IP BHHSH ■ gfltt Mm mm IBVD^RrnflflBl ^^H ■ wife ^H t:ay IT M ^H I I K$S ■Hi KXKffV Mi 1 H fl||§|||| HH BBHRi HBI9H m Class JEH±2_D J Gopyrig]rt>J?_ COWRIGHT DEPOSIT. MAXINE ELLIOTT. ;< 'Tis in my memory locked, And you yourself shall keep the key." 'STILL IN THY RIGHT HAND CARRY GENTLE PEACE TO SILENCE ENVIOUS TONGUES." SHAKESPEARE. THE FORGOTTEN LINES (Suggestion For Tableau) MISS NINA E. GRAY. (Neff College of Oratory.) 1 'FATHER, MUST I DRINK IT NOW?' The Progressive Speaker CONTAINING THE Best Readings and Recitations for all Occasions from the Most Celebrated Authors INCLUDING GRAVE AND PATHETIC, MORAL AND DIDACTIC, DRAMATIC, DESCRIPTIVE, RELIGIOUS AND HUMOROUS SELECTIONS Programmes for Special Occasion^ TOGETHER WITH A TREATISE ON ELOCUTION; CULTIVATION OF THE VOICE; LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT; YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT; CELEBRATED ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS; SPEECHES OF GREAT WARRIORS; DIALOGUES; DEBATES; PARLIAMENTARY RULES, ETC., ETC. HOW TO ORGANIZE AND CONDUCT LITERARY SOCIETIES CONTAINING THE BEST SELECTIONS FROM HUNDREDS OF OUR MOST RENOWNED AUTHORS SUCH AS ROBERT J. BURDETTE; ELLA WHEELER WILCOX; CHAS. F.ADAMS; MARK TWAIN ; CHAUNCEY M. DEPEW; MRS. E. J. H. GOODFELLOW; H. ALGER, JR.; SAMUEL W. SMALL; WILL CARLETON ; EDWARD C. CARSWELL; RAY RAPLEY McNAB ; MARION DOUGLAS. ETC. /$ MAY 1*1897 EMBELLISHED WITH MORE THAN lOO SUPERB ILLUSTRATIONS r*+ u A^ < ^ * Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1897, by W. R. VANSANT, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. All Rights Reserved. INTRODUCTION. THERE are many books of selections for speakers and reciters, but there is no other volume published which carries out the progressive idea embodied in this work. No other single volume covers so great a field and meets so completely the demands of all ages, conditions and occasions. An examination of the work will disclose the fact that the richness and variety of the selections are unsurpassed, and that the arrangement and plan of the work are its peculiarly original and distinctive features. The youth of our country should be encouraged to train themselves in recitation and declamation, to avail themselves of opportunities to speak and recite in public, and to study the art and science of elocution and oratory. As a useful accomplishment and as a means to success and honor no other pur- suit offers greater opportunities. The orator is always a king among men. " I can conceive," says Cicero, " of no accomplishment more to be desired than to be able to captivate the affections, charm the understanding, and direct or restrain at pleasure the will of whole assemblies. Can aught be more desirable than to have always ready the power of speech to raise up the prostrate, to communicate happiness, to avert danger, to save a fellow-citizen from wrong, to defend the weak, to assail the profligate, and to redress our own or our country's injuries ? Upon the eloquence and spirit of an accomplished speaker may often depend not only his own honor and right, but the welfare of a government — nay, of a whole race of people." Orators and effective public speakers must always exist in the growing power of any government, and when a nation is without one or more great patriotic and unselfish orators it is in imminent danger. Greece was safe and invincible as long as Demosthenes thundered against Philip ; but when he was taken away, and the mantle of his oratory descended not upon another, then the Macedonian came and the glory of ancient Athens departed. When the silvery tongue of Cicero was silenced in Rome, and no one arose to take his place, the decline of that great empire was marked and rapid until the vandals of the north made it their prey. The United States of America with its model 1 government was made possible by the oratory of Patrick Henry and John Adams on one side, and Pitt and Burke on the other side of the Atlantic. The ringing tones of their eloquence awoke the sleeping spirits of liberty and justice in two hemispheres, iv INTRODUCTION. and, under their magic spell, the arm of oppression was unnerved, while he who fought for home, country and liberty was inspired with double strength and courage. It was the burning eloquence of Mirabeau, Vergniaud, Robespierre and Danton that lighted the fires of revolution under the wicked and crumbling throne of France, sacrificing the crown and royalty as an offering for the salvation of the people ; and, having burned the barriers away, raised, like a Phoenix from its smouldering ashes, the first great Republic of Europe, and,, in spite of the moral miasma — inherited from a corrupted court — with which that country was so long enveloped, the oratory of de Tocqueville, Victor Hugo and Gambetta has preserved and nurtured the spirit of liberty, and caused the French to be universally respected — with the possible exception of the Swiss — as the most individually free, prosperous and patriotic nation in the old world. The orators of England and Ireland have always sounded the keynote in the British psalm of life. The words of warning and admonition from Burke and his colleagues, no doubt, saved the English crown from the fate of the French and averted a revolution as terrible and bloody as that which befel their neighbors. It was the patriotic eloquence of Clay and Webster which, for more than a quarter of a century, beat back the waves of destruction w r hich threatened our ship of state, and not until they were long in their graves, and the echoes, of their voices were dying in the distance, did it become possible for the spirit of disunion to raise its head and stand erect upon the shores of America. Had these great orators — their souls afire with unselfish love for our whole country — lived, that fratricidal war which drank the blood of her sons, and widowed the homes of her daughters, and laid waste and bleached with, bones, and burned with fire the fair land of Columbia, might never have been, The power of the press is great, and nothing else can fulfill its missk in civilization. It is the current historian of the world, and it is the popular educator — the trainer — of the intelligent masses of mankind. But it is an erroneous theory that the newspaper can fill the office of the orator. Cold, print lacks the living fire. It cannot warm the heart, arouse the mind to intense thought and nerve the arm to energetic action as do the spoken words,, welling up from a great soul, charged with life or electrified with passionate: ardor, flashing from the tongue of the human orator, and falling warm and sympathetic upon the ear of the listener. But the glories of the orator and his achievements in the past are hardly to be compared with his opportunities in the future. The nations of the earth have never needed his voice more than they shall need it in the next half' INTRODUCTION. v century. There has never been a greater opportunity to do good and win honor and renown than the legislative halls, the rostrum, the bar and the pulpit are now ready to lay at the feet of those worthy to wear the honors. From a financial standpoint, be it said to the credit of advancing civiliza- tion that the musician and the orator were never so well remunerated as at the present time. Many composers and musicians have amassed great fortunes by honest work within the past twenty-five years, and there never was a time when distinguished lecturers, orators and public speakers were in such great demand or received such liberal compensation as they now do. In answer to this growing taste and popular demand for public speakers,, schools of elocution and oratory have grown up in many of our cities, and the fact is to be hailed as one of the most propitious indications for the permanence of our institutions, the liberty of our people, and the future of our nation. To aid them, and to assist those who cannot attend such schools, is the object of the publishers in issuing this volume. Part I. — Elocution — comprises a brief treatise upon the subject, giving the fundamental principles of the art, with appropriate exercises on Articula- tion, Inflection, Pitch and Force, Modulation, Time, Attitudes and Gestures ; also Readings and Recitations with Lesson Talks. Part II. is the Little Folks' Department, containing nearly two hun- dred choice selections for children from five to twelve years of age, embracing recitations, dialogues, concert pieces, and selections suited to Sunday-school and all sorts of occasions. Part III. — Youths' Department — comprises selections, declamations,, recitations and dialogues fitted especially to young people from twelve to- twenty years, and adapted to use in schools, concerts, holiday, church and miscellaneous entertainments, selected with a view to stimulating, developing and instructing the growing mind. This department also contains Selections with Musical Accompaniments. Part IV. — Great Orators and their Orations — embraces nearly one hundred masterpieces of Forensic, Senatorial, Patriotic, Judicial, Temperance and Pulpit Eloquence, gathered with much research from the orations of nearly fifty of the greatest orators of Greece, Rome, France, England, Ireland and the United States, and treating the most momentous questions in the history of the nations from the days of Demosthenes to the present time. This depart- ment is illustrated by portraits, and has brief biographical sketches of the most renowned orators. It is particularly interesting and instructive to those who desire to make a comparative study of the style of public speech in dif- ferent ages and different countries of the world. vi INTRODUCTION. Part V. — Speeches of Great Warriors — embraces the most eloquent passages from the addresses and supposed speeches of famous generals and noted martial heroes, delivered in the camp, on the eve of battle, and before the public on stirring occasions. Beginning with Achilles, Hector, Alexander the Great, Darius the Persian, we come on down the ages and listen to Brutus the Roman swearing destruction to Tarquin over the dead Lucre tia ; Leonidas appealing to his brave three hundred before the pass of Thermopylae ; Catiline haranguing his traitorous army before the gates of Rome ; Mark Antony, Hannibal, Scipio, Alfred the Great, Galgacus, Regulus, Spartacus, Henry VIII. , General Wolfe, Richmond, Napoleon, Washington, Warren, Byron to the Greeks, Indian Chiefs and Modern Warriors sound in our ears the blasts of war, bringing the thrilling and historic events before the mind with a vivid- ness scarcely less than realism itself. Part VI. — Miscellaneous Selections — comprises, as the title implies, a collection of choice readings, recitations, declamations, soliloquies, musical selections, debates, dialogues, amateur plays, farces and comedies. The object in this department is to represent, as far as practicable, the whole realm of literature adapted to public entertainments. It embraces patriotic, martial, religious, temperance, dramatic, descriptive, pathetic, humorous, and dialectic selections, suitable for lyceums, schools, churches and general occasions. Part VII. teaches How to Organize and Conduct Literary Societies, contains a Complete and Up-to-Date Manual of Parliamentary Practice as taught by Cushing and others, and closes with Programmes for Special Occasions. Thus the work, on the whole, is constructed on a different plan from any other volume of selections. It supplies the general wants of all conditions and occasions for the different ages, from early childhood to mature manhood, in a manner which no other f single volume has attempted to do, and forms what the publishers believe to be the most complete progressive speaker and reciter for general use that has yet been published. The Illustrations have been made especially for this volume, and are designed to add not only to the ornamental beauty of the work, but to help the student in the rendering of the selections. Most of these engravings have been selected and prepared at large expense. In many instances professional elocutionists have been engaged to pose in appropriate costume for photographs from which the engravings have been reproduced. THE PUBLISHERS. CONTENTS ELOCUTION. Arms, The 17, 31 Body, The 31 Battle of Hohenlinden Campbell 33 Elocution , 18 Emphasis 22 Eyes, The 31 Explanation 36 Gesture 24 Grace of Action 32 How to Improve Articulation 19 Head, Eyes, Arm, and Hand, The 24 Head and Face, The 31 Inflection 22 lisping and Stammering 20 Lower Limbs, The 31 Lesson Talk 37, 38, 39, 40, 41 Melody 23 Modulation 23 Miser and Plutus, The Gay 36- Night Thoughts Young 41 Pitch and Force 22 Stroke and Time of Gesture, The 26. Significant Gestures 31 Stylesof Gesture 311 Satan's Speech to his Legions Milton 33'. Speech of Rollo to the Peruvian Army, R. B. Sheridan 39 Time.. 23- Tell's Address to the Mountain 37 Whole Figure Gestures and Attitudes 26 Wolsey's Soliloquy Shakespeare 40 Wolsey's Farewell Address to Cromwell, 40 Shakespeare 40- LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. Arithmetic 58 Almost a Man 65 Among the Animals , 65 Axe to Grind, An 72 Address on the Occasion of a New Pastor 83 Always in a Hurry Priscilla Leonard 85 American Boy, The Caroline Gilman 59 Baby's Lullaby 48 Busy Bee, The Isaac Watts 51 Bessie's Letter 65 Boy's Opinion, A 6Q Blessed Ones, The 80 Bessie's Secret. 82 Babyland Children' s Museum 82 Big Shoe, The Mother Goose 88 Chick-a-dee-dee 45 Cherry Cheeks 46 Captain General, The 48 Cradle Song Alfred Tennyson 49 Cross at Santa May Rapley McNabb 51 Children's Offering, The Nellie G. Gerome 53 Carrie's Birthday Cake 54 Contentment 5. C. Peabody 55 Caw! Caw! Caw!. Edward Carswell 68 Christmas The Nursery 71 Christmas Acrostic 74 PAGE. Colorado Hotel Rules T. Sheppard 76 Contented Blind Boy, The Cibber 81 Contentment Better than Riches 82 Charley's Opinion of the Baby 83 Christmas Carol, A H. Sets. 89 Chicken's Mistake, The Phoebe Cary 73 Dickey-Bird, The 44 Doctor's Visit 52 Diligent Bessie Lizzie J. Rook 57 Dr. Brown Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow 60 Dispute, A A. L. Mitchell 61 Dolly's Bedtime 62 Dolly's Bath m Do Your Best 67 Doll Rosy's Bath 69 Don't Wake the Baby 74 Days of the Week Mary Ely Page 79 Early Miss Crocus Mrs. E.J. H. Goodfellow 57 ( Elsie's Soliloquy 64 Egg a Chicken, An Youth' 's Companion 70' Five Little Brothers Ella Wheeler Wilcox 45 Funny Man, A 46 From One to Six Esther Fleming 47 Fourth of July Record, K..Lilian Dynevor Rice 79- Follow the Golden Rule 81 Golden Rule, The 43- vii Vlll CONTENTS. Grandma's Mistake 53 Generous Little One 54 Good-night Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow 59 Gentleman, A George M. Vickers 81 George Washington 86 How Butter is Made 49 Howard's Wish 50 His Speech 63 Hattie's Views on Housecleaning &Q Harry's Dog 67 How Sad May Rapley McNabb 71 I'll Try and I Can't 62 "I Can't Army," The 68 I Wish I Were a Bird 75 If I Were You 79 I Think It's Wrong, Don't You 80 I Love the Birds .. 81 Japanese Doll, The 51 Jack Frost and Tom Ruddy 77 Kindness and Cruelty 74 little Boy's Lecture, A Julia M. Thayer 43 Lecture to the Crow, A ... 46 Lost Kitten, The ,Mrs. E.J. H. Goodfellow 47 Little Flag-Bearer, The 47 Little Girl's Lecture to Mothers, A 50 Mttle by Little 52 Little Child's Prayer, A 53 Late at Breakfast..... 58 Little Things 62 pittle Teacher, The 67 kittle Girl's Christmas, A 71 Little Boy's Wonder, A 73 ittle School Marm, A 75 vittle Kitty 76 lonths, The Lizzie M. Hadley 44 lamma's Little Market Woman, Lizzie J. Rook 45 Mr. Weyler 45 My Dolly 46 Mary and Dinah Lizzie J. Rook 47 Mountain and the Squirrel, The 43 My Pussy Cat 48 Mean Man, A 49 My Mother 49 My Good-for-Nothing 50 My Carlo Talks Mrs. E.J. H. Goodjellow 59 Mrs. Santa Claus May Rapley McNabb 61 My Speech Mrs. E.J. H. Goodfellow 63 Maud's Birthday 68 Mary and the Swallow Marion Douglas 69 Mr. Tongue 70 My Present 75 Miser and the Mouse.. 83 Nurserv Fable, A Will H. Wall b2 Naughty Girl, The 53 Need of Christ, The 58 Nobody Knows but Mother 89 Oh ! 70 Only a Baby Small Matthias Barr 71 Over the Fence 78 Patriotic Boy, A Mrs. E.J.H. Goodfellow 50 Playing Old Folks Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow 60 Packing the Box Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow 61 Playing Church 64 Partnership C8 Pledge, The 83 Presentation Speech 87 Queer Table, A 51 Questions About Women 86 Rob's Mittens .....Youths' Companion 56 Recitations in Concert 77 Reasons Why T. Sheppard 87 Spring Voices 78 Short Speeches for Little Philosophers 84 Santa and His Reindeer Margaret Hallock Steen 85 Six-Year Old, A 63 Summeris Coming 51 Senses, The 52 Santa Claus 55 Seven Days in a Week... Cora Woodward Foster 56 Song of the Rye 86 Taking Doily's Picture Mrs. E.J. H. Goodfellow 56 Too Much of a Good Thing 65 Teaching Dolly 66 Throwing Kisses 67 Things That I Do Not Like to See L.J. Rook 69 That's Baby 78 Twenty-third Psalm Adapted by T. Sheppard 80 True Bravery 89 Two Commands, The 51 Welcome , 43 What the Little Shoes Said 43 Who Made the Speech 44 Writing to Grandma 4& Wash Day 50 What Boys are Good For Mrs. E.J. H. Goodjellow 52 Way to Be Happy, The. 55 When Papa Puts His Great Coat On May Rapley McNabb 55 What Girls Love to Do 57 When the Fairies Lived Here 58 Who Knows the Most Nellie G. Bronson 59 Wisest Plan, The 62 Which is Best? Annie L. Hannah 63 Washing Dolly's Clothes 76 CONTENTS. IX Willie's Speech 87 Where Heaven Is 88 PAGE. What to Drink , 79 What I Don't Like 51 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Advice to a Young Man Robert J. Burdette 92 Auntie's Education May Rapley McNabb 108 Artie's 'Amen " Paul Hamilton Hayne 114 Artemus Ward Visits the Shakers... C. F. Brown 134 America's Gifts to Europe Webster 144 Appeal to the Hungarians, 1849 ..Louis Kossuth 163 Address to the Ocean Byron 167 Appeal for Temperance H. W. Grady 175 Advice to Young Men Noah Porter 187 Arkansaw Pete's Adventure T. Sheppard 198 Boy and the Pedant, The 96 Boy's Temperance Speech, A 109 Buying Gape Seed John B. Gough 125 Brother Jim May Rapley McNabb 135 Battle of Life, The Bryant 137 Battle Song for Freedom, A Gail Hamilton 144 Beauty, Wit, and Gold Moore 148 Blindness Henry Ward Beecher 157 Bereaved Editor's Speech, The 162 Biddy's Trouble 182 Beauties of the Law <• 184 Bells, The Edgar A. Poe 172 Be in Earnest Lord Bulwer Lytton 188 Brutus Over the Body of Lucretia..../. H. Payne 191 Bill Nye on Hornets 197 Buzzard's Point Geo. M. Vickers 204 Closing Address 121 Case of Indigestion, A 126 Charge of the Light Brigade ...Alfred Tennyson 137 Country Thanksgiving, A 138 Civil War 142 Casey at the Bat 178 Christopher Columbus 182 Counting Eggs Texas Si/tings 184 Cash 186 Cicero and Demosthenes Compared Fenelon 191 Custer's Last Charge Frederick Whitaker 194 Difference of Opinion 98 Drinking a Farm H. L. Hastings 103 Dressed Turkey, The 104 Dame Partington and the Atlantic Ocean, Sydney Smith 130 Defense of Jefferson, 1813 Henry Clay 131 De Pint wid Old Pete 133 Dangers of Our Prosperity Timothy Walker 166 Delsartean Plea, A 177 Demosthenes Creasy 190 Devotion to Duty D. N. Shelley 201 Dying Alchemist, The N. P. Willis 195 Decoration Day 196 Excellent Man, The Heine 142 Enoch Arden at the Window... Alfred Tennyson 145 Eloquence of Action, The.. Daniel Webster 197 Flower of Liberty, The Holmes 120 Funny Story, The 134 Folly of Pride, The Rev. Sydney Smith 142 Fathers of the Republic, The. ..Edward Everett 187 Grandfather's Barn 94 Gossips, The Ella Wheeler Wilcox 97 Gambler's Son, The 100 Grammar in Rhyme 117 Gigglety Girl, The Judge 126 Give Me the Hand Goodman Barnaby 339 Grumbler, The Dora Read Goodale 187 Hofer, the Tyrolese 92 Hilda, Spinning 95 Harry's Lecture L.J. Rook 104 How to Break Bad News 130 Hunter and the Child, The 132 Highland War Song Sir Walter Scott 143 How Two Men Spoke the Same Words Sargeant 148 Happy Miller, The Hood 149 Handy Andy and the Squire 150 Hard-Shell Sermon, A 160 His First and Last Drink 175 Harbor of San Francisco 189 " I Don't See It!" 108 I'm Getting Too Big to Kiss. George M. Vickers 113 Imaginary Sick Man, The Moliere 152 Judge Brown's Watermelon Story, Arkansaw Traveller 93 John Maynard ,.^ H. Alger, Jr 112 Joe Alice Robbins 136 Just Retribution, The Dimond 206 Kate Ketchum Phoebe Cary 154 List of Our Presidents 110 Little Maid's Prayer at the Shrine of St. Valen- tine, The 115 Laboring Classes, The Hugh Legare 165 Latest Form of Literary Hysterics, Chicago Tribune 181 Little Conqueror, The Chas. F. Adams 186 Land of Our Forefathers, The.. Edward Everett 189 Lookout Mountain Geo. L. Catlin 192 Mrs. Piper Marian Douglas 98 Mourner, The 110 Minuet, The Mary M. Dodge 125 CONTENTS. Mr. Cross and Servant John 128 "Music" Geo. M. Vickers 129 Mark Twain Introduces Himself.... Mark Twain 180 Miss January Jones' Lectures on Woman's Rights 181 Mrs. Lofty and 1 174 Men Always Fit for Freedom ...T. B. Macaulay 188 Model Love Letter, A 200 Nobody's Child 123 Newcastle Apothecary, The Colman 124 New Rosette, The Geo. M. Vickers 140 News-telling Bore, The 179 Noble Revenge, The 185 Old Cottage Clock, The 117 On the Death of Sheridan Byron 167 Opportunities of the Scholar... Henry W. Grady 167 Over the Hill to the Poorhouse.. WHIM. Carleton 169 Over the Hills from the Poorhouse May Mignonette 171 Order of Nature, The Alexander Pope 208 Old Canteen, The G. M. White 201 Pardon Complete 100 Preaching versus Practice Cowper 116 Playing Drunkard Francis S. Smith 121 Plea for the Sailor, A 132 Pride Rebuked 132 'Possum Run Debating Society, The 158 People Always Conquer, The ...Edward Everett 163 Power of Habit, The John B. Gough 165 Poor Indian, The 178 Puzzled Dutchman, The Charles F. Adams 174 Passing of the Rubicon, The J. S. Knowles 190 Retort, The 112 Reply to John Randolph Henry Clay 138 Rival Speakers, The 149 Rome and Carthage Victor Hngo 155 Rienzi to the Roman Conspirators in 1347, Thos. Moore 157 Ruins of Rome, The Byron 164 Retribution Abraham Lincoln 189 Resignation Longfellow 200 Raven, The Edgar A. Poe 202: Ship on Fire, The 105 Sailor's Story, The Geo. M. Vickers 118 Search Questions 120> Song of the Decanter 139 Song of Mina's Soldiers, The Mrs. Hemans 143 Song of Marion's Men Bryant 144 Salutatory Address 145 Sympathy Bishop Heber 145 Selling a Coat ; or, How a Jew Trained a Clerk.. 156 Sewing on a Button ./. M. Bailey 180 Success in Life James A. Garfield 188 Trust Not to Appearances 91 Two Bills, The 106 They Say 106 Twenty-five Years of Peace Edward Everett 1 22 Tragedy, A T. DeWitt Talmage 122 Twenty-second of February, The Webster 123 Think Before You Speak Wm. Penn 138- Two Little Kittens 147 Take Care of the Minutes.... 151 Tim Murphy's Irish Stew 160' Temperance Question, The Wendell Phillips 177 Them Yankee Blankits SamH W. Small 173 Unbolted Door, The Edward Garrett 105 Uncle Pete's Sermon 161 Unbeliever, The Thomas Chalmers 16S World Owes Me a Living, The 91 WaterforMe 95 Woodman, Spare That Tree Geo. P. Morris 113 Where They Never Feel the Cold 116 Where Honeysuckles Grow May Rapley McNabb 117 Washington's Birthday Rufus Choate 123. Washington's Sword and Franklin's Staff /. Q. Adams 130* What a Common Man May Say ; or, What I Have to Be Thankful for 192 What Makes a Hero Henry Taylor 208 You Put No Flowers on My Papa's Grave C.E.L. Holmes 146 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. Against Philip Demosthenes 209 Against Bribery Demosthenes 213 Against Catiline Cicero 218 Against the Nobility and Clergy of Provence, February 3, 1789 Mirabeau 220 Against the Terrorism of the Jacobins. Vergniaud 226 Against War, January 13, 1792 Robespierre 227 Against Mr. Pitt, 1741 Sir Robert Walpole 234 American War Denounced, 1781.... William Pitt 238 Against Political Jobbing, 1794... R. B. Sheridan 255 Against the Force Bill, 1833...., John C. Calhoun 270 Birthday of Washington, The Rufus Choate 264 British Influence, 1881... John Randolph 263 Burr and Blennerhassett William Wirt 275 Back from the War T. De Witt Talmage 287 Catiline Denounced Cicero 217 Catiline Expelled Cicero 219 Conquest of the Americans Impracticable, 1775. John Wilkes 237 Collision of Vices, 1825 George Canning 241 CONTENTS. XI Cause of Temperance, The John B. Gough 280 Degeneracy of Athens Demosthenes .210 Democracy Hateful to Philip, A Demosthenes 211 Demosthenes Denounced JEschines 214 Disobedience of Magistrates, The Mirabeau 222 Defence Against the Charge of Corruption, Mirabeau 223 Democracy Adverse to Socialism, Alexis De Torqueville 229 Declaration of Irish Rights, 1780..Henry Grattan 246 Declaration of Independence, The/. O. Adams 285 Eulogium on Franklin Mirabeau 223 Enterprise of American Colonists, 1775 Edmund Burke 244 Eulogy on General Grant.Henry Ward Beecher 279 For Independence, 1776 Richard Henry Lee 262 General Government and the States, The Alexander Hamilton 263 Heaven Fights on the Side of a Great Principle Grattan 248 Invective Against Demosthenes Dinarchus 212 In Defense of Universal Suffrage, May 20, 1850, Victor Hugo 231 Impeachment of Warren Hastings, 1788 ..Burke 245 Irish Aliens and English Victories, 1837.... Sheil 253 In Favor of a State Law Against Duelling John Randolph 267 Liberty of the Press ; or, the Human Mind, 1850 Victor Hugo 232 Liberty is Strength Fox 239 Liberty and Union, 1830 Webster 273 Morality the Basis of Civilized Society — Belief ii God the Basis of Morality Robespierre 221 Necker's Financial Plan, Sept. 26, 1789. Mirabeau 221 Necessity of Religion Victor Hugo 230 Nature of Justice, The Sheridan 255 Noblest Public Virtue, 1841, The Henry Clay 269 .New South, The H W. Grady 282 On the Punishment of Louis XVI... Robespierre 233 On War with France or America, 1778, Chas. Jas. Fox 239 On Mr. Tierney's Motion, December 11, 1798, George Canning 240 On Liniiting the Hours of Labor, 1846, T. B. Macaulay 243 On the Irish Disturbance Bill. .Daniel O'Connell 250 On Being Found Guilty of High Treason, Robert Emmett 256 On Recognizing the Independence of Greece, 1824 Henry Clay 267 On the Expunging Resolution, 1837. Henry Clay 268 On the Prospect of War with Great Britain, 1811, John C. Calhoun 269 Partition of Poland, The Chas. Jas. Fox 241 Public Opinion and the Sword October 10, 1831, T. B. Macaulay 242 Press the Protection of the People, The Daniel O^Connell 252 Public Dishonesty Henry Ward Beecher 278 Reply to ^Eschines Demosthenes 215 Reply to iEschines Demosthenes 216 Robespierre's Last Speech Robespierre 228 Reply to Sir Robert Walpole, 1741 Wm. Pitt 235 Repeal Claimed by Americans as a Right Earl oj Chatham 236 Reply to the Duke of Grafton Lord Thurlow 237 Reply to Mr. Flood, 1783 Henry Grattan 247 Reply to Threats of Violence, 1790 Curran 250 Repeal of the Union, 1834, The Sheil 252 Resistance to British Aggression.. Patrick Henry 261 Reply to Mr. Webster, Jan , 1830 Hayne 274 Relief for Starving Ireland, 1847... S. S. Prentiss 276 Regard for the Negro Race H. W. Grady 284 Sectarian Tyranny, 1812 Henry Grattan 249 Satire on the Pension System, 1786, Curran 249 Sanctity of Treaties, 1796 Fisher Ames 265 Sympathy with South America on Republican- ism, 1826 Webster 271 South Carolina and Massachusetts, Jan., 1830, Webster 272 South During the War of 1812, The Hayne 274 To the French People, 1792 Vergniaud 225 Two Napoleons, The Victor Hugo 233 To the Electors of Bristol Edmund Burke 246 Toussaint L'Ouverture Wendell Phillips 238 Union of Church and State, The Mirabeau 224 Venality the Ruin of Greece Domesthenes 212 Verres Denounced Cicero 219 Violation of English Promises. .Daniel <9' Connell 251 Value of the Union, 1847, The 5. 5. Prentiss 276 War Inevitable, March, 1775, The. .Patrick Henry 262 What is a Minority ? John B. Gough 281 World We Live In, The T. DeWitt Talmage 285 SPEECHES OF GREAT WARRIORS. Alexander the Great to His Men, Quintus Curtius 290 Address of Nicias to his Troops Thucydides 292 Alfred the Great to his Men 298 PAGE. Address of Black Hawk to Gen. Street 311 Alasco to his Countrymen Shee 313 Arminius to his Soldiers Murphy 313 Brutus Over the Dead Lucretia 292 Xll CONTENTS. Catiline to his Army near Faesule... Ben Johnson 293 Catiline to the Gallic Conspirators ....Croly 299 Catiline's Last Harangue to his Army Croly 300 Cromwell on the Death of Charles I., Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 317 Darius to his Army Quintus Curtius 291 Earl of Richmond to his Army, The.. Shakespeare 308 Farewell to the Army at Fontainebleau, 1814, Napoleon Bonaparle 316 Galacus to the Caledonians 298 Gustavus Vasa to the Dalecarlians 314 Germanicus to his Mutinous Troops Tacitus 315 Hector's Rebuke to Polydamus, Cowper's " Homer'''' 290 Hannibal to his Army Livy 296 Henry V. to his Soldiers Shakespeare 306 Henry V. to his Soldiers at the Siege of Har- fleur Shakespeare 315 Leonidas to his Three Hundred 293 Lord Byron to the Greeks, Alphonse De Lamar tine 310 Logan, a Mingo Chief, to Lord Dunmore 312 Marcus Brutus on the Death of Caesar, Shakespeare 294 Mark Antony to the People, on Caesar's Death, Shakespeare 295 PAGE.. Marullus to the Roman Populace ...Shakespeare 299' Philip Van Artevelde to the Men of Ghent, Henry Taylor 307 Reply of Achilles to the Envoys of Agamemnon, Soliciting a Reconciliation, Cowper's "Homer" 289' Regulus to the Roman Senate Sargent 300 Regulus to the Carthaginians E. Kellogg 301 Rienzi to the Romans Mary Russell Mitford 302 Scipio to His Army Livy 297 Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua.. E. Kellogg 303 Spartacus to the Roman Envoys in Etruria Sargent 305- Supposed Speech of a Chief of the Pocumtuc Indians Edward Everett 312 Saul Before His Last Battle Byron 314 To the Army Before Quebec, 1759.General Wolfe 306 To the Army of Italy, May 15, 1796, Napoleon Bonaparte 308 To the Secretary of War, 1824 Pushmataha 312 Veterans, The Gen. Wm. Tecumseh Sherman 316 Wat Tyler's Address to the K.ing..Robert Southey 309 Washington to his Soldiers, Gen. Geo. Washington 310 What Saved the Union 317 Warren's Address, The Pierpont 318 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. PAGE. American's Farewell, The Geo. M. Vickers 326 Analysis of the Character of Bonaparte, Chas. Phillips. 345 Address to the Young Men of Italy 346 Appeal to the Jury Chas. Phillips 347 Aunt Polly Green Geo. M. Vickers 380 Artemus Ward at the Tomb of Shakespeare, Chas. F. Browne 408 American Indian, The Chas. Sprague 404 Betty and the Bear 325 Bridge, The Longfellow 354 Broken Hearts Wash. Lrving 368 Coeur de Lion at the Bier of His Father, Felicia Hemans 320 Cato Over the Dead Body of His Son. ..Addison 321 Caesar's Message to Cato Addison 322 Catiline's Defense Rev. Geo. Croly 323 Combat of Fitz -James and Roderick, Sir Walter Scott 359 Crucifixion, The Montgomery 361 Columbus in Chains Miss Jewsbury 376 Caught in the Quicksand Victor Hugo 403 Drummer Boy, The 324 Dead Man's Gulch Geo. M. Vickers 330 De Yaller Chinee 335 PAGE. Der Drummer Chas. F. Adams 378 Duel, The Sheridan 385 Debtor and the Dun, The Moliere 388 Disagreeable Meddler, The John Poole 390- Debate, A 432 Dot Lambs What Mary Haf Got '. 407 David's Lament for Absalom N. P. Willis 405 Four Kisses, The Geo. M. Vickers 323 Farewell Geo. M. Vickers 326 Five Chapters of Real Life 336 Fireman's Prayer, The Russell H. Conwell 350 Gambler's Wife, The Reynell Coates 360 Good Night, Papa 363- Go Feel What I Have Felt 399 Gone With a Handsomer Man Will Carleton 401 Hotspur's Soliloquy on the Contents of a Letter 371 How the Money Goes 394 Husband's Programme Washington Post 409 ' Hans and Fritz Chas. F. Adams 415 Jenkins Goes to a Picnic 416 Jim Smiley 's Frog Mark Twain AVI John and Tibbie Davison's Dispute, Robert Leighton 415 Kentucky Philosophy 342 Last Station, The 329 j CONTENTS. xni Lady Clare Alfred Tennyson 333 Lutist and the Nigtingale, The Ford 354 Lines Relating to Curran's Daughter, Thos. Moore 369 Lochiel's Warning Campbell 427 Mr. Pickwick in the Wrong Room. Chas. Dickens 338 Manifest Destiny 340 Mrs. Caudle Needs Spring Clothing 340 Mollie's Little Ram 342 Murderer's Self-Betrayal, The ...Daniel Webster 349 Miser, The Geo. W. Cutter 408 Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland Schiller 429 No Sects in Heaven 361 Napoleon Bonaparte Chas. Phillips 345 Nobility of Labor, The Rev. Orville Dewey 414 Obliging Druggist, The 337 Old Clock on the Stairs H. W. Longfellow 358 Oh! Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud? Wm. Knox 374 Othello's Farewell , Shakespeare 376 Out of the Old House, Nancy 401 Putting Up o' the Stove 334 Pilgrims, The Chauncey M. Depew 343 Pledge with Wine 364 Papa's Letter 367 Paddy's Reflections on Cleopatra's Needle, ACormac O'Leary 379 Pat's Excuse 384 Polish Boy, The /.. 376 Pygmalion and Galatea W. S. Gilbert 420 Pipe, The Philadelphia Times 419 Poor Little Joe P. Arkwright 406 Progress of Madness, The M. G. Lewis 400 Quality of Mercy, The Shakespeare 376 Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius Shakespeare 423 Red King's Warning, The , Anon 319 PAGE. Revolutionary Sermon, A., Hugh H. Breckinbridge 348 Rusty Sword, The Geo. M. Vickers 352, Rizpah Geo. M. Vickers 355 Reading the Will Sargent 387 Resolve of Regulus, The Sargent 392; Resignation Longfellow 413 Soldier's Pardon, The Jas. Smith 328 Socrates Snooks 343 Searching for the Slain 356 Shylock's Soliloquy and Address Shakespeare 370 Soliloquy of Manfred Byron 370' Soliloquy of Romeo in the Garden.. .Shakespeare 371 Spartacus and Jovius 391 Salutatorian's Difficulties, The 395 Say ! ... L. I. Melroy 419' Scene Between Hamlet and the Queen, Shakespeare 425 To a Skeleton 325 Tom's Thanksgiving Geo. M. Vickers 359 Thief on the Cross, The Geo. M. Vickers 366 Thirty Years With a Shrew Brooklyn Eagle 381 Too Late for the Train 410 Texas Cow, The Texas Sifting s 417 Uncle Pete 383 Washington Chas. Phillips 344 Water and Rum John B. Gough 353 Where are the Dead? Anon 375 Was It Right Texas Siftings 413 Yawcob Strauss Chas. F. Adams 378 How to Draft Constitution and By-Laws 439' Suggested Subjects for Debate 442. Manual oe Parliamentary Ruees and Practice , 443 Programmes 472, ELOCUTION E LOCUTION is vocal delivery. It may be said to comprise both science and y art. The science embraces the prin- ciple which constitutes the basis of reading and speaking ; the art consists in the practical application of these principles. Elocution may be divided into two parts, viz. : Vocal Gymnastics and Gesture. Vocal Gymnastics is the philosophy of the human voice, as well as the art of training the vocal organs. Gesture is the various postures and motions employed in vocal delivery, by the body and its external members. Vocal Gymnastics is properly subdivided into four parts: (i) Articulation; (2) PitJi ; (3) Force, and (4) Time. Articulation is the act of forming, with the organs of speech, the elements of vocal language, and good articulation is the perfect utterance of these elements. The first step towards becoming a good elocu- tionist, is a correct articulation. "A public speaker, possessed of only a moderate voice, if he articulates correctly, will be better under- stood, and heard with greater pleasure, than one who vociferates without judgment. The voice •of the latter may indeed extend to a consider- able distance, but the sound is dissipated in' confusion. Of the former voice not the smallest vibration is wasted, every stroke is perceived at the utmost distance to which it, reaches ; and hence it has often the appearance of penetrating even farther than the voice which is much louder, but badly articulated. In just articulation, the words are not to be hurried over, nor precipated syllable over 2 syllable ; nor, as it were, melted together into a mass of confusion ; they should not be trailed, or drawled, nor permitted to slip out carelessly, so as to drop unfinished. They should be deliv- ered from the lips as beautiful coins, newly issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, in due succession, and of due weight. Without good articulation, it is impossible to be a correct reader or speaker. Those who have been accustomed to pronounce their words in a careless or slovenly manner, will find it difficult, even with their best efforts, to utter them distinctly. The organs of articulation, for the want of proper exercise, become, as it were, paralyzed. The pupil, therefore, at the very commencement of his studies, should be conducted through a series of exercises, calcu- lated to strengthen the muscles of articulation, and render them obedient to the will. The best method for effecting these purposes, is to exer- cise the voice on the elements of language. By the Elements of Vocal Language, we mean the sounds of which words are composed. These sounds are represented by characters called letters. There are twenty-six letters in the English language,, but the number of sounds, or elements, are thirty-eight (some writers make forty-one). Thus the twenty-six letters do almost double duty. If we had a perfect alphabet every elementary sound would be represented by its appropriate character or letter. As it is, a represents four different sounds : e y two ; /, two ; 0, three ; u, three ; z, two ; and there are six sounds, each of which is represented by two letters — ou, ng, sh, wh, th in then, and th in thin. . 17 18 ELOCUTION, The elementary sounds have usually been studied, or should have been, in school before the child is ten years old. If not, we refer the reader to any dictionary or speller where the same, and exercises on them, may be found. The student should practice the voice first on each element separately, and then on the various combinations. HOW TO IMPROVE ARTICULATION, DEFECTIVE articulation is exceedingly common. Perhaps not one individual in a thousand has a perfect articula- tion. This arises from neglect of proper gymnastic treatment of the organs of speech in childhood. They should be taught the elements of vocal language with their letters, Postures of the Mouth.— Plate I. or even before ; and, to facilitate their acquis- tion of this knowledge, they should be made to exercise before a mirror, so as to compare the movement of their own lips with those of their mother or teacher. By pursuing this course a good foundation will be laid for a perfect and graceful articulation. Those who do not have the advantage of this early training — and few get it — may improve themselves, like Demos- thenes, in later life, by study and prac- tice. These illustrations, and a mirror, will guide the student in acquiring an accurate knowledge of the postures of the mouth in uttering the elements ener- getically and singly. The elements are grouped according to the postures in which the mouth should be when they are formed. Let it be remembered that diphthongs and triphthongs have each two postures of the mouth — one at the commencement the other at the termination of the sound. These postures are, of course, more or less modified, when the elements are- uttered in their various combinations, and with different degrees of force. The pupil should exercise his organs, of speech, in the most forcible manner, three times a week, and, if possible, even every day, on all the elements. The vowels should be exploded from the throat, both interrogatively and affirm- atively, in every range of pitch within the compass of the voice, and with every possible degree of force. The vowels are exploded in the follow- ing manner: make a full inspiration, close the glottis, and contract the muscles ELOCUTION. 19 of expiration, so as to condense the air in the lungs, then utter the element with a sudden and forcible emission of the breath. The sounds thus produced may be denominated vocal thunder; the effect upon an audience is elec- trical. This exercise strengthens the vocal organs, and enables the speaker to be heard at a great distance, with very little effort, or expenditure of breath. It is also beneficial to health. LISPING AND STAMMERING, Lisping is the substitution of the sound of th for that of some other letter, gen- erally for that of s in sin. Thus the words sale, send, sight, song, etc., are pronounced thale, thend, thight, thong, etc. The lisper should be told, that, in forming the sound of th, the tip of the tongue is pressed gently against the inner surface of the upper incisor teeth ; whereas, in forming that of s, it is placed, in like manner, against the gums of the upper incisor teeth. Hence, to avoid making th for s, the tongue should be drawn back a little, and its point turned upward against the gums of the upper teeth. In the correction of lisp- ing, the following exercises may be practiced with advantage : tha, sa ; tha, sa ; tha, sa ; tha, sa ; the, se ; the, the, etc. The defects of articulation, in which one element is substituted for another, are numerous ; but, as the method of treatment is similar in all, it is presumed enough has been said to enable the teacher or student to manage them carefully. Stammering is a functional derange- ment of the organs of speech, which renders them incapable, under certain circumstances, of promptly obeying the commands of the will, thus causing hesitation or interruption of speech, usually attended with more or less distortion of features. Stammering may be cured, but it needs the aid of elocution, sometimes a physician, and always the determination of the patient. Demosthenes, the greatest of orators, cured himself, by placing pebbles in his mouth, speak- ing against the roaring sea, speaking while run- Postures of the Mouth.— Plate II. ning, etc. The primary causes of stammering are usually found in a delicate constitution, or a nervousness and irritability of temperament. Sometimes the habit is acquired by imitation. It is aggravated by embarassment, a fear of not being successful, or any excitement. 20 ELOCUTION. If the stammerer has a cheerful disposition, is distinguished for energy of mind and decision of character, can appreciate the variations of pitch in speech and song, or, in other words, has an ear for music and a taste for elocution, the chance for recovery is favorable. But if he is of a nervous temperament, subject to melan- choly, irresolute of purpose, incapable of imita- tion in speaking and singing, the chance is unfavorable. The teacher should study the disposition of his pupil : he should persuade him to banish from his mind all melancholy thoughts — in short, he should do everything in his power to render his pupil cheerful and happy. The stammerer should first master the sounds of letters, as well as the elements of language ; then practice them as he walks about, and at all convenient times, until he gains control over the vocal organs in these simple utterances. In his first attempts at conversation, both teacher and pupil should speak in a deliberate manner, with a full, firm tone of voice, and in a very low pitch. The stammerer should now commit to memory a short piece which requires to be spoken with explosive force; for example, "Satan's speech to his legions," which is illustrated later on. If not in a class, he may practice it before a mirror. If he is in a class, the members of the class should stand at a sufficient distance from each other to prevent their hands coming in contact when their arms are extended. They should then pronounce the speech in concert, after the teacher, and accompany it with appro- priate gesticulation. It should be repeated again and again ; till each pupil can give it proper expression, both as regards voice and gesture. Each pupil should then, in turn, take the place of the teacher and give out the speech to the class. To prevent the pupil's stammer- ing, while he is performing the teacher's part, the teacher himself should play an accompani- ment on the violoncello, violin, organ, drum, or some other instrument. At first the notes should be made very loud ; but if the effort of the pupil, standing out of the class, is likely to be successful, they should gradually be made softer and softer, and, finally, the accompaniment omitted altogether. With determination on the part of the stam- merer, and persistent practice, especially when a competent teacher in elocution can be con- sulted, no one should fail to be benefited, and many are permanently cured of this misfortune. INFLECTION. Inflection is the variation of the pitch of the voice from its key-note, or the ordinary govern- ing tone used in speaking or reading on any occasion. All persons have a key-note, or pre- vailing sound in their conversation, which arises chiefly from the character of their voice, as bass, treble, alto, soprano, etc. Every subject has also its appropriate key-note or pitch suitable to the subject-matter, the person speaking, and the occasion. This must be determined by each for himself. In reading or speaking the voice is constantly varied from this prevailing note, and with more or less rapidity changes from the lowest to the highest compass of its tones. The life of good speaking depends much upon the compass and variety of inflection. Clear thought and strong feeling put the right inflections in the power of the student, as they do every other point of expression ; for then he places himself under the inspiration of nature, the only guide in the noble art of elocution. Observe that every syllable has its own note, and it is rarely, except in a style called the monotone, or in feeble and monotonous reading, that the same tone ought to occur twice in suc- cession. This gives that charming variety to the voice in good speaking, without which it would pall upon the ear. Every polysyllabic word, every clause, and every sentence, has a highest and a lowest tone in it ; and the rising to the one and the falling to the other consti- tutes inflection. One is called the rising, the other the falling inflection. In a single word (a pollysyllable) the accented syllable com- mands the highest note in the word. FRANCIS WILSON. "It was all about a--ha! ha! and a— ho! ho! ho '.--well really: It is—he! he! he!— I never could begin to tell you." 'BY CAPTIVATING YOUTHS BESET, WHO WOULDN'T BE A GAY COQUETTE? ELOCUTION. 21 EmpJiasis will run the vowel sound of a monosyllable through several notes of the scale, otherwise it has but one tone. Ex. — How f > dare you say so ! In clauses and sentences the rising and falling inflexion occur according to the sense and char- acter of the sentiment : the degree of it is a matter entirely indefinite, but depends upon the strength of the feeling. As a general rule, the voice rises to the highest pitch, in a clause, on the accented syllable of the emphatic word ; but it is at the end of clauses and sentences that the inflection is most marked and can be best described. For this purpose I shall give a few general principles for the guidance of the student in inflection. The fallen inflection occurs — i. At the end of a sentence where the sense is complete and affirmative or negative. Ex. — The wind and rain are over\ I say it is not so\ 2. At the end of a clause, in language of Command, Remonstrance, Denunciation, Re- proach, Terror, Awe, or any vehement emotion accompanied with strong affirmation. Ex. — Down\ cried Mar, your lances DOWN\ etc. Why s will you act tkus s in the King's presence v ? Woe unto you\ Scribes and Pharisees\ Hypocrites^ ! Thou slave y , thou wretch>, thou coward^ ! Angels and ministers of grace\ defend us\ The rising inflection occurs — i. At the end of a sentence interrogative and where it be answered by yes or no. Ex. — Canst thou minister to a mind diseased / ? 2. At the end of a clause, where the sense is incomplete and where the sentence is not strongly affirmative, when Expectation, Conces- sion, Inquiring Wonder, or Indignant Surprise is expressed, or Contemptuous Slight is implied, or where the subject-matter is treated as unim- portant or trifling. Ex.— Of all the fields fertilized with carnage'. I grant you this may be abused 7 . What, am I braved' ? Is it possible 7 ? There is no terror in your threats 7 , Cassius 7 . I care not if you did 7 . I don't care much 7 , it is of no consequence 7 . In certain styles of expression the voice takes a waving inflection between high and low pitch, with a rapid transition. This occurs in Irony, Sarcasm, Scorn, Derision ; and may be given on a single word or a phrase. Ex. — O yes, you are all that is courteous^. Here is a rare pattern of humanity \ The same is found in certain kinds of Inde- cisive Assertions. Ex. — One may be wise, though he be p'oor 7 . I shall go, though I cannot tell when 7 . EMPHASIS. Emphasis is a certain force of utterance expended upon a single word, to call attention thereto, and mark special signiflcancy. The signiflcancy and sense of reading depends chiefly upon the emphasis. Take, for instance, the simple phrase, Will you go to town to- morrow ? You may vary the sense in six differ- ent ways by emphasis, thus : i. Will you go to town to-morrow ? i. e. Will you or not? 2. Will you go to town to-morrow? i. e. Will you or somebody else ? 3. Will you go to town to-morrow ? i. e. Will you go or stay ? 4. Will you go to town to-morrow ? i. e. Will you go to or from ? 5. Will you go to town to-morrow ? i. e. To town or somewhere else ? 6. Will you go to town to-morrow ? i. e. To-morrow or next day ? Emphasis will infallibly result in reading or speaking, if there is a clear apprehension of the sense of what is read or spoken, and a strong desire to produce an impression on the hearer : hence the rule that will supersede all other rules in the attainment of this, as well ab all other points of expression, is this — strive ever for concentration of thought and lively feelings in reading or in speaking. This is the beginning and the end of all instruction. Let any child that can read take up a book that it can feel and understand, and it neither 22 ELOCUTION. will nor can avoid putting emphasis on words, according to its interest in, and apprehension of, the subject-matter. PITCH AND FORCE. Pitch refers to the general condition of the tones of the voice in repeating a passage, and must be distinguished from Inflection, which describes the transitions of the voice in a word, clause, or sentence. It refers to the key-note of the voice, and marks out a general degree of elevation or depression in the current tone. Force, on the other hand, is the degree of strength expended in the expulsion of the voice. I treat of them here together, because when combined they make up their loiidness or soft- ness in the voice, and the combination of different degrees of each, make up a peculiar intonation and expression that must be illus- trated by bringing both to bear on the voice at the same time. I mark four degress of Pitch : Low, Mod- erate, 'High, Very High. And four degrees of Force : Gentle, Mod- derate, Strong, Very Strong. Examples. ir rl f J O n ^ e Earl's cheek the flush of rage' Moderate. | o'ercame the ashen hue of age v ; Low Fierce^ he broke forth v ; — High Aud clarest thou, then 7 , Rising To beard the lion in his den' f Higher ( The Douglas in his hali/ ? and \ And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go' ? Louder. { No\ by Saint Bride of Bothwell, NO\ Very ( Up draw-bridge v , grooms' ! what warder, High \ her- ! and Loud, y Let the porticullis FALL' . Sometimes the expression requires a high pitch, but a gentle or moderate force, or the reverse. The first is required in very plaintive and sorrowful style, or in very joyous and lively expression. Examples. High Pitch and j Ah ! woe is me ; whither shall I fly ? Low Force. \ Pity the sorrows of a poor old man. High Pitch f O, dearest little baby', how sweet and \ becoming Gentle Force. ( Is thy crown of flowers. Again, the expression may require a low pitch in the voice, but great force in the utterance. The distinction must here be noticed. The force is expended, not on the tone of the voice, but on the strength of utterance — i. e., on the articulation and pronunciation. This indicates great force suppressed. It is used in strong but suppressed Passion — Suspicion, or Fear. Examples. f How like a fawning publican he looks v - j I hate him, for that he is a Christian^. — J If I catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him y . — Had he not resembled My father as he slept', I had done it K . Low Fitch, but ' Great Force in the Utterance. As a word of caution to those desiring to become good public speakers, let us say : — the majority of the people in this country pitch the voices too high, not only when they read and speak in public, but also in their colloquial intercourse. We not unfrequently meet with individuals who always speak in the highest key of the natural voice, and occasionally meet with those who speak in the falsetto. The high pitch, in speech, is very unpleasant to a cultivated ear, and it is totally inadequate to correct expression, of sentiments of respect, veneration, dignity and sublimity. Great attention should be paid to the subject of force, as much of what is called expression, depends on some modification of this attribute of the voice. Indeed, force may be considered the light and shade of elocution. Mr. Alison observes, that loud sounds are connected with ideas of power and danger ; and that many objects in nature, which have such qualities, are distinguished by such sounds. On the contrary, soft sounds are connected with ideas of gentleness and delicacy. MELODY. Melody is a series of simple sounds, emanat- ing from the voice, so varied in pitch as to pro- duce a pleasing effect upon the ear. The series of graphic notes by which these sounds are rep- resented, is also called melody. ELOCUTION. 23 Correct intonation, in speech, is highly im- portant ; in song, and instrumental music, it is indispensable ; for, if the intonation is false, melody loses its charms, and harmony becomes discord. The melody of speech is founded on sense ; that of song, generally, on sound. Words con- taining opposite sentiments may be sung to the same air, with effects equally good, if the force and time be properly varied. But speech is not so accommodating. Here every sentence must not only have its appropriate tune, but the tune must be properly pitched. Exercises on this point will be found later on, in which the notes of the emphasis melodies are represented by graphic inflections placed at different degrees of elevation, thus : " Ye are the things that tow v er, that shine x , whose smiles makes glad\ whose frown is ter N rible." In reading and speaking, there is one note which predominates ; and in correct reading and speaking, the pitch of this note is always in accordance with the sentiment. In reading emphasis melodies, beginners are apt to make the intervals too great. Care should be taken to avoid this fault, or the melody will be caricatured. MODULATION. Modulation is a changing of the pitch-note to a higher or lower degree of elevation — in other words, it is the process of changing the key, or of passing from one key to another. This change is sometimes made to a proximate key ; at other times, a bold and abrupt transition to a remote key is necessary to produce .the desired effect. Modulation is generally attended with a change of force, or time ; and, not unfrequently, with a change of both. There is not a more impor- tant requisite in elocution — nothing which con- tributes more to the pleasure of an audience — nothing which gives stronger proof that an orator is master of his art, than a well-regulated and expressive modulation. Modulation, how- evet, should never be resorted to for the sake of mere variety — it should always be subservient to the sense ; for it is the province of modulation to mark changes of sentiment, changes in the train of thought, and parenthetical clauses. Some public speakers, who are ignorant of the principles of elocution, but who, never- theless, are considered by the vulgar as great orators, modulate their voices in the most erratic and hyperbolical manner. There are other public speakers who never modulate their voices, however necessary it may be to give proper expression to their sentiments ; and, what is worse, they generally pitch their voices a third, a fifth, or an octave too high. I once listened to an excellent discourse, from a very learned man, which, however, was nearly lost upon the audience from the disgusting manner in which it was delivered. The lec- turer pitched his voice an octave too highland spoke an hour and a half, without any variation in pitch, force, or time ; and what rendered his delivery still more offensive, every syllable was marred with an intolerable drawling. Such elocution is discreditable to any man who speaks in public, and ought not to be tolerated by an educated community. TIME. Time is the measure of sounds in regard to their duration. Time, in song, and instrumental music, is divided into equal measures by rhythmical pul- sation — in other words, by a periodical return of similar accents. In graphic music, these measures are rendered conspicuous to the eye by vertical bars, as in the following line of poetry : | Hail to the | chief who in | triumph ad | vances. | In speech there is also a return of similar accents ; but they do not always occur at regular intervals of time. Hence the rhythm of speech, like its melody, is more or less irregular; but every selection for reading or recitation, like every piece of music, has its proper time or movement, according to the nature of the piece. Movement is the velocity with which a sentence is read or sung, or a strain of instrumental music is played. 24 ELOCUTION. The rate of movement should be such as the sentiment demands. Solemn discourse requires a slow movement ; simple narrative, a medium rate of utterance ; animated description, as well as all language expressive of any sudden pas- sion, as joy, anger, etc., a movement more or less rapid, according to the intensity of emotion. GESTURE. Second only to vocal gymnastics comprising articulation, pitch, force and time — which have who are ambitious of accomplishment in elocu- tion. Without discussing this subject at length, we will, by a few simple illustrations, endeavor to show the favorable and unfavorable postures of the body, and afterwards proceed to show the different attitudes for expressing various emotions and sentiments. In the first place, let it be remembered that the orator or reader should stand upon his feet, and never lounge or loll in an ungraceful attitude. If a reader or a speaker should lie on the stand before him, or CORRECT ATTITUDES. been discussed in the preceding chapter — is gesture. Gesture is the science of interpretating and emphasizing by various postures and motions of the face, head, shoulders, trunk, arms, hands, fingers, legs and feet, the words which are spoken. Graceful and appropriate gesture renders vocal delivery far more pleasing and effective. Hence its cultivation is of primary importance to those hang on to a chair or a table, he will not be likely to deliver himself with energy or effect. The above illustrations show a few of the improper positions often assumed, in contrast with proper or graceful attitudes. The Head, the Eyes, the Arm and Hand. As the head gives the chief grace to the person, so does it principally contribute to the ELOCUTION. 25 expression of grace, in delivery. The head should be held in an erect and natural posture ; for, when hung down, it expresses humility, or diffidence ; when thrown back, arrogance ; and when inclined to one side, lan- guor or indifference. The move- ments of the head should be suited to the character of the delivery; they should accord with the gesture, and fall in with the action of the hands and the motions of the body. The head is capable of many appropriate expressions. Besides those nods which signify assent, or approbation and rejection, there are motions of the head, known, and common to all, which express modesty, doubt, admiration and indignation. But to use the gesture of the head alone, unaccompanied by any other gesture, is considered faulty. It is also a fault to shake or nod the head frequently, to toss it violently, or to agitate the hair, by rolling it about. The eyes should look the sentiment expressed. Every ges- ture will be strengthened or weakened by the expression of the eye. This, like other ges- tures, shoud be practiced before a mirror. But to give the proper expression and power to the eye, the speaker must feel the senti- ment he would put into his look and words. The arm, the fore -arm, the hand, and fingers form the grand instruments of gesture; or, as Cicero calls them, ' ' the weapons of the orator. ' ' Altogether they form a compound instrument, the centre of which is in the shoulder, but each separate joint often becomes a new centre of motion for the portion between it and the extremity. In gesticulating, this complex in- strument does not continue long in one direct line, but changes every moment. The most common position of the hands are illustrated by Correct Positions of the Hands. 1. Simple affirmation. 2. Emphatic declaration. 3. Apathy or prostration. 4. Energetic appeal. 5. Negation or denial. 6. Violent repulsion. 7. Indexing or cautioning. 8. Determination or anger. 9. Supplication. 10. Gentle entreaty. 11. Carlessness. 12. Argumentation. 13. Earnest entreaty 14. Resignation. the accompanying cuts. They may be memor- ized by the student in a few minutes, and a little practice will make them familiar. Here, again, the mirror will help. Look first at the illustration ; then reproduce it in the glass. 26 ELOCUTION. The Stroke and Time of Gesture. The stroke of the gesture is analogous to the emphasis of the voice ; and they should both fall exactly on the accented syllable of the emphatic word. In this way the emphatic force of the voice, and the stroke of the gesture, co-operate in presenting the idea in the most lively manner, to the eye as well as to the ear. In all discourse, whether calm or impas- sioned, the words and the gestures should accompany each other. As, in beating time in music, the beat is made on the accented part of the measure, so in speaking, the stroke of the gesture should fall on the accented syllable of the emphatic word. The emotion which calls forth the word, at the same moment, prompts the gesture. Hence, the muscles of gesticula- tion should move synchronously and harmo- niously with those of the voice. When gesture is not marked by the precision of the stroke, in the proper places, it is ver) offensive. The arms, like those of a person groping in the dark, seem to wander about in quest of some uncertain object ; and the action is of that faulty kind which is called sawing the air. Even graceful motions, unmarked by the precision of the stroke of the gesture, as some- times seen, lose much of their force, and very soon cease to afford pleasure. All the unmean- ing motions of public speakers are attended with the same ill effect as a mouthing and cant- ting tone of declamation, which lays no em- phasis with just discrimination, but swells and falls with a vain affectation of feeling, and with .absolute deficiency both in taste and judgment. WHOLE FIGURE GESTURES AND ATTITUDES. The following illustrations will assist the student in assuming the proper attitudes and making the proper gestures for the expression of the feelings or sentiments indicated. It would be well to memorize and practice before a mirror, until confidence, ease and grace are acquired in executing them. The following passages may be recited in practicing the different attitudes and gestures. -"See! the royal prince ' I now disclose to you this Fig. 1. Declaring.— " I declare the story to be false." Fig. 2. Announcing. is coming. ' ' Fig. 3. Revealing.— long-hidden secret." Fig. 4. Denying and Rejecting. — " I deny, I spurn the accusation, and I accept not the overtures offered. ' ' Fig. 5. Defending.— " I thrust myself between this child and you. Strike me, if you dare ! " Fig. 6. Protecting and Soothing. — 1st. " I stand between thee and all danger." 2d. " There, now, be still. Fear not." Fig. 7. Presenting or Receiving. — 1st. ' ' Allow me to present for your considera- tion." 2d. "I am happy, very happy, to welcome you." Fig. 8. Signalling. — " Here ! this way ; quick ! " Fig. 9. Designating.—" I point the villain out. Seize him! " Fig. 10. Silence.—" Mum is the word ; breathe not a hint of it." Fig. 11. Secrecy. — ''Now, mind, what I say is in the strictest confidence, and must not pass your lips." Fig. 12. Meditation.