. N. They call me Little Nell. 
 
 M. Have you come far ? You look very tired. 
 
 L. N. We have come a long way, my grandfather 
 and I, but we have found a happy, quiet place now, 
 and the schoolmaster is very kind to us. 
 
 M. Sit down and talk with me here a little while. 
 Don't shake your head and look so sorrowful. 
 
 L. N. I am not sorrowful; I am happy. But I cannot 
 stay with you now, because I must find my grandfather. 
 I think he must be working in his garden, and he will 
 want me to help him. Perhaps I will come again in 
 spring. Good-by. 
 
 M. Good-by, dear Little Nell. [Exit L. N. 
 
 M. She will be an angel, I think, when spring 
 comes. 
 
 \L. N appears again at a distance, and stands looking 
 sorrow 'fully toward M.] 
 
THE CHILDREN OF STORY LAND. 43 
 
 M. Come with me, dear, to my home. I have per- 
 mission to ask a few little friends to supper, and I 
 should so like to have you. 
 
 L. N. I cannot. Oh, I cannot ! [Exit 
 
 [Little Red Riding-Hood and others silently enter one 
 by one, and disappear again.] 
 
 M. Oh, come, all of you. I see you, Red Riding- 
 Hood, and you, Cinderella, and Goody Two Shoes, 
 and all. Come with me to supper in my own pleasant 
 home. 
 
 Voices in the distance. We cannot; we cannot. 
 
 M. I hear your voices, but I cannot see you any 
 longer. Why cannot you come ? 
 
 A Voice. Because, though our mission is to give 
 pleasure to you, and to many children like you, we an; 
 not flesh and blood ; we cannot cross your threshold 
 nor partake of earthly fare. You must come into our 
 country when you would behold us and talk with us, 
 for though we never grow old and never die, we are 
 but shadows ; we are only the 
 
 Children of Story Land. 
 

 44 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 THE FLOWER-BRINGERS. 
 
 Jessie. Where are the blossom-bringers, 
 That make the earth so gay? 
 The fairy flower-bell ringers, 
 That drive the snow away ? 
 
 Lena. Hiding among the hollows; 
 
 Dreaming of wrens and swallows, 
 Of sunshine and of song. 
 They will not linger long. 
 
 Jessie. They linger, still they linger. 
 Distant Voice. They will not linger long. 
 
 Jessie. Where are the bright flower-bringers, 
 
 That all the earth array ? 
 
 Where are the sweet bell-ringers? 
 Dr 
 
 March, what have you to say ? 
 
 March. I am the first of the train. 
 After my snow and rain, 
 Mine are the first 
 Of flowers that burst 
 
 Out from their hiding-places. 
 See where they hide 
 On the south hillside, 
 
 With sunshine on their faces. 
 
THE FLOWER-BRINGERS. 45 
 
 Jessie. What is the first 
 
 Of the flowers that burst 
 Out from the frosty ground, 
 Yet with never a sound ? 
 
 Cora. I found them where they grew, 
 Hepaticas, some of them blue 
 
 And bright as a baby's eyes, 
 And some of them faint as mist 
 
 Arising from the vale, 
 That the morning sun has kissed. 
 
 "O call them fair, not pale." 
 
 Lena. Shy April now appears, 
 
 The child of smiles and tears, 
 Of showers and sunny light, 
 What bring you, April bright ? 
 
 April. I bring the apple-blooms, 
 With delicate perfumes, 
 The cherry and the pear 
 To blossom everywhere. 
 My tender grass is creeping 
 Where violets, from sleeping 
 And dreaming, all awake, 
 Just for the children's sake. 
 
46 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Cora. Anemones are seen 
 
 In hiding-places green, 
 Alighting with white wings,— 
 The timid woodland things. 
 
 Floy. The flowers all talk together 
 About the pleasant weather; 
 
 If any one heard them whisper, 
 Whisper, how it would cheer him ! 
 "Wake- Robin, Jack's in the Pulpit; 
 
 Come from your nest and hear him." 
 
 Belle. Did you ever hear things grow ? 
 Lena. Why, no; how could you so ? 
 Belle. Oh, Floy came near it, once. 
 Floy. If I hadn't been a dunce, 
 
 I might have come still nearer. 
 
 Cora. That is queerer and queerer. 
 
 How was it, Floy ? Do tell. 
 
 We want to hear it. 
 Floy. Well, 
 
 It happen'd once on a time, 
 
 And some one put it in rhyme. 
 I was only five years old, 
 And I don't much want it told, 
 
 But if you'll never tell, — 
 
 Belle knows it. 
 
THE FLOWER-BRINGERS. 47 
 
 Cora. Tell, it Belle, 
 
 We'll never, never tell. 
 
 Belle. Now I have sewed my patch-work, 
 And said my ABC, 
 I may go play in the garden, 
 Under the apple-tree. 
 
 I lost my ball in the bushes, 
 
 I can't look where it went, 
 For I am in such a hurry 
 
 To try a 'speriment. 
 
 For Robbie said this morning, 
 If I'd shut my eyes tight, so, 
 
 And lie down there in the clover, 
 I'd surely hear things grow. 
 
 Does it sound like bees, I wonder, 
 Or the bells the fairies ring ? 
 
 Is it long and loud, like thunder, 
 Or soft, like whispering ? 
 
 Do they make the selfsame music, 
 A flower and a homely weed ? 
 
 Do they creep out just as a snail does, 
 Or pop like a balsam-seed? 
 
48 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 I wonder if Rob was fooling: 
 I asked him before he went, 
 
 And he said if I didn't believe him, 
 I could try the 'speriment. 
 
 So I'll lie down here in the clover, 
 And shut my eyes tight, so, 
 
 As still as a mouse, and listen 
 Till I hear the green things grow. 
 
 What a rustle and stir and whisper ! 
 
 ' It must be the bees that pass, 
 Or the wind that is coming a-tiptoe 
 Over the flowers and grass. 
 
 How strange it is to be lying 
 
 With the soft grass under my head, 
 
 And the blue, blue sky above me; 
 'Tis just as if I were dead. 
 
 What sound was that in the clover ? 
 
 O wind, how tired you must get ! 
 What a rustle and stir and creeping ! 
 
 Are the green things growing yet ? 
 
 Now s'pose that this was the jungle 
 That Robbie was reading about, 
 
 And I was a traveller hunting, 
 
 And was lost and couldn't get out: — 
 
THE FLOWER-BRINGERS. 49 
 
 And s'pose that a tiger came creeping, 
 And creeping, and creeping — Oh, dear ! 
 
 I can't keep my eyes shut much longer, 
 Oh, what shall I do ? He is here. 
 
 Dear me, Kitty Grey, how you scared me, 
 Velvet paws ! If that isn't my ball 
 
 She is poking about in the bushes; 
 It didn't go far, after all. 
 
 How the daisies are nodding and dancing! 
 
 Come off, now, aud have a good play. 
 I guess I don't care any longer 
 
 For the 'speriment ; do you, Miss Grey ? 
 
 Cora. And now we shall never know 
 The way the green things grow, 
 Unless we try it ourselves, 
 Or else the fairies and elves 
 Tell us the story, when 
 We walk in some quiet glen. 
 
 Jessie. Where are the rest 
 
 Of the fair flower-bringers, 
 Weavers of light, 
 
 And lily-bell ringers ? 
 
50 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Beautiful merry May, 
 How long you staid away ! 
 Fairest month of Spring, 
 What are the gifts you bring ? 
 
 May. Mine are the sweetest of all ; 
 May flowers, arbutus you call, 
 Pink, and waxy, and sweet, 
 Hiding away at your feet. 
 
 Lena. New treasures all the time, 
 Just as it says in the rhyme, 
 " Dandelions, buttercups, 
 Daisies and clover, 
 One thing follows another 
 Over and over." 
 
 Cora. Children hunt 
 
 For the four-leaved clover, 
 Through wood and meadow, 
 Many a rover. 
 
 Some hold buttercups 
 
 Under their chin, 
 Or write on the lilac 
 
 Leaves with a pin, 
 
 Floy. And tell me, girls, 
 
THE FLOWER-BRINGERS. 5 1 
 
 Did you ever make curls 
 
 Of the long-stemmed dandelion ? 
 
 All. Oh, that you may rely on. 
 
 Jessie. Hark ! for I hear a tinkle 
 
 Of sweet, invisible bells; 
 
 Down in the valley, softly 
 
 The fairy music swells: 
 
 'Tis from the small white lilies, 
 
 The lilies of the vale, 
 Hiding away in the shadow, 
 Fragrant and pure and pale. 
 
 Distant voice. Ring out your chimes, sweet lily bells ! 
 Ring out the Lady May's farewell; 
 And welcome for the dawning light 
 Of June, who cometh, queenly bright. 
 
 All. Ring out your chimes sweet lily bells ! 
 Belle. So pass the flower-bringers; 
 But beautiful June 
 Ne'er fails of her welcome, 
 
 Or cometh too soon. 
 What bring you to cheer us, 
 O beautiful June ? 
 
 June. The bonniest boon, — 
 
 Just look at my roses ! 
 
52 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Palaces bright 
 
 Where the wild bee reposes ; 
 Oh, the butterfly knows 
 The sweets of my rose, 
 
 The birds are glad when I bring it. 
 
 You should hear the robin sing it, 
 " Here's the rose ! 
 
 Sip the dew, 
 
 Sing a song ; 
 Here's enough for us to do." 
 You should hear the wild bee answer : 
 
 " Oh, for you 
 
 Work is play ; 
 But for us, 
 
 We are busy folk to-day." 
 
 Lena. I scarce know which is sweeter, 
 
 The wild rose fair and free 
 
 In its simplicity, 
 Or the garden rose completer 
 
 In queenly royalty. 
 The red rose, or the white, 
 The pink rose, blushing bright, 
 Or pale as early light. 
 
 The golden rose, 
 
 Or the olden rose 
 
THE QUEEN OF JUNE. 53 
 
 That grandma loves the best, 
 
 Or this one, like a fairy 
 Asleep within her nest, 
 
 All are the sweetest, 
 
 Which completest. 
 Nobody knows, 
 
 Or which the fairest ; 
 
 Only we know, the rarest 
 Of all the flowers is the rose. 
 
 All. Let them share the glory 
 Of their fleeting hours; 
 While we read the story 
 Of the Queen of Flowers. 
 
 THE QUEEN OF JUNE. 
 
 Isabel. Eudora, Minnehaha, 
 Lillian, Thora, Clare, Eglantine, 
 
 Sprites of June. 
 
 Isabel. She is coming ! She is coming ! 
 On the hills I hear her laughter. 
 See ! the perfect blue reveals her, 
 And the roses, following after, 
 
54 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Blush and brighten everywhere. 
 By green earth and breezy air, 
 
 Now I know that she is coming, 
 Fairest of the fair. 
 
 JEudora. Who is coming ? Who is coming ? 
 Is it May, the flower of story, 
 Praised of poets, sung of ages, 
 
 With her beauty and her glory ? 
 Do your hear their harmony 
 Softly winging o'er the sea ? 
 Who is coming ? Who is coming, 
 Fairest of the fair ? 
 
 Isabel. Nay, let English poets praise her, 
 May the queenly, as is meet; 
 
 With her cowslips and primroses, 
 And her hedgerows blooming sweet. 
 
 Let us echo not their song, 
 
 Lest we do our fairest wrong. 
 
 June is coming ! June is coming ! 
 Fairest of t\e fair. 
 
 Isabel. Nay, those fairies are all flown. 
 
 These, the New World elves are known,- 
 Somewhat larger, as is meet, — 
 These, the Sprites of June, we greet. 
 
THE QUEEN OF JUNE. 55 
 
 [Enter a band of little children^ singing and scattering 
 roses."] 
 
 We are coming, we are coming, 
 
 All together, all in tune, 
 We are neither elves nor fairies, 
 
 But the little Sprites of June. 
 
 For she sends us to the garden, 
 To the meadow and the lea, 
 
 And we sprinkle them all over, 
 With sweet roses, as you see. 
 
 Sunny roses, balmy roses 
 
 Fairy roses, every one, 
 How they lift their lovely faces, 
 
 To the dew and to the sun. 
 
 We are neither elves nor fairies, 
 But the little Sprites of June; 
 
 Softly coming, softly going, 
 
 All together, all in tune. [Exeunt. 
 
 Eudora. Hark ! I hear a silvery tinkle 
 
 Like the patter of the rain, 
 Or the shiver of a river. 
 
 Are the Naiads come again ? 
 Who is this that laughs so sweet, 
 Where the drops of silver meet ? 
 
56 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 [Enter Minnehaha, bearing a crystal vase.] 
 
 Isabel. 'Tis the dark-eyed forest daughter; 
 'Tis the Indians' Laughing Water. 
 June from dingles green hath brought her ; 
 
 Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! 
 Would you follow her, and learn 
 Where she fills her crystal urn ? 
 Minnehaha. Would you follow me, and learn 
 Where I fill my crystal urn ? 
 Follow on and never find me. 
 
 Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! [Exit. 
 
 [Enter three maidens bearing green boughs.] 
 
 Sudora. Who are these, with leafy boughs 
 Overshadowing white brows ? 
 Are the Dryads from their sleep, 
 Of two thousand summers deep, 
 Just awakened, with the thrill 
 Of the forest in them still ? 
 Isabel. These are messengers of June; 
 These are mortal maidens fair, 
 With the freshness of her bloom, 
 And the roses in their hair; 
 Of no Dryads' ancient line, 
 Thora, Clare, and Eglantine. 
 
THE QUEEN OF JUNE. 57 
 
 Eudora. Whence come ye, maidens sweet ? 
 From what verdurous retreat ? 
 And what seek ye, as ye pass 
 Lightly o'er the meadow grass ? 
 Thora. Oh, we come from green arcades 
 And from mossy forest glades: 
 Bowery thickets we've been thridding, 
 
 Where the birds and bees commune; 
 And we come to do her bidding; 
 
 Our sweet monarch, royal June. 
 Clare. Oh, we've heard her voice of music, 
 
 But we could not see her face, 
 A great glory, green and golden, 
 
 Lighted all the hallowed place. 
 Not of bee, nor breeze, nor bird 
 Was the whisper that we heard. 
 Eglantine. And she said: O ye who love me, 
 
 And my bowers so lightly tread, 
 Ye shall choose a mortal maiden, 
 
 And shall crown her in my stead: 
 I will give you signs to trace 
 If she be of royal race. 
 Isabel. Are her eyes as dark as night 
 
 But illumined with strange light? 
 Is she graceful as the fawn, 
 And as beautiful as dawn ? 
 
58 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 What the mark, and what the sign 
 If she be of royal line ? 
 
 Eudora. Rather gleam her starry eyes 
 With the azure of the skies ; 
 Rather golden be her hair, 
 And her face as lily fair ; 
 This the mark, and this the sign 
 If she be of royal line. 
 
 Thora. O not such the gifts of grace 
 
 That our homage must control. 
 
 For she may be fair of face, 
 But she must be fair of soul ; 
 
 Must be gentle, but not weak ; 
 
 From the right must never swerve ; 
 
 She herself must never seek ; 
 
 Her "I reign" must be "I serve." 
 
 Clare. Lovely things must make her love ; 
 
 Fair things make her soul more fair ; 
 Starry lights that o'er her move, 
 
 Flowers that bless her unaware : 
 For the Beautiful and True 
 
 In her life must blend in one ; 
 As the lily, both from dew, 
 
 And from sunshine, life hath won. 
 
THE QUEEN OF JUNE. 59 
 
 Eglantine. And our great Queen farther spake : 
 
 Try her spirit by this test ; 
 Ye the Eamp of Truth must take, 
 
 Of divining power possessed ; 
 Held before her, it shall show 
 
 All her soul out in her face, 
 Which shall dark with shadow grow, 
 
 Or grow bright with inward grace. 
 This the mark, and this sign, 
 If she be of royal line. 
 
 Isabel. Be she east or be she west, 
 Over land or over sea, 
 Let us seek her by this test, 
 
 She our Maiden Queen shall be. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 [Enter Minnehaha] 
 
 Who is queen but Laughing Water ? 
 But the forests' favored daughter, 
 With the truth that Nature taught her, 
 Ere the pale-faced maidens came 
 To dispute with her that fame ? 
 Seek your queen by land or sea, 
 She a huntress wild should be, 
 Follow on and never find her, 
 
 Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! [Exit. 
 
60 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 [Enter Thora, Clare, and Eglantine, the first bearing 
 the Lamp of Truth concealed injz vasej the second the 
 crown, and the third the sceptre j followed by a procession 
 of young girls] 
 
 Thora. Hither, maidens, hither all; 
 
 Bring your chosen to the test; 
 And abide by what befall. 
 
 If she loveth Falsehood best, 
 Then the dark will grow and grow, 
 
 Overshadow all her face; 
 If the Truth, its light will glow 
 
 And reveal the inward grace, 
 This the mark, and this the sign 
 
 If she be of royal line. 
 
 [Isabel and Eudora lead forth Lillian. Thora, on one 
 side, holds before her the urn containing the Lamp of 
 Truth; Clare, on the other, uncovers it. They hold it 
 steadily for a few minutes. The light clearly illumines 
 the face of Lillian] 
 
 All. Lillian, our Lillian, 
 Lillian is Queen ! 
 
 Eglantine. Well your Queen the test hath stood ; 
 On her face its seal, in sooth, 
 
THE QUEEN OF JUNE. 6l 
 
 Proveth her of royal blood, 
 
 Of the royalty of Truth. 
 Throne and diadem prepare, 
 Lillian the crown shall wear. 
 
 [They prepare a throne and deck it with green boughs. 
 Her attendants conduct her toward the throne, and she 
 kneels to receive the crown, which Thora places on her 
 head, while Eglantine presents the sceptre.] 
 
 Clare. Rise, Queen Lillian, arise ! 
 
 Suns shall set and moons shall wane; 
 Truth is steadfast as the skies. 
 
 Keep, through all thy peaceful reign, 
 In thy heart the dew of youth, 
 And the royalty of Truth. 
 
 Lillian. Thanks, kind friends and subjects true, 
 For the honor you have shown. 
 Let me bring you, as is due, 
 Faithful service of the throne. 
 May I ne'er from duty swerve, 
 For "I reign" is still "I serve." 
 
 [Enter the Sprites of June, singing.] 
 
 Holiday! Holiday! 
 
 To the woods and away ! 
 
62 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Our Queen we will greet, 
 
 And scatter sweet roses to lie at her feet. 
 
 [They scatter roses before the Queen.] 
 
 All our bands 
 
 Clap their hands 
 
 To receive her commands. 
 
 There is blithe work to do, 
 
 From grass and from wild flowers to brush 
 off the dew. 
 
 Then to hold 
 
 Nectar old 
 
 In our flower-cups of gold, 
 And to part the green boughs, 
 And scatter the sunshine o'er beautiful 
 brows. 
 
 Holiday ! 
 
 Holiday ! 
 
 To the woods and away ! 
 Our Queen we will greet, 
 And scatter sweet roses to lie at her feet. 
 
 [ The royal procession moves, the Sprites of June scatter- 
 ing flowers before the Queen. 
 
 Exeunt omnes.'] 
 
DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 6$ 
 
 FANCY AND FACT. 
 
 Fan. "Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, 
 
 come !" 
 Fact. Go, dripping Spring, rheumatic dampness, go! 
 
 Fan. Lives there a girl with soul so dead, 
 Who never to herself hath said, 
 
 The lovely Spring resumes her sway ? 
 
 Fact. Lives there a girl with brain so soft, 
 Who has not thus reflected oft, 
 The Spring's a humbug any way ? 
 
 Fan. O flowers of Spring ! 
 
 Around the old trees clustering; 
 
 Come, see them in full many a nook 
 
 Illuminate the meadows' book, 
 
 And catch the stir of budding trees, 
 And hear the small birds' melodies. 
 
 Come, feel the soft grass under foot, 
 
 Where brook nor bird nor bee is mute ! 
 With one accord they sweetly sing 
 The beauty and the joy of Spring. 
 
 Fact. " H'm, Spring ! 'Tis popular, we've heard, 
 And you must praise it therefore, 
 
64 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Not that a flower, a brook, a bird, 
 Is what I greatly care for. 
 
 The trees are budding immature ! 
 
 Yet them, no doubt, admire some, 
 One leaf comes like another, sure, 
 
 And on the whole, 'tis tiresome." 
 
 That is, if they will condescend 
 To come at all this season; 
 
 Your talk about the flowers, my friend, 
 Defies both rhyme and reason. 
 
 You call me out, poetic-wise, 
 To pluck the pinks and daisies, 
 
 Invisible to mortal eyes, 
 Unseen but in your praises. 
 
 You call me out to hear the birds, 
 In rather mystic numbers; 
 
 I think a barn -yard cock this morn 
 Disturbed me from my slumbers. 
 
 To tread wet grass for sounds like this, 
 You may, perhaps, think pleasant, 
 
 But really, I would rather not 
 Commit myself at present. 
 
FANCY AND FACT. 6$ 
 
 Fan. May- blossoms fair ! 
 
 May-blossoms sweet ! 
 On the green boughs 
 
 Or under our feet; 
 Some looking upward 
 
 With eyes of soft blue, 
 Some all a-tremble 
 
 With sunshine and dew; 
 White as the snowflakes, 
 
 Or yellow as gold, 
 All of May's treasures 
 
 Can never be told. 
 
 Out in the woods again ! 
 
 O the delight 
 Of putting on wings again, 
 
 Bathing in light ! 
 Breathing the freshness, 
 
 Hearing the song 
 Of invisible minstrels 
 
 The woodlands among; 
 The delights of the May-time 
 
 Can never grow old; 
 The half of her treasures 
 
 Can never be told. 
 
66 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Fact. A lazy, leaden sky, 
 
 A good-for-nothing air; 
 It raineth every day 
 
 And raineth everywhere. 
 Violets have the rheumatiz; 
 
 Tulips a decline; 
 The birds asthmatic grow, 
 The sun forgets to shine. 
 Whatever poets say, 
 This is May. 
 
 What moody, murky, mean 
 
 And miserable weather ! 
 The elements have made 
 
 Conspiracy together; 
 Fruit-blossoms are ashamed 
 
 To think they dared come out. 
 The earth's a field of mud, 
 
 The sky's a water-spout. 
 Whatever poets say, 
 This is May. 
 
 Leaves shiver on the trees, 
 Lambs shiver on the plain; 
 
 Flowers wish themselves tucked up 
 By Mother Earth again. 
 
FANCY AND FACT. 6? 
 
 Let's put on water-proofs, 
 
 And round the May-pole stand, 
 And crown our lovely queen, 
 Umbrellas in our hand. 
 Whatever poets say, 
 This is May. 
 
 Fan. " Now fades the last long streak of snow." 
 Fact. Now do not flatter people so. 
 Fan. " By ashen roots the violets blow." 
 Fact. Through gutters muddy streamlets flow. 
 Fan. " Now rings the woodland loud and long." 
 Fact. It is the organ-grinder's song. 
 Fan. "The distance takes a livelier hue," 
 Fact. And distance lends enchantment, too. 
 Fan. " Now dance the lights on lawn and lea." 
 Fact. Now brooms are brandished constantly. 
 Fan. " The flocks are whiter down the vale." 
 Fact. So is the whitewash in the pail. 
 
 Fan. " And milkier every milky sail 
 
 On winding stream and distant sea." 
 