— "Now, let me think it all over. ' ' Fig. 13. Indecision. — " I'm undecided. Let me see ; which would be best ? What shall I do ? " Fig. 14. Defiance. — "Let it come, I say, sir; let it come." Fig. 15. Repulsion. — "The thought is sicken- ing. Away!" Fig. 16. Exaltation. — " Hownoble ! How exalt- ing ! How grand and glorious ! How soul-inspiring ! " Fig. 1 7. Wonderment. — " I never saw anything like it." Fig. 18. Gladness. — ' ' My gratification is beyond words ; I am truly glad." Fig. 19. Anguish.— "The grief that I bear ! Oh! what torture ! what crushing anguish ! " Fig. 20. Remorse. — " It is all my own sin ; returning like a leaden rain upon my unprotected head." Fig. 21. Awe and Appeal. — 1st. ' ' What awe inspires my soul ! " 2d. " I appeal to God and humanity." Fig. 22. Terror. — "The awful sight struck terror to his frightened heart." Fig. 23. Dispersion. — "Let them be scattered to the uttermost parts of the earth. ' ' Fig. 24. Discerning. — " Yes, yes, now I begin to see ; 'tis not entirely clear as yet, but plainer." ELOCUTION. 27 Fier. 1.— Declaring;. Fig. 2.— Announcing. Fig. 3.— Revealing-. Fig. 4-.— Denying— Rejecting. Fig. 5.— Defending, Fig. 6— Protecting— Soothing. 28 ELOCUTION. P igj 7 .-Presenting or Receiving. Fig. S.— Signalling. Fig. 9-- Designating. Fig. lO.— Silence. Fig. 11.— Secrecy. Fig. 12.— Meditation. 'THEY CALL MB A TREASURE, A SWEET ROGUISH MAIDEN.' DE WOLFE HOPPER: In the character of a Matador, about to enter the ring for a bull-fight. ELOCUTION. 29 Fig. 13.— Indecision. Fig. 14.— Defiance. Fig. 15.— Repulsion. Fig. 16.— Exaltation. Fig. 17.— Wonderment. Fig. 18.— Gladness. 30 ELOCUTION. Fig. 20.— Remorse. Fig. 21.— Awe— Appeal. Fig. 23.— Dispersion Fig. 24.— Discerning. ELOCUTION. 31 SIGNIFICANT GESTURES. The most important of significant gestures of different parts of the body are the following : 1. The Head and Face. Hanging the head down denotes shame or grief. Holding the head up, pride or courage. To nod forward implies assent. To toss the head back, dissent. Inclination of the head, diffidence or languor. The head averted, dislike or horror. The head leaning forward, attention. 2. The Eyes. In prayer, the eyes are raised. In sorrow, they weep. In anger, they burn. In shame or grief, they are downcast or averted. They are cast on vacancy, in thought. They are cast in various directions, in doubt and anxiety. 3. The Arms, The placing of the hand on the head, indi- cates pain or distress. On the eyes, shame or sorrow. On the lips, an injunction of silence. On the breast, an appeal to conscience. The hand is waved, or nourished, in joy or contempt. Both ■ hands are held supine, or they are applied, or clasped, in prayer. Both are held prone, in blessing. They are clasped, or wrung, in affliction. They are held forward, and received, in friendship. 4. The Body. The body, held erect, indicates steadiness and courage. Thrown back, pride. Stooping forward, condescension or com- passion. Bending, reverence or respect. Prostration, the utmost humility or abase- ment. 5. The Lower Limbs. The firm position of the lower limbs signifies courage, or obstinacy. Bended knees indicate timidity, or weakness. The lower limbs advance, in desire or courage. They retire, in aversion or fear. Start, in terror. Stamp, in authority or anger. Kneel, in submission and prayer. These are a few of the simple gestures which may be termed significant. STYLES OF GESTURE. There are three general modes of public speaking, each of which requires a different style of gesture, namely : The Epic, the Rhe- torical, the Colloquial. 1. Epic Gesture demands every natural and acquired power on the part of the speaker. To it belongs magnificence, coldness, energy, vari- ety, simplicity, grace, propriety, and precision. Tragedy, epic poetry, lyric odes, and sublime descriptions require this style of gesture. 2. Rhetorical Gesture requires energy, variety, simplicity, and precision. Grace is desirable ; Magnificence is rarely wanting, but may some- times have place. Propriety, in a limited sense, should be observed. Boldness is inadmissable ; because the orator is not, like the player, sub- jected to any unexpected circumstances. He is not, therefore, at liberty to express surprise, or any other passion, by bold gestures or attitudes. 3. Colloquial Gesture, when concerned hi the higher scenes of polite life, requires, prin- cipally, simplicity and grace ; precision will follow, of course ; it may occassionally demand something of energy and variety. Magnificence and boldness are inadmissable. The gesture of the public speaker must vary considerably with the different circumstances of his situation, of his sentiments, and of his audi- ence. If the mere information or instruction of his audience be his sole object, as when the evidences of religion and the grounds of Chris- 32 ELOCUTION. tian duties are to be explained from the pulpit, or when the details of calculation and finance are to be laid before Congress, or when facts are weighed and laws are argued in the courts of justice, his gestures should be of that class which is called discriminating gestures. These he should exercise with simplicity and precision. He should strip them of all the parade of prepa- ration, and of the graces of transition, and give them only that degree of variety which shall guard them against disgusting sameness. This is far removed from theatrical gesture ; it rather approaches the colloquial style. Nothing could be more incongruous than for a public speaker, in either of the foregoing situations, to introduce the parade and mag- nificence of theatrical gesture. The charge which is sometimes made against public speakers, of being threatrical in their gesture, probably arises more from some unsuitableness in their manner to the matter, than from anything of uncommon majesty, boldness, or grace in their action. When the public speaker aims at persuasion, as in discourses from the pulpit for public charges, on extraordinary occasions in Congress, or at the bar, where he wishes to influence the opinions of others, he will naturally use more graceful, more flowing, and more varied gesture. But with all his gracefulness he should be simple, and not fall into affecting gestures too strongly significant, or attempt surprises by attitudes. Manly decorum and respect for the character of his hearers should characterize the speaker. Grace of Action. The grace of action, according to Hogarth, consists in moving the body and limbs in that curve which he calls the line of beauty. When action is considered independent of language and sentiment, this definition will, perhaps, be found generally correct. Rhetorical action, however, derives its grace, not only from the actual motions of the speaker, but also from the congruity of his motions with his own character and situation, as well as with the sentiments which he delivers. The dignity which is a \ becoming grace in a judge, would be quaint affectation in a young advocate ; and the collo- quial, but graceful familiarity of action, even of the most polished society, would be highly indecorous in the pulpit. Hence, it must be admitted, according to the just maxim of Cicero and Quintilian, that decorum constitutes true oratorical grace ; and that this decorum admits of great variety of action, under different cir- cumstances. Vehement action is sometimes both decorous and graceful ; so also are abrupt and short gestures, if they bear the impress of truth and suitableness. Such are the gestures of an old man, when he is irritated. But the most flow- ing and beautiful motions, the grandest prepara- tions, and the finest transitions of gesture, ill applied, and out of time, lose their natural character of grace, and become indecorous, ridiculous, or offensive. The grace of oratorical action consists, chiefly, in the facility, the freedom, the variety, and the simplicity of those gestures which illus- trate the discourse. Action, to be graceful, should be performed with facility ; because the appearance of great effort is incompatible with ease, which is a con- stituent of grace. It should also be performed with freedom : no gestures can be graceful which are either confined by external circum- stances, or restrained by the mind. If an orator should address an assembly from a narrow window, or from a crowded place like an inclosed pulpit, he cannot be graceful in ges- ture. Greece, the native soil of manly elo- quence and of true taste, was not the originator of the pulpit. Let it be borne in mind, however, that ges- tures, to be graceful, are nearly always made in curved lines. It is only when the speaker is driving home a point that gesticulating in a straight line is admissable. The following cuts, in the speech of " Satan to his Legions," illustrate by lines the move- ments of the hands from one position to the next. ELOCUTION. SATAN'S SPEECH TO HIS LEGIONS.-Milton. 33 Princes' ! Potentates' ! Warriors^ ! The flower of Heaven\ once yours', now lost\ If such astonishment as this' can seize Eternal spirits or have ye chosen this place, After the toil of battle, 34 ELOCUTION. to repose Your weary virtue, for the as in the vales of Heav^en? Or,in this abject posture v ease you find To slum v ber here} have you sworn To adore who now beholds Cherub rolling in the flood/ the Conqueror?' and seraph With scattered arms and ensigns, till, anon, His swift pursuers, from Heaven-gates, discern The advantage, and, descending, 35 tread us down\ Thus drooping ; or, with linked thunMer- bolts, Transfix^ us to the bottom of this gulf\ Awake N ! Arise N ! or be for ev x er fallen*. Readings and Declamations WITH LESSON TALKS THE following selections, accompanied by marks of inflection and Lesson Talks are for the purpose of assisting the student in properly comprehending, in- terpreting, and acting out the spirit of the selec- tion rendered. EXPLANATION OF THE CHARACTERS USED IN THE FOLLOWING EXERCISES. ( | ) A vertical bar, employed to divide each para- graph into sections of a convenient length for con- cert reading. ( , ) A separation mark. It signifies the words be- tween which it is placed, should not coalesce. ( II ) A rest. Where this character is employed there should be a slight suspension of the voice. ( - ) A hold. The vowels over which this char- acter is placed, should have an unusual prolonga- tion. ( i\ ' v ,v ) Acute and grave accents. They are employed to represent the rising and falling inflec- tions, and also the emphasis melodies. ( A ) Acuto-grave accent, or acuto-grave circum- flex. ( o ) Gravo-acute accent, or gravo-acute circum- flex. (ir) Irony. The passage to which these letters are prefixed, is ironical. (rp.) Reproach. When these letters are prefixed to a passage, it contains the language of reproach. ( wh) Whisper. The passage to which these letters are prefixed, should be whispered. (i, 2, 3, 4) These numbers represent the degrees of modulation. The italic letters represent sounds which are liable to be omitted, or imperfectly articulated. When all the letters in a word are italic, the word is emphatic. The emphatic words, however, are seldom, in this work, marked by italic letters. In designating the pronunciation of words, in the foot-notes, I have used small letters after the words. Where small letters precede the word they indicate the degree of modulation. 36 PPP {Pianissimo) . PP {piti piano) . . P (piano) . . . mp [mezzo piano) m {mezzo) . . mf {mezzo forte) f (forte) . . . ff ( pifo forte) . fff (fortissimo ) For convenience, force is divided into nine degrees. These degrees are expressed by the following abbre- viations : as soft as possible. more soft, very soft. soft. middling soft, rather soft. half, middle, mean. middling, loud, rather loud. loud. more loud, very lond. as loud as possible. It would be well for the student to memorize the above marks, and, for his own convenience and assistance, carefully mark such selections as he may recite. It is an excellent practice to have classes mark selections, each one independ- ently, and the teacher read the passages accord- ing to the different markings, pointing out and correcting errors ; or a better custom is to write it out correctly, and let the students' compare or correct their own papers to agree with that of the teacher. THE MISER AND PLUTUS.— Gay. (Selection with suggestions for Gestures and Wesson Talk.) The win;/ was high' — | the windrow shakes ; r | (Klevate both hands, as first division is spoken. Look to- ward window in second.) With sudden start' the miser wakes' ! | (Expression of fear or terror, and proper gesture.) y 2 wh. Along the silen/ room^ he stalks ; | (Speak in bated breath . Imitate his action by moving across the stage with hands outstretched, as if walking in the dark.) *4 wh. Looks back', | and trembles as he walks'! I (Holds hands still forward and looks back over shoulder. ) (Facing front, both hands lifted in front, of face, — trem- bling.) y 2 wh. Each lock\ am/ev'ry bolt' he tries/ | (Imitate touching locks and bolts.) y 2 wh. In ev'ry creek, an^corner v , pries' ; | (Pry and veer, as if looking carefully to be sure that he is alone.) GETTING TOO BIG TO KISS. 'Oh, no, no, no, no, sir! Allow me to pass; Oh, no, a kiss is more than I dare: — That game's out of fashion ( I'm sorry, alas! ) You needn't look cross as a bear. " HELD BY A THREAD (Suggestion For Tableau^ i RECITATIONS WITH LESSON TALKS. 37 m. The/z opes his ch.es f with treasure storV, | (A satisfied look conies over his face, and he stoops with hands in position of opening his chest.) mf. And stands inrap/'ure r o'er his /joarcT : | (Stands erect with both hands raised, his face wearing an expression of delight. Pause a moment. Slowly drop hands. ) rp. Bu/ now' with sudden qualms, posset, | (The expression suddenly changes to one of pain and disap- pointment — the hands placed over his heart.) /. He wrings his nands" ; he beats /zis breast' — | ■ (Wrings hands.) rp. By con'science v stung he wildly stares ; | (One hand over heart, the other uplifted imploringly, he stares upward. ) And thus Ms guilty soul declares v : | (Xet both hands fall diagonally in front, with palms upward. Expression of guilt upon face. ) Had the deep earth hex stores confin'd, | (Speak regretfully in deep , measured tones. Hands pointed down, as if digging in the earth ; face looking down, as if into a pit.) This /feart Aad known sweet peace of mind^n | (Stands erect, and places hand over heart.) /. Bu/ virtue's sold' ! | Good Gods N ! what price I (Hands elevated and face turned up imploringly.) (Hands half raised, as in re- pelling ; voice a regretful ex- pression, half of surprise.) Can recompense the pangs of vice x ? | (I,eft hand drops full to side ; right clasped over eyebrows. Head bowed, as in remorse. Pauses a moment, then,) rp. O bane of good v ! seducing cheat v ? | (Drops b->th hnnds, palms out. ward, pointing to the ground ; standing erect but with head bowed and eyes in direction of hands, repeats above line. ) | thy power defeat ?',| | (Drops them to an appealing attitude, and pauses.) Can man\ weak man\ (Holds up hands, as if help- less. ) mf. Gold' banish' d honour v from the mim/\ | (Hand thrown out, as i f banishing. ) m. And only left the name behind v ; | (Right hand over heart, the left limp at side ) f. Gold' sow'd the world with ev'ry ill v : | (Both arms swing freely from shoulders, as if sowing broad- cast. ) ff. Go\d' taught the murderer's sword to kilP ; | (Assume attitude :>f stabbing a victim, with proper expres- sion of face.) /. 'T was go Li' instructed coward- hearts | (Attitude of cringing or fear. ) mf. In treach v ry"s more pernicious arts\ | (Gesture of repelling an offensive object. Head thrown back and half turned. A look of contempt or disgust on face.) f Who' can recount the mischiefs o'er v ? h | (Stand erect. Right hand diagonally, up the left diago- nally down ; pause a moment on the question . Then, as if comprehending it all,) m. Virtue resides on earth' no more x ! | (Drop both hands, palms pressing downward, as the disap- pointing result in the last line is spoken, with head slightly dropped forward. Remain standing in that position for a moment, and then retire. ) LKSSON TALK. The suggestions given in small type under the line of the above selection, and in the succeeding one, will guide the student ia making the proper gestures and giving proper expression to the recitation. These suggestions are supposed to take the place of illustra- tions, such as are used in the foregoing " Speech of Satan to his Legions. " Before undertaking to speak the piece, it is neces- sary to thoroughly comprehend its meaning. The student must endeavor to picture to himself the scene and situation. It was night. An old miser sat alone in his apart- ments sleeping a fitful, uneasy sleep. He was in con- stant dread of being robbed, and fancied the rattling of the door or the blinds, by the wind, to be a robber. He is awakened by the wind, and at once begins cautiously to explore the premises to see that no burglar is there. Finally, he approaches his money chest, which he opens, and gloats in all the rapture of his miserly soul over the glittering hoards. Sud- denly, he thinks of the dishonest way in which he obtained his wealth. Conscience reproaches him, and he soliloquizes over the disappointment it had brought him, the peace of which it had robbed him, the sacrafice of character it had cost, and asks, almost in dispair, whether gold could ever pay for what it had cost. He then proceeds to state what terrible things gold had done ; and finally despairing of his ability to recount them all, he ends by declaring that it had robbed the world of all virtue. This piece is capable of a very dramatic and effec- tive rendering, but must be carefully studied and practiced to be well done. TELL'S ADDRESS TO THE MOUN- TAINS. (Selection with suggestions for Gestures and Lesson Talk. ) ff. Ye crags and peaks' | I'm with you once again v ; | (Iyift hands and face toward the mountain; speakloud and joyous. ff means loud.) (Extend arms, as if to greet ; lower voice. ) You first v beheld (Note falling inflection.) I hold to you the hands (Extend full arms, as if ex pecting hands to be grasped. ) \ To show they still are a free\ | Methinks I b hear (Throw arms freely out palms front. ) | (Pause. Drop both A spiri/ in your echoes, answer me, [ hands by the side, and speak musingly.) And bid your tenan/ welcome to /as home\ (Extend arms and lift face, as if receiving a welcome.) Again^ ! e | O sacred forms, | how prom/^ you loo#M | (After "again " pause with hands by side. Then suddenly 38 READINGS AND DECLAMATIONS. break forth in manifestation of deep admiration, making ges- tures to suit the different expressions. ) How high you lif? your heads into the sky N ! | How huge v , you 6 are ! | how mighty, j an*/ how free v ! | Ye are the things tha/ tow' r v — j tha/ shine v — j whose smile Makes g\ad s — | whose frown is terrible — | whose forms, Kdbed, or unjobea 7 , | do all the impress wear | Of awe divine v . | Ye guards of liberty, | (As "Ye guards of liberty " is pronounced the right hand should circle around the head, the left extend diagonally- downward, the figure be thrown backward, and face elevated. ) I'm with you once again r ! c — | fff\ call to you | With all my voice v ! — | I hol^my ham/s to you | To show they still are free^ — | I rush to you | As though I could embrace^ you f ! | (The letters fff denote that the last four lines should be spoken loud, in an ecstacy of delight, the fervor of the expres- sion remaining to the close, but the loudness decreasing.) a Still , are ; not stillar. b Methinks , I ; not me- think' si. c Agen. d Proud , you look ; not prow'- jew-look. e Huge , you are ; nothew'jeware. f Em- brace you ; not embra'shew.- LESSON TALK. The first thing necessary for the student, in order to recite the above declamation, is to appreciate the fact that William Tell, the great Swiss patriot, is sup- posed to have been in exile from his home, which he loved with all the zeal of his patriotic nature. Hav- ing gained his freedom, he returns to Switzerland ; and as he looks again on the native crags and peaks of his mountain home, his heart is filled with patri- otic emotion. He is overjoyed, and in the ecstacy of his nature, breaks forth in the above magnificent address to his native mountains. A correct rendering of this piece cannot be executed unless the speaker puts himself in sympathy with the occasion. For a moment he must be William Tell, the exiled patriot, returned. Second in importance is a correct pronunciation and a clear articulation. The foot-notes following the selection point out the most prominent errors which are likely to occur from running words together. The italic letters placed at the end of cer- tain words indicate the points where the speaker's articulation is likely to be faulty. Third. Observe carefully the marks of inflection. Much of the expression will be lost if these inflec- tions are not carefully, observed. If unfamiliar with the meaning of tha marks, refer to the preceding explanations. Fourth. Almost every line of this selection requires, one or two gestures. The small type printed under the line in perentheses indicates some of the most prominent, but by no means all, of the gestures, which will add to the effect of the piece if properly made. These gestures, in a number of cases, are not independent, but compound, and consist in a graceful passage of the hand from one position to another. We advise the student to the illustrateds "Speech of Satan to his Legions," in the preceding pages, for assistance in acquiring grace of movement. BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.— Campbell. On Linden, a when the sun was low', | All bloodless lay the untrodd'n snow v , | An^ dar£ as winHer, was the flow' | Of Iser rolling rap v idly. | Bu/ Linden saw another sigh/, | When the drum bea/ a/ dea^/ of nigh/ v , | Commanding fires of death , to \ighf | The darkness of Aer sce v nery\ | By torch, and trumphe/ fas/ array V, | Each horseman drew his batHfe blabs', | An^/ furious every charger neigh V, | To join the dreadful revelry. | Then shoo/£ the hills with thun^der riv'n ; | Then rushV the steed to batHle driv'n ; | And louder than the bol/s of heaven, | Far flash V the red artiNery 3 . | And redder ye/ r those fires shall glow' | On Linden's hills of blood-stain V snow v ; | And darker ye/, shall be the flow' | Of Iser rolling rapidly. | 'Tis morn\ — | bu/ scarce yon lurid sun' t | Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun v , | Where furious Fran/£, and fiery Hun' | Shou/in their sulph'rous can v opy. | The comba/ 6 deep v ns — | ffOn s , ye brave \ | Who rush to glory, or the grave x ! | -#?" Wave, Munich/ | all thy banners , wave r ! | And charge with all thy chiv r alry g ! | ;; ^Few, few shall par/ where many mee/ r ! | The snow shall be their wind v ing-shee/, | And every turf beneath h their fee/', | Shall be n a soldier's sep v ulchre. | a Lin'-den ; n»t hindun. b Se-ner-y ; not sennery. c Horse-man; notHossman. ^r-tiF-lur-y. e Cum / - bat. f Mu'-nik. « Shiv'-al-n. h Be-nethe'. RECITATIONS WITH LESSON TALKS. 39 LESSON TALK. The above description of a battle requires consider- able dramatic ability to render it effectively. As in all other selections worth reciting, the speaker must comprehend and enter sympathetically into the spirit of the piece, and by the modulation of his voice, its pitch, and proper observation of inflections, bring the scene vividly before the imagination of his hearers. In th^first stanza, the speaker begins in a measured and dignified tone, looking away to the distance and raising his hand as if pointing out the scene. At the beginning of the second stanza his hand should drop, and looking at his audience, repeat the first line with a suppressed feeling, which should grow in animation. The drum-beat and the lighting of the scenery should be accompanied with proper gesture. The third stanza should be spoken in a hurried and bated breath, and the drawing of the sword be imi- tated in gesture. The last two lines may be repeated in such a manner as to make the audience fairly see the mounted soldiers, with their drawn blades, stand- ing quiet and waiting for battle. The fourth stanza is very animated, and should be spoken with great energy and vigorous gesture. The fifth stanza is spoken in a calmer tone, the speaker appearing to contemplate or forsee the issue of the battle. Succeeding this stanza the speaker should pause. The night intervenes. The morning comes. The smoke of battle hovers over the city so that the sun cannot be seen. At the beginning of the sixth stanza the speaker seems to view the renewal of the battle. The first three lines are spoken with excite- ment, he points at the scene and then loudly cheers the warriors to battle. The last two lines of the stanza are spoken with still more vigor, as indicated by the letters fff. At the close the speaker pauses to see the issue of battle, and appears to be watching it. At the beginning of the last stanza he drops his hand and looks reflectively, almost pathetically, and his voice grows soft and plaintive, as indicated by the letters mp at the beginning of the stanza. To get the best effect, the inflection marks should be carefully studied and their suggestions followed. SPEECH OF ROLLA TO THE PERU- VIAN ARMY.— R. B. Sheridan. (From Kotzebue's Pizarro. ) My brave associates ! | partners of my toil', | my feel'ings, | an.'/ my fame v ! | Can RollaV words add vigor | to the virtuous b energies | which inspire your hearts'? | No v ! | you have judged as T have, | the foulness of the crafty "plea' I by which these bold invaders would delude v you. | Your generous spiri/ | has com- pared as mine r has, | the moHives | which, in a war v x \\ke this', | can anima/e their minds, and" ours v . d | They, by a strange frenzy driven, | figh/ for powder, | for plunder, | and extended rule v | We, for our counHry, | our aPtars, | and our homes v . | They follow an adventurer | whom they fear v . | and obey a power | which they ha/e v . | We serve a monarc/z e | whom we love v — | a God | whom we adore^ ! | Whene'er they move in ang'er/ | desolation traces their progress; | where'er they pause in am'ity, g | affliction mourns their friendship. | They boast — | they come bu/ to improve our sta/e v , | enlarge our though/s v , | anes x | the slaves of passion, | av^arice, | and pride . | They offer us their protection. | Yes v h — | such protection | as vultures give to lambs\ — | covering, and devouring them ! | They call on us | to barter all of good | we have inherted', and proved^ | for the despera/e chance of some- thing better — | which they promise. | Be our plain answer 1 this v : | The throne we honor | is the people's choice — | the laws we reverence- 1 ' | are our brave fathers' legacy — | the faith we follow — | teaches us | to live in bonds of charity with all mankind^ | and die with hopes of bliss | beyond the grave^. | Tell your invaders this v ; | and tell them too', | we seek no x change ; | and leas/ of alP, | such change | as they v would bring us. | a Rol / -laz. b Vert-shu-us. c En'-er-gez. d And ours ; not Ann Dowers. e Mon'-arch ; not mon- nuck. f Move in anger; not mov-vin-nang / ger. g Pause in amity ; not paw-zin-nam'ity. h Yes ; not yis. * Plain answer, not plain -nan'-swer. JRever-' ens ; not Rever-uns. LESSON TALK. The proper rendition of the above selection re- quires that the speaker shall appreciate the fact that Peru had been overrun by the Spanish army under Pizarro, and the natives put to intolerable tortures, and treated with the greatest cruelty and injustice. 40 RECITATIONS WITH LESSON TALKS. The Peruvians, on the contrary, were peace-loving and friendly, but, withal, patriotic and brave. The Spaniards had offered them protection and peace, if they would submit to their government of the country. They resisted the injustice of the Span- iards, and the foregoing speech is supposed to have been delivered by Rolla, their leader, to inspire the Peruvian's patriotic zeal, and their hatred for the oppressor. The selection is an easy one to speak when its spirit is properly comprehended. The pronuncia- tions and inflections, as marked above, will guide the speaker in acquiring a correct delivery. The gestures are simple, direct, and positive. In the next to the last paragraph, a mixture of sarcasm and scorn should show in the expression of the features, and be manifest in the tone of the de- claimer. The last paragraph is aggressive, positive, and manly, and should be spoken with a show of lofty passions, great self-respect, and dignified scorn of the Spaniard's crafty offer. WOLSEY'S SOLILOQUY.—^ Shakespeare* Farewell, | a long farewell, | to all my great- ness ! | This is the state of raan^ : | to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of ho/e r ; | to-morrow, blos^- soms, | And bears /lis blushing honors thic/^ upon ^iim : | The third day, comes a fros/% | a kiHing frosA ; | An;/, — when he thinks, | good, easy man, | full surely His greatness is a ripening, — | nips his roo/ N , | Am/ then he falls, | as I> do. | I have ventur V, | Li£e little wanton boys tha/ swim on bladders, | This many summers, | in a sea of glo^ ry ; | Bu/ far beyond my depth\ : | my high-blown pride | A/ length hroke um der me ; | an^ now has lef/ me, | Weary, and old with service, | to the mercy Of a ru^/e stream, | tha/ mus/ for ever mVe v me. | Vain pom/, and glory of this worh/, | I ha/e N ye; | I feel my hear/ new o^penV: | O how wretched Is tha/ poor man | tha/ hangs on princes' favours ! | There is, betwix/ tha/ smile he would aspire to, | Tha/ sweef aspec/ of princes, | and their ruin, | More pangs, and fears | than wars, or wo^men havev ; Am/ when he falls he falls li/£e Luvcifer, | Never to hope again v . | LESSON TALK. Thomas Wolsey ' was a celebrated courtier and Cardinal of the young King Henry VIII., and was rapidly promoted until he was made Chancellor and Chief Minister of King Henry. In his style of living he displayed a princely magnificence. His superior business talents promoted the interests of the King, except where they interfered with his ambition. He became immensely wealthy, but by playing a double part, pretending to befriend Henry while he was in reality furthering his own ambitious schemes, he was detected, and all his goods and lands forfeited. Pie was further arrested on the charge of treason, but died before his trial began. The above selection rep- resents the Cardinal after his arrest giving up all hope and paying a farewell to his greatness and his ambition. The speech is supposed to have been delivered by "Wolsey to himself, in other words it is, as the title implies, his soliloquy. The speaker should therefore appear entirely absent-minded or forgetful of the presence of the audience. He should walk about the stage, clasp his hands, and appear in the deepest mental agony and disappointment. At proper places he should stop, let his head drop, and assume a medi- tative attitude. The words should be spoken delib- erately, every word pronounced distinctly, and the inflections carefully observed. At the beginning of the last stanza he should stamp his foot and express his utter hate for the glory of this world in strong and vehement manner. WOLSEY'S FAREWELL ADDRESS TO C R O M W E LL— Shakespeare. Cromwell, I did no/ thin/£ to shed a tear | In all my miseries ; | but thou has/ forcV me, | Ou/ of thy hones/ truth, | to play the woman. | Let's dry v our eyes^ ; | and thus far hear me, Crom, well : Am/, — ^hen I am forgotten, as I shall be, | And sleep in dull, cold marble, | where no men- tion Of me more mus/ be heard of, — | 2 say, L taugh/ thee, | Say, WoPsey, — | that once trod the ways of glory, | RECITATIONS WITH LESSON TALKS. 41 And sounded all the depths, and shoals of hon- our,— | Foun// thee a way, | out of his wrec£, | to rise v ino | A sure, am/safe x one, | though thy master miss'd it. | Mar£ bu/ my fall, | and tha/ ru^in'd me. | Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambiHion ; | By tha/sin fell the an r gels, | how can man then, | The image of his Maker, | ho/e to whr by'A ? \ Love thyself las/, / | cherish those hearts tha/ ha/e v thee ; | Corruption wins no/ more than honesty. | Still in thy righ/ nand carry gentle peace, | To silence envious tongues. | Be jusA, and fear not v : | Le/all the ends, thou aim's/ a/, | be thy coun/- try's, | Thy God's', said truth's,; | then if thou fall's/, oh Cromwell, | Thou fall's/ a blessed martyr. | O Cromwell, | Had I-servVmy Go^ | with half the zeal I servV my king, | he would no/ in mine age | Have lef/ me naked to mine enemies. '| IvESSON TALK. In the beginning of this selection the speaker should appear as if he had been weeping, and begin by extending his hand as if he expected it to be taken by Cromwell. His voice is almost choked. At the beginning of the fourth line, he places a hand- kerchief to his eyes as if drying them, and places his hand on Cromwell's shoulder. The proper gestures will come naturally to those who fully comprehend the spirit of the piece. To be appreciated, it must be acted as well as spoken. The advice given to Crom- well, from the beginning of the second verse to the words Blessed Martyr, must be delivered in the most friendly, almost pleading, tone of voice, properly modulated to express the different sentiments. The last four lines referring to himself, beginning " O, Cromwell," should be delivered in a self- reproachful tone, at the same time showing the appreciation of the injustice done him. NIGHT THOUGHTS.-IW^. The bell strikes one x . | We take no no/e of time | Bu/ from its loss^ : | to give it then a tongue | Is wise x in man x . | As if , an angel spo/£e, | I feel the solemn soun^. | If heard arigh/, I It is the knell of my departed hours^. | Where are v they ? | With the years beyond the noo^ v . It is the signal tha/ demands despatch^ : | How much is to be done v ! | My hopes, and fears Star/u/ alarm 'd\ \ and o'er life's narrow verge Loo£ down' — | on wha/ v ? | A fathomless abyss\ | A dread eternity ! | how surely mine^ ! | And can eternity belong to me', | Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour' ? How poor v , | how rich\ | how abject, | how augus/\- | How com^plica/e, | how wonderful is man ! | How passing wonder he | who made"" /zim such ! | Who center V in our make such strange extremes^ ! | From diff'ren/ natures, marvelously a mix'//, | Connexion exquisi/e of distan/ worlds v ! Distinguish'^/ lin/& in being's endless chain ! | Midway from nothing to the De^ity ! | A beam etherial, sullied, and absorp/ x / j Though sullied, and dishonor' d, | still divine^ ! | Dim miniature b of greatness aVsolu/e ! | An heir of glo^ry ! | a frail chih/ of dus/ v / | Helpless immoral ! | insec/ infinite ! | A worm v ! | a Go// v / — | I tremble a/ myself, | And in myself am lost v | A/ home, a stranger, | Though/ wanders up, and down, | surprisV\ | aghast\ | And wond'ring a/ her own. | How reason reels v ! | O wha/ a miracle to man is man ; , | Triumphantly distress'^/ what joy r ! | wha/ drea^/ | Alternately transported, and alarm V v / | Wha/ can preserve^ my life? | or wha/ destroy^ ? | An an v gel's arm can'/ snatch me from the graved | Legions of angels can'/ confme v me there. [ a Mar-vel-lus-le. b Min-e-ture. c Up and down ; not up-pan-down. 42 RECITATIONS WITH LESSON TALKS. LESSON TALK. The peculiarity of Young's style, especially in his "Night Thoughts," renders his poetry peculiarly difficult to recite. This passage is particularly so from the multiplicity of images and the brevity of the expression. Consequently, if the speaker is not careful to pronounce every line with due delibera- tion, his gestures will make confusion. A combina- tion of images occurs in almost every line, and the twenty-sixth line, which consists of only four words, is remarkable : " Helpless immortal ! Insect infinite ! " To give force and variety, and, at the same time, simplicity and carefulness to gestures, so heaped upon each other, is attended with no small difficulty. Even though gestures be perfect, and the speaker's manner unexceptionable, the difficulty in speaking this piece will be but half conquered. No consider- able variety of voice is required, but the eye and the countenance of the speaker must be full of expres- sion and intelligence. He must appear to be wrapped in meditation, which rises into sublimity as he proceeds, and fairly flames as it catches the rapid succession of thought. APOSTROPHE TO THE QUEEN OF FRANCE.— Burke. It is now sixteen, or seventeen years\ — since I saw the queen of France, | then the dauphin- ess, | a/ Versailles^ ; | and sun ly, never lighted on this orb, | (which she hardly seemed to touch) | a more delightful visHon. | I saw her jus/ above the horizon, | decorating, ana 7 cheer- ing the elevated sphere | she jus/ began to move v in — | glittering like the morning star r — | full of life*, | am/ splen'dor, | an^joy. | a Oh wha/ a revolution ! | and wha/ a hear/ mus/ I have, | to contempla/e without emotion, | tha/ elevation, | and that fall, ! | 2 Little did I dreaim, | when she added titles of veneration | to those of enthusiastic, distan/, re- spectful love, | that she should ever be obliged | to carry the sharp antido/e agains/ disgrace^, | concealed in tha/bo v som — | little did I dream | that I should have liver/ | to see such disasters fallen upon /zer | in a nation of gallan/ men^ , — | in a nation of men of hon^or, | and of cav- aliers v . | I though/ ten thousand swords mus/ have leaped from their scabbards | to avenge even a loo/£ x | tha/ threatened Aev with insul/. | Bu/ the age of chivalry is gone v . | That of soph x isters, | economists, | and cab culators, | has succeeded; | and the glory of Euro/e n | is extinguished for ev v er. | Never, never more, | shall we behold that gen- erous loyalty to ram& andsex^, — | tha/ proud sub- mission, — | tha/ dignified obedience, — | tha/ subordination of the hear/ | which kept alive, | even in servitude itself \ — the spiri/of an exalted freedom. | The unbough/ grace of life v , — the cheap defence of nations, | the nurse of manly sentimen/, | and heroic enterprise, | is gone J | It is gone, — | tha/ sensibility of principle, — | tha/ chastity of honor, — which fel/ a stain li/£e a wound x , — | which inspired courage | whils/ i/ mitigated fero r city, — which enno K b\ed whatever i/ touched; | ana 7 under which, | vice itself | los/ half its evil | by losing all its gross v ness. | LESSON TALK. Marie Antoinette, the unhappy and unfortunate Queen of France, was born 1755 and beheaded 1793. Her reign was amidst the turmoil and war and blood of the French Revolution. She was a sweet and gentle being — womanly and queenly as she was lov- ing and beautiful, commanding the admiration of all. During the terrible scenes which followed the cap- tivity of the royal family, Queen Marie Antoinette bore the cruelties and indignities heaped upon her and her family with the greatest fortitude, — comfort- ing her husband and children. Edmund Burke, the great English statesman, orator, and writer, whose efforts averted, perhaps, a similar revolution in England, did much to retard and moderate its influence in France. He was an ardent admirer of the beautiful and persecuted queen, who, without fault of her own, became the victim of calumny, slander, and cruelty. Burke's sympathy and indignation were moved to the pro- foundest depths, and the above passage is a touch- ingly beautiful tribute to the unhappy queen, and, at the same time, a masterly arraignment of her cruel tormentors, whom he accuses of having lost all the manly chivalry for which the French nation had been always famous. The speaker or reader should enter freely into the double spirit of deepest sympathy and admiration, on the one hand, and of lofty disgust and regret on the other — a sentiment which, to a great soul like that of Burke, was full of pain, and foreboded evil to France and the world. PART II, LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT CONTAINING CHOICE SELECTIONS FOR CHILDREN BETWEEN THE AGES OF FIVE AND TWELVE YEARS COMPRISING SPEECHES, DIALOGUES, MOTION SONGS, RECITATIONS, CONCERT PIECES, ETC., SUITED TO ALL OCCASIONS. A number of selections in this department have been written expressly for this book . "We acknowledge especially the courtesy of Mr. C. C. Shoemaker, who has given us permission to use a number of choice selections from his series of graded speakers, including Tiny Tots' Speaker, Child's Own Speaker, Young People's Speaker, and Young Folks' Recitations. The copyright of this volume thoroughly covers and protects the selections used by permission from all copyrighted sources. WELCOME. ( A concert piece. ) PARENTS, friends, we bid you welcome, To our school-room dear ; And we join our loving voices Now to greet you here. If to-day mistakes we're making, Many failures too, Oh ! believe us, we have tried Our very best to do. A LITTLE BOY'S LECTURE. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN : Over four hundred years ago the mighty mind of Columbus, traversing unknown seas, clasped this new continent in its embrace. {Extend arms as if embracing. ) A few centuries later arose one here who now lives in all our hearts as the Father of his Country. An able warrior, a sagacious states- man, a noble gentleman. Yes, Christopher Columbus was great. George Washington was great. But here, my friends, in this glorious nineteenth century, is — a grater ! [Exhibiting a bright, tin grater. The large kind used for horseradish can be mast easily distinguished by the audience .] Well, if you are going to laugh at me, I'll quit. Julia M. Thayer. WHAT THE LITTLE SHOES SAID. I SAW two dusty little shoes A-standing by the bed ; They suddenly began to talk, And this is what they said : " We're just as tired as we can be, We've been 'most everywhere; And now our little master rests — It really is not fair. " He's had his bath and sweetly sleeps 'Twixt sheets both cool and clean, While we are left to stand outside ; Now don't you think it mean? " We've carried him from morn till night ; He's quite forgot, that's plain; While here we watch, and wait, and wait Till morning comes again. " And then he'll tramp, and tramp, and tramp, The livelong summer day ; Now this is what we'd like to do — Just carry him away " Where he could never go to bed, But stay up all the night Unwashed, and covered o'er with dust — ■ Indeed! 'twould serve him right." 43 44 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. WHO MADE THE SPEECH? (For a small girl holding a doll.) ) /HTMS dolly's turn to speak a piece ; (Now, don't be frightened, dear ;) ( Caressing her doll. ) Her voice is weak, but if you're still, I think you all can hear. She's never been away from home, And so she feels quite shy ; (There, never mind, my precious babe, We'll go home by and by.) I s'pose she takes her bashfulness From me — her mamma, dear ; If I should try to speak, I know I'd almost die with fear. When mamma asked me yesterday, If I would speak to-night, I told her " No," for I felt sure I couldn't do it right. "Well, little daughter, never mind," Then darling mamma said, " We'll dress your dolly in her best, And let her speak instead. ' ' So that is why I've brought her here — (Why, dolly, are you ill?) Just she how she is trembling — Poor dear, she can't keep still. She's nervous and excited, too, So now we'll say " good-bye ; " Has dolly made a speech to-night, I wonder, or have I ? D THE DICKEY-BIRD. ICKEY-BIRD baby In the nest sleeps, Dickey-bird mother Watch o'er it keeps; Dickey-bird father Is the bread-winner ; See him fly home With worms for a dinner. THE MONTHS. (A pretty exercise for twelve children, suited to Christmas or New Year's entertainment. The effect may be improved, if the children dress in costumes suited to the season in which the months come.) First Child.— JANUARY comes the first of all, Ready to make a New Year's call. Second Child. — February is next in line, Bringing to all a valentine. Ihird Child. — March comes next with wind and noise, Here's a kite for all the boys. Fourth Child. — April's eyes are brimming over, Silvery drops that start the clover. Fifth Child.— May with blossoms stops the way And brings us Decoration Day. Sixth Child. — Laughing June her face discloses Almost hid among the roses. Seventh Child. — Boom of cannon, roar of gun, In comes July. Oh what fun ! Eighth Child. — August comes with berries red, Sheaves of wheat about his head. Ho, for School ! Ninth Child.— Next September. Study now must be the rule. Tenth Child.— Dropping nuts, and shortening days, October comes with woods ablaze. Eleventh Child. — What brings cold and bleak November ? Oh, Thanksgiving ! I remember. Twelfth Child.— Last and best of all we see, December brings a Christmas tree. Lizzie M. Hadley. AN OLD TIME TEA (Suggestion For Tableau) A ROSE ON THE HEATH LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 45 CHICK-A-DE-DEE. THE ground was all covered with snow one day, And two little sisters were busy at play, When a snow-bird was sitting close by on a tree, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee. He had not been singing that tune very long Ere Emily heard him, so sweet was his song ; "Oh, sister, look out of the window! " said she; " Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee. "Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes ! And a nice little frock, and a hat if you choose; I wish he'd come into the parlor and see How warm we would make him, poor chick-a- de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, How warm we would make him, poor chick-a- de-dee. " " There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell who, Has clothed me already, and warm enough, too ; Good morning ! Oh, who are so happy as we ? " And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee. MAMMA'S LITTLE MARKET-WOMAN. (Little girl in hat and coat, carrying market-basket and pocket-book, and thoughtfully counting over on her fingers what she must not forget. ) A POUND of butter, a dozen of eggs, a quart of molasses — yes, that's it; I mustn't forget. A quart of butter, a dozen of molasses and a pound of eggs — no, a quart of eggs, a pound of molasses and a dozen of butter. Yes, I "fink " that's all I mustn't make any 'stakes, 'cause mamma wants them all for supper. [Goes off saying, "A qua?'t of butter, a pound °f e ggs" ^c. Lizzie J. Rook. FIVE LITTLE BROTHERS. FIVE little brothers set out together To journey the livelong day, In a curious carriage all made of leather They hurried him away, away ! One big brother and three quite small, And one wee fellow, no size at all. The carriage was dark and none too roomy And they could not move about ; The five little brothers grew very gloomy, And the wee one began to pout, Till the biggest one whispered, ' ' What do you say, Lets leave the carriage and run away ! ' ' So out they scampered, the five together, And off and away they sped ! When somebody found that carriage of leather, Oh my ! how she shook her head. 'Twas her little boy's shoe, as every one knows, And the five little brothers were five little toes. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. MR. WEYLER. (Humorous ridicule of the Captain-General.) T THO was it saw his duty plain \/\^ To make the infant King of Spain Economize throughout his reign ? Mr. Weyler. Who came with medals on his chest And told the public that he guessed The fight would last two weeks, at best ? Mr. Weyler. Who took no colds, though wont to tramp In territory rather damp, But got a case of writer's cramp? Mr. Weyler. Who hardly knows just which to do ; Confront that irate Spanish crew Or hold the fort and see it through ? Mr. Weyler. Who shows us by his record rough That it is dangerous to bluff 'Mongst men who really have " the stuff? " Mr. Weyler. 46 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. M A FUNNY MAN, (For a little boy of five to seven years.) Y gran 'pa is a funny man, He's Scotch as he can be. I tries to teach him all I can, But he can't talk like me. I've told him forty thousand times, But 'tain't a bit of use ; He always says a man's a "mon " . And calls a house a " noose." He plays with me most ev'ry day And rides me on his knee. He took me to a picnic once And dressed up just like me. He says I am a ' ' bonny bairn ' ' And kisses me, and when I ask him why he can't talk right He says, ' ' I dinna ken. ' ' But me and him has lots of fun — He's such a funny man. I dance for him and brush his hair And loves him all I can. I calls him Anjrew — that's his name And he says I can't talk, And then he puts my pladie on And takes me for a walk. I tells him forty thousand times, But 'tain't a bit of use ; He always says a man's a "mon " And calls a house a " hoose." MY DOLLY. WHO is it that I've christened May, With whom I dearly love to play, And dress and undress every day ? My Dolly. Who is it loves me well, although, Poor dear, she cannot tell me so, Because she cannot talk, you know? My Dolly. Who is it, tho' she's very old, I love still in my arms to hold, And wouldn't part with — not for gold? My Dolly. A LECTURE TO THE CROW. ( At the last two lines in each stanza shake finger and look reprovingly at the imaginary crow. Speak slowfy. ) C ROW, you're very wicked ! You'll surely come to grief; The naughtiest thing in all the world It is, to be a thief? You needn't turn your head one side, As if you didn't care ; You know you stole poor Carlo's bone ; And, Crow, it wasn't fair ! He buried it so cunning This morning, in the ground ; He never even dreamed, I'm sure, That robbers were around. And just as soon as he was gone You took it, I declare, I saw you flying off with it ; And, Crow, it wasn't fair. I think you'd better drop it, And some other breakfast find, Else, when good birdies go to heaven, You'll sure be left behind ! You won't ? Then sad will be your fate, As sure as you sit there ! To steal a doggie's only bone, Oh, Crow, it wasn' t fair ! CHERRY CHEEKS. (I/ittle girl with a basket of roses. ) THIS is grandma's birthday, That is why I've come To bring her all these roses, We have such lots at home. The road was rather dusty, And I am rather small, But grandma's pleased to see me, And that makes up for all. Tiredness doesn't matter When my grandma speaks : ' ' Thank you for the roses ! Thank you, Cherry Cheeks." LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 47 MARY AND DINAH, (Little girl sitting in chair with two dolls. ) THIS is my dolly Mary, She's only two years old ; Dear Santa brought her to me — At least that's what I'm told. I think she's very pretty, She has such big blue eyes, But when 'tis time to go to bed, Oh my ! how dolly cries ! And this is dolly Dinah, She's 'most as black as night ; I love her very dearly, But Dick says she's a fright. I play she's Mary's nursy, Who takes her out to walk And keeps her clothes in order And teaches her to talk. I think they both are darlings, And I hope they'll never die ; For I'm sure if I should lose them, I would cry, and cry, and cry. Lizzie J. Rook. THE LOST KITTEN. (Very effective if the child be well trained. She should almost cry at the close of each stanza. ) MY little kitty's gone astray, She wxmld no longer with us stay. This is, indeed, a sorry day, For kitty's lost. Perhaps some cat upon the fence Did drive our little kitty hence, Who went because she'd no more sense, — Oh! Kitty's lost. No more she'll lie upon our laps, And sweetly take her short cat-naps, Or slyly blink at our love-taps, — My kitty's lost. No more we'll softly stroke her fur, Or listen to her gentle purr ; Oh ! It is hard, not to murmur, — For kitty's lost. And, now, just tell me, please, will you. I really don't know what to do ; Shall I begin and boo-hoo-hoo ? — For kitty's lost. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. FROM ONE TO SIX. WHEN I was one I wore long dresses just for fun; I couldn't walk or creep or run. When I was two I learned a language all brand new, I only knew at first " Boo-hoo." When I was three I had a lovely Christmas tree, And a little sister sent to me. When I was four I had some books and wanted more, But couldn't think to shut the door. When I was five I went to the brook and tried to dive And papa took me out alive. When I was six I often got into a fix, And did not like the crooks of sticks. What comes next ? I do not know, But its better and better the older I grow, Because my Mamma told me so. Esther Fleming. THE LITTLE FLAG-BEARER. (A little boy with flag in hand should wave it at the: close of each stanza. ) * * /TAO the red, white, and blue | I will ever be true. ' ' There is no flag, however grand, Like our own red, white, and blue. Hurrah for the flag ! Our country's flag ! Its stripes and white stars, too ! There is no flag in any land Like our own red, white, and blue ! 48 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. BABY'S LULLABY. X y HAT'S the way to Bylo-town? VV Bylo-town ? Bylo-town ? What's the way to Bylo-town? Baby wants to go. Shut her sleepy little eyes, That's the way, That's the way, Shut her sleepy little eyes, Then how fast the rocker flies. That's the way, That's the way, Way to Bylo-town. Keep the little lashes down, That's the way, That's the way, Keep the little lashes down, That's the way to Bylo-town. That's the way, That's the way, Way to Bylo-town. THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL. THE mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter ' ' little prig;" Bun replied : — 1 ' You are doubtless very big, " But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together To make up a year And a sphere ; " And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I am not as large as you, You are not so small as I. And not half so spry. "I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track ; Talents differ ; all are well and wisely put. If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut. ' ' T THE GOLDEN RULE. do to others as I would That they should do to me Will make me honest, kind, and good As children ought to be. Whether I am at home, at school, Or walking out abroad, 1 never should forget this rule Of Jesus Christ our Lord. MY PUSSY CAT. I LOVE my pussy cat, her coat is so warm, And if I don't hurt her she'll do me no harm ; So I'll not pull her tail nor drive her away, But pussy and I very gently will play ; She shall sit by my side, and I'll give her some food, And she' 11 love me because I am gentle and good. I'll pat little pussy and then she will pur, And thus show her thanks for my kindness to her ; I'll not pinch her ears nor tread on her paw, Lest I should provoke her to use her sharp claw ; I never will vex her nor make her displeased, For cats do not like to be worried and teased. H THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL. (Burlesque on General Weyler.) E marched his men into the field, Where marsh and mire confounded them, And vowed that not an inch he'd yield Until he'd quite surrounded them. For days he looked for Ma-ce-o, Where Maceo he knew was not, Nor stopped his valiant chaseo Until he heard his man was shot. Then, ho ! then, ho ! With banners a flying he came, Like a hero enlaurled advancing, To him all the praise, naught of blame, As into Havana he's prancing. Oh, Weyler, great generalissimo, We salute thee, albeit pianissimo. A general truly you are, A general humbug so far ! LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 49 HOW BUTTER IS MADE. ( Concert song or recitation. Trie little ones should be taught to go through the various motions. This piece may be either recited or sung to a simple air, .the accompaniment being played softly.) SKIM, skim, skim; With the skimmer bright Take the rich and yellow cream, Leave the milk so white. Churn, churn, churn, Now ' tis churning day ; Till the cream to butter turns, Dasher must not stay. T^ress, press, press; All the milk must be From the golden butter now Pressed out carefully. 3?at, pat, pat ; Make it smooth and round. See ! the roll of butter's done; Won't you buy a pound? Taste, oh ! taste, This is very nice. Spread it on the children's bread, Give them each a slice. CRADLE SONG. "T y HAT does little birdie say \^[_ In her nest at peep of day ? " Let me fly," says little birdie, " Mother, let me fly away." "Birdie, wait a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger ; ' ' So she waits a little longer, Then she flies away. What does little baby say In her bed at peep of day ? Baby says, like little birdie, " Let me rise and fly away." Baby, sleep a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger; If she sleeps a little longer, Baby, too, shall fly away. Alfred Tennyson. WRITING TO GRANDMA. (A small child seated at a table, with pen, ink, and paper before her.) D EAR GRANDMA: I am writing you a letter With mamma's pen and ink; She left them on the table here, I guess she didn't think That I was big enough to climb In her big chair and write ; But I thought I'd just 'sprise you With a letter sweet to night ; I know, when you have read it, The very words you'll say — " Why, bless the little darling, I'll send her a doll this day." A A MEAN MAN. LITTLE bird sat in a cherry tree, Singing its song of chink, chink, chee; A man came by with a dog and a gun And shot the birdie, just for fun ; At least that's all he had to say, When on the ground the birdie lay With a broken wing and a hole in its side ; It fluttered and squeaked and then it died, And sister and I just stood and cried. I'd rather be a dog or a cat, Or the meanest kind of a big gray rat, Than an ugly man with a dog and gun, Who shot a birdie just for fun. M MY MOTHER. Y mother, my kind mother, I hear thy gentle voice ; It always makes my little heart Beat gladly and rejoice. When I am ill, it comes to me And kindly soothes my pain ; And when I sleep, then in my dreams It sweetly comes again. My mother, my dear mother, Oh, may I never be Unkind or disobedient In any way to thee. 50 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. A LITTLE GIRL'S LECTURE TO MOTHERS. (Sunday-School selection for a bright little girl of five years. ) ' VE something to say to the mothers to-night, And I hope they will pardon my size ; For, though all I say will be proper and right, I do not pretend to be wise. I In this troublesome world I have lived just five years, Have seen boys and girls very small ; But all of us have the same trials and fears, And into the same errors fall. Wee Johnny stepped into the custard, one day, That was set on the table to cool ; And Bessie spilt milk on her new cloak, they say, And Josie played truant from school. Kate tried her mamma's velvet bonnet to wear, And pulled till she made it to fit ; Minnie ran off alone, and went to a fair, And Lottie attempted to knit. And I can't remember whatever I did — I guess it was nothing at all ; But somebody scolded at me, and I hid, When sugar was found in the hall. But what harm was there ? I may venture to ask : Can't we have a new custard to-morrow? Won't benzine take the stains out of Bessie's new basque ? And sugar is easy to borrow. And this is the something I'm going to say : When you were as little as we, Did any one scold you and whip you all day, And send you to bed before tea ? "I HOWARD'S WISH. WISH," said greedy Howard, with a wide and beaming smile, "That I could be the Mississippi river for awhile ; For my mouth would be three miles wide — my joy would be complete — Just imagine for a moment what a dinner I could eat." A PATRIOTIC BOY. (A small boy with flag. ) YOU see I am a little boy, But I can wave a flag, And when the other boys all march I'm sure I do not lag. And when the others shout out loud, As loud as they, shout I; I wave my flag and say, Hurrah, hurrah for Fourth o' July ! Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. MY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. T "THAT are you good for, my brave little \/\[ man? Answer that question for me if you can ; You, with your ringlets as bright as the sun, You, with your fingers as white as a nun ; All the day long, with your busy contriving, Into all mischief and fun you are driving ; See if your wise little noddle can tell What you are good for. Now ponder it well. Over the carpet the dear little feet Came with a patter, to climb on my seat ; Two merry eyes full of frolic and glee Under their lashes looked up unto me ; Two little hands pressing soft on my face Drew me down close in a loving embrace ; Two rosy lips gave the answer so true, ' ' Good to love you, mamma — good to love you. ' ' WASH DAY. (Several little girls with play washtubs. ) "T" yE are merry maidens sitting in a ring; \\l We've no time to play to-day, Though we gayly sing Rub-a-dub-dub, soapsuds and tubs, This is our washing day. We are busy maidens, Work's the sweetest thing, This is all we stay to say As we gayly sing Rub-a-dub-dub, soapsuds and tubs, This is our washing day. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 51 SUMMER IS CdMING. UP in the tree-top, down in the ground, High in the blue sky, far, all around, — Near by and everywhere creatures are living, God in his bounty something is giving. Up in the tree-top, down in the ground, High in the blue sky, fall, all around, — Near by and everywhere creatures are striving ; Labor is surely the price of their thriving. Up in the tree-top, down in the ground, High in the blue sky, far, all around. — Near by and everywhere singing and humming Busily, joyfully, summer is coming. A QUEER TABLE. (For boy or girl of eight or nine years. ) I WISH to tell you all to-day of a very queer table. In the first place it is several hun- dred years old and yet it is as good as new — just as sound and strong as ever ; No, it is not iron, and yet I can't see how it can ever wear out. It is not used for breakfast, dinner or any meal. It came all the way from Arabia and it is ornamented with many figures. We do not know who made it, but we do know that it is a very useful table, and we call it " The Multipli- cation Table." THE TWO COMMANDS. THIS is the first and great command : To love thy God above ; And this the second : As thyself Thy neighbor thou shalt love. Who is thy neighbor ? He who wants A help which thou canst give ; And both the law and prophets say, This do and thou shalt live. WHAT I DON'T LIKE. I DON'T like horses that will not spring, And I don't like bells that will not ring; I don't like fire-wood that will not burn ; I don't like mill-sails that will not turn ; And I don't like children that will not learn. H THE BUSY BEE. OW doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower ! How skillfully she builds her cell, How neatly spreads her wax, And labors hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes ! In works of labor or of skill I would be busy too ; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books or work or healthful play Let my first years be passed, That I may give for every day Some good account at last. Isaac Watts. M THE JAPANESE DOLL. Y dolly is a Japanese, And will not say her A B C's, No matter how I coax and tease That naughty, naughty, Japanese. M CROSS AT SANTA. (By special permission of the Author.) Y Mamma said that Santa Had brought a doll to me, With bright pink cheeks and yellow hail? As nice as nice could be. But when I left her up, Dressed in her long white gown, Oh, do take care ' ' my Mamma said With such a drerTul frown. So now I don't like Santa, For he's brought a dolly here, They wont let me stick pins into, She'd cry so loud they fear. And if I try to lift her up, They think her head I'll crack, I'm going to write to Santa Claus And have him take her back. May Rapley McNabb. 52 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. D WHAT BOYS ARE GOOD FOR. ( For a plain spoken little girl. ) O you know that someone really said, ' ' Of what earthly good are boys ? ' ' I'd like to state it for a fact That they're good to make a noise. {Strikes table with force.') Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. DOCTOR'S VISIT. (Dialogue for girl and boy.) Little Mamma {with a sick doll): COME and see my baby dear ; Doctor, she is ill, I fear. Yesterday, do what I would, She would touch no kind of food ; And she tosses, moans and cries ; Doctor, what do you advise ? Doctor {should be dressed in long coat and have on a plug hat, and carry medicine case) : Hum ! ha ! Good madam, tell me, pray, What have you offered her to day ? Ah, yes — I see ; a piece of cake, The worst thing you could make her take. Just let me taste. Yes, yes, I fear Too many plums and currants here — But stop ! I will just taste again, So as to make the matter plain ! Little Mamma : But, doctor, pray excuse me ; oh ! You've eaten all my cake up now ! I thank you kindly for your care ; But do you think ' t was hardly fair ? Doctor : Oh, dear me ! Did I eat the cake ? Well, it was for dear baby's sake. But keep her in her bed, well warm, And you will see she'll take no harm. At night and morning, use, once more, Her drink and powder as before ; And she must not be overfed, But may just have a piece of bread. To-morrow, then, I dare to say, She'll be quite right. Good-day! good-day! TfrE SENSES. (To be spoken with appropriate gestures. ) TWO bright little eyes, To see beautiful things ; Two quick little ears, To hear Dick when he sings. One queer little nose, To smell flowers so sweet ; And one little tongue, To taste good things to eat. Ten fingers quite small, To touch Pussy's soft hair, These organs of sense God has put in my care. LITTLE BY LITTLE. ONE step and then another, and the longest walk is ended ; One stitch and then another, and the widest rent is mended ; One brick upon another, and the highest wall is made ; One flake upon another, and the deepest snow is laid. Then do not frown or murmur at the work you have to do, Or say that such a mighty task you never can get through ; But just endeavor, day by day, another point to gain, And soon the mountain that you feared will prove to be a plain. A NURSERY FABLE. (To be spoken very plainly. At the last go through the motion of spanking baby with a slipper.) A BABY once cried for the moon, So they got a toy moon for their pet ; But the babe wasn't satisfied yet, It set up another wild tune, And cried for the star-spangled dipper. Did they promise to haul down the skies ? No ; they tired of its " heavenly " cries, And made it " see stars " with a slipper. Will H. Wall. THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY (Suggestion For Tableau) 1 V if - . ' i 1 / / _ ; rv _ "MAY WITH BLOSSOMS STOPS THE WAY.' LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 53 A LITTLE CHILD'S PRAYER, (Church or Sunday-School entertainment. To be Said kneeling on the stage. When used at an even- ing entertainment the effect will be heightened if the little one be dressed in night gown, kneeling beside a little bed. Be careful to train the child in the proper attitude — hands pressed together in front, and face raised to heaven. After this prayer, the song ' ' Good Night, ' ' may be sung from behind the curtain softly, while the little one is tucked in bed, or remains kneeling as the curtain falls.) J ESUS, I would be like thee : Look from heaven and pity me ; Though so full of sin I am, Make me now thy little lamb. I have very naughty been, Done those things I knew was sin, Have not hearkened to thy word, When thy loving voice I heard. But I'm sorry for it now, And before thy throne I bow ; Wash me in that crimson flood ; Make me clean in Jesus' blood. When I oft would go astray, Keep me in the blessed way : Let thy love abide in me, Jesus : then I'll be like thee. THE CHILDREN'S OFFERING. (For Decoration Day.) 'T T^E little children gather W[_ The brightest flowers of May, And lovingly will lay them On our soldiers' graves to-day. We bring the fragrant violets And buttercups so bright, And pure, white petaled lilies, For those who fought for right. Altho' we are so little, We've heard of battles fought, And gladly bring our offering For those who freedom bought. We proudly wave the colors, The red, the white, the blue, And place our flag upon the graves Of those whose hearts were true. Nellie G. Gerome. THE NAUGHTY GIRL. (Suited to a little girl from six to eight years. Train to speak plainly. ) THE naughty girl never minds mamma ; Always says, " I won't ! " to dear papa ; Makes a great deal of noise about the house, When her mother wants her as still as a mouse. She pulls the cat, and pinches her tail, And takes the bird-cage down from the nail ; Teases her brothers, and spoils her hair, And when reproved says, " I don't care ! " She worries poor grandma, makes baby cry ; She cannot please him, and I know why, — She lets him lie in the crib and moan, While she is amusing herself alone. At school she forgets what the teacher said* Sits idly leaning, her hands on her head ;, She never learns the task that's given, And cannot tell even seven times seven. At table she's careless, and spills her drink,, Can never be taught to "stop and think," Gets down from the table and goes to play And does the same over another day. P GRANDMA'S MISTAKE. (For Christmas Entertainment.) OOR Grandma, I do hate to tell her, And yet it does seem queer, She's lived so much longer than 1 have, And I, why, I've known it a year. Even Alice begins to look doubtful,. And she is so babyish, too ; And Mamma just laughs at the nonsense, But Grandma believes it is true. I did it all up in brown paper, And laid it just there by her plate, And she put on her glasses so slowly, I thought that I never could wait. And when she had opened the bundle, ' ' My gracious ! ' ' she said, ' ' how complete ! A dear little box for my knitting ; Now isn't old Santa Claus sweet?" 54 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. CARRIE'S BIRTHDAY CAKE. (For a droll child of six, boy or girl.) YES, Aunt Jennie, I was six years old last Saturday, and Mamma made me a beau- tiful cake, all covered with icing and with six little candles on it, one for every year, you know. What ! you going to have a birthday, Aunt Jennie ; and you want a cake with candles on it, too? Why, you can't ! You can't have the candles, Aunt Jennie — not one for every year, you know. There wouldn't be room on the cake. GENEROUS LITTLE ONES. ( Dialogue for Sunday-School. Eight little scholars, four girls and four boys, on the stage, with presents in their hands.) Teacher. What have you there ? Girl A. A doll. T. Where did you get it ? A. It was a Christmas present. Girl B. I had a present, too. T. What was it ? B. A kitty. T. Was it a live one ? B. No, it was not alive ; but it cries. Boy C. I had a horse and wagon. Boy D. And I had a train of cars. Girl E. I had a new dress and hat. Boy F. I had a pair of boots. Girl G. I had a little book. T. And what did you have, H ? Boy H. I didn't have anything. T. Didn't you? Why not ? H. Mother said I couldn't have any, because we were so poor. T. I am very sorry. How many of you had more than one present ? AIL I did. T. What did you have, D ? D. I had a little boat, and a train of cars, and a cane, and a book. T. And what did you have, E ? E. I had a new dress and hat, and a little carriage, and some playthings. T. Won't some one of you give Johnny one of your presents? {No response.*) D, who gave you such nice presents ? D. Mother, and father, and auntie, and grandma. T. Now, I'll tell you a true story. When I went to the toy-shop, to buy some presents for my little ones, I saw a little girl on the sidewalk, whose feet were bare, whose clothes were ragged, and whose face was very sad. She was looking in at the window of the toy-shop, and looking so earnestly that I spoke to her, and asked her what she wanted. She burst into tears, and said, ' ' I want a Christmas present ; but mother says it's more than she can do to give us bread, and so I must go without. " So I bought a little picture book and gave her ; and you should have seen how her face grew bright. Now, all you tell me, if you can, who gave you your nice home, and kind parents to give you pretty presents, while so many little boys and girls are poor, and have no nice warm homes, and cannot have any Christmas presents ? E. Is it Jesus, teacher ? T. Yes, Jesus has given you a father and a mother to take care of you, and has given them money to buy food for you, and clothes, and presents to make you happy. Now, what will you give Jesus for all this ? G. Why, teacher, Jesus don't want any of my things ! He don' t want my doll, or my hat ? T. No, Jesus don't want them to play with, as you do ; but He wants you to give some of your things to those who have none. Johnny has had no Christmas present this year, and no birth- day present, and no New Year's present. A. I will give him my card. B. I will give him my kitty. C. I will give him my horse and wagon. E. I don't suppose he wants my doll, but I will give him my little picture book. T. I am glad to see my little ones so generous. Jesus loves to see us willing to give our gifts for Him ; but there is something that Jesus wants more than these, G. Is it my new hat ? F. Is it my new boots ? T. No, not these. A. What is it? LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 55 T. Jesus wants you to give Him your heart. Sometimes your little heart is naughty, and loves to do wrong ; but Jesus can make it all new and good. Jesus loves you, and wants you to love Him, and be His little child, and then, by and by, He will take you to live with Him in His beautiful home. G. I want to give Jesus my heart. May I give it to Him now ? T. Yes, Jesus wants it now. Don't you all want to love Jesus, and give Him your hearts? All (bowing reverently} . Please, Jesus, take my heart, and make it good, and make me thy little child. T. Sing, " Jesus loves me. " (All sing.) CONTENTMENT. A KITTEN has no work to do, It frisks about all day ; But she can't write as I can, All she can do is play. A birdie has no work to do, He flies from tree to tree ; But he can't read as I can, Not even count to three. I'm glad I'm not a kitten, And I wouldn't be a bird, For if I changed with either, I shouldn't know a word. S. C. Peabody. THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. A HERMIT there was, who lived in a grot, And the way to be happy they said he had got. As I wanted to learn it, I went to his cell ; And this answer he gave, when I asked him to tell: " 'Tis being, and doing, and having, that make All the pleasures and pains of which mortals partake : To be what God's pleases, to do a man's best And to have a good heart is the way to be blest." WHEN PAPA PUTS HIS GREAT COAT ON. (By special permission of the Author.) "T yHEN papa puts his great coat on, jfol_ We children gather round And listen to his talking, But never make a sound, Till he's said all he's got to say, And then we whoop and hi, To give a jolly send-off, When he gets down to ' ' good-by. ' ' When papa puts his great coat on, We knows just what he'll say, He'll tell Josie to get the coal And close at home to stay ; He'll tell Susan to help mamma, And then we whoop and hi, To give a jolly send-off, When he gets down to "good-by." When papa puts his great coat on, We tells him what to buy, Candy and nuts and piles of gum, 'Twould almost reach the sky; He claps his hands upon his ears, And then we whoop and hi, To give a jolly send-off, When he gets down to ' ' good-by. ' ' When papa puts his great coat on, We knows just what he'll do, He'll kiss mamma then pass 'em round, To all us noisy crew ; And then he'll pass them round again And help us whoop and hi, To give a jolly send off, When he gets down " to-good-by. ' ' May Rapley McNabb. SANTA CLAUS. A JOLLY old fellow, Whose hair is snow white And whose little, bright eyes are blue, Will be making his visits On Christmas night ; Perhaps he will call on you. 56 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. SEVEN DAYS IN A WEEK. (A concert piece for seven little girls. ) All: SEVEN little girls are we, Each one goes to school ; There we try to do our work, And mind our teacher's rule. We are learning very fast, How to read and spell, Many stories do we know, One of which we'll tell. This is one about the week, We are each a day ; Truly ones of course we're not, But just so in play. Bessie : I am Monday, and you see I can wash quit fine, First the clothes I rub and boil, Then hang them on the line. Alice : I am Tuesday, the next day, Full of work am I, All the clothes I have to press, But I will not cry. Eva: I am Wednesday, and must cook Puddings, pies, and cake, For my hungry little flock Eat everything I make. Annie : I am Thursday, and I guess I must take a walk, Many calls I have to make And much I'll have to talk. Clara : Friday comes, and I must try All the rooms to clean ; For we dislike to see the dust Anywhere, I mean. Tennie : Saturday is here at last, And I'm quite perplexed; With so many things to do, What shall I do next ? Ada: Sunday is the day of rest, And we'll try to do Just what God would want of us, All the whole day through. All: Now we've said our piece to you And we'll take our seat, Hoping at some future time, You again we'll meet. Cora Woodward Foster, TAKING DOLLY'S PICTURE. (A little girl has placed her doll on a chair, while she stands beside another chair at some distance in front of doll. A magic-lantern is on the chair, or, if this is not obtainable, a black cloth thrown across the top of the chair will answer. ) COME, Dolly Toodlekins, I'm going take your picture, and you must mind every word I say. Sit up straight now — so ! Look right at me. That's right ! Now don't wink or blink. You're minding beautifully. Now don't laugh or even smile, but just look pleasant while I count one, two, three, four. Now it's done, and your 'spression is lovely. Come now, we'll go see Grandma. We'll tell her what a good girl you were. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. ROB'S MITTENS. OUR Rob has mit'tens new and red, To keep his hands so warm and nice When making snowballs, building forts, And sliding on the ice. One morning, coming in from play, His dear face pinker than a rose, "Please, Mamma," cried he, "can't you knit A mitten for my nose ? ' ' Youth's Companion. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 57 I WHAT GIRLS LOVE TO DO. (Recitation for six little girls.) Ellen {holding a plate of cakes, etc. ) . LOVE to get the breakfast, The pancakes I can bake ; The table then I nicely set And help make bread and cake. Kate {with a milk-stool and pail) : I love to milk the gentle cows, It's fun, I'd have you know, To take my stool and milking-pail, And say, "So — Bossy — so." Eliza {swinging her hat) : It's better fun to get the cows. "Co-Boss! Co-Boss! " I call. I run and climb the highest fence And never get a fall. Mary {with gay dolls in her hand) : I'm fond of dressing pretty dolls, In lovely lace and silk ; To trim their clothes with velvets fine, Is nicer than to milk. Emma {with a book and some stockings that need mending) : I love to read good story-books, And spend a while at play ; And then I wash the dishes up And stockings mend, each day. Jenny {holding a broom and dust-pan) ; I love to take a broom and sweep, I make the beds and sew ; Such work as this, my mother says, Is good for me to do. {Standing in a semi- circle and holding up the implement of work, etc. ; when it is named, all recite together, slowly and clearly) : Baking cakes for breakfast, Milking cows at morn, Climbing fences safely, With our clothes not torn j I Dressings dolls in laces, Reading and some play, Dishes washed and stockings mended, Brooms well used each day — Doing these while on time whirls, Makes us happy, useful girls. EARLY MISS CROCUS. (Teach the child to sing, laugh, and cry at proper places. ) 'M little Crocus, How d'y do ? I'm coming out now, Wouldn' t you ? Come, Yellow Daisy, Lift your head, Pull little Buttercup Out of bed. Guess I'm the first up, Tra, la, la; I'm going to laugh now, Ha, ha, ha ! My, how the wind blows, Whoo, hoo, woo ; Think I'll go in now, Boo, hoo, hoo ! Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. DILIGENT BESSIE. (Little girl darning her stocking. A cat or toy cat sitting near by. Should be spoken in a reproving tone at first. Jolly and playful at the last. ) KITTY, don't sit there looking at me ; I've no time to play; I'm big enough now to take care of my clothes. I am mak^ ing a dear little darn in the toe of my stocking. I've watched Mamma mend stockings — and it's just as easy as easy can be. You pull the thread forward and backward, backward and forward — see, Kitty. Oh, there ! I've broken my thread, and I don't know how to mend it. I've never learned to mend thread, so come on, Kitty, we'll have a good romp and let the old stocking go, ( Throws it on the floor and skips off. ) Lizzie J. Rook. 58 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. THE NEED OF CHRIST. ( Church or Sunday-School Exercises. To be repeated in succession by ten boys of ten to twelve years. ) i. As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one. Rom. iii. 10. 2. There is none that understandeth, there is none that seeketh after God. Rom. iii. n. 3. They are all gone out of the way : they are together become unprofitable : there is none that doeth good, no, not one. Rom. iii. 12. 4. Their throat is an open sepulchre ; with their tongues they have used deceit : the poison of asps is under their lips. Rom. iii. 13. 5. Whose mouth is full of cursing and bitter- ness. Rom. iii. 14. 6. Their feet are swift to shed blood. Rom. iii. 15. 7. Destruction and misery are in their ways. Rom. iii. 16. 8. And the way of peace they have not known. Rom. iii. 17. 9. There is no fear of God before their eyes. Rom. iii. 18. 10. For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God. Rom. iii. 23. LATE AT BREAKFAST. (Dialogue for boy and lady. ) Mother. See ! the hour for school is near : Robert, Robert, do you hear ? Robert. Mother, mother, do not fret ! I'm not through my breakfast yet. M. From your bed you should have sprung When the early bell was rung. R. All my window-panes were white With the frost we had last night. M. If you would not be a dunce, Brave the cold and rise at once. R. When Jack Frost is in the case, Bed is such a pleasant place ! M. He who loves his bed so well Never, never will excel. R. Mother, mother, do not scold ! I shall soon be eight years old. M. More's the shame for you, my son, Leaving duties thus undone. R. Something whispers in my ear, You are right, my mother dear. M. Then get down, sir, from your stool, And run quickly off to school. R. Off I go ! You shall not see After this a drone in me. WHEN THE FAIRIES LIVED HERE. (Should be spoken in a slow, credulous tone, with eyebrows lifted, and seem very earnest. ) WHEN the fairies used to live here, Then, you know, There was never any dark, Or any snow ; But the great big sun kept shining All the night, And the roses just kept blooming, Oh, so bright ! And the little children never Teased their mothers ; And the little girls always Loved their brothers. And the brothers, they were just as Mild and kind ; Every single thing you told them They would mind ; And they played so very gently ; But you know That was when the fairies lived here, Long ago ! ARITHMETIC. (A boy sits in a chair on platform, holding a large slate and pencil, and looking at it occasionally, as if talking to himself. Be sure his face his plainly to the audience, that he may be heard. ) I 'M glad I have a good-sized slate, With lots of room to calculate. Bring on your sums ! I'm ready now ; My slate is clean and I know how. But don' t you ask me to subtract ; I like to have my slate well packed ; And only two long rows, you know, Make such a miserable show ; And, please, don't bring me sums to add; Well, multiplying' s just as bad; And, say ! I'd rather not divide — Bring me something I have'nt tried ! LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 59 MY CARLO TALKS. (The little boy who speaks this, should try to imi- tate the barking and whinning of the dog at close of second, third and fifth stanzas. ) SOME people say that dogs can't talk, But this is not quite true, For, that my Carlo talks to me, I'll plainly show to you. Now, when I say, ' ' Come Carlo speak, Do you want a piece of meat ? ' ' He wags, and barks bow-wow, to say "I'm hungry and can eat." And then when I am going out, And say, ' ' You cannot go, ' ' He, wistful, eyes me, while he says " I understand, No ! No ! " And when again I only say " Come, Carlo, take the lead," He frisks around and joyful says "I'm very glad, indeed." And when to closed door he comes, With scratches, one, two, three, He says, as plain as anything, " Come, turn the latch for me." And so I could tell many things, As plain as A, B, C, About when I talk to my dog, And he talks back to me. The trouble is, that folks won't learn A little dog's plain speech ; If they'd only pay attention, Most any dog could teach. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. GOOD NIGHT. (Sleepy little girl in night gown. Suitable at close of concert or children's entertainment. I AM so very near asleep I scarce can keep from gaping, And so I think it must be time That people all were napping ; So just before my eyes close tight, I wish you, each and all, good night. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. WHO KNOWS THE MOST. (The little girl should address a real kitten or a picture of one.) "T THO knows the most, Pussy, you or I ? * Wl I know you're cunning and very spry, I love to watch you chase the ball, But you cannot read nor write at all. Your little sharp claws help you climb a tree Where you sit out of reach and look at me. I know that is something I can't do, But you have four feet and I but two. You look very wise as you lick your paw, But you clo not know that two twos are four, Or that m-i-c-e is the way to spell mice, Although you think they are very nice. But it really isn't your fault at all That you don't know sphere is the name for ball ; For you have never been to school And do not know a single rule. Now I must go to school each day While you do nothing but sleep and play, And I don't believe, Pussy, as older you grow You ever will think how little you know. Nellie G. Bronson. L THE AMERICAN BOY. OOK up, my young American ! Stand firmly on the earth, Where noble deeds and mental power Give titles over birth. A hallow' d land thou claim 'st, my boy, By early struggles bought, Heaped up with noble memories, And wide, ay, wide as thought ! What though we boast no ancient towers Where ' ' ivied ' ' streamers twine, The laurel lives upon our soil, The laurel, boy, is thine. And when thou'rt told of knighthood's shield, And English battles won. Look up, my boy, and breathe one word — The name of Washington. Caroline Gilman. 60 LITTLE FOLKS* DEPARTMENT. DR. BROWN. (A dialogue for a small girl and boy. Room ar- ranged as doctor's office — bottles, rags, and scissors on table, at which, doctor sits reading newspaper.) {Bell rings. ) Doctor : ANOTHER patient, I suppose, This is my office hour, And by the score I count them off Who claim my healing power. {Enter small girl as mother, with dilapidated doll.) Mother : I've called to see you, Dr. Brown, I've heard of your great skill, And so I've brought my darling here, Who is so very ill. Doctor {takes baby) : Ah me ! just so, ahem ! ahem ! She's very ill indeed ; For fractured is her skull, Her arm, how it does bleed. Her face, I see, is covered o'er With bruises, black and blue ; Now madam, I'll proceed at once To see what I can do. Mother : Oh, doctor, do you, do you think My little dear will die ? I feel as if, — oh dear, as if I shall begin to cry. Doctor : Now, madam, calm yourself at once, You know I'm Doctor Brown ; And if I cannot cure your child, There's no one can in town. Mother : Oh, doctor, try at once, please try To cure my little Nell ; I feel as if my heart will break Unless she gets quite well. | Doctor {who has been working with dolt) : Upon her head you see I've placed A plaster rag-a-rum ; Her arm I've sewed as neat as wax, From elbow unto thumb. The bruises from her face are gone. I've used some butterine : And now your baby is as well As any ever seen. {Hands babe to mother. ) Mother : Oh, doctor, she's as sweet, as sweet As anything can be ! Now, if you tell me, I will pay Your customary fee. Doctor : Ten dollars, madam, is my price For curing such a case. Mother : Ten dollars ! that is awful dear, How can you have the face ? Well, there it is ; pray have no doubt I'll tell it over town. Doctor : Well, speed my fame, if so you will — The fame of Doctor Brown. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. (For N PLAYING OLD FOLKS. a, little girl dressed as Grandma, and a littlQ boy dressed as Grandpa. ) Girl: OW, Grandpa, as I sit and knit, Please read to me the news ; You may read about the 'lection things, Or anything you choose. Boy: What ! read to you of politics ! Now what do women know ? I'll read you of the fashions, Or 'bout the candy show. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. CctntnS SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHING CHILDREN FACIAL EXPRESSION. **&&'•$ H: Wgo to I fade 'After the dessert t'ornered **£■ me■ 4-J lf< i SUGGESTIONS FOR CHILDREN'S COSTUME, HEADDRESS, AND ATTITUDES THE SICK CHILD. (Suggestion For Tableau.) 'Jessie tired, mamma; good-night, papa; Jessie see you m the morning. ' ' LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 77 JACK FROST AND TOM RUDDY. (A big boy, with cotton over his hat and clothes, may represent Jack Frost. A small boy, with ruddy cheeks, warm clothes and gloves, and a pair of skates slung over his arms, should represent Tom Ruddy. ) Jack Frost : Who are you, little boy, on your way to the meadow, This cold winter day with your skates and your sled— O ? Tojn Ruddy : My name is Tom Ruddy ; and though it is snowing, To the meadow, to skate and to coast, I am going. Jack Frost: You had better turn back now, my little friend Tommy, For the ground it is stiff, and the day it is stormy. To?n Ruddy : No, sir, if you please ; I do love this cold weather, And my coat is of wool, and my shoes are of leather. Jack Frost: To nip you and pinch you and chill you I'll study, Unless you turn back and run home, Thomas Ruddy. Toni Ruddy: And who may you be, sir, to talk to me thus, sir ? And what have I done, you should make such a fuss, sir? Jack Frost: My name and my calling I will not dissemble : Jack Frost is my name, Tom ! So hear that and tremble ! Tom Ruddy: Oh, you are that Frost, then, whose touch is so bitter ; Who makes all our window-panes sparkle and glitter ! Jack Frost: Yes, I am Jack Frost, and now, Tom, I'm coming To chill you all over, your finger-tips numbing. Tom Ruddy: My fingers lie snug in my gay little mittens, And the fur on my cap is as warm as a kitten's. Jack Frost: I will breathe on your ears till they tingle \ so fear me, And scamper, Tom, scamper ! Boo-hoo ! Do you hear me ? Tom Ruddy: I hear you, I know you, and if you can match me In sliding and coasting, come catch me, Jack, catch me ! {Runs. ) Jack Frost: Stop ! stop ! He is gone, all my terrors defying ; To scare boys like Tom I had better stop trying. RECITATION IN CONCERT. (For three children. ) T ~TE are but little children yet ; \\l We are but little children yet ! But as we grow, the more we know ; We hope we may be wiser yet. We wish to learn to read and spell ; We wish to know our duty well ! And everyone who asks we'll tell That we shall soon be wiser yet. Perhaps we are but naughty yet ; Perhaps we are but naughty yet ! But every day we try to say, We'll be a little better yet. We mean to mind what we are told ; And if we should be rude or bold, We'll try to mend as we grow old : We'll wish that we were better yet ! You think we are too giddy yet ; You think we are too giddy yet ! But wait awhile, you need not smile, Perhaps you'll see us steady yet. For though we love to run and play, And many a foolish word we say, Just come again on some fine day, You'll find us all quite steady yet ! 78 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. SPRING VOICES. (Teach the child to imitate the crow, duck and frog. ) " /^\AW ! caw! " says the crow; " Spring has l^ came again, I know ; For as sure as I am born there's a farmer planting corn : I shall breakfast there, I trow, long before his corn can grow." •" Quack ! quack ! ' ' says the duck ; " was there ever such good luck ! Spring has cleared the pond of ice, and the day is warm and nice, Just as I and Goodman Drake thought we'd like a swim to take." " Croak ! croak ! " says the frog, as he leaps out from the bog ; ' ' The earth is warm and fair ; spring is here, I do declare ! Croak ! croak ! I love the spring ; come, little birds, and sing. ' ' THAT'S BABY. (The words, " That's baby," should be said slowly and with rising inflection and lifted eyebrows, every time growing more emphatic. ) XE little row of ten little toes To go along with a brand new nose, Eight little fingers and two new thumbs That are just as good as sugar plums — That's baby. One little pair of round, new eyes, Like a little owl's, so big and wise, One little place they call a mouth, Without one tooth from north to south — That's baby. Two little cheeks to kiss all day, Two little hands so in his way, A brand new head, not very big, That seems to need a brand new wig — That's baby. Dear little row of ten little toes ! How much we love them nobody knows ; Ten little kisses on mouth and chin ; What a shame he wasn't born a twin — That's baby. OVER THE FENCE. (In this dialogue Conscience should be repre- sented by a voice from some one unseen by the audience. The Chixd may have a ball in her (or his) hand, and make it bound two or three times.) Child: Over the fence is a garden fair — How I would love to be owner there ! All that I lack is a mere pretense, Then I could cross that low white fence. Conscience : This is the way all crimes commence : Sin and sorrow are over the fence. Child : Over the fence I toss my ball, Then I go for it — that is all ! Picking an apple beneath a tree Wouldn't be really theft, you see. Conscience : That is not true, says common sense ; Sin and sorrow are over the fence. Child : No one will see me in the shade ; What is the use of being afraid ? Not very hard is the fence to leap ; There lie the apples, a golden heap. Conscience : No one will see thee ? Oh fly hence ! Down leads the road that's over the fence. Child : Whose is that voice so stern and clear ? Twice have I heard it — again I hear ! Help me to look no more that way, Help me from right no further to stray ! Conscience : Remember, remember, all crimes commence With coveting that which is over the fence. Child : I know thee now — let me know thee long ! Voice divine, oh keep me from wrong ! Keep me from every mean pretense, From coveting aught that is over the fence. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 79 A FOURTH OF JULY RECORD. (Suitable to Fourth of July entertainment.) 1 was a wide-awake little boy Who rose with the break of day; 2 were the minutes he took to dress, Then he was off and away. 3 were his leaps when he cleared the stairs, Although they were steep and high ; 4 was the number which caused his haste, Because it was Fourth of July ! 5 were his pennies which went to buy A package of crackers red ; 6 were the matches which touched them off And then — he was back in bed. 7 big plasters he had to wear To cure his fractures sore ; 8 were the visits the doctor made, Before he was whole once more. 9 were the dolorous days he spent In sorrow and pain ; but then, are the seconds he'll stop to think Before he does it again. Lilian Dynevor Rice. DAYS OF THE WEEK. (For seven little boys and girls. Teacher or some large boy or girl should speak.) THE days of the week once talking together About their housekeeping, their friends and the weather, Agreed in their talk it would be a nice thing For all to march, and dance, and sing ; So they all stood up in a very straight row, And this is the way they decided to go : {Let seven children stand ip, and as day of week is called, take places, each one equipped with the things the speaker mentions. ) First came little Sunday, so sweet and good, With a book in her hand, at the head she stood. Monday skipped in with soap and a tub, Scrubbing away with a rub-a-dub-dub ; With board and iron came Tuesday bright, Talking to Monday in great delight. Then Wednesday — the dear little cook — came in Riding cock horse on his rolling-pin. Thursday followed, with broom and brush, Her hair in a towel, and she in a rush. Friday appeared, gayly tripping along ; He scoured the knives, and then he was gone. Saturday last, with a great big tub, Into which we all jump for a very good rub. {The children march and sing to the tune of " Good Morning, Merry Sunshine .' ') Children of the week are we, Happy, busy, full of glee. Often do we come this way, And you meet us every day. Hand in hand we trip along, Singing, as we go, a song. Each one may a duty bring, Though it be a little thing. {All bow, and taking up the a?-ticles retire from the stage in order, Sunday, Monday, etc. ) Mary Ely Page. I I IF I WERE YOU. F I were you, and went to school, I'd never break the smallest rule ; And it should be my teacher's joy To say she had no better boy. And 'twould be true, If I were you. If I were you, I'd always tell The truth, no matter what befell ; For two things only I despise, A coward heart and telling lies ; And you would, too, If I were you. WHAT TO DRINK. THINK that every mother's son And every father's daughter, Should drink at least till twenty-one^ Just nothing but cold water. And after that, they might drink tea, But nothing any stronger ; If all folks would agree with me, They'd live a great deal longer. 80 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. THE BLESSED ONES. (Suited to nine little boys and girls. Let each one step forward as he speaks. ) BLESSED are the poor in spirit : for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn : for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek : for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness : for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful : for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart : for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers : for they shall be called the children of God. Blessed are they which are persecuted for right- eousness' sake : for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye when men shall revile you, and per- secute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. {All stand in line and repeat together .•) Rejoice, and be exceeding glad : for great is your reward in heaven ; for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you. From Matthew, 5 : 2-12. I THINK IT'S WRONG— DON'T YOU? (Suited to a bright little boy or girl. Should be spoken in a simple, confident, child-like tone. Teach the child to speak plainly and slowly, and to ask the question distinctly.) T "THILE walking on the street one day, W^ I saw a k°y — it' s true — Snatch quickly trom a little girl A toy, both rare and new, And never give it back to her : I think that's wrong — don't you? I saw a little girl at home, With curls, and eyes of blue ; I heard her say, " I won't, mamma !" And saw she meant it, too. And then the eyes grew very fierce : I think that's wrong — don't you? I've seen the children on the street Such wicked actions do, That I have really been afraid 'Twould make me wicked, too. I think if I had stayed there, / Should have done wrong — don't you? I think it's wrong to steal and lie, To drink, and smoke, and chew ; It's wrong to disobey mamma, As children often do ; But to be Christ-like every day, I think that 1 's right — don't you ? TWENTY-THIRD PSALM. (Suited for Church or Sunday-School. Arranged for five little boys or girls. May be repeated at entertainment or before Sunday-School. Speakers should stand in line and recite one after the other. ) First Speaker. THE Lord is my shepherd ; I shall not want. Second Speaker. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures ; He leadeth me beside the still waters ; Third Speaker. He restoreth my soul ; He leadeth me in the path of righteousness for His name's sake. Fourth Speaker. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil ; for Thou art with me ; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. Fifth Speaker. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies ; Thou anoinest my head with oil ; My cup runneth over. All Together. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow (me) us all the days of (my) our (life) lives ; And (I) we will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 81 THE CONTENTED BLIND BOY. (When this selection is used for an entertainment the effect may be greatly enhanced by allowing the little speaker to sit instead of standing on the stage. He should keep his eyes closed or wear glasses, and all his actions should be those of a blind child.) OH say what is that thing called light, which I must ne'er enjoy? What are the blessings of the sight? Oh tell a poor blind boy ! You talk of wondrous things you see ; you say the sun shines bright ; I feel him warm, but how can he make it day or night? My day or night myself I make whene'er I sleep or play ; And could I always keep awake, with me 'twere always day. With heavy sigh I often hear you mourn my hapless woe ; But sure with patience I can bear a loss I ne'er can know. Then let not what I cannot have my cheer of mind destroy ; While thus I sing, I am a king, although a poor blind boy. Cibber. i I LOVE THE BIRDS. F ever I see On bush or tree, Young birds in their pretty nest, I must not in play Steal the birds away, To grieve their mother's breast. My mother, I know, Would sorrow so, Should I be stolen away ; So I'll speak to the birds In my softest words, Nor harm them in my play. And when they can fly In the bright blue sky, They'll warble a song to me ; And then, if I'm sad It will make me glad To think they are happy and free. A GENTLEMAN. (For a boy of twelve years.) THE appellation "gentleman" Too frequently is bought, But how to be a gentleman Is very seldom taught. In vain the tailor's subtle skill, In vain the barber's art ; They cannot give one attribute One polished grace impart. A man may be a gentleman Though clad in homespun stuff, And prove himself by word and deed A diamond in the rough. No contact with the vulgar mind Can cloud his lustre o'er, But like the lapidary's touch 'Twill make him shine the more. At home, abroad, to high, to low, He always is the same ; By this you'll know your gentleman ~Z worthy of the name. George M. Vickers. FOLLOW THE GOLDEN RULE. ( Sunday-School selection. ) NE rule to guide us in our life Is always good and true ; 'Tis do to others as you would That they should do to you. When urged to do a selfish deed, Pause, and your course review; Then do to others as you would That they should do to you. When doubtful which is right, which wrong, This you can safely do : Do unto others as you would That they should do to you. Oh simple rule ! oh law divine ! To duty thou'rt a clew. Child, do to others as you would That they should do to you. 82 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. BESSIE'S SECRET. (Suited to a girl of six to eight. This selection is also often recited by older persons. ) " HT KNOW the nicest secret," Cried bonnie little Bess, Her golden curls all flying, " You'll never, never guess. There's something up at our house That cries, and cries, and cries ; It's head's as bald as grandpa's, And it has such little eyes. " It's face is red, just awful, With such a funny nose ; It has such tiny fingers And such a lot of toes. It isn't very pretty, Nor half so nice as me, But mamma calls it darling, And sweet as sweet can be. " It isn't a new dolly, For dolls can' t breathe, you know ; It's — Oh ! I almost told you ! — Good-by, I've got to go. I want to go and kiss it, ' ' Away flew little Bess Without telling the secret, I leave for you to guess. H BABY-LAND. OW many miles to Baby-Land ? Any one can tell ; Up one flight To your right — Please to ring the bell. What can you see in Baby-Land ? Little folks in white ; Downy heads, Cradle beds, Faces pure and bright. What do they do in Baby-Land ? Dream, and wake and play ; Laugh and crow, Shout and grow, Jolly times have they. What do they say in Baby Land ? Why, the oddest things ; Might as well Try to tell What the birdie sings. Who is the Queen of Baby Land? Mother, kind and sweet ; And her love, Born above, Guides the little feet. CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN RICHES. (Suited to Sunday-School or school. When used at an entertainment, the boys should dress according to the characters they represent. ) Arthur Rich : Your hat is too big for your head, Martin Lee, Your jacket is threadbare and old, There's a hole in your shoe and a patch on your knee, Yet you seem very cheerful and bold. Martin Lee : Why not, Arthur Rich ? for my lesson I say, And my duty I try hard to do ; I have plenty of work, I have time, too, to play, I have health, and my joys are not few. Arthur Rich : See my vest, Martin Lee, and my boots how they shine ! My jacket, my trousers, all new ! Now, would you not like such a nice ring as mine ? Come, give me the answer that's true. Martin Lee : Such clothes, Arthur Rich, would become me, and please, But I'm content in the thought, Since my mother is poor, that I'd rather wear these Than make her work more than she ought. A?-thur Rich : You are right, Martin Lee, and your way is the best ; Your hat is now handsome to me ; I look at the heart beating under your vest, And the patches no longer I see. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 83 A THE MISER AND THE MOUSE. MISER, traversing his house, Espied, unusual there, a mouse, And thus his uninvited guest, Briskly inquisitive, addressed : " Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it I owe this unexpected visit ?' ' The mouse her host obliquely eyed, And, smiling, pleasantly replied, " Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard, I come to lodge, and not to board?' ADDRESS ON THE OCCASION OF A NEW PASTOR. (Sunday-school or church entertainment.) UR hearts are full of joy to-night ; We're happy, every one ; Each face is beaming with delight For something nobly done. We're glad, to-night, to raise our song To Jesus' listening ear, Glad to employ both heart and tongue And know that Heaven will hear. We're glad to meet our pastor dear, And greet him to our school ; We'll give him now the welcome cheer. Of which our hearts are full. We hope he'll find a pleasant home, And hearts both warm and true ; And all that children can, and more, We'll nobly try to do. Our former pastor, patient, kind, Who long has toiled, and tried To lead us to the fold of Christ, And in His love t' abide, — He meets us not — we miss him here, But still for him would pray, — That God would be his guard and guide, His present help alway. And when the race of life we've run, And fall to rise no more, May each a crown of glory find On Canaan's happy shore. A THE PLEDGE. (Temperance concert recitation for several little boys. ) PLEDGE we make No wine to take ; Nor brandy red, To turn the head. Nor whiskey hot, That makes the sot ; Nor fiery rum That ruins home. Nor will we sin By drinking gin ; Hard cider, too, Will never do ; Nor brewer's beer, Our hearts to cheer. CHARLEY'S OPINION OF THE BABY. ( Humorous. ) MUZZER'S bought a baby, Ittle bit's of zing; Zink I mos could put him Froo my rubber ring. Ain't he awful ugly? Ain't he awful pink? Jus come down from Heaven, Dat's a fib, I zink. Doctor told anozzer Great big awful lie ; Nose ain't out of joyent, Dat ain't why I cry. Zink I ought to love him ! No, I won't ! so zere; Nassy, crying baby, Ain't got any hair. Send me off wiz Biddy Ev'ry single day ; "Bea good boy, Charlie, Run away and play. ' ' Dot all my nice kisses, Dot my place in bed ; Mean to take my drumstick And beat him on ze head. 84 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. SHORT SPEECHES FOR LITTLE PHILOSOPHERS. (Arranged by T. Sheppard for this volume.) These selections may be spoken separately by little folks ; or a very pretty exercise for school or chil- ,. dren's entertainment may be arranged by having a group of children — one for each selection — appear, seated or standing in a row on the stage, and without calling them separately let each one step forward, announce his subject, and recite in order : 1. KEEP WORKING. Over and over again, No matter which way I turn, I always find in the Book of Life Some lesson that I must learn ; I must take my turn at the mill, I must grind out the golden grain, I must work at my task with a resolute will Over and over again. 2. BE CAREFUL OF YOUR WORDS. Before speaking evil of any one put these three questions to yourself : Is it kind ? Is it true ? Is it necessary ? 3. DON'T SPEAK WHEN ANGRY. Angry words are lightly spoken, Bitter thoughts are rashly stirred ; Brightest links in life are broken, By a single angry word. 4. HOW TO BE NOBLE. Howe'er it be, it seems to me 'Tis only noble to be good ; Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood. Tennyson. 5. kindness. Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the blossoms, Kind deeds are the fruits. 6. WE ALL HA VE FA ULTS Oh, wad some pow'r the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us ! It wad frae monie a blunder free us, And foolish notion. Robert Burns. 7 BE TRUTHFUL. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again : The eternal years of God are hers ; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies amid her worshipers. Bryant. 8. HOPE ON. The Night is mother of the Day, The Winter of the Spring, And ever upon old Decay The greenest mosses cling ; Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall ; For God, who loveth all His works, Has left His hope with all. Whittier. 9. god's love. God scatters love on every side Freely among His children all, And always hearts lie open wide Wherein some grains may fall. Lowell. 10. triumph of truth. But Truth shall conquer at the last, For round and round we run, And ever the right comes uppermost, And ever is justice done. Charles Mackay. 11. true worth. True worth is in being, not seeming, In doing, each day that goes by, Some little good, not in dreaming Of great things to do by -and -by ; For whatever men say in their blindness, And in spite of the fancies of youth, There is nothing so kingly as kindness, And nothing so royal as truth. Alice Cary. 12. CHARITY. Let more than the domestic mill Be turned by feeling's river; Let charity begin at home, But not stay there forever. 13. PLEASURE AT HOME. Closer, closer let us knit Hearts and hands together LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 85 Where our fireside comforts sit In the wildest weather ; Oh ! they wander wide who roam For the joys of life from home. 14. HOW to LIVE. We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths •; In feelings, not in figures on a dial : We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. Philip James Bailey. 15. THINK, SPEAK AND LIVE TRULY. Think truly, and thy thought Shall the world's famine feed; Speak truly, and thy word Shall be a fruitful seed ; Live truly, and thy life shall be A great and noble creed. 16 HABIT. Habit is a cable ; we weave a thread of it every day, And at last we cannot break it. Horace Mann. 17. how to be true. This above all : to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. Shakespeare. 18. don't say it. Is there a cross word that tries to be said ? Don't let it, my dear, don't let it ! Just speak two pleasant ones, quick, instead, And that will make you forget it. 19. LIVES OF GREA T MEN. Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time. Longfellow. 20. wives of grea t men. (Humorous parody on the above.) Wives of great men all remind us We can make our wives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us, Widows worthy of our time. So then give your wife a ' ' send-off ' ' By the life insurance plan, Fix her so that when you ' ' glide off ' ' She can catch another man. SANTA AND HIS REINDEER. COME, little people, and listen here While I tell you of Santa and his reindeer; How he comes flying down to the snowy ground In the dead of night when there's not a sound ; And in great big books, on his library shelf, There's the names of boys and girls like yourself. But for each bad deed that is done From his list of presents he strikes off one ; So look out for the things you do and say If you want a merry Christmas day. Margaret Hallock Steen (aged n years). ALWAYS IN A HURRY. I KNOW a little maiden who is always in a hurry : She races through her breakfast to be in time for school ; She scribbles at her desk in a hasty sort of flurry, And comes home in a breathless whirl that fills the vestibule. She hurries through her studying, she hurries through her sewing, Like an engine at high pressure, as if leisure were a crime ; She's always in a scramble, no matter where she's going, And yet — would you believe it? — she never is in time ! It seems a contradiction until you know the reason ; But I'm sure you'll think it simple, as I do, when I state That she never has been known to begin a thing in season, And she's always in a hurry because she starts too late. Priscilla Leonard. 86 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. SONG OF THE RYE. (Temperance selection. May be made very enter- taining by binding rye straws about the boy's waist, so they will proj ect above his head, hiding face and hands, causing him to appear as a walking shock of rye, from which the voice proceeds in solemn tones. ) I WAS made to be eaten And not to be drank ; To be threshed in a barn, Not soaked in a tank. I come as a blessing When put through a mill, As a blight and a curse When run through a still. Make me up into loaves, And the children are fed ; But if into drink, I'll starve them instead. In bread I'm a servant, The eater shall rule ; In drink I am master, The drinker a fool. QUESTIONS ABOUT WOMEN. (For a class of girls. The teacher asks questions, and scholars should repeat the verse and give the reference in answer to every question. ) 1 . What two men were hidden in a well by a woman? 2 Sam. xvii. 18, 19. 2. What man asked his servant to kill him after he had been mortally wounded by a woman? Judges ix. 53, 54. 3. What man owed his own life and that of all his countrymen to a woman? Esther iv. 15, 16. 4. What king caused a good man to be slain because he loved the man's wife? 2 Sam. xi. 14, 15- 5. What man made a vow which involved the life of his own daughter? Judges xi. 30, 31, 34. 6. What man once received most hospitable treatment from a woman whom he sought, though she knew him not? Gen. xxiv. 17-19. 7. What man was deceived by a woman, and then treacherously slain by her? Judges iv. 18, 8. What man once refused to go to battle unless the woman he was addressing would con- duct it ? Judges iv. 8, 9. 9. What man was saved from death by his wife's pretending he was sick? 1 Sam. xix. 12-14. 10. What man was twice betrayed by his wife through avowal of love? Judges xi v. 16, 17, and xv. 15-17. , 11. What woman judged Israel? Judges i v. 4, 5- 12. What woman reigned over Israel six years? 2 Chron. xxii. 10, 12. GEORGE WASHINGTON. (Especially suited to Washington's birthday enter- tainment. A recitation for five small boys. Let each boy hold in his right hand a card with date, lifting it high during his recitation.) 1732. I N seventeen hundred thirty-two George Washington was born ; Truth, Goodness, skill, and glory high, His whole life did adorn. 1775. — In seventeen hundred seventy-five, The chief command he took Of all the army in the State, And ne'er his flag forsook. 1783. — In seventeen hundred eighty- three, Retired to private life, He saw his much-loved country free From battle and from strife. 1789. — In seventeen hundred eighty-nine The country with one voice, Proclaimed him President to shine, Blessed by the people's choice. 1799. — In seventeen hundred ninety-nine The Nation's tears were shed, To see the Patriot life resign, And sleep among the dead. All. — As " first in war, and first in peace," As patriot, father, friend, He will be blessed till time shall cease, And earthly life shall end. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 87 REASONS WHY. (Temperance exercise for eight boys. Prepared especially for this volume, by T. Sheppard. TEACHER. Children, I want to see if you can tell me why children and all others should not only be temperate and avoid strong drink, but never drink it at all. We will begin here with Jimmy, who will give me his reason, and after him every one of you rise and tell me the best reason you can for abstaining from all intoxicants. Jimmy. Because the Bible says : ' ' Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging : and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise. ' ' Charles. Because if they never taste strong drink they can never become drunkards. William. Because if all children were tee- totalers we would soon have a sober world. Enos. Because the money spent in strong drink could be spent in useful articles and houses for homes. George. Because it says in the Bible, "No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God." Harry. Because drunkenness is a disgrace, and a hindrance to the progress of Christianity. John. Because God loves to see children try to do good in the world, and we should all try to make some one better for our having lived. Elwood. Because they will grow up healthy and strong, and be more happy and useful in life. Teacher (at the close"). Your reasons are very good. I hope you will all be guided through your lives by the wise counsels contained in these lessons. All. We will. PRESENTATION SPEECH. (Where presents are for Sunday -School Superin- tendent and his wife. The wording of the speech may be changed to suit the article presented, where others than pictures are used, or for Superintendent only where his wife is not remembered with a present. ) I SUPPOSE you think me rather small to stand up here and make a speech, and I think myself so. But I am not going to say any big words : I am going to tell you what I came here for, and then I am going to take my seat. Now listen closely, for I don't want brother Mills to hear what I am going to say. He has been our superintendent for years ; and now he is going away ; and I thought it would be very nice, if we could make him a little present, just to let him know that we are sorry : I feel so — don't you ? All those that are sorry, hold up your hands. (School raise their hands.) He has been a real good superintendent. I would like to tell you some of his peculiar virtues, but it would take too much time ; and you, that have seen him every Sunday, know him as well as I do. Now, how many think we had better try and give him something, and his wife, too ? for she has worked in the school a great deal. All those that think so, raise your hands. ( They do so.) Very well ; what shall it be ? ( Two boys come up, bearing a present Jor each. ) Those will do nicely. ( Turning to the side of the stage. ) I wish you would ask Mr. and Mrs. Mills to come up here. ( They come tip. Titrning to him. ) Brother Mills, our Sabbath-School feels that you have been a very true friend ; and now you are about to leave us, we desire to give you some token of our friendship. Take this picture ; and may it make you happy many times. Sister Mills, we have seen how you have labored for us, and we have not forgotten it, but wish you to take this picture, as a proof that we do not wish you to forget us, as we certainly shall not you. ( Turning to the audience. ) Dear friends, I thank you for your hearty response. WILLIE'S SPEECH. (For a very little boy. ) I AM just a little fellow, and I can't say much. My speech is this : I am glad I am a boy ! I had rather be a boy than a girl, or anything. Boys have good times. They can swim and skate and coast, ride horseback, climb trees, play hop-toad, make cartwheels of themselves, and slide down the banisters ; and most girls can't. I wouldn't be a girl — no — not if you'd give me the best jack-knife in the world ! 88 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. WHERE HEAVEN IS. (Sunday-School occasion.) ** "Y "THERE'S heaven, mamma?" said a \h[ little girl, With cheeks a-glow, and hair a-curl. < < Heaven is above, where Jesus lives, And mansions fair, that Jesus gives. ' ' "But tell me, where is heaven, mamma? You say that it is very far ; How can I go there when I die ? How can I ever mount so high ?' ' "Heaven is with Jesus, Katy Bell; But how we get there none can tell." "What is it like, then, mamma, dear? Shall I be happy there as here?" "Heaven is, my darling, very fair; No clouds or darkness enter* there. When there, we never sin again, Are never sick, and feel no pain. ' ' "Then I will go," said little Kate* ; "I'll start to-day, — I cannot wait !" "My little Kate, you cannot go Until you're ready, — don't you know? "Your lessons are not learned, my dear : We have to learn our lessons here." "Yes, I know what you mean, mamma: I must obey you and papa. "When I have learned to do it well Then I shall go to heaven to dwell." And Katy tries each day she lives, To learn the lesson Jesus gives. THE BIG SHOE. " ATAHERE was an old woman Who lived in a shoe ; She had so many children She didn't know what to do. To some she gave broth And to some she gave bread, And some she whipped soundly And sent them to bed." Do you find out the likeness? A portly old dame, — The mother of millions, — Britannia by name. And howe'er it may strike you In reading the song — Not stinted in space For bestowing the throng; Since the sun can himself Hardly manage to go, In a day and a night, From the heel to the toe. On the arch of the instep She builds up her throne, And with seas rolling under, She sits there alone ; With her heel at the foot Of the Himalayas planted, And her toe in the icebergs, Unchilled and undaunted. Yet, though justly of all Her fine family proud, 'Tis no light undertaking To rule such a crowd ; Not to mention the trouble Of seeing them fed, And dispensing with justice The broth and the bread. Some will seize upon one, Some are left with the other, And so the whole household Gets into a pother. But the rigid old dame Has a summary way Of her own, when she finds There is mischief to pay. She just takes up the rod, And lays down the spoon, And makes their rebellious Backs tingle right soon. Then bids them, while yet The sore smarting they feel, To lie down and go to Sleep, under her heel. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 89 Only once was she posed, — When the little boy, Sam, Who had always before Been as meek as a lamb, Refused to take tea, As his mother had bid, And returned saucy answers, Because he was chid. Not content, even then, He cut loose from the throne, And set about making A shoe of his own ; Which succeeded so well, And was filled up so fast, That the world, in amazement, Confessed at the last — Looking on at the work, With a gasp and a stare — That 'twas hard to tell which Would be best of the pair. Side by side they are standing Together to-day, Side by side may they keep Their strong foothold for aye ; And beneath the broad sea, Whose blue depths intervene, May the finishing string Lie unbroken between ! NOBODY KNOWS BUT MOTHER, OBODY knows of the work it makes, To keep the home together ; Nobody knows of the steps it takes, Nobody knows — but mother. Nobody listens to childish woes, Which kisses only smother ; Nobody's pained by naughty blows, Nobody — only mother. N Nobody knows of the sleepless care Bestowed on baby brother ; Nobody knows of the tender pray'r, Nobody — only mother. Nobody knows of the lessons taught Of loving one another ; Nobody knows of the patience sought, Nobody — only mother. Nobody knows of the anxious fears, Lest darlings may not weather The storm of life in after years, Nobody knows — but mother. Nobody kneels at the throne above To thank the Heavenly Father, For that sweetest gift — a mother's love ; Nobody can — but mother. A CHRISTMAS CAROL. LITTLE children, can you tell — Do you know the story well, Every girl and every boy — Why the angels sang for joy On the Christmas morning ? Yes, we know the story well : Listen, now, and hear us tell, Every girl and every boy, Why the angels sang for joy On the Christmas morning. Shepherds sat upon the ground, Fleecy flocks were scattered round, When the brightness filled the sky, And the songs were heard on high On that Christmas morning. Joy and peace the angels sang, And the pleasant echoes rang, " Peace on earth, to men good will." Hark ! the angels sing it still — On the Christmas morning. TRUE BRAVERY. (Suited to a boy and girl of twelve years.) Ralph. Good-morning, Cousin Laura ! I have a word to say to you. Laura. Only a word ! It is yet half an hour to school-time, and I can listen. R. I saw you yesterday speaking to that. fellow Sterling — Frank Sterling. 9i LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. Z. Of course I spoke to P>ank. What then? Is he too good to be spoken to ? R. Far from it. You must give up his acquaintance. Z. Indeed, Cousin Ralph ! I must give up his acquaintance ? On what compulsion must I ? R. If you do not wish to be cut by all the boys of the academy, you must cut Frank. L. Cut ! What do you mean by cut? R. By cutting, I mean not recognizing an individual. When a boy who knows you passes you without speaking or bowing, he cuts you. Z. I thank you for the explanation. And I am to understand that I must either give up the acquaintance of my friend Frank, or submit to the terrible mortification of being "cut" by Mr. Ralph Burton and his companions ! R. Certainly. Frank is a boy of no spirit — in short, a coward. Z. How has he shown it? R. Why, a dozen boys have dared him to fight, and he refuses to do it. Z. And is your test of courage a willingness to fight? If so, a bull-dog is the most coura- geous of gentlemen. R. I am serious, Laura ; you must give him up. Why, the other day Tom Harding put a chip on a fellow's hat, and dared Frank Sterling to knock it off. But Sterling folded his arms and walked off, while we all groaned and hissed. L. You did? You groaned and hissed? Oh, Ralph, I did not believe you had so little of the true gentlemen about you ! R. What do you mean? Come, now, I do not like that. Z. Were you at the great fire last night? R. Yes ; Tom Harding and I helped work one of the engines. Z. Did you see that boy go up the ladder? R. Yes ; wouldn' t I like to be in his shoes / They say the Humane Society are going to give him a medal ; for he saved a baby's life and no mistake — at the risk of his own, too : every- body said so ; for the ladder he went up was all charred and weakened, and it broke short off before he got to the ground. Z. What boy was it ? R. Nobody could find out, but I suppose the morning paper will tell us all about it. Z. I have a copy. Here's the account : ' ' Great fire ; house tenanted by poor families ; baby left in one of the upper rooms ; ladder much charred ; firemen too heavy to go up ; boy came forward, ran up ; seized an infant ; descended safely ; gave it into arms of frantic mother. ' ' R. Is the boy's name mentioned? Z. Ay ! Here it is ! Here it is ! And who do you think he is ? R. Do not keep me in suspense. Z. Well, then, he's the boy who was so afraid of knocking a chip off your hat — Frank Sterling — the coward, as you called him. R. No ! Let me see the paper for myself. There's the name, sure enough, printed in capital letters. Z. But, cousin, how much more illustrious an achievement it would have been for him to have knocked a chip off your hat ! Risking his life to save a chip of a baby was a small matter compared with that. Can the gratitude of a mother for saving her baby make amends for the ignominy of being cut by Mr. Tom Harding and Mr. Ralph Burton ? R. Don't laugh at me any more, Cousin Laura. I see I've been stupidly in the wrong. Frank Sterling is no coward. I'll ask his pardon this very day. Z. Will you? My dear Ralph, you will in that case show that you are not without courage. PART III YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT CONTAINING CHOICE SELECTIONS SUITED TO YOUNG PEOPLE FROM TWELVE TO TWENTY YEARS OF AGE ADAPTED TO USE IN SCHOOLS, CONCERTS, PARLOR, LYCEUM, DECORATION DAY, FOURTH OF JULY, THANKSGIVING, CHRISTMAS, TEMPERANCE, SUNDAY-SCHOOL, CHURCH, AND MISCELLANEOUS ENTERTAINMENTS COMPRISING DECLAMATIONS, RECITATIONS, READINGS, DIALOGUES, AMATEUR PLAYS, SELECTIONS WITH MUSIC ACCOMPANIMENTS, ETC., COVERING THE FIELDS OF THE HUMEROUS, DIALECTIC, MORAL, RELIGIOUS, DIDACTIC, MARTIAL, PATRIOTIC AND PATHETIC BRANCHES OF LITERATURE SELECTED WITH SPECIAL CARE FOR THE BEST FORM OF ENTERTAINMENTS ; AT THE SAME TIME WITH A VIEW TO INSTRUCTING, CULTIVATING, AND DEVELOPING THE GROWING MIND "THE WORLD OWES ME A LIVING." ( A popular fallacy corrected. ) 44 ATAHE world owes you a living !" Does it, Mr. Do-nothing ? Never was there a more absurd idea ! You have been a tax, a sponge upon the world ever since you came into it. It is your creditor to a vast amount. Your liabilities are immense, your assets are nothing, and yet you say the world is owing you ! Go to ! The amount in which you stand indebted to the world is greater than you will ever have the power to liquidate. You owe the world the labor of your two strong arms and all the skill in work they might have gained ; you owe the world the labor of that brain of yours, the sympathies of that heart, the energies of your being ; you owe the world the whole moral and intellectual capabilities of a man. Awake, then, from your dreamy, do- nothing state ! Juggle your easy conscience no longer with the idea that the world is owing to you. First do something to pay your debt to the world — the debt you owe to civilized humanity, to the activities of the past and of the present. "What debt?" do you ask? The debt for all the means of culture within your reach — of skilled, intelligent labor, of instruction in sci- ence ; the debt for the great thoughts accessible to you in books — for the grand opportunities of rising, on an infinite ascent, in the scale of being. TRUST NOT TO APPEARANCES. "No other protection is wanting, provided you are under the guidance of prudence."