 Fact. And swifter is the milliners' sale 
 Of all those stylish hats we see. 
 
 Fan. " In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon 
 the robin's breast, 
 
68 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 In the Spring the wanton lap-wing gets 
 himself another crest." 
 
 Fact. In the Spring a friskier spirit doth possess 
 the ancient cat; 
 In the Spring each maid and matron gets 
 herself another hat. 
 
 Fan. " In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the 
 burnished dove; 
 In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly 
 turns to thoughts of love." 
 
 Fact. In the Spring of rents and taxes do we 
 hear a loud complaint; 
 In the Spring the housewife's fancy turns 
 to paper and to paint. 
 
 Fan. Good Fact, forbear ! The poets all oppose; 
 You turn the brightest poetry to prose. 
 And can you be so dull as not to see 
 The swelling buds upon the maple-tree ? 
 And can you be so deaf as not to hear 
 The robin's song, that thrills my list'ning ear ? 
 The very river has a voice to tell 
 Of vernal joys and airs ambrosial. 
 
 Fact. Good Fancy, be not such a simple maid, 
 What care I for the poets? 'Tis their trade. 
 
FANCY AND FACT. 69 
 
 And are you so befogged as not to see 
 The water drizzling from that selfsame tree ? 
 And must I tell you in so many words, 
 House-hunters are as numerous as birds ? 
 The rising river sings, with plaintive note, 
 Of kettles in the cellar all afloat. 
 
 Fan. No use of planting flowers to blush unseen, 
 
 And waste their sweetness on the desert air; 
 I turn from your cold words and figures mean, 
 
 And still proclaim how beautiful, how fair, 
 With budding blooms and amaranthine flowers, 
 With bursts of sunshine, and with silver 
 
 showers, 
 With grassy meadows and with running streams, 
 With singing birds, and skies like poet's 
 
 dreams. 
 How musical, how radiant a thing 
 Is this enchanting Spring. [Exit. 
 
 Fact. No use indeed ! Romantic simpleton ! 
 Fancy can see fresh grass in barren clay, 
 All through reflected greenness. Well, each 
 
 one 
 To her own taste; but Fact takes leave to say 
 How full of commonplaces and of cares, 
 Of moving carts and broken household wares, 
 
70 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Of shaking carpets, rooms turned inside out, 
 Of coughs and colds, of asthma and of gout, 
 
 Of milliners' bills, and other ills, 
 How muddy, drizzly, slippery a thing 
 Is this much-lauded Spring. 
 
 FIGURES OF SPEECH. 
 
 Lizzie. What are you all studying so intently ? 
 
 All. The Figures of Speech. 
 
 L. Well, if it were the figures of arithmetic there 
 would be some sense in it; but in this busy world I 
 should say there was no time for studying anything but 
 what is strictly necessary. 
 
 Blanche. Some things are necessary for use, others 
 for beauty. 
 
 Fannie. And figures of speech combine both, for 
 they not only embellish style, but often render it 
 clearer. 
 
 L. Perhaps they will do for the poets, who must al- 
 ways be soaring in mid-air, but in plain prose we can dis- 
 pense with them. If I am only writing " A Visit to New 
 York," I have hard enough work to keep the thread of 
 my narrative, without tangling it up with figures. I 
 
FIGURES OF SPEECH. 71 
 
 never used a figure of speech in my life, and never 
 mean to. 
 
 Statia. Don't be too sure of that, Miss Positive. 
 You have used at least three within the last two min- 
 utes. 
 
 Z. How do you make that out ? 
 
 S. Why, I don't suppose you literally mean that the 
 poets are always flying through the air, like a flock of 
 pigeons. And if the expression is not literal, it is fig- 
 urative. And what is the "thread" of your narrative ? 
 If it isn't Clark's No. 40 or something equivalent, it is 
 certainly a figure, and in that case you only figura- 
 tively " tangle" it. 
 
 Z. Well, I seem to be in the same box with the man 
 who had talked prose all his life without knowing it. 
 But I confess I have never given any attention to the 
 subject. Perhaps you can enlighten me a little. 
 
 F. Figures are just pictures in words. You made 
 one when you said you were " in the same box" with 
 the man in the French play. 
 
 Z. Really, I am glad we have entered upon this 
 subject. I shall begin to suspect that I am a poet. 
 
 B. Don't flatter yourself. Figures which were at 
 first striking have so passed into common speech that 
 even the most prosaic people employ them constantly. 
 
 Z. Thank you. 
 
72 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 B. For instance, you speak of beginning the discus- 
 sion of a subject as if a door had just been opened, 
 through which we were "entering." 
 
 Z. Open it a little further, will you, and give your 
 figures a local habitation and a name, that I may know 
 them by sight at least. If I am prosaic, I want to con- 
 fine myself to that, lest I should appear more like a 
 goose than a swan. 
 
 S. That is a figure, too. Whenever you express a 
 resemblance between two objects, generally by the 
 words "like" or "as," you use Comparison or Simile, 
 which is one of the most common figures, both in 
 prose and poetry. 
 
 Z. When I say one of my hands is like the other do 
 I use a figure ? 
 
 S. Hardly, because that is a literal explanation of a 
 fact. A simile either adorns or illustrates a subject. 
 
 Z. Then, whenever I say one thing is like another, 
 which it isn't like literally, I use a simile. Thus: a 
 gold ring is like an elephant. 
 
 F. Why? 
 
 Z. That isn't a conundrum, it's a simile. There is 
 no real resemblance between them. 
 
 B. But you cannot compare any two objects you 
 choose in that way. They must have some point of 
 resemblance, or it is not a true simile. 
 
FIGURES OF SPEECH. 73 
 
 Z. So you make your figures by rule, do you ? 
 
 B. Certainly. There must be a pleasing or striking 
 resemblance between the objects compared, and the 
 comparison must be clearly stated, for the purpose of 
 illustration. 
 
 F. I read a striking comparison in Longfellow's 
 " Hyperion" the other day. In speaking of the German 
 author, Richter, he says: "His thoughts are like mum- 
 mies embalmed in spices, and wrapped about in curi- 
 ous envelopments; but within these, the thoughts 
 themselves are kings." 
 
 Z. The thoughts "are kings," not like kings. Is 
 that a comparison ? 
 
 F. Yes; but the comparison is not expressed in 
 form. So we call it a metaphor. It is nearest to 
 painting, of all the figures. The "battle of life," the 
 "cup of sorrow," the "sword of justice," the "star 
 of empire," a "fiery temper," a "hard heart," a 
 "soft answer," are all examples of metaphors. 
 
 Z. Are there any rules for this figure ? 
 
 S. Yes; metaphorical and plain language should not 
 be mixed together. A child cannot be a child and a 
 flower at the same time. 
 
 B. And we should not employ two metaphors together 
 which are inconsistent with each other, like this one, 
 used by a certain public speaker: "I must embark into 
 
7 4 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 the feature on which this question chiefly hinges" 
 There you have a vessel, a face, and a door, all sug- 
 gested by the same object. 
 
 S. Here is another mixed metaphor: "If any indi- 
 vidual can break down any of these safeguards which 
 the Constitution has so wisely and so cautiously erected, 
 by poisoning the minds of the jury, he will stab the 
 administration in its most vital parts." That is, the 
 individual referred to must employ a hammer, a cup, 
 and a dagger, all at once. Now, somebody give a 
 correct metaphor. 
 
 F. "Birds of Paradise always fly against the wind; 
 and heavenly-minded souls move against the current." 
 
 Z. These figures are intelligible enough. Let us 
 have another. 
 
 S. A common, and often very beautiful figure, is 
 Personification, or the endowing an inanimate object 
 with life or personality. 
 
 F. As children do with their dolls and other toys. 
 
 B. Or as the sailor with his ship. 
 
 S. Or as the old Greeks did, when they imagined 
 every tree and fountain and river alive with some bright 
 spirit. 
 
 F. Or as the poet Longfellow when he says: 
 
 " The singing chimney chanted low 
 The homely songs of long ago," 
 
FIGURES OF SPEECH. 75 
 
 or speaks of the brooks as 
 
 " Running with feet of silver 
 Over the sands of gold." 
 
 B. Here is an example from Tennyson: 
 
 "Of old sat Freedom on the heights, 
 The thunders breaking at her feet; 
 Above her shook the starry lights, 
 She heard the torrents meet." 
 
 .S*. Here is Personification combined with another 
 figure, Apostrophe, which is addressing an inanimate 
 or distant object as if it were alive and present. It is 
 from Bryant's beautiful poem, "Among the Trees." 
 
 " Oh, ye who love to overhang the springs 
 And stand by running waters, ye whose boughs 
 Make beautiful the rocks o'er which they play, 
 Who pile with foliage the great hills, and rear 
 A paradise upon the lonely plain, 
 Trees of the forest and the open field, 
 Have ye no sense of being ? " 
 
 L. Really, your examples have somewhat modified 
 my idea of figures of speech. I supposed they were an 
 overstrained and somewhat unnatural kind of language. 
 People so often say with a sort of contempt, " That is 
 only a figure." But most of those you have given 
 seem to arise naturally from the subject. 
 
 B. That is the true test of figures. If they do not 
 arise naturally, if they are overstrained, they are ob- 
 jectionable. 
 
JO DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 L. Are all figures as simple as those you have illus- 
 trated ? 
 
 S. No; there is Hyperbole, which is the representa- 
 tion of a thing as far greater or less, better or worse, 
 than it really is, for the sake of making a striking im- 
 pression; as when we call a tall person "a giant," or 
 say, " he ran like lightning." 
 
 L. Now that is unnatural, and a violation of truth. 
 I must object to your hyperbole. 
 
 F. Oh, it is a figure which can be justified only by 
 strong feeling or a lively imagination. 
 
 Z. Neither strong feeling nor a lively imagination 
 can justify gross exaggeration. 
 
 S. Who will bring an example to convince her that 
 this is an allowable figure ? 
 
 \Enter Mary.~\ 
 
 M. Oh, girls, you ought to have been with me ! I've 
 had a perfectly splendid time, only I'm tired to death. 
 
 F. Where have you been ? 
 
 M. All over creation. First we went round the 
 park, and everybody was there. It was just as full as 
 it could be. Then we went over the river to see a 
 friend of Katie's, and they've got a perfectly lovely 
 garden, and I ate a bushel of fruit, all kinds you can 
 imagine. Then we all took a walk together, and we 
 
FIGURES OF SPEECH. fj 
 
 met the funniest couple you ever laid your eyes on. 
 The man was so stout it would have taken a year to 
 walk around him; and the woman was a perfect skel- 
 eton, and as tall as a church-steeple, with a real old- 
 fashioned bonnet on, as big as all out-doors, with all 
 the colors of the rainbow and several more on it. I 
 thought I should have died of laughing. But what are 
 you all so sober about ? Oh, that rhetoric lesson ! 
 Isn't it perfectly awful ? 
 
 Z. Thank you, Mary. 
 
 M. What for? 
 
 Z. For the perfect example of hyperbole with which 
 you have just favored us. 
 
 M. Why, what do you mean ? I was just telling 
 you the truth. 
 
 Z. Passing over the "perfectly splendid" and " per- 
 fectly lovely," as simply contradicting the popular be- 
 lief that there is no perfection under the sun, do you 
 mean truly that the park was so crowded with human 
 beings that it could not contain any more ? Did you 
 really eat a bushel of fruit, including cocoanuts, ba- 
 nanas, and the productions of all zones ? Would it 
 really have taken a year to walk around that man, and 
 if the woman was a perfect skeleton, how was she alive 
 at all ? Would you take your oath that she was as tall 
 as a church-steeple, and tell me, have you actually 
 
78 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 been all over creation, or only to the park and over 
 the river ? 
 
 M. Oh, if you are going to take my words to pieces 
 in that prosy style, I have nothing more to say. You'd 
 have me as literal as the woman, who, when her hus- 
 band told her she could not take a joke if it were fired 
 at her from a hundred-pounder, said: "Why, my dear, 
 you know they can't fire jokes from a gun." 
 
 Z. Excuse me, not quite so literal as that. But we 
 were just speaking of hyperbole, and I maintained 
 that by its definition it is an objectionable figure, since 
 it represents things as better or worse than they really 
 are, which is contrary to truth. Your account of your 
 morning's adventures afforded an apt illustration. 
 Seriously, it seems to me this fault of exaggeration is 
 becoming a crying evil among us. Nothing is pretty 
 but it is "perfectly lovely," or distasteful but it is 
 "perfectly awful" or "perfectly horrid." We are 
 always "as cold as ice," or "as hot as fire ;" "frozen to 
 death" if we are a little chilled, or " almost melted," if 
 we are rather warm, and in fact, so exhaust our super- 
 latives that we have none left to describe anything un- 
 usual, and lose all power of discrimination in terms. 
 
 M. Well, for all your preaching, I have a perfect 
 right to talk hyperbole, if I like, according to rhetoric. 
 
 L. I question the rhetoric then. 
 
FIGURES OF SPEECH. 79 
 
 S. I quite agree with Lizzie that there is too much 
 exaggeration in everyday speech, and that this is a 
 fault to be carefully avoided. But surely more license 
 is allowed to poets, and it is of hyperbole as a poetical 
 figure that we were speaking. As to its being contrary 
 to truth, no one is ever deceived by it. 
 
 B. There is certainly high authority for using it in 
 poetry; David says, in his lament over Saul and Jon- 
 athan, "they were swifter than eagles; they were 
 stronger than lions." And the Psalmist, "Rivers of 
 water run down mine eyes, because they keep not thy 
 law." 
 
 F. The orientals generally use more fervid speech 
 than is usual in our colder clime. 
 
 S. We may conclude then that hyperbole is justi- 
 fiable as a poetic figure, when it is the language of 
 strong feeling, for which ordinary words are inade- 
 quate, but not in everyday speech. 
 
 Z. Have you exhausted the subject of figures ? 
 
 »S. Not at all; there are many more. If it were not 
 time for our recitation, I was about to speak of Hypoca- 
 tastasis, or the substitution, without any previous 
 statement of such a design, of one act or object for 
 another. For illustration: when we speak of one 
 "rowing against the tide," meaning that he is encoun- 
 tering serious obstacles. 
 
80 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 M. I like that figure. Hypocatastasis ! I'll astonish 
 somebody with that word. 
 
 PEOPLE OF ONE IDEA. 
 
 [Mrs. Nicely, a pattern housekeeper; Sylvia Nicely, 
 devoted to fancy-work ; Jo. Nicely, devoted to Latin; 
 Eugenia Ether by, poetic and romantic; Kate Etherby, 
 devoted to German; Aunt Louise, devoted to French; 
 Miss Allbright, a friend of the family '.] 
 
 [Scene — A parlor in confusion. Enter Mrs. Nicely, 
 with a feather -duster in her hand.] 
 
 Mrs. N. Dust, dust everywhere ! One might as 
 well live in the Roman pyramids, or the Grecian cata- 
 combs. Crumbs on the table, and shreds of worsted 
 on the floor. If there isn't a new spot on the carpet ! 
 Ink, I wonder ? What was that new recipe for taking 
 out ink stains? No, it doesn't appear to be ink 
 Grease ? I must get — 
 
 [Enter Sylvia.] 
 
 S. Mother, what would you fill in this pattern with ? 
 Mrs. N. A few drops of benzine and a flannel rag. 
 S. Dear me, what an idea ! 
 
PEOPLE OF ONE IDEA. 8 1 
 
 Mrs. N. [dusting vigorously, .] Or how would alco- 
 hol do ? 
 
 6*. Worse and worse. 
 
 Mrs. N. Sylvia, how often have I charged you not 
 to scatter your ends of worsted on the carpet. If I 
 should live to be as old as Mesopotamia, I should never 
 get any rest. It's enough to exhaust the patience of 
 what's his name. 
 
 [Enter Eugenia, repeating,] 
 
 "Oh, no, we never mention him." 
 
 S. Blue wouldn't do, would it? Oh, wouldn't 
 salmon be lovely ! 
 
 Mrs. N. Salmon ? Yes, we must have some for break- 
 fast to-morrow, that is, if we ever get through to-day 
 with all the sweeping and dusting, and cakes and pies, 
 and things, and those shirts to finish, and Miss All- 
 bright coming to spend the day, and you two idle girls 
 without a spark of common sense to help me. I de- 
 clare, I'm in a perfect vertex. Is this one of your 
 poetry books, under the table, Eugenia ? 
 
 E. [abstractedly.] 
 
 " 'Tis the last rose of summer, 
 Left blooming alone." 
 
 Mrs. N. [taking it up.] Last fiddlestick! "Idyls 
 of the King." Humph ! must have been a heathen 
 
82 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 king, if he worshipped idols. Here, take your trash. 
 
 E. Trash, indeed ! My poet !. " He murmurs by 
 the running brooks a music sweeter than their own." 
 
 Mrs. N. Sweetning? That reminds me, Eugenia, 
 the next time you undertake to make doughnuts, don't 
 forget to put sugar in them, as you did this morning. 
 Poetry may be all very well, but it won't make cake 
 nor keep the house in order. / never learned any 
 except Shakespeare's "How doth the little busy bee," 
 that I worked on my sampler when I was ten years 
 old. And I went once to see Hamlet's "Macbeth." 
 That's all. I go in for the useful. Well, I must go 
 and see to those pies. Just finish this dusting, Sylvia, 
 and when you have done, remember to hang the duster 
 in the middle closet, on the nail behind the door. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sylvia [dusting the seat of one chair, and throwing the 
 duster on the floor.] Just look here, Eugenia. What 
 color would contrast well for the groundwork ? 
 
 E. " Green be the turf above thee, friend of my 
 early days." 
 
 S. But thifc isn't turf; it's canvas. And how would 
 these leaves show on green ? Don't you think, now, 
 this light shade of brown would be beautiful ? 
 
 E. Beautiful exceedingly. " She was a maid of 
 artless grace, gentle of form and fair in face." 
 
PEOPLE OF ONE IDEA. 83 
 
 S. Nonsense ! It's slippers I'm talking about, 
 slippers. 
 
 E. " Memory did Hope much wrong: and while she 
 dreamed, her slippers stole away." 
 
 S. Well, I hope she won't steal mine. This is the 
 seventh pair I've worked this winter, besides all the 
 crocheting I've done. I'm sure mother needn't call 
 me idle. 
 
 E. "As idle as a painted ship upon a painted 
 ocean." 
 
 S. Better look at yourself, if you want to see an idle 
 person. I'm sure I work my fingers off, nearly, and I 
 have so much on my mind that I want to do, I see 
 nothing but patterns and card-board, and sorted 
 worsteds before me, when I shut my eyes. 
 
 E. " They flash upon that inward eye, which is the 
 bliss of solitude." 
 
 [Enter Aunt Louise .] 
 
 Bon jour, mes enfants. How chilly it is ! Ah, ma 
 belle France, shall I ever see thee more ? 
 
 £ " Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more; 
 
 We'll may be return to Lochaber no more." 
 
 S. I must get some more of this brown worsted. 
 Aunt Louise, will you go shopping with me to-morrow 
 morning ? 
 
84 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Aunt Z. I don't know, ma chere. Shopping 
 was a very delightful occupation when I used to 
 ride in my own carriage, but to walk — c'est une 
 autre chose. And then to think of the shops of 
 Paris, it makes me sad. But adieu la voiture, adieu 
 la boutique. Everything is wanting when il faut de 
 l'argent. What is this, Eugenie ? [touching the book 
 in E.'s hand.] 
 
 E. " This is a spray the bird clung to, making it 
 blossom for pleasure." 
 
 Aunt L. Ah, if you talk of a spray, child, look at this 
 exquisite one on my mouchoir, real French embroidery. 
 That outdoes Nature herself. Everything French is 
 lovely. But I referred to the book in your hand. Ah, 
 poetry a l'Anglais. But you should read the poesie of 
 Racine. C'est magnifique. Have you been reading 
 anything this morning, Sylvie ? 
 
 S. One, two, three light; one, two, three, four dark. 
 Only about the new patterns in Godey's. There was a 
 lovely one of a knitted octagon for counterpanes, 
 that I think I shall try — skip one — and another for a 
 handkerchief case. It is to be covered on the outside 
 with blue satin, inside with white silk, quilted and 
 stitched in a diamond pattern. 
 
 E. " Did he stand at the diamond door of his house 
 in a rainbow frill ?" 
 
PEOPLE OF ONE IDEA. 85 
 
 S. The edge of the cover is ornamented with a flut- 
 ing of blue satin, two and two-fifths — 
 
 [Enter Mrs. N. with Miss A 11 bright.'] 
 
 Mrs. JV. You take two tea-cupfuls of saleratus and 
 a tea-spoonful of sugar — I mean, two cups of sugar 
 and a tea-spoonful of flour — I'll give you the recipe 
 by-and-by. Girls, here is Miss Allbright. 
 
 S. One, two — oh, how do you do, Miss Allbright ? 
 Happy to see you. 
 
 E — 
 
 " Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
 Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?" 
 
 Miss A. Quite peacefully, Eugenia, and ready to 
 dance at your bridal any day. [To Aunt Z.] How 
 do you do, Miss Etherby ? 
 
 Aunt L. As well as I can be, merci, out of Paris. 
 Et vous ? 
 
 Miss A. Very well, thank you. You cherish a con- 
 stant remembrance of your beloved Paris, I see. 
 
 Aunt L. J'ai bonne cause, with this detestable 
 climate. These March winds ruffle my spirit so. 
 
 Mrs. N. That O'Finnegan woman does up ruffles 
 beautifully. 
 
 Aunt L. Have you been abroad, Miss Allbright ? 
 
 Miss A. No, I have not yet had that pleasure. 
 
86 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Aunt L. Ah, then you don't know what happiness is. 
 If you could live two months in Paris, you would never 
 wish to live anywhere else, certainement. 
 
 Miss A. If it is to have that effect, I never wish to 
 try it. I hope I shall always prefer my native country 
 to all others. 
 
 Aunt L. Ah, America is very well to be born in, but 
 in Paris there is so much life, so much elegance, so 
 much beauty, so much je ne sais quoi, that it has im- 
 pressed itself indelibly on my whole nature. 
 
 Mrs N. Indelible ink has gone out of fashion for 
 marking handkerchiefs, hasn't it ? Do you know what 
 will take ink out of woollen, Miss Allbright ? What- 
 ever has become of my new recipe-book; I left it on 
 the table in my room, between "Watt's Hymns" and the 
 " Art of Cooking," and when I went to look for it this 
 morning, it was bonus. It is an excellent book, all 
 about coughs and colds and things, and I wish I could 
 get the girls to take any interest in them. 
 
 Miss A. In coughs and colds ? A medical interest, 
 I suppose you mean. 
 
 Mrs. N. I don't care what kind of an interest, if it 
 would only take their minds off of poetry and worsted 
 work, and put them on something useful. There's Sylvia. 
 She begins very well sometimes, but she hasn't my 
 stick-to-it-ive-ness, and it's just so with Eugenia. They 
 
PEOPLE OF ONE IDEA. 87 
 
 are a very different temperature from me. I tell 'em 
 Perseverance is the thief of time, and a stitch in time 
 saves the pieces, but I can't learn 'em any common 
 sense. I don't believe in any worsted work but knit- 
 ting stockings, nor in any poetry but "Thirty days hath 
 September." 
 
 E. " September strews the woodland o'er — " 
 Mrs. N. And there's that duster on the floor ! 
 Sylvia, what did I tell you ? [Exit Sylvia with the 
 duster.] I am afraid that girl will go into a decline or 
 something, sitting so much over her work. She coughs 
 now, and I can't get her to take Ayer's Cherry Picto- 
 rial, all I can do. 
 
 [Re-enter Sylvia.] 
 
 Miss A. Have you been enjoying the beautiful sun- 
 shiny weather lately, Sylvia? I hope you go out 
 frequently. 
 
 S. Yes, I go shopping pretty often. Have you seen 
 the new patterns at Wright's, Miss Allbright ? 
 
 Miss A. No, I haven't observed them. I don't 
 have much time for fancy-work. 
 
 S. How do you fill up your time, then ? 
 
 Miss A. Oh, I have no difficulty on that score. My 
 days are always full. 
 
 S. But you do some fancy-work, don't you ? 
 
88 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Miss A. Only a little at odd minutes. But one can 
 accomplish a good deal in that way. 
 
 S. I worked eight hours on these slippers yesterday. 
 Miss A. Do you consider it time well spent ? 
 S. Why not? 
 
 Miss A. Isn't it making the ornamental the business 
 of life, instead of the recreation? Isn't it crowding 
 the useful into corners ? 
 
 S. Oh, I let the useful take care of itself. 
 Aunt L. Yes, there is too much of the laissez-faire 
 about Sylvie. 
 
 Mrs. N. There is too much of the lazy, certainly; 
 whether fair or not is of no consequence. 
 
 S. I think you might lecture Eugenia. Why don't 
 you do fancy-work, Genie ? It would be more practical 
 than poetizing. 
 
 E. All my fancy work is growing 
 In the silence, with none knowing, 
 Without knitting, without sewing, 
 As if to some sweet melody; 
 Just as "practical," may be, 
 As if I were always sitting 
 And embroidering and knitting 
 Birds and beasts and flowers and weeds, 
 Things of worsted and of beads. 
 Miss A Very pretty, and just about as practical. 
 
PEOPLE OF ONE IDEA. 89 
 
 [ Voices heard without.'] I say German is all gibberish. 
 • — Latin, you mean. 
 
 Mrs. N. There are those girls home from school, 
 and disputing, as usual. 
 
 [Enter Jo. and Kate .] 
 
 Did you hang up your things on the left side of the 
 closet ? 
 
 J. [Repeating as she advances] "Arma virumque 
 cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris — " 
 
 K. Ich habe gehabt, du hast gehabt, er hat gehabt, 
 wir haben gehabt, ihr habet gehabt, sie haben gehabt. 
 
 y. [Laying a book on the table] Hie jacet Publius 
 Virgilius Maro, clarum et venerabile nomen. 
 
 K. Ich hatte gehabt, du hattest gehabt, er hatte ge- 
 habt, wir hatten gehabt. 
 
 Mrs. N. This is a perfect tower of Bedlam. When 
 I was young, girls didn't learn to talk any such lingo. 
 
 J*. Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis. 
 
 K. Ich werde haben, du wirst haben, er wird haben. 
 
 Aunt L. Une jeune fille doit etre poli. 
 
 K. Is it any more polite to talk French than 
 German ? 
 
 Aunt L. German is so harsh; it grates on my nerves. 
 French is so vif, so flowing, so much better adapted to 
 conversation. It is the language of all languages, en 
 verite. 
 
90 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 J. Hold ! That is going rather too far. A stream 
 cannot rise higher than its fountain; and French is 
 a corruption of Latin. 
 
 Aunt L. Quel sottise ! Vous n'avez pas raison; 
 tiens a la verite. 
 
 J. Tantsene animis coelestibus irse ? 
 
 K. Ich werde gehabt haben, du wirst gehabt haben, 
 er wird gehabt haben — 
 
 Aunt L. There is no comparison between them. 
 Latin is dead, and French is alive, sans pareil. 
 
 K. And German is more alive. Wir werden gehabt 
 haben, ihr werdest gehabt haben, sie werden gehabt 
 haben. 
 
 Mrs. N. This is the very confession of tongues, and 
 before Miss Allbright, too. Haven't you any sense of 
 property ? 
 
 K. German has all the excellences of French and 
 Latin, without the defects of either. It certainly is 
 the best language. I appeal to Miss Allbright. 
 
 Aunt L. Et moi aussi. 
 
 J. Ego etiam. 
 
 Miss A. As far as I have any acquaintance with 
 them, I think the languages you name are all well 
 worthy of study. Suppose you should give us some 
 specimens of the poetry of each, and let us compare 
 them. Latin ought to begin, as the oldest. 
 
PEOPLE OF ONE IDEA. 9! 
 
 J. I will give you the opening lines of what is, next 
 to the immortal works of Homer, the greatest poem of 
 antiquity— Virgil's "^Eneid." 
 " Arma virumque cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris, 
 Italiam, fato profugus, Lavinaque venit, 
 Litora: multum ille et terris jactatus ab alto; 
 Vi Superum, saevse memorem Junonis ab iram, 
 Multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem, 
 Inferretque Deos Latio: genus unde Latinum, 
 Albanique pa — " 
 
 Aunt L. Oh, listen to these exquisite lines. 
 
 LeS HIRONDELLES. 
 
 "Que j'aime a voir les hirondelles, 
 
 A ma fenetre, tous les ans, 
 Venir m'apporter des nouvelles 
 
 De l'approche du doux printemps ! 
 Le meme nid, me disent-elles, 
 
 Va revoir les meraes amours; 
 Ce n'est qu'a des amants fideles 
 
 A vous annoncer les — " 
 
 K. This is a lovely ballad of Uhland's: 
 
 DAS SCHLOSS AM MEERE. 
 
 " Hast du das Schloss gesehen, 
 Das hohe Schloss am Meer ? 
 
92 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Golden und rosig wehen 
 Die Wolken driiber her. 
 
 Er mochte sich nieder neigen — 
 
 /. But I hadn't finished. 
 
 Aunt L. Neither had I. [All three begin and recite 
 at the same time, growing more and more animated] 
 
 Mrs. N. {making frantic gestures.'] Stop ! Jo- 
 sephine ! Catharine ! You all ought to be shut up in 
 a lunar asylum. I should think you were all stark 
 steaming mad. 
 
 E. "lam not mad, but soon shall be." 
 
 S. One, two, three, skip two. 
 
 Miss A. Since you have appealed to me, let me take 
 the privilege of a friend, and give you a little crit- 
 icism. 
 
 Mrs. N. That's right. Be as much of a cricket as 
 you like. They all need it. 
 
 Miss A. Don't you think, my friends, you are all 
 just a little bit one-sided ? Our good Miss Etherby, 
 who is such an accomplished scholar in French, ap- 
 pears to think it is the only language, and that no other 
 is worthy of any consideration. Jo, whose Latin is 
 ' uppermost in her mind at present, is just as exclusive 
 about that, and Kate has no patience with anything 
 but German. Would it not be better for each to 
 
PEOPLE OF ONE IDEA. 93 
 
 acknowledge the excellence of the others, while follow- 
 ing her own preference ? 
 
 Aunt L. Certainly, chacun a son gout. 
 
 K. But we are not the only people who are one- 
 sided. 
 
 Miss A. No; there is Sylvia, who is so absorbed in 
 the art of fancy-work, very pretty in itself, that she 
 loses all the beauty of nature, of poetry and literature, 
 — and Eugenia, who is all poetry, and in dreaming 
 over her books, perhaps forgets to make herself as 
 useful as I know she can be. 
 
 Mrs. N. Yes, they're all lop-sided but you and me. 
 
 Miss A. Are you very sure we are exempt ? 
 
 Mrs. N. What is there lop-sided about me, I should 
 like to know ? 
 
 J. It must be your cap, mother. That is slightly 
 askew. 
 
 S. Miss Allbright isn't one-sided. 
 
 K. Isn't she ? If I might presume to have an opin- 
 ion, I should say she was slightly — just the least little 
 bit — given to preach. 
 
 Miss A. So we are all, it seems, people of one idea. 
 {Bell rings. ] 
 
 Mrs. JV. Well, dinner is ready, and when you taste 
 my pie, I guess you'll say if I had had two ideas while 
 I was making it, it wouldn't be the chaff deeover it is. 
 
94 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 MOTHER EARTH AND THE SEASONS. 
 
 Mother Earth soliloquizes : 
 
 So goes the world, they say. The world is I ; 
 
 " They" are my children, and they think they know 
 How the world goes. They talk, and talk, and prate 
 Of Mother Earth, her " axis," and her "poles," 
 
 " Meridians" and " zones," my tropic glow, 
 My midway loveliness of greenery, 
 My arctic whiteness. So they measure me 
 From pole to pole, and sometimes even hint 
 That I am in my dotage ; I could laugh 
 To hear my wise young children of a day 
 Discuss their mother, while I muse and muse 
 Of ages, ages, ages past and gone ; 
 How in my youth the quick blood through my veins 
 Coursed with electric swiftness, and I wore 
 My green robe gayly in that balmy prime 
 My children call the " Carboniferous Age ;" 
 And how in after-time my living things 
 Made bright and beautiful the home and me, 
 And how I sang my earliest cradle-songs, 
 And nursed my heroes. 
 
 Oh, you're very wise, 
 My youngest children, but you cannot tell 
 How old your mother is, nor yet how young 
 
MOTHER EARTH AND THE SEASONS. 95 
 
 The fresh, immortal vigor in her yet. 
 She keeps her golden birthday all alone, 
 Only her Father knows it. 
 
 I am old, 
 I and my Seasons, but we live and move, 
 Unfading, fair, unwrinkled, and unworn. 
 The hour is come. Awake, awake, my Spring. 
 
 [Enter Spring .] 
 
 Spring. Here I am, Mother Earth. Awake, March, it 
 is morning. 
 
 Chorus of Human Voices. Welcome, thrice welcome, 
 Spring. 
 
 [March enters boisterously.] 
 
 First Voice. March comes in like a lion. 
 Second Voice. So, it is to be hoped, will go out like 
 a lamb. 
 
 Third Voice. 
 Whatever weight the hours have borne 
 
 Along the path of frost and snow, 
 The world is never too forlorn 
 
 For birds to sing again ; we know 
 That earliest buds will soon expand, 
 That Spring is somewhere in the land, 
 
 For hark ! the blue-bird sings. 
 
$6 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Somewhere the grass is green again, 
 
 The meadow mild with shower and sun ; 
 
 Out bud the trees, up starts the grain, 
 
 Through balmy woods the brook doth run. 
 
 If anywhere such things may be, 
 
 Then why not soon for thee and me ? 
 For hark ! the blue-bird sings. 
 
 The world is old, the world is old, 
 But Spring is ever fresh and new ; 
 
 No dream so fair, no hope so bold, 
 But some sweet day may find it true ; 
 
 Who knows how soon that morn may rise, 
 
 And fill us with a glad surprise ? 
 For hark ! the blue-bird sings. 
 
 [Meanwhile Spring makes one circuit with March. 
 Exit March, and enter April, alternately crying and 
 laughing •.] 
 
 Second Voice. 
 
 A fickle damsel April is, 
 
 Who after one bright day, 
 Gives chilling winds and frowning skies, 
 In her inconstant way. 
 
 Fifth Voice. 
 
 And yet we slander her, perhaps, 
 For every Spring, as true 
 
MOTHER EARTH AND THE SEASONS. 97 
 
 As Spring herself, she comes again, 
 And brings her violets blue. 
 
 Her grass ne'er faileth in the fields, 
 Her robin always sings, 
 
 And so there may be truth, we know, 
 In fickle-seeming things. 
 Third Voice. 
 
 Blossoms of the apple-trees, 
 " April's gifts to April bees, 
 
 Birthday ornament of Spring, 
 
 Flora's fairest daughterling. 
 
 Coming when no flowerets would 
 
 Save thy lowly sisterhood, 
 
 Early violets, bluj and white, 
 
 Dying for their love of light; 
 
 Blossoms clouding all the tree 
 
 With their snowy broidery, 
 
 Long before a leaf of green 
 
 On the bravest bough is seen." 
 
 Fourth Voice. April showers bring May flowers. 
 [Spring meanwhile makes her second circuit with April. 
 
 Exit April, and enter May.] 
 Mother Earth. 
 
 " Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, 
 Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her 
 
98 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
 The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose." 
 Second Voice. Mother Earth means the English May. 
 What does ours bring ? 
 Third Voice. 
 
 "In May, when sea- winds pierced our solitudes, 
 I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods." 
 Fourth Voice. 
 And I the trailing Arbutus, " darling of the forest." 
 Sweeter blossoms never grew, 
 May and morning, sun and dew, 
 Whence their breath, like music ? 
 Whence their flush, like dawn ? 
 Whence that soul of Spring-time 
 
 Have they softly drawn ? 
 Wherefore should they folded be 
 In such tender mystery ? 
 First Voice. 
 "If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother 
 dear, 
 For to-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad 
 
 New Year: 
 Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, 
 
 merriest day, 
 For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be 
 Queen of the May." 
 
MOTHER EARTH AND THE SEASONS. 99 
 
 Fifth Voice. 
 
 " Land and sea 
 Give themselves up to jollity, 
 And with the heart of May 
 Doth every beast keep holiday. 
 O evil day ! If I were sullen, 
 When Earth herself is adorning 
 This sweet May morning, 
 And the children are culling 
 
 On every side, 
 In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
 Fresh flowers." 
 Third Voice. That's just like Wordsworth. Hear 
 the American side of the picture. 
 A lazy, leaden sky, 
 
 A good-for-nothing air, 
 It raineth every day, 
 
 And raineth everywhere; 
 Violets have the rheumatis', 
 
 Tulips a decline; 
 The birds asthmatic grow, 
 The sun forgets to shine, 
 Whatever poets say, 
 This is May. 
 Fourth Voice. Slander ! Mother Earth, stand up for 
 your May. 
 
100 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Mother Earth. 
 
 Oh, in the old time 'twas not as they say; 
 The elms took up poetic parables; 
 The river lightly tossed its silver bells; 
 Awoke rich voices that had slumbered long, 
 And all the woodlands throbbed and glowed 
 
 with song. 
 To welcome Lady May. 
 
 [Spring meanwhile makes her third circuit. Exeunt 
 Spring and May, and enter Summer \ with June 
 attending] 
 
 Chorus of Voices. Farewell, sweet Spring, farewell ! 
 Spring's Voice [heard softly in the distance] Fare- 
 well ! 
 
 Eirst Voice. "Child of the sun, refulgent Summer 
 comes." 
 
 Second Voice. 
 "They come, the merry summer months of beauty, 
 song, and flowers; 
 They come ! the gladsome months that bring thick 
 leafiness to bowers." 
 Summer [advancing.'] 
 
 "Come ye into the summer woods; 
 There entereth no annoy, 
 All greenly wave the chestnut leaves, 
 And the earth is full of joy." 
 
MOTHER EARTH AND THE SEASONS. IOI 
 
 Third Voice. 
 
 " Oh, what is so rare as a day in June ? 
 
 Then, if ever, come perfect days; 
 Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune; 
 
 And over it softly her warm ear lays. 
 Whether we look or whether we listen, 
 We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; 
 
 Every clod feels a stir of might, 
 An instinct within it that reaches and towers; 
 
 And groping blindly above it for light, 
 Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers." 
 Fourth Voice. 
 
 " The lily is all in white, like a saint, 
 
 And so is no mate for me, 
 And the daisy's cheek is tipped with a blush, 
 
 She is of such low degree; 
 Jasmine is sweet and has many loves, 
 
 And the broom's betrothed to the bee; 
 But I will plight with the dainty rose, 
 
 For fairest of all is she." 
 
 Fifth Voice. 
 
 " For the moss-rose and the musk-rose, 
 Maiden blush and royal dusk rose." 
 Chorus. 
 For the rose, ho ! the rose, is the grace of the 
 earth." 
 
102 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 [Summer ends her first circuit, and June is succeeded 
 by July. She has advanced but a few steps when a 
 sudden firing of powder-crackers is heard, and at the 
 same time the Goddess of Liberty springs upon the stage, 
 waving the A?nericanflag. The Reader follows, reading 
 a few sentences from the Declaration of Independence, 
 and the Chorus sing a stanza of the "Red, White, and 
 Blue' 1 Exeunt Goddess and Reader, .] 
 
 Chorus of Voices. 
 
 " One flag, one land, one heart, one hand, 
 One Nation evermore." 
 Third Voice. [After a pause.] 
 There is no stir in all the atmosphere, 
 
 The elm-tree will not toss the verdurous spray 
 That dashed its dews so freely far and near, 
 Above us, yesterday. 
 
 [Enter Maud Muller.'] 
 First Voice. 
 
 "Maud Muller, on a summer's day 
 Raked the meadow sweet with hay. 
 
 Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
 Of simple beauty and rustic health. 
 
 The Judge rode slowly down the lane, 
 Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 
 
MOTHER EARTH AND THE SEASONS. IO3 
 
 He drew his bridle in the shade 
 
 Of the apple-trees to greet the maid, 
 
 And ask a draught from the spring that flowed 
 Through the meadow across the road. 
 
 She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
 And filled for him her small tin cup." 
 
 [Exit Maud Mutter, lifting a tin cup. Summer ends 
 her second circuit, and July is succeeded by August^ 
 
 Second Voice. 
 
 Let us away, for August heats 
 Make a Sahara of the streets. 
 Fourth Voice. 
 " Heavy with sunshine droops the golden-rod, 
 And the red pennons of the cardinal flowers 
 Hang motionless upon the upright staves ; 
 The sky is hot and hazy, and the wind, 
 Wing-weary with his long flight from the south, 
 Unfelt; yet, closely scanned, yon maple leaf 
 With faintest motion, as one stirs in dreams, 
 Confesses it. The locust by the wall 
 Stabs the noon-silence with his sharp alarm." 
 Fifth Voice. 
 
 " When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, 
 And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run 
 
104 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 From hedge to hedge along the new-mown mead ; 
 That is the grasshopper's." 
 
 First Voice. 
 
 " Fancy the crickets, each one in his house, 
 Looking out, wondering at the world." 
 
 Third Voice. 
 
 " I love to hear thine earnest voice, 
 Wherever thou art hid, 
 Thou testy little dogmatist, 
 Thou pretty Katy-did ! 
 Thou mindest me of gentlefolks, 
 
 Old gentlefolks are they, 
 Thou say'st an undisputed thing 
 In such a solemn way. 
 
 tell me, where did Katy live, 
 And what did Katy do ? 
 
 And was she very fair and young, 
 
 And yet so wicked, too ? 
 Did Katy love a naughty man, 
 
 And kiss more cheeks than one? 
 
 1 warrant Katy did no more 
 Than many a Kate has done. 
 
 Peace to the ever-murmuring race ! 
 And when the latest one 
 
MOTHER EARTH AND THE SEASONS. 10$ 
 
 Shall fold in death her feeble wings 
 
 Beneath the autumn sun, 
 Then shall she raise her fainting voice, 
 
 And lift her feeble lid, 
 And then the child of future years 
 Shall hear what Katy did." 
 First Voice. What flowers in field or in the garden 
 bowers ? 
 
 Third Voice. 
 
 Golden-rod and purple clover, 
 
 Red thornapple and daisy bright, 
 
 And asters starring the wood's green night. 
 
 Fifth Voice. 
 
 Day-lilies, dewy, cool and spirit-like, 
 Fierce August's compensations. 
 
 [Exeunt August and Summer, the latter flinging a rose 
 toward Mother Earth, while the "Last Rose of Sum- 
 mer " is played softly. Enter Autumn and September^ 
 
 First Voice. 
 
 " Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 
 Behold the Autumn, laden bounteously." 
 
 Second Voice. 
 
 " September strews the woodland o'er 
 With many a varied color, . 
 
106 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 The world is brighter than before, 
 
 Why should our hearts be duller? 
 Sorrow and the scarlet leaf, 
 
 Sad thoughts and sunny weather, 
 Ah me ! this glory and this grief 
 Agree not well together." 
 Third Voice. 
 
 " How beautiful is the rain ! 
 After the dust and heat, 
 In the broad and fiery street, 
 In the narrow lane — 
 How beautiful is the rain!" 
 Fourth Voice. 
 
 " Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard ! 
 Heap high the golden corn ! 
 No richer gift has Autumn poured 
 From out her lavish horn !" 
 
 [Autumn ends her first circuity and September 4$ succeeded 
 
 by October.] 
 Third Voice. 
 
 Now October's lavish hand 
 
 Makes the woods Arabian land; 
 
 O'er the forest green and old 
 
 Spreads her crimson and her gold; 
 
 Purple wreaths and flaming spires, 
 
 Jewelled crowns and orient fires. 
 
MOTHER EARTH AND THE SEASONS. 107 
 
 Second Voice. 
 Now all the reeds and grasses bend one way, 
 And ripened fruit falls down in golden showers 
 Before the sweep of the victorious wind. 
 Fourth Voice. [After a pause.] 
 Bright October's dying; 
 All the leaves are flying; 
 Gold and crimson things 
 Her illuminings, 
 On their radiant wings 
 Are fluttering and flying. 
 
 Now the rain it raineth, 
 And the wind complaineth; 
 
 Boughs that bloomed like flowers 
 
 All the sunny hours 
 
 Now are black with showers; 
 October's glory waneth. 
 
 Soft the snow will cover 
 Like a tender lover 
 
 Soon the places lone 
 
 That such light have known. 
 
 All the story's done, 
 October's day is over. 
 [Autumn's second circuit is ended, and October is succeeded 
 
 by November, bearing a turkey.] 
 
108 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 First Voice. " The mellow year is hastening to its 
 close." 
 
 Fifth Voice. 
 
 "The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the 
 
 year, 
 Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows 
 
 brown and sere; 
 Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn 
 
 leaves lie dead, 
 They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbit's 
 
 tread." 
 
 [Fnter Indian Summer, advancing softly a few paces.] 
 
 Second Voice. 
 
 Look ! how the Indian Summer floats in mist, 
 
 And veils the land with soft and dreamy light. 
 
 [Exit Indian Summer. 
 Third Voice. 
 
 " No sun, no moon— no morn, no noon — 
 
 No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day; 
 
 No sky, no earthly view, 
 
 No distance looking blue, 
 
 No road, no streets, no t'other side the way, 
 
 No end to any row, 
 
 No top to any steeple, 
 
 No recognition of familiar people, 
 
MOTHER EARTH AND THE SEASONS. I09 
 
 No courtesies for showing 'em, 
 No knowing 'em ! 
 
 No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, 
 No comfortable feel in any member, 
 No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, 
 No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, 
 No-vember ! " 
 Fourth Voice. Well, there's one bright spot in this 
 month. 
 
 First Voice. 
 "Ah, on Thanksgiving Day, when from East and from 
 West, 
 
 From North and from South come the pilgrim and 
 guest, 
 
 When the gray-haired New Englander sees round 
 his board, 
 
 The old broken links of affection restored; 
 
 When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once 
 more, 
 
 And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled 
 before, 
 
 What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye ? 
 
 What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin- 
 pie?" : 
 
 Second Voice. Let us remember the poor. 
 
I IO DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 [The Human Children fill a basket, the last item being 
 the turkey, and one goes out with it, and re-enters with 
 the empty basket ^\ 
 
 Fifth Voice. 
 
 "The Autumn is old; 
 
 The sere leaves are flying; 
 She hath gathered up gold, 
 And now she is dying." 
 