— -Juvenal. EARLY one day in leafy June, When brooks and birds are all in tune, A Quaker, on a palfrey brown, Was riding over Horsley Down. Though he could see no houses near, He trotted on without a fear • For not a thief upon the road Would guess where he his cash had stowed. As thus he went — that Quaker sly — Another Quaker trotted by. " Stop, brother," said the first ; " the weather Is pleasant ; let us chat together. ' ' " Nay," said the stranger, " know'st thou not That this is a suspected spot ? 91 92 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. That robbers here resort, my brother ? ' ' "A fig for robbers ! " said the other : " I've all my money in a note, And that is hid — not in my coat — But—" " Where!" the other asked. "Be- hold! "— ' ' What ! in your shoe ? " " The secret's told ! You see, it has a double sole : Within that I have hid the whole ; Now where's the robber who would think Of ever looking there for chink? " " Here ! " cried the stranger; "so dismount, And straightway render an account ; I'm Captain Bibb, the robber trim, So hand your money quick to him ! Don't tremble — all you've got to do, You know, is to take off your shoe ; And for your money I will give Advice shall serve you while you live : MARK YE WHAT I SAY Don't take each broad-brim chance may send, Though plain his collar, for a Friend ; Don't trust the gentleman or clown While riding over Horsley Down." HOFER THE TYROLESE. (Andrew Hofer, born 1767, a gallant leader of the Tyrolese, in their endeavor to throw off the Austrian yoke. He gained several battles, but France finally came to Austria's assistance. Hofer was forced into the mountains, where he was betrayed by one of his followers, and captured, and imprisoned at Mantua, being placed in chains, and cruelly treated. He was shot by his country s oppressors February 20, 1810.) AT -Mantua, in chains, the gallant Hofer lay; In Mantua, to death, the foe led him away ; Right bravely had he striven, in arms, to make a stand For freedom and Ty-roF, his own fair mountain land. His hands behind him clasped, with firm and measured pace Marched Andrew Hofer on : he feared not death to face ; ' ' Ty-rol', I hoped to see your sons and daugh- ters free ! Farewell, my mountain land, a last farewell!" said he. The drummer's hand refused to beat the funeral march While Andrew Hofer passed the portal's gloomy arch ; He on the bastion stood, the shackles on his arm, But proudly and erect, as if he feared no harm. They bade him then kneel down : said he, "That will I not? Here standing will I die, as I have stood and fought ! No tyrant's power shall claim from me the bended knee ; I'll die as I have lived — for thee, Ty-roF, for thee ! ' ' A grenadier then took the bandage from his hand, While Hofer breathed a prayer, his last on earthly land. ' Aim well, my lads ! ' ' said he ; the soldiers aimed and fired. "For thee, Ty-roF, I die!" said Hofer, and expired. ADVICE TO A YOUNG MAN. Robert J. Burdette has established a reputation as one of the greatest humorists of the age. His fame began while he was a writer on the Burlington Hawkeye, which paper was made prominent by his contributions. He is a minister and an extensive writer and lecturer. His humor always points a good moral. REMEMBER, my son, you have to work. Whether you handle a pick or a pen, a wheelbarrow or a set of books, digging ditches or editing a paper, ringing an auction bell or writing funny things, you must work. If you look around you will see the men who are the most able to live the rest of their days without work are the men who work the hardest. Don't be afraid of killing yourself with over- work. It is beyond your power to do that on YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 93 the sunny side of thirty. They die sometimes, but it is because they quit work at six p. m. and don't get home until two a. m. It's the interval that kills, my son. The work gives you an ap- petite for your meals ; it lends solidity to your slumbers; it gives you a perfect and grateful appreciation of a holiday. There are young men who do not work, but the world is not proud of them. It does not know their names, even; it simply speaks of them as " old So-and-so's boys." Nobody likes them ; the great, busy world doesn't know that they are there. So find out what you want to be and do, and take off your coat and make a dust in the world. The busier you are the less harm you will be apt to get into, the sweeter your sleep, the brighter and happier your holi- days, and the better satisfied will the world be with you. JUDGE BROWN'S WATERMELON STORY. (Humorous Southern story. The above may be read or spoken. Be careful to observe the different moods of the piece and give them proper expression.) MY father was the finest watermelon grower in the country. Melon culture was his delight. I particularly remember one crop. Just before the melons began to get ripe my father called Black Bill and me, and said : ' ' I want you boys to understand one thing. If one of my melons is stolen, I am going to measure the tracks that I find in the patch, and then measure feet, and the owner of the feet that correspond with the tracks shall get a whipping that he can never forget. See this hickory? " pointing to a long and cruel-looking switch which he had placed above the dining- room door. ' ' Well, if either of you want to catch this switch, pitch in." Bill shook his head and muttered that he didn't want it ; that he would rather be killed by a steer (old Buck a few weeks before had thrown Bill against a tree and knocked off the bark) than to be cut to pieces with such a switch ; and I assured my stern parent that so far as I was concerned he might rest in peace. Bill was the only negro we had, and although he was compelled to go to church every Sunday, riding on the seat behind the buggy, and although he sat in the buggy during services, and without effort could hear every word of the sermon, yet that boy, with all his careful training, was inclined to be a thief. The next day after the proclamation was issued I went out and looked at the melon patch. There, lying in the sun, striped and tempting, lay a beautiful melon. Ah, if there were anything that could make a Southern boy forget honor it was a watermelon. I trembled, for I knew I could not prevent myself from stealing it, and then that awful switch came up before me. An idea struck me. I went to the house, stole into the cabin, and got Bill's shoes. What an enormous foot the rascal had ! The shoes were so large that they would not stay on my feet, but I overcame this great drawback by stuffing them with grass, I slipped around and entered the patch from a locust thicket. A rain had fallen the day before, and I made decided tracks in the level ground. I got the melon, stole back to the thicket, and, although it was not ripe, I ate more than half of it. Then I returned Bill's shoes. That afternoon, while Bill and I were in the yard, I saw my father, carefully carrying a small stick, enter the gate. His face wore an unusually stern expression, and I saw that there was something wrong. " I don't think that much measuring is needed on this occasion," said he, glancing at the stick. 1 *■ Bill, where are your shoes ?' ' "In de cabin, sah. " " Bring them here." He brought the shoes. The old gentleman applied the measure, and said : ' ' Fresh dirt on them, I see. ' ' Bill's face became a study. " Doan know how it came on dar, marster. Aint wore 'em sense last Sunday. ' ' "Yes, that's all right. John," turning to me, "fetch me that switch." My heart smote me, but I brought the switch. Then Bill began to dance. I never did see a fellow get himself 94 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. into so many different" shapes, and it seemed that every shape was better suited to the switch. I had to snort. I couldn't help it. I kept out of Bill's way as much as possible, for he seemed to look reproachfully at me, but he did not accuse me of delivering him up to the enemy, and I had begun to persuade myself that Bill had stolen the melon, when two days later I came to grief. Bill and I were again in the yard when my father entered the gate, carrying a small stick. ''John," said he, as he approached, ' ' where are your shoes ?' ' " In the house, sir." " Bring them here." I got my shoes. Great Caesar ! there was fresh soil on them. "Come on, come on," said the old gentleman. I handed him one shoe and dropped the other one. "Bill," said he, after measuring the shoe, "bring me that switch." Bill bounded with delight, and brought the switch. "Pap," I cried, "please don't whip me; I ain't done nuthin' — Oh — " I danced, I capered, and I met the switch at every turn. In my agony I caught sight of Bill standing at the corner of the house and snorting like a glandered horse. Bill kept out of my way, but that evening I met him and asked : " Bill, how did you wear my shoes?" " How did yer w'ar mine ?" " Put grass in 'em." "Wall, I tuck er p'ar er short stilts an' put yer shoes on de ends o' 'em. Reckon we'se erbout even now. Oh, I tell yer whut's er fack, John, it don't do ter fool wid me, case I'se one o' de 'n'inted by de saints." Arkansaw Traveller. GRANDFATHER'S BARN. (Parody on " The Old Oaken Bucket.") OH, don't you remember our grandfather's barn, Where our cousins and we met to play ; How we climbed on the beams and the scaffolds so high, Or tumbled at will on the hay? How we sat in a row on the bundles of straw, And riddles and witch stories told, While the sunshine came in through the cracks of the South, And turned the dust into gold ? How we played hide and seek in each cranny and nook, Wherever a child could be stowed ? Then we made us a coach of a hogshead of rye, And on it to " Boston ' ' we rode ; And then we kept store and sold barley and oats, And corn by the bushel or bin ; And straw for our sisters to braid into hats, And flax for our mothers to spin. Then we played we were biddies, and cackled and crowed, Till grandma in haste came to see If the weasles were killing the old speckled hen, Or whatever the matter might be ; How she patted our heads when she saw her mis- take, And called us her sweet " chicken dears ! " While a tear dimmed her eye as the picture recalled The scenes of her own vanished years. How we tittered and swung, and played meeting and school, And Indian and soldier and bear ! While up in the rafter the swallows kept house, Or sailed through the soft summer air. How we longed to peep in their curious nests ! But they were too far overhead ; So we wished we were giants, or winged like the birds, And then we'd do wonders, we said. And don't you remember the racket we made When selling at auction the hay ; And how we wound up with a keel over leap From the scaffold down into the hay ? When we went into supper our grandfather said, If he'd not once been a boy, He should think that the Hessians were sacking the town, Or an earthquake had come to destroy. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 95 WATER FOR ME. (Temperance selection.) OH, water for me ! bright water for me, And wine for the tremulous debauchee ! It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain, It maketh the faint one strong again ; It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea, All freshness, like infant purity. Oh water, bright water, for me, for me ! Give wine, give wine, to the debauchee ! Fill to the brim ! Fill, fill to the brim ! For water strengtheneth life and limb ; To the days of the aged it addeth length ; To the might of the strong it addeth strength ; It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight, 'Tis quaffing a goblet of morning light. So, water, I will drink naught but thee, Thou parent of health and energy. HILDA, SPINNING. ( Descriptive and pathetic. ) SPINNING, spinning by the sea, All the night ! On a stormy, rock-ribbed shore, Where the north winds downward pour, And the tempests fiercely sweep From the mountains to the deep, Hilda spins beside the sea, All the night ! Spinning at her lonely window By the sea ! With her candle burning clear, Every night of all the year, And her sweet voice crooning low Quaint old songs of love and woe, Spins she at her lonely window By the sea. On a bitter night in March, Long ago, Hilda, very young and fair, With a crown of golden hair, Watched the tempest raging wild, Watched the roaring sea — and smiled — Through that woful night in March, Long ago ! What though all the winds were out In their might ! Richard's boat was tried and true ; ' Stanch and brave his hardy crew ; Strongest he to do or dare. Said she, breathing forth a prayer : " He is safe, though winds are out In their might." But at lenght the morning dawned Still and clear ; Calm in azure splendor, lay All the waters of the bay ; And the ocean's angry moans Sank to solemn undertones, As at last the morning dawned Still and clear ! With her waves of golden hair Floating free, Hilda ran along the shore, Gazing off the waters o'er ; And the fisherman replied : " He will come in with the tide," As they saw her golden hair Floating free ! Ah ! he came in with the tide, Came alone ! Tossed upon the shining sands, Ghastly face and clutching hands, Seaweed tangled in his hair, Bruised and torn his forehead fair — Thus he came in with the tide, All alone ! Hilda watched beside her dead Day and night. Of those hours of mortal woe Human ken may never know ; She was silent, and his ear Kept the secret close and dear, Of her watch beside her dead, Day and night ! What she promised in the darkness, Who can tell ? 96 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. But upon that rock-ribbed shore Burns a beacon evermore, And, beside it all the night, Hilda guards the lonely light, Though what vowed she in the darkness None may tell ! Spinning, spinning by the sea, All the night ! While her candle, gleaming wide O'er the restless, rolling tide, Guides with steady, changeless ray, The lone fisher up the bay, — Hilda spins beside the sea, Through the night. Fifty years of patient spinning By the sea ! Old and worn, she sleeps to-day, While the sunshine gilds the bay ; But her candle shining clear Every night of all the year, Still is telling of her spinning By the sea ! THE BOY AND THE PEDANT. (Dialogue for a large and small boy. The boy should be concealed in the supposed water, away from the stage, but in his last speech should appear to the audience and act as if his clothes were drip- ping from his immersion. ) Boy. Help me, mister ! Lend a hand ! Pedant. Why did you get into such deep water ? B. I fell out of a boat; and if you don't help me, I shall drown. So be lively. P. Did you ever read my famous essay, entitled "Look Before you Leap?" B. None of your fooling ! Stop talking and help me. /'. Stop talking ? Why, young man, do you suppose the noble gift of speech was meant to rust in us unused? Stop talking? What if Cicero had stopped talking ? What if Demos x - the-nes had stopped talking? What if the immortal Henry — B. Hang the immortal Henry ! What's he to me, now ? Help me first, preach afterward. I can't swim. P. Can't swim? Is it possible you went into water before you knew how to swim ? Now, if you will just give me your close attention for a quarter of an hour, I will prove to you by a simple syllogism that you have gone contrary to all the laws of common sense in your conduct. Impri'?7iis — that is to say, in the first place — B. Oh, I can tread water no longer. Stop your nonsense and help a feller, will you ? P. Never say feller ; say fellow. Good pro- nunciation and good grammer should go hand in hand ; for, as Quintilian says — B. Stop that, will you? There! I've gone under twice; if I go under a third time, I'm a goner. P. Goner? That word isn't in Webster, my young friend. Never say goner. In all my philological studies — B. If ever I get on shore, you look out, that's all. Are you going to help me? P. Help is of various kinds, young man. There is moral help, and there is physical help. The help I proffer you is the higher and nobler help — help to your understanding, help to your modes of thought and speech, such help as may teach you to keep out of these scrapes in the future. B. Stop, or I shall drown to be rid of a bore. P. Do you know you are speaking to an F. R. S. ? B. I know I'm speaking to an A. S. S. P. Youth, learn to reverence wisdom. B. Old feller, I've just touched bottom, and now I'm all right. Please wait where you are just one minute. P. I think it will be the part of prudence for me to hasten my departure ; for I see a good many stones lying round on the beach. {Exit hastily.} B. (entering.) Ha, ha! See him run. A proof that a man may know a good deal and yet be a great simpleton and a great coward. I'd like to hold his head under salt water about as long as mine was, that's all. But I must dry my clothes, so the present company will excuse me. (Exit.) YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 97 THE GOSSIPS. "There is a set of malicious, prating, prudent gossips, both male and female, who murder characters to kill time."— Sheri- dan. AROSE in my garden, the sweetest and fairest, Was hanging her head, through the long golden hours, And early one morning I saw her tears falling, And heard a low, gossipy talk in the bowers. The flower-de-luce, a spinster all faded, Was telling the Lily what ailed the poor Rose — *' That wild, roving Bee, who was hanging about her, Has jilted her squarely, as every one knows. ■" I knew when he came, with his singing and sighing, With his airs and his speeches, so fine and so sweet, Just how it would end ; but none would believe me, For all were quite ready to fall at his feet. ' ' "Indeed, you are wrong," said the Lily, quite proudly, "I care nothing for him. He called on me once, And would have come often, no doubt, if I'd asked him, But, though he was handsome, I thought him a dunce." "Oh, oh! that's not true," spoke the tall Oleander, 1 * He has traveled and seen every flower that grows ; And one who has supped in the garden of princes, We all might have known, meant no good to a Rose." ■" But wasn't she proud when she won his atten- tions ? And she let him caress her, ' ' said sly Mignon- ette ; 4 ' And I used to see it, and blushed for her folly ; But the vain thing believes he will come to her yet." 7 " I thought he was splendid ! ' ' said pretty Lark- spur; " So dark and so grand, with that gray cloak of gold ; But he tried once to kiss me — the impudent fel- low ! — And I got offended ; I thought him too bold. ' ' 1 ' Oh, fie ! " laughed the Almond, ' ' that does for a story. Though I hang down my head, yet I see all that goes ; And I saw you reach out, smiling sweet, to de- tain him ; But* he just tapped your cheek, and flew by to the Rose. He cared nothing for her ; he only was flirting, To while away time, as I very well knew ; So I turned the cold shoulder on his advances, Because I was certain that his heart was un- true. ' ' ' ' Well, the Rose is served right for her folly in trusting An oily-tongued stranger," quoth proud Col- umbine. " I knew what he was, and thought once I would warn her, But you know the affair was no matter of mine." ' ' Oh, well, ' ' cried the Peony, shrugging her shoulders, ' ' I knew all along the Bee was a flirt ; But the Rose has been always so praised and so petted, I thought a good lesson would do her no hurt. ' ' Just then came the sound of a love-song sung softly, And I saw my sad Rose lifting up her bowed head, And the voice of the gossips was hushed in a moment, And the garden was as still as the tomb of the dead ; For the dark glossy Bee, with his cloak o'er his shoulder, 9S YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Came swift o'er the meadows and kissed the sweet Rose, And whispered, " My darling, I've roamed the world over, And nothing like thee in the universe grows." Ella Wheeler Wilcox. DIFFERENCES OF OPINION. (Suited to entertainment. The two speakers may occupy the stage at once, each appearing uncon- scious of the other's presence, and after the first has spoken a stanza the other speaks one. Or the first may speak his entire part, and the second then come on the stage and recite.) First Speaker : H ! the woe that woman brings ! Source of sorrow, grief and pain ! All our evils have their springs, In the first of female train. Eve by eating led poor Adam Out of Eden and astray ; Look for sorrow still where Madam, Pert and proud, directs the way. Courtship is a slavish pleasure, Soothing a coquettish train ; Wedded — what the mighty treasure ? Doom'd to drag a golden chain. Noisy clack and constant brawling, Discord and domestic strife ; Empty cupboard, children brawling, Scolding woman made a wife. Gaudy dress and haughty carriage, Love's fond balance fled and gone ; These, the bitter fruits of marriage ! He that's wise will live alone ! Second Speaker : Oh ! what joys from woman spring, Source of bliss and purest peace, Eden could not comfort bring, Till fair woman show'd her face. When she came, good honest Adam Clasped the gift with open arms, He left Eden for his madam, So our parent prized her charms. Courtship thrills the soul with pleasure ; Virtue's blush on beauty's cheek: Happy prelude to a treasure King's have left their crowns to seek \ Lovely looks and constant courting, Sweet'ning all the toils of life; Cheerful children, harmless sporting, Lovely woman made a wife ! Modest dress and gentle carriage, Love triumphant on his throne ; These the blissful fruits of marriage None but fools would live alone. MRS. PIPER. (Recitation suited for a } T oung lady. She should appear very innocent at the beginning and speak in a droll, unsuspecting voice and manner. Toward the end she should exhibit an uncontrollable delight, at the same time manifest a disposition to conceal it. ) MRS. PIPER was a widow— "Oh, dear me! This world is not at all, ' ' she said, ' i the place it used to be ! Now my good husband, he was such a good man to provide — I never had the leastest care of anything outside I But now, Why, there's the cow, A constant care, and Brindle's calf I used to feed when small, And those two Ayrshire heifers that we pur- chased in the fall — Oh, dear ! My husband sleeping in the grave, it's gloomy being here ! The oxen Mr. Piper broke, and four steers two years old, The blind mare and the little colt, they all wait to be sold ! For how am I to keep 'em now? and yet how shall I sell? And what's the price they ought to bring, how can a woman tell ? Now Jacob Smith, he called last night, and stayed till nine o'clock, YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 99 And talked and talked, and talked and talked, and tried to buy my stock ; He said he'd pay a higher price than any man in town ; He'd give his note, or, if I chose, he'd pay the money down. But, there ! To let him take those creeturs off, I really do not dare ! For 'tis a lying world, and men are slippery things at best ; My poor, dear husband in the ground, he was'nt like the rest ! But Jacob Smith's a different case; if I would let him, now, Perhaps he'd wrong me on the horse, or cheat me on a cow ; And so I do not dare to trust him, and I mean to answer 'No.' " Mrs. Piper was a widow — " Oh, dear me ! A single woman with a farm must fight her way, ' ' said she. "Of everything about the land my husband always knew ; I never felt, when he was here, I'd anything to do ; But now, what fields to plow, And how much hay I ought to cut, and just what crops to sow, And what to tell the hired men, how can a woman know? Oh, dear ! With no strong arm to lean upon, it's lonesome being here ! Now Jacob Smith, the other night, he called on me again, And talked and talked, and talked and talked, and stayed till after ten ; He said he'd like to take my farm, to buy it or to lease — I do declare, I wish that man would give me any peace ! For, there ! To trust him with my real estate I truly did not dare; For, if he buys it, on the price he'll cheat me underhand ; And, if he leases it, I know he will run out the land ; And, if he takes it at the halves, both halves he'll strike for then ; It's risky work when women folk have dealings with the men ! And so, I do not dare to trust him, and I mean to answer 'No.'" Mrs. Piper was a widow — " Oh, dear me ! Yet I have still some mercies left ; I won't com- plain, ' ' said she. " My poor, dear husband knows, I trust, a better world than this ; 'Twere sinful selfishness in me to grudge him Heaven's bliss ! So now, I ought to bow Submissively to what is sent — not murmur and repine ; The hand that sends our trials has, in all, some good design. Oh, dear ! If we knew all, we might not want our buried lost ones here ! And Jacob Smith, he called last night, but it was not to see About the cattle or the farm, but this time it was me ! He said he prized me very high, and wished I'd be his wife, And if I did not he should lead a most unhappy life. He did not have a selfish thought, but gladly, for my sake, The care of all my stock and farm he would consent to take — And, there ! To slight so plain a Providence I really do not dare ! 100 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. He'll take the cattle off my mind, he'll carry on the farm — I haven't since my husband died had such a sense of calm ! I think the man was sent to me — a poor, lone woman must, In such a world as this, I feel, have some one she can trust ; And so, I do not feel it would be right for me to answer 'No.' " Marian Douglas. PARDON COMPLETE. "Words fitly spoken are like apples of gold in pictures of silver. ' ' — Solomon . "Politeness and kindness are invincible warriors when they fight together."— Sheppard. SHE was pretty and happy and young, The gods, from Jupiter down, Grew pale with envy as they sung, Till Venus' nerves were quite unstrung, And black was Juno's frown. Pretty with graces numberless, As her feet bewitchingly small — Went dancing by with eagerness ; She was hurrying on to buy a dress To wear to a charity ball. Snips, the gamin, was coming up With a friend in the paper line ; His crownless hat, a huge straw cup With brick-red hair filled brimming up, Had a rakish and gay incline. His coat had little left of sleeves, From boots his curious toes Peeped slyly out, like darkey thieves, His ragged trousers waved their leaves Like banners to his foes. Those trifles, though, were very far From troubling him in the least. The stump of a very cheap cigar — Poor Snips was not particular — Making him lunch and feast. He looked with grins at business men Who rushed by looking worried, And vowed he'd not exchange with them ; He hated to be hurried. , He turned the corner ; Rosebud sweet Just turned the corner, too, And tripped her toes against his feet, So very awkward on the street ! The gamin whistled, " Whew ! " " Oh, dear ! I beg your pardon, sir," With pretty blushes, said The blithe and bonny traveler, Dyeing her cheeks with red. Off came the gamin's ragged hat With bow that swept the walk ; " You hev my parding, Miss, if that • Is how yer gwine to talk. I'd like to give it on my knees, I'd run all over town To see yer face ! an' , Miss, jest please Next time ter knock me down ! ' ' They sauntered on ; Snips heaved a sigh ; His friend bestowed a grin, — " Ter notice such a cove as I For being run agin ! I never had my parding axed Afore, an' I must say It made my head feel kinder mixed, It tuk my breath away. ' ' THE GAMBLER'S SON. •'Keep flax from fire and youth from gambling." — Franklin. "Gambling is the child of avarice, the brother of iniquity, the father of mischief." — Washington. "Gaming finds a man a fool and leaves him a knave." — Cumberland. (Argument: M. de Ferrieres — pronounced Ferr- yair — after years of extreme poverty, has risen sud- denly to opulence. His son, George, returns home from sea, and questions his father as to the source of his wealth. The father evades his inquiries. George follows him to the gaming table, sees him play with M. Dubourg, and win all his money, and satisfies himself that his father cheated at cards. He stands overwhelmed, and, in the following scene, intimates to his father what he has discovered. If convenient, there should be a table on the stage, with a pack of cards on it, and a chair on either side of the table.) Enter M. De F. first, to Left ; then George, to Right. M. de Ferrieres. What would you, George? George (aside). How shall I broach it? M. de F. You tremble, my son ! What's the matter ? 'Out swept the squadrons, fated three hundred Into the battle-line steady and full;" "GALATEA." (Suggestion For Tableau.) "Then this is life? And not long since I was a cold dull stone-. I recollect th it bv some means I knew that I was a stone." YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 101 George {looking around him). No one can enter ? Are we sure of that ? M. de F. Why all all these precautions ? George {with much emotion). Did Dubourg lose all — all — at cards ! Did you win his all ? M. de F. The luck went against him. George {inustering courage). But that money — you will give it back to him ? M. de F. How ? George. You will give it back to him — will you not ? M. de F. Are you mad ? George. O ! keep it not, my father ! Keep ' it not? Dubourg is a merchant. He must have that money in order to meet his engage- ments. Without it he is ruined. Give it him back. It is all I ask. M. de F. {looking at him with surprise). I do not understand you. George {aside) . Yes, it is my duty ! {Aloud. ) You must renounce all that you won from Dubourg ; absolutely, you must. M. de F. The more I look at you, the more am I astonished. Are you in your senses, George ? The paleness — these convulsive move- ments — What has happened to you? George. I am very wretched ! M. de F. Are you suffering ? George. More than I can tell. M. de F. You alarm me ! What profound despair ! Speak, George ! George. I shall never be able — M. de F. It is I who beseech you — I, your father. George {recoiling). My father ! M. de F. You repel me, my son. George. O, misery ! M. de F. Have I ever failed in a father's love and care ! From your youth upwards have you not found me your best friend ? George. Ah, yes ! I have not forgotten the days of my childhood. Often do I remember me of the lessons you used to instill when we dwelt in our humble hut. Every principle of honor and of virtue — it is from you that I have received it ; and nothing is forgotten. M. de F. You know it ; you were the object of my tenderness ; all my hopes reposed on you. George. Yes ! You would say to me in those days, ' ' My son, whatever may be your fate, remember that he is never without consolation who keeps his conscience pure ! ' ' You said it, my father, and I remember it well. M. de F. George, that state of destitution and wretchedness, to which I had reduced you and your mother, — how did I reproach myself with it ! That horrible poverty — that absolute want — what torture ! And what regrets did I experience because of you, whose heritage I had so foolishly dissipated ! George. Did I ever utter a complaint ? Did I ever reproach you with your misfortunes — our poverty ? Have I not always cherished, respected, served you ? M. de F. Yes, George is a good son ; he is no ingrate ; he will not heedlessly wound a father's heart. George. No, no ! Only one boon. M. de F. Speak, my son. George. That money of Dubourg' s — M. de F. {angrily). Again you recur to it! George. Do you not remember those words which you added to your lessons? "All that now remains to us, my son, is honor J ' ' M. de F. Doubtless. But how wretched, George, had you been without this change of for- tune which time has brought ! George. This fortune — its source ? Tell me whence you — M. de F. {interrupting him). Never could you have presumed to marry her you love ; never would a career have been opened to you ; you would have had no means of exercising your talents, no resources ! You do not realize the humiliation which poverty brings with it in an age like ours, where favor and consideration are measured according to the amount of gold one has; where the virtues are repulsed, merit dis- dained, talent ignored, unless intrigue or fortune open the way. With gold one has everything — without it, nothing. George {aside). All is now expbined. 102 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. (Aloud*} Ah, well! my choice is made: indi- gence and probity. M. de F. Indigence — the return of all those sufferings you once experienced? Can aught be worse ? George. Yes — dishonor. M. de F. {aside). I tremble. {Aloud.) What would you say ? George. That there is no wretchedness equal to mine, sir ! M. de F. ' ' Sir ? ' ' {He gives his hand to his son, who takes it with a disordered air. ) George. Hear me. Can you imagine all which that man suffers who sees in a single day the overthrow of all that he believed in — the destruction of what he had regarded, up to that moment, as the summit of his hopes and affec- tions ; who sees the past rendered hateful, the future desperate, since he can trust no longer in all that he had adored and respected? Love, honor, ) e sole blessings which make life precious, ye are gone — gone forever ! M. de F. George ! George. Do you comprehend, sir, this mis- fortune without consolation ? A son who cher- ished, who revered his father, who bore with pride an honorable name — ah, well ! this son — he must now blush forevermore, and repulse that man whom he had learned to venerate and love. M. de F. Gracious powers ! George. Ay, sir ; for he knows all. M.de F. What knows he ? George. He knows that yonder, at the table, an old friend was ruined by him. M. de F. And if hazards did it all? George. No, sir, no ; that old friend was deceived — was swindled. M. de F. Swindled? George ! You believe it ? George. Ah ! 'tis that belief is the burthen of my woe ! M. de F. And if it were not true? George {producing a pack of cards) . That pack of cards — M. de F. What of them ? George. They are — they are — O, shame ! I cannot say it ! M. de F. Ah ! you know not what real misery is. George. I know what honor is, and I will not permit — M. de F. Would you ruin me ? George. Shall I let you dishonor me? O, I have no longer a father ! The name he gave me, here I give him back. I am but an orphan, without a home, without means ; but still — still, sir, I have a conscience left, and what that dic- tates I will obey to the death ! Farewell ! M. de F. What would you, unhappy boy? Is it not enough that I am humbled thus? — that you see me blush and tremble before you — be- fore my son ? What would you more ? Go ! I fear you not ! {He pi'oduces a pistol.) I fear nothing ! George {placi7ig himself before him). I, too, sir, am without fear ; and to me life is hateful. M. de F. What sayest thou ? Be mine alone the — George {wresting the pistol fro?n him). My father ! M. de F. I am no longer thy father. George {rushing to his arms). Yes, yes! You are my father still. M. de F. O, anguish insupportable ! George. All may be repaired. Go where you will, your son will follow. This city — we must quit it. This money — it must be restored — must be restored, I say. Happiness shall yet be ours. Do not hesitate, my father ! M. de F. Think you I have never anticipated a situation like this? But fate has driven me on. George. What would you say ? M. de F In our old house, beneath that hum- ble roof where I suffered so much, my passion for play, that deadly passion which had devoured my substance, was not quite extinct. I sought in secret to satisfy it ; often, to find the oppor- tunity, I had to have recourse to men of the lowest grade, to vagabonds and ignoble gam- blers. Yes, George, yes — I, the Count de Fer- rieres — I, your father, played with such ! They taught me terrible secrets. And yet I did not YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 103 think to make use of them. But I returned one day to Paris, and there tried my fortune. It proved favorable. Considerable sums succes- sively came to reanimate my hopes. I was guilt- less. But no, no ! my heart was no longer so. The greed of gold had filled it wholly. Ambi- tion, vanity, the need of luxury, all contributed to my infatuation. One day — hear me — one day I lost. Your mother had just come to oc- cupy this hotel which I had prepared for her ; already the story, adroitly spread, had given our neighbors the idea that I was rich. Well, I lost. Must I, then, always be the fool of fortune ? I had felt the pangs of poverty ; I had seen her suffer whom I loved; I had seen two children, thy brothers, pushed by misery into the tomb ; friends, society, rank, all had then disappeared. And must there now be a repetition of all these woes ? No, no ! cried I ; it must not be. It is too much. I can no longer be a loser : and a loser I was no longer ! George. Ah ! the fatal, fatal step ! But, come ! We must retrace it. You will make restitution of all you have won unfairly ; you will do it, my father? M. de F. Ay, call me father, and do with me what you will. George. It is bravely said. Come on ! Know' st thou where I shall guide thee? Back, back to poverty and — honor, my father ! M. de F. Lead on ! Translation. DRINKING A FARM. (Suited for temperance entertainment. ) MY homeless friend with the chromatic nose, while you are stirring up the sugar in that ten-cent glass of gin, let me give you a fact to wash it down with. You say you have longed for years for the free, inde- pendent life of the farmer, but have never been able to get enough money together to buy a farm. But this is just where you are mistaken. Por several years you have been drinking a good improved farm at the rate of one hundred square feet a gulp. If you doubt this statement figure it for yourself. An acre of land contains forty- three thousand five hundred and sixty square feet. Estimating, for convenience, the land at forty-three dollars and fifty-six cents per acre, you will see that this brings the land to just one mill per square foot, one cent for ten square feet. Now pour down that fiery dose, and just imagine you are swallowing a strawberry patch. Call in five of your friends and have them help you gulp down that five-hundred-foot garden. Get on a prolonged spree some day, and see how long a time it requires to swallow a pasture large enough to feed a cow. Put down that glass of gin ! there is dirt in it — one hundred square feet of good, rich dirt, worth forty-three dollars and fifty-six cents per acre. But there are plenty of farms which do not cost more than a tenth part of forty-three dol- lars and fifty-six cents per acre. What an enormous acreage has gone down many a home- less drinker's throat ! No wonder such men are buried in the " potter's field ;" they have swal- lowed farms and gardens and homes, and even drank up their own graveyard. H. L. Hastings. THE DRESSED TURKEY. (A lesson on politeness.) NE of the parish sent one morn — A farmer kind and able — A nice fat turkey, raised on corn, To grace the pastor's table. The farmer's lad went with the fowl, And thus addressed the pastor : " Dear me, if I ain't tired ! Here is A gobbler from my master. ' ' The pastor said : " Thou should' st not thus Present the fowl to me ; Come take my chair, and for me ask, And I will act for thee. ' ' The preacher's chair received the boy, The fowl the pastor took — Went out with it and then came in With pleasant smile and look ; 104 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. And to his young pro tern he said : " Dear sir, my honored master Presents this turkey, and his best Respects to you, his pastor. ' ' 1 c Good ! ' ' said the boy ; ' ' your master is A gentleman and scholar ! Many thanks to him, and for yourself, Here is half a dollar ! " The pastor felt around his mouth A most peculiar twitching ; And, to the gobbler holding fast, He "bolted" for the kitchen. He gave the turkey to the cook, And came back in a minute, Then took the youngster's hand and left A half a dollar in it. HARRY'S LECTURE. (Humorous, for twelve or thirteen-year-old boy. To be spoken very loud. ) « * /~\ HILDREN should be seen and not heard, ' ' l^ at least so my mother often tells me. But to-day the children are to be heard as well as seen. Just as I stepped up here to speak my piece, my teacher whispered, "Now, Harry, speak very loud. ' ' And that is what I am trying to do. Can you hear me ? I am going to give a little lecture to the boys, and I want to be heard. Never mind what it is about. You will find that out before I am half through. And now for my firstly : Do you want to know how to be happy all day, boys ? Let me -tell you. When you get up in the morning, don't forget to slip on your "good- natured coat ' ' before you go down stairs. You all have one, haven't you? And then you won't care if everybody is done breakfast and the buckwheats are cold. Secondly. When everything goes wrong at home, at school, or in the street, and you think you have enough trouble to put any boy in bad humor, then (slowly) you may depend upon it, boys, some one is trying to rob you of your "good-natured coat." But don't let it go. Hold on to it with a tight grip, and when you feel it settling firmly back into its place, oh, my ! how jolly you will feel. Thirdly. I have found out, boys, that it pays to wear this coat. And the beauty of it is, you can wear it in all kinds of weather. It is just as useful on a stormy day as on a fair, sunshiny one. Indeed, it often makes a dull, cloudy day seem very bright and golden. And now, lastly : Be good-natured, always. Put cross people in a good humor by being pleasant and cheerful. Give a smile for a frown, a gentle word for a cross one ; and this you can do if you are care- ful to put on your "good-natured coat" as soon as you arise in the morning, and to wear it all day and in all kinds of weather. L. J. Rook, A THE UNBOLTED DOOR. (Pathetic portrayal of a mother's love.) CAREWORN widow sat alone Beside her fading hearth ; Her silent cottage never hears The ringing laugh of mirth. Six children once had sported there, But now the church-yard snow Fell softly on five little graves That were not long ago. She mourned them all with patient love ; But since, her eyes had shed Far bitterer tears than those which dewed The faces of the dead, — The child which had been spared to her, The darling of her pride, The woeful mother lived to wish That she had also died. Those little ones beneath the snow She well knew where they are ; " Close gathered to the throne of God," And that was better far. But when she saw where Katy was, She saw the city's glare, The painted mask of bitter joy That need gave sin to wear. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 105 Without, the snow lay thick and white ; No step had fallen there ; Within, she sat beside her fire, Each thought a silent prayer ; When suddenly behind her seat Unwonted noise she heard, As though a hesitating hand The rustic latch had stirred. She turned, and there the wanderer stood With snow-flakes on her hair ; A faded woman, wild and worn, The ghost of something fair. And then upon the mother's breast The whitened head was laid, " Can God and you forgive me all? For I have sinned," she said. The widow dropped upon her knees Before the fading fire, And thanked the Lord whose love at last Had granted her desire ; The daughter kneeled beside her, too, Tears streaming from her eyes. And prayed, ' ' God help me to be good To mother ere she dies." They did not talk about the sin, The shame, the bitter woe ; They spoke about those little graves And things of long ago. And then the daughter raised her eyes And asked in tender tone, " Why did you keep your door unbarred When you were all alone ? ' ' " My child," the widow said, and smiled A smile of love and pain, " I kept it so lest you should come And turn away again ? I've waited for you all the while — A mother's love is true ; Yet this is but a shadowy type Of His who died for you ! ' ' Edward Garrett. THE SHIP ON FIRE. (Dramatic recitation.) THERE was joy in the ship as she furrowed the foam, For fond hearts within her were dreaming of home. The young mother folded her babe to her breast, And sang a sweet song as she rocked it to rest ; And the husband sat cheerily down by her side, And looked with delight on the face of his bride. " Oh happy ! " said he, " when our roaming is o'er, We'll dwell in a cottage that stands by the shore ; Already in fancy its roof I descry, And the smoke of its hearth curling up to the sky, Its garden so green and its vine-covered wall, And the kind friends awaiting to welcome us all ! " Hark ! hark ! what was that ? Hark ! hark to the shout ! ' ' Fire ! fire ! ' ' then a tramp and a rush and a rout, And an uproar of voices arose on the air, And the mother knelt down ; and the half- spoken prayer That she offered to Heaven, in her agony wild, Was, " Father ! have mercy ! look down on my child! " Fire ! fire ! it is raging above and below ; The smoke and hot cinders all blindingly blow. The cheek of the sailor grew pale at the sight, And his eyes glittered wild in the glare of the light. The smoke in thick wreaths mounted higher and higher ! " Heaven help us ! 'tis fearful to perish by fire!" They prayed for relief, and not vainly they prayed ; For at noon the sun shone, in full splendor arrayed ; 106 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. "A sail, ho ! a sail ! " cried the man on the lee ; "A sail ! " and all turned their glad eyes o'er the sea. 1 ' They spy us, they heed us ! the signal is waved ! They bear down to help us — thank Heaven ! we are saved ! ' ' THE TWO BILLS. (A fable. Suitable to a Sunday-School or chari- table entertainment, for recitation or reading. ) TWO bills were waiting in the bank for their turn to go out into the world. One was a little bill, only one dollar ■ the other was a big bill, a thousand-dollar bill. While lying there, side by side, they fell a-talk- ing about their usefulness. The dollar bill mur- mured : " Ah, if I were as big as you what good I would do ! I could move in such high places, and people would be so careful of me wherever I should go ! All would admire me, and want to take me home with them, but, small as I am, what good can I do ? Nobody cares much for me. I am too little to be of any use." "Ah, yes! that is so," said the thousand- dollar bill ; and it haughtily gathered up its well- trimmed edges, that were lying next the little bill, in conscious superiority. "That is so," it repeated. "If you were as great as I am — a thousand times bigger than you are — then you might hope to do some good in the world." And its face smiled a wrinkle of contempt for the little dollar bill. " Just then the cashier came, took the little, murmuring bill, and kindly gave it to a poor widow. ■ (iod bless you ! " she cried, as with a smil- ing face she received it. '« My dear, hungry children can now have some bread." A thrill of joy ran through the little bill as it was folded up in the widow's hand, and it whis- wered: "I may do some good, even if 1 am small." And when it saw the bright faces of her fatherless children, it was very glad that it could do a little good. Then the little dollar bill began its journey of usefulness. It went first to the baker's for bread, then to the miller's, then to the farmer's, then to the laborer's, then to the doctor's, then to the minister's ; and wherever it went it gave pleas- ure, adding something to their comfort and joy. At last, after a long, long pilgrimage of usefulness among every sort of people, it came back to the bank again, crumpled, defaced, ragged, softened, by its daily use. Seeing the thousand-dollar bill lying there with scarcely a wrinkle or a finger- mark upon it, it exclaimed : "Pray, sir, and what has been your mission of usefulness ? ' ' The big bill sadly replied : "I have been from safe to safe, among the rich, where few could see me, and they were afraid to let me go out far, lest I should be lost. Few, indeed, are they whom I have made happy by my mission. ' ' The little dollar bill said, "It is better to be small and go among the multitudes doing good, than to be so great as to be imprisoned in the safes of the few. ' ' And it rested satisfied with its lot. Moral. — The doing well of little every-day duties makes one the most useful and happy. Characters. - THEY SAY. ( Mr. Robert Rollins, | Mr. Voluble Tattle. [Enter Rollins, reading a letter aloud.~\ R. " Brother Edward has been much better; his cough is abating. Your little daughter reminds me of you every day. What a comfort she is ! " Dear Emily ! Now that we are so near to meeting, why do I delay ? Is the antici- pation itself joy enough? (Reads letter to himself. ) \Enter Mr. Tattle with hands in pockets. He tries to look over shoulders and get a sight of the letter. ~\ T.. (aside). Who can this be, I wonder ? I do wish women wouldn't use violet ink. (Reads.) 1 ' Most — p-r-e-cious — most — b-e-loved. ' ' O Cupid ! How tender ! Now, it's odd, but I never had such things said to me ! (Reads.) ' ' Edward — has — Edward has — ' ' Perhaps I YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 107 can make it out better with my glass. ( Takes a large opera-glass from his pocket and looks. Rollins turns suddenly round on him. ) R. (folding up letter). You seem, sir, to be of an investigating disposition. T. Well, sir, if I weren't, this village, let me tell you, would be a pretty slow sort of a place — altogether behind the age. Are you a stranger in these parts ? R. Not altogether. Do you know a Mrs. Rollins? T The little lady who lives in the brown cottage ? R. The same. Is she well ? T. Poor thing ! poor thing ! A month after her marriage her scamp of a husband ran off to California. R. Scamp of a husband? Ran off? What do you mean ? Excuse me. Why did he run off? T. For robbing a bank. What do you think of that? R. For robbing a bank ? T. So they say. R. Who say? T. They say. R. Who are They ? Explain, sir. T. Who are they ? Everybody ; people ; the whole village. R. Can you name a single person, besides yourself, who says it ? T. So many, — I can think of no one in par- ticular. R. I may quicken your memory by and by. And how does Mrs. Rollins bear her affliction ? T. Oh capitally. She's on the point of being married again. So they say. R. Indeed ! To whom ? T To a Mr. Edward Edwards. So they say. R. (aside). Her own brother ! Are you sure? T Oh yes ! They take romantic walks together. They read Tennyson together. It's all settled. So they say. R. Who say? I insist on you telling me. T Well, I told you, they say ! How unreas- sonable you are ! What would you have more ? R. No dodging, sir ! Who are they ? T. How should I know ? I say they say, and you ask me who say. As if any better authority could be had ! R. Did They Say ever say that you are a meddling (following him about the stage, Tattle retreating at every step), prying, gossiping, im- pertinent, mischievous, unscrupulous, malicious retailer of absurd slanders ? T. What do you mean, sir, by such lan- guage? I'll have you arrested. Lawyer Petti- fog is my particular friend. If there was only a witness nearby I'd make you pay a pretty sum for this unparalleled outrage. Keep your hands off, sir ! No matter ; kick me — kick me ! I see a witness yonder. I'll have you arrested for assault and battery. Kick me now, if you like. R. I shall not indulge you so far. But take warning, sir, how you quote Mr. They Say for your scandalous reports. Old They Say is a liar and a coward. T. That's libelous, sir. You are libeling the whole village in that remark : I wish I knew your name. R. You shall be gratified ; my name is Rol- lins, and that cottage on the hill there is mine. T. Is it possible ? You are Mr. Rollins ? R. The same. Nobody else. T. Allow me to ask, didn't you once rob a bank? R. I once plucked a rose from a flower-bank in a friend's garden ; he playfully charged me with robbing a bank. Some stupid laborer nearby took it in earnest and reported it of me. Hence the preposterous story. T. Doesn't your wife walk out with a young man? R. That young man is her poor, consumptive brother, who is here for change of air. Let me advise you, Mr. They Say, to look before you leap the next time, or the consequences may be unpleasant. T. What consequences, sir? R. Why, the price of cowhides in this vil- 10S YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. lage will go up, and Mr. They Say will be soundly thrashed. \_Exit. T. Now, isn't it provoking such a nice bit of gossip should be spoiled ? No matter. There's a report the Rev. Mr. Pine plays at nine-pins. Does it for his health, he says. Pla, ha ! For his health ! We'll see. Won't I raise a pretty tempest in a tea-pot about his ears. The whole parish is in a stir — a meeting of ministers — an inquiry — a reprimand — perhaps a dismissal ! More sport ahead — more sport ! Rollins is played out. Now for Pine ! [Exit. "I DON'T SEE IT!" (For a twelve-year-old boy.) THEY tell about the happy days And sunny hours of youth : I'd like to know what means the phrase, And if they tell the truth. I've been a youth about twelve years — Have had a sorry time ; And truly, friends, it still appears Most anything but fine. Just listen while I shall relate Some of my woes to you : I'll try and not exaggerate, But only tell what's true. When one year old (and ere that time My sorrows were not few) I first began to creep and climb, And walk a little, too. But, O, the falls, — why, Caesar's fall Was naught to be compared, — I fell from table low and tall ; Falls hard and soft have shared. I've cried alike for aches and pain, From hunger and from cold, Until the kind maternal dame Her patience could not hold. And then by her I've been chastised, Because, as she has said, I was so cross, and then advised To travel straight to bed. My shoes would always be in knot, Whene'er the lamp was out ; The toys I wished were never bought — The poor must go without. And then, whenever we had planned An interesting play, A job was sure to be on hand, Which must be done that day. And as to food, although I had Enough to satisfy, They always passed ('twas quite too bad) The smallest piece of pie. Old clothes made over was my share, Or those outgrown before ; But to complain I did not dare — It would not bring me more. The deepest griefs of later years, Are lessons to prepare, And home restraint, for — lend your ears — I can't go anywhere ! Indeed, it's naught but grief and pain — I never have my way ; There's no good time till you're a man Is my belief to-day. AUNTIE'S EDUCATION. (Negro dialect. Special permission of the author. ) COME in, honey; how yo' do ? I jes know'd yuse comin' shuah, Old red roosta crow'd so loud In de doah lak he wuz proud, Comp'ny comin'. Res' yo' hat? Yuse too busy ? Well, de lak, T' ought yuse jes' had come to stay Wid po' Auntie 'while to-day. Bring me buk to read ! why, chile, ' Nuf to make old Auntie smile. Nevah larn'd but jes' one wud, Spell it yet, chile; lor', it stirred Dis ole bress to kno' 'twas me Larn'd to spell dat one wud — free. Whar I larn'd it ? Nevah know'd ; Mebby from de wind dat blow'd. 'Specks God printed on de sky With her waves of golden hair Floating free, Hilda ran along the shore, Gazing oft the waters o'er; And the fishermen replied: 'He will come in with the tide,' As they saw her golden hair Moating free ! THE NEW COOK. Will you iver be done wid your graneness,' she axed me wid a loud scrame." YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 109 Wid de stars a-shinin' high, Jes' so plain dat niggas, see ! Larn to spell it jes' lak me. Chile, kno' why dis po' ole head Be so white an' eyes lak lead ? Once wuz black, jes' lak de crow, Eyes dey shine lak fiah's glow, When de darkies gather roun', Steps to music on de groun' ; Lor', chile, hu-la, hu-la, low, Kaint jes' help but sing it so, Tak's me back to long ago An' my Sambo bo win' low. ' Scuse dese teahs, chile ; grasses wave Fru' de yeahs on Sambo's grave. Dats what makes my har so white ? No, no, chile ; de Lawd was right When he tole him res' a while, But he tuk' ole Auntie '-s smile. Mos' folks' white har comes wid yeahs, Not lak mine — it come wid teahs. Wuk by day an' teahs by night, — 'Nuf to make dis ole head white. When de chickens crow at morn, Den yo' heah de darkies sorng Keepin' time wid medda lark, Greetin' mornin' from de dark. Sing as well as cry dey said Wid de dew upon de head, Mak' one feel lak had de right On God's erf jes' lak de white. Wuk all day till mos' drop dead, Cotton baskets on de head ; Eat de co'n pone in de heat, Wid fat bakin, nuth'n sweet. Den when flow'rs, tia'd to def, Wid de wind's too kissin' bref, Go to sleep, chile — Auntie try, But de flow'rs heah her cry, So dey tell de wind, and he Tuk it up to hebben ; yo' see, Po' ole Auntie couldn't read, But de Lawd in hebben he seed Auntie pray, so He larn'd me Jes' to spell dat one wud — free. May Rapley McNabb. A BOY'S TEMPERANCE SPEECH. (Boy ten to fifteen years of age. ) I WISH to say a few words on temperance. I suppose you'll say the subject is too deep for boys, and that this speech is altogether too old for me. Now, I will be honest with you, and say, in the first place, that these are not my words, or, rather, the thoughts are not really mine ; but it is what I think of other people's thoughts. And as for the subject being too deep for me, that is all mere nonsense. Small as I am, I have seen people drunk a great many times. And they are not men alone : I have seen women and children drunk, more than once ; and every time I see it, I feel sorry. When I see men going into a lager beer saloon, day after day, or women carrying home liquor in a pitcher or bottle, then I think of the time when I saw them drunk on the sidewalk, or quar- relling with a lamp-post, or staggering home to beat their wife or children, and I know that one is the beginning of the other. That is not what somebody else says ; for I know that of myself. I have been to temperance meetings some, and have heard about the best means of promoting the cause of temperance — and they tell about taking away the liberty of the people ! I con- fess I don' t understand this ; but I want to ; for I want to be intelligent enough to vote one of these days, which some men are not, they say. But I'm going to tell you what I think about it, from what I do know. I think it is a strange liberty that men want — liberty to get drunk, and reel around the streets, and frighten children, and be made fun of by the boys, and to go home at two o'clock in the morning, and get into bed with their boots on and not know the difference. Then my father interferes with my liberty when he won't let me swear ; for that don't hurt any- body. And the robber ought to have liberty to go into all the houses he wishes to, and take any- thing he pleases ; and the murderer ought not to be hung — that's interfering with his liberty. I must say I don't understand it. Then, they say it is no sin to drink, but it is a 110 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. sin to get drunk. Now, my father and mother teach me that it is just as wrong to steal a pin as to steal money, and they would punish me just the same for it. If it is a sin to drink ten glasses of whiskey and get drunk, it is a sin to drink one glass ; for some people can get more tipsy, dis- agreeable and dangerous on one glass than if they drank many and grew helplessly drunk. Take a boy's advice and don't touch it yourself and don't sell or give it to others. LIST OF OUR PRESIDENTS. ^Memorizing this will help to remember names and order of the Presidents. ) COME, young folks all, and learn my rhyme, Writ like the ones of olden time. For linked together, name and name, The whole a surer place will claim ; And firmly in your mind shall stand The names of those who've ruled our land. A noble list : George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and James Monroe, John Quincy Adams — and below Comes Andrew Jackson in his turn ; Martin Van Buren next we learn. Then William Henry Harrison, Whom soon John Tyler followed on. And after Tyler, James K. Polk ; Then Zachary Taylor ruled the folk Till death. Then Millard Fillmore came; And Franklin Pierce we next must name. And James Buchanan then appears, Then Abraham Lincoln through those years Of war. And when his life was lost 'Twas Andrew Johnson filled his post. Then U. S. Grant and R. B. Hayes, And James A. Garfield each had place, Then Chester Arthur took command Till Grover Cleveland ruled the land, Who, when his first four years were done, Gave way to Benjamin Harrison. Then we have Grover Cleveland again, For four more years he comes to reign. Next, William McKinley's name we find, To whom the office was consigned. THE MOURNER. (For church or Sunday-School entertainment. Characters. — One, a young lady, to represent the Mourner, and five girls, ten to fourteen years old, to represent Patience, Resignation, Faith, Hope and Charity, each provided with a small Bible. ) The Mourner {soliloquizing). O, my poor sor- rowing heart ! What is earth ? A fleeting show, soon past ; a bubble, soon lost ; a breath, soon spent ! Why am I spared ? Why may I not make my bed in the grave, and be free from earth's trials? I care not to live longer, now I am alone ! There is no one to soothe my trou- bles, or to weep with me in my grief! Alone ! alone ! {Enter Patience. ) Patience. "Behold, we count them happy which endure ! Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy. ' ' James v. 1 1 . {Enter Resignation, and stands by the side of Patience. ) Resignation. "Wherefore, let them that suffer according to the will of God, commit the keeping of their souls to him in well-doing, as unto a faithful Creator." i Peter iv. 19. {Opening a Bible and handing it to mourner.) Read that troubled one and be comforted. {Enter Faith, who opens her Bible and reads:) "For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world : and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith. ' ' 1 John v. 4. {Lay the open book on her lap. Enter Hope. ) Hope {reading). "But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope." 1 Thess. iv. 13. Dear mourner that is for you. {Hand her the open book. Enter Charity. ) Charity. " Charity suffereth long, and is kind." " Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth." 1 Cor. xiii. 4, 7, 8. Mourner. Who are these that thus unbidden enter the house of mourning ? that thus attempt to draw the afflicted heart from the contempla- YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Ill tion of those lost dear ones ? Why do ye thus intrude, or with vain words seek to fill the heart already broken ? Leave me alone ; for I would fain be deaf to earth, and rest in solitude till life is past ! ( The five then sing the following :) Mourner, do not sorrow longer ! Lift thou up thy drooping head ! Though the friends who fondly loved thee Slumber now among the dead. Though their pale and lifeless bodies In the grave were buried low, Yet the friends who tarried with thee At the feet of Jesus bow. Here, they suffered pain and anguish ! There, they lay them all aside ! Here, they battled with the waters, Fiercely tossing o'er the tide : Now, their bark has safely landed On the blessed heavenly shore, And they meet the long-lost loved ones, Meet them there, to part no more. Mourner, wouldst thou now recall them, Wouldst thou call them back to earth? Bid them tread again these portals, And engage in scences of mirth? Or, while they their songs are singing, ' ' Glory, glory to our King / ' ' Wouldst thou sadly sit repining, And with them refuse to sing ? {All answer:) Mourner. Whence are these sweet sounds? It is not like earthly music ! Who are ye, and by what names are ye known ? Patience. Patience. Resignation. Resignation. Faith. Faith. Hope. Hope. Charity. Charity. Patience. Patience, duty to fulfil. Resignation. Resignation to His will. Faith. Faith in God, in Whom we trust, Giveth life to all the just. Hope. Hope, an anchor to the soul. Charity. Charity to each an all. All. These to suffering man are given. To guide him in the way to heaven. Mourner. On what errand are ye come? What is your mission? Patience. To sustain. Resignation. To comfort. Faith. To guide. Hope. To cheer. Charity. To relieve. Patience. Sustaining grace you sure will find If you in patience wait ; His ear to every call inclined, To hear both small and great. Resignation. To comfort when all things of earth Fade from your sight away. With resignation to His will, He makes the night as day. Faith. Faith dwells in the Christian's heart His guide and inner light ; Pillar of cloud in sorrow's day, Pillar of fire by night. Hope. Hope is the Christian ' s anchor sure ; In grief, a blessing given ; His landmark on the shores of time, His passport into heaven. Charity. Have charity for erring ones ; The suffering relieve ; Your life may thus be spent for Him In whom you now believe. Mourner. Enough ! These words have cheered me ; and whenever I am forgetting my mission in life, may I be reminded of these kind admoni- tions. Now, ere you depart, sing me one sweet strain, that I may not soon forget. Hope. I will repeat some verses, the senti- ment of which befit this occasion. We will afterwards sing them. {Let her repeat them with a sweet spirit and good elocution). Now, let us sing. {They sing .•) O, who, in such a world as this, Could bear his lot of pain, Did not one radiant hope of bliss Unclouded yet remain ? 112 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. That hope the sovereign Lord has given, Who reigns above the skies ; Hope that unites the soul to heaven, By faith's endearing ties. Eaeh care, each ill of mortal birth, Is sent in pitying love, To lift the lingering heart from earth, And speed its flight above. And every pang that wrings the breast, And every joy that dies, Tell us to seek a purer rest, And trust to holier ties. THE RETORT. (Narrative to be told in a conversational style. The enjoyment of jokes and incidents depends always upon the manner of the narrator. Enter fully into the spirit. Don't declaim this piece, but tell it good naturedly.) ONE day, a rich man, flushed with pride and wine, sitting with guests at table, all quite merry, conceived it would be vastly fine to crack a joke upon his secretary. ''Young man," said he, "by what art, craft or trade did your good father earn his liveli- hood ? " "He was a saddler, sir, ' ' the young man said ; ' ' and in his line was always reckoned good." "A saddler, eh? and had you stuffed with Greek, instead of teaching you like him to do ! A nd pray, sir, why did not your father make a saddler, too, of you ? " At this each flatterer, as in duty bound, the joke applauded, and the laugh went round. At length the secretary, bowing low, said (craving pardon if too free he made), " Sir, by your leave, I fain would know your father's trade." "My father's trade? Why, sir, but that's too bad ! My father's trade ! Why, block- head, art thou mad ? My father, sir, was never brought so low : he was a gentleman, I'd have you know." " Indeed? Excuse the liberty I take, but, if your story's true, how happened it your father did not make a gentle?nan of you ? ' ' JOHN MAYNARD. (Descriptive and dramatic.) . '/T"AWAS on Lake Erie's broad expanse, One bright midsummer day, The gallant steamer Ocean Queen Swept proudly on her way. Bright faces clustered on the deck, Or leaning o'er the side, Watched carelessly the feathery foam, That flecked the rippling tide. Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky, That smiling bends serene, Could dream that danger, awful, vast, Impended o'er the scene — Could dream that ere an hour had sped, That frame of sturdy oak Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves Blackened with fire and smoke ? A seaman sought the captain's side, A moment whispered low ; The captain's swarthy face grew pale, He hurried down below. Alas, too late ! Though quick and sharp And clear his orders came, No human effort could avail To quench the insidious flame. The bad news quickly reached the deck, It sped from lip to lip, And ghastly faces everywhere Looked from the doomed ship. "Is there no hope — no chance of life?" A hundred lips implore : "But one," the captain made reply, ' ' To run the ship on shore. ' ' A sailor, whose heroic soul That hour should yet reveal — • By name John Maynard, eastern born, Stood calmly at the wheel. ' ' Head her southeast ! ' ' the captain shouts, Above the smothered roar, " Head her southeast without delay ! Make for the nearest shore ! ' ' No terror pales the helmsman's cheek, Or clouds his dauntless eye, YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 113 As in a soilor's measured tone His voice responds, "Ay, ay !" Three hundred souls, — the steamer's freight — Crowd forward wild with fear, While at the stern the dreadful flames Above the deek appear. John Maynard watched the nearing flame, But still with steady hand He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly He steered the ship to land. "John Maynard," with an anxious voice, The captain cries once more, * ' Stand by the wheel five minutes yet ! And we will reach the shore." Through flames and smoke that dauntless heart Responded firmly, still XJnawed, though face to face with death, " With God's good help I will !" The flames approach with giant strides, They scorch his hands and brow ; One arm disabled seeks his side, Ah, he is conquered now ! But no, his teeth are firmly set, He crushes down the pain, — His knee upon the stanchion pressed, He guides the ship again. One moment yet ! one moment yet ! Brave heart thy task is o'er ! The pebbles grate beneath the keel, The steamer touches shore. Three hundred grateful voices rise, In praise to God that He Hath saved them from the fearful fire, And from the engulfing sea. But where is he, that helmsman bold ? % The captain saw him reel — His nerveless hands released their task, He sunk beside the wheel. The waves received his lifeless corpse, Blackened with smoke and fire, God rest him ! Hero never had A nobler funeral pyre ! H. Alger, Jr. 8 WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. "T yOODMAN, spare that tree ! \\l Touch not a single bough ; In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot ; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not. When but an idle boy I sought its grateful shade ; In all their gushing joy Here, too, my sister played. My mother kissed me here, My father pressed my hand ; Forgive this foolish tear, But let the old oak stand. My heart-strings round thee cling Close as thy bark, old friend ; Here shall the wild bird sing, And still thy branches bend. Old tree, the storm still brave ! And, woodman, leave the spot ; While I've a hand to save, Thy axe shall hurt it not. George P. Morris. I'M GETTING TOO BIG TO KISS. (By permission of the author. ) THE friends of my childhood with pleasure I greet, Their faces I ever hold dear, In palace or cottage, on meadow or street, Wherever they chance to appear. Then do not misjudge me, and deem me not cold, Nor call me a queer, haughty miss, Oh, no one can budge me, so do not be bold, I'm getting too — too big to kiss. 'Tis hardly a year since the guests of the house, On leaving, would kiss me adieu, The parson, the deacon, old Schnider, Von Krouse, Ned Blanc, and the young squire, too. 114 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. They called me a treasure, a sweet, roguish maid ; Now nonsense like that is amiss, Though once 'twas a pleasure, I'm really afraid That somebody's too big to kiss. Now if you should happen by moonlight to walk, With some one you know very well, Remember, 'tis harmless to laugh and to talk, Or sweet little stories to tell. But oh, have a care, girls, and heed me, I pray, For what I would counsel is this — Refuse, though his hair curls, and promptly this say : I'm getting, sir, too big to kiss. Oh, no, no, no, no, sir ! Allow me to pass ; Oh, no, sir, 'tis more than I dare : That game's out of fashion (I'm sorry, alas !) You needn't look cross as a bear. Yet still I've an ember of pity right here, I'll throw you just one kiss like this, But, sir, you'll remember, now don't come so near — That really I'm too big to kiss. George M. Vickers. ARTIE'S "AMEN." (Humorous. Sunday-school or church occttt>.on.) THEY were Methodists twain, of the ancient school, Who always followed the wholesome rule That whenever the preacher in meeting said Aught that was good for the heart or head, His hearers should pour their feelings out In a loud "Amen " or a godly shout. Three children had they — all honest boys — Whose youthful sorrows and youthful joys They shared, as all loving parents will, While tending them ever through good and ill. One day— 'twas a bleak, cold Sabbath morn, When the sky was dark and the earth forlorn — These boys, with a caution not to roam, Were left by the elder folk at home. But scarce had they gone when the wooded frame By the tall stove-pipe was seen aflame ; And out of their reach, high, high, and higher, Rose the red coils of the serpent fire. With startled sight for a while they gazed, As the pipe grew hot and the wood-work blazed ; Then up, though his heart beat wild with dread,. The eldest climbed to a shelf o'erhead, And soon with a sputter and hiss of steam, The flame died out like an angry dream. When the father and mother came back that day — They had gone to a neigboring church to pray — Each looked, but with half-averted eye, On the awful doom which had just passed by. And then the father began to praise His boys with a tender and sweet amaze. "Why, how did you manage, Tom, to climb And quench the threatening flames in time To save your brothers and save yourself? " "Well, father, I mounted the strong oak shelf By the help of the table standing nigh." 1 ' And what ? ' ' quoth the father, suddenly, Turning to Jemmy, the next in age, ' ' Did you to quiet the fiery rage ? ' ' " I brought the pail and the dipper, too, And so it was that the water flew All over the flames and quenched them quite. ' * A mist came over the father's sight, A mist of pride and of righteous joy, As he turned at last to his youngest boy — A gleeful urchin scarce three years old, With his dimpling cheeks and his hair of gold. " Come, Artie, I'm sure you weren't afraid ; Now tell me in what way you tried to aid This fight with the fire ? " " Too small am I, ' * Artie replied, with a half-drawn sigh, " To fetch like Jemmy, and work like Tom ; So I stood just here for a minute dumb, Because, papa, I was frightened some ; But I prayed, ' Our Father, ' and then — and then I shouted as loud as I could, 'Amen.' " Paul Hamilton Hayne. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. _ Staled af [he ihrme and [he prayer she said r ' ^ainKValenrine, 0' deaf 3ainLVa!en/me y ^t./< j&'ljne h\ many rriaids have breafhed before. ^£ (jranfme in love fhe^iff for which Ipray^ r^j? M onefhaf all maidens wilt whisper sfill, < ~^ The same,- • P tf =*- — ft— > — la ■1 "*1 -ft— > if » — > ■i =J P~* p i: 2 2 p — p -r — la —3 — P -J .- — 1 -3— J P P — i — r^' hi 7. By piecemeal all her scanty store Has gone to buy her bread, Yet sickness, want, claim one thing more, The thing she fain would cling to yet, And fainting, almost dead, She pawns her darling's flageolet. 8. The awning's flap, the shutter's bang, The night's air filled with sleet ; Three golden balls above us hang, Below, a woman, stiff and cold Lies, friendless, in the street — Dead, near the flageolet she sold ! {At this point the music ceases, the recitation continuing.) 10. A broker's sale. The room is filled (For Chrisrmas time is near) With some to buy, while others chilled Have slipped in from the biting cold. ' ' We want a bid, look here, Silver-keyed, and washed with gold ! ' ' The auctioneer then paused, for, lo ! A man leaped on his stand, My flageolet ! oh, mother's woe ! " And sobs choked up the sailor's throat, As with his brawny hand His heaving bosom wild he smote. 11. He learned, though late, that wine deceives, That strong drink leads to death ; That abstinence alone relieves The drunkard from disgrace, distress, Makes pure his rum-fouled breath, That temperance doth ever bless. 12. And thus the sailor's story ends, A story all too true ; Yet judge not harshly, gentle friends, He was a loving boy and brave, Loved by a reckless crew, Whose lesson is a mother's grave. 120 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY. (Arranged for five speakers. The first speaker may- carry an American flag, or plant it on the stage.) First Speaker. WHAT flower is this that greets the morn, Its hues from heaven so freshly born ? With burning star and flaming band It kindles all the sunset land ; Oh tell us what its name may be ! Is this the Flower of Liberty ? It is the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty ! Second Speaker. In savage Nature's fair abode Its tender seed our fathers sowed ; The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud, Its opening leaves were streaked with blood ; Till, lo ! earth's tyrants shook to see The full-blown Flower of Liberty ! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty ! Third Speaker. Behold its streaming rays unite One mingling flood of braided light — The red that fires the Southern rose With spotless white from Northern snows, And, spangled o'er its azure, see The sister Stars of Liberty ! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty ! Foa?'th Speaker. The blades of heroes fence it round ; Where'er it springs is holy ground ; From tower and dome its glories spread ; It waves where lonely sentries tread ; It makes the land as ocean free, And plants an empire on the sea ! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty ! Fifth Speaker. Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom's flower, Shall ever float on dome and tower, To all their heavenly colors true, In blackening frost or crimson dew ; And God love us as we love Thee, Thrice holy Flower of Liberty ! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty ! All at Once. And God love us as we love Thee, Thrice holy Flower of Liberty ! Holmes. SEARCH QUESTIONS. (Sunday-school exercise.) (The Superintendent might print or write these questions and give them out to the school, withhold- ing the references. Offer a book, or some prize to the scholar answering the most of them correctly before school two weeks later Ten minutes to be devoted before the lesson is taken up to reading onlv the correct answers, placing those of each individual. in a separate pile. The one having the largest num- ber of correct answers takes the prize. The answers, should contain the Scripture references. Teachers may also employ this plan in their individual classes with good effect. ) 1. What was David doing when he was called to be king? i Sam. xvi. n, 12. 2. What sign was given Moses that his call was divine? Ex. iv. 2, 3, 4, 6, 7. 3. What sign did Gideon ask of the Lord, that he should save Israel ? Judges vi. 36, 40. 4. What miracle did God work over a bor- rowed axe? 2 Kings vi. 5, 6, 7. 5. How did Jonathan's son become lame? 2 Sam. iv. 4. 6. What woman called her husband foolish? 1 Sam. xxv. 3, 25. 7. How did David act before the king of Achish? 1 Sam. xxi. 13. 8. When did David scorn to offer sacrifice at the expense of another ? 2 Sam. xxiv. 24. 9. How were the men of Shechem destroyed ? Judges ix. 48, 49. 10. What tribe obtained a league with the Israelites by craft? Joshua ix. 3, 4, 5, 14, 15. 11. What was the ancient law in harvesting? Deut. xxiv. 19. 12. What was the bedstead of Og? Deut. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 121 PLAYING DRUNKARD. (Temperance selection.) nrONES was a kind, good-natured man as one might wish to see, I He had a buxom, tidy wife and bright-eyed children three, But Jones was weak in one respect — he had a love for rum, And often from the drinking-shop would, stag- gering, homeward come. His good wife grieved to see him thus, but bore all patiently, And prayed and hoped that in some way he would reformed be ; She never waver' d in her faith, but toiled with hand and brain, And in the end with joy she found her prayers were not in vain. Thus it occurred. One Sunday morn, while Jones lay on the floor, Sleeping away the outcome of his spree the night before. His wife had gone to church to pray that his reform might come, Leaving, with much regret, her ill-clad little ones at home. When passed away the lethargy, caused by the flowing bowl, Jones gazed around, and saw a sight which shocked his very soul. His eldest child, a boy of six, with frowzy, unkempt hair, Was staggering around the room with idiotic stare, The while his other little ones laughed loudly in their glee, His grimaces, and flounderings, and antics queer to see. 11 I'm only playing drunk," he said, "to imi- tate papa, But if I had some liquor, I could do it better, far. But children ain't allowed to drink, so I know what I'll do, I'll wait till I grow up, and then, I'll be a drunkard, too. ' ' "I reckon not," Jones muttered. "With Heaven's help I'll try To do my duty after this in strict sobriety. My eyes shall ne'er again behold a scene so sad as this ; Come here, my precious little ones, and give papa a kiss ! ' ' ^ >}c ^ %. ^ ■%. %. When Mrs. Jones came home from church, he met her at the door, And tenderly embracing her, said: "Wife, I'll drink no more ! ' ' She saw the truth shine in his eyes, and wept for very joy, But never knew the change was wrought by her unthinking boy. Francis S. Smith. CLOSING ADDRESS. (To close a Sunday-school entertainment. For a little Christian boy of twelve to fourteen years.) DEAR FRIENDS: We have now finished what we have to say, and come to thank you for your kind attention dur- ing the evening. We have not said anything great, we know, but we have tried to say all the good things we could. We are yet small, and our powers of mind, as well as of body, are feeble. We cannot talk as you can ; we cannot think so fast, or reason so well ; but as we grow older we hope to grow in wisdom and in strength. This is one of the ways by which we gain strength, and the Sunday-school instruction is good to make us wise. Who knows but some day one of us here may be the President of the United States? or, better still, may go to foreign lands, to proclaim the gospel to those who sit in darkness ? We may be called to fill high places of honor and trust, and it is important that we prepare our- selves now for the stations which we soon may fill. 122 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Life is passing by, and youth will soon be gone, or the night of death may overtake us. Many little ones we remember who once stood where we now stand ; many faces that beamed with love and expectation, as they stood before you on an occasion like this ; but to-night they look on us, seeing but unseen. They have crossed the narrow river, have entered the gate to that beautiful city, and we are left to follow. We would not forget that life with us may close as suddenly, and we hope to live so that when we die we may join the blest above. We want your prayers for us, that we may be pure and good, that Jesus may love us, and make us his own. ( Turning to the superintendent. ) Now, Mr. Superintendent, I suggest that we close by ask- ing the audience to rise and join with us in singing that beautiful Sunday-school song, "God Be with You Till We Meet Again." (All rise and sing. If the Sunday-school book does not contain it, it should be printed on slips and distributed through the audience. ) TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF PEACE. "T "T^HILE we act, sir, upon the maxim, " In jfiL P eace prepare for war," let us also remember that the best preparation for war is peace. This swells your numbers ; this augments your means ; this knits the sinews of your strength ; this covers you all over with a panoply of might. And, then, if war must come in a just cause, no foreign state — no, sir, not all combined — can send forth an adversary that you need fear to encounter. But, sir, give us these twenty-five years of peace. I do believe, sir, that this coming quarter of a century is to be the most important in our whole history. I do beseech you to let us have these twenty-five years, at least, of peace. Let these fertile wastes be filled up with swarming millions ; let this tide of emigration from Europe go on; let the steamer, the canal, the railway, and especially let this great Pacific railway, subdue these mighty distances, and bring this vast extension into a span. Let us pay back the ingots of California gold with bars of Atlantic iron ; let agriculture clothe our vast wastes with waving plenty; let the in- dustrial and mechanic arts erect their peaceful fortresses at the waterfalls ; and then, sir, in the train of this growing population, let the print- ing office, the lecture-room, the village school- house, and the village church, be scattered over the country. And in these twenty-five years we shall exhibit a spectacle of national prosperity such as the world has never seen on so large a scale, and yet within the reach of a sober, practical contemplation. Edward Everett. A TRAGEDY. HOW many acts are there in a tragedy? Five, I believe. Act I. — Young man starting from home. Parents and sisters weeping to see him go. Wagon passing over the hill. Farewell kiss thrown back. Ring the bell and let the cur- tain drop. Act II. — Marriage altar. Bright lights. Full organ. White vail trailing through the aisle. Prayer and congratulations, and exclamations of " How well she looks ! " Ring the bell and let the curtain drop. Act III. — Midnight. Woman waiting for staggering steps. Old garments stuck into broken window-panes. Many marks of hardship on the face. Biting the nails of bloodless fingers. Neglect, cruelty, disgrace. Ring the bell and let the curtain drop. Act IV. — Three graves in a very dark place. Grave of a child, who died from want of medi- cine ; grave of husband and father, who died of dissipation ; grave of wife and mother, who died of a broken heart. Plenty of weeds but no flowers ! Oh ! what a blasted heath with three graves ! Ring the bell and let the curtain drop. Act V. — A destroyed soul's eternity. No light ; no music ; no hope ! Despair coiling around the heart with unutterable anguish. Blackness of darkness forever ! Woe ! woe ! woe ! I cannot bear longer to look. I close my eyes at this last act of tragedy. Quick ! Quick ! Ring the bell and let the curtain drop. T. De Witt Talmage. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 123 «rp] WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY, February 22, 1732. vHE first in the hearts of his country- men ! ' ' Yes, first ! Washington has our first and most fervent love. Un- doubtedly there were brave and wise and good men before his day in every colony. But the American nation, as a nation, I do not reckon to have begun before 1774. And the first love of that young America was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her earliest breath spoke it. It is still her proud ejacula- tion, and it will be the last gasp of her expiring life. Yes ! Others of our great men have been appreciated — many admired — by all. But him we love. Him we all love. No sectional preju- dice or bias, no party, no creed, no dogma of politics — none of these shall assail him. Yes, when the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm and cheer every American heart. It shall relume that Promethean fire, that sublime flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, commended by his words, con- secrated by his example ! "Where may the wearied eye repose, When gazing on the great, Where neither guilty glory glows Nor despicable state ? Yes — one ; the first, the last, the best, The Cincinnatus of the West, Whom Envy dared not hate, Bequeathed the name of Washington, To make men blush there was but one." Rufus Choate. THE TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY. (Suited to Washington's Birthday celebration.) GENTLEMEN, a most auspicious omen salutes and cheers us, this day. This day is the anniversary of the birth of Wash- ington. Washington birthday is celebrated from one end of this land to the other. The whole atmosphere of the country is this day redolent of his principles, — the hills, the rocks, the groves, the vales, and the rivers, shout their praises, and resound with his fame. All the good, whether learned or unlearned, high or low, rich or poor, feel this day that there is one treasure common to them all ; and that is the fame of Washing- ton. They all recount his deeds, ponder over his principles and teachings, and resolve to be more and more guided by them in the future. To the old and the young, to all born in this land, and to all whose preferences have led them to make it the home of their adoption, Washing- ton is an exhilarating theme. Americans are proud of his character ; all exiles from foreign shores are eager to participate in admiration of him ; and it is true that he is, this day, here, everywhere, all over the world, more an object of regard than on any former day since his birth. Gentlemen, by his example, and under the guidance of his precepts, will we and our children uphold the Constitution. Under his military leadership, our fathers conquered their ancient enemies ; and, under the outspread banner of his political and constitutional principles, will we conquer now. To that standard we shall adhere, and uphold it, through evil report and good report. We will sustain it, and meet death itself, if it come ; we will ever encounter and defeat error, by day and by night, in light or in darkness — thick darkness — if it come, till " Danger's troubled night is o'er, And the star of peace return," Webster. NOBODY'S CHILD. (Pathetic. May be made very effective by a girl of twelve or thirteen, dressed in ragged clothes. The stage should be darkened, and soft, subdued music may be played as the lines are recited. ) ALONE, in the dreary, pitiless street, With my torn old dress and bare cold feet, All day I wandered to and fro, Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go ; The night's coming on in darkness and dread, And the chill sleet beating upon my bare head ; Oh ! why does the wind blow upon me so wild ? Is it because I'm nobody's child? 124 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Just over the way there's a flood of light, And warmth and beauty, and all things bright ; Beautiful children, in robes so fair, Are caroling songs in rapture there. I wonder if they, in their blissful glee, Would pity a poor little beggar like me, Wandering alone in the merciless street, Naked and shivering and nothing to eat ? Oh ! what shall I do when the night comes down In its terrible blackness all over the town ? Shall I lay me down 'neath the angry sky, On the cold hard pavements alone to die? When the beautiful children their prayers have said, And mammas have tucked them up snugly in bed. No dear mother ever upon me smiled — Why is it, I wonder, that I'm nobody's child? No father, no mother, no sister, not one In all the world loves me; e'en the little dogs run When I wander too near them ; 'tis wondrous to see, How everythtng shrinks from a beggar like me ! Perhaps 'tis a dream; but sometimes when I lie Gazing far up in the dark blue sky, Watching for hours some large bright star, I fancy the beautiful gates are ajar. And a host of white-robed, nameless things, Come fluttering o'er me in gilded wings ; A hand that is strangely soft and fair Caresses gently my tangled hair, And a voice like the carol of some wild bird The sweetest voice that was ever heard — Calls me many a dear pet name, Till my heart and spirits are all aflame ; And tells me of such unbounded love, And bids me come up to their home above, And then, with such pitiful, sad surprise, They look at me with their sweet blue eyes, And it seems to me out of the dreary night, I am going up to the world of light, And away from the hunger and storms so wild — I am sure I shall then be somebody's child. THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY. (Humorous reading.) A MEMBER of the JEsculapian line lived at Newcastle-upon-Tyne : no man could better gild a pill, or make a bill, or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister ; or draw a tooth out of your head ; or chatter scandal by your bed ; or spread a plaster. His fame full six miles round the country ran ; in short, in repu- tation he was solus : all the old women called him " a fine man ! " His name was Bolus. Benjamin Bolus, though in trade (which often- times will genius fetter), read works of fancy, it is said, and cultivated the "belles lettres."* Bolus loved verse ; — and took so much delight in't, all his prescriptions he resolved to write in't. No opportunity he e'er let pass of writing the directions on his labels in dapper couplets, like Gay Fables, or, rather, like the lines in Hudibras. He had a patient lying at death's door, some three miles from the town, it might be four, — to whom, one evening, Bolus sent an article — in pharmacy that's called cathartical : and on the label of the stuff he wrote this verse, which one would think was clear enough, and terse, — " When taken, To be well shaken. ' ' Next morning early Bolus rose, and to the patient's house he goes, upon his pad, who a vile trick of stumbling had : but he arrived, and gave a tap, between a single and a double rap. The servant lets him in, with dismal face, long as a courtier's out of place, — portending some dis- aster. John's countenance as rueful looked and grim, as if the apothecary had physicked him, and not his master. "Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said. John shook his head. " Indeed ! — hum ! — ha \ that's very odd ! — He took the draught ?' ' John gave a nod. "Well? — how? — what then? — speak out, you dunce! " "Why, then," says John, "we shook him once." — " Shook him ! how? how?" friend Bolus stammered out. — " We jolted him about." * In both of these French words the ^ is unsounded. LULU GLASER. 'They laugh that win." OTHELLO. E. H. SOTHERN. Home, mother, wife 'ere he reeled down 'mong the dead.' YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 125 "What ! shake the patient, man ! — why, that won't do." "No, sir," quoth John, "and so we gave him two." "Two shakes ! O, luckless verse ! 'Twould make the patient worse ! " "It did so, sir, and so a third we tried." — "Well, and what then?" — "Then, sir, my master — died ! ' ' COLMAN. BUYING GAPE-SEED. (Humorous Reading.) A YANKEE, walking the streets of Lon- don, looked through a window upon a group of men writing very rapidly; and "one of them said to him in an insulting manner, "Do you wish to buy some gape- seed?" Passing on a short distance the Yankee met a man, and asked him what the business of those men was in the office he had just passed. He was told that they wrote letters dictated by others, and transcribed all sorts of documents ; in short, they were writers. The Yankee re- turned to the office, and inquired if one of the men would write a letter for him, and was answered in the affirmative. He asked the price, and was told one dollar. After consid- erable talk, the bargain was made ; one of the conditions of which was that the scribe should write just what the Yankee told him to, or he should receive no pay. The scribe told the Yankee he was ready to begin ; and the latter said : "Dear marm:" and then asked, "Have you got that deown ?' ' ' ' Yes, ' ' was the reply ; "goon" " I went to ride t'other day — have you got that deown ?' ' "Yes; goon; goon." "And I harnessed up the old mare into the wagon — have you got that deown?" ' ' Yes, yes, long ago ; go on. ' ' "Why, how fast you write ! And I got into the wagon and sat deown, and drew up the reins, and took the whip in my right hand — have you got that deown ?' ' " Yes, long ago ; go on" " Dear me, how fast you write ! I never saw your equal. And I said to the old mare, 'Go 'long,' and jerked the reins pretty hard — have you got that deown ?' ' "Yes; and I am impatiently waiting for more. I wish you wouldn't bother me with so many foolish questions. Go on with your letter. ' ' " Well, the old mare wouldn't stir out of her tracks, and I hollered, < Go ' long, you old jade / go 1 long. 1 Have you got that deown ?" "Yes, indeed, you pester some fellow ; goon." "And I licked her, and licked her, and licked her. ' ' ( Continuing to repeat these words as rapidly as possible. ) ' ' Hold on there ! I have written two pages of ' licked her, ' and I want the rest of the letter. ' ' " Well, and she kicked, and she kicked, and she kicked. ' ' ( Continuing to repeal these words with great rapidity. ) "Do go on with your letter; I have several pages of ' she kicked. ' ' ' (The Yankee clucks as in urging horses to move, and continues the clucking noise with rapid repetition for some time. The scribe throws down his pen.') " Write it deown / write it deown /' ' "I can't! " "Well, then, I won't pay you." ( The scribe, gather mg up his papers .•) "What shall I do with all these sheets upon which I have written your nonsense." "You may use them in doing up your^-^- seed. Good-by ! " John B. Gough. THE MINUET. (Suited to girl of thirteen to fourteen years of age. ) GRANDMA told me all about it, Told me so I couldn't doubt it, How she danced — my grandma danced, Long ago. How she held her pretty head, How her dainty skirt she spread, How she turned her little toes — Smiling little human rose ! — Long ago. 126 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Grandma's hair was bright and sunny; Dimpled cheeks, too — ah, how funny ! Really quite a pretty girl, Long ago. Bless her ! why she wears a cap, Grandma does, and takes a nap Every single day ; and yet Grandma danced the minuet Long ago. Now she sits there, rocking, rocking, Always knitting grandpa's stocking — (Every girl was taught to knit Long ago,) Yet her figure is so neat, And her way so staid and sweet, I can almost see her now Bending to her partner's bow, Long ago. Grandma says our modern jumping, Hopping, rushing, whirling, bumping, Would have shocked the gentle folk Long ago. No — they moved with stately grace, Everything in proper place, Gliding slowly forward, then Slowly courtesying back again, Long ago. Modern ways are quite alarming, Grandma says ; but boys were charming — • Girls and boys, I mean, of course — Long ago. Bravely modest, grandly shy — What if all of us should try Just to feel like those who met In the graceful minuet Long ago ? With the minuet in fashion, Who could fly into a passion ? All would wear the calm they wore Long ago. In time to come, if I perchance, Should tell my grandchild of our dance, I should really like to say, " We did it, dear, in some such way, Long ago." Mary M. Dodge. THE GIGGLETY GIRL H ! the gigglety girl — Gee whiz ! From her toe to her curl What a bother she is ! For whatever you do and whatever you say, She is laughing away through the whole of the day, And sometimes her noisy, unwearying zeal Will make a man feel So all fired Excessively tired That far into space he'd be willing to hurl The gigglety, gigglety, gigglety girl. Oh ! the gigglety girl — Great Scott ! What a scurry and whirl She can bring to the spot ! And yet, when her light-hearted freedom from care Kind of gets in the air — well, you can't be a bear — And you feel that your blood wouldn't stand it to see And man who could be So downright Ill-bred as to slight Or in any way hurt, with the mood of a churl, This gigglety, gigglety, gigglety girl. Judge. A CASE OF INDIGESTION. c ^„ ^ r dr. Gregory's study, b^ui^.— | A table and twQ chairs Enter Patient {an unhappy Scotch merchant) from left. Dr. Gregory discovered reading ( on right ) . PATIENT. Good morning, Dr. Gregory ! I'm just come into Edinburgh about some law business, and I thought when I was here, at any rate, I might just as weel take your advice, sir, about my trouble. Doctor. Pray, sir, sit down. {Patient sits on left.) And now, my good sir, what may your trouble be ? Pa. Indeed, doctor, I'm not very sure, but I'm thinking it's a kind of weakness that makes me dizzy at times, and a kind of pinkling about my stomach — I'm just na right. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 127 Dr. You are from the west country, I should suppose, sir? Pa. Yes, sir ; from Glasgow. Dr. Ay, pray, sir, are you a glutton ? Pa. Heaven forbid, sir ! I am one of the plainest men living in the west country. Dr. Then, perhaps, you are a drunkard ? Pa. No, Dr. Gregory, thank Heaven, no one can accuse me of that ! I'm of the dissenting persuasion, doctor, and an elder, so you may suppose I'm na drunkard. Dr. I'll suppose no such thing till you tell me your mode of living. I'm so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that I should wish to hear in detail what you do eat and drink, When do you breakfast, and what do you take at it ? Pa. I breakfast at nine o'clock; take a cup of coffee, and one or two cups of tea, a couple of eggs, and a bit of ham or kippered salmon, or, maybe, both, if they're good, and two or three rolls and butter. Dr. Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, at breakfast ? Pa. O, yes, sir ! but I don't count that as anything. Dr. Come, this is a very moderate breakfast. What kind of a dinner do you make ? Pa. O, sir, I eat a very plain dinner, indeed. Some soup, and some fish, and a little plain roast or boiled ; for I dinna care for made dishes ; I think, some way, they never satisfy the appetite. Dr. You take a little pudding, then, and afterwards some cheese ? Pa. O, yes ! though I don't care much about them. Dr. You take a glass of ale or porter with your cheese ? Pa. Yes, one or the other ; but seldom both. Dr. You west-country people generally take a glass of Highland whiskey after dinner. Pa. Yes, we do ; it's good for digestion. Dr. Do you take any wine during dinner? Pa. Yes, a glass or two of sherry ; but I'm indifferent as to wine during dinner. I drink a good deal of beer. Dr. What quantity of port do you drink ? Pa. O, very little ; not above half a dozen glasses or so. Dr. In the west country, it is impossible, I hear, to dine without punch ? Pa. Yes, sir; indeed, 'tis punch we drink chiefly ; but, for myself, unless I happen to have a friend with me, I never take more than a couple of tumblers or so, and that's moderate. Dr. O, exceedingly moderate, indeed ! You then, after this slight repast, take some tea and bread and butter? Pa. Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the evening letters. Dr. And on your return you take supper, I suppose ? Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to take supper ; just something before going to bed ; — a rizzered haddock, or a bit of toasted cheese, or a half- hundred oysters, or the like o' that, and, may- be, two-thirds of a bottle of ale ; but I take no regular supper. Dr. But you take a little more punch after that? Pa. No, sir, punch does not agree with me at bedtime. I take a tumbler of warm whiskey- toddy at night ; it is lighter to sleep on. Dr. So it must be, no doubt. This, you say, is your everyday life ; but, upon great occasions, you perhaps exceed a little ? Pa. No, sir, except when a friend or two dine with me, or I dine out, which, as I am a sober family man, does not often happen. Dr. Not above twice a week ? Pa. No ; not oftener. Dr. Of course you sleep well and have a good appetite ? Pa. Yes, sir, thank Heaven, I have ; indeed, any ill health that I have is about meal-time. Dr. {Rising with a severe air — the Patient also rises. ) Now, sir, you are a very pretty fel- low, indeed ! You come here and tell me you are a moderate man ; but, upon examination, I find, by your own showing, that you are a most voracious glutton. You said you were a sober man ; yet, by your own showing, you are a beer- swiller, a dram-drinker, a wine-bibber, and a 12S YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. guzzler of punch. You tell me you eat indiges- tible suppers, and swill toddy to force sleep. I see that you chew tobacco. Now, sir, what human stomach can stand this ? Go home, sir, and leave your present course of riotous living, and there are hopes that your stomach may re- cover its tone, and you be in good health, like your neighbors. Pa. I'm sure, doctor, I'm very much obliged to you. {Taking out a bundle of bank-notes.) I shall endeavor to — Dr. Sir, you are not obliged to me : — put up your money, sir. Do you think I'll take a fee for telling you what you know as well as myself? Though you're no physician, sir, you are not al- together a fool. Go home, sir, and reform, or, take my word for it, your life is not worth half a year's purchase. Pa. Thank you, doctor, thank you. Good- day, doctor. {Exit on right, followed by Doctor. ) MR. CROSS AND SERVANT JOHN. Mr. Cross. Why do you keep me knocking all day at the door ? John. I was at work, sir, in the garden. * "j soon as I heard your knock, I ran to open the door with such haste that I fell down and hurt myself. Mr. C. Why didn't you leave the door open? John. Why, sir, you scolded me yesterday because I did so; When the door is open, you scold ; when it is shut, you scold. I should like to know what to do ? Mr. C. What to do ? What to do, did you say? John. I said it. Shall I leave the door open ? Mr. C. No. I tell you, no ! John. Shall I keep the door shut ? Mr. C. Shall you keep the door shut ? No, I say. John. But, sir, a door must be either open or — Mr. C. Don't presume to argue with me, fellow ! John. But doesn't it hold to reason that a door — Mr. C. Silence, I say. Hold your tongue ! John. And I say that a door must be either open or shut. Now, how will you have it ? Mr. C. I have told you a thousand times, you provoking fellow — I have told you that I wished it — But what do you mean by cross-questioning me, sir? Have you trimmed the grape-vine, as I ordered you ? John. I did that three days ago, sir. Mr. C. Have you washed the carriage ? Eh ? John. I washed it before breakfast, sir, as usual. Mr. C. You haven't watered the horses to- day ! John. Go and see, sir, if you can make them drink any more. They have had their fill. Mr. C. Have you given them their oats ? John, Ask William ; he saw me do it. Mr. C. But you have forgotten to take the brown mare to be shod. Ah ! I have you now ! John. I have the blacksmith's bill, and here it is. Mr. C. My letters ! — Did you take them to the post-office? Ha ! You forgot that, did you? John. I forgot nothing, sir. The letters were in the mail ten minutes after you handed them to me. Mr. C. How often have I told you not to scrape on that abominable violin of yours ? And yet this very morning — John. This morning? You forget, sir. You broke the violin all to pieces for me last Satur- day night. Mr. C. I'm glad of it ! Come, now; that wood which I told you to saw and put into the shed — why is it not done ? Answer me that ! John. The wood is all sawed, split, and housed, sir ; besides doing that, I have watered all the trees in the garden, dug over three of the beds, and was digging another when you knocked. Mr. C. Oh, I must get rid of this fellow ! He will plague my life out of me. Out of my sight, sir ! {John rushes out.) "MUSIC."— Geo. M. Vickers. (A recitation with musical accompaniment. Prepared expressly for this volume.) < The music to be played softly while the first two stanzas are being recited. At the end of second stanza the music continues for afe: seconds, the reciter standing in rapt attention When the instrument ceases the speaker recites the last stanza.) :£3$z=j ,JJ J hJ- Expression. >" ^^ .__, Ad lib. ^ ^ . — ^! — ^— s -*l — to — d P — * — N — ! W ^ . *-*—h 3 • ^ — — <» h- — fc — i — ■) — m — to i- — P -i . ttto^* *1- « 1 — r '-£ — h h F"1 — rIKM — r~T — ^^-F p--p.-i>* ■■ E^-r tr£-£4r v > w\w y > w-p *+r ' r r==£±t= ™ When rustling leaves in whispers tell That summer bids her sad farewell ; When mountain, lake, and blooming plain Are wrapped in solitude again, Ah, then to pleasure's pilgrims fair Is lost sweet nature's music rare ; When chill have grown the zephyrs mild That oft their idle hours beguiled, No more to them the moonlit sea Gives forth its grand old melody. 'Tis then that home seems doubly sweet, As rain-drops on the windows beat, Or snow-clad trees all leafless sway As fades the bleak and wintry day ; But sweeter far the charms that dwell :9 Where music wields her mystic spell ; How oft the rich piano's tone Makes guests of peerless masters gone ! And hearts unite in loved refrain When blended with the organ's strain — O music, gift beyond compare, How oft thy beauties blessings bear ! How strong thy pow'r that binds to home And bids the wayward cease to roam — How sweet when wearied out with care Some half forgot, familiar air ! The hearth-stone seems to brighter glow When cheerful numbers gayly flow — Good will, content, and peace belong Where music reigns with merry song. 129 130 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. HOW TO BREAK BAD NEWS. Mr. H. Ha, steward ! how are you, my old boy ? How do things go on at home ? Steward. Bad enough, your honor; the mag- pie's dead. Mr. H. Poor Mag ! so he's gone. How came he to die ? Steward. Over-ate himself, sir. Mr. H. Did he, indeed ? a greedy villain ! Why, what did he get he liked so well ? Steward. Horse-flesh, sir ; he died of eating horse-flesh. Mr. H. How came he to get so much horse- flesh? Steward. All your father's horses, sir. Mr. H. What ! are they dead, too ? Steward. Ay, sir ; they died of over-work. Mr. H. And why were they over-worked, pray? Steward. To carry water, sir. Mr. H. To carry water ! What did they carry water for? Steward. Sure, sir, to put out the fire. Mr. H. Fire ! What fire? Steward. Oh, sir, your father's house is burned to the ground. Mr. H. My father's house ! How come it set on fire ? Steward. I think, sir, it must have been the torches. Mr. H. Torches ! What torches ? Steward. At your mother's funeral. Mr. H. Alas ! my mother dead ? Steward. Ah, poor lady, she never looked up after it ! Mr. H. After what ? Steward. The loss of your father. Mr. H. My father gone, too ? Steward. Yes, poor man, he took to his bed soon as he heard of it. Mr. II. Heard of what? Steward. The bad news, sir, an' please your honor. Mr. H. What ! more miseries ? more bad news ? No ! you can add nothing more ! Steward. Yes, sir ; your bank has failed, and your credit is lost, and you are not worth a dollar in the world. I made bold, sir, to come to wait on you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the news. DAME PARTINGTON AND THE ATLANTIC OCEAN. GENTLEMEN : I would not be disrespectful, but the attempt of the House of Lords to stop the progress of reform reminds me very forcibly of the great storm of Sidmouth and of the conduct of the excellent Mrs. Par- tington on that occasion. In the winter of 1824 there set in a great flood upon that town ; the tide rose to an incredible height, the waves rushed in upon the houses, and everything was threatened with destruction. In the midst of this sublime and terrible storm, Dame Partington, who lived upon the beach, was seen at the door of her house with mop and pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water and vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean ! The Atlantic was roused, Mrs. Partington's J spirit was up likewise, but I need not tell you that the contest was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. She was excellent at a slop or a puddle, but she should not have meddled with a tempest. Gentlemen, be at your ease ; be quiet and steady. You will beat Mrs. Partington. Sydney Smith. WASHINGTON'S SWORD AND FRANKLIN'S STAFF. By J. Q. Adams, in the United States House of Representatives, on reception of these memorials by Congress, to be deposited in the State archives. THE sword of Washington ! The staff of Franklin ! O, Sir, what associations are linked in adamant with these names ! Washington, whose sword was never drawn but in the cause of his country, and never sheathed when wielded in his country's cause ! Franklin, the philosopher of the thunderbolt, the printing- press, and the plough-share ! — What names are these in the scanty catalogue of the benefactors of human kind ? Washington and Franklin L YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 131 What other two men, whose lives belong to the eighteenth century of Christendom have left a deeper impression of themselves upon the age in which they lived, and upon all after time ? Washington, the warrior and the legislator ! In war, contending by the wager of battle, for the independence of his country, and for the freedom of the human race, — ever manifesting, amidst its horrors, by precept and by example, his reverence for the laws of peace, and for the tenderest sympathies of humanity ; in peace, soothing the ferocious spirit of discord, among his own countrymen, into harmony and union, and giving to that very sword, now presented to his country, a charm more potent than that attributed, in ancient times, to the lyre of Orpheus. Franklin ! — The mechanic of his own for- tune ; teaching, in early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the way to wealth, and, in the shade of obscurity, the path to greatness ; in the maturity of manhood, disarming the thunder of its terrors, the lightning of its fatal blast; and wrestling from the tyrant's hand the still more afflicted sceptre of oppression : while descending into the vale of years, traversing the Atlantic Ocean, braving, in the dead of winter, the battle and the breeze, bearing in his hand the charter of Independence, which he had con- tributed to form, and tendering, from the self- created Nation to the mightiest monarchs of Europe, the olive-branch of peace, the mercurial wand of commerce, and the amulet of protec- tion and safety to the man of peace, on the pathless ocean, from the inexorable cruelty and merciless rapacity of war. And, finally, in the last stage of life, with fourscore winters upon his head, under the tor- ture of an incurable disease, returning to his native land, closing his days as the chief magis- trate of his adopted commonwealth, after con- tributing by his counsels, under the Presidency of Washington, and recording his name, under the sanction of devout prayer, invoked by him to God, to that Constitution under the authority of which we are here assembled, as the Repre- sentatives of the North American People, to re- ceive, in their name and for them these venerable relics of the wise, the valiant, and the good founders of our great confederated Republic, — these sacred symbols of our golden age. May they be deposited among the archives of our Gov- ernment ! And may every American, who shall hereafter behold them, ejaculate a mingled offer- ing of praise to that Supreme Ruler of the Uni- verse, by whose tender mercies our Union has been hitherto preserved, through all the vicissi- tudes and revolutions of this turbulent world ; and of prayer for the continuance of these bless- ings, by the dispensations of Providence, to our beloved country, from age to age, till time shalL be no more ! DEFENCE OF JEFFERSON, 1813. V "TEXT to the notice which the opposition I \' has found itself called upon to bestow upon the French emperor, a distin- guished citizen of Virginia, formerly President of the United States, has never for a moment failed to receive their kindest and most respect- ful attention. An honorable gentleman from. Massachusetts, of whom I am sorry to say, it becomes necessary for me, in the course of my remarks, to take some notice, has alluded to him in a remarkable manner. Neither his retirement from public office, his eminent services, nor his: advanced age, can exempt this patriot from the coarse assaults of party malevolence. No, sir ! In 1 80 1, he snatched from the rude hand of usurpation the violated Constitution of his country, — and that is his crime. He preserved that instrument, in form, and substance, and spirit, a precious inheritance for generations to come, and for this he can never be forgiven. How vain and impotent is party rage, directed against such a man ! He is not more elevated by his lofty residence, upon the summit of his own favorite mountain, than he is lifted, by the serenity of his mind and the consciousness of a well-spent life, above the malignant passions and bitter feelings of the day. No ! his own be- loved Monticello is not less moved by the YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. storms that beat against its sides, than is this illustrious man, by the howlings of the whole British pack, let loose from the Essex kennel. When the gentleman to whom I have been com- pelled to allude shall have mingled his dust with that of his abused ancestors, — when he shall have been consigned to oblivion, or, if he lives at all, shall live only in the treasonable annals of a certain junto, — the name of Jefferson will be hailed with gratitude, his memory honored and cherished as the second founder of the liberties of the People, and the period of his administra- tion will be looked back to as one of the hap- piest and brightest epochs in American history ! Henry Clay. A PLEA FOR THE SAILOR. LIVING here comfortably at home, do we ever think of the perils of the poor sailor ? Do we ever recall how much we owe him ? Live comfortably we cannot — live at all, per- haps, we cannot — without seamen will expose themselves for us, risk themselves for us, and, alas ! often, very often, drown — drown in our service — drown and leave widows and orphans destitute. To beg with me, to plead with me for the destitute ones, there comes from many a place where seamen have died a call, a prayer, a be- seeching voice ; a cry from the coast of Guinea, where there is fever evermore : a cry from Arctic seas, where icebergs are death ; a cry from coral reefs, that ships are wrecked on horribly ; a cry from mid-ocean, where many a sailor drops into a sudden grave ! They ask your help, your charity, for the widows and orphans of those who have gone down to the sea — have gone down to the sea in ships. PRIDE REBUKED. (Suitable for school, or Sunday-school entertain- ment. For girls of twelve to fourteen years. ) Laura. Why, Rachel, how can you wear that old winter dress to church this fine spring morn- ing ? Look at me. Rachel. What a pretty overskirt ! And what a becoming hat and plume ! L. I gave my mother no peace till she got them for me. Why don't you make your father buy you a new spring dress, Rachel ? R. He would have given me such a dress if I had not told him I should like something else better. L. Indeed ! Pray what else would you like better than a beautiful spring dress ? R. I knew my father could not afford to let me take music lessons this spring if he gave me a silk dress, so I told him I would rather learn music than have a new dress. L. What a silly girl, not to get the dress when you could ! R. Hark ! What is that harsh noise ? L. It is the cry of that foolish peacock in the garden yonder. He wants us to admire him. R. How he struts about, and arches his neck, and shows his fine feathers, blue, orange, and gold, in the sunlight ! L. Who is that man there standing by the garden gate? R. It is the clergyman who is to preach for us to-day. L. He looks at me ; and now he looks at the peacock ; and now ne looks at me again — and now at the peacock again ; and now — Oh, I know what he is thinking ! R. Let us hurry on to church. L. Ah ! Rachel, he tells me, plainly as looks can tell, that I am vain as a peacock. R. Why, your face is covered with blushes, Laura ! Do you think you merit his rebuke ? L. I do, I do. It is I who have been the silly girl. Let us hurry on to church. I will not play the peacock again if I can help it. , THE HUNTER AND THE CHILD. (Big boy with a gun and hunter's trappings, and little girl dressed in country style with a tin bucket or some plaything in her hand. ) Sportsman. Little girl, did you see a rabbit cross this road just now? Girl. Was it a large rabbit ? S. Yes, it was quite a large one. G. Was it gray, with a little mark of white on one ear? YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 133 S. Yes; I believe it was. Which way did it go? G. Did it have pink eyes and a thick fur ? S. Yes ; be quick, or the creature will regain its hole. G. Did he have big- ears, and long legs behind ? S. To be sure he had ! All rabbits have big ears, and long legs behind. G. Did he make long jumps in running ? S. Yes, yes ; he made long jumps. G. Are you sure the rabbit had that white spot on one of his ears ? S. I told you I believed so. Which way did he go? G. Let me see. He had big ears — pink eyes — was of a gray color — S. Come, miss, I can wait no longer. G. You are sure he made long jumps in running? S. Of course he did! All rabbits do that. G. Well, sir, I have not seen any such crea- ture cross this road ; and so I will bid you good- morning. I think the rabbit must be out of your reach by this time, and I must be out of your reach, too. S. Stop, little girl, I must punish you for trifling with me. G. You are welcome to whip me if you can catch me. You only wanted to kill the poor rabbit for sport. S. And so you thought you would delay me till the rabbit could run into his hole? G. That was just it. / saw no rabbit, but do not doubt you saw one. And so, Mr. Sports- man, when you come to shoot in our woods again, you had better ask leave of my father. DE PINT WID OLD PETE. ( Humorous reading. ) UPON the hurrican deck of one of our gun- boats, an elderly darkey, with a very philosophical and retrospective cast of countenance, squatted on his bundle, toasting his shins against the chimney and apparently plunged into a state of profund meditation. Finding, upon inquiry, that he belonged to the Ninth Illinois, one of the most gallantly behaved and heavy losing regiments at the Fort Donald- son battle, I began to interrogate him upon the subject. " Were you in the fight ?' ' " Had a little taste of it, sa." 1 ' Stood your ground, did you ?' ' "No, sa, I runs." " Run at the first fire, did you?" "Yes, sa, and would hab run soona, had I know'd it war comin'," "Why, that wasn't very creditable to your courage." " Massa, dat isn't my line, sa; cookin's my profeshun." " Well, but have you no regard for your repu- tation ?' ' "Yah, yah ! reputation's nufrm to me by de side ob life." 1 ' Do you consider your life worth more than other people's ?" "It is worth more to me, sa." " Then you must value it very highly?" "Yes, sa, I does; more dan all dis world, more dan a million ob dollars, sa ; for what would dat be worth to a man wid the bref out of him ? Self-preservation am de first law wid me. ' * " But why should you act upon a different rule from other men ?' ' "Because different men set different values, upon their lives ; mine is not in de market. ' ' " But if you lost it, you would have the satis- faction of knowing that you died for your coun- try. ' ' "What satisfaction would dat be to me when de power ob feelin' was gone ?' ' "Then patriotism and honor are nothing to you ?' ' ' ' Nuffin whatever, sa ; I regard them as among the vanities." " If our soldiers were like you, traitors might have broken up the government without resist- ance." "Yes, sa; dar would hab been no help for it." 134 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. " Do you think any of your company would have missed you if you had been killed?" " Maybe not, sa ; a dead white man ain t much to dese sogers, let alone a dead nigga ; but I'd miss myself, and dat was de pint wid me." THE FUNNY STORY. (Laughing recitation. The speaker should appear in a smiling good humor throughout the recitation, bursting into outright laughter at the points indi- cated.) IT was such a funny story ! how I wish you could have heard it ; For it set us all a laughing from the little to the big. I'd really like to tell it, but I don't know how to word it, Though it travels to the music of a very lively jig. If Sally just began it, then Amelia Jane would giggle, And Mehitable and Susan put on their broadest grin. And the infant Zachariah on his mother's lap would wriggle And add a lusty chorus to the very merry din. It was such a funny story with its cherry snap and crackle, And Sally always told it with so much dramatic art That the chickens in the door-yard would begin to cackle, cackle, As if in such a frolic they were willing to take part. ( laughing.) It was all about a — ha ! ha ! — and a ho ! ho ! ho ! well really ; It is he ! he ! he ! I never could begin to tell you half of the nonsense in it, for I just remember clearly, it began with ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! and it ended with a laugh. But Sail}-, she could tell it, looking at you so demurely, With a woe-begone expression that no actress would despise. And if you'd never heard it, why you would imagine surely, That you'd need your pocket handkerchief to wipe your weeping eyes ; When age my hair has silvered and my step has grown unsteady And the nearest to my visions are the scenes of long ago. I shall see the pretty picture and the tears may come as ready As the laugh did when I used to — ha ! ha ! ha ! and ho ! ho ! ho ! ARTEMUS WARD VISITS THE SHAKERS. (Humorous reading. ) " KA R. SHAKER," sed I, "you see before / Yj^ you a Babe in the Woods, so to speak, and he axes a shelter of you. ' ' "Yay," said the Shaker, and he led the way into the house, another bein sent to put my horse and wagon under kiver. A solum female, lookin somewhat like a last year's bean-pole stuck into a long meal -bag, cum in and axed me was I athirst and did I hunger? To which I asserted, "A few." She went off, and I endeavored to open a conversa- tion with the old man. "Elder, I spect?" sed I. "Yay," he said. "Health's good, I reckon?" "Yay." "What's the wages of a Elder, when he understands his bizness — or do you devote your sarvices gratooitous ?" "Yay." " Storm nigh, sir?" "Yay." "If the storm continues there'll be a mess underfoot, hay?" "Yay." " If I may be so bold, kind sir, what's the price of that pecooler kind of wesket you wear, includin trimmins?" "Yay." I pawsed a minit, and, thinkin I'd be faseshus YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 135 with him and see how that would go, I slapt him on the shoulder, burst into a hearty larf, and told him that as a yayer he had no living ekel. He jumped up as if bilin water had been squirted into his ears, groaned, rolled his eyes up tords the sealin, and sed; "You're a man of sin!" He then walked out of the room. Directly thar cum in two Shakeresses, as putty and slick lookin galls as I ever met. It is troo they was drest in meal-bags, like the old one I'd met previsly, and their shiny, silky hair was hid from sight by long, white caps, such as I spose female gosts wear ; but their eyes sparkled like diamonds, their cheeks was like roses, and they was charmin enuff to make a man throw stuns at his grandmother, if they axed him to. They commenst clearing away the dishes, casting shy glances at me all the time. I got excited. I fargot Betsey Jane in my rapter, and sez I : ' ' My pretty dears, how air you ?' ' "We are well," they solumly sed. "Where is the old man?" said I, in a soft voice. " Of whom dost thou speak, Brother Uriah?' ' ' ' I mean that gay and festive cuss who calls me a man of sin. Shouldn't wonder if his name wasn't Uriah." " He has retired." "Wall, my pretty dears," sez I, " let's have some fun. Let's play puss in the corner. What say?" "Air you a Shaker, sir?" they asked. "Wall, my pretty dears, I haven't arrayed my proud form in a long weskit yet, but if they wus all like you perhaps I'd jine 'em. As it is, I am willing to be Shaker protemporary. ' ' They was full of fun. I seed that at fust, only they was a little skeery. I tawt 'em puss in the corner, and sich like plase, and we had a nice time, keepin quiet, of course, so that the old man shouldn't hear. When we broke up, sez I : " My pretty dears, ear I go, you have no ob- jections, have you, to a innersent kiss at partin?" " Yay," they said, and I — yayed. Charles F. Brown. BROTHER JIM. (By permission of the Author.) IT was Christmas time, and over the world The winter her snowy flags unfurled, And they fluttered and waved through the starry night, And dazzled the eyes with their brilliant white. There was Christmas cheer and the land was gay, And I was glad in a quiet way, For friends were true and love was warm ; Why should I care for the cold or storm ? So I lifted my voice and caroled long To join in a school-boy's cheerful song Of *" Merry, merry Christmas, everywhere, Cheerily it ringeth through the air. ' ' " Christmas bells," how it rang to the skies, Then sank in the distance, and raising my eyes, I checked my joy at the miserable sight Of a beggar who pleaded for alms in the night. A beggar — why is it they ever will stand, To shatter our joy with a trembling hand ? Why don't they work ? I smothered a sigh, And a vision of years went hurrying by. I had a brother once — brother Jim ; Many the years since I parted with him ; A long-ago Christmas — we quarreled — a blow, And Jim went his way through the dark and the snow. (How wan is this man with his dark, furrowed brow ; Was that head ever proud, so meekly bowed now?) (My brother was proud for he never would write. ) Strange this beggar should bring me such thoughts Christmas night. And his form, how it stoops as if weighted with care. How oddly his hat shadows over his hair, * These two lines to be sung (tune of "Merry, Merry Christ- mas ") by the speaker or some one from behind the scene. 