 [Exeunt Autumn and November. Enter Winter and 
 December^ 
 
 Winter [advancing.] 
 " Loud wind ! strong wind ! blowing from the 
 mountains, 
 
 Fresh wind*! free wind ! sweeping from the sea, 
 Pour forth thy vials like torrents from air- fountains, 
 
 Draughts of life to me. 
 Clear wind ! Cold wind ! like a northern giant, 
 
 Stars brightly threading all thy cloud-driven hair, 
 Thrilling the bleak night with a voice defiant, 
 
 I will meet thee there." 
 
 Third Voice. 
 
 " Blow, blow, thou winter wind ! 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 As man's ingratitude; 
 
MOTHER EARTH AND THE SEASONS. Ill 
 
 Thy touch is not so keen, 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 Although thy breath be rude." 
 First Voice. 
 
 "Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, 
 Arrives the snow." 
 Fourth Voice. 
 
 " The bleak and frosty morning, 
 All thoughts of danger scorning, 
 Our spirits brightly flow, 
 We're all in a glow, 
 Through the sparkling snow 
 While a-skating we go." 
 Voice of the Poor [heard without.'] 
 "Cold, bitter cold ! no warmth, no light !" 
 
 Voice of a child [very mournfully \] 
 Hungry and cold ! O mother, give us bread ! 
 
 Fifth Voice. "Blessed is he that considereth the 
 poor." 
 
 First Voice. "To minister, O joy, to minister!" 
 
 {Exit one of the Human Children, and re-enters, leading 
 the Child. They fill her basket and wrap a warm 
 shawl around her.] 
 
 Chorus. " To minister ! O joy to minister !" 
 
112 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Second Voice, il The time draws near the birth of 
 Christ." 
 
 Mother Earth. Hearken ! Hearken ! 
 
 [ Winter and December pause, and stand listening .] 
 
 Seco?id Voice. 
 Our Mother Earth herself doth feel its power, 
 And the bleak Month and Season pause to greet the 
 hour. 
 Mother Earth. 
 
 Hearken ! Hearken ! 
 While the shadows darken, 
 Of the gracious Christmas Eve, 
 Hearken and receive 
 Multitudinous blessings, stealing through 
 The starry dusk, like gently lapsing dew; 
 All the hidden pulses of the air 
 Thrill with finest harmonies, out-winging 
 Clear to angels, while you, unaware, 
 Tread the hills and vales, not hushed enow 
 By all the soft caresses of the snow, 
 For any more than half-lost echoes sweet, 
 To touch with silver wings her silence most complete. 
 
 Fifth Voice. 
 
 " It was the winter wild 
 When the heaven-born Child, 
 
 All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies — 
 
MOTHER EARTH AND THE SEASONS. II3 
 
 Nature, in awe to Him, 
 Had doffed her gaudy trim, 
 
 With her great master so to sympathize. 
 No war, or battle's sound 
 Was heard the world around; 
 The idle spear and shield were high up-hung. 
 The hooked chariot stood 
 Unstained with hostile blood; 
 The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; 
 And kings sat still with awful eye, 
 As if they surely knew their Sovereign Lord was by." 
 
 Mother Earth. 
 
 Come, all my Human Children, rich and poor, 
 
 Come, all my children, ye, my Seasons fair, 
 
 My Months with varied gifts, and sing his praise. 
 
 Sing, and be glad: it is the Christmas-time. 
 
 YAH gather around her and form a tableau of all the 
 characters. This is followed by the singing of a 
 Christmas flymn.] 
 
 Christmas Hymn. 
 
 Oh, soft and bright was the starry night, 
 
 And the fields in glory smiled, 
 When the joyous song of the angel throng 
 
 Gave thanks for the kingly Child; 
 
1 14 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 And Peace and Love, from the realms above, 
 
 Came down as a gift sublime, 
 To the wondering Earth, in the joy and mirth 
 Of the new sweet Christmas-time. 
 
 The earth is bright and our hearts are light, 
 For glad is the Christmas-time. 
 
 Oh, soft and bright is the starry night 
 
 Above the fields of snow, 
 As when the song of the angel throng 
 
 Brought joy to the world below; 
 Still Peace and Love, from the realms above, 
 
 Come down as a gift sublime. 
 Still laughs the Earth, in the songs and mirth 
 
 Of the dear old Christmas-time. 
 
 The earth is bright and our hearts are light, 
 
 For glad is the Christmas-time. 
 
 O still the night shall awake delight 
 
 When the earth her King shall know, 
 And the song of praise through the future days 
 
 Shall sweeter and sweeter grow. 
 No heart so cold, when the tale is told, 
 
 But shall welcome the joyous time, 
 And join the song of the angel throng, 
 
 When the bells of Christmas chime. 
 
 The earth is bright, and our hearts are light, 
 
 When the bells of Christmas chirrs 
 
DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 1 15 
 
 DAY AND NIGHT. 
 
 First Voice. 
 
 Forever glide the golden wheels 
 
 That bring the chariot of the Day ; 
 If somewhere Dusk their glow conceals, 
 
 Somewhere 'tis beautiful alway.* 
 Forever Night doth softly bless 
 
 Some throbbing heart or weary head, 
 And curtain round with tenderness 
 
 The peaceful home, the quiet bed. 
 Thus Morn and Eve, and Day and Night, 
 In ceaseless harmony unite. 
 
 Now comes the Day. The birds first know, 
 A voice beginneth sweet and low. 
 
 Matin Chirps. 
 
 First Bird Voice. 
 
 Lo ! Lo ! Look ! Look ! the dawn ! 
 
 Second Bird Voice. 
 Where ? Where ? Oh, fair ! Dark night withdrawn. 
 Together. 
 
 Wake, wake ! Wake, awake ! The morn. 
 
 * " 'Tis always morning somewhere in the world." 
 
 — Longfellow. 
 
1 1 6 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 [Louder.] 
 
 Awake, awake, awake ! to light new-born. 
 
 First Bird Voice. • ' \ 
 
 Soft, soft, soft ! The day ! The gray 
 
 Dissolves away. 
 
 Second Bird Voice. 
 
 Near, near, near and clear 
 
 The skies appear. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Wake! Wake! Wake! Awake! 
 
 Life and light new-born. 
 
 Third Bird Voice. 
 
 See ! See ! The red, rose-red ! 
 
 Behold the fluid gold. 
 
 Fourth Bird Voice. 
 
 Praise, praise ! The night's away. 
 
 He gives the shining day. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Praise, praise, the Giver praise ! The dark's away. 
 Fifth Bird Voice. 
 
 'Tis late ! Oh, 'tis late ! The whole broad heaven 
 is bright. 
 
 Sixth Bird Voice. ' ' 
 
 Let's away, far away ! for the world is full of light. 
 Full Chorus. 
 
 Let's away through the blue. Sip the dew ! 
 
DAY AND NIGHT. 117 
 
 There's work enough to do. 
 
 Awake ! Away ! We love the day. 
 
 Awake, awake, away ! 
 Second Human Voice. 
 
 A Spring Morning. 
 Come forth where the young dawn is pouring 
 
 The flood of her golden sweet wine; 
 Come forth where the eagle is soaring 
 
 To drink of that fountain divine; 
 Wherever the bright Spring's out-goings 
 
 Have called the dead earth from her tomb; 
 Wherever the sunshine's outflowings 
 
 Bring glory and joy out of gloom. 
 
 Shake off dulling sleep, and exist in 
 The air that is buoyant and bold; 
 Where the violet's cup amethystine 
 Is held up for the nectar of gold. 
 The sheep on the green knolls are sunning, 
 
 The birds are alive in the wood, 
 The world with old joy is o'er-running, 
 And a Voice cries again, " It is good." 
 Third Human Voice. 
 
 Summer Noon. 
 All the woods are breathless, 
 All the fields are bright; 
 
Il8 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Rolls the sun-kissed river 
 
 In abounding light: 
 All the winds are silent, 
 
 All the birds are dumb, 
 Only drowsy murmurs 
 
 From the meadows come. 
 Not a white cloud moveth 
 
 In the steadfast blue; 
 Not a leaf but longeth 
 
 For a drop of dew. 
 In the sunny garden 
 
 Droop the pansies rare, 
 But the sweet-peas perfume 
 
 All the stirless air. 
 And the cows down by the river, 
 
 And the farm-boy on the hay, 
 Drowse and dream, drowse and dream 
 
 The summer noon away. 
 
 Fourth Human Voice. 
 
 Autumn Sunset. 
 Some sweet woodland singer 
 
 His last carol sings; 
 Come, and let us linger 
 
 With all restful things; 
 While we tarry, dreaming here, 
 
DAY AND NIGHT. 1 19 
 
 To another hemisphere 
 
 Day wends jubilant, 
 
 And the westering sun, aslant, 
 
 Strikes a fiery pathway over 
 
 Golden-rod and purple clover, 
 
 Red thorn-apple and daisy bright, 
 
 And asters starring the wood's green night. 
 
 While that woodland singer 
 
 His last carol sings, 
 Come and let us linger 
 
 With all restful things. 
 
 The Bird Song. 
 
 Here's a nook for a rover 
 
 To sing in, ere his flight ; 
 Over and over and over, 
 
 Sun, good-night, good-night. 
 
 Now his young he gathers, 
 
 Where they float in the west, 
 Under his purple feathers, 
 
 Low in his golden nest. 
 
 Soon the flowers will be sighing, 
 
 "All our story's said :" 
 Time enough to be flying 
 
 When the flowers are dead. 
 
120 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Hark thee, my friend and lover, * 
 
 Soon we'll take our flight; 
 Over and over and over, 
 
 Earth, good-night, good-night. 
 
 Fifth Human Voice. 
 
 Winter Night. 
 
 Moonlight, cold and white, 
 
 Glimmereth on the frozen ground; 
 Not a tree is tossed in the silvery frost. 
 
 But they stand in silence bound: 
 They stand with their branches bleak and bare, 
 
 Above the new-fallen snow, 
 And the sombre night on that pathway white, 
 
 Doth scarce a shadow throw. 
 
 Scarce a shadow falls — 
 
 Hark ! for the trees are troubled now, 
 And their arms they lift in the pale snow-drift, 
 
 And their giant heads they bow: 
 They bow their heads to the fierce north-wind, 
 
 As if for rest to crave, 
 While to and fro o'er the driven snow, 
 
 The sharp, thin shadows wave. 
 
 Slow the shadows wave — 
 
 Not as they wave in the summer air, 
 
EARTH'S AWAKENING. 121 
 
 When the bird and bee in the blossoming tree 
 
 Have wakened sweet music there. 
 There's peace and love in the morn of Spring, 
 
 And joy in the Summer light, 
 And the Autumn eve rare beauty may weave, 
 
 But there's power in the Winter night. 
 
 All the Voices. 
 
 Thus Morn and Eve, and Day and Night, 
 
 Above this gliding sphere, 
 In praiseful harmony unite 
 
 Throughout the circling year. 
 
 EARTH'S AWAKENING. 
 
 AN EASTER DIALOGUE. 
 
 "The blessed matin prime all hearts leap up at." 
 
 — Robert Browning. 
 First Voice. 
 
 What is this stir of life ? What is this sound 
 That seems to thrill the barren wintry ground ? 
 As if the fairies of the under-world 
 Whispered together, where they lie soft curled 
 
 In mossy hollows of lost forest-trees 
 Of former ages, hidden far below 
 The region of cold winds, of frost and snow; — 
 
 (If Earth in modern times had room for these.) 
 
122 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 What is this stir of life ? What is this sound 
 That seems to thrill the barren wintry ground ? 
 Second Voice. 
 
 It is the Spirit of the Roots, that kept 
 The hidden life within them, while they slept, 
 And calls them now with motions sweet and strange, 
 Until they feel the stirring of a change. 
 Some mighty word of Life's primeval speech 
 Hath touched them in their slumbers, and they reach 
 Down for the old foundations. Thrills they send 
 Up to their higher kin, who quickly bend 
 To hear. This is the inarticulate sound, 
 The Roots are all awaking underground. 
 
 First Voice. 
 
 What touches all the" willows, late so bare, 
 As if some ancient Dryad lingered there, 
 All brightly shrouded in her hair's loose gold, 
 And murmured of the pleasant days of old ? 
 What echo this from fairy corridors, 
 As if innumerable tiny doors 
 All of a sudden opened to the light, 
 And made a myriad secret chambers bright ? 
 
 Second Voice. 
 
 It is the Spirit of the Leaves, that calls 
 In sweeter than Arcadian madrigals, 
 
earth's awakening. 123 
 
 Where they in brown soft nests are slumbering, 
 Until they hear her voice, and know 'tis Spring. 
 The wood its tide of greenery receives, 
 And knows the glad Awakening of the Leaves. 
 
 First Voice. 
 
 What are these sailors of the upper air 
 That make such sylvan clamor everywhere, 
 This sudden blithe and busy multitude 
 That people all the woody solitude ? 
 
 Second Voice. 
 
 The birds are all awake and all a- wing; 
 
 In copse and dingle, hark ! they sweetly sing, 
 
 " Awake, awake, O Earth, for it is Spring !" 
 
 First Voice. 
 What are these, springing out of Winter's death, 
 With odors sweet as far-off Music's breath ? 
 What is this gentle purple hardihood 
 That makes through rain and snow its passage good, 
 Through snow and rain, with tiny emerald spear, 
 Where many a bolder one perhaps might fear ? 
 What are these blue-eyed nestlings, that alight 
 Among the grass, and make the meadow bright ? 
 
 Second Voice. 
 These are the flowers, that spring from Winter's death, 
 
124 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 With odors sweet as far-off Music's breath: 
 
 The Crocus is the gentle hardihood 
 
 That makes with emerald spear its passage good: 
 
 The Violets, the blue-eyed nestlings sweet, 
 
 Alight with daily blessings at our feet. 
 
 They wake, the children of the sun and showers; 
 
 Behold the Resurrection of the Flowers ! 
 
 First Voice. 
 And wherefore all this joy of earth and skies ? 
 All things awake, all things to life arise: 
 Some happy secret seems to swell in song 
 The grassy fields, the woods, the hills among; 
 To touch all things that breathe, all things that be. 
 Interpret now the sudden ecstasy. 
 
 Second Voice. 
 Because the Lord, the Lord of life and light, 
 Hath risen from the sepulchre of night, 
 Therefore the riven earth, the budding shore, 
 The pulsing streams, proclaim Him Conqueror. 
 Therefore, through heaven and earth the echoes ring, 
 "Awake, awake, to thine Eternal Spring!" 
 
 Both Voices. 
 
 Therefore, from bonds of death, from wintry prison, 
 Awake, arise, O Earth ! thy Lord is risen. 
 
DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 1 25 
 
 THE CONTEST OF NATIONS. 
 
 Minerva, Arbitress. 
 
 Spain, France, Germany, England, ) 
 
 „ . 7 r T d . \ Aspirants. 
 
 Switzerland, Italy, America, ) 
 
 Minerva. 
 
 From the long silence of the elder world, 
 From the far shores of Greece the beautiful, 
 From the hushed olive-groves and marble halls 
 Of mine own Athens, I, her once adored, 
 Though shorn of all my old regality, 
 Come forth, once more by mortal eyes beheld, 
 And stand unveiled, commissioned arbitress, 
 At the behest of heaven-born Liberty. 
 Scorn not a goddess and a queen discrowned, 
 Nor deem those ancient fables cold and dead, 
 For Jove may fall from his Olympian state, 
 Pallas Athene change to common dust, 
 But Truth lives on, though forms grow obsolete, 
 And Wisdom is immortal as the stars. 
 
 Before the nations of the earth I stand, 
 And offer, with renown that cannot die, 
 Unto the nation worthiest to receive, 
 This laurel crown, the crown of Liberty. 
 Who is most worthy of the bright award ? 
 Whose brow shall wear the wreath of deathless Fame ? 
 
126 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 [Spain comes forward with a confident air.'] 
 
 A crown ? Crowns are for the fairest, and who so 
 rich in beauty as I ? Green are the myrtles, and silvery 
 the fountains in the gardens of my Alhambra; famed 
 in story and in song the dark-eyed maids of Andalu- 
 sia. A crown ? Crowns are for the ancient and hon- 
 orable, not for the upstarts of the earth. Of Liberty ? 
 That was a word dear to the heart of my intrepid 
 mountaineers of old, who spurned the yoke, and were 
 ready to die for freedom and for fatherland. I had 
 well-nigh forgotten its silvery echoes, but now again it 
 rings forth boldly in the clarion tones of my Castelar. 
 Ah me ! my heart is torn within me, and I am weary 
 of strife. If Liberty be anything but a name, crown 
 me, beneficent goddess. 
 
 France. 
 
 Liberty but a name ? A name that never dies; 
 
 Glorious, broad and high, perpetual as the skies. 
 
 Throbs my 'heart with a wild pulsation, 
 
 At the mystical vibration 
 
 Of that name of power; 
 
 Tyrants may rule for their brief strong hour, 
 
 But they cannot bind the unfettered mind 
 
 Of a people that thirsts to be free. 
 Oh, I pant with the old desire, 
 
THE CONTEST OF NATIONS. 1 27 
 
 And my soul is all on fire 
 For the crown of Liberty. 
 
 [The Goddess turns away sadly. Germany advances 
 with an air of abstraction?^ 
 
 Union is strength, and liberty is life, 
 And free, united, glorious Germany, 
 Within the realm of thought without a peer, 
 Should wear the palm to-day. What is a crown ? 
 The calmness of the philosophic mind 
 Should weigh with equal poise crowns, empires, states, 
 And all the possibilities of time, 
 As fragments of one vast infinitude ; 
 And thus absorbed into the conscious All, 
 As spheric drops into the ocean's heart, 
 Shall better comprehend true liberty. 
 
 England. 
 
 Stand aside, my good cousin. This is no time for 
 philosophizing, when a crown is at stake. \Aside?[ 
 If it were only of gold, instead of laurel, it would pay 
 better. [Aloud.] Britannia rules the waves. Why 
 shouldn't she yet, like Rome of old, be mistress of the 
 world ? Who can compete with me, for the laurel ? 
 For who has ever fought more valiantly for Liberty 
 than Old England ? 
 
128 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Switzerland. 
 
 Cradled among the mountains, 
 The never-failing fountains 
 
 Of purest strength and might, 
 Through snow-wreaths round them drifting 
 Their royal heads uplifting 
 
 In majesty infinite, 
 And sitting ever at their feet, 
 In constant love and reverence meet, 
 
 How can I but be free ? 
 The bold, bright land, the land of Tell, 
 Where valiant men for freedom fell, 
 
 The land of Liberty. 
 How can I but be crowned now, 
 With that crown of crowns upon my brow ? 
 
 [Minerva bends graciously toward the speaker^ 
 
 Italy. 
 I slept ! I slept. But oh ! what wondrous dreams, 
 Of all the glory past, and all the hope 
 Of the regeneration yet to be ! 
 It was no sleep of passionless repose. 
 My hero came — I woke — his sword was fire : 
 Its purifying stroke clave through and through 
 Mine inmost being, and from ruins rose 
 Columns of more than ancient majesty. 
 
THE CONTEST OF NATIONS. 1 29 
 
 Now slowly grows the radiant perfect day, 
 No starless night again for Italy. 
 No rest until that star my brow shall wear, 
 Long loved, long lost, the crown of Liberty. 
 
 [ The Goddess turns towards the speaker, and hacf raises 
 the laurel crown. America advances] 
 
 America. 
 Room ! room for me ! The youngest of the nations, 
 
 The child of Liberty. 
 Room for my host among the generations, 
 
 The brave, the strong and free. 
 Freedom ! Thy light shone beautiful and glorious 
 
 Above my natal day. 
 A hundred years thy song hath swelled victorious 
 
 To cheer me on my way. 
 From sea to sea the nations old and hoary 
 
 Come thronging to my door ; 
 Their princely wealth, their beauty and their glory 
 
 Make luminous my shore. 
 They harken gladly to my century's story, 
 
 The lands whose youth is o'er. 
 " Through night to light," through loss to sure pos- 
 sessing, 
 
 To keep, what e'er betide, 
 My sacred heritage, the priceless blessing 
 
 For vhich my heroes died. 
 
130 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Niagara shall hush her voice of thunder 
 
 Ere I my troth shall break, 
 The Lakes shall drop, like unstrung pearls, asunder, 
 
 Ere I my charge forsake. 
 And am I worthy to take up the chorus, 
 
 The anthem of the free, 
 And to behold the star that shincth o'er us, 
 
 The star of Liberty ? 
 Yes, for I never, never will surrender 
 
 My birthright to the foe ; 
 Yes, for I still can boast true hearts and tender, 
 
 Who guile nor malice know; 
 Who love their native land, and will defend her 
 
 Through threatening ills that grow. 
 O Liberty, to thy pure shrine I bring 
 
 My noblest offering, 
 My patriot sons, that like a bulwark stand, 
 Unstained, undaunted, for their native land. 
 
 Minerva. 
 
 Child of the West ! Thou fairest growth of time, 
 The hope of all the nations is in thee. 
 If, through the roar of elemental strife, 
 Through all the surging of the angry sea, 
 Thou holdest fast thy bright inheritance, 
 Thy sacred Trust, Union and Liberty, 
 Forever and inseparably one, 
 
FRUITS OF THE FIFTH SEASON. 131 
 
 Then, purified through pain and sorrow past, 
 And strengthened for the trials yet to come, 
 And having swept away for evermore 
 The one dark cloud upon thy glorious fame, 
 Receive thy meed, the Crown of Liberty. 
 
 [The Goddess places the crown upon the head of America^ 
 
 FRUITS OF THE FIFTH SEASON. 
 
 [Scene. — A Parlor in Elderberry Hall, Mr. Elder, 
 Mrs. Elder, Tom, Constance, and Tiny.] 
 
 [Enter Miss JTare.] 
 
 Mr. E Good-evening, Miss Hare, good-evening. 
 
 Miss H. You look as if you were having a cosey, 
 chatty time together. Shall I interrupt it ? 
 
 Mrs. E. Not at all. Sit right down here and make 
 yourself comfortable. 
 
 Mr. E. You are very welcome, especially if you 
 bring with you some of the fruits of the Fifth Season. 
 
 Miss H. You are more enigmatical than usual, to- 
 night. 
 
 Mrs. E. He means just nonsense. 
 
 Miss H. But nonsense with a grain of sense, some- 
 where. Let me think. 
 
132 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Mr. E. Tiny, how many seasons are there ? 
 
 Tiny. Four. 
 
 Tom. "There are four seasons," — remarked the 
 youthful scion of the house of Partington, in one of 
 the earliest effusions of his budding genius — " there 
 are four seasons, Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. 
 Some people like Spring the best, but as for me, give 
 me liberty, or give me death." 
 
 Mr. £. Illogical as his conclusion may appear to 
 ordinary minds, it yet embodies a profound philosoph- 
 ical truth. 
 
 Mrs. E. How absurd you are, Cornelius ! 
 
 Constance. How astonished Ik Partington would be 
 to know it. 
 
 Mr. E. The truth is, that there is a season which, 
 apart from the usually accepted divisions of the year, 
 may yet pervade any one or all of them. In the Par- 
 tingtonian mind, it is identical with the idea of liberty; 
 and this view of it, with some slight modifications, I 
 am quite willing to adopt. 
 
 Tom. So was Pat Mulligan in the late strike. The 
 result was not altogether satisfactory to him. 
 