136 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. And his voice, O his voice — lift your face, that I see, For I hear, and that voice brings — a memory to me. A memory — how soft the bells chime on the air, Christmas cheer, Christmas cheer, Christmas cheer, everywhere, Everywhere ? Lift your head, that I see or I die. And your name ? Breath it quick, though your breath be a sigh. It is Jim ? Lift your head ! O, I see and I know, Your name is his name that I loved long ago, Your voice is his voice — Christmas bells, sweet the sound, — I fall on my knees with my face to the ground. Ring the new — Christmas bells — the old is at rest ; The beggar — the rags — to my bosom I pressed, His tears with my tears — chant your heavenly hymn, " Of peace unto men" — I have peace now — and Jim. May Rapley-McNabb. JOE. ( Suited to soldiers' reunion. ) T TE don't take vagrants in, sir, JflJ And I am alone to-day, Leastwise, I could call the good man — He's not so far away. You are welcome to a breakfast — I'll bring you some bread and tea; You might sit on the old stone yonder, Under the chestnut stree. You're traveling, stranger ? Mebbe You've got some notions to sell? We hev a sight of peddlers, But we allers treat them well. For they, poor souls, are trying Like the rest of us to live : And it's not like tramping the country And calling on folks to give. Not that I meant a word, sir — No offence in the world to you : I think, now I look at it closer, Your coat is an army blue. Don' t say ? Under Sherman, were you ? That was — how many years ago? I had a boy at Shiloh, Kearney — a sergeant — Joe ! Joe Kearney, you might a' met him ? But in course you were miles apart, He was a tall, straight boy, sir, The pride of his mother's heart. We were off to Kittery, then, sir, Small farmers in dear old Maine ; It's a long stretch from there to Kansas, But I couldn't go back again. He was all we had, was Joseph ; He and my old man and me Had sort o' growed together, And were happy as we could be. I wasn't a lookin' for trouble When the terrible war begun, And I wrestled for grace to be able To give up our only son. Well, well, 'taint no use o' talking. My old man said, said he : The Lord loves a willing giver ; ' ' And that's what I tried to be. Well, the heart and the flesh are rebels, And hev to be fought with grace ; But I'd give my life — yes, willin' — To look on my dead boy's face. Take care, you are spillin' your tea, sir, Poor soul ! don't cry : I'm sure You've had a good mother sometime — Your wounds, were they hard to cure ? Andersonville ! God help you ! Hunted by dogs, did you say ? Hospital ! crazy, seven years, sir ? I wonder you're living to-day. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 137 I'm thankful my Joe was shot, sir. " How do you know that he died ?" 'Twas certified, sir, by the surgeon. Here's the letter, and — "mebbehe lied !" Well, I never ! you shake like the ager. My Joe ! there's his name and the date ; " Joe Kearney, 7 th Maine, sir, a sergeant — Lies here in a critical state — Just died — will be buried to-morrow — Can't wait for his parents to come." Well, I thought God had left us that hour, As for John, my poor man, he was dumb. Didn't speak for a month to the neighbors, Scarce spoke in a week, sir, to me ; Never been the same man since that Monday They brought us this letter you see. And you are from Maine ! from old Kittery ? What time in the year did you go ? I just disremember the fellows That marched out of town with our Joe. Lord love ye ! come into the house, sir ; It's gettin' too warm out o' door. If I'd known you'd been gone for a sojer I'd taken you in here afore. Now make yourself easy. We're humbler, We Kansas folks don't go for show, — Set here — it's Joe's chair — take your hat off; " Call father !" My God ! you are Joe ! Alice Robbins. CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAVA. (The following poem is printed in prose form to assist the reciter in better interpreting its meaning. It is very effective when well rendered. ) HALF a league, half a league, half a league onward, all in the valley of Death, rode the six hundred. "Charge!" was the captain's cry : theirs not to reason why; theirs not to make reply ; theirs but to do and die ! Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them, volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot and shell, boldly they rode and well ; into the jaws of Death, into the mouth of Hell, rode the six hun- dred. Flashed all their sabers bare, flashed all at once in air, sabering the gunners there, charging an army, while all the world wondered. Plunged in the battery smoke, fiercely the line they broke ; strong was the saber-stroke, making an army reel, shaken and sundered. Then they rode back ; but not— not the six hundred ! Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon behind* them, volleyed and thun- dered ; stormed at with shot and shell, they that had struck so well rode through the jaws of Death, half a league back again, up from the mouth of Hell, all that was left of them — left of six hundred ! When can their glory fade ? O, the wild charge they made ! — all the world won- dered. Honor the charge they made — honor the Light Brigade ! Noble six hundred ! Alfred Tennyson. N THE BATTLE OF LIFE. OW nerve thy spirit to the proof, And blench not at thy chosen lot : The timid good may stand aloof, The sage may frown, yet faint thou not. Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, The hissing, stinging bolt of scorn ; For with thy side shall dwell at last The victory of endurance born. Yea, though thou die upon the dust, When those who helped thee flee in fear,; Die full of hope and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave. Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again : The eternal years of God are hers ; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies among his worshipers. Bryant. 138 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. H A COUNTRY THANKSGIVING. ARVEST is home. The bins are full, The barns are running o'er ; Both grains and fruits we've garnered in Till we've no space for more. We've worked and toiled through heat and cold, To plant, to sow, to reap ; And now for all this bounteous store Let us Thanksgiving keep. The nuts have ripened on the trees, The golden pumpkins round Have yielded to our industry Their wealth from out the ground. The cattle lowing in the fields, The horses in their stalls, The sheep and fowls all gave increase, Until our very walls Are bending out with God's good gifts. And now the day is here When we should show the Giver that We hold those mercies dear. We take our lives, our joys, our wealth, Unthanking every day ; If we deserve or we do not, The sun it shines alway. So in this life of daily toil, That leaves short time to pray, With brimming hearts let's humbly keep One true Thanksgiving Day. And if there be some sorrowing ones, Less favored than we are, A generous gift to them, I think, is just as good as prayer. THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK. IF thou thinkest twice before thou speakest once, thou wilt speak twice the better for it. Better say nothing than not to the purpose. And, to speak pertinently, consider both what is fit and when it is fit to speak. In all debates let truth be thy aim, not victory, or an unjust in- terest ; and endeavor to gain rather than to expose thy antagonist. Wm. Penn. REPLY TO JOHN RANDOLPH. (From speech in the House of Representatives, 1834.) SIR, I am growing old. I have had some little measure of experience in public life, and the result of that experience has brought me to this conclusion, that when busi- ness, of whatever nature, is to be transacted in a deliberative assembly, or in private life, cour- tesy, forbearance, and moderation, are best cal- culated to bring it to a successful conclusion. Sir, my age admonishes me to abstain from in- volving myself in personal difficulties ; would to God that I could say, I am also restrained by higher motives. I certainly never sought any collision with the gentleman from Virginia. My situation at this time is peculiar, if it be nothing else, and might, I should think, dissaude, at least, a generous heart from any wish to draw me into circumstances of personal altercation. I have experienced this magnanimity from some quarters of the House. But I regret, that from others it appears to have no such consideration. The gentleman from Virginia was pleased to say, that in one point, at least, he coincided with me — in an humble estimate of my gram- matical and philological acquirements. I know my deficiencies. I was born to no proud patri- monial estate ; from my father I inherited only infancy, ignorance, and indigence. I feel my defects ; but, so far as my situation in early life is concerned, I may, without presumption, say they are more my misfortune than my fault. But, however, I regret my want of ability to furnish to the gentleman a better specimen of powers of verbal criticism, I will venture to say, it is not greater than the disappointment of thia committee as to the' strength of his argument. It is not a few abstractions engrossed on parch- ment, that make free Governments. No, sir -, the law of liberty must be inscribed on the heart of the citizen : the word, if I may use the expression without irreverence, must become flesh. You must have a whole People trained., disciplined, bred, — yea, and born, — as cu* fathers were, to institutions like ours. Before the Colonies existed, the Petition Oi YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 139 Rights, that Magna Charta of a more enlight- ened age, had been presented, in 1628, by Lord Coke and his immortal compeers. Our founders brought it with them, and we have not gone one step beyond them. They brought these maxims of civil liberty, not in their libraries, but in their souls ; not as philosophical prattle, not as barren generalities, but as rules of conduct ; as a symbol of public duty and private right, to be adhered to with religious fidelity ; and the very first pilgrim that set his foot upon the rock of Plymouth stepped forth a living constitution, armed at all points to defend and to perpetuate the liberty to which he had devoted his whole being. Henry Clay. GIVE ME THE HAND. GIVE me the hand that is kind, warm, and ready ; Give me the clasp that is calm, true, and steady ; Give me the hand that will never deceive me ; Give me its grasp that I aye may believe thee. Soft is the palm of the delicate woman ; Hard is the hand of the rough, sturdy yeoman ; Soft palm or hard hand, it matters not — never ! Give me the grasp that is friendly forever. Give me the hand that is true as a brother ; Give me the hand that has harmed not another ; Give me the hand that has never forsworn it ! Give me the grasp that I aye may adore it ! Lovely the palm of the fair blue-veined maiden ; Horney the hand of the workman o'erladen ; Lovely or ugly, it matters not — never ! Give me the grasp that is friendly forever. Give me the grasp that is honest and hearty Free as the breeze and unshackled by party : Let friendship give me the grasp that becomes her, Close as the twine of the vines of the summer, — Give me the hand that is true as a brother ; Give me the hand that has wronged not an- other ; Soft palm or hard hand, it matters not — never ! Give me the grasp that is friendly forever. Goodman Barnaby. SONG OF THE DECANTER. (Temperance selection.) There was an old decanter, and its mouth was gaping wide ; the rosy wine had ebbed away and left its crys- tal side ; and the wind went humming, humming ; up and down the sides it flew, and through the reed-like, hollow neck the wildest notes it blew. I placed it in the window; where the blast was blowing free, and fancied that its pale mouth sang the queerest strains to me. " They tell me — puny con- querors ! — the Plague has slain his ten, and War his hundred thousands of the very best of men; but I" — 'twas thus the bottle spoke — "but I have con- quered more than all your famous con- querers, so feared and famed of yore. Then come, ye youths and maidens, come drink from out my cup, the bev- erage that dulls the brain and burns the spirit up ; that puts to shame the conquerors that slay their scores below ; for this has del- uged millions with the lava tide of woe. Though, in the path of battle, darkest waves of blood may roll ; yet while I killed the body, I have damned the very soul. The cholera, the sword, such ruin never wrought, as I, in mirth or malice, on the innocent have brought. And still I breathe upon them, and they shrink before my breath ; and year by year my thousands tread THE FEARFUL ROAD TO DEATH. J40 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. THE NEW ROSETTE.— Geo. M. Vickers. (Recitation with musical accompaniment. Prepared expressly for this volume. ) Recited at the Reunion of Union and Confederate Veterans, Washington, D. C. On September 16, 1S96, the first Reunion of Union and Confederate soldiers was held at Washington, D. C. Thirty-one years had past since the echo of the last cannon had died away at Appomattox, and the weary heroes of two magnificent armies closed the bloodiest fratricidal strife in the annals of time. On that eventful day they parted ; one turned to the North, the other to the South, to beat their swords into plow-shares and take up again the pursuits of peace. After thirty-one vears these veterans meet again— not the young and buoyant soldiers with martial tread, but grizzled old heroes. Deeds of bravery are acknowledged and praised on both sides. Time, that mighty healer, had closed the bloody chasm ; animosities were consumed in the fire of a common patriotism ; hands were clasped in friendship which had formerly raised against each other the deadly sword ; hearts were melted and welded together as these old enemies faced each other on. the streets of our National Capital ; together they rejoiced over the preservation of the Union, cemented with their blood. Many were the tales they told and many the songs they sung, and roval was the welcome given them by their Nation's capital city. They were brothers again. Love and good cheer ruled the hour, and their joys were unconcealed. A New Rosette, composed of blue and gray, was worn. George VI. Vickers, a "Yankee " soldier, composed the following poem, which was recited. By special request of the compiler of this book, Mr. Vickers has arranged appropriate musical airs as an accom- paniment, and it is here published in this form for the first time, as a fitting memorial to the " Old Soldiers," both North and South, whose example, on this occasion, admonishes the youth of our whole country that the war is over, and that the bitter- ness, no longer cherished by those who fought, should not be harbored by their descendants. — [Ed-] ff :*«: Mzz^z :pz=p: t=Z- ?=*=£- ?2=Z_=I JJ*. -P m- •£$m^$pr- SE-ZEtE©^: J* t± n ff is- -SI- I =2 m -'_,-* :£: fc==£: -i — I Let us sing a song That all may hear ; Sound the death of wrong, The knell of fear ; For in this cordial clasp of hands America united stands. The new rosette Of Blue and Gray, Without regret, Is worn to-day. Fire the signal gun, Proclaim our creed ; Libert}^ has won, And we are freed ; Our country's creed is Liberty, I And Freedom shall our watchword be The new rosette Of Blue and Gray, Love's amulet, Shall be to-day. Ring the bells with pride, The brave are here ; Heroes true and tried, And each a peer ; Their deeds and valor e'er shall be Our caveat on land and sea. The new rosette Of Blue and Gray, A pledge, a threat, Is worn to-day. (To INTERLUDE ACCOMPANIMENT.— "Maryland, My Maryland." be played softly white the two following stanzas are recited. The speaker and accompanist shoufd practice, that the music and recitation may be properly timed.) YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 141 =£ ■* — — =-« — F- S=:: a=E -5^: m r Give thanks to God, That we are one ; He withholds the rod, Our strife is done ; k One flag alone shall o'er us wave, -r- One Country, or for each a The new rosette Of Blue and Gray, With love's tears wet, Is worn to-day. grave. 142 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. THE EXCELLENT MAN. THEY gave me advice and plenty of praise, Promised to help me in various ways ; Said that I only should " wait a while," And offered their pat'ronage with a smile. But with all their honor and approbation, I should, long ago, have died of starvation, If an excellent man, with a resolute heart, Hadn't come forward to take my part. Good fellow ! he got me the food I ate : His kindness and care I shall never forget ; Yet I cannot embrace him, though other folks can, For I myself am that excellent man. Heine. CIVIL WAR. (Dramatic and pathetic.) " "TT^v IFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot Y\^ Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette ; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on his breast like an amulet ! ' ' "Ah, captain ! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, There's music around when my barrel's in tune!" Crack ! went the rifle, the messenger sped, And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon. " Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes and snatch From your victim some trinket to hansel first blood ; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!" "Oh, captain! I staggered and sunk on my track, When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette, For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet. "But I snatched off the trinket, — this locket of gold; An inch from the centre my lead broke its way, Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, Of a beautiful lady in bridal array." " Ha ! rifleman, fling me the locket ! — 'tis she,. My brother's young bride, — and the fallen dragoon Was her husband — Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's- decree, We must bury him there, by the light of the moon ! " But hark ! the far bugles their warnings unite ;; War is a virtue, — weakness a sin; There' s a lurking and loping around us to-night; — Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in ! " THE FOLLY OF PRIDE. TAKE some quiet, sober moment of life, and add together the two ideas of pride and of man ; behold him, a creature of a span high, stalking through infinite space in. all the grandeur of littleness. Perched on a little speck of the universe, every wind of heaven strikes into his blood the coldness of death ; his soul fleets from his body, like mel- ody from the string ; day and night, as dust on the wheel, he is rolled along the heavens, through*, a labyrinth of worlds, and all the systems and creations of God are flaming above and beneath. Is this a creature to revel in his greatness? Is this a creature to make to himself a crown of glory, to deny his own flesh and blood, and to mock at his fellow, sprung from that dust to- which they both will soon return? Does the proud man not err? Does he not suffer ? Does- he not die? When he reasons, is he never stopped by difficulties ? When he acts, is he never tempted by pleasures? When he lives, is he free from pain ? When he dies, can he escape from the common grave? Pride is not the heritage of man ; humility should dwell with frailty, and atone for ignorance, error and, imperfection. Rev. Sydney Smith. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 143 THE SONG OF MINA'S SOLDIERS. "T "TTE heard thy name, O Mina ! \\l Far through our hills it rang ; A sound more strong than tempests, More keen than armor's clang. The peasant left his vintage, The shepherd grasped the spear — We heard thy name, O Mina ! The mountain bands are here. As eagles to the day-spring, As torrents to the sea, From every dark sierra So rushed our hearts to thee. Thy spirit is our banner, Thine eye our beacon-sign. Thy name our trumpet, Mina ! The mountain bands are thine. Mrs. Hemans. HIGHLAND WAR-SONG. PIBROCH* of Donuil Dhu, pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, summon Clan- Conuil Come away, come away, hark to the summons ! Come in your war array, gentles and commons ! Come from deep glen, and from mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon are at Inverlochy ; Come every hill -plaid and true heart that wears one, Come every steel-blade, and strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, the flock without shelter ; Leave the corpse uninterred, the bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer, leave nets and barges ; Come with your flighting gear, broadswords and targes. * A pibroch ( pronounced pi'brok) is a martial air played with the bagpipe. Donuil, pronounced Don'nil. Come as the winds come, when forests are rended ; Come as the waves come, when navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come, faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page and groom, tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come ; see how they gather ! Wide waves the eagle-plume, blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, forward each man set ! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, knell for the onset ! Sir Walter Scott. A BATTLE-SONG FOR FREEDOM. MEN of action ! men of might ! Stern defenders of the right ! Are you girded for the fight ? Have you marked and trenched the ground, Where the din of arms must sound. Ere the victor can be crowned ? Have you guarded well the coast ? Have you marshaled all your host ? Standeth each man at his post ? Have you counted up the cost ? What is gained and what is lost, When the foe your lines have crost ? Gained — the infamy of fame. Gained — a dastard's spotted name. Gained — eternity of shame. Lost — desert of manly worth. Lost — the right you had by birth. Lost — lost ! — freedom for the earth. Freemen, up ! The foe is nearing ! Haughty banners high uprearing — Lo, their serried ranks appearing ! Freemen, on ! The drums are beating ! Will you shrink from such a meeting ? Forward ! Give them hero greeting ! 144 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. From your hearths, and homes, and altars, Backward hurl your proud assaulters, He is not a man that falters. Hush ! The hour of fate is nigh. On the help of God rely ! Forward ! We will do or die ! G. Hamilton. SONG OF MARION'S MEN. OUR band is few, but true and tried,— our leader frank and bold, The British soldier trembles when Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good green wood, our tent the cypress tree ; We know the forest round us as seamen know the sea. We know its walls of thorny vines, its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery that little dread us near ! On them shall light, at midnight, a strange and sudden fear; When, waking to their tents on fire, they grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us are beat to earth again ; And they who fly in terror deem a mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands upon the hollow wind. Well knows the fair and friendly moon the band that Marion leads — The glitter of their rifles, the scampering of their steeds. 'J is life to guide the fiery barb across the moon- lit plain ; 'Tis life to feel the night-wind that lifts his toss- ing mane. A moment in the British camp — a moment — and away, Back to the pathless forest before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee, grave men with hoary hairs : Their hearts are all with Marion, for Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band with kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, and tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, and lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton forever from our shore. Bryant. AMERICA'S GIFTS TO EUROPE. AMERICA has furnished to Europe proof of the fact that popular institutions, founded on equality and the principle of repre- sentation, are capable of maintaining govern- ments, able to secure the rights of person, property and reputation. America has proved that it is practicable to elevate the mass of man- kind — that portion which in Europe is called the laboring or lower class — to raise them to self- respect, to make them competent to act a part in the great right and great duty of self-govern- ment ; and she has proved that this may be done by education and the diffusion of knowledge. She holds out an example, a thousand times more encouraging than ever was presented before, to those nine-tenths of the human race who are born without hereditary fortune or hereditary rank. America has furnished to the world the charac- ter of Washington ; and if our American institu- tions had done nothing else, that alone would have entitled them to the respect of mankind. Washington ! ' ' First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen," Washing- ton is all our own ! The enthusiastic veneration and regard in which the people of the United States hold him, prove them to be worthy of such a countryman, while his reputation abroad reflects the highest honor on his country. I would cheerfully put the question to-day to the intelligence of Europe and the world, What character of the century, upon the whole, stands YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 145 out, in the relief of history, most pure, most respectable, most sublime ? and I doubt not that, by a suffrage approaching to unanimity, the an- swer would be, Washington ! Webster. ENOCH ARDEN AT THE WINDOW. BUT Enoch yearned to see her face again ; " If I might look on her sweet face again And know that she is happy. ' ' So the thought Haunted and harassed him and drove him forth At evening when the dull November day Was growing duller twilight, to the hill. There he sat down gazing on all below : There did a thousand memories roll upon him Unspeakable for sadness. By and by The ruddy square of comfortable light, Far-blazing from the rear of Philip's house, Allured him, as the beacon-blaze allures The bird of passage, till he madly strike Against it, and beats out his weary life. For Philip's dwelling fronted on the street, The latest house to landward ; but behind, With one small gate that opened on the waste, Flourished a little garden square and walled : And in it throve an ancient evergreen, A yew-tree, and all around it ran a walk Of shingle, and a walk divided it : But Enoch shunned the middle walk and stole Up by the wall, behind the yew ; and thence That which he better might have shunned, if griefs Like his have worse or better, Enoch saw. For cups and silver on the burnished board Sparkled and shone ; so genial was the hearth ; And on the right hand of the hearth he saw Philip, the slighted suitor of old times, Stout, rosy, with his babe across his knees And o'er her second father stoopt a girl, A later but a loftier Annie Lee, Fair-haired and tall, and from her lifted hand Dangled a length of ribbon and a ring To tempt the babe, who reared his creasy arms, Caught at and ever missed it, and they laughed : And on the left hand of the hearth he saw 10 The mother glancing often at her babe, But turning now and then to speak with him, Her son, who stood beside her tall and strong, And saying that which pleased him, for he smiled. Now when the dead man come to life beheld His wife his wife no more, and saw the babe Hers, yet not his, upon the father's knee, And all the warmth, the peace, the happiness, And his own children tall and beautiful And him, that other, reigning in his place, Lord of his rights and of his children's love, — Then he, though Miriam Lane had told him all, Because things seen are mightier than things heard, Staggered and shook, holding the branch, and feared To send abroad a shrill and terrible cry, Which in one moment, like the blast of doom, Would shatter all the happiness of the hearth. He therefore turning softly like a thief, Lest the harsh shingle should grate underfoot, And feeling all along the garden-wall, Lest he should swoon and tumble and be found, Crept to the gate, and opened it, and closed, As lightly as a sick man's chamber- door, Behind him, and came out upon the waste. And there he would have knelt, but that his knees Were feeble, so that falling prone he dug His fingers into the wet earth, and prayed. Alfred Tennyson. SALUTATORY ADDRESS. (The following speech should be delivered by a droll boy who can keep his face straight while others do the laughing. He should act out the spirit of the piece with appropriate gestures. ) I AM requested to open our performances by a salutatory address. It needs but one honest Saxon word for that — one homely, pertinent word ; but before I utter a pertinent word, allow me, like other great speakers, to indulge in a few //^pertinent words. And first, let me ask if there is a critic among us ; for this is a sort of family gathering. We 146 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. allow no critics ! No reporters ! No inter- viewers ! (Do I see a boy taking notes? Put him out. No ! It's a false alarm, I believe.) Pardon me if, with the help of my mother's eye-glass {lifts eye-glasses'), I look round on your phys — phys — physiognomies. (That's the word, I'm very certain, for I practiced on it a good half hour. ) Without flattery I say it, I like your countenances — with one exception. A critic ! If there is anything I detest it is a critic. One who cannot bear a little nonsense, and who shakes his head at a little salutary (not salutatory) fun. Salutary fun? Did anybody hiss ? Point him out. {Speaker folds his arms, advances, fixes his eyes on some one in the audi- ence, and shakes his fist at him. ) Yes, sir, I said salutary fun. Salutary ! You needn't put on such a grave look. Salutary ! You needn't sneer at that ep — ep — epithet. (Yes, I'm quite positive that's the word I was drilled on. Epi—thet/ That's it.) But I was speaking of critics. If there is any one of that tribe in this assembly — any dear friend of Caesar — I mean any stupid friend of Pompey, no, of pomposity — to him I say — no, to you I say — Go mark him well ; for him no minstrel raptures swell ; despite his titles, power and pelf, the wretch (rather rough on him, that!) — the wretch, concentred all in self, living shall forfeit fair renown, and, doubly dying, shall go down to the vile dust from whence he sprung, unwept, unhonored, and unsung. There ! If any member of Congress could do it better, bring him on. Excuse me if I sop my brow. ( Wiping it with handkerchief. ) But enough ! , Let us now put by the cap and bells. Enough of nonsense ! As a great phil- osopher, who had been frolicking, once said : "Hush! Let us be grave! Here comes a fool." Nothing personal, sir, in that ! Let us be grave. And so friends, relatives, ladies, and gentle- men, I shall conclude by uttering from an over- flowing heart that one word to which I alluded at the beginning — that one pertinent Saxon j word; that is — {flourishes his hand as if about to litter it; then suddenly puts his hand to his forehead as if trying to remember. ) Forgotten ? Confusion ! Not a big word, either ! Not half as big as some I have spoken ! What — where — when — whence — what Ills be- come of it? Must I break down, after all? Must I retire in disgrace from public life U- Never ! I have it. Here it is ! Here it is irt big capitals : WELCOME ! YOU PUT NO FLOWERS ON MY PAPA'S GRAVE. ( Pathetic. Suited to Decoration Day occasions. ) "T TTTH sable -draped banners, and slow j^[_ measured tread, The flower-laden ranks pass the gates of the dead ; And seeking each mound where a comrade's form- rests, Leave tear-bedewed garlands to bloom on his breast. Ended at last is the labor of love ; Once more through the gateway the saddened lines move — A wailing of anguish, a sobbing of grief, Falls low on the ear of the battle-scarred chief ; Close crouched by the portals, a sunny-haired child Besought him in accents with grief rendered wild : " Oh ! sir, he was good, and they say he died. brave — Why ! why ! did you pass by my dear papa's; grave ? I know he was poor, but as kind and as true As ever marched into the battle with you — His grave is so humble, no stone marks the spot, You may not have seen it. Oh, say you did not ! For my poor heart will break if you knew he was there, And thought him too lowly your offerings to share. Pie didn't die lowly — he poured his heart's blood, In rich crimson streams, from the top-crowning: sod YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 147 Of the breastworks which stood in front of the fight— And died shouting, ' Onward ! for God and the right!' O'er all his dead comrades your bright garlands wave, But you haven't put one on my papa's grave. If mamma were here — but she lies by his side, Her wearied heart broke when our dear papa died." " Battalion ! file left! countermarch!" cried the chief, "This young orphan' d maid hath full cause for her grief. ' ' Then up in his arms from the hot, dusty street, He lifted the maiden, while in through the gate The long line repasses, and many an eye Pays fresh tribute of tears to the lone orphan's sigh. "This way, it is — here, sir — right under this tree ; They lie close together, with just room for me. ' ' " Halt ! Cover with roses each lowly green mound — A love pure as this makes these graves hallowed ground. ' ' " Oh ! thank you, kind sir ! I ne'er can repay The kindness you've shown little Daisy to-day ; But I'll pray for you here, each day while I live, 'Tis all that a poor soldier's orphan can give. I shall see papa soon, and dear mamma too — I dreamed so last night, and I know 'twill come true ; And they will both bless you, I know, when I say How you folded your arms round their dear one to-day — How you cheered her sad heart, and soothed it to rest, And hushed its wild throbs on your strong, noble breast ; And when the kind angels shall call you to come, We'll welcome you there to our beautiful home, Where death never comes, his black banners to wave, And the beautiful flowers ne'er weep o'er a grave." C. E. L. Holmes. TWO LITTLE KITTENS. (Suited to a girl of twelve years.) TWO little kittens, one stormy night, Began to quarrel and then to fight ; One had a mouse the other had none, And that was the way the quarrel begun. "Til have that mouse," said the biggest cat. " You' 11 have that mouse, we'll see about that." " I will have that mouse," said the eldest son. "You shan't have that mouse," said the little one. I told you before 'twas a stormy night When these two little kittens began to fight ; The old woman seized her sweeping-broom And swept the two kittens right out of the room. The ground was covered with frost and snow, And the two little kittens had nowhere to go, So they laid them down on the mat at the door,. While the old woman finished sweeping the floor. Then they both crept in, as quiet as mice, All wet with snow and cold as ice ; For they found it was better, that stormy night,, To lie down and sleep, than to quarrel and fight. I BEAUTY, WIT AND GOLD. N a bower a widow dwelt ; At her feet three suitors knelt ; Each adored the widow much, Each essayed her heart to touch ; One had wit, and one had gold, And one was cast in beauty's mould ; Guess which was it won the prize, Purse, or tongue, or handsome eyes ? First appeared the handsome man, Proudly peeping o'er her fan ; Red his lips, and white his skin, — Could such beauty fail to win ? Then stepped forth the man of gold ; Cash he counted, coin he told, Wealth the burden of his tale, — Could such golden projects fail ? Then the man of wit and sense Wooed her with his eloquence. 148 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Now she blushed, she knew not why ; Now a tear was in her eye ; Then she smiled, to hear him speak ; Then the tear was on her cheek ; Beauty, vanish ! Gold, depart / Wit has won the widow's heart ! Moore. HOW TWO MEN SPOKE THE SAME WORDS. (The words of the first traveler should be delivered in a languid, drawling tone ; those of the second with great animation and enthusiasm.) SPEAKER, hark here ! How can you hope to reach My heart if yours is languid, and your speech Tame and without a sympathetic tone, Showing the wr ::ds, in feeling, are your own ? A man returned f ae pleasant afternoon From a long wa.k amid the wealth of June, And all the folks at home drew near to learn What he might have to say at his return. Said they, ' ' You've been more fortunate than we : Tell us, where have you been ? What did you see?" 1 ' Not much, ' ' said he, ' ' in two long, stupid hours : — Blue skies, hills, plains, streams, trees and birds and flowers. ' ' No pulse of feeling throbbed in what he said ; Each word fell flat, emotionless and dead ; And all his hearers were dejected so, They said, " How dull ! We're glad we did not go." Another man, that pleasant afternoon, Took that same walk, amid the wealth of June ; To the same house came back, and was surrounded By the same folks, who the same words pro- pounded. Said they, " You' ve been more fortunate than we : Tell us, where have you been ? What did you see ?' ' " What did I see? Much, much in two swift hours : — Blue skies, hills, plains, streams, trees and birds and flowers." Each word came forth with such a gush of feeling You saw the sky its tender blue revealing, Trees waving in the fragrant summer air, Streams flashing in the sunshine, meadows fair, Hills purple in the distance, twittering birds, Flowers on the turf, green slopes and lowing herds — All sounds and sights that thrill the attentive soul And lift it to the great, pervading whole ; — So that his hearers, while they nearer drew, Cried, "Beautiful! We wish we'd been with you ! ' ' Speaker, hark here ! Would you my heart impel, First must your own feel the awakening spell ; Hope not to make your hearer weep or smile If apathy is freezing you the while. No mimic fervor will attention gain ; The heart must speak, or all your toil is vain. Sargeant. SYMPATHY. A KNIGHT and a lady once met in a grove, While each was in quest of a fugitive love ; A river ran mournfully murmuring by, And they wept in its waters for sympathy. " O, never was knight such a sorrow that bore ! ' ' "O, never was maid so deserted before !" "From life and its woes let us instantly fly, And jump in together for company. ' ' They searched for an eddy that suited the deed, But here was a bramble, and there was a weed ; "How tiresome it is!" said the maid, with a sigh; So they sat down to rest them in company. They gazed on each other, the maid and the knight ; And they did not seem very averse to the sight : "One mournful embrace," said the youth, "ere we die !" So, kissing and crying, kept company. " O, had I but wooed such an angel as you !" " O, had but my swain been one quarter as true ! ' ' YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 149 "To miss such r-erfection how blinded was I !" Sure, now they were excellent company. At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear : ' The weather is cold for a watery bier. When the summer returns we may easily die ; Till then let us sorrow in company. ' ' Bishop Heber. THE HAPPY MILLER. (This little piece has been made quite entertaining at parlor exhibitions by the use of a rattle in the de- livery of the second and fourth lines of each stanza, but the speaker must be careful not to overdo the rattle. ) ROBIN the Miller, he kept a mill, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! The noise of the hopper it never was still, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! A perpetual clatter that, you'd have thought, Was more than enough to drive him distraught. Robin the Miller, he heeded it not, Rattle -tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! Though he was not dull of his hearing, I wot, Rattle -tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! The neighbors wondered what was the matter With Robin, to make him enjoy such a clatter. Robin the Miller, he once had a wife ; Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! After ten years of marriage she quitted this life, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! And Robin he was not a miller then, But a farmer employing his forty men. But Robin, when of his wife bereft, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! Felt life had little of pleasure left, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! Most wretched then was his lonely case, His home it was such a quiet place. He grew more pale and thin each day, Rattle -tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! They feared that he would waste away, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! Said they, " How odd he mourns so !" She Was known a terrible scold to be. At length poor Robin he took the mill, Rattle-tattle, rattle -tattle, tattle ! Where the noise of the hopper it never is still, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! And Robin, recovering quiet, at length, Began to regain his health and strength. And this is why the endless noise — Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! — Old Robin, the Miller, he so enjoys. Rattle-tattle, rattle -tattle, tattle ! For while the mill goes he does not fret, But fancies his wife is living yet. Hood, THE RIVAL SPEAKERS. Enter Thomas, followed by Samuel, a much smaller boy. Thomas {turning to Samuel). What do you want here ? Samuel. I want to speak my piece, to be sure. T. Well, you'll be sure to wait; 'tis my turn now. S. No, it isn't, my learn'ed friend; excuse me, but my turn came before that fellow's who spoke last — him whose voice " was still for open, war. ' ' T. It's your own fault if you lost your turn.. Go. S. Well, that's cool — as cool as an iced cucum- ber. Can't you ask some other favor, Mr. Trotter? T. Yes. Hold your tongue. S. Can't do it. Am bound to let off my speech : here goes : ' ' My name is Norval ; on the Grampian hills—" T. {in a louder tone). "Friends, Romans, countrymen ! ' ' S. "Greeks, Regicides, and fellow-sojers ! " T. ' ' Lend me your ears. ' ' S. Don't do it; he has enough of his own. T. "I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him." S. {mimic gestures). I come to speak my piece, and I'll do it, Caesar or no Caesar : " My name is Norval " — 150 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. T. Sam Sly, stop your fooling, or I'll put you off the stage. S. Don't, Tom; you'll joggle my piece all out of me. T Then keep still till I get through : ' ' Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. ' ' S. I say, Tommy, whose calf, have you been trying to imitate? T. " The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft inter'red with their bones ; So let it be with Caesar. ' ' (Again interrupted by Sam's mimicking his gestures. ) Now, Sam, I tell you to stop your monkey- shines ; if you don't I'll make you. S. Try it on. Oh, you needn't think you can bully me because you wear higher heeled shoes than I do. T. Nothing but your size, sir, Saves you from a flogging. S. Well, that is a queer coincidence ; for nothing but your size saves you from the same. {To the audienec.) What can be done with 'him? He's too big to be whipped, and he isn't big enough to behave himself. Now all keep still while I try it again : " My name is Norval — " T. "I come to bury Caesar — ' ' S. How many more times are you going to do it ? A nice man you'd be for an undertaker. T. Sam, I'm for peace, but if you — S. You're for peace? I'm for piece, too, but for my piece, net yours. As I was saying, "My name is — " T. ' ' Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest (For Brutus is an honorable man — So are they all, all honorable men), Come I to speak at Caesar's funeral." S. Caesar is played out I tell you. " My name is—" T. ' l He was my friend, faithful and just to me ; But Brutus says he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honorable man." S. No such thing ! Brutus was a brutal fellow. T. Come, Sammy, let me finish my piece and then you can have the whole platform to yourself. S. You're very kind, Mr. Trotter; kind as the Irishman who couldn't live peaceably with his wife, and so they agreed to divide the house between them. " Biddy," said he, " you'll just take the outside of the house, and I'll kape the inside." T. ( To the audiejtce. ) You see it is useless for me to attempt to proceed, so I trust you will excuse me. (Exit.) S. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you'll excuse him. He means well enough, but he's lacking here (touching head). He might make a decent crier or auctioneer, but when it comes to oratory — to playing the part of a Marc An- tony — well, modesty forbids me to say more, except as the coast is now clear, I will proceed with my part : ' ' My name is Norval ; on the Grampian hills My father feeds his flocks — a frugal swain — Whose — whose — whose — ' ' (Aside to a boy near). What is it? "A frugal swain, whose — whose — " There ! if I'm not stuck already ! So much for that fellow's attempt to bury Caesar ! He buried my memory instead, and your patience, too, I fear. ' ' A frugal swain — whose — whose — " I must give it up ! (Exit with hands or rr face. ) HANDY ANDY AND THE SQUIRE. Squire. It is time for that stupid fellow to be back from the post-office. The chances are ten to one he has made some exasperating blunder. Ah! here he comes. (Enter Andy.) Well, Andy, what luck ? Andy. I've been to the post-office, your honor. S. And what did you find ? A. I found a most impident fellow indade, bad luck to him ! Said I — as dacent like as any gentleman — says I, " I want a letter, sir, if you plaze." "And who do you want it for?" says the ill-mannered spalpeen. "What's that to you?" says I. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 151 5. You incredible blockhead ! What did the postmaster say to that ? A. He laughed at me, your honor, and said he could not 'tell what letter to give me unless I told him the direction. S. Well, did you give him the direction ? A. "The directions I got," says I, "was to get a letter here — that's the direction." "Who gave you those directions?" says he. "The master," says I. "And who's your master?" says he. "What consarn is that of yours?" •says I. S. Did he break your head then ? or what did lie do? A. Said he, "Why, you stupid rascal, if you don't tell me his name, how can I give you his letter?" "You could give it if you liked," said I, "but you're fond of axin impident questions, bekase you think I'm simple." "Go along out o' this," says he ; your master must be as great a goose as yourself to send such a messenger. ' ' S. Well, after that, how did you save my honor, Andy ? A. Says I to the fellow, "Bad luck to your impudence ; is it Squire Egan you dare say goose to?" "Oh, Squire Egan's your master, then,?" says he. "Yes," says I, "have you anything to say agin it ?' ' S. Well, well, he gave you the letter, then, did he ? A. No, he didn't; but after he found out I was your honor's servant, "Here's a letter for the squire, ' ' says he ; " you are to pay me eleven pence postage. ' ' S. Well, Andy, you paid it, didn't you, and got the letter ? A. Wait a bit, your honor. " What would I pay eleven pence for?" says I. " For postage," says he. "You old chate," says I, "didn't I see you give Mr. Durfy a letter for fourpence this minute, and a bigger letter than that ? And now you want me to pay eleven pence for that jcrap of a thing ? Do you think I'm a fool ?" says I. "Here's fourpence for you — and give me the letter." S. I wonder he did not break your skull and try to let some light into it. A. "Go, along, you stupid thafe," says he; and all bekase I wouldn't let him chate your honor. S. Well, I can't hear any more of your non- sense. Give me the letter, Andy. A. I haven't it, sir. The old chate wouldn't give it to me. He wanted me to pay eleven pence for it, when he had just sold one twice the size before my face for a fourpence. S. You impenetrable blockhead, you'll pro- voke me to knock you flat some day. Ride back for your life, you vagabond, and pay whatever he asks and get me the letter. A. I tell you, your honor, he was sellin' them before my face for fourpence apiece. S. Go back, you scoundrel, or I'll horsewhip you; and if you're longer than an hour, I'll have you ducked in the horsepond ! A. Is this the thanks I get for — {Exit.) S. {Threatening him.) Go, you blockhead of blockheads ! Was there ever such a fellow who had such a knack of doing everything the wrong way ? TAKE CARE OF THE MINUTES. TAKE care of the minutes, they are price- less, you know ; Will you value them less that so quickly they go ? " It is but a minute," the trifler will say ; But the minutes make hours, and hours make the day. The gold-dust of time are these minutes so small ; Will you lose even one? why not treasure them all? As each broken petal disfigures the flower, So each wasted minute despoils the full hour. Take care of the minutes ; they come and are gone; Yet in each there is space for some good to be done. Our time is a talent we hold from above : May each hour leave us richer in wisdom and love ! 152 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. THE IMAGINARY SICK MAN. Enter Bukxy from left, and Servant from right. BURLEY. Can I see your master ? Servant. Master can't see anybody, sir, except the doctor. Bur. Why, what's the matter? Ser. Why, you see, ever since he had that large fortune left him, master has a fancy that he has all sorts of complaints on him, and that he isn't long for this world. Bur. Poor Fidget ! Has such been the effect of his good fortune ? Well, tell him that an old friend whom he hasn't seen for ten years wishes to see him. Ser. It's no use, sir. Unless you be a doctor of some sort, he'll shut the door on you. Bur. {Aside. ) A doctor of some sort ! Let me see. I surely am a sort of a doctor. Didn't I physic Prince Sackatoo, the black steward on board the Thunder Cloud, for an attack of colic ? And haven't I a vial of nux vom'iea, that my good aunt gave me ? To be sure I am a sort of a doctor ! {Aloud.') Tell your master that Doctor Bughumm, late physician to his highness Prince Sackatoo, has called to see him. Ser. Ay, sir; he'll see Doctor Bughumm, and no mistake. {Exit to right. ) Bur. Now, with the knob of my cane to my nose, thus, I think I may pass muster. {Enter Fidget from right. ) Sir, your obedient servant. I have the honor of addressing Mr. Frederic Fid- get, I believe. Fidget. Why, Burly, is that you ? Bur. Sir ! Fidg. Excuse me, doctor, but, really, your resemblance to an old friend of mine is very re- markable. Bur. Very probable, sir ; I am often mistaken for other people. But look at me well, sir, and tell me what age you take me to be. Fidg. Well, sir, I should think you might be about twenty-two or twenty-three. Bur. Ha, ha ! Sir, I was ninety-five last Christmas. Fidg. Ninety-five ? Impossible ! Bur. It's as true, sir, as that you are a sick man. Why, sir, you see in me one of the won- derful effects of my art — of my system of prac- tice. Fidg. Upon my word, you are a very young- looking man for ninety-five. Bur. Sir, I am a traveling physician, and pass from city to city, from country to country, in search of distinguished subjects, for whose benefit I may put in practice some of the wonderful secrets I have discovered in medicine. Sir, I disdain to trouble myself with ordinary mala- dies — with common fevers, colds, and such bagatelles. I seek such maladies as are pro- nounced incurable by other physicians : a good desperate case of cholera, or of dropsy — a good plague — a good hopeless case of fever or inflam- mation. It is such cases that I seek, and in such that I triumph ; and I only wish, sir, that you had a complication of all these maladies upon you, and were given over by all other physicians, in order that I might show you the excellence of my remedies, and do you a service. ( Crosses to right. ) Fidg. {from left). Really, sir, I am much obliged for this visit, for I am in a bad way, and the doctors give me no relief. Bur. Sir, let me feel your pulse. {Feels his pulse. ) Don't be alarmed, sir. No matter how it beats — the worse the better. Ah ? this pulse doesn't yet know who has got hold of it. It is a bad pulse — a very bad pulse. Fidg. I was sure of it, doctor, and yet there are those who make light of it. Bur. Who attends you now? Fidg. Doctor Purjum. Bur. His name isn't on my tablets in the list of great physicians. What does he say ails you? Fidg. He says my liver is affected ; others say, my spleen. Bur. They are all ignoramuses ! The trouble is in your lungs. Fidg. {very loud). In my lungs ? Bur. Yes, allow me. ( Taps him on the breast.) Don't you feel a sort of tenderness — a pain there ? YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 153 Fidg. Well, doctor, I don't perceive that I do. Bur. Is it possible you don't? {Gives him something of a thump. ) Fidg. ! now I do, doctor. You almost doubled me up. Bur. I knew it was the lungs ! Fidg. Well, doctor, I don't know but what you are right. Is there any other inquiry ? Bur. Yes. What are your symptoms ? Fidg. An occasional head -ache. Bur. Exactly. The lungs. Fidg. I have now and then a sort of mist before my eyes. Bur. All right. The lungs. Fidg. I have a sort of a feeling at my heart. Bur. Of course you have. The lungs, I say. Fidg. Sometimes I have a lassitude in all my limbs. Bur. Well and good. The lungs again. Fidg. And sometimes I have a sort of colicky pain hereabouts. Bur. No doubt of it. The lungs. You have an appetite for what you eat ? Fidg. Yes, doctor. Bur. The lungs. You don't object to a little wine? Fidg. Not at all, doctor. Bur. The lungs. You are a little drowsy after eating, and are glad of a nap ? Fidg. Yes, doctor. Bur. The lungs, the lungs, I tell you ! What does your physician order for you by way of nourishment ? Fidg. He prescribes a plain porridge. Bur. The ignoramus ! ( Crosses and re- crosses. ) Fidg. Some chicken. Bur. The ignoramus ! Fidg. Now and then, some veal. Bur. The ignoramus ! Fidg. Boiled meats, occasionally. Bur. The ignoramus ! Fidg. Fresh eggs. Bur. The ignoramus ! Fidg. And at night some stewed prunes, to keep my bowels in good order. Bur. The ignoramus ! Fidg. And, above all, if I take wine, I must take it well diluted with water. Bur. Ignorans 1 ', ignoran 'dor , ignorantis' simus ! Your physician is a blockhead ! Throw his physic to the dogs ! Throw your wine out of of the window. Eat coarse bread, vegetables, fruits — as much as you want. Get a trotting- horse. Take plenty of exercise. Fidg. Exercise. Dear doctor, I haven't stirred out of the house for a month. It would be the death of me ! Bur. Allow me to be the judge of that. Sir, I haven't been physician-in-chief to Prince Sackatoo for nothing. I do not mean, sir, that you should do all these things until I have forti- fied you with some of my medicines. {Takes out vial of homoeopathic medicines. ) Behold those little glob'ules ! Fidg. Shall I take them all at a dose ? Bur. All ? Three of them, my dear sir, put under a mountain, would work it from its base ! (Gives hi?n three. ) Swallow them. Don't be afraid ! Should they prove too powerful, I have an antidote at hand. Fidg. (Swallows them.) There is nothing unpleasant in the taste. Bur. No; nor in the effect, you'll find. Don't you begin to feel a thrill, as it were — a sort of expansion — a sort of — eh? — that you haven't felt before ? (Slaps him on back. ) Fidg. O ! my dear doctor, that was rather hard ! But, really, I do begin to feel a change — - a sort of — Bur. Exactly. You feel stronger. Fidg. I do, indeed. Bur. More wide awake ? Fidg. I do. Bur. Let me see you walk. Fidg. ( Walks briskly across stage. ) There ! I haven't walked like that these six weeks. Bur. To he sure you haven't ! Now for the trotting-horse ! Come with me. I will accom- pany you. Come on. Fidg. Doctor, the effect is wonderful ! Ven- erable man ! Ninety-five, did you say ? 154 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Bur. Ninety-five and a fraction. — But wait till you see me on horseback ! (Exeunt, arm in arm, left.) Moliere. KATE KETCHEM. ( Parody on Maud Muller. ) KATE Ketchem, on a winter's night, Went to a party, dressed in white. Her chignon in a net of gold Was about as large as they ever sold. Gayly she went because her ' ' pap Was supposed to be a rich old chap. But when by chance her glances fell On a friend who lately had married well, Her spirits sunk, and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast — A wish she wouldn't have made known, To have an establishment of her own. Tom Fudge came slowly through the throng, With chestnut hair, worn pretty long. He saw Kate Ketcham in the crowd, And, knowing her slightly, stopped and bowed. Then asked her to give him a single flower, Saying he'd think it a priceless dower. Out from those with which she was decked She took the poorest she could select, And blushed as she gave it, looking down To call attention to her gown. *' Thanks," said Fudge, as he thought how dear Flowers must be at this time of year. Then several charming remarks he made, Asked if she sang, or danced, or played ; And being exhausted, inquired whether She thought it was going to be pleasant weather. And Kate displayed her jewelry, And dropped her lashes becomingly ; And listened with no attempt to disguise The admiration in her eyes. At last, like one who has nothing to say, He turned around and walked away. Kate Ketchem smiled, and said "You bet I'll catch that Fudge and his money yet. " He's rich enough to keep me in clothes, And I think I could manage him if I chose. ' ' He could aid my father as well as not, And buy my brother a splendid yacht. ' ' My mother for money should never fret, And all that it cried for the baby should get ; "And after that, with what he could spare, I'd make a show at a charity fair." Tom Fudge looked back as he crossed the sill, And saw Kate Ketchem standing still. "A girl more suited to my mind It isn't an easy thing to find ; "And everything that she has to wear Proves her as rich as she is fair. " Would she were mine, and that I to-day Had the old man's cash my debts to pay ; " No creditors with a long account, No tradesmen waiting ' that little amount ; ' ' ' But all my scores paid up when due By a father as rich as any Jew ! ' ' But he thought of her brother, not worth a straw, And her mother, that would be his, in law ; So, undecided, he walked along, And Kate was left alone in the throng. But a lawyer smiled, when he sought by stealth, To ascertain old Ketchem' s wealth ; And as for Kate, she schemed and planned Till one of the dancers claimed her hand. He married her for her father's cash — She married him to cut a dash. But as to paying his debts, do you know The father couldn't see it so ; And at hints for help Kate's hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise. And when Tom thought of the way he had wed, He longed for a single life instead, YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 155 And closed his eyes in a sulky mood ^Regretting the days of his bachelorhood; And said in a sort of reckless vein, " I'd like to see her catch me again, ■' ' If I were free as on that night I saw Kate Ketchem dressed in white ! " She wedded him to be rich and gay ; But husband and children didn't pay. He wasn't the prize she hoped to draw, And wouldn't live with his mother-in-law. And oft when she had to coax and pout In order to get him to take her out, She thought how very attentive and bright He seemed at the party that winter's night. Of his laugh, as soft as a breeze of the south, ('Twas now on the other side of his mouth :) How he praised her dress and gems in his talk, As he took a careful account of stock. 