 Mr. E. Liberty should never degenerate into license. 
 When it does, I utterly repudiate it. The Fifth Sea- 
 son is genial, balmy, invigorating. Mr. Mulligan 
 knows nothing of it. 
 
FRUITS OF THE FIFTH SEASON. 1 33 
 
 Mrs. E. If you mean Indian Summer, why don't 
 you say so ? 
 
 Mr. E. But I don't. 
 
 Miss H. Who know the most of the Fifth Season ? 
 
 Mr. E. Little children. Happy children are in it 
 almost always, and even the little ones whose lives are 
 saddened by the sins and mistakes of others have 
 occasional gleams of its brightness. It cannot be 
 utterly shut out of a child's life. 
 
 Tiny. I guess Uncle Cor means Fairy-land. 
 
 Con. Are not poets in it often ? 
 
 Mr. E. Most of them, but not all. But it is not at 
 all confined to poets and poetic natures. Wherever 
 you hear a good, hearty, innocent laugh, without a tone 
 of malice or contempt in it, the man, woman, or child 
 from whom it comes is basking that moment in the 
 sunlight of the Fifth Season. 
 
 Tom. No sardonic laugh need apply. The windows 
 are shut. 
 
 Mr. E. Shut and barred. 
 
 Tom. Well, I don't see anything in it but a good 
 time generally. 
 
 Miss H. Imagination, fancy, a cheerful spirit ? 
 
 Con. Mirth, fun, nonsense? 
 
 Mrs. E. Yes, it is just nonsense. That is all there 
 is of it. 
 
134 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Mr. E. How differently nonsense is regarded by 
 different minds. Constance utters the word in an 
 affectionate sort of way, as if she loved it. Your Aunt 
 Maria comes out with it as if it were synonymous with 
 folly, or worse. 
 
 Mrs. E. So it is. 
 
 Mr. E. What are you crocheting, my dear ? 
 
 Mrs. E. A tidy. 
 
 Mr. E. It is all nonsense. 
 
 Mrs. E. I mean by nonsense what is of no use. 
 
 Mr. E. Exactly. Much so-called philosophy is non- 
 sense, according to your view of it, and much that you 
 would call nonsense has a decided use, according to 
 mine. 
 
 Miss H. I understand you, now. Tom Hood knew 
 all about your Fifth Season. 
 
 Mr. E. And Charles Lamb, genial soul, basked in 
 its atmosphere, and diffused it largely among his 
 friends and acquaintances. 
 Tom. Put in Dickens. 
 
 Mr. E. And put in many a one who never wrote a 
 book, or cracked a joke, or made a pun. 
 
 Con. Then put in dear old Mrs. Merriarn. but leave 
 
 out Mr. Telas. He never breathed its air. I always 
 
 want to quote to him: 
 
 " 'Tis sometimes natural to be glad, 
 And no man can be always sad, 
 Unless he wills to have it so." 
 
FRUITS OF THE FIFTH SEASON. 1 35 
 
 Mrs. E. Mr. Telas has had a great deal of trouble. 
 
 Con. So has Mrs. Merriam, but she doesn't carry it 
 about with her wherever she goes, for the benefit of 
 her friends. 
 
 Mr. E. Poor Mr. Telas ! A breath of the Fifth 
 Season would do him more good than that trip to 
 Cuba. 
 
 Miss H. You keep that same season here, usually. 
 
 Mr. E. Yes, it seems to float in naturally through 
 the windows of Elderberry Hall. Tiny always keeps 
 a bottle of it in her pocket, and it bubbles occasionally 
 from the point of Connie's pen. We are all more or 
 less acquainted with it. 
 
 Con. Aunt Maria, have you Miss Millinette's letter 
 here ? That strikes me as an illustration. 
 
 Mrs. E. Here it is. You can read it if you choose, 
 but there's nothing remarkable in it. She's a good 
 soul, though. 
 Con. [Reads. 1 
 
 "My Dear Friend, — It is a cold day; the air is as 
 sharp as a needle. I have been threading the streets 
 all the morning, with a stitch in my side, on errands 
 for the Bazaar. I wish there was sleighing, but there 
 isn't a thimbleful of snow in the city. Whom should 
 I meet on Broadway but Cynthia Gay, with a beau at 
 her side, and several on her hat; and what do you 
 
136 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 think, she cut me like a pair of scissors. I suppose 
 she didn't want to be seen speaking to a milliner, but 
 if that is the cap and crown of my offending, I shall 
 not trouble myself to speak to her anywhere. As our 
 friend Mac used to say, you can put a pin there. How- 
 ever, I hadn't gone more than a yard and three-quarters 
 before I was compensated by a very polite bow from 
 Mr. Graves, looking as if he had just come out of a 
 band-box. How he contrives to keep himself in such 
 a continually uncrumpled state is a mystery to me, but 
 I suppose it is because he gives all his mind to it. 
 Then there was old Mr. Penny, with his face drawn up 
 into a knot, and a daughter in gray on each arm. Isn't 
 it funny they should make me think of double box- 
 plaiting ? I also met Miss R., who is called the Rose 
 of A. — ashes of roses, I should say, — and Lizzie W., 
 as pretty as a pink ribbon. 
 
 " I suppose it is considered rather countrified to look 
 in at shop windows, but I couldn't help it, at a sweet 
 picture that caught my eye. There was a little brook 
 running like a green ribbon through a cuir-colored 
 meadow, and the nicest little sheep like tufts of cotton 
 on a velvet hill, and the loveliest solferino and magenta 
 skies I ever saw, with Napoleon blue in the distance. 
 In the foreground was a corn-colored house, and a 
 couple of children were playing among some flowers 
 
FRUITS OF THE FIFTH SEASON. 137 
 
 as natural as any in my show-case, and the whole no 
 bigger than my largest pin-cushion. I should like to 
 have it to hang up in the little parlor, you remember, 
 back of the shop, only the little girl's hat was very old- 
 fashioned, and that would never do for me, you know. 
 "Well, to be sure, how delightful it is to sit down to 
 talk with you, and entirely forget millinery. But the 
 shop bell calls me back to it this minute. Write soon. 
 A stitch in time saves nine, you know. 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 "Mary Millinette." 
 
 Mr. E. Yes, the Fifth Season is shut out of many a 
 fine drawing-room, but it palpitates all over Miss Mil- 
 linette's shelves, and in " the little parlor back of the 
 shop." 
 
 Mrs. E. She knows nothing of art, as her descrip- 
 tion of that picture shows. 
 
 Con. Why, aunty, she was only joking. She knows 
 a good deal besides millinery. 
 
 Mr. E. Come, let us have some more of the fruits 
 of the Fifth Season. Original ones preferred. 
 
 Tom. I happen to have a production in my pocket 
 which I will present to you, though whether you will 
 regard it as one of the legitimate fruits of this very 
 mysterious season is doubtful. I received it through 
 
138 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 the postoffice of that fair, the other night. It is 
 somewhat transcendental. 
 
 Tiny. What does that hard word mean ? 
 
 Tom. It means smoky. Here is the document. 
 [Reads.] 
 
 "The sun, behind a foggy curtain hid, 
 The moon, gone down behind a pyramid. 
 An alpine height, invisible half way, 
 Niagara, with its cloud of curling spray, 
 And many another sprightly simile 
 Rise to my fancy when I think of thee, 
 With cap upon thy hyacinthine head, 
 And all those wreaths of smoke about thee, fed 
 From that perpetual crater of thy lips. 
 The sun and moon may suffer long eclipse, 
 Vesuvius to a calm green pasture turn, 
 Ere thy volcanic fires shall cease to burn. 
 Ah ! lay thy pipe down quickly, gentle swain, 
 Arcadian days will never come again: 
 And listen to a word in season spoke, 
 Or all thy life shall surely end in — Smoke. 
 
 Tiny. That isn't half so funny as Tom's composition 
 on Bees. 
 
 Tom. Tiny, Tiny, that is an unwarrantable violation 
 of brotherly confidence. 
 
 Mr. E. Let us have the Bees. 
 
 Miss H. Yes, do, Tom. 
 
 Tom. I keep no copy of the spontaneous efforts of 
 my genius. 
 
FRUITS OF THE FIFTH SEASON. 1 39 
 
 Tiny. I have it, if brother Tom will let me read it. 
 Con. He is perfectly willing, Tiny. Never mind 
 him. 
 
 Tiny. [Reads.] 
 
 On Bees. 
 
 There are several kinds of bees. One kind is "how 
 doth the little busy," and the other kind are called 
 drones. There are also apple-bees and sewing-bees. 
 The apple-bee is a capital B. The sewing-bee is B 
 flat. Be is also a verb. 
 
 Mr. E. Your classification is incomplete, sir. You 
 leave out the "bee in a bonnet." 
 
 Miss. H. Tom's production reminds me of a school- 
 boy's composition I once saw, of which I can only 
 recall one sentence: "Men eat hogs, but not the Jews, 
 nor any animals that do not chew the cud." 
 
 Mr. E. Your calling must give you some gleams of 
 the Fifth Season, Miss Hare. 
 
 Miss H. Very many. Orthographical, some of 
 them. Think of Pocahontas as " an angle of deliver- 
 ance," of "flagrant roses," or of such an anomaly as "in- 
 nocent lambs gambling on the green fields." 
 
 Tom. Give us some more, if you please. 
 
 Miss H. " New York has not so good educational 
 felicities as New England." 
 
 Tom. Felicitous, if fallacious. 
 
140 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Miss H. It may interest you to know that " in the 
 year of jubilee all the slaves were fried." 
 
 Mr. E. Unparalleled barbarity ! 
 
 Miss H. Also that " Spenser lost six books of the 
 Faery Queen going in the cars from Ireland to Eng- 
 land;" that " Natural History is indebted to Sir Isaac 
 Newton for the origin of gravitation;" and that "the 
 Olympian games were invented by Herod." 
 
 Con. I like useful facts. 
 
 Mr. E. Can you recall any more of them ? 
 
 Miss H. " The people of Pompeii were found in a 
 state of petrifaction, pursuing their usual avocations;" 
 and this, admirable alike for grammar, orthography, 
 and recondite information: "The organs of tutch in 
 fishes is in the hair of the head." 
 
 Con. How grateful you must be for such occasional 
 reliefs from the tedium of commonplace. They dis- 
 play such inventive genius. 
 
 Miss H. Here is a pathetic reflection for you: 
 "How often do we see poor wounded soldiers standing 
 without arms, and even without legs, on the corners of 
 the streets !" 
 
 Tom. I am inclined to regard that as a conundrum. 
 
 Miss H. I will conclude these elegant extracts with 
 a composition by a little girl, verbatim, as I recollect 
 it. 
 
FRUITS OF THE FIFTH SEASON. 141 
 
 Snow. 
 
 When it is small, it shoes it is going to be a 'evey 
 fall; when it is large, it shoes it is going to leave off. 
 When it is about the middle of winter, the ground is 
 about too feet deep, but when winter begins, we do 
 not have it so deep. There are skates which are called 
 parlor skates, and them kind you can skate in summer. 
 In winter you can have sleigh-ride parties, which is 
 very nice, but I think we would like it better if it 
 wasand so cold. Some people makes ice-cream out of 
 snow and milk, which I think is very cold. 
 
 Mr. E. Thank you. Who has some more contri- 
 butions to offer? 
 
 Tom. Aunt Maria, will you favor us ? 
 
 Mrs. E. Go away with your nonsense. I am busy. 
 
 Von. I will give you an inspiration of Aunt Maria's. 
 
 Miss H. Verses, I- declare. 
 
 Mrs. E. Don't be ridiculous, Constance, when you 
 know I never wrote a verse in my life, and never 
 could. 
 
 Con. I don't mean you are responsible for the metre 
 exactly, aunly, but the sentiments are certainly yours. 
 Don't you re.nember your criticism on Tennyson's 
 Mariana this morning ? 
 
 Mrs. E. I remember expressing my opinion about 
 her, the lazy thing. 
 
142 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Mr. E. We impatiently await the criticism. 
 Con. [Reads i\ 
 
 To Tennyson's Mariana. 
 
 By A unt Maria. 
 O child, sit up and wipe your eyes, 
 
 You'll spoil them with perpetual rain; 
 There's beauty in the summer skies, 
 
 Even if he doesn't come again. 
 There's nothing in the whole round world 
 
 Worth fretting for from morn till eve; 
 Why let your hair go all uncurled, 
 
 And make a business just to grieve ? 
 Go, change your song, and let it be: 
 " No longer shall my eyes be dim, 
 For if he doesn't care for me, 
 
 I don't intend to care for him." 
 
 Just look and see how things go on; 
 
 The rooms are dust and cobwebs all; 
 With moss the garden's overgrown, 
 
 That tree wants nailing to the wall. 
 Why don't you oil that creaking door ? 
 
 Tell John to mend that broken shed, 
 And do up all your work before 
 
 You sit and wish that you were dead. 
 Go, change your song, nor longer be 
 
 A crying, thriftless, lazy lass; 
 Sing, "If he doesn't care for me, 
 
 I don't care if he goes to grass." 
 
 Mrs. E. Well, that is sense, if it isn't poetry. 
 Mr. E. And seasonable. 
 
FRUITS OF THE FIFTH SEASON. 143 
 
 Mrs. E. And now, if I am to take the credit of 
 Connie's rhymes, I am going to read you, Miss Hare, 
 what she wrote when they were playing crambo the 
 other evening. The question was, " How many dimes 
 make a dollar?" and the word, " Secession." 
 [Reads-] 
 
 Sing a song of sixpence, that ancient institution 
 
 That has been known among us ever since the Revolution; 
 
 Or, as that rather foreign coin is out of circulation, 
 
 It is no crime to name a dime unto this federal nation, 
 
 Once on a time, then, dwelt a dime of somewhat high pretensions^ 
 Whose notions of himself were stretched unto these broad extensions: 
 •'One dime is just as good as ten, whatever tables preach us; 
 A part is greater than the whole, our mathematics teach us; 
 
 "Stand for your rights, ye copper cents, against all usurpations; 
 Against all dolorous claims lift up confederate protestations. 
 Strike a bold stroke, and burst the yoke, and break the silver collar." 
 So saying, the indignant dime seceded from the dollar. 
 
 Ah ! there was dolor soon enough among the wayward fractions, 
 And there were mutterings then and there, and loud dissatisfactions ; 
 " One cent is just as good as ten, whatever tables preach us ; 
 A part is greater than the whole, our mathematics teach us." 
 
 But through the clamor and the whirl of strange things done and 
 
 spoken, 
 Its silver circle after all, the dollar kept unbroken ; 
 And the world went on its old way, and every youthful scholar 
 Continued the old ditty of "Ten dimes make one dollar." 
 
 Con. Now, Uncle Cor, we have all made our contri- 
 
144 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 tuitions except you, and we want one of your " Lec- 
 tures on the English Classics." 
 
 Misi H. Yes, it is a long time since I have heard 
 one of them. Don't shake your head, sir, we shall 
 not let you off. 
 
 Mr. E. Somebody furnish me with a text, then. 
 
 Con. 
 
 " Polly, put the kettle on, 
 And well all take tea." 
 
 Mr. E. Ahem ! 
 
 " Polly, put the kettle on, 
 And we'll all take tea." 
 
 The inimitable lines which form the burden of this 
 deservedly popular lyric, though apparently character- 
 ized by extreme simplicity, when closely analyzed, 
 present some serious difficulties to the thoughtful 
 reader. The meaning which, on first perusal, seemed 
 clear as day, becomes suddenly involved in obscurity. 
 We offer two hypotheses which may aid in its elucida- 
 tion. Both involve one great question of the ages. 
 
 And first, the poet, by a subtile analysis, indicates 
 to us two classes, the doers and the receivers, the 
 workers and the employers of the world. On one side 
 we behold the faithful Polly, typifying the laboring 
 class, the toilers of humanity, on the other the selfish 
 and indolent aristocrat, uttering with a lordly air the 
 mandate: 
 
FRUITS OF THE FIFTH SEASON. 14$ 
 
 " Polly, put the kettle on, 
 And we'll all take tea." 
 
 And here a thrilling question is irresistibly suggested. 
 Did Polly have her tea ? If so, did she have it un- 
 adulterated, and with a fair proportion of sugar and 
 cream ? Or was she, in the midst of plenty, forced to 
 stand aloof, hungry, weary, agitated with an inexpress- 
 ible longing, this the language of her secret heart: 
 
 " The saddest of all is, it might have been." 
 
 But we turn from this painful aspect of the case to 
 one more in consonance with the spirit of true poetry. 
 The address to Polly seems to us not the expression of 
 a selfish or unfeeling soul. There is an undertone of 
 pathos, rather suggestive of sympathy with Polly, and 
 due appreciation of her services, than the contrary; 
 nay, more, an including her in the enjoyment as well 
 as in the labor. 
 
 " Polly, put the kettle on, 
 And we'll all take tea." 
 
 It is really, then, a noble vindication of the rights of 
 man, including, of course, those of woman, and fore- 
 shadowing a glorious consummation, figuratively de- 
 noted by a term expressive of home comforts and 
 social enjoyments: 
 
 " Polly, put the kettle on, 
 And we'll all take tea. " 
 
146 dialogues and conversations. 
 
 Let the dream of the poet be embodied in reality ; 
 let honest labor be everywhere recognized and reve- 
 renced ; let the rights of all humanity, not of a section 
 alone, be universally conceded, and the true Golden 
 Age of the world will begin. Oh ! would that some 
 gifted Polly might arise and put that kettle on, that we 
 might all take tea. 
 
 Miss H. I heartily echo the wish. And now, my 
 friends, as it is getting late, and I see Tiny is fast 
 asleep, I must take my leave, with many thanks for 
 your Elderberries. 
 
 Mr. E. Thank you for the word. 
 
 Mrs. E: Come again soon, Miss Hare. We don't 
 always talk nonsense here. 
 
 Mr. E. And when we do, let us not apologize. 
 
 " A little nonsense, now and then, 
 Is relished by the wisest men." 
 
 And we shall be no less earnest, I hope, in the great 
 battle of life, because we can sometimes say with 
 Wordsworth : 
 
 " I wiU have my careless season, 
 Spite of melancholy reason." 
 
DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 1 47 
 
 CONVERSATIONS 
 
 BETWEEN A TEACHER AND HER PUPILS. 
 
 I. 
 
 WRITING COMPOSITIONS. 
 
 Teacher. We were to take up to-day the subject of 
 original composition. I requested you to ask any 
 questions and to state any difficulties which occurred 
 to you in connection with it, and though I cannot 
 promise to answer them all satisfactorily, perhaps we 
 may be able to get some light by talking about them to- 
 gether. For the first step in overcoming any difficulty 
 is to state it fairly to one's self. 
 
 Rea. I think my chief trouble is in the want of 
 natural ability. I have no genius for writing composi- 
 tions. 
 
 Teacher. Your excuse will hardly avail you, for 
 while that rich gift called genius, which is something 
 born, not made, is bestowed upon comparatively few, 
 the natural aptitude known as talent is by no means 
 uncommon ; and every talent, be it greater or less, is 
 always improvable. One person, for instance, sees 
 quickly what is about her ; she has a talent for obser- 
 vation, which, if used in writing, will make her de- 
 scribe faithfully. Another has the power of picturing 
 to herself things read or heard of ; and this, cultivated, 
 
148 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 will give to her writing the beautiful coloring of im- 
 agination. Another has the gift of simple directness 
 in speech ; put it in writing, and it will be sure to have 
 its effect there. Another has a keen sense of the deli- 
 cate shades of wit and humor, which, cultivated in 
 writing, will make her style lively and agreeable. An- 
 other has deep feelings, which should give to her writ- 
 ing the power of pathos ; another an orderly turn of 
 mind, which leads her to put everything in its proper 
 place, and this should aid her in analysis. The 
 smallest talent may be developed by cultivation 
 into a fair degree of excellence. Genius, if it is power, 
 is also will, and will is the surest way to success. 
 
 Cornelia. My difficulty is in trying to think long on 
 any particular subject. The more I think, the more 
 confused I get. 
 
 Teacher. Are you sure that you do think ? There 
 is a kind of mental opera-ion which bears the sem- 
 blance of thinking, and -everie is frequently mis- 
 taken for thought. They are widely different. In 
 reverie, the mind wanders from one thing to another, 
 without purpose or advancement ; while in thought, 
 this drifting tendency is steadily resisted, the mind is 
 fixed upon one subject, and advances by progressive 
 steps to a certain end. In thought, the subject grows 
 gradually into form and completeness : in reverie, 
 
WRITING COMPOSITIONS. 1 49 
 
 though there may be beautiful floating images and 
 flashes of power, there is neither shape nor substance, 
 and there is no growth. There is nothing, then, less 
 easy than real thinking. 
 
 Cornelia. But I cannot always understand my sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Teacher. If the subject be not entirely above you, 
 in which case you should not undertake it at all, have 
 you fairly tried to understand it ? Have you looked 
 at it merely, or into it ? 
 
 Cornelia. I cannot do this without a great deal of 
 trouble. 
 
 Teacher. Of course you cannot ; no one ever did. 
 But is it not worth taking trouble for, to gain clear in- 
 sight, and breadth and depth of thought, and the 
 facility of expression which in time must follow ? Ac- 
 custom yourself to get at the root of your subject, 
 and do not be content with a merely superficial knowl- 
 edge of it. 
 
 Eunice. It is rather humiliating to confess it, but my 
 greatest hindrance seems to be a want of ideas. 
 
 Teacher. Want of ideas, when every natural object 
 stands ready to give you one ? Follow the advice of 
 an old author : " And sometimes be curious to see the 
 preparation which the sun makes, when he is coming 
 from his chambers of the east." Go out on some sun- 
 
1 50 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 shiny day, and watch how the leaves group themselves 
 on the stalks, how the flowers pitch their summer 
 tents, and the trees build themselves a stately architec- 
 ture, and lay blades of grass and drops of dew under 
 contribution for ideas. Gather them from everyday 
 sights and experiences, studies, walks, and recreations. 
 
 " That is best which lieth nearest ; 
 Shape from that thy work of art." 
 
 The more you cultivate the perceptive faculty, the 
 more you will perceive. 
 
 Agatha. I do not seem to be wholly destitute of 
 ideas ; indeed, I have often quite a rush of them while 
 I am writing. But the trouble seems to be in keeping 
 them quite distinct from other people's, so as to be per- 
 fectly honest. 
 
 Teacher. This is a difficulty ; because so little of 
 our knowledge has been first thought out, and so few 
 of our mental conclusions first arrived at by ourselves, 
 that originality is a rare merit. The safest rule here 
 is to be true in all things, and we shall be true in our 
 writing ; to avoid servile imitation and say our own 
 thoughts in our own way. But few dare to be what 
 they were intended to be, individuals ; and so they be- 
 come mere echoes of others. You may have stood 
 some evening alone with Nature, and the glory of sun- 
 
WRITING COMPOSITIONS. 1 5 1 
 
 set or the stars may have called forth aspirations as 
 high and glowing as any ever embodied in language. 
 Or again, the awful silence of night may have awak- 
 ened within you earnest thoughts of life, of duty, or 
 of immortality. Or the inspirations of other minds, 
 the thoughts that breathe, clothed in words that burn, 
 the flash of wit, the fire of enthusiasm, may have called 
 forth responses in your own natures, not unworthy of 
 the power that suggested them. But they have died 
 without a record ; and afterwards, when kindred sub- 
 jects have demanded your attention in writing, you 
 have insensibly reverted to something, perhaps com- 
 monplace, you have read on such subjects, instead of 
 recalling and treasuring the thoughts that were so truly 
 your own, and making your writings faithful reflections 
 of yourselves. 
 