'Sometimes she hated the very walls — Hated her friends, her dinners, and calls: Till her weak affections, to hatred turned, Like a dying tallow candle burned. And for him who sat there, her peace to mar, Smoking his everlasting segar — He wasn't the man she thought she saw, And grief was duty, and hate was law. So she took up her burden with a groan, Saying only, " I might have known ! " Alas for Kate ! and alas for Fudge ! Though I do not owe them any grudge ; And alas for any that find to their shame That two can play at their little game ! For of all hard things to bear and grin, The hardest is knowing you're taken in. Ah well ! as a general thing we fret About the one we didn't get ; But I think we needn't make a fuss If the one we don't want didn't get us. Phcebe Cary. ROME AND CARTHAGE. ROME and Carthage ! — behold them draw- ing near for the struggle that is to shake the world ! Carthage, the metropolis of Africa, is the mistress of oceans, of kingdoms, and of nations ; a magnificent city, burthened with opulence, radiant with the strange arts and trophies of the East. She is at the acme of her civilization. She can mount no higher. Any change now must be a decline. Rome is com- paratively poor. She has seized all within her grasp, but rather from the lust of conquest than to fill her own coffers. She is demi-barbar- ous, and has her education and her fortune both to make. All is before her, nothing be- hind. For a time these two nations exist in distinct view of each other. The one reposes in the noontide of her splendor ; the other waxes strong in the shade. But, little by little, air and space are wanting to each, for the develop- ment of each. Rome begins to systematically perplex Carthage, and Carthage is an eyesore to Rome. Seated on opposite banks of the Medi- terranean, the two cities look each other in the face. The sea no longer keeps them apart. Europe and Africa weigh upon each other. Like two clouds surcharged with electricity, they im- pend. With their contact must come the thunder-shock. The catastrophe of this stupendous drama is at hand. What actors are met ! Two races, — that of merchants and mariners, that of laborers and soldiers; two Nations, — the one dominant by gold the other by steel ; two Republics, — the one theocratic, the other aristocratic. Rome and Carthage ! Rome with her army, Carthage with her fleet ; Carthage old, rich, and crafty, — Rome young, poor, and robust ; the past and the future; the spirit of discovery, and the spirit of conquest ; the genius of commerce, the demon of war ; the East and the South on one side, the West and the North on the other ; in short, two worlds, — the civilization of Africa and the civilization of Europe. They measured each other from head to foot. They gather all their forces. Gradually the war kindles. The 156 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. world takes fire. These colossal powers are locked in deadly strife. Carthage has crossed the Alps ; Rome the seas. The two Nations, personified in two men, Hannibal and Scipio, close with each other, wrestle, and grow in- furiate. The duel is desperate. It is a struggle for life. Rome wavers. — She utters that cry of anguish — Hannibal at the gates / But she ral- lies, — collects all her strength for one last, ap- palling effort, — throws herself upon Carthage, and sweeps her from the face of the earth. Victor Hugo. SELLING A COAT; Or, How a Jew Trained a Clerk. (Humorous and suggestive reading.) A STORY is told of a clothing merchant on Chatham street, New York, who kept a very open store and drove a thriving trade, the natural consequence being that he waxed wealthy and indolent. He finally con- cluded to get an assistant to take his place on the sidewalk to " run in " customers, while he him- self would enjoy his otium cum dig within the store. Having advertised for a suitable clerk, he awaited applications, determined to engage none but a good talker who would be sure to promote his interest. Several unsuccessful applicants were dismissed, when a smart looking Americanized Jew came along and applied for the situation. The ' ' boss ' ' was determined not to engage the fellow without proof of his thorough capability and sharpness. Hence the following dialogue : " Look here, young man ! I told you some- dings. I vill gone up de street und valk me back past dis shop yust like I vas coundrymans, and if you can make me buy a coat of you, I vill hire you right away quick. ' ' "All right," said the young man, "go ahead, and if I don't sell you a coat I won't ask the situation. ' ' The proprietor proceeded a short distance up the street, then sauntered back toward the shop, where the young man was on the alert for him. "Hi! look here! Don't you want some clothes to-day ?" " No, I don't vant me nothing," returned the boss. ' ' Step inside and let me show you what an elegant stock we have," said the " spider to the fly, ' ' catching him by the arm, and forcing him into the store. After considerable palaver, the clerk expectant got down a coat, on the merits of which he ex- patiated at length, and finally offered it to " the countryman ' ' at thirty dollars, remarking that it was "dirt cheap." "Dirty tollar? My kracious ! I vouldn't give you dwenty. But I don't vant de coat anyvays. ' ' " You had better take it, my friend ; you don't get a bargain like this every day. ' ' "No; I don't vant it. I gone me out. Good-day. ' ' "Hold on! don't be in such a hurry," an- swered the anxious clerk. ' ' See here, now the boss has been out all day, and I haven't sold a dollar's worth. I want to have something to show when he comes back, so take the coat at twenty-five dollars ; that is just what it cost. I don't make a cent on it ; but take it along." "Young man, don'd I told you three, four, couple of dimes dat I don't vant de coat ?" "Well, take it at twenty dollars; I'll lose money on it, but I want to make one sale any- how before the boss comes in. Take it at twenty dollars." "Veil, I don't vant de coat, but I'll give you fifteen tollar, and not one cent more." "Oh, my friend, I couldn't do it! Why, the coat cost twenty-five ; yet sooner than not make a sale, I'll let you have it for eighteen dollars, and stand the loss. ' ' "No; I don't vant it anyvays. It ain't vurth, no more as fifteen tollar, but I vouldn't give a cent more, so help me kracious." Here the counterfeit rustic turned to depart, pleased to think that he had got the best of the young clerk ; but the individual was equal to the emergency. Knowing that he must sell the. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 157 garment to secure his place, he seized the part- ing boss, saying : " Well, I'll tell you how it is. The man who keeps this store is an uncle of mine, and as he is a mean old cuss, I want to bust him. Here, take the coat at fifteen dollars. ' ' This settled the business. The proprietor saw that this was too valuable a salesman to let slip; and so engaged him at once ; and he may be seen every day standing in front of the shop, urging innocent countrymen to buy clothes which are " yust de fit," at sacrificial prices. RIENZI TO THE ROMAN CONSPIRA- TORS IN 1347, ROMANS ! look round you — on this sacred place There once stood shrines, and gods, and godlike men. What see you now ? — what solitary trace Is left of all that made Rome's glory then? The shrines are sunk, the Sacred Mount bereft Even of its name — and nothing now remains But the deep memory of that glory, left To whet our pangs and aggravate our chains ! But shall this be ? Our sun and sky the same, — Treading the very soil our fathers trod, — What withering curse hath fallen on soul and frame, What visitation hath there come from God, To blast our strength, and rot us into slaves, Here, on our great forefathers' glorious graves? It can not be ! Rise up, ye mighty dead, — If we, the living, are too weak to crush These tyrant priests, that o'er your empire tread, Till all but Romans at Rome's tameness blush ! Happy, Palmyra, in thy desert domes, Where only date-trees sigh, and serpents hiss ! And thou, whose pillars are but silent homes For the stork's brood, superb Per-sep'olis ! Thrice happy both, that your extinguished race Have left no embers — no half-living trace — No slaves to crawl around the once proud spot, Till past renown in present shame's forgot ; While Rome, the queen of all, whose very wrecks, If lone and lifeless through a desert hurled, Would wear more true magnificence than decks The assembled thrones of all the existing world — Rome, Rome alone is haunted, stained, and cursed, Through every spot her princely Tiber laves, By living human things — the deadliest, worst, This earth engenders — tyrants and their slaves ! And we — O, shame ! we, who have pondered o'er The patriot's lesson, and the poet's lay ; Have mounted up the streams of ancient lore, Tracking our country's glories all the way — Even we have tamely, basely kissed the ground, Before that tyrant power, that ghost of her, The world's imperial mistress — sitting crowned And ghastly, on her mouldering sepulcher ! But this is past ! — too long have lordly priests And priestly lords led us, with all our pride Withering about us, — like devoted beasts, Dragged to the shrine, with faded garlands tied. 'Tis o'er — the dawn of our deliverance breaks ! Up from his sleep of centuries awakes The Genius of the old republic, free As first he stood, in chainless majesty, And sends his voice through ages yet to come, Proclaiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal Rome ! Thomas Moore. BLINDNESS. IT would be a dreadful thing to me to lose my sight, to see no more the faces of those I love, nor the sweet blue of heaven, nor the myriad stars that gem the sky, nor the dissolv- ing clouds that pass over it, nor the battling ships upon the sea, nor the mountains with their changing lines of light and shade, nor the love- liness of flowers, nor the burnished mail of insects. But I should do as other blind men have done before me : I should take God's rod and staff for my guide and comfort, and wait patiently for death to bring better light to nobler eyes. O ye who are living in the dark- ness of sin ! turn before it is too late to the light of holiness, else death will bring to you 158 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. not recreation, but retribution. Earthly blind- ness can be borne, for it is but for a day ; but who could bear to be blind through eternity ? Henry Ward Beecher. THE 'POSSOM-RUN DEBATING SOCIETY. (An Ethiopian forensic tussle. ) CHARACTERS. The Chairman. Professor Morehouse. Dr. Crane. Mr. Julius. Mr. Hunnicut. Scene. — Room with platform and arm-chair for Chairman. Four chairs for the speakers, and benches for audience. Table, with a few books and writing materials. Performers all dis- covered sitting. Chairman {rising) . I rise, gemmen an' ladies, for de puppose of calling de meeting to order. De object ob dis meeting is to debate a scientific question, de nature an' scope ob which might engage de noble faculties ob Professor Huxley — a question ob de mos' significant interest to ebery culled pusson in dis cultivated audience now befo' me. De question for debate am dis : — " Which has produced demos' wonders — de Ian' or de water?" I ask for de learned speakers who will address the char, ladies and gemmen, your mos' 'spectful 'tention. I am awar ob de fac' dat for more reasons dan one, water am not a popular subjec' with mos' pus- sons in dis audience, but I trus' — {Business here, several of the audience, including the speakers, press forward and try to borrow a quarter of the Chairman — emphatically. ) As I was about to say when I was interrupted — I trus' you will not let your prejudices interfer' with de freedom ob debate. De debate will now be opened, an' water takes de lead. {Sits down, amid applause from audience. ) Dr. Crane {rising, and bowing to the Chair- man). Mr. Chaarman, geografers tell us dat one-quarter ob de yaarth's surface is Ian' an' three-quarters is water; in one squaar foot of dat water is more wonders dan in forty squaar rods of Ian'. Dese chillen settin' round hyar can figger on dat. Dat's a argyment I intro- duce jus' to keep de chillen quiet awhile. When you spill water on a table it spreads all out thin — on a clean table, I mean. Now, s'posen de table dusty. Note de change. De water seper- ates in globules. {Turning towards the audi- ence. ) (For de information of some ob be folks, I would explain dat globules is drops, seperated drops.) Now, why is dat? Isn't dat won- derful? Can de Ian' do like dat? No saar. Dere'sno such wonder in the Ian'. {Sits down > amid applause. ) Prof. Morehouse {rising, and bowing to the Chairman). Mr. Chaarman, I don't see noth- ing wonderful in de water gettin' in drops on de dusty table. Daf s de natcher ob de water. Dere's nothing wonderful in anything actin* accordin to natcher. S'posen it wasn't natcher r what causes it to get into draps ? De dust. De dust! de Ian 1 ! de lan'I De wonder's in de Ian', after all. Mr. Chaarman, Dr. Crane makes no argyment for de water at all, but all for Ian'. He makes a p'int dat de table should be dusty. De dust makes de wonderful change in de water, an' dust is lan\ I wants no better argyment for de Ian' dan Dr. Crane makes. {Sits down, amid applause. ) Mr. Hunnicut {rising and bowing to the Chair- man). Mr. Chaarman, speakin' ob de wonders in de water, I take my position on Niagary Falls — de gran' stupenjus, majestick wonder ob de hole world. Dere's no such or-inspiring objeck in de Ian' Den, see de water-falls ob minor importance scattered all ober de face ob de yaarth. Whoeber saw de Ian' rollin' ober de. precipice, like de water? See de mitey oshun. She hole up de ship full ob frate an' passengers, widout props, an' yit de ship move along in de water if jus' a little wind touch her. Put de ship on de Ian' an' load her ; forty locomotives tear her all to pieces 'fore she move. Dr. Crane tells us dere's more wonders in one square foot of water, dan in forty rods ob Ian'. He's right. Why, one night las' week, I's ober to Doc Russel's house, an' de ole doctor he ax me would I like to see a drop ob water in YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 159 his glass (his magnify in' glass, I mean.) I tole um sartainly. So he rig up de glass an' when he get um all right he tole me to take a good look. Wa'al, Mr. Chaarman, in dat one drop ob water I seed more wonders dan I eber saw in the hole course ob my life. Dere was a animal like a gran' mother's night-cap wid one string, a-scootin' roun' after another thing, like a curry- comb wid a flounced handle. Dere was a year ob corn wid a ruffle down each side, an' de fuss t'ing I know, a six-legged base-drum come swimmin' along, an' jus' swallowed it. Talk about wonders on de Ian' ! dey ain't a patchin' to de water. {Sits down, amid applause.) Mr. Julius {rising and bowing to the Chair- man). De fuss part of Mr. Hunnicut's argy- ment seems to me is all for de lari . Dere would be no Niagary, or any udder falls, if de Ian' wasn't in such a mos' wonderful shape to make falls. De water falls, cause dafs its natcher. Jus' look right here in Mount Vernon. Dere's Norton's dam; dere's de same principle, de same law of natcher. Take away de dam, de water is no more dan common water. No, sair, dere's no wonder in de water at Niagary. De wonder is in de Ian'. {Sits down.) Dr. Crane {looking at the Chairman for a moment, and then towards the audience. ) Per- haps it is not generally known, but still it is a fac, dat if it's not for de water in de air, we'd all die. Dere mus' be water in de air we take into our lungs to sustain life. An', strange as it may seem, dere mus' be water in de air to sus- tain combustion. You could not kindle a fire were it not for de aqueous gases ob de air. (By aqueous I mean watery. ) I call dat wonderful — I can see nothing like it in de Ian' — dat de water which put out de fire is necessary to make de fire burn. {Sits down, amid applause. ) Prof. Morehouse {rising). Mr. Chaarman, I hope dat you'll rule out all dat Dr. Crane jus' said. Instruct de committee not to take no 'count ob it. Sich talk's too much fool non- sense. Dr. Crane says we must have water to breeve. I daar him to a trial. He may go down an' stick his college hed ('scuse me, saar), his eddicated hed, in de creek, an' take his breevin' dar, saar, and I'll take my stan' an' my breevin', on dis platform, byde stove, an' let de committee decide de case on cte merits of de proof of who holes out de longest. Den listen to what he sez about water makin' de fire burn. Did you eber — did you eber hyaar de like? Now, 'cordin to Dr. Crane, s'posen, I wants to * start a fire in dis yar stove. I gits some shavin's an' puts in, den some pine kindlin's, den berry carefully pour on a little, 'jus a little, karaysene, den puts on a few nice pieces of coal, lights a match, sticks her to de sheavin's, and she don't burn ; I lights a newspaper, and frows her under de grate ; de shavin's don't light. I gits mad, an' I slaps in a bucket ob water, an' away she goes, all a-blazin in a second. Oh, shaw, sich bosh ! Don't take no 'count ob dat. It would be a wonder if it was true ; but, oh, my 1 what cabbage it is ! Jedges, don' take no 'count ob sich idle talk. I say, saar, dat de Ian' produces de mos' wonders. Look at de trees, de flowers, de grain, de cabbages, de inguns, dat spring up out of de Ian' Look at de Mammoth Cave, more wonderful than all the falls that eber fell. See how dey bore in de groun' fifteen hundred feet an' more, an' out come coal oil, two' t'ousan bar'l a minit. I'd jus' like to see any dese water folks bore a hole fifteen hundred feet down into the ocean, an' pump out one gallon of coal-oil in an hour. Can you dig down in de ocean, or in de lakes, an' git out gold, an' silber, an' iron, and coal ? Can you build a railroad on de ocean, an' cut a tunnel thru' de waters ? No, saar, Mr. Chaarman, I am satisfied to close de subjec' befo' de meetin', so far as de side ob Ian' am concerned. {Sits down, amid tremendous applause. ) Mr. Hunnicut {rising). It's jus' 'curred to my mind, on Prof. Morehouse speakin' 'bout trees, an' de grass, an' de inguns, an' cabbages, dat when I was out in de far West, I alius notice dat on de plains, on de mountains, anywheres away from de streems, no timber grows, no wegi- tation, no grass, mostly barr'n ; but all along de streems, dere's de grass, de trees, de wegita- 160 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. tion. Why ? ' Cause of de moistureness, de water. So, 'pears to me dat de cause of all de b'utiful wegitation, after all, is de water. Mr. Chaar- man, we hab close de debate on dis subjec', and I hab no fear dat you will decide dat my worthy colleague, an' de unworthy speaker, hab demon- strated beyond de power of contradiction — dat de water am greater dan de Ian'. (Sits down, amid applause. ) Chairman (rising). Ladies and gemmen, — de question befo' de meetin' hab been discussed with marked ability on bofe sides. De advo- cates ob water hab made a good showin', con- siderin' how little we really know about water. But, as I'm mos' shu' ob de Ian', I mus' decide in favor ob de Ian', but I recommend de water side as deserbin' high credit for deir investiga- tions, an' de instruction an' edification ob de meetin'. , [curtain.] TIM MURPHY'S IRISH STEW. (An Irish sketch.) TIM MURPHY (solus). I saw Teddy Rea- gan, the other day ; he told me he had been dealing in hogs. Is business good ? sez I. Yis, sez he. Talking about hogs, Teddy, how do you find yourself? sez I. I wint to buy a clock the other day, to make a present to Mary Jane. Will you have a Frinch clock ? says the jeweler. The divil take your Frinch clock, sez I. I want a clock that my sister can understand when it sthrikes. I have a Dutch clock, sez he, an' you can put that on the sthairs. It might run down if I put it there, sez I. Well, sez he, here's a Yankee clock, with a lookin' -glass in the front, so that you can see yourself, sez he. It's too ugly, sez I. Thin I'll take the lookin' - glass out, an' whin you look at it you'll not find it so ugly, sez he. I wint to Chatham street, to buy a shirt, for the one I had on was a thrifle soiled. The Jew who kept the sthore looked at my bosom, an' said : — Mine Got, how long do you veara shirt? Twenty-eight inches, sez I. Have you any fine shirts ? sez I. Yis, sez he. Are they clane ? sez I. Yis, sez he. Then, you had betther put on one, sez I. You may talk about bringing up childher in the way they should go, but I believe in bring- ing them up by the hair of the head. Talking about bringing up childher — I hear my childher' s prayers every night — the other night I let thim up to bed without thim. I skipped and sthood behind the door. I heard the big boy say — *' Give us this day our daily bread." The little fellow said — " Sthrike him for pie, Johnny." I have one of the most economical boys in the city of New York; he hasn't spint one cint for the last two years. I am expecting him down from Sing-Sing next week. Talking about boys — I have a nephew who five years ago couldn't write a word. Last week he wrote his name for $10,000 — he'll git tin years in Auburn. They had a fight at Tim Owen's wake, last week. Mary Jane was there. She says that, barrin' herself, there was only one whole nose left in the party, an' that belonged to the tea- kettle. A HARD-SHELL SERMON. (Must be read in a ranting, sing-song monotone, increasing in loudness to the close. ) MY BELOVED BRETHERING : I am a unlarnt hard-shell Baptist preacher, of whom you've no doubt hearn afore, and I now appear here to expound the scripters and pint out the narrow way which leads from a vain world to the streets of Jaroosalem ; and my tex, which I shall choose for the occasion, is in the leds of the Bible, somewhar between the second Chronikills and the last chapter of Timothy Titus, and when you find it, you'll find it in these words : ' 'And they shall knaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, where the lion roareth, and the wang-doodle mourneth for its first born. ' ' Now, my brethering, as I have before told you, I am an oneddicated man, and know noth- ing about grammar talk and collidge highfalutin, but I am a plain, unlarnt preacher, what's been YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 161 foreordaned and called to prepare a pervarse generation for the day of wrath — ah ! ' ' For they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth, and the wang- doodle mourneth for its first born," — ah ! My beloved brethering, the tex says, they shall gnaw a file. It does not say they may, but shall. Now, there is more than one kind of file. There's the hand-saw file, the rat-tail file, the single file, the double file, and profile ; but the kind spoken of here isn't one of them kind, nayther, bekaus it's a figger of speech, and means going it alone, and getting ukered. "For they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth, and the wang-doodle mourneth for its first born," — ah ! And now, there be some here with fine clothes on thar backs, brass rings on thar fingers, and lard on thar har, what goes it while tha' re yung ; and thar be others here what, as long as thar con- stitooshins and forty-cent whiskey last, goes it blind. Thar be sisters here what, when they get sixteen years old, cut thar tiller-rope, and goes it with a rush. But I say, my dear brethering, take care you don't find, when Gabriel blows his last trump, your hand played out, and you've got ukered — ah! " For they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth, and the wang-doodle mourneth for its first born. ' ' My brethering, I am the captain of the flat- boat you see tied up thar, and have got aboard of her flour and bacon, 'raters, and as good Monongahela whiskey as ever was drunk, and am mighty apt to get a big price for them all; but what, my dear brethering, would it all be* worth if I hadn't got religion? Thar's nothing like religion, my brethering ; it's better nor silver, or gold jimcracks ; and you can no more get to heaven without it than a jay-bird can fly without a tail — ah ! Thank the Lord ! I'm a oneddicated man, my brethering; but I've sarched the Scripters from Dan to Beersheba, and found Zion right side up, and hard-shell religion the best kind of religion — ah. 'Tis not like the Methodies, what specks to get to heaven 11 by hollerin' hell fire ; nor like the Univarsalists, that gets on the broad guage and goes the hull hog — ah ! nor like the Yewnited Brethering, that takes each other by the slack of thar briches and hists themselves in ; nor like the Katherlicks, that buys threw tickets from their priests ; but it may be likened unto a man what has to cross the river — ah ! — and the ferry-boat was gone ; so he tucked up his breeches and waded across — ah ! " For they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hespidam, whar the lion roar- eth, and the wang-doodle mourneth for its first- born!" Pass the hat, Brother Fluit, and let every hard-shell Baptist shell out. UNCLE PETE'S SERMON. ( Humorous and dialectic. ) BELUBBED fellow-travelers, in holding forth to-day, I doesn't quote no special verse for what I has to say ; De sarmon will be very short, and dis here am de text : Dat half-way doin's ain't no 'count, for dis world, or de nex. Dis world dat we's a libbin in is like a cotton row, Whar ebbry cullud gemmen has got his line to hoe ; An' ebbry time a lazy niggar stops to take a nap, De grass keeps on a growin' to smudder up his crap. When Moses led de Jews across de waters ob de sea, Dey had to keep a goin', jes as fas' as fas' could be. Do you s'pose dat dey could ebber have suc- ceeded in deir wish, An' reached de promised land at last, if dey had stopped to fish ? My friends, dar was a garden once, whar Addem libed wid Eve, Wid no one 'round to bodder dem, no neigh- bor for to t'ieve; 162 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. An' ebbry day was Christmas, an' dey got deir rations free, An' ebbryt'ing belonged to dem excep' an apple tree. You all know 'bout de story — how de snake came swooping 'round, A stump-tail, rusty moccasin, a-crawlin' on de groun' — How Eve an' Addem eat deir fruit, an' went an' hid deir face, Till de angel-oberseer came, an' drove 'em off de place. Now, s'pose dat man an' woman hadn't 'tempted for to shirk, But had gone about deir gardening an' 'tended to deir work; Dey wouldn't hab been a-loafin' whar dey had no bizness to, And de debbel'd nebber had a chance to tell 'em what to do. No half-way doin's bruddren ! It'll nebber do, I say ! Go at your task and finish it, an' den's de time to play ; For eben if de crap is good, de rain' 11 spoil de bolls, Unless you keeps a-pickin in de garden ob your souls. Keep a-plowin', and a-hoin', and a-scrapin' ob de rows. And when de ginnin's ober, you can pay up what you owes. But if you quit a-workin' ebbry time de sun is hot, De sheriffs gwine to lebby on ebbryt'ing you's got. What ebber 'tis you's dribin' at, be sure and dribe it through ; And don't let nuffln' stop you, but do what you's gwine to do ; For when you sees a niggar foolin', den as sho's you're born, You's gwine to see him comin' out de small end ob de horn. I t'anks you for de 'tention you hab gib dis arternoon. Sister Williams will 'blige us by de raisin' ob a tune ; I see dat Brudder Johnson's 'bout to pass round de hat, And don't let's hab no half-way doin's when it comes to dat. THE BEREAVED EDITOR'S SPEECH. (Humorous.) MY house and barn have recently been de- stroyed by fire, together with two valuable horses. My dear wife has also just been called away, and now another horse has gone ; yet, notwithstanding all this, I never felt more resigned in my life ! Blessed faith \ Wife and horses all gone, yet resignation and confidence triumphant ! Still it is hard to bear with the stings of adversity. No more will those loving hands pull off my boots, and part my hair, as only a true wife can. No more will those willing feet replenish the coal- hod and water-pail. No more will she arise, 'mid the tempestuous storms of winter, and gayly hie herself away to build the fire, without disturbing the slumbers of the man who doted on her so artlessly. Her memory is embalmed in my heart of hearts. I wanted to embalm her body, but I found that I could embalm her money much cheaper. I procured from Eli Mudget, a neighbor of mine, a very pretty grave-stone. His wife was a consumptive, and he had kept it on hand several years, in expectation of her death. But she rallied that spring, and his hopes were blasted. Never shall I forget this poor man's grief, when I asked him to part with it. ' ' Take it, Skinner, ' ' said he ; " take it ; and may you never know what it is to have your soul racked with disap- pointment, as mine has been." And he burst: into a flood of tears. His spirit was indeed ut- terly crushed. I have the following epistle engraved on the grave -stone : "To the memory of Tabitha, wife of Moses. Skinner, Esq., gentlemanly editor of the Trom- bone. A kind mother and exemplary wife.. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 163 Terms, two dollars a year, invariably in advance. Office over Coleman's grocery, up two flights. Knock hard. We shall miss thee, mother ; we shall miss thee, mother ; we shall miss thee, mother. Job printing solicited." Thus did my lacerated spirit cry out in agony, even as Rachel weeping for her children. But one ray of light penetrated the despair of my soul. The undertaker took his pay in job print- ing, and the sexton owed me a little account I should not have gotten in any other way. Why should we pine at the mysterious ways of Provi- dence and vicinity ? (Not a conundrum. ) I here pause to drop a silent tear to the memory of Tabitha Ripley, that was. She was an emi- nently pious woman, and could fry the best piece of tripe I ever slung under my vest. Her picked- up dinners were a perfect success, and she always doted on foreign missions. She sometimes made it warm for me ; but, she's quiet now. (Aside.) And I love her still. THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CONQUER. SIR, in the efforts of the People, — of the People struggling for their rights, — mov- ing, not in organized, disciplined masses, but in their spontaneous action, man for man, and heart for heart, — there is something glorious. They can then move forward without orders, act together without combination, and brave the flaming lines of battle without intrenchments to cover or walls to shield them. No dissolute camp has worn off from the feelings of the youthful soldier the freshness of that home, where his mother and his sisters sit waiting, with tearful eyes and aching heart, to hear good news from the wars ; no long service in the ranks of a conqueror has turned the veteran's heart into marble. Their valor springs not from recklessness, from habit, from indifference to the preservation of a life knit by no pledges to the life of others ; but in the strength and spirit of the cause alone, they act, they contend, they bleed. In this they conquer. The People always conquer. They always must conquer. Armies may be defeated, kings may be overthrown, and new dynasties imposed, by foreign arms, on an ignorant and slavish race, that care not in what language the cove- nant of their subjections runs, nor in whose name the deed of their barter and sale is made out. But the People never invade ; and, when they rise against the invader, are never subdued. If they are driven from the plains, they fly to the mountains. Steep rocks and everlasting hills are their castles ; the tangled, pathless thicket their palisado ; and nature, God, is their ally ! Now He overwhelms the hosts of their enemies beneath his drifting mountains of sand ; now He buries them beneath a falling atmos- phere of polar snows ; He lets loose His tem- pests on their fleets ; He puts a folly into their counsels, a madness into the hearts of their leaders ; He never gave, and never will give, a final triumph over a virtuous and gallant People, resolved to be free. 11 For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft, is ever won. " Edward Everetv APPEAL TO THE HUNGARIANS, 1849. Kossuth. Louis Kossuth. Born, 1802 ; died, 1894. An eminent Hungarian patriot, orator, and statesman. As a result of the following speech, the Hungarians threw off the Austrian yoke, and elected Kossuth Dictator. Through the influence of Russia, Kos- suth was forced into exile. In 1851 he vis- ited the United States and England, where he made a number of speeches. OUR Fatherland is in danger ! Citizens ! to arms ! to arms. Unless the whole Nation rise up, as one man, to defend itself, all noble blood already shed is in vain ; and, on the ground where the ashes of our ancestors re- pose, the Russian knout will rule over an en- slaved People ! Be it known to all Hungary, that the Austrian Emperor has let loose upon us the barbarous hordes of Russia ; that a Russian army of forty-six thousand men has broken into our country from Gallicia, and is on the march ; that another has entered Transylvania ; and that, finally, we can expect no foreign assistance, as the People that sympathize with us are kept 164 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. down by their rulers, and gaze only in dumb silence on our struggle. We have nothing to rest our hopes upon but a righteous God and our own strength. If we do not put forth that strength, God will also forsake us. Hungary's struggle is no longer our struggle alone. It is the struggle of popular freedom against tyranny. Our victory is the victory of freedom, — our fall is the fall of freedom. God has chosen us to free the Nations from bodily servitude. In the wake of our victory will follow liberty to the Italians, Germans, Poles, Valla- chians, Sclavonians, Servians, and Croatians. With our fall goes down the star of freedom over all. People of Hungary ! will you die under the exterminating sword of the savage Russians? If not, defend yourselves ! Will you look on while the Cossacks of the far North tread under foot the bodies of your fathers, mothers, wives, and children ? If not, defend yourselves ! Will you see a part of your fellow-citizens sent to the wilds of Siberia, made to serve in the wars of tyrants, or bleed under the murderous knout? If not, defend yourselves ! Will you behold your villages in flames and your harvests de- stroyed ? Will you die of hunger on the land which your sweat has made fertile ? If not, de- fend yourselves ! We call upon the People, in the name of God and the Country, to rise up in arms. In virtue of our powers and duty, we order a general crusade of the People against the enemy, to be declared from every pulpit and from every town house of the country, and made known by the continual ringing of bells. One great effort, and the country is forever saved ! We have, indeed, an army which numbers some two hundred thou- sand determined men ; but the struggle is no longer one between two hostile camps ; it is the struggle of tyranny against freedom, — of barbar- ism against all free Nations. Therefore must all the People seize arms and support the army, that, thus united, the victory of freedom for Europe may be won. Fly, then , united with the army, to arms, every citizen of the land, and the victory is sure ! THE RUINS OF ROME. ROME ! my country ! city of the soul ! . The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones, and temples, ye, Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet, as fragile as our clay. The Ni'o-be of nations ! there she stands Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scattered long ago : The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers ; dost thou flow, Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her dis- tress ! The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hilled city's pride ; They saw her glories star by star expire, And, up the steep, barbarian monarchs ride Where the car climbed the capital; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : — Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void ? O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, ' ' here was, or is, ' ' where all is doubly night ? Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ? Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free ! Byron. MISSES SANDALL AND CRIDKR. (Neff College of Oratory.) "BACK, RUFFIANS, BACK!" MISS MARY SANDALL. (Neff College of Oratory.) WITH A SMILE THAT WAS CHILDLIKE AND BLAND." Bret Harte. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 165 THE POWER OF HABIT. (Descriptive, spirited, and dramatic.) I REMEMBER once riding from Buffalo to the Niagara Falls. I said to a gentleman, " What river is that, sir? " ' ' That, ' ' said he, ' ' is Niagara river. ' ' "Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I; " bright, and fair, and glassy. How far off are the rapids?" " Only a mile or two," was the reply. "Is it possible that only a mile from us we shall find the water in the turbulence which it must show near the Falls ? ' ' ' ' You will find it so, sir. ' ' iVnd so I found it ; and the first sight of Niagara I shall never forget. Now, launch your bark on that Niagara river ; it is bright, smooth, beautiful, and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow ; the silver wake you leave behind adds to your enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, oars, sails, and helm in proper trim, and you set out on your pleasure excursion. Suddenly some one cries out from the bank, "Young men, ahoy ! " "What is it?" " The rapids are below you ! " ' ' Ha ! ha ! we have heard of the rapids ; but we are not such fools as to get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with the helm, and steer to the shore ; we will set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and speed to the land. Then on, boys, don't be alarmed, there is no danger. ' ' " Young men, ahoy there ! " "What is it?" " The rapids are below you ! " "Ha! ha! we will laugh and quaff; all things delight us. What care we for the future ! No man ever saw it. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. We will enjoy life while we may, we will catch pleasure as it flies. This is enjoyment ; time enough to steer out of danger when we are sailing swiftly with the current." " Young men, ahoy ! " "What is it?" " Beware ! beware ! The rapids are below you! " " Now you see the water foaming all around. See how fast you pass that point ! Up with the helm ! Now turn ! Pull hard ! Quick ! quick ! quick ! pull for your lives ! pull till the blood starts from your nostrils, and the veins stand like whip-cords upon your brow ! Set the mast in the socket ! hoist the sail ! Ah ! ah ! it is too late ! Shrieking, howling, blaspheming, over they go." Thousands go over the rapids of intemper- ance every year, through the power of habit, crying all the while, ' ' When I find out that it is injuring me, I will give it up / " John B. Gough. THE LABORING CLASSES. SIR, it is an insult to our laboring classes to compare them with the debased poor of Europe. Why, sir, we of this country do not know what poverty is. We have no poor in this country, in the sense in which that word is used abroad. Every laborer, even the most humble, in the United States, soon becomes a capitalist, and even, if he choose, a proprietor of land ; for the West, with all its boundless fer- tility, is open to him. How can any one dare to compare the me- chanics of this land (whose inferiority, in any substantial particular, in intelligence, in virtue, in wealth, to the other classes of our society, I have yet to learn) with that race of outcasts, of which so terrific a picture is presented by recent writers — the poor of Europe ? — a race among no inconsiderable portion of whom famine and pesti- lence may be said to dwell continually ; many of whom are without morals, without education, without a country, without a God ! and may be said to know society only by the terrors of its penal code, and to live in perpetual war with it. Poor bondmen! mocked with the name of liberty, that they may be sometimes tempted to , break their chains, in order that, after a few days of starvation in idleness and dissipation, they may be driven back to their prison-house to take 1GG YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. their shackles up again, heavier and more galling than before ; severed, as it has been touchingly expressed, from nature, from the common air, and the light of the sun ; knowing only by hear- say that the fields are green, that the birds sing, and that there is a per' fume in flowers ! And is it with a race whom the perverse insti- tutions of Europe have thus degraded beneath the condition of humanity that the advocates, the patrons, the protectors, of our working-men, presume to compare them? Sir, it is to treat them with a scorn at which their spirit should revolt, and does revolt. Hugh Legare. DANGERS OF OUR PROSPERITY. THE danger, my countrymen, is that we shall become intoxicated by our amazing phy- sical triumphs. Because, within the memory of most of us, the lightning has been harnessed to the newsman's car, and the steam- engine has not only brought the ends of the earth into proximity, but has also provided a working power, which, requiring no nutriment, and sus- ceptible of no fatigue, almost releases living creatures from the necessity of toil, — because of these most marvelous discoveries, we are in dan- ger of believing that like wonders maybe achieved in the social and moral world. But be it remembered that, in all our discov- eries, no substitute has been found for conscience, and no machine to take the place of reason. The telegraph cannot legislate, nor the locomo- tive educate. The mind is still the mind, and must obey its own higher laws. Our most press- ing needs are such as no mechanism can supply. What we most lack is true, earnest, sincere, faith- ful, loyal, self-sacrificing men. Without these, it is in vain that we extend our territory from ocean to ocean, and quarry gold as we do rocks. These physical accessions, coming so suddenly upon us, do but increase our peril. Adversity we might bear, and be the better for it. But how shall we bear this gush of seeming prosperity? Seeming, I say, because time alone can deter- mine whether it is real. If, my countrymen, with all these excitements, we do not become a nation of reckless adven- turers, — gamblers, perhaps, would be the proper word, — if we do not cut ourselves entirely loose from our ancient moorings, but still hold fast to our integrity, our very continence will prove that there is still some sterling virtue left. For never was there so much reason for the prayer, " De- liver us from temptation." After all our con- quests, the most difficult yet remains, — the victory over ourselves. We have now to answer, under untried difficulties, that gravest of ques- tions, "What constitutes a State?" And the answer must be like that which was given long, long ago : ' ' Not high-raised battlements or labored mound, Thick wall or moated gate ; Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned ; Not bays and broad-armed ports, Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride. # * -& * •* No ; — men, high-minded men, — * * * * * Men who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain. ' ' Timothy Walker. ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. ROLL on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin ; his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and un- known. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty* s form Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark heaving ; boundless, endless, and sub- lime — YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 167 The image of eternity — the throne Of the Invisible ! even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Eorne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers ; — they to me Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror, ' twas a pleasing fear ; For I was, as it were, a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. Byron. ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN. ( Sheridan was a great Irish orator, poet, statesman and dramatist. He was distinguished in many respects. Byron considers him as the greatest genius of his day. ) "V "THEN the last sunshine of expiring day VV In summer's twilight weeps itself away, Who hath not felt the softness of the hour Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower ? 'Tis not harsh sorrow — but a tenderer woe, Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below ; Felt without bitterness — but full and clear . A sweet dejection — a transparent tear, Unmixed with worldly grief or selfish stain, Shed without shame, and secret without pain. Even as the tenderness that hour instills When summer's day declines along the hills, So feels the fullness of our heart and eyes When all of Genius which can perish dies ! Almighty spirit is eclipsed — a power Hath passed from day to darkness — to whose hour Of light no likeness is bequeathed — no name, Focus at once of all the rays of F^.me ! The flash of Wit, the bright Intelligence, The beam of Song, the blaze of Eloquence, Set w T ith their sun — but still have left behind The enduring produce of immortal Mind ; Fruits of a genial morn and glorious noon, A deathless part of him who died too soon. Ye orators ! whom yet our councils yield, Mourn for the veteran hero of your field ! The worthy rival of the wondrous Three,* Whose words were sparks of immortality ! Ye bards ! to whom the drama's muse is dear, He was your master — emulate him here ! Ye men of wit and social eloquence ! He was your brother — bear his ashes hence ! While powers of mind almost of boundless range, Complete in kind, as various in their change, — While Eloquence, Wit, Poesy, and Mirth, That humbler harmonist of care on earth, Survive within our souls, — while lives our sense Of pride in Merit's proud pre-eminence, Long shall we seek his likeness — long in vain, And turn to all of him which may remain, Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, And broke the die — in moulding Sheridan ! Byron. OPPORTUNITIES OF THE SCHOLAR. (From "Henry W. Grady. His L,ife, Writings, and Speeches." Permission of C. H. Hudgins & Co. T" TE are standing in the daybreak of the VV second century of this Republic. The fixed stars are fading from the sky, and we grope in uncertain light. Strange shapes have come with the night. Established ways are lost — new roads perplex, and widening fields stretch beyond the sight. The unrest of dawn impels us to and fro — but Doubt stalks amid the confusion, and even on the beaten paths the shifting crowds are halted, and from the shadows the sentries cry : ' ' Who comes there ? ' ' In the obscurity of the morning tremendous forces are at work. Nothing is steadfast or approved. The miracles of the present belie the simple truths of the past. The Church is besieged from without and betrayed from within. Be- hind the courts smoulders the rioter's torch and looms the gibbet of the anarchists. Gov- ernment is the contention of partisans and the prey of spoilsmen. Trade is restless in the grasp of monopoly, and commerce shackled with * Pitt, Fox, and Burke. 168 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. limitation. The cities are swollen and the fields are stripped. Splendor streams from the castle, and squalor crouches in the home. The uni- versal brotherhood is dissolving, and the People are huddling into classes. The hiss of the Nihilist disturbs the covert, and the roar of the mob murmurs along the highway. Amid it all beats the great American heart undismayed, and standing fast by the challenge of his conscience, the citizen of the Republic, tranquil and reso- lute, notes the drifting of the spectral currents, and calmly awaits the full disclosures of the day. Who shall be the heralds of this coming day ? Who shall thread the way of honor and safety through these besetting problems ? Who shall rally the People to the defence of their liberties, and stir them until they shall cry aloud to be led against the enemies of the Republic ? You, my countrymen, you ! The university is the training camp of the future. The scholar the champion of the coming years. Napoleon over- ran Europe with drum-tap and bivouac — the next Napoleon shall form his battalions at the tap of the school-house bell, and his captains shall come with cap and gown. Waterloo was won at Oxford — Sedan at Berlin. So Germany plants her colleges in the shadow of the French forts, and the professor smiles amid his students as he notes the sentinel stalking against the sky. The farmer has learned that brains mix better with his soil than the waste of sea-birds, and the professor walks by his side as he spreads the showers in the verdure of his field, and locks the sunshine in the glory of his harvest. A button is pressed by a child's finger and the work of a million men is done. The hand is nothing — the brain everything. Physical prow- ess has had its day, and the age of reason has come. The lion-hearted Richard challenging Saladin to single combat is absurd, for even Gog and Magog shall wage the Armageddon from their closets and look not upon the blood that runs to the bridle-bit. Science is every- thing ! She butchers a hog in Chicago, draws Boston within three hours of New York, renews the famirh^d soil, routs her viewless bondsmen from the electric centre of the earth, and then turns to watch the new Icarus, as mounting in his flight to the sun, he darkens the burnished ceiling of the sky with the shadow of his wing. Learning is supreme, and you are its prophets. Here the Olympic games of the Republic — and you its chosen athletes. It is yours, then, to grapple with these problems, to confront and master these dangers. Yours to decide whether the tremendous forces of this Republic shall be kept in balance, or, whether unbalanced they shall bring chaos ; whether 60,000,000 men are capable of self-government, or whether liberty shall be lost to them who would give their lives to maintain it. Your responsibility is appalling. You stand in the pass behind which the world's liberties are guarded. This government carries the hopes of the human race. Blot out the beacon that lights the portals of this Republic and the world is adrift again. But save the Republic ; establish the light of its beacon over the troubled waters, and one by one the nations of the earth shall drop anchor and be at rest in the harbor of universal liberty. THE UNBELIEVER. I PITY the unbeliever, — one who can gaze upon the grandeur, and glory, and beauty of the natural universe, and behold not the touches of His finger, who is over, and with, and above all ; from my very heart I do com- miserate his condition. The unbeliever! one whose intellect the light of revelation never penetrated ; who can gaze upon the sun, and moon, and stars, and upon the unfading and imperishable sky, spread out so magnificently above him, and say all this is the work of chance. The heart of such a being is a drear and cheerless void. In him, mind — the god- like gift of intellect — is debased, destroyed ; all is dark, — a fearful chaotic labyrinth — ray less — cheerless — hopeless ! No gleam of light from heaven penetrates the blackness of the horrible delusion ; no voice from the Eternal bids the desponding heart rejoice. No fancied tones from the harps of seraphim arouse the dull YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 169 spirit from its lethargy, or allay the consuming fever of the brain. The wreck of mind is utterly remediless ; reason is prostrate ; and passion, prejudice, and superstition have reared their temple on the ruins of his intellect. I pity the unbeliever. What to him is the revelation from on high but a sealed book ? He sees nothing above, or around, or beneath him that evinces the existence of a God ; and he denies — yea, while standing on the footstool of Omnipotence, and gazing upon the dazzling throne of Jehovah, he shuts his intellect to the light of reason, and denies there is a God. Thomas Chalmers. OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR- HOUSE. OVER the hill to the poor-house I'm trudgin' my weary way — I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray— I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I've told, As many another woman, that's only half as old. Over the hill to the poor-house — I can't make it quite clear ! Over the hill to the poor-house — it seems so horrid queer ! Many a step I've taken a-toilin' to and fro, But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go. What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame ? Am I lazy or crazy ? am I blind or lame ? True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awful stout, But charity ain't no favor, if one can live without. I am willin' and anxious an' ready any day, To work for a decent livin', an' pay my honest way; For I can earn my victuals, an' more too, I'll be bound, If anybody only is willin' to have me 'round. Once I was young and nan' some — I was, upon my soul — Once my cheeks was roses, my eyes as black as coal ; And I can't remember, in them days, of hearin' people say, For any kind of reason, that I was in their way. 'Taint no use of boastin', or talkin' over free, But many a house an' home was open then to me ; Many a han'some offer I had from likely men, And nobody ever hinted that I was a burden then. And when to John I was married, sure he was good and smart, But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part : For life was all before me, an' I was young an' strong. And I worked the best that I could in tryin' to get along. And so we worked together : and life was hard but gay, With now and then a baby, for to cheer us on our way ; Till we had half a dozen, an' all growed clean an' neat, An' went to school like others, an' had enough to eat. So we worked for the childr'n, and raised 'em every one ; Worked for 'em summer and winter, just as we ought to've done ; Only perhaps we humored 'em, which some good folks condemn, But every couple's child'rn's a heap the best to them. Strange how much we think of our blessed little ones ? — I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died for my sons ; And God he made that rule of love ; but when we're old and gray, I've noticed it sometimes somehow fails to woi\; the other way. 170 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Strange, another thing : when our boys an' girls was grown, And when, exceptin' Charlie, they'd left us there alone ; When John he nearer an' nearer come, an' dearer seemed to be, The Lord of Hosts He come one day an' took him away from me. Still I was bound to struggle, an' never to cringe or fall- Still I worked for Charlie, for Charlie was now my all ; And Charlie was pretty good to me, with scarce a word or frown, Till at last he went a courtin', and brought a wife from town. She was somewhat dressy, an' hadn't a pleasant smile — She was quite conceity, and carried a heap o' style ; But if ever I tried to be friends, I did with her, I know ; But she was hard and proud, an' I couldn't make it go. She had an edication, an' that was good for her ; But when she twitted me on mine 'twas carryin' things too fur ; An' I told her once 'fore company (an' it almost made her sick), That I never swallowed a grammar, or 'eta 'rith- matic. So 'twas only a few days before the thing was done — They was a family of themselves, and I another one ; And a very little cottage for one family will do, But I have never seen a house that was big enough for two. An' I never could speak to suit her, never could please her eye, An' it made me independent, an' then I didn't try; But I was terribly staggered, an' felt it like a blow, When Charlie turned ag'in me, an' told me I could go. I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small, And she was always a-hintin' how snug it was for us all ; And what with her husband's sisters, and what with her childr'n three, 'Twas easy to discover that there wasn't room for me. An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I've got, For Thomas' buildings' d cover the half of an acre lot ; But all the childr'n was on me — I couldn't stand their sauce — And Thomas said I needn't think I was comin' there to boss. An' then I wrote to Rebeeca, — my girl who lives out West, And to Isaac, not far from her — some twenty miles at best \ An' one of 'em said 'twas too warm there, for any one so old, And t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold. So they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted me about — So they have well-nigh soured me, an' worn my old heart out ; But still I've born up pretty well, an' wasn't much put down, Till Charlie went to the poor-master, an' put me on the town. Over the hill to the poor-house — my childr'n dear, good-bye ! Many a night I've watched you when only God was nigh ; And God' 11 judge between us ; but I will al'ays pray That you shall never suffer the half I do to-day. Will M. Carleton. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 171 OVER THE HILLS FROM THE POOR- HOUSE. OVER the hills to the poor-house sad paths have been made to-day, For sorrow is near, such as maketh the heads of the young turn gray, Causing the heart of the careless to throb with a fevered breath — The sorrow that leads to the chamber whose light has gone out in death. To Susan, Rebecca and Isaac, to Thomas and Charley, word sped That mother was ill and fast failing, perhaps when they heard might be dead; But e'en while they wrote she was praying that some of her children might come, To hear from her lips their last blessing before she should start for her home. To Susan, poor Susan ! how bitter the agony brought by the call, For deep in her heart for her mother wide rooms had been left after all ; And now, that she thought, by her fireside one place had been vacant for years, — And while "o'er the hills" she was speeding her path might be traced by her tears. Rebecca ! she heard not the tidings, but those who bent over her knew That led by the Angel of Death, near the waves of the river she drew ; Delirious, ever she told them her mother was cooling her head, While, weeping, they thought that ere morning both mother and child might be dead, And, kneeling beside her, stern Isaac was qiuv'ring in aspen-like grief, While waves of sad mem'ry surged o'er him like billows of wind o'er the leaf; "Too late," were the words that had humbled his cold, haughty pride to the dust, And Peace, with her olive-boughs laden, crowned loving forgiveness with trust. Bowed over his letters and papers, sat Thomas, his brow lined by thought, But little he heeded the markets or news of his gains that they brought ; His lips grew as pale as his cheek, but new pur- pose seemed born in his eye, And Thomas went ' ' over the hills, ' ' to the mother that shortly must die. To Charley, her youngest, her pride, came the mother's message that morn, And he was away "o'er the hills " ere the sun- light blushed over the corn ; And, strangest of all, by his side, was the wife he had "brought from the town." And silently wept, while her tears strung with diamonds her plain mourning gown. For each had been thinking, of late, how they missed the old mother's sweet smile, And wond'ring how they could have been so blind and unjust all that while ; They thought of their harsh, cruel words, and longed to atone for the past, When swift o'er the heart of vain dreams swept the presence of death's chilling blast. So into the chamber of death, one by one, these sad children had crept, As they, in their childhood had done, when mother was tired and slept, — And peace, rich as then, came to each, as they drank in her blessing, so deep, That, breathing into her life, she fell back in her last blessed sleep. And when "o'er the hills from the poor-house, " that mother is tenderly borne, The life of her life, her loved children, tread softly, and silently mourn, For theirs is no rivulet sorrow, but deep as the ocean is deep, And into our lives, with sweet healing, the balm of their bruising may creep. For swift come the flashings of temper, and tor- rents of words come as swift, 172 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Till out 'mong the tide-waves of anger, how often we thoughtlessly drift ! And heads that are gray with life's ashes, and feet that walk down 'mong the dead, We send " o'er the hills to the poor-house " for love, and, it may be, for bread. Oh ! when shall we value the living while yet the keen sickle is stayed, Nor slight the wild flower in its blooming, till all its sweet life is decayed ? Yet often the fragrance is richest, when poured from the bruised blossom's soul, And " over the hills from the poor-house " the rarest of melodies roll. May Mignonette. THE BELLS. (Good for voice culture. Imitate the tones of the bells. ) HEAR the sledges with the bells — Silver bells ! What a world of merriment their melody fortells ! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight ; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding bells — Golden bells ! What a world of happiness their harmony fore- tells ! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight ! From the molten-golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon ! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! How it swells ! How it dwells On the future ! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells ! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright ! Too. much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor, Now — now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells ! What a tale their terror tells Of despair ! How they clang, and clash, and roar ! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air ! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows ; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling And the wrangling How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — 'What change has now come o'er the spirit of thy dreams? Answer me in a word." (Suggestion For Tableau.) 'Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on her breast like an amulet!" YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 173 Of the bells— Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! Hear the tolling of the bells — Iron bells ! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright, At the melancholy menace of their tone ! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people — ah, the people — They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone — They are neither man nor woman — They are neither brute nor human — They are ghouls: And their king it is who tolls ; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls, A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells ! And he dances and he yells ; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells — Of the bells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, To the sobbing of the bells ; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, To the tolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells- Bells, bells, bells, To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. Edgar A. Poe. "THEM YANKEE BLANKITS." HOW SUFFERING AND BROTHERLY KINDNESS BROUGHT HEARTS TOGETHER. YES, John, I was down thar at Memphis, A-workin' around at the boats, A-heavin' o' cotton with emph'sis, An' a-loadin' her onter the floats. I was comin' away from Ole Texas, Whar I went, you know, arter the wah — 'Bout it now I'll make no reflexes, But wait till I get ter long taw. Well, while I was down thar, the fever, As yaller an' pizen as sin, Broke out ; an' ef you'll beleeve her, Wharever she hit she struck in ! It didn't take long in the hatchin', It jes' fa'rly bred in the air, Till a hospittel camp warn't a patchin' An' we'd plenty o' corpses to spare. I volunteer' d then with the Howards, — I thought that my duty was clear, — An' I didn't look back'ards, but for'ards, An' went ter my work 'ithout fear. One day, howsomever, she got me As quick as the shot of a gun, An' they toted me off ter allot me A bunk tell my life-race was run. The doctor and nurses they wrestled, But it didn't do me any good ; An' the drugger he pounded and pestled, But he didn't get up the right food. " No blankits ner ice in the city ! " — I hear'd 'em say that from my bed, — An' some cried, " O God! who'll take pity On the dyin' that soon' 11 be dead?" Next day, howsomever, the doctor Came in with a smile on his brow. " Old boy, jest as yit we hain't knocked her/' Said he, " but we'll do fer her now !" 