 Coralie. I am often puzzled to find a suitable sen- 
 tence to commence with. 
 
 Teacher. If you have a suitable thought to begin 
 with, the sentence will generally take care of itself. 
 Your mistake lies in directing your attention tc the 
 words, rather than the sense ; in aiming at the pro- 
 duction of a well-sounding composition, rather than a 
 well-thought and a well-ordered one. One who 
 writes with this aim, will assert of something that it 
 is "conducive to our pleasure and happiness ;" or pile 
 
152 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 up superlatives to express some beauty or excellence 
 which is not really felt after all. And here again the 
 best rule is to be true ; and as words are supposed to 
 stand for thoughts, to make every sentence really em- 
 body a thought. 
 
 Florimel. If it is not out of order, I should like to 
 ask a question which has often occurred to me, even if 
 it exposes my own ignorance. 
 
 Teacher. Ask any question you like, and never be 
 afraid of confessing ignorance. It is true of all of us, 
 that " what we know is but a point to what we do not 
 know." 
 
 Florimel. What is the use of writing compositions ? 
 I suppose hardly any of us expect to distinguish our- 
 selves as authors. 
 
 Teacher. The object of the exercise is not to train 
 you to be authors, or to distinguish yourselves in any 
 way. 
 
 Florimel. What is it, then ? 
 
 Teacher. First, it is of direct practical bearing upon 
 your after-life. It is very desirable to be able to 
 clearly communicate the knowledge we ourselves have 
 acquired. The truth that must forever remain locked 
 up in the mind, without the will or capacity to impart 
 it to another, is of very little real service in the world. 
 The very attempt to give in an intelligible form ex- 
 
WRITING COMPOSITIONS. 153 
 
 pression to what we know, tends to give it a firmer 
 hold on our own minds. Readiness in the communi- 
 cation of ideas is, therefore, to be sought, whether we 
 would benefit ourselves or others. To be able intelli- 
 gently to use material we have collected in our intel- 
 lectual store-house, and to fashion it in a comely shape; 
 to describe, in such a manner as to awaken interest 
 and attention, scenes we ourselves have witnessed, is 
 an object not only desirable, but within the reach of 
 ordinary ability, combined with application. By no 
 one, then, who wishes to live not for self alone, should 
 this study be wholly disregarded. 
 
 Practice in original composition will also contribute 
 to a proper appreciation of the best authors. For 
 while we attempt to grapple with subjects which they 
 have treated with a masterly hand, or to pursue, with 
 trembling step, paths which they have made all radiant 
 with light, we return from the difficult, and as it often 
 seems profitless effort, to sit more reverently and 
 teachably at the feet of those who have trained them- 
 selves for more daring ascents. The page before us 
 will shine more clearly after such intellectual toil; we 
 shall gradually grow into the spirit of those earnest 
 thinkers, and acquire new strength and a keener rel- 
 ish for the thoughtful treatise and the heroic poem, 
 with every successive endeavor. 
 
154 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Such practice will also give a command over our 
 own thoughts which can scarcely be acquired in any 
 other way. For while seeking accuracy in expres- 
 sion, we cannot but perceive the necessity for accu- 
 racy in thinking ; and a vigorous concentration of 
 thought on a given subject will make known to us the 
 extent of our own capacity, and perhaps prove us the 
 possessors of a power of whose existence we were be- 
 fore ignorant. If we never task our minds to the ut- 
 most, we shall never know what we are capable of per- 
 forming. But if we accustom them to fixed attention 
 and steady effort, we shall rise above the timidity 
 which makes us shrink from anything like mental la- 
 bor; and frequent and increasing success will at 
 length beget a calm confidence in our own ability, 
 which need never be allied to vanity or arrogance. 
 
 The aspirations after excellence, which every think- 
 ing person must feel, will prevent you from writing in 
 a hurried, careless, superficial way, for whatever is 
 worth doing at all is worth doing in the best manner. 
 Above all, in whatever you write, let a definite aim be 
 ever present before you. Be natural, be genial, be 
 sportive if you will, but let there ever be purity and 
 truth underlying the graceful drapery. In this way, 
 you will cease to look upon the writing of composi- 
 tions as a thing to be dreaded, and regard it, as it 
 
WHAT IS IMPLIED IN COMPOSITION. 155 
 
 really is, as one of the highest of intellectual pleasures. 
 In our next conversation I should like to have you 
 analyze the word "composition," and tell me what 
 you find implied in it. 
 
 II. 
 
 WHA T IS IMPLIED IN COMPOSITION— HO W TO 
 ACQUIRE MATERIAL FOR THOUGHT. 
 
 Teacher. What is the literal meaning of the word 
 composition ? 
 
 Jessica. It is from the Latin composition from con, 
 together, and ponere, to place or put. 
 
 Teacher. W T ho will define the word, in the sense in 
 which we employ it ? 
 
 Agatha. Composition is the placing together of 
 thoughts, so as to give them expression in an intelligi- 
 ble form. 
 
 Rea. It is the invention or combination of the parts 
 of any literary work or discourse. 
 
 Teacher. Is the word ever employed in any other 
 sense ? 
 
 Thora. It is ; as the fine arts are all different ways 
 in which human thought finds manifestation, so we 
 have the compositions of the painter, the sculptor, the 
 musician, as well as those of the writer. 
 
156 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Wilmeth. It seems to me the literary artist has the 
 poorest material to work with. 
 
 Teacher. Compared with the other arts, written lan- 
 guage would seem at first glance rather barren and inef- 
 fectual. It cannot dazzle with the beauty and glory of 
 color, like painting, nor impress with graceful or 
 majestic form, like sculpture, nor awe and carry out 
 the soul in stately distances, like architecture, nor stir 
 it to its depths with strange and wonderful harmonies, 
 like music. It cannot even, like spoken language, 
 call to its aid the energy of voice, and eye, and gesture. 
 For all the knowledge it has to impart, for the con- 
 veyance of its highest, and strongest, and most beauti- 
 ful thoughts, it must depend solely upon the combina- 
 tions of the twenty-six letters of the alphabet. 
 
 But though the symbols which written language em- 
 ploys are few and simple, yet their combinations are 
 exhaustless. Though our highest thoughts and deepest 
 feelings fail to find in words their adequate expression, 
 and though we can conceive of a speech far more per- 
 fect than any yet attained, yet, in that we possess, 
 thought can still find abundant means of utterance. 
 We have, especially in our own, which is the most 
 copious of modern tongues, a stock of words at once 
 rich, various, and expressive. We have no right to 
 complain of the poverty of language till we have fully 
 
WHAT IS IMPLIED IN COMPOSITION. 1 57 
 
 availed ourselves of all the wealth it has to offer. But 
 many are so ignorant of this wealth that they continu- 
 ally use the same phrases, while a multitude of the most 
 vigorous and significant words remains unappropriated 
 by them. This narrowness arises partly from the want 
 of a thoughtful study of good authors, and partly 
 because the thoughts themselves travel in a narrow 
 range ; they do not grow. But when the power of 
 thought increases, so must also the facility and variety 
 of expression. 
 
 What, by its definition, is implied in the word 
 " composition ?" What does the " placing together" 
 mean? 
 
 Justine. The first thing that occurs to me is that 
 placing together is something more than throwing 
 together. It seems to imply some degree of order. 
 
 Teacher. Arrangement, then, is the first thing which 
 the word naturally suggests. Ideas are not to be 
 thrown together in the indiscriminate manner in which 
 they may have arisen in the mind, but in such a way 
 as gradually and forcibly to bring out the meaning in- 
 tended to be conveyed. The words must not be care- 
 lessly crowded together, or hang in loose connection, 
 but be so arranged as to make an appropriate setting 
 for the thought. Order is the first essential to true 
 composition. 
 
158 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Edith. But there may be order without beauty, may 
 there not? When we place things together, we gener- 
 ally think somewhat about their appearance. 
 
 Teacher. Exactly so. What impresses in any form 
 will be more impressive in attractive form. What is 
 beautiful addresses itself to a very high and noble 
 part of our nature. Attention to fitness and beauty of 
 expression is, then, the second thing implied in com- 
 position. Can any one suggest another ? 
 
 Eunice. I suppose we might ask the question, for 
 what object is the placing together ? 
 
 Teacher. You see, then, that it must be for an end, 
 " something to be kept steadily before you, and which 
 all you write shall tend to bring about. If you see 
 stone laid upon stone in the framing of an edifice, 
 you know the stones are not laid at random, but that 
 each is necessary to the completeness of the whole. 
 So should it be with your written work. "He alone 
 can conceive and compose, who sees the whole at 
 once before him." Writing without an aim is not 
 true composition. 
 
 Thora. Is there not still something else implied in 
 the word? 
 
 Teacher. Tell us what it is. 
 
 Thora. I have read somewhere that " the best rules 
 for a system of rhetoric are, first, to have something to 
 
WHAT IS IMPLIED IN COMPOSITION. I 59 
 
 say, and second, to say it." Now, the books on rheto- 
 ric I have seen, tell us only how to express the 
 thoughts which they take it for granted we have. 
 Isn't that telling us how to build a house, when per- 
 haps we have nothing to build it with ? I should say, 
 then, "composition" implies that we have some build- 
 ing materials, before there can be any " placing to- 
 gether" at all. 
 
 Teacher. A good suggestion. Your illustration 
 from architecture recalls to me a saying of Ruskin, as 
 applicable to the work of the writer as to that of the 
 architect. " All building," he says, " shows man ei- 
 ther as gathering or governing ; and the secrets of 
 his success are his knowing how to gather and how to 
 rule." How and whence are you to gather materials 
 for thought ? Who will answer that question ? 
 
 Rea. From books. 
 
 Eunice. From conversation with intelligent people. 
 
 Agatha. I should think we might gather them every- 
 where, just by using our eyes. 
 
 Teacher. You are all right, especially Agatha. 
 
 Edith. Will you please to tell us how we are to gain 
 materials for thought by using our eyes ? 
 
 Teacher. To one who would learn to think, it is of 
 the utmost importance to acquire a habit of careful 
 observation; not only of the most striking objects 
 
l6o DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 which come in our way, which take hold of us in spite 
 of ourselves, but of the common, the minute, the 
 seemingly unimportant. It is only a narrow mind that 
 looks with contempt upon anything merely because it 
 is small: it is only a false taste that despises anything 
 merely because it is common. It is a frequent mistake 
 of writers who have had but little practice, to suppose 
 that nothing new can be said of simple things which 
 are about us every day, and they fancy that to write upon 
 such things would be puerile and unworthy of a 
 thinker. So they attempt abstract subjects, and to 
 reason and argue upon things which they only imper- 
 fectly understand. The result is confusion and utter 
 failure. But one who has looked more deeply, and 
 learned "not to despise anything of God's making," 
 sees, with watchful eye and loving heart, the shadow of 
 a daisy on a stone, or a tiny snowdrop, " hemmed in 
 with snows and white as they," or the meadow grass 
 sparkling in morning dew, and says something about 
 them that makes them dearer to all beholders ever- 
 more. 
 
 The habit of observation may be strengthened by 
 cultivation, or impaired by neglect. It is possible to 
 let our eyes wander over a landscape in a dreamy, 
 absent way, without retaining any definite impressions 
 of it, so that the eyes might as well be shut, for all 
 
WHAT IS IMPLIED IN COMPOSITION. 1 6.1 
 
 knowledge that comes through them. And it is pos- 
 sible, by being observant and thoughtful, to find much 
 good and see much beauty in common things. Learn, 
 for instance, to observe graceful and beautiful forms, 
 wherever they meet your eye. Notice how perpetu- 
 ally in nature you are meeting with the curve, and see 
 if you can make anything out of that. It has been 
 mathematically proved that no human power "can 
 strain a cord that it shall be absolutely straight; that 
 it shall not have something of this beautiful, God- 
 ordered curve. The highest power of man, his best cal- 
 culation, shows, like his weakest and poorest, that God 
 has ruled all things in beauty, and that all man's 
 twitchings and struggles are powerless, when they act 
 against this eternal law." 
 
 Learn, again, to notice the beauty of color, and 
 make use of it in your descriptions, if you would have 
 them vivid; not with profusion of adjectives, but with 
 care to have the words paint the object described in 
 its appropriate hue. A single word, well chosen, will 
 often light up a whole passage, and paint an object to 
 the imagination of the beholder. The poets under- 
 stand the effect of this. 
 
 " Had I green jars of malachite, this way 
 I'd range them : where those sea-shells glisten above 
 Cressets should hang, by right ; this way we set 
 The purple carpets, as these mats are laid, 
 Woven of mere fern, and rush, and blossoming flag-." 
 
1 62 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Learn especially to study with reverent earnestness 
 whatever tends to raise and expand your minds with 
 thoughts of elevation, of immensity, and infinity. If 
 you are ever privileged to stand upon a "sea-ward 
 hill," and look out upon the "boundless sea," you 
 ought to come back wiser than you were before. If 
 you ever stand upon one of the Western prairies, with 
 its beautiful curves in the horizon, and the sky coming 
 down to meet the earth everywhere about you, you 
 will have the next best idea of boundlessness that you 
 can gain from any earthly prospect. And if you .live 
 in a riverside city, where you can see green hills 
 swelling upward from the winding water, and away in 
 the south a sweep of blue mountains, be thankful, for 
 they were put there to tell you something, and never 
 be content till you find out what it is. 
 
 Thus we see that the first and simplest way of ac- 
 quiring materials for thought, is by seeing observantly. 
 
 III. 
 
 HO W TO ACQUIRE MATERIAL FOR THOUGHT. 
 (CONTINUED.) 
 
 Teacher What is the true use of books ? 
 Rea. They give us facts. 
 
 Agatha. I should say rather, they are helps in find- 
 ing truth. 
 
TO ACQUIRE MATERIALS FOR THOUGHT. 163 
 
 Teacher. A very good distinction. 
 
 Eunice. They show us how ignorant we are. 
 
 Thora. They make us better acquainted with the 
 lives of the great and good, and inspire us with a de- 
 sire to imitate them. 
 
 Justine. That is, if we read the right kind. Some 
 books are trash. 
 
 Teacher. A great many books are trash. 
 
 Coralie. How are we going to know ? 
 
 Teacher. The pure gold from the counterfeit ? 
 
 Coralie. That is about what I meant. 
 
 Teacher. By finding whether they help or hinder us 
 in the true work of our lives. 
 
 Florimel. O dear ! Must we always be reading ser- 
 mons and prosy things ? 
 
 Teacher. No. " A verse may find him who a sermon 
 flies," and a story be a help to living as we ought to 
 live. 
 
 Justine. I thought we were going to talk about books 
 as giving us materials for thought. 
 
 Teacher. True ; but I wish you always to remember 
 that right thinking and right living are intimately con- 
 nected. 
 
 Agatha. When I see how much is to be gained by 
 observation, it seems as if we hardly needed books at 
 all. The first thinkers did not have them. 
 
164 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Thora. To their great disadvantage. 
 
 Teacher. To their advantage, in some respects. Still, 
 we must not undervalue books. It is our own fault if 
 we make them fetters instead of ladders. 
 
 Muriel. After all — 
 
 Teacher. Well, Muriel ? I always like to hear what 
 you have to say. 
 
 Muriel. Can we ever hope to originate anything ? 
 It seems as if all our ideas came from the outside. 
 Does thought ever grow in any other way ? 
 
 Teacher. The mind can grow in thought by solitary 
 study and observation. Yet the material which it 
 thus acquires is incomplete till it has had intercourse 
 with other minds. After it has looked out for itself 
 upon the world, and received impressions of form, and 
 color, and proportion, of beauty, and power, and great- 
 ness, from the sky above and the earth below, it wants 
 to know what other minds have found there, too. For 
 no mind sees for itself the whole of any truth. No 
 two thinkers see just alike, nor receive impressions ex- 
 actly in the same way. One man finds out a truth of 
 one kind, a second discovers one of a different kind, 
 and each wants the other to perfect what w r as lacking 
 in his knowledge. Mutual communication of thought 
 makes knowledge surer, even belief firmer. " My 
 belief," says one writer, " gains quite infinitely, the mo- 
 
TO ACQUIRE MATERIAL FOR THOUGHT. 165 
 
 ment I can convince another mind of its truth." 
 Hence comes the actual necessity for writing. For 
 spoken language is perishable, written language en- 
 during. 
 
 Books are among the best helps to thought. They 
 "make us heirs to the spiritual life of all ages." Most 
 thinkers have acknowledged their indebtedness to 
 them. I will give you some extracts from the auto- 
 biography of Sir Egerton Brydges, as an illustration : 
 
 " From eight years old I was passionately fond of 
 reading, and had always a propensity to poetry, at 
 least from the age of fourteen. I do not believe the 
 theory promulgated by Johnson, in his ' Life of Cowley,' 
 that the literary bent a man takes is accidental. I 
 cannot mistake in saying that nature gave me extraor- 
 dinary sensitiveness of impressions, and that these im- 
 pressions remained sufficiently long on my mind to 
 enable me to reflect on them, and by degrees to make 
 pictures of my own from them, on which it delighted 
 me to dwell. This necessity led me to love poetry, 
 and to attempt to write it." 
 
 " At an early age Buchanan's ' Latin Poetry' was a 
 great and intimate favorite with me. I got Milton's 
 juvenile poems almost by heart. I generally carried 
 these little volumes in my pocket, and read them on 
 stiles, on banks, and under hedges, when the season 
 
1 66 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 allowed, as well as by the winter fire. From the 
 'Biographia Britainica' I began at nine years of age 
 to contract my passion for biography. These volumes 
 always lay in one of the windows of the common par- 
 lor at Wootton, and how often have I rejoiced when 
 the rain and the snow came, to keep me by the winter 
 fireside, — and when I was out, how I counted the 
 hours till I could return to my books. At this time I 
 was delighted with this work more than with all the 
 books of poetry that offered themselves to me. With 
 me, it set imagination at work, instead of merely load- 
 ing my memory." 
 
 Wilmeth. I can understand that. But some people 
 read too much, do they not ? They seem to just load 
 their memories, and nothing more. 
 
 Teacher. It is possible to read much, without men- 
 tal growth. "There is creative reading as well as 
 creative writing." We should so read books as to 
 make them furnish us with materials for original and 
 independent thought. If you are reading history, en- 
 deavor to realize past scenes and events so as to make 
 them present before you, and then, if you fairly get 
 into the spirit of the times, when you attempt to re- 
 produce your impressions of them, your dead facts 
 will be all alive again. In connection with history, 
 works of imagination which give a faithful as well as 
 
TO ACQUIRE MATERIAL FOR THOUGHT. 167 
 
 vivid idea of the times in which they are laid, may 
 sometimes aid in creating them anew for you. Then 
 if you would learn the real wealth of the language, and 
 become acquainted with some of the highest treasures 
 of thought and imagination, seek them in the poets 
 who have spoken the language of nature and of truth. 
 Only, if you would grow in a free, and natural, and health- 
 ful way, books must be used to suggest and inspire, 
 not to warp and fetter. It is better to study a few of 
 the best authors till they become, as Robertson has it, 
 "like iron in the blood," than to read a multitude of 
 books superficially. Ruskin has well said, "It is of 
 the greatest importance to you, in these days of book- 
 deluge, to keep out of the salt swamps of literature, 
 and live in a little rocky island of your own, with a 
 spring and a lake in it, pure and good." 
 
 Your style will be insensibly influenced by that of 
 the authors with whom you have most intimate acquaint- 
 ance. If they are showy and superficial, your own 
 writing will be shallow ; if your minds are cultivated 
 by judicious and reflective reading, the result of that 
 cultivation will be indelibly stamped on your work. 
 There will be increased command of language, and 
 freedom and finish of expression ; while the whole 
 will bear the stamp of an independent mind, which 
 will not be content with always repeating the same 
 
1 68 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 things, and coining its thoughts after the same models, 
 but will be itself an inventor. 
 
 The second way, then, of acquiring materials for 
 thought, is by reading reflectively. To come now more 
 directly to the consideration of Muriel's question, 
 "Can we ever originate anything?" 
 
 Florimel. She, and Wilmeth, and Thora may, but I 
 never can. There is no use trying. 
 
 Teacher. In the process of thinking, it is with the 
 mind, as it was with the world in the beginning, — first 
 a void, tnen a confused mingling of elements, then 
 slowly comes out the perfect form. To look resolutely 
 into this nothingness, and brood steadily over the con- 
 fusion, till shape and beauty begin to proceed from it, 
 requires a patient and determined spirit. But after 
 the first thought is made clear and definite, progress 
 at once becomes possible and natural. For one idea 
 alone is an impossibility, because thought is in its na- 
 ture suggestive and cumulative. One thought being 
 given, others must grow out of it. 
 
 Florimel. There is hope for me yet, then. If I 
 could only be sure of one idea to begin with. 
 
 Cornelia. But it is such hard work. 
 
 Teacher. We have seen that materials for thought 
 may be drawn from the visible world around us, and 
 from books. Our first ideas must come from without, 
 
TO ACQUIRE MATERIAL FOR THOUGHT. 1 69 
 
 but having acquired these, we may sometimes dispense 
 with outer helps, and from what they have furnished 
 us, work out in our own mind something which shall 
 be emphatically our own. Our own, because born in 
 the silent inner chambers of our own soul; because it 
 has taken tone and color from our own peculiar tem- 
 perament ; because the being which we call me, is dif- 
 ferent from every other me, and so what it creates 
 must be different. Thus, if we fully use the power we 
 have, thought goes on suggesting and inspiring thought, 
 till the whole thinking nature becomes large and beau- 
 tiful, and growth, progress, a natural and necessary 
 law. 
 
 In this world of incessant stir and transition, the 
 most inactive mind can hardly fail of receiving some 
 ideas from without. But it is very possible to rest 
 there, and never originate anything. There is the 
 merely receptive mind, and the creative mind. The 
 former piles up a mass of facts, but the latter builds 
 them into comely and excellent form. The receptive 
 mind takes in the historical fact that Columbus dis- 
 covered America in 1492, and sees there, perhaps, the 
 man, the country, and the date — the last often having 
 the most prominence. The creative mind goes back 
 through the centuries, and follows the bold Genoese 
 navigator on that most wonderful of voyages, over the 
 
I70 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 unknown, untracked seas, through peril and pain and 
 misconstruction, till the shores of a new world, bright 
 and beautiful, burst upon his vision; and thenceforth 
 the fact becomes a living and glowing reality. The 
 receptive mind knows, passively, that all material 
 things, unsupported, fall to the ground; and never 
 dreams of asking why. But to the creative mind, the 
 apple falling earthward, suggests the law which holds 
 the spheres in their orbits. 
 
 With the merely receptive mind, the attempt at ex- 
 pression of thought results in perpetual self-repetition, 
 without growth or expansion; the mere utterance of 
 stale truisms, handed down from another age; such as, 
 that virtue is its own reward, that early rising is condu- 
 cive to health, or that, wherever we look, we may be- 
 hold the beauties of nature. Such utterance is not 
 thoughtful or real. 
 
 Agatha. How shall we avoid being merely recep- 
 tive? 
 
 Teacher. Accustom yourselves to look deep into the 
 heart of your subject, and to trace it in all its bearings, 
 instead of being contented with loose general ideas 
 suggested by it. There is not a single subject of 
 thought, however simple it may seem, but stretches 
 wide and deep, if you look far enough, and has some- 
 thing hidden in it as yet undiscovered, though discov- 
 
TO ACQUIRE MATERIAL FOR THOUGHT. 171 
 
 erable. There will come a time when every foot of 
 the earth's surface shall have been traversed, when the 
 pole and the equator, Arctic seas and African deserts, 
 shall lie open and understood; but there will come no 
 time when the discoveries of thought shall be at an 
 end. In that region, every mind who has the will may 
 be an explorer. 
 
 Take nothing for granted simply because "every- 
 body says so." In every subject, ask the questions 
 how and why, and if, in writing, you make a strong 
 assertion, be able to prove it. Inquire, therefore, after 
 writing, what have I proved ? 
 
 Be familiar with nature; not merely from books, but 
 with actual, intimate acquaintance. Then you will 
 not have to borrow old, hackneyed phrases, and stale, 
 languid expressions of admiration, but out of the abun- 
 dance of the heart the pen will write, and write effec- 
 tively. To familiarity with nature, we may add also 
 intelligent acquaintance with beautiful forms of art, or 
 further, an appropriation of the rich treasures of litera- 
 ture, so as to make them truly your own. And in 
 order that thought may gather its full appreciative power, 
 avoid letting your minds become absorbed in triviali- 
 ties, and enfeebled by idle reveries, which bear the 
 semblance only of thought. We should sometimes, 
 according to an ancient Arabian proverb, "shut the 
 
172 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 windows, that the room may be light." The poet tells 
 us: 
 
 " There is a fire-fly in the southern clime, 
 Which shineth only when upon the wing; 
 So is it with the mind; when once we rest, 
 We darken." 
 
 IV. 
 
 ORDER AND EXPRESSION. 
 
 Teacher. After our thoughts begin to take a defi- 
 nite form in our own minds, what is the next step ? 
 
 Justine. To give them expression in words. 
 
 Teacher. But before coming to the subject of lan- 
 guage, there is a preliminary step which must be con- 
 sidered, as necessary to good writing. As in archi- 
 tecture, after the materials for building are brought 
 together, they are not thrown upon each other pro- 
 miscuously, but arranged in a particular manner, so as 
 to produce the designed effect, just so, before the 
 thoughts can be built up into language, they also 
 must be brought into order, so as to lead to a certain 
 result. 
 
 Florimel. Is this necessary for every one ? I have 
 heard it said that genius is a law unto itself, and needs 
 no other. 
 
 Teacher. But it is a mistake to think that the highest 
 genius is not obedient to law. Even when it seems to be 
 
ORDER AND EXPRESSION. 1 73 
 
 working most at random, it is often proceeding, step by 
 step, to a certain result, which it clearly foresees, and 
 making out an order for itself, which others will follow 
 hereafter. It is not the highest kind of intellect which 
 undervalues order. 
 
 Florimel. Why is it that order is so necessary in 
 writing ? It is so much easier to put down our ideas just 
 as they come. 
 
 Teacher.^ I might ask you Carlyle's question : " Is 
 it with ease, or not with ease, that a man shall do his 
 best, in any shape ?" 
 
 Florimel. But we are not men. 
 
 Thora. And, consequently, not thinking beings, I 
 suppose. 
 
 Teacher. Order is necessary, because nothing really 
 valuable can be effected without it. The " divine re- 
 gard for order" which we find indicated in nature shows 
 that it is in itself natural and beautiful, and essential 
 to every perfect work. Accordingly we find that the 
 noblest workers, whether in literature or art, have not 
 rushed into their work blindly and without fore- 
 thought, but have followed a carefully- wrought plan. 
 Superficial observers are deceived by the apparent 
 ease of execution, because they have not seen the 
 previous mental preparation. But that preliminary 
 work was inevitable. Excellence in writing, then, can- 
 
174 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 not be effected without preparation, and preparation 
 implies a plan ; that is, that the thoughts be so or- 
 dered and arranged as to produce the designed 
 effect. 
 
 There is still another reason. What is the great end 
 of thinking and writing ? 
 
 Agatha. To arrive at truth. 
 
 Teacher. Just so. And to arrive at truth, we can- 
 not leap at once to a result, but must proceed to it 
 step by step. The thoughts must be joined together 
 in a beautiful chain, every link of which is necessary 
 to the completeness of the whole. That is not a per- 
 fect composition from which a whole paragraph can 
 be omitted, and still leave the unity of the work un- 
 impaired. But in a mere string of fragmentary fancies, 
 however brilliant, there is no such linking together. 
 The brilliancies may make a pleasant impression, but 
 when we ask for what purpose they are brought to- 
 gether, what truth they make more clear, they drop 
 asunder like unstrung pearls, and nothing is left of 
 them. 
 
 Rea. And do we not remember better what is ex- 
 pressed in an orderly manner ? 
 
 Teacher. Certainly. When we are following a 
 writer or speaker, whose every sentence we perceive 
 to be part of a train of thought, the attention is at once 
 
ORDER AND EXPRESSION. 1 75 
 
 awake, and watchful, that it may not lose any 
 link in the chain. But when the thoughts are thrown 
 together without order, and without a definite aim, the 
 attention flags, and the thoughts wander and return 
 without any sense of loss. 
 
 The first step in writing on any subject, after ob- 
 taining all necessary information about it, is to take it 
 to pieces — to analyze it. If it is a simple- term, con- 
 vert it into a proposition. Be sure that every term of 
 the proposition is correctly understood. Strip it of all 
 ambiguities, and get the idea clearly fixed, what it is 
 you are going to prove. Having found the end to be 
 kept in view, get hold of the principal ideas suggested 
 by your subject, and arrange and treat them in the 
 order of their importance, so as to establish this end, 
 of which you should never lose sight. A golden thread 
 should connect the beginning with the conclusion. It 
 should be like a river, which may flow through a wide 
 extent of country, and branch off in various direc- 
 tions, but ever grows steadily toward its end. 
 
 Wiltneth. But surely all subjects cannot be treated 
 in this methodical manner, can they ? A poetical and 
 imaginative subject, for instance, cannot be dealt with 
 just like an argumentative one. 
 
 Teacher. No, because in such a subject you have, 
 not something to reason out, but something to show 
 
176 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 the loveliness and beauty of ; which is to be done rather 
 by feeling it in the heart, and beholding it with the 
 eye of imagination, than by argument. Yet none the 
 less should there be a plan. 
 
 Rea. But what is reasoned out is higher than what 
 is dreamed out in poetry, is it not ? 
 
 Teacher. Why do you think so ? Higher truths can 
 be conveyed under the veil of figures, as we see in the 
 inspired prophets, and in true poetry generally, than 
 can be shown by any logic. 
 
 Thora. Do not all subjects, in fact, give us something 
 to reason out ? 
 
 Teacher. All subjects give us either something to 
 reason out, or else something to show worthy of love, 
 interest, admiration, or meriting disapprobation or cen- 
 sure. Something to be reasoned out, or something to 
 show the worth or unworth of ; in either case, some- 
 thing to prove. 
 
 Tell me now, Thora, what are the successive steps 
 which the mind takes, before it can present to others 
 the visible results of its thinking? 
 
 Thora. First, there is the reception of ideas from 
 the outer world of nature, then the ideas gained from 
 other minds, particularly the inspiration and sugges- 
 tions of books ; next the working out from these ma- 
 terials of something new, which shall gain increase 
 
ORDER AND EXPRESSION. 1 77 
 
 and take coloring from our own individual natures ; 
 then the arranging of the thoughts upon some golden 
 thread of order, with reference to some end. 
 
 Teacher. And now, finally, comes that to which all 
 the previous work was subservient, the embodying of 
 thought in expression. Hitherto it has been like a 
 stream, flowing on in silence and secrecy through some 
 dark cavern, invisible and inaudible to all without ; 
 now it has burst forth into the light of day, where the 
 traveller can follow its wanderings, and listen to the 
 story it tells him. Thought is the soul, and expression 
 the body ; the inner work makes our own natures 
 strong, but the outward work is that which is to be 
 of use to others. The manner of expression, there- 
 fore, demands careful attention. It is the distinctive 
 manner in which a writer expresses his thoughts, 
 which constitutes his style, and that will be more or 
 less marked and individual, according to his intellec- 
 tual power. But whatever the originality, labor is nec- 
 essary to the attainment of excellence. 
 
 Wilmeih. I thought critics objected to a labored 
 style. 
 
 Teacher. " A labored style" is one in which the ef- 
 fort is painfully apparent. For effectiveness, the labor 
 must be carefully kept out of sight. Accordingly, in 
 the best authors, we find that the style flows on so 
 
178 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 naturally that it seems just what we might easily have 
 said for ourselves, and we wonder that it has never 
 been said before. They seem to write without any 
 trouble, because the trouble has been in the previ- 
 ous mental preparation. "I have written hastily," 
 said one who always wrote well, "but I ha', not 
 thought hastily." Rapidity of writing, where the ex- 
 pression embodies real thought, is attainable only 
 after careful practice. 
 
 "There is a quiet strength," says a critical writer, 
 " without which nothing is really graceful in any high 
 sense. Grace implies a certain elasticity, — a certain 
 natural tendency to the erect — and an easy, uncon- 
 strained movement within the limits of natural power. 
 The real force of style must be effortless, and consists 
 mainly in its simplicity and appropriateness." Eunice, 
 what do you understand by simplicity ? 
 
 Eunice. Saying just what we mean without any or- 
 nament. 
 
 Teacher. Or without any but that which rises natu- 
 rally from the subject. Simplicity is opposed to affecta- 
 tions, and needless repetitions, and high-sounding 
 phrases. It is one of the highest charms of writing. 
 The passages in any author, in prose and verse, which 
 are best loved and longest remembered, will generally 
 be found to be very simple in expression. Take for 
 
ORDER AND EXPRESSION. 1 79 
 
 example a charming little song of Robert Herrick's, 
 composed chiefly of monosyllables : 
 
 To Daffodils. 
 Fair daffodils, we weep to see 
 
 You haste away so soon ; 
 As yet the early rising sun 
 Has not attained his noon. 
 
 Stay, stay 
 Until the hasting day 
 Has run 
 But to the evensong, 
 And having prayed together, we 
 Will go with you along.' 
 
 We have short time to stay, as you ; 
 
 We have as short a spring ; 
 As quick a growth to meet decay 
 
 As you, or anything. 
 We die, 
 As your hours do, and dry 
 
 Away, 
 Like to the summer rain : 
 
 Or to the pearls of morning dew, 
 Ne'er to be found again. 
 
 Simplicity of style is not only desirable for beauty 
 and clearness, but the highest thoughts, those which 
 rise to the sublime, cannot be otherwise expressed. 
 The greater the thoughts, the more they will be able to 
 discard all tricks of expression, and to rest upon their 
 own native strength. 
 
180 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Appropriateness, the other main essential above re- 
 ferred to, consists in choosing words which are most 
 fit to express the idea, and in adapting the style to the 
 subject of which we treat. Exact attention to the 
 meaning of words, and to the different shades of 
 meaning, is necessary to appropriateness. There are 
 some words, for instance, light and airy in their char- 
 acter, which are utterly inappropriate in treating a 
 grave subject. There are some words, very proper in 
 prose, which would rather enfeeble poetry, while there 
 are forms of expression peculiar to poetry, and scarcely 
 admissible in ordinary prose. Good sense and good 
 taste can generally determine what words are ap- 
 propriate. 
 
 To grace of expression another thing is essential, a 
 harmonious flow of sentences. There is a sort of 
 rhythm in prose, as well as in verse, a want of attention 
 to which strikes unpleasantly on a practised ear. 
 Where strength and harmony are fully combined, we 
 have language in its full perfection. But it should ever 
 be remembered, that of these two strength is the 
 higher ; and that it is better a sentence should be vig- 
 orous and harsh, than weak though musical. The 
 rough rock may be hewn into a shape of beauty ; but 
 no chiselling can give substance to the yielding sand. 
 There is a harmony of sense as well as of sound : and 
 
ORDER AND EXPRESSION. l8l 
 
 if the thoughts be well ordered, the language will 
 hardly fail to flow in unison. 
 
 Simplicity and appropriateness are necessary to all 
 expression ; a harmonious flow of sentences is neces- 
 sary to all beautiful expression. Beyond these, no 
 precise rules can be given which shall apply always, 
 because expression must vary with the subject, and 
 with the kind of composition, and because it must be 
 individual ; that is, each mind's own way of clothing 
 its own thoughts. As soon as any one becomes a mere 
 copyist, he ceases to write with strength. 
 
 Florimel. Are we never to imitate anybody ? I don't 
 see how we can help it, sometimes. 
 
 Teacher. There are two kinds of imitation into 
 which young writers are apt to fall. The one is the 
 adoption of worn-out phrases and epithets, which have 
 become a sort of current coin, and cease to have any 
 expressiveness at all. Such are "sable night," 
 "gloomy shades," " verdant fields," "feathered song- 
 sters," and a host more, in which every adjective in- 
 evitably suggests the forthcoming noun before it is 
 uttered. This is mere servile copying, and requires no 
 thought at all. But there is a nobler kind of imitation, 
 which is not always fatal to originality. The style of 
 different authors may be studied with advantage, and 
 even imitated, to a certain extent. We may have sat 
 
1 82 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 so long at the feet of some great master, and have be- 
 come so pervaded with his majestic spirit, that we 
 feel like attempting to follow him in his adventurous 
 flight ; though our feeble utterances seem in com- 
 parison with his like the chirp of a wren to the song 
 of a nightingale. Studying a master, and even pro- 
 posing him as a model, may aid in the formation of a 
 correct and vigorous style. Still, "imitation is not 
 the noblest action of the soul." Seek to find out the 
 field in which you are most likely to excel, and labor 
 in that direction will generally be found most profitable. 
 Be natural, and you will be successful. 
 
 You have exercised yourselves this year in several 
 different kinds of composition ; in descriptive sketches, 
 narratives, letters, essays, and dialogues. What, prac- 
 tically, ought the study you have pursued to enable 
 you to do ? 
 
 Agatha. To describe accurately what we see. 
 
 Justine. To give an intelligent narration of events. 
 
 Eunice. To converse by means of letters. 
 
 Thora. To carry out a connected train of thought, 
 in order to arrive at some definite end. 
 
 Florimel. But will not our success depend prin- 
 cipally upon our original power ? 
 
 Teacher. Partly on original power ; but mainly on 
 close attention, continued practice, and general men- 
 tal cultivation. 
 
DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 1 83 
 
 V. 
 
 TRUTH IN WRITING. 
 
 Teacher. What is the most enduring quality of any 
 written work ? 
 
 Thora. Strength of thought. 
 
 Florimel. Beauty. 
 
 Rea. Common sense. 
 
 Wilmeth. Imaginative power. 
 
 Agatha. I should think it would be difficult to select 
 any one quality as the best, but I suppose the works 
 which have endured have been those which were the 
 truest. 
 
 Teacher. There you are right. It is impossible to 
 fix upon any one excellence, as in itself constituting 
 good writing. An author's style may be severely sim- 
 ple and destitute of ornament, or may glow and sparkle 
 with the fire of imagination on every page ; may stir 
 us to deep and earnest reflection, or move us to genial 
 laughter ; and in every instance command admiration 
 and respect. But with all this variety, there is one 
 thing essential to successful attainment ; one element 
 will be found to exist in all works which have stood 
 the test of time. It is truth. Writing must be true, in 
 order to live ; it must be true, to be justly called ex- 
 cellent. 
 
1 84 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Florimel. Does that mean that we ought to write 
 nothing but literal facts ? 
 
 Teacher. By no means. You may go on accumu- 
 lating facts for a year, and never attain to a truth at all ; 
 because the acquisition of a truth is a far greater at- 
 tainment than that of a fact. It is a fact that Newton 
 discovered the principle of gravitation, — a fact which 
 is in a manner accidental, because another philosopher 
 might have discovered it as well as he ; but the great 
 law which he thus made known to us remains a truth 
 forever. 
 
 Agatha. The literal meaning is not always the true 
 one. 
 
 Teacher. No ; the reverse is often the case ; as in 
 fables and parables, where the truth is in the thought, 
 the expression being veiled in figures. Here are no 
 facts related, but rather falsities, if the literal meaning 
 is the one to be regarded ; yet is the fable or parable 
 not false, but true writing, where it conveys a true 
 thought through the medium of figurative language. 
 
 We may perhaps better comprehend what constitutes 
 truth in writing, by considering to what it stands 
 opposed. 
 
 It is opposed to vagueness and obscurity of style. 
 We sometimes meet with a writer who seems perpetu- 
 ally going round and round his subject, and never 
 
TRUTH IN WRITING. 1 85 
 
 reaches it, continually striving to express something 
 sublime or beautiful of which he has not a clear con- 
 ception. When we attempt to read such an author, we 
 feel as if walking in a fog. There is an occasional 
 glimmer of something positive and attainable, — we see 
 before us an object looming up through the mist, but 
 know not whether it be a man or a mountain, or 
 whether beyond all this bewildering obscurity lie green 
 fields or yawning chasms. When we are off this uncer- 
 tain ground, we are no wiser than we were before. 
 Now truth is no such shifting, indeterminate thing. 
 Truth is something clear and beautiful, and satisfies 
 us with the feeling of something attained. It leaves us 
 richer than it found us. 
 
 Truth in writing is opposed to all false ornament. A 
 showy style, one that abounds in high-sounding epi- 
 thets and fine rolling sentences, is regarded by many 
 as the perfection of good writing. But when we 
 come to search for the fruit which all this abundant 
 blossoming promises, we find it scarcely worth the 
 gathering. 
 
 Florimel. I was reading an old book yesterday that 
 I liked at first, but while you were talking just now, it 
 occurred to me that much of it would come under the 
 head of "false ornament." The author talked about 
 the bees " sipping the mellifluous dews" and " extract- 
 
I 86 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 ing the odoriferous souls" of flowers, and " lodging the 
 ambrosial stores." 
 
 Teacher. What was the title of the book ? 
 
 Florimel. It is called " Hervey's Meditations." 
 
 Teacher. Mr. Hervey was a good man, but a writer 
 of more showiness than vigor of thought. I think it 
 is Southey who says that some styles are flowery, but 
 that the Meditationist's is a weedy style. 
 
 Justine. I told you that book didn't amount to any- 
 thing. 
 
 Teacher. Really good writing will not only bear the 
 test of close analysis, but will disclose more beauty 
 and power the more it is examined. Truth challenges 
 diligent inspection, but its counterfeit cannot bear the 
 light. In true writing, every ornament only adds to 
 the value of the thought. If it does not do this, if it 
 is introduced only as ornament, it is untrue and worth- 
 less. 
 
 Truth is further opposed to mere generalities, which, 
 if not positively untrue, at best are merely negative, 
 and convey no distinct impression. It is not difficult 
 to find illustrations of this kind of writing. Take a 
 description of an evening scene, of a sort handed down 
 from time immemorial in the compositions of school- 
 girls : 
 
 " The sun was gently sinking behind the western 
 
TRUTH IN WRITING. 1 87 
 
 hills, tinging all nature with his radiant light. The 
 zephyr softly stirred the boughs of the umbrageous 
 trees, where the birds were singing their evening 
 hymn. The twilight shadows gathered slowly over 
 hill and dale, and every object invited to slumber. 
 Soon all nature was hushed in a deep and breath- 
 less repose." 
 
 Notice how general the description, and how impos- 
 sible to make any definite picture out of it. As well 
 characterize a forest by saying that the trees were all 
 green, and covered with leaves. Now suppose that in- 
 stead of generalizing trees, and birds, and objects, 
 the writer had selected a single tree, say a graceful 
 elm ; noticed little peculiarities of its shape and the 
 droop of its foliage ; caught, through an opening in 
 its breeze-swept boughs, a transient picture, framed 
 in tremulous green, of some sparkling sheet of water, 
 or distant purple mountain, or perhaps the great sun 
 himself, going down in royal apparel into the burning 
 west. Then, for all music, let not the whole choir of 
 indefinite warblers, but some blithe robin on his swing- 
 ing perch, clearly defined against the paling sky, break 
 forth into sudden song, and you have a whole simple 
 enough, but making a distinct impression. Talk in 
 general terms about " the beauties of nature," as many 
 writers do, and you say nothing at all ; but tell the 
 
1 88 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 whole truth about a single violet, and you give the 
 reader something definite and valuable. 
 
 Truth in writing is especially opposed to all imita- 
 tion, for you must be not only true to nature, and true 
 to other beings, but true to yourselves. Why should 
 you attempt to coin your thoughts after the exact 
 model of another person's ? You were made different, 
 and your utterances should be different, just as there 
 are no two roses, or blades of grass, or hills, or clouds, 
 exactly alike. See with your own eyes, and dare to 
 express your own thoughts in your own way. 
 
 A fault against truth which is often unconsciously 
 committed, as the result of imitation, is the affectation 
 of feelings and utterance of moral reflections which 
 are not real and spontaneous. It is a very serious 
 thing to say that such a scene of beauty inspired 
 thoughts of the goodness of God, if that is asserted 
 merely for the effect it is supposed to have in the com- 
 position, and not because it is true. By all means, 
 cherish the highest and purest thoughts which the 
 beautiful in nature and in art can awaken, and give 
 them, when they imperatively demand it, full expres- 
 sion ; but esteem, above all well-sounding words, 
 " Truest Truth, the fairest Beauty." 
 
 Justine. But that seems, somehow, like making 
 our compositions a part of our lives. They always 
 
COMBINATION. 189 
 
 look to me like a disgreeable duty that I must get 
 through with as soon as I can. I never thought of 
 any moral aspect of them. 
 
 Teacher. Is there anything we do which has not a 
 moral aspect ? It is because you separate them from 
 your lives that they so often do not fairly represent 
 you ; that they seem so labored and constrained. 
 Faithfulness to your own truest intuitions would give 
 you more simplicity and liberty, and impart a natural- 
 ness and grace which you can never learn from any 
 rules, or from even the best literary models. 
 
 VI. 
 
 CO MB IN A TION. 
 
 Teacher. What are you discussing so earnestly this 
 morning ? 
 
 Florimel. Agatha says we can never invent anything. 
 
 Agatha. Excuse me. I did not say that. I said we 
 cannot create anything ; we only combine. We may 
 invent new combinations. 
 
 Wilmeth. We speak of the poet as a creator. 
 
 Rea. I think that is wicked. 
 
 Teacher. You must remember that the word create 
 is used in two senses. In the first, the absolute sense, 
 to bring something out of nothing, there can be but 
 
190 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 one Creator. In the limited sense, to be the occasion 
 of, to produce, it is applied to the measure of origin- 
 ating power which is given to man. Even in this 
 bounded application of the word, there are but few 
 makers, few really original minds. It is true of most 
 people, that they only combine. 
 
 Florimel. Then we are very limited indeed. 
 
 Teacher. Are we ? But almost everything beautiful, 
 whether in nature or art, is the result of harmonious 
 combination. Thus, in the flower, the leaf, the tree, 
 we have the bringing together of innumerable graceful 
 curves, and exquisite shades of color, and varieties of 
 texture, into some intricate but perfect order. Think 
 of the endless combinations made by drops of water. 
 Rain-drops, trickling together in mOssy hollows, and 
 carving for themselves a channel down the mountain- 
 side; quiet meadow brooks known from afar only by 
 the brighter line of green that marks their bed; on- 
 flowing rivers, Niagara, the ocean. Below us and above 
 us, everywhere drops of water, in endless interchange 
 and various grouping, crowned with combinations of 
 light as wonderful, in the rainbow, or sleeping in the 
 white silence of the snows, or built up in the monu- 
 mental iceberg. 
 
 Florimel. There is a kind of chance in all these com- 
 binations, isn't there ? 
 
COMBINATION. 191 
 
 Teacher. There is no such thing as chance in the 
 universe. In all the combinations which make up 
 anything beautiful, we may find one prevailing idea, 
 carried out with innumerable changes. It seems to 
 be in the order of the Author of nature, as it has been 
 well expressed, " to take a germ, one root-idea, and 
 then see what infinite variations it is susceptible of. 
 Take the root-idea of ferns. If you gather all the 
 varieties of ferns, you shall find in them a substantial 
 unity ; but you shall find the ways in which it is ex- 
 pressed are many. A unitary thought has been taken, 
 and the idea been written out in endless variations." 
 Justine. How can we apply this subject to writing ? 
 
 Teacher. In every well-written work, great or small, 
 we have the same principle of unity in harmony ; that 
 is, one prevailing idea, expressed through harmonious 
 combinations. In every subject upon which you have 
 to write, first get at the root-idea of that subject, and 
 then "see of what infinite variations it is susceptible." 
 This will not be merely saying the same thing over 
 and over again; it will be like turning a many-sided 
 object, so that every one of its different sides may suc- 
 cessively be presented to you. Unless there is one 
 idea running through the whole composition, and link- 
 ing its parts together, there is no true unity; and 
 unless that idea is carried out through skilful combi- 
 
I92 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 nations, there is no true harmony. Many writings are, 
 in their general result, as if we should take here a 
 cornice and there a pedestal, here an arch and there 
 perhaps a perfect column, and throwing them together 
 indiscriminately, call the whole a temple. A frag- 
 ment may have beauty in itself, but it has far higher 
 beauty when it is discovered to have a relation to 
 some whole, of which it is an essential part. Hence 
 the necessity of analysis. 
 
 Upon every subject, there are two ways of writing, 
 which we will call the higher and the lower way. We 
 may consider it only in its most familiar aspects, and 
 following closely in the track of others, gather such 
 obvious, commonplace things as they have dropped 
 for us, which we need no search in order to find; or 
 we may trace it out in its deeper and broader bearings, 
 and make new combinations for ourselves, which is a 
 much more laborious way of writing. Much of the 
 art of good writing consists in putting aside these trite 
 commonplaces, which awaken no interest and convey 
 no new impression, and in steadily working to bring 
 out the truth which lies behind the truism ; that is, 
 making judicious combinations. 
 
 Thora. Does not the impression made upon the 
 reader depend much upon the combination of words, 
 as well as of thoughts ? 
 
COMBINATION. 1 93 
 
 Teacher. Very much. The arrangement may be 
 hackneyed, inelegant, or obscure ; and thus the beauty 
 of the idea be so marred as to fail of recognition. Or 
 the words may be so fresh and living and happily 
 chosen as to add to the beauty of the thought the sep- 
 arate charm of graceful and appropriate expression. 
 And who can think that the combinations of words 
 even can ever be exhausted ? If there is a poverty 
 in language, there is an infinity in it too, upon which 
 no writer has ever fully drawn. There may be con- 
 tinual new combinations of speech, just as there are 
 of the leaves and clouds ; and just as every cloud has 
 its own way of arranging its graceful folds, and every 
 blade of grass its own distinct individuality, as well as 
 the one idea running through the kind, so should every 
 writer shape his thought, and grow out into complete- 
 ness, as nature leads him. 
 
 Agatha. But if the combinations we may make 
 are infinite, how shall we know what to choose and 
 what to reject ? 
 
 Teacher. Harmonious combination, though it may 
 sometimes be the result of accident, is mainly depend- 
 ent upon good taste. 
 
 Thora. It would be satisfactory if we could know 
 just how taste works in making skilful combinations ; 
 by what art it produces them, and by what rules it is 
 guided. 
 
194 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Teacher. The whole subject is so subtile and deli- 
 cate, that your implied question admits of no precise 
 and definite answer. For the science of the beautiful, 
 which is the province of taste, cannot be reduced to a 
 system of regular steps and exact rules. We cannot 
 determine whether a thing is beautiful or not, just as 
 we can whether a statement is true or false. The laws 
 of beauty may be as fixed and certain as those of 
 mathematics, but we cannot determine them with like 
 certainty. In the operations of taste, conclusions are 
 reached and effects produced rather by a fine intuition 
 than by any calculation. For a work of art, a picture, 
 a poem, an essay may be perfectly according to rule, 
 and yet fail to excite any pleasurable feeling. 
 
 " Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null, 
 Dead perfection, no more." 
 
 But if we cannot tell exactly how delicate combina- 
 tions were made, we may study their effects, and thus, 
 perhaps, insensibly attain to a measure of the art that 
 produced them. You have learned that taste depends 
 both upon natural susceptibility and a cultivated un- 
 derstanding. In the former respect, taste is nearly al- 
 lied to genius. In the latter, it is attainable by will 
 and patience. If we study the works of those authors 
 in whom both these essentials of taste are found, we 
 
COMBINATION. 1 95 
 
 shall be able to reach some conclusions as to the way 
 in which they worked, and form some rules for our 
 guidance. 
 
 We shall find, for instance, that sound taste gener- 
 ally combines by selecting bright, cheerful, healthful 
 images, in preference to those which are dark and 
 gloomy. The disposition to dwell exclusively upon the 
 sombre side of things, and to indulge in sentimental 
 revery and complaint, usually marks an inferior class 
 of writers. Such a tendency should be avoided, as 
 undermining all real strength and life of thought. It 
 is a mistake to suppose that writings of a genial, joy- 
 ful character must be deficient in substance or strength. 
 The authors most richly gifted with humor have an 
 undercurrent of deepest pathos and thought. What 
 are you thinking of, Thora? You seemed about to 
 speak. 
 
 Thora. I was thinking of Poe and Byron. The one 
 certainly looked often on the " sombre side of things," 
 and the other was very much given to complaints of 
 his own destiny. But they were writers of genius, 
 were they not ? 
 
 Teacher. Of genius, but not the highest. That 
 dwells in a calmer atmosphere. It may be sad some- 
 times, but it does not voluntarily choose the sadness. 
 To do that, shows weakness. 
 
196 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 We shall find again, that good taste combines the re- 
 sults of individual observation and experience. " Hun- 
 dreds of people can talk for one who can think, but 
 thousands can think for one who can see." And yet 
 every mind has an outlook of its own, if it will, and 
 something given it to see different from all others. 
 The combinations in Nature around us are new every 
 day and every hour. But false taste is blind, and 
 sees only with the eyes of others; and so, when it 
 writes, it echoes the observations of others. 
 
 Good taste combines the results of individual 
 reading and reflection. It is rich in resources, and 
 has readily at command the happy illustration, the 
 instructive comparison, and the apt allusion. The 
 style of a cultivated writer is continually enriched by 
 treasures of this kind, and is always suggestive of more 
 wealth beyond; whereas one who reads little and re- 
 flects less, carries his mental poverty as evidently upon 
 the surface of his writing. The style of Macaulay is a 
 good example of a cultivated taste, enlarged by ex- 
 tensive reading and calm reflection. His writings 
 abound in brief allusions, which are often more pleas- 
 ing than the formal quotation, and in illustrations drawn 
 from the most various sources. He understands what 
 has been called " the picturesque effect of proper 
 names," and does not disdain to borrow from oriental 
 
COMBINATION. 1 97 
 
 romances, any more than from sober history, illustra- 
 tions wherewith to adorn his pages of serious criticism. 
 For example, speaking of Bacon : " His understanding 
 resembled the tent which the fairy Paribanou gave to 
 Prince Ahmed. Fold it, and it seemed a toy for the 
 hand of a lady. Spread it, and the armies of powerful 
 sultans might repose beneath its shade." Again, of Sir 
 Walter Scott, showing how he would intersperse 
 with accounts of battles and other events, the details 
 which are the charm of historical romance: 
 
 " At Lincoln Cathedral there is a beautiful painted 
 window, which was made by an apprentice out of the 
 panes of glass which had been rejected by his master. 
 It is so far superior to every other in the church, that, 
 according to the tradition, the vanquished artist killed 
 himself from mortification. Sir Walter Scott, in the 
 same manner, has used those fragments of truth which 
 historians have scornfully rejected, in a manner which 
 may well excite their envy." 
 
 He says of the speeches of Thucydides, introduced 
 into his history: "They give to the whole book some- 
 thing of the grotesque character of those Chinese 
 pleasure-grounds, in which perpendicular rocks of 
 granite start up in the midst of a soft green plain." 
 
 He compares magazines to " those little angels who, 
 according to the pretty Rabbinical tradition, are gen- 
 
I98 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 erated every morning by the brook which rolls over 
 the flowers of Paradise, — whose life is a song, — who 
 warble till sunset, and then sink back without regret 
 into nothingness. Such spirits have nothing to do 
 with the detecting spear of Ithuriel, or the victorious 
 sword of Michael. It is enough for them to please 
 and be forgotten." 
 
 Agatha. It is true, then, that we may be always in- 
 venting new combinations. 
 
 Teacher. Yes: but facility of invention generally de- 
 pends on the power of imagination. 
 
 Rea. Are not imagination and fancy the same ? 
 
 Teacher. They are not. Try, if you can, before our 
 next conversation, to find out the difference between 
 them. 
 
 VII. 
 FANCY AND IMAGINATION. 
 
 Teacher. What is the subject of our conversation 
 to-day ? 
 
 Justine. Imagination and fancy. For my part, I 
 cannot find much difference between them. Both 
 have to do with the ideal world ; both see what is in- 
 visible to the eye of sense, and it seems to me that the 
 terms are nearly synonymous. 
 
 Wilmeth. I think imagination sees a little more 
 deeply than fancy. 
 
FANCY AND IMAGINATION. 1 99 
 
 Edith. And fancy is a little more capricious than 
 imagination. 
 
 Wilmelh. It is not easy to express the distinction, 
 but if I were going to paint them, I should represent 
 fancy as a sportive child, playing with flowers, or 
 chasing a butterfly ; imagination as a thoughtful maiden, 
 with spiritual face, and " looks commercing with the 
 skies." 
 
 Thora. Imagination is a star, and fancy a will-o'-the- 
 wisp. 
 
 Agatha. Fancy is always at play, and imagination is 
 in earnest. 
 
 Teacher. You are feeling your way to the distinction 
 which you find so difficult to put into words. In fact, 
 the two terms were long used interchangeably, and 
 Wordsworth was perhaps the first who made any at- 
 tempt to state clearly the difference between them. 
 What is the derivation of the two words ? 
 
 Jessica. Fancy is from the Greek. It is " a making 
 visible, the power of perception and presentation in 
 the mind," from a word meaning to make visible, to 
 place before one's mind. 
 
 Wilmeth. And imagination is from the Latin tm- 
 aginatio. It is " the image-making power." 
 
 Justine. Contrasting the two, as we get the idea from 
 the derivation, wouldn't it seem that imagination is more 
 
200 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 original than fancy ? It is the image-making power; 
 and fancy " makes visible," /. e. y what before existed. 
 
 Eunice. That would agree with Coppee ; he says 
 that imagination "creates," and fancy "combines." 
 
 Teacher. We can hardly restrict the two words in 
 this way, for imagination combines as well as fancy; 
 and fancy is creative — an " image-making power" — 
 in her own sphere. 
 
 Thora. I have found a familiar definition of imag-* 
 ination in Ruskin. It is " the imaging or picturing new 
 things in our thoughts." And the author gives a 
 homely illustration of the respect which is involunta- 
 rily shown the possessor of such a gift. 
 
 Teacher. Read it. 
 
 Thora. " If we see an old woman spinning at the 
 fireside, and distributing her thread dexterously from 
 the distaff, we respect her for her manipulation — if 
 we ask her how much she expects to make in a year 
 and she answers quickly, we respect her for her cal- 
 culation — if she is watching at the same time that 
 none of her grandchildren fall into the fire, we re- 
 spect her for her observation — yet for all this she 
 may still be a commonplace old woman enough. But 
 if she is all the time telling her grandchildren a fairy 
 tale out of her head, we praise her for her imagina- 
 tion, and say she must be rather a remarkable old 
 woman." 
 
FANCY AND IMAGINATION. 201 
 
 Florimel. But if imagination " makes pictures " and 
 fancy "makes pictures," too, I cannot yet see the 
 difference; except, perhaps, that the pictures of imag- 
 ination are of a higher order than those of fancy. 
 
 Teacher. Wilmeth suggested a distinction when she 
 said that imagination " sees more deeply than fancy." 
 It is a power which looks deep into the heart of 
 things, while fancy plays carelessly over the surface. 
 Joubert calls it "the eye of the soul." Emerson says 
 " it is the vision of an inspired soul reading arguments 
 and affirmations in all nature of that which it is driven 
 to say." Lowell applies to it the words of Shelley : " It 
 looks before and after." It is what Wordsworth 
 means when he says of his remembered daffodils : 
 
 " They flash upon that inward eye 
 Which is the bliss of solitude." 
 
 The insight of the poet is inseparable from his im- 
 agination. Fancy has a quick vision, but no true in- 
 sight. 
 
 Justine. I see now. Fancy looks at things, but im- 
 agination looks into them. 
 
 Teacher. That is it. 
 
 Rea. Has every one imagination ? 
 
 Teacher. One who possesses in any degree the abil- 
 ity to picture to himself what is not actually present 
 
202 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 before his bodily eye, has imagination. If the picture 
 be clear and bright, and very real to him, he has a 
 strong or vivid imagination; while if he cannot at all 
 thus bring before him what is unseen, he may have 
 reason or judgment, but he has no imagination what- 
 soever. 
 
 Agatha. Is the power of seeing the only difference 
 between imagination and fancy ? 
 
 Teacher. By no means. Imagination is a creative fac- 
 ulty, not merely a passive recipient. Wordsworth 
 says that, " Imagination has no reference to images that 
 are a faithful copy existing in the mind of absent ex- 
 ternal objects; but is a word of higher import, denot- 
 ing operations of the mind upon these objects, and 
 processes of creation, or of composition, governed by 
 fixed laws." It is associated with the highest creative 
 genius. The words "governed by fixed laws," suggest 
 another important distinction between imagination and 
 fancy. The former calls forth its images according to 
 an invariable law, and for a high end; the latter is 
 volatile, arbitrary, and without an elevated purpose. 
 In accordance with this idea, Lowell says: " It gives 
 the form that makes all the parts work together har- 
 moniously toward a given end; its seat is in the higher 
 reason, and it is efficient only as a servant of the will." 
 And again, " These laws are something which do not 
 
FANCY AND IMAGINATION. 203 
 
 alter when they alteration find, and bend with the re- 
 mover to remove." Fancy works capriciously, as in 
 reveries, and in most dreams. Something like this was 
 in Agatha's mind when she said: "Fancy is always 
 at play, and imagination in earnest." 
 
 jRea. I did not suppose reason and imagination had 
 anything to do with each other. Bishop Butler speaks 
 of the latter as " that forward, delusive faculty, ever 
 obtruding beyond its sphere; of some assistance, in- 
 deed, to apprehension, but the author of all error." 
 
 Teacher. With all due respect for the high authority 
 you quote, his expressions seem rather too strong, and 
 even he, you see, admits that it is of use to apprehen- 
 sion. The imagination may indeed lead to error; it 
 may present us with distorted creations and false 
 views, but that is a perversion of this noble faculty. 
 And if we argue ex abusu, from the abuse of a thing 
 against its use, reason itself may be proved an unsafe 
 guide, for that, too, when made the supreme authority, 
 often obtrudes beyond its proper sphere and leads to 
 fatal error. So far from there being a necessary 
 opposition between the two, we shall presently see that 
 imagination is an important aid to reason. But to re- 
 turn to the distinction between imagination and 
 fancy; as the former works according to a fixed law, 
 and for a high purpose, so the result is unity. Fancy 
 
204 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 often brings before us a series of brilliant images, 
 without coherency or connection, like the colors and 
 forms in a kaleidoscope. Imagination makes all its 
 images subservient to its main end, and presents us 
 with one grand whole. Thus Charles Lamb says it 
 is the power which "draws all things to one; which 
 makes all things, animate or inanimate, beings with 
 their attributes, subjects with their accessories, take one 
 color and serve to one effect." And Emerson declares: 
 "Imagination is central; fancy is superficial." 
 
 Thora. I do not quite know how to apply this dis- 
 tinction. It seems to me some really imaginative 
 poems are full of merely fanciful images, and that the 
 fancy and imagination blend together. 
 
 Teacher. That is true. But in a really imaginative 
 poem, there is always one main purpose, one central 
 idea, to which all these fanciful images are subservient. 
 Thus in Shelley's " Skylark," which we read yesterday 
 the " high-born maiden in a palace-tower," soothing her 
 soul with music; the " glow-worm golden in a dell of 
 dew," scattering its brightness among the screening 
 grass and flowers; the "rose, embowered in its own 
 green leaves," and rifled by warm winds, are similes 
 prompted by the fancy, and the resemblances suggested 
 are rather accidental than essential. But the central idea 
 kept ever before us, the one object around which all 
 
FANCY AND IMAGINATION. 20$ 
 
 these sparkling images cluster, is the " blithe spirit," 
 the more than bird, which singing soars, and soaring 
 sings, in pure ethereal delight. The images are many, 
 the impression is one, and this unity is the work of the 
 imagination alone. 
 
 Agatha. I do not exactly understand what you mean 
 by fancy's resemblances being " rather accidental than 
 essential." 
 
 Teacher. The imagination does not so much arbi- 
 trarily make a relation between a thought and a thing, 
 as find a relation which already exists in nature. 
 
 The finding is the result of that especial insight 
 which we have seen to be characteristic of that fac- 
 ulty. When this relation is presented to us, we have 
 an instinctive perception of its truth. Thus light has 
 ever been used figuratively in the Scriptures and by 
 the poets, to denote knowledge, purity, and spiritual 
 life; and darkness is similarly suggestive of ignorance, 
 evil, death. Thus Milton, in Comus: 
 
 " He that has light within his own clear breast, 
 May sit i' the centre and enjoy bright day; 
 But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts 
 Benighted walks under the midday sun: 
 Himself is his own dungeon." 
 
 And— 
 
 " Virtue could see to do what virtue would 
 By her own radiant light, though sun and moon 
 Were in the flat sea sunk." 
 
206 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 The resemblance here traced between the natural ob- 
 ject and its spiritual analogue, is not an accidental, 
 superficial one, but one that exists in the very nature 
 of things. The imagination first finds the very truth 
 which is thus written by the hand of the Creator on 
 earth and sky, and the expressed symbol at once com- 
 mends itself to the reason as one of eternal fitness. 
 But when we read in Keats — 
 
 " The moon put forth a little diamond peak, 
 No bigger than an unobserved star, 
 Or tiny point of fairy scimitar, 
 Bright signal that she only stooped to tie 
 Her silver sandals, ere deliciously 
 She bowed into the heavens her timid head," 
 
 we feel at once that the poet is only "playing with types 
 for amusement ;" that we have here, not the keen insight 
 and deep earnestness of the imagination, but the sport- 
 ive caprice of a graceful fancy. 
 
 Eunice. It seems, does it not, as if fancy dealt more 
 with little things, imagination with great ones ? 
 
 Teacher. Yes, fancy deals with the limited, imagin- 
 ation with the illimitable. Wordsworth well illustrates 
 this. It is fancy " that describes Queen Mab as coming 
 
 " ' In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
 On the fore-finger of an alderman.' " 
 
 But he says of imagination: " Having to speak of 
 
FANCY AND IMAGINATION. 207 
 
 stature, she does not tell you that her gigantic angel 
 is tall as Pompey's pillar, much less that he was twelve 
 cubits, or twelve hundred cubits high ; or that his 
 dimensions equalled those of Teneriffe or Atlas ; be- 
 cause these, and if they were a million times as high, 
 are bounded. The expression is : i His stature reached 
 the sky,' — the illimitable firmament." 
 
 Rea. I begin to perceive that imagination is one of 
 our highest faculties, but I cannot yet see that it is an 
 aid to reason. There seems to be such a wide differ- 
 ence between what we reason out, and what we only 
 imagine. 
 
 Teacher. The imagination often runs in advance of 
 the reason, suggesting by its own secret premonitions, 
 truths which reason never would have found out alone. 
 Imagination, indeed, as it has been said, "wins heights 
 which it is not competent to keep," but the winning 
 proves its power. "The author of all error" — you 
 quote from Bishop Butler. On the other hand so able 
 a scientist as Prof. Agassiz has asserted of it : 
 " Imagination, chastened by correct observation, is our 
 best guide in the study of Nature. We are too apt to 
 associate the exercise of this faculty with works of fiction, 
 while it is in fact the keenest detective of truth." Sir 
 William Hamilton speaks of "the productive imagin- 
 ation of philosophers," and Henry Reed has said : 
 
208 DIALOGUES AND CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 " There is no great philosopher in our language in 
 whose genius imagination is not an active element." 
 No wonder, then, that the poet has exalted it as — 
 
 "The glorious faculty assigned 
 To elevate the more than reasoning mind 
 And color life's dark cloud with orient rays." 
 
 But a still greater power is wielded by the imagin- 
 ation, for it is associated with the workings not only of 
 the intellectual, but of the higher spiritual nature. 
 The heights and the depths of emotion are its own. It 
 intensifies all feeling, deepens reverence, strengthens 
 faith. It catches glimpses of the unseen, and of truths 
 which transcend reason, and aids our apprehension of 
 the life which is invisible and immortal. " It is to imag- 
 ination," says Joubert, "that the greatest truths are re- 
 vealed ; for example, Providence, its march and its 
 purposes, they escape our judgment, the imagination 
 alone sees them." We may use the term imagination 
 where it would be irreverent to employ the word fancy. 
 "The universe," Chateaubriand has said, "is the imag- 
 ination of God, rendered visible." In what respect 
 then, so far as we have been able to discover, is imag- 
 ination superior to fancy ? 
 
 Wilmeth. Fancy has a quick vision, but imagination 
 has true insight. Fancy is lawless and purposeless, 
 imagination creates according to law, and for a pur- 
 pose. 
 
FANCY AND IMAGINATION. 209 
 
 Agatha. Fancy traces only accidental resemblances, 
 imagination real ones. Fancy is limited, imagination 
 illimitable. 
 
 Rea. Imagination aids the operations of reason. 
 
 Eunice. And the apprehension of the higher spiritual 
 truths. 
 
 Thora. I think we sometimes feel the absence of 
 imagination as a defect in a writer who has other ex- 
 cellent qualities. 
 
 Teacher. There is no mental difference more striking 
 than that which distinguishes the unimaginative from 
 the imaginative writer. The one gives us literal facts, 
 bare and dry as the boughs of the winter forest, the 
 other clothes them with beauty, like the leaves and 
 blossoms of Spring ; and stirs their inner melodies, as 
 if birds were singing among the branches. The one 
 shows us his truths cold and gray as the hill-tops just 
 before the dawn ; the other pours over them the glory 
 of the sunrise, and bids the heart sing as it beholds 
 them. The one makes us know and understand ; the 
 other makes us see and feel. The former we may 
 respect and admire, the latter we reverence and love. 
 
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