174 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Fer, yer see, John, them folks ter the Nor' ward Hed hear'd us afore we call'd twice, An' they'd sent us a full cargo forward Of them much-needed blankits an' ice ! Well, brother, I've been mighty solid Agin' Yankees, yer know, since the wah, An' agin' reconstrucktin' was stolid, Not kearin' fer Kongriss ner law ; But, John, I got onder thet kiver, That God -blessed gift o' the Yanks, An' it sav'd me from fordin' " the river," An' I'm prayin' 'em oceans o' thanks ! I tell yer, old boy, thar's er streak in us Old Rebels an' Yanks thet is warm; It's er brotherly love thet' 11 speak in us, An' fetch us together in storm : We may snarl about "niggers an' francheese," But whenever thar's sufferin' afoot, The two trees' 11 unite in the branches The same as they do at the root ! Samuel W. Small. THE PUZZLED DUTCHMAN. (Dialectic. ) I'M a proken-hearted Deutscher, Vot's villed mit crief und shame. I dells you vot der drouple ish : I ' doosri 't know my name. You dinks dis fery vunny, eh ? Ven you der schtory hear, You vill not vonder den so mooch, It vas so schtrange und queer. Mine moder had dwo leedle twins ; Dey vas me und mine broder : Ve lookt so fery mooch alike, No von knew vich vrom toder. Von off der poys vas " Yawcob," Und " Hans " de Oder's name : But den it made no tifferent ; Ve both got called der same. Veil ! von off us got tead, — Yaw, Mynheer, dot ish so ! M But vedder Hans or Yawcob, Mine moder she don'd know. Und so I am in drouples : I gan't kit droo mine hed Vedder I'm Hans vof s lifing. Or Yawcob vot is tead ! Charles F. Adams. MRS. LOFTY AND I. RS. LOFTY keeps a carriage, So do I ; She has dapple grays to draw it, None have I ; She's no prouder with her coachman Than am I With my blue-eyed laughing baby Trundling by ; I hide his face, lest she should see The cherub boy, and envy me. Her fine husband has white fingers, Mine has not ; He could give his bride a palace, Mine a cot ; Her's comes beneath the star-light, Ne'er cares she ; Mine comes in the purple twilight, Kisses me. And prays that He who turns life's sands, Will hold his lov'd ones in His hands. Mrs. Lofty has her jewels, So have I ; She wears her's upon her bosom, Inside I ; She will leave her's at death's portals, By and by ; I shall bear the treasure with me, When I die : For I have love, and she has gold ; She counts her wealth, mine can't be told. She has those that love her station, None have I ; But I've one true heart beside me, Glad am I ; YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 175 I'd not change it for a kingdom, No, not I ; God will weigh it in His balance, t By and by ; And then the diff rence 'twill define 'Twixt Mrs. Lofty's wealth and mine. APPEAL FOR TEMPERANCE. H. W. Grady. (In no cause in which his sympathies were enlisted was Mr. Grady more active and earnest than in that of temperance. The following extract is from one of his speeches delivered during the exciting local campaign in Georgia in 1887. Permission of C. H. Hudgins & Co. ) MY friends, hesitate before you vote liquor back into Atlanta, now that it is shut out. Don't trust it. It is powerful, aggressive and universal in its attacks. To- night it enters an humble home to strike the roses from a woman's cheek, and to-morrow it challenges this Republic in the halls of Con- gress. To-day it strikes a crust from the lips of a starving child, and to-morrow levies tribute from the government itself. There is no cottage in this city humble enough to escape it — no palace strong enough to shut it out. It defies the law when it cannot coerce suffrage. It is flexible to cajole, but merciless in victory. It is the mortal enemy of peace and order. The de- spoiler of men, the terror of women, the cloud that shadows the face of children, the demon that has dug more graves and sent more souls unshrived to judgment, than all the pestilences that have wasted life since God sent the plagues to Egypt, and all the wars since Joshua stood beyond Jericho. O my countrymen ! loving God and humanity, do not bring this grand old city again under the dominion of that power. It can profit no man by its return. It can uplift no industry, revive no interest, remedy no wrong. You know that it cannot. It comes to turn, and it shall profit mainly by the ruin of your sons and mine. It comes to mislead human souls and crush human hearts under its rumbling wheels. It comes to bring gray-haired mothers down in shame and sorrow to their graves. It comes to turn the wife's love into despair and her pride into shame. It comes to still the laughter on the lips of little children. It comes to stifle all the music of the home and fill it with silence and desolation. It comes to ruin your body and mind, to wreck your home, and it knows that it must measure its prosperity by the swiftness and certainty with which it wreaks this work. HIS FIRST AND LAST DRINK. ( Dialectic and humorous. A good reading for tern perance entertainment. The reader should be careful to give the proper German accent.) " T")OY PILLY" was the adopted son of \^ Father Zende, an eccentric Teuton, who was much shocked one day at see- ing the boy in a lager beer saloon taking off a foaming glass of lager. He bade the boy go home, but said nothing about the matter till evening. After tea Zende seated himself at the table and placed before him a variety of queer things, whereon Billy looked with curiosity. "Kommer zie hier, Pilly," cried Christian. " Vy vas du in te peer shops, to-tay, hein ? Vy drinks peer, mein poy ?' ' " O — O — because it's good," said Billy, boldly. ' ' No, Pilly, it vas not gute to dein mout. I did see neffer so pig faces als didst make, Pilly. Pilly, you dinks it vill daste gute py-and-py, and it ees like a man to trinks, and so you trinks, Pilly. Now, Pilly, eef it ees gute, haf it ; if it ees like ein man, trink it, Pilly, I vill not hinders you vrom vat ees gute and manly, mein shilt ; but — trinks at home, dakes your trink pure, Pilly, and lets me pay for it. Kom, mein poy ! You likes peer. Veil, kom, open dein mout ; heir I haf all te peer stuff Simons pure vrom te schops, mein poy. Kom, opens dein mout, ant I vill puts it een. ' ' Billy drew near, but kept his mouth close shut. Said Zende : "Don you makes me madt, Pilly! Opens dein mout ! ' ' Thus exhorted, Billy opened his mouth, and Christian put a small bit of alum in it. Billy drew up his face, but boys can stand alum. 176 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. After a little, Christian cried, ' ' Opens dein mout, peer is't not all alums !" and he dropped in a bit of aloes. This was worse ; Billy winced. Again, " Opens dein mout !" The least morsel of red pepper, now, from a knife point ; but Billy howled. "Vat! not likes dein peer?" said Zende. ' ' Opens dein mout ! ' ' Just touched, now, with a knife point dipped in oil of turpentine. Billy began to cry. " Opens dein mout, dein peer is not hafs mate yet, Pilly !" And Billy's tongue got the least dusting of lime and potash and saleratus. Billy now cried loudly. ' ' Opens dein mout ! ' ' Unlucky Billy ! This time about a grain of liquorice, hop pollen, and salpetre. "Looks, Pilly ! Here ist some arsenic, and some strychnine ; dese pelongs in te peer. Opens dein mout ! " ^ "I can't, I can't!" roared Billy. "Arsenic and strychnine are to kill rats ! I shall die ! O-O-O ! do you want to kill me, Father Zende ?' ' "Kills him; joost py ein leetle peer! All gute and pure ! He dells me he likes peer, and it ees manly to trinks eet, and ven I gives him te peer, he cries kills him ! So, Pilly, heir is water, dere ist mooch water in peer — trinks dat ! ' ' Billy drank the water eagerly. Zende went on, "And dere is mooch alcohol in peer. Heir! opens dein mout ! ' ' and he dropped four drops of raw spirit carefully on his tongue. Billy went dancing about the room, and then ran for more water. " Kommer zie heir, dein peer ist not done, Pilly, ' ' shouted Christian ; and, seizing him, he put the cork of an ammonia bottle to his lips, then a drop of honey, a taste of sugar, a drop of molasses, a drop of gall; then "Pilly, heir is more of dein peer ! Heir is jalap, copperas, sulphuric acid, acetic acid, and nux vomica ; opens dein mout ! " w " O, no, no !" moaned Billy. " Let me go ! I hate beer ! I'll never drink any more ! I'll never go in that shop again ! I'll be a good boy ! I'll sign the pledge ! Oh, let me be ! I can't eat those things ! I'll die ! My mouth tastes awful now. Oh, take 'em away, Father Zende!" " Dakes 'em away ! dakes avay dein goot peer!" cried the old man, innocently, "ven I hafs paid vor eet, ant mein Pilly can trinks eet pure at his home, likes ein shentleman ! Vy, poy, dese ist te makins of peer, and you no likes dem? All dese honey ant sugar ant water, poy?' ' " But the other things, ' ' said Billy. < < O, the other things — they are the biggest part — ugh — they make me sick. ' ' "Mein poy, you trinks dem fast to-tay ! Looks, Pilly, a man he trinks all dese pad things mix up in vater, and call peer. Ach ! he gets red in hees faces, he gets pig in hees poddy, he gets shaky in hees hands, he gets clumsy on hees toes, he gets weak in hees eyes, he gets pad in hees breat', he gets mean in hees manners. Vy, Pilly, you sees vy. All dese dings on mein table ees vy ! " Happy Billy ! Few boys get so good a tem- perance lecture, such home thrusts, such practical experiments as fall to your lot. Billy was satis- fied on the beer question. "He ees all goot now," said Zende. "I hafs no more droubles mit mein Pilly. ' ' THE TEMPERANCE QUESTION. SOME men look upon this temperance cause as whining bigotry, narrow asceticism, or a vulgar sentimentality, fit for little minds, weak women, and weaker men. On the contrary, I regard it as second only to one or two others of the primary reforms of this age, and for this reason : every race has its peculiar temptation ; every clime has its specific sin. The tropics and tropical races are tempted to one form of sensuality; the colder and tem- perate regions, and our Saxon blood, find their peculiar temptation in the stimulus of drink and food. In old times our heaven was a drunken revel. We relieve ourselves from the over- weariness of constant and exhausting toil by intoxication. Science has brought a cheap means of drunkenness within the reach of every individual. National prosperity and free insti- YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 177 tutions have put into the hands of almost every workman the means of being drunk for a week on the labor of two or three hours. With that blood and that temptation, we have adopted democratic institutions, where the law has no sanctions but the purpose and virtue of the masses. The statute-book rests not on bayonets, as in Europe, but on the hearts of the people. A drunken people can never be the basis of a free government. It is the corner-stone neither of virtue, prosperity, nor progress. To us, therefore, the title-deeds of whose estates and the safety of whose lives depend upon the tran- quillity of the streets, upon the virtue of the masses, the presence of any vice which brutal- izes the average mass of mankind, and tends to make it more readily the tool of intriguing and corrupt leaders, is necessarily a stab at the very life of the nation. Against such a vice is mar- shaled the Temperance Reformation. That my sketch is no fancy picture every one of you knows. Every one of you can glance back over your own path, and count many and many a one among those who started from the goal at your side, with equal energy and perhaps greater promise, who has found a drunkard's grave long before this. The brightness of the bar, the ornament of the pulpit, the hope, and blessing, and stay of many a family — you know, every one of you who has reached middle life, how often on your path you set up the warning, " Fallen before the temptations of the street ! " Hardly one house in this city, whether it be full and warm with all the luxury of wealth, or whether it find hard, cold maintenance by the most earnest economy : no matter which — hardly a house that does not count among sons or nephews some victim of this vice. The skeleton of this warning sits at every board. The whole world is kindred in this suffering. The country mother launches her boy with trembling upon the temptations of city life ; the father trusts his daughter anxiously to the young man she has chosen, knowing what a wreck intoxication may make of the house-tree they set up. Alas ! how often are their worst 12 forebodings more than fulfilled : I have known a case — probably many of you recall some almost equal to it — where one worthy woman could count father, brother, husband, and son- in-law all drunkards — no man among her near kindred, except her son, who was not a victim of this vice. Like all other appetites, this finds resolution weak when set against the constant presence of temptation. Wendell Phillips. D A DELSARTEN PLEA. EAR Mr. Delsarte !* Since you've taught us that art Must replace Mother Nature's injunctions. And teach us anew What we really should do With our various physical functions. We beg you would add To the lessons we've had About walking and breathing and posing, Other hints that will make All our doings partake Of a grace more perfection disclosing. We'd be taught, if you please, How to gracefully sneeze, How to snore in symmetrical manner, How to get out of bed, How to drop when we tread On the cuticle of a banana ; How to smell, how to wink, How to chew, how to drink, How sublimely to shake an ash-sifter, How to step on a tack, How to get in a hack, How to toy with a heated stove-lifter ; How to hiccough with ease, How to groan, how to wheeze, How to spank a night -brawling relation ; In short, how to mend The mistakes that our friend Dame Nature mixed in our creation. * Francois Delsarte, the famous French teacher, who taught that the greatest need of the elocutionist was to imi- tate nature in his art ; that there was a natural way of ex- pressing every thought and emotion, and that mind and body should work together in harmony under the guidance of nature's true promptings 178 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. I THE POOR INDIAN! KNOW him by his falcon eye, His raven tress and mien of pride ; Those dingy draperies, as they fly, Tell that a great soul throbs inside ! No eagle-feathered crown he wears, Capping in pride his kingly brow ; But his crownless hat in grief declares, " I am an unthroned monarch now !" " O noble son of a royal line !" I exclaim, as I gaze into his face, ' ' How shall I knit my soul to thine ? How right the wrongs of thine injured race ? " What shall I do for thee, glorious one ? To soothe thy sorrows my soul aspires. Speak ! and say how the Saxon's son May atone for the wrongs of his ruthless sires ! ' ' He speaks, he speaks ! — that noble chief! From his marble lips deep accents come ; And I catch the sound of his mighty grief, — " jP/e' gV me tree cent for git some rum ?" CASEY AT THE BAT. (This selection has been made famous by DeWolf Hopper, who has been called before the curtain between the acts of his comic opera performances hundreds of times to recite this piece, always receiv- ing thunders of applause. ) THERE was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place, There was pride in Casey's bearing, and a smile on Casey's face ; And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt, Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt ; Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance glanced in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came whirl- ing thro' the air, And Casey stood a- watching it in haughty grandeur there ; Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped. "That ain't my style," said Casey, "Strike one," the umpire said. From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of storm waves on a stern and distant shore ; "Kill him! kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand. And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand. With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone, He stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on; He signalled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew, But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two." "Fraud! " cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered, " Fraud ! " But the scornful look from Casey, and the audi- ence was awed ; They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey's lips, his teeth are clenched in hate, , He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate ; And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he let's it go. And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. Oh ! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright, YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 179 The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light ; And somewhere men are laughing, and some- where children shout, But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out. THE NEWS-TELLING BORE. (It is important in the delivery of dialogues, in order to prevent confusion, to have the places of entrance and exit, whether right or left, well under- stood beforehand ; also to have every crossing of the stage marked and understood. Unless this is done, awkwardness will be produced by an unexpected movement. In some of the dialogues the editor has inserted the proper marks ; in others, the speakers are left to arrange them. The animation and natural- ness cf a dialogue often depend upon proper and ex- pressive movements across the stage, or to and fro. ) Quidnunc and Feeble. Enter Feeble, L. * He stops, C. , feels his pulse, and shakes his head — then takes a vial from his pocket, pours a few drops on a lump of sugar, and swallows it. As soon as he hears Quid- nunc's voice, he starts with disgust towards R. The whole of Quidnunc' s first speech is uttered off the stage. There should be a chair a little to the right of the centre. Quidnunc (without). Hold your tongue, you foolish fellow ! he'll be glad to see me. Brother Feeble ! brother Feeble ! Feeble {R.). I was just going to bed. Bless my heart, what can this man want ? I know his voice. I hope no new misfortune brings him at this hour. Eiiter Quidunc, L. Quid. Brother Feeble, I give you joy ! the nabob's demolished. Hurra ! Feeb. Lack-a-day, Mr. Quidnunc ! How can you serve me thus ? Quid. Suraja Dowla is no more ! Hurra ! ( Crosses the stage to L. , then back again to R. ) Feeb. Poor man ! he's stark, staring mad. Quid. Our men diverted themselves with kill- ing their bullocks and their camels, till they dis- lodged the enemy from the sotagon, and the counterscarp, and the bungalow — * R. stands for the right of the stage, facing the audience ; I,, for the left ; C. for the centre. Feeb. I'll hear the rest to-morrow morning. O ! I'm ready to die ! Quid. Odds-heart, man, be of good cheer ! {Slapping Feeble on the back.) The new nabob, Jaffer Alley Cawn, has acceded to a treaty, and the English Company got all their rights in the Phiemad and the Fushbulhoonons. Feeb. But, dear heart, Mr. Quidnunc, why am I to be disturbed for this ? Quid. We had but two seapoys killed, three chokeys, four gaul-walls, and two zemindars. Hurra ! Feeb. Would not to-morrow morning do as well for this ? Quid. Light up your windows, man ! — light up your windows ! Chandernagore is taken ! Hurra ! Feeb. Well, well ! I am glad of it. Good- night. ( Going R. ) Quid. Here — here's the Gazette. {Produces newspaper. ) Feeb. O, I shall certainly faint ! {Sits down. ) Quid. Ay, ay, sit down, and I'll read it to you. Here it is : " On the ioththe action com- menced. Suraja Dowla drew up his men on the right of the bungalow, about" — (Feeble rises and moves away, R.) Nay, don't run away; I've more news to tell you. There's an account from Williamsburg, in America. The superin- tendent of Indian affairs — Feeb. Dear sir ! dear sir ! {Avoiding him.) Quid. He has settled matters with the Chero- kees — {Followi7tg him about the stage. ) Feeb. Enough, enough ! {Moving away. ) Quid. In the same manner he did before with the Catawbas. {Following him.) Feeb. Well, well ! —your servant. {Moving of-) Quid. So that the white inhabitants — {Fol- lowing him.) Feeb. I wish you would let me be a quiet in- habitant of my own house ! Quid. So that the white inhabitants will now be secured by the Cherokeesand the Catawbas — Feeb. You had better go home, and think cf appearing before the commissioners. 180 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Quid. Go home ! No, no ! I'll go and talk the matter over at our coffee-house.. ( Going, L. ) Feeb. Do so, do so ! Quid, (turning back) . I had a dispute about the balance of power. ( Takes chair and sits, C. ) Pray, now, can you tell — Feeb. I know nothing of the matter. Quid. Well, another time will do for that. (Rises. ) I have a great deal to say about that. ( Going — returns. ) Right ! I had like to have forgot. There' s an erratum in the last Gazette. Feeb. With all my heart ! Quid. Page 3, 1st col., 1st and 3d lines, for bombs read booms. Feeb. Read what you will ! Quid. Nay, but that alters the sense, you know. Well, now, your servant. If I hear any more news, I'll come and tell you. Feeb. For heaven's sake, no more ! Quid. I'll be with you before you're out of your first sleep. Feeb. Good-night, good-night ! (Hurries off, R.) Quid, (screaming after hint). I forgot to tell you — the Emperor of Morocco is dead. So, now I have made him happy, I'll go and call up my friend Razor, and make him happy, too ; and then I'll go and see if anybody k up at the coffee- house, and make them all happy ihere, too. (Exit, L.) MARK TWAIN INTRODUCES HIMSELF. ' * T ADIES — and — gentlemen : By — the re- j quest of the — Chairman of the — Com- mit-tee — I beg leave to — intro — duce — to you — the reader of the eve-ning — a gentle- man whose great learning — whose historical ac- curacy — whose devotion — to science — and — whose veneration for the truth — are only equalled by his high moral character — and — his — majestic presence. I allude — in these vague general terms — to my-self. I — am a little opposed to the cus- tom of ceremoniously introducing a reader to the audience, because it seems — unnecessary — where the man has been properly advertised ! But as — it is — the custom — I prefer to make it myself — in my own case — and then I can rely on getting in — all the facts ! I never had but one introduction — that seemed to me just the thing — and the gentleman was not acquainted with me, and there was no nonsense. ' Ladies and gentle- men, I shall waste no time in this introduction. I know of only two facts about this man ; first, he — has never been in state prison ; and, second, I can't — imagine why.' " SEWING ON A BUTTON. (Humorous reading.) IT is bad enough to see a bachelor sew on a button, but he is the embodiment of grace alongside of a married man. Necessity has compelled experience in the case of the former, but the latter has always depended upon some one else for this service, and fortunately, for the sake of society, it is rarely he is obliged to resort to the needle himself. Sometimes the patient wife scalds her right hand, or runs a sliver under the nail of the index finger of that hand, and it is then the man clutches the needle around the neck, and forgetting to tie a knot in the thread commences to put on the button. It is always in the morning, and from five to twenty minutes after he is expected to be down street. He lays the button exactly on the site of its predecessor, and pushes the needle through one eye, and carefully draws the thread after, leaving about three inches of it sticking up for leeway. Pie says to himself, — "Well, if women don't have the easiest time I ever see." Then he comes back the other way, and gets the needle through the cloth well enough, and lays himself out to find the eye, but in spite of a great deal of patient jabbing, the needle point persists in bucking against the solid parts of that button, and, finally, when he loses patience, his fingers catch the thread, and that three inches he had left to hold the button slips through the eye in a twinkling, and the button rolls leisurely across the floor. He picks it up without a single remark, out of respect to his children, and makes another at- tempt to fasten it. This time when coming back YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 181 with the needle he keeps both the thread and but- ton from slipping by covering them with his thumb, and it is out of regard for that part of him that he feels around for the eye in a very careful and judicious manner ; but eventually losing his philosophy as the search becomes more and more hopeless, he falls to jabbing about in a loose and savage manner, and it is just then the needle finds the opening, and comes up through the button and part way through his thumb with a celerity that no humau ingenuity can guard against. Then he lays down the things, with a few familiar quotations, and presses the injured hand between his knees, and then holds it under the other arm, and finally jams it into his mouth, and all the while he prances about the floor, and calls upon heaven and earth to witness that there has never been anything like it since the world was created, and howls, and whistles, and moans, and sobs. After awhile, he calms down, and puts on his pants, and fastens them together with a stick, and goes to his business a changed man. J. M. Bailey. LATEST FORM OF LITERARY HYSTERICS. (Speaker should be earnest, as if trying to deliver an oration of consequence. ) THE little bird stood on the roof of the cow- shed and scratched its neck. Afar down the valley a lone ragman drove his chariot slowly along and chanted his plaintive lay. The wind moaned through the chimney-pots, the red sun looked dimly down through the smoke, and the little bird stood on the roof of the cowshed and scratched its neck. The little bird stood on the roof of the cow- shed and scratched its neck. Sadly the stray policeman in the gray distance swiped a banana from the cart of a passing Italian and peeled it with a grimy hand. He was thinking, thinking. And the dead leaves still choked the tin spout above the rain-water barrel in the backyard. The little bird stood on the roof of the cow- shed and scratched its neck. Adown the gutters in the lonely street ran murky puddles on their long, long journey toward the distant sea. Borne on the wings of the sluggish breeze came a far-off murmur of vagrant dogs in fierce contention, and life was a hollow mockery to the homeless cat. The little bird stood on the roof of the cow- shed and scratched its neck. And it softly said : ' ' I scratch because it itches ! ' ' MISS JANUARY JONES' LECTURE ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS. (Young man dressed up as a colored woman. ) LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: Hear me for my cause, and be silent that I may have your years. I come to speak for my sufferin' sisters. Man, my hearers, claims to be the sioperior uv woman ! Is it so ? and ef so, in what, and how much ? Wuz he the fust creashun ? He wuz, my hearers ; but what does that prove ? Man wuz made fust, but the experience gained in makin' man wuz applied to the makin' uv a betterer and more finerer bein', uv whom I am a sample. Nacher made man, but saw in a breef space uv time thet he coodent take keer of hisself alone, and so he made a woman to take keer uv him, and thet's why we wuz created, tho' seein' all the trubble we hev, I don't doubt thet it wood hev bin money in our pockets ef we hedn't bin med at all. Imagine, my antiquated sisters, Adam, afore Eve wuz med ! Who sowed on his shirt buttins? Who cooked his beef-steak ? Who med his coffee in the mornin' and did his washin' ? He wuz mizzable, he wuz — he must hev boarded out, and eat hash ! But when Eve cum, the scene changed. Her gentle hand suthed his akin' brow wen he cum in from a hard day's work. She hed his house in order ; she hed his slippers and dressin' gown reddy, and after tea he smoked his meershaum in peece. Men, crooel, hard-hearted men, assert thet Eve wuz the cause uv his expulshun from Eden — thet she plucked the apple and give him half; oh, my sisters, its troo : it's too troo, but what uv it? It proves, fustly, her goodness. Hed Adam plucked the apple, ef it hed bin a good 182 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. one, he'd never thought of his wife at home, but wood hev gobbled it all. Eve, angel that we all are, thought uv him, and went havers with him ! Secondly, it wuz the meens uv good, anyhow. It interdoost deth inter the wurld, which separated 'em wile they still hed luv fur each uther. I appeal to the sterner sex present to-night, Wood yoo, oh, wood yoo, desire for immortality, onless, indede, you lived in Injeany, where yoo cood git divorces, and change your names wunst in ten or fifteen yeers? S'pos'n all uv yoo hed bin fortoonit enuff to win sich virgin soles ez me, cood yoo endoor charms like mine for a eternity ? Methinks not. I know that ef I hed a husband he wood bless Eve for interdoosin' death inter the world. CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. (Humorous, Italian dialect.) DEESA man liva in Italia a gooda longa time ago. He hada greata head ever since he was a kidda. Not a bigga heada likea de politicians nowaday — not a swella heada. His fadda keepa de standa in Italia. Sella de pea- nutta and de banan. Maka plente de mon. Christopher Colum he say, < * Fadda, gimma de stamp, I go finda de new world. ' ' His fadda he laugh, "Ha! ha!" just so. Den Christopher he say, ' < Whata you maka fun ! I betta you I finda new world. ' ' After a longa time his fadda say, "You go finda new world, and bringa it over here." Den de olda man he buy him a grip-sack, an' giva him boodle, an' maka him a present of three ships to come over to deesa contra. Well, Christopher Colum he saila an' saila for a gooda many day. He don't see any landa. An' he say, " I giva fiva dollar bill if I was back in Italia!" Well, he saila, an' he saila, an' vera soon he strika Coney Island. Den dat maka him glad ! , Vera soon he coma to Castle Garden, an' den he walka up Broadway an' he feel very bada. He finda outa dat de Irish gang has gotta possession of New Yorka ! He don't lika de Irish, an' de Shamrocka donta lika him. He donta go vera far before a pleas- anter mana speaks to him. He sav, " How-a-vou do, Mista Jones ? Howa de folks in Pittaburg ?' ' Christopher Colum he say, "I notta Mista Jones ; I reada the papers ; I tinka you sella de green goods, ha ? You go away, or I broka your jaw ?' ' Den he shaka hees fista deesa way, and de man he skedaddle. Den he tries to crossa de Broad-a-way, but it fulla de mud an' he canta swim. Vera soon he sees a policeman cluba de mana, one, two, three times, an' he feel secka de stom' ! Next he metta de politicians uppa Tam- many Hall, an' dees wanta him to runna for Alderman. He getta plenty friend. He learna to " settom op" at de bar mana time. Next day he hava heada like deesa ! His fadda writa : " Why you notta bringa back de new world ? I lika to hava de earth ! ' ' Christopher Colum he writa back dat New Yorka is already in de hands of the Shamrocka. Den he goes to Ohio and buys a place an' calla it after himself — Colum. Soon he goa broka an' taka de nexta train home in disgusta, because he reada in de paper dat the Fair in '93 was holda in Chicago ! BIDDY'S TROUBLES. (Humorous dialectic reading.) "TT'S thru for me, Katy, that I never seed the like of this people afore. It's a sorry time I've been having since coming to this house, twelve months agone this week Thursday. Yer know, honey, that my fourth coosin, Ann Macarthy, recommended me to Mrs. Whaler, and told the lady that I knew about ginteel housework and the likes ; while at the same time I had niver seed inter an American lady's kitchen. So she engaged me, and my heart was jist ready to burst wid grief for the story that Ann had told, for Mrs. Whaler was a swate spoken lady, and niver looked cross-like in her life ; that I knew by her smooth, kind face. Well, jist the first thing she told me to do, after I dressed the children, was to dress the ducks for dinner. I stood looking at the lady for a couple of minutes before I could make out any meaning at all to her words. Thin I wint searching after clothes for the ducks ; and such YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 183 a time as I had, to be sure. High and low I went, till at last my mistress axed me for what I was looking ; and I told her the clothes for the ducks, to be sure. Och ! how she scramed and laughed, till my face was rid as the sun wid shame, and she showed me in her kind, swate way what her maning was. Thin she told me how to air the beds ; and it was a day for me indade, when I could go up chamber alone and clare up the rooms. One day Mrs. Whaler said to me : " ' Biddy, an' ye may give the baby an airin', if yees will.' * " What should I do — and it's thru what I am saying this blessed minute- -but go up-stairs wid the child, and shake it, and then howld it out of the winder. Such a scraming and kicking as the baby gave — but I hild on the harder. Everybody thin in the strate looked up at me ; at last mistress came up to see what for was so much noise. " ' I am thrying to air the baby, ' I said, ' but it kicks and screams dridfully. ' ' ' There was company down below, and when Mrs. Whaler told them what I had been after doing I thought they would scare the folks in the strate wid scraming. ' ' And then I was told I must do up Mr. Whaler's sharts one day when my mistress was out shopping. She told me repeatedly to do them up nice, for master was going away, so I takes the sharts and did them all up in some paper that I was after bringing from the ould counthry wid me, and tied some nice pink ribbon around the bundle. " ' Where are the sharts, Biddy? ' axed Mrs. Whaler when she corned home. * " ' I have been doing them up in a quair nice way,' I said, bringing her the bundle. "'Will you iver be done wid your grane- ness ? ' she axed me with a loud scrame. "I can't for the life of me be tellin' what their talkin' manes. At home we calls the likes of this fine work starching ; and a deal of it I have done, too. Och ! and may the Blessed Vargin pity me, for I never' 11 be cured of my ^raneness ! " BEAUTIES OF THE LAW. Bullum versus Boatum. T" "yHAT a profound study is the law ! How \\l shall I define it ? Law is — law. Law is — law ; and so forth, and hereby, and aforesaid, provided always, nevertheless, notwith- standing. Law is like a country dance ; people are led up and down in it till they are tired. It is like physic ; they that take the least of it are best off. Law is like a homely gentlewoman ; very well to follow. Law is like a scolding wife ; very bad when it follows us. Law is like a new fashion ; people are bewitched to get into it ; it is also like bad weather ; most people are glad when they get out of it. We shall now mention, in illustration, a case that came before us, — the case of Bullum versus Boatum. It was as follows : There were two farmers — farmer A and farmer B. Farmer A was seized or possessed of a bull ; farmer B was seized or possessed of a ferry-boat. Now, the owner of the ferry-boat, having made his boat fast to a post on shore, with a piece of hay twisted rope-fashion, or, as we say, volgo vocato, a hay -band, — after he had made his boat fast to the aforesaid post (as it was very natural for a hungry man to do) went up town to dinner. Farmer A's bull (as it was natural for a hungry bull to do) came down town to look for a din- ner ; and, observing, discovering, seeing, and spying out, some turnips in the bottom of the ferry-boat, the bull scrambled into the ferry-boat, ate up the turnips, and, to make an end of his meal, fell to work upon the hay-band. The boat, being eaten from its moorings, floated down the river with the bull in it : it struck against a rock, beat a hole in the bottom of the boat, and tossed the bull overboard ; whereupon, the owner of the bull brought his action against the boat for running away with the bull. The owner of the boat brought his action against the bull for running away with the boat. And thus notice of the trial was given, Bullum versus Boatum, Boatum versus Bullum. The counsel for the bull began by saying, "Your honor, and you. gentlemen of the jury, we are counsel in this cause for the bull. We 184 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. are indicted for running away with the boat. Now, your honor, we have heard of running horses, but never of running bulls before. Now, your honor, the bull could no more run away with the boat than a man in a coach may be said to run away with the horses; therefore, your honor, how can we punish what is not punish- able ? How can we eat what is not eatable ? Or, how can we drink what is not drinkable ? Or, as the law says, how can we think what is not thinkable? Therefore, your honor, as we are counsel in this cause for the bull, if the jury should bring the bull in guilty, the jury would be guilty of a bull. ' ' The counsel for the boat observed, that the bull should be non-suited, because, in his decla- ration, he had not specified what color he was of; for thus wisely, and thus learnedly, spoke the counsel : " Your honor, if the bull was of no color, he must be of some color ; and, if he was not of any color, what color could the bull be of ? " I over-ruled this motion, myself, by observing the bull was a white bull, and that white is no color; besides, as I told my brethren, they should not trouble their heads to talk of color in the law, for the law can color anything. This cause being afterwards left to a reference, upon the award, both bull and boat were acquitted, it being proved that the tide of the river carried them both away ; upon which I gave it as my opinion, that, as the tide of the river carried both bull and boat away, both bull and boat had a good action against the water- bailiff. My opinion being taken, an action was issued, and, upon the traverse, this point of law arose : How, wherefore, and whether, why, when, and what, whatsoever, whereas, and whereby, as the boat was not a compos mentis evidence, how could an oath be administered ? That point was soon settled by Boatum's attorney declaring that, for his client, he would swear anything. The water-bailiff's charter was then read, taken out of the original record in true law Latin ; which set forth in their declaration, that they were carried away either by the tide of flood or the tide of ebb. The charter of the water-bailiff was as follows : ' ' Aqua bailiffi est magistratus in choici, sapor omnibus fishilus qui habuerunt finos et scalos, claws, shells, et talos, qui swimmare in freshibus, vel saltibus riveris, lakos, pondis, canalibus et well-boats, si've oysteri, prawni, whitini, shrwipi, lurbutus, solus ; ' ' that is, not turbots alone, but turbots and soles both together. But now comes the nicety of the law ; for the law is as nice as a new-laid egg. Bullum and Boatum mentioned both ebb and flood, to avoid quibbling ; but, it being proved that they were carried away neither by the tide of flood nor by the tide of ebb, but exactly upon the top of high water, they were non-suited ; but, such was the lenity of the court, that, upon their paying all costs,, they were allowed to begin again de novo. COUNTING EGGS. OLD Moses, who sells eggs and chickens on the streets of Austin for a living, is as honest an old negro as ever lived ; but he has the habit of chatting familiarly with his customers, hence he frequently makes mistakes in counting out the eggs they buy. He carries, his wares around in a small cart drawn by a diminutive donkey. He stopped in front of the residence of Mrs. Samuel Burton. The old lady herself came out to the gate to make the purchase. "Have you any eggs this morning, Uncle Moses?" she asked. "Yes, indeed, I has. Jess got in ten dosen from de kentry." "Are they fresh?" "Fresh? Yas, indeed! I guarantees 'em, an' — an' — de hen guarantees 'em." "I'll take nine dozen. You can count them into this basket. ' ' "All right, mum;" he counts, "*One, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight, nine, ten. You can rely on them bein' fresh. How's your son comin' on de school? He must be mos' grown. ' ' " Yes, Uncle Moses ; he is a clerk in a bank, in Galveston." YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 185 " Why, how ole am de boy?" " He is eighteen." " You don't tole me so ! Eighteen, and get- ting a salary already ! Eighteen (counting), nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty- foah, twenty-five. And how's your gal comin' on? She was most growed up de last time I seed her. ' ' " She is married and living in Dallas." "Wall, I declar' ; how time scoots away. And you say she has childruns ? Why how ole am de gal ? She must be jest about — ' ' "Thirty -three." "Am dat so?" (Counting.) "Firty-free, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six, firty-seben, firty- eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-free. Hit am singular dat you has such ole childruns. You don't look more den forty years old yerseff. ' ' ' ' Nonsense, old man ; I see you want to natter me. When a person gets to be fifty- three years old — " " Fifty-free ! I jess dun gwinter bleeve hit ; fifty-free, fifty-foah, fifty-five, fifty-six — I want you to pay 'tenshun when I count de eggs, so dar'll be no mistake — fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one sixty-two, sixty-free, sixty-foah. Whew ! Dis am a warm day. Dis am de time ob year when I feels I'se gettin' ole myself; I ain't long fur dis world. You comes from an ole family. When your fadder died he was sebenty years ole." " Seventy-two." " Dat's old, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty- free, sebenty-foah, sebenty-five, sebenty-six, sebenty-seben, sebenty-eight, sebenty-nine. And your mudder ? she was one ob de noblest lookin' ladies I ebber see. You remind me ob her so much ! She libed to mos' a hundred. I bleeves she was done past a centurion when she died." " No, Uncle Moses ; she was only ninety-six when she died." "Den she wan't no chicken when she died, I know dat. Ninety-six, ninety-seben, ninety- eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight — dar, one hundred and eight nice fresh eggs — jess nine dozen, and here am moah egg in case I have discounted myself. ' ' Old Mose went on his way rejoicing. A few days afterward Mrs. Burton said to her husband : "I am afraid we will have to discharge Ma- tilda. I am satisfied that she steals the milk and eggs. I am positive about the eggs, for I bought them day before yesterday, and now about half of them are gone. I stood right there, and heard Moses count them myself, and there were nine dozen. ' ' Texas Siftings. THE NOBLE REVENGE. (Reading. Teaching a lesson of kindness. ) THE coffin was a plain one — a poor, miser- able pine coffin. No flowers on the top ; no lining of white satin for the pale brow ; no smooth ribbons about the coarse shroud. The brown hair was laid decently back, but there was no crimped cap with neat tie beneath the chin. The sufferer from cruel pov- erty smiled in her sleep ; she had found bread, rest, and health. ' ' I want to see my mother, ' ' sobbed a poor little child, as the undertaker screwed down the top. "You cannot; get out of the way, boy; why don't somebody take the brat?" "Only let me see her one minute!" cried the helpless orphan, clutching the side of the charity box, and, as he gazed upon the rough box, agonized tears streamed down the cheeks on which no childish bloom ever lingered. Oh ! it was painful to hear him cry the words, ' < Only once, let me see my mother, only once ! ' ' Quickly and brutally the heartless monster struck the boy away, so that he reeled with the blow. For a moment the boy stood panting with grief and rage — his blue eyes distended, his lips sprang apart, fire glittered through his eyes, as he raised his little arm with a most un- childish laugh, and screamed, ' ' When I am a man, I'll be revenged for that !" There was a coffin and a heap of earth be- 186 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT tween the mother and the poor forsaken child — a monument much stronger than granite built in the boy's heart the memory of the heartless deed. The court-house was crowded to suffocation. " Does anyone appear as this man's counsel ?" asked the Judge. There was a silence when he had finished, until, with lips tightly pressed together, a look of strange intelligence blended with a haughty reserve upon his handsome features, a young man stepped forward with a firm tread and kindly eye to plead for the erring friendless. He was a stranger, but at the first sentence there was silence. The splendor of his genius entranced — convinced. The man who could not find a friend was ac- quitted. ' ' May God bless you, sir ; I cannot, ' ' he said. ' ' I want no thanks, ' ' replied the stranger. " I — I — I believe you are unknown to me." " Man, I will refresh your memory. Twenty years ago, this day, you struck a broken-hearted little boy away from his dear mother's coffin. I was that boy. ' ' The man turned livid. ' ' Have you rescued me, then, to take my life?" " No, I have a sweeter revenge. I have saved the life of a man whose brutal conduct has rankled in my breast for the last twenty years. Go, then, and remember the tears of a friendless child." The man bowed his head in shame, and went from the presence of magnanimity as grand to him as it was incomprehensible. "C "CASH." A-A-SH!" calls the Ribbon-clerk in Lacy's dry goods store, And he pounds on the counter and " Ca-a-a-sh !" he calls some more. Oh ! all day long he yells for cash, and when the week is o'er, He gets the eight crisp dollar bills that he's been shouting for. ' ' Cash ! call the Doctor, the Lawyer, Mer chant, Chief, The Rich Man and the Poor Man, the Beggar Man and Thief- Each calls for cash, but 'what he gets as little represents The 'sum he thinks he ought to have as does that first- named gent's. Oh ! some dine at Delmonico's and some eat mutton hash, Some have to cut their cuffs each week, while others cut a dash ; For some have less, and some have more, but none will call me rash In stating that there is not one who does not call for cash. THE LITTLE CONQUEROR. ' ^T^ WAS midnight ; not a sound was heard ; Within the — " Papa! won't 'ou 'ook An' see my pooty 'ittle house ? I wis' 'ou wouldn't wead 'ou book" — " Within the palace, where the king Upon his couch in anguish lay " — " Papa ! ~Pa.-pa ! I wis' 'ou'd turn An' have a 'ittle tonty play — " " No gentle hand was there to bring The cooling draught, or bathe his brow ; His courtiers, and his pages gone " — "Turn, papa, turn; I want 'ou now — " Down goes the book with needless force, And, with expression far from mild, With sullen air, and clouded brow, I seat myself beside the child. Her little, trusting eyes of blue With mute surprise gazed in my face, As if, in its expression, stern, Reproof, and censure, she could trace ; Anon her little bosom heaves, Her rosy lips begins to curl ; And, with a quiv'ring chin, she sobs; " Papa don't 'uv his 'ittle dirl ! " YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 187 King, palace, book — all are forgot ; My arms are 'round my darling thrown — The thunder cloud has burst, and, lo ! Tears fall and mingle with her own. Chas. F. Adams. THE GRUMBLER. HIS YOUTH. HIS cap was too thick, and his coat was too thin : He couldn't be quiet ; he hated a din ; He hated to write, and he hated to read ; He was certainly very much injured indeed ; He must study and toil over work he detested ; His parents were strict, and he never was rested ; He knew he was wretched as wretched could be, There was no one so wretchedly wretched as he. HIS MATURITY. His farm was too small, and his taxes too big ; He was selfish and lazy, and cross as a pig ; His wife was too silly, his children too rude, And just because he was uncommonly good ! He hadn't got money enough and to spare ; He had nothing at all fit to eat or to wear ; He knew he was wretched as wretched could be, There was no one so wretchedly wretched as he. HIS OLD AGE. He finds he has sorrows more deep than his fears, He grumbles to think he has grumbled for years ; He grumbles to think he has grumbled away His home and his children, his life's little day; But alas ! 'tis too late ! it is no use to say That his eyes are too dim, and his hair is too gray. He knows he is wretched as wretched can be, There is ne one so wretchedly wretched as he. Dora Read Goodale. THE FATHERS OF THE REPUBLIC. TO be cold and breathless, to feel not and speak not — this is not the end of exist- ence to the men who have breathed their spirits into the institutions of their country, who have stamped their characters on the pillars of the age, who have poured their heart's blood into the channels of the public prosperity. Tell me, ye who tread the sods of yon sacred height, is Warren dead? Can you not still see him — not pale and prostrate, the blood of his gallant heart pouring out of his ghastly wound, but moving resplendent over the field of honor, with the rose of heaven upon his cheek and the fire of liberty in his eye ? Tell me, ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the shades of Vernon, is Washington indeed shut up in that cold and narrow house ? That which made these men, and men like these, cannot die. The hand that traced the charter of independ- ence is, indeed, motionless ; the eloquent lips that sustained it are hushed ; but the lofty spirits that conceived, resolved and maintained it, and which alone, to such men, make it life to live — these cannot expire. Edward Everett. ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. YOUNG men, you are the architects of your own fortunes. Rely upon your own strength of body and soul. Take for your star self-reliance, faith, honesty, and industry. Inscribe on your banner, ' ' Luck is a fool, pluck is a hero." Don't take too much advice — keep at your helm and steer your own ship, and remember that the great art of com- manding is to take a fair share of the work. Don't practice too much humanity. Think well of yourself. Strike out. Assume your own position. Put potatoes in your cart, over a rough road, and small ones go to the bottom. Rise above the envious and jealous. Fire above the mark you intend to hit. Energy, invin- cible determination, with a right motive, are the levers that move the world. Don't drink. Don't chew. Don't smoke. Don't swear. Don't deceive. Don't read novels. Don't marry until you can support a wife. Be in earnest. Be self-reliant. Be generous. Be civil. Read the papers. Advertise your busi- ness. Make money and do good with it. Love your God and fellow-men. Love truth and virtue. Love your country and obey its laws. If this advice be implicitly followed by the young men of the country, the millennium is at hand. Noah Porter. 188 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT, MEN ALWAYS FIT FOR FREEDOM. THERE is only one cure for the evils which newly-acquired freedom produces, — and that cure is freedom ! When a prisoner leaves his cell, he cannot bear the light of day ; he is unable to discriminate colors, or recognize faces; but the remedy is not to remand him into his dungeon, but to accustom him to the rays of the sun. The blaze of truth and liberty may at first dazzle and bewilder Nations which have become half blind in the house of bond- age ; but let them gaze on, and they will soon be able to bear it. In a few years men learn to reason ; the extreme violence of opinion sub- sides; hostile theories correct each other; the scattered elements of truth cease to conflict, and begin to coalesce ; and, at length, a system of justice and order is educed out of the chaos. Many politicians of our time are in the habit of laying it down as a self-evident proposi- tion, that no People ought to be free till they are fit to use their freedom. The maxim is worthy of the fool in the old story, who resolved not to go into the water till he had learned to swim ! If men are to wait for liberty till they become wise and good in slavery they may, in- deed, wait forever ! T. B. Macaulay. SUCCESS IN LIFE. POETS may be born, but success is made ; therefore let me beg of you, in the out- set of your career, to dismiss from your minds all ideas of succeeding by luck. There is no more common thought among young people than that foolish one that by and by something will turn up by which they will suddenly achieve fame or fortune. Luck is an ignis-fatuus. You may follow it to ruin, but not to success. The great Napoleon, who believed in his destiny, followed it until he saw his star go down in blackest night, when the Old Guard perished around him, and Waterloo was lost. A pound of pluck is worth a ton of luck. Young men lalk of trusting to the spur of the occasion. That trust is vain. Occasion cannot make spurs. If you expect to wear spurs, you must win them. If you wish to use them, you must buckle them to your own heels before you go into the fight. Any success you may achieve is not. worth the having unless you fight for it. Whatever you win in life you must conquer by your own efforts, and then it is yours — a part of yourself. In giving you being, God locked up in your nature certain forces and capabilities. What will you do with them ? Look at the mechanism of a clock. Take off the pendulum and ratchet, and the wheels go rattling down, and all its force is expended in a moment ; but properly balanced and regulated, it will go on, letting out its force tick by tick, measuring hours and days, and do- ing faithfully the service for which it was de- signed. I implore you to cherish and guard and use well the forces that God has given you. You may let them run down in a year, if you will. Take ofj the strong curb of discipline and moral- ity, and you will be an old man before your twenties are passed. Preserve these forces. Do not burn them out with brandy, or waste them in idleness and crime. Do not destroy them. Do not use them unworthily. Save and protect them, that they may save for you fortune and fame. Honestly resolve to do this, and you will be an honor to yourself and to your country. James A. Garfield. BE IN EARNEST. NEVER be ashamed to say, ".I do not know." Men will then believe you when you say, ( ' I do know. ' ' Never be ashamed to say, " I can't afford it ;" " I can't afford to waste time in the idleness to which you invite me," or "I can't afford the money you ask me to spend." Never affect to be other than you are — either wiser or richer. Learn to say " No " with decision ; "Yes " with caution. "No" with decision whenever it resists temptation ; ' ' Yes ' ' with caution when- ever it implies a promise : for a promise once given is a bond inviolable. A man is already of consequence in the world YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 169 when it is known that we can implicitly rely upon him. Often have I known a man to be preferred in stations of honor and profit because he had this reputation : when he said he knew a tning, he knew it; and when he said he would do a thing, he did it. Lord Bulwer Lytton. RETRIBUTION.— Abraham Lincoln. (Extract from second inaugural address. ) Abraham Lincoln. Born, January 12, 1809 ; assassinated, April 14, 1865. The sixteenth President of the United States. For greatness of soul, heroism of spirit, rugged honesty, strong intellect, and a keen sense of j ustice, which qualities always contribute to the greatness of an orator, Lincoln was unsurpassed in American history. THE Almighty has His own purposes. "Woe unto the world because of offences ! for it must needs be that offences come ; but woe to the man by whom the offence cometh." If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offences which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having con- tinued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war, as the woe due to those by whom the offence came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attri- butes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him ! Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bond- man's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, ' ' The judg- ments of the Lord are true and righteous alto- gether. ' ' With malice toward none ; with charity for all ; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the 'work we are in ; to bind up the nation's wounds ; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan — to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and a last- ing peace among ourselves, and with all nations. THE LAND OF OUR FOREFATHERS. FOR myself, I can truly say that, after my native land, I feel a tenderness and a reverence for that of my fathers. • The pride 1 iake in my own country makes me respect that from which we are sprung. The sound of my native language beyond the sea is a music to my ears beyond the richest strains of Tuscan softness or Castilian majesty. I am not — I need not say I am not — the panegyrist of England. I am not dazzled by her riches nor awed by her power. The sceptre, the mitre and the coronet, stars, garters and ribbons, seem to me poor things for great men to contend for. But England is the cradle and the refuge of free principles, though often persecuted ; the school of religious liberty, the more precious for the struggles through which it has passed ; she holds the tombs of those who have reflected honor on all who speak the English tongue ; she is the birthplace of our fathers, the home of the Pilgrims ; it is these which I love and ven- erate in England. I should feel ashamed of an enthusiasm for Italy and Greece did I not also feel it for a land like this. In an American it would seem to me degenerate and ungrateful to hang with pas- sion upon the traces of Homer and Virgil and follow without emotion the nearer and plainer footsteps of Shakespeare and Milton. I should think him cold in love for his native land who felt no melting in his heart for that other native country which holds the ashes of his forefathers. Edward Everett. THE HARBOR OF SAN FRANCISCO. NOT even the magnificent harbor of Con- stantinople, in which security, depth, and expanse are combined, can rival the peerless land-locked Bay of San Francisco. How shall we describe it? You are sailing along the high coast of California, when sud- denly a gap is seen, as if the rocks had been rent asunder : you leave the open ocean, and enter the strait. The mountains tower so high on 190 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. either hand that it seems but a stone's throw from your vessel to the shore, though in reality it is a mile. Slowly advancing, an hour's sail brings you to where the strait grows still nar- rower ; and, lo ! before you, rising from the very middle of the waters, a steep rock towers aloft like a giant warder of the strait. With that rock well fortified, not all the fleets in the world could force the passage. You gaze back on the grim rock as you emerge from its shadows, and so land-locked does the scene appear, that you could fancy the mountains had fallen in, since you passed, and blocked up for- ever your path to the ocean. You turn to look ahead, and, lo ! a scene as wonderful again lies before you. You are in an inland sea ! — you are in Francisco Bay. To your right lies the Golden City ; at a distance in front rise the steep shores, and all around you an expanse of water, — a lake for calmness, a sea for extent, — in which the fleets of the world might ride at anchor. San Francisco will be the entrepot of nations, the emporium of the East and West. True, her merchandise will be largely manufactured in the East, her ships will for a long time be built in the harbors of the Atlantic, but her merchants will be the brokers, her halls the exchange, of the Pacific. Turn to the map, and you will see the rare advantages of her position. The whole Pacific, with its countless isles, lies open to her enterprise ; the Australian continent, and the realms of Hindostan', will reciprocate her com- merce, and the Golden Gate fronts the harbor of Canton' and the mouth of the Yang-tze-Kiang, the great harbor of Chinese traffic. THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON. ON what ground is it asserted that Caesar secured the greatness of his country? Was it by extending the fame of its arms ? There was another kind of fame which the Roman people valued more than the fame of their arms — the fame of their liberty. A gentleman, speak- ing of Caesar's benevolent disposition, and the reluctance with which he entered into the civil war, observes, ' ' How long did he pause upon the brink of the Ru'bicon ?' ' How came he to the brink of that river ? How dared he cross it? Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How dared he cross that river ? Oh, but he paused upon the brink ! He should have perished upon the brink ere he had crossed it. Why did he pause ? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed ? Why dees the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part ? Because of con- science. 'Twas that made Caesar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon. No wonder that he paused — no wonder if im- agination, wrought upon by conscience, had be- held blood instead of water, and heard groans instead of murmurs ! No wonder if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot ! But no! he cried, "The die is cast!" He plunged ! he crossed ! and Rome was free no more ! J. S. Knowles. DEMOSTHENES. Of all political characters, Demosthenes is the most sublime ; he is the purest tragic char- acter with which history is acquainted. When, still trembling with the vehement force of his language, we read his life in Plutarch, when we transfer ourselves into his times and his situation, we are carried away by a deeper interest than can be excited by any hero of the epic muse or of tragedy. From his first appearance till the moment when he swallowed poison in the temple, we see him contending against destiny, which seems to mock him with malignant cruelty. It throws him to the ground, but never subdues him. What a crowd of emotions must have struggled through his manly breast amidst this interchange of reviving and expiring hopes ! How natural was it that the lines of melancholy YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 191 and of indignation, such as we yet behold in his bust, should have been imprinted on his severe countenance ! It was his high calling to be the pillar of a sinking state. Thirty years he remained true to this cause, nor did he yield till he was buried beneath the ruins of his country. It was about the middle of the fourth century before our era when Demosthenes began to command attention in the Athenian assemblies. His first attempt, like those of Walpole and Sheridan in the British Parliament, was a failure ; and the derision which he received from the multitude would have discouraged an inferior spirit forever. It only nerved Demos- thenes to severer study, and to a more obstinate contest with his physical disadvantages. He assiduously practiced his growing powers as an advocate before the legal tribunals before he again ventured to speak on state affairs. But at length he re -appeared before the people and the dominion of his genius was supreme. Creasy. CICERO AND DEMOSTHENES COMPARED. To me Demosthenes seems superior to Cicero. I yield to no one in my admiration of the latter. He adorns whatever he touches. He lends honor to speech. He uses words as no one else can use them. His versatility is beyond descrip- tion. He is even concise and vehement when disposed to be so, — as against Catiline, against Verres, against Antony. But we detect the embellishments in his discourses. The art is marvelous, but it is not hidden. The orator does not, in his concern for the republic, forget himself, nor does he allow himself to be for- gotten. Demosthenes, on the contrary, seems to lose all consciousness of himself, and to recognize only his country. Pie does not seek the beau- tiful ; he unconsciously creates it. He is superior to admiration. He uses language as a modest man uses his garment — for a covering. He thunders, he lightens ; he is like a torrent hurrying all before it. We cannot criticize him, for we are in the sweep of his influence. We think on what he says, not on how he says it. We lose sight of the speaker ; we are occupied only with his subject. Fenelon. BRUTUS OVER THE BODY OF LUCRETIA. ( Dramatic and impassioned. The story of Lucre- tia's death should be read in Roman history, and the speaker appreciate the circumstances and enter fully into the spirit of the occasion. ) THUS, thus, my friends, fast as our breaking hearts Permitted utterance, we have told our story. And now, to say one word of the imposture, The mask necessity has made me wear. When the ferocious malice of your king — King do I call him ? — when the monster, Tarquin, Slew, as you most of you may well remember, My father, Marcus, and my elder brother, Envying at once their virtues and their wealth, How could I hope a shelter from his power But in the false face I have worn so long ? Would you know why Brutus has summoned you? Ask ye what brings him here ? Behold this dag- ger, Clotted with gore ! Behold that frozen corse ! See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death ! She was the mark and model of the time ; The mould in which each female grace was formed, The very shrine and sacristy of virtue ! The worthiest of the worthy ! Not the nymph Who met old Numa in his hallowed walk, And whispered in his ear her strains divine, Can I conceive beyond her ! The young choir Of vestal virgins bent to her ! O, my country- men, You all can witness that when she went forth, It was a holiday in Rome. Old age Forgot its crutch, labor its task ; all ran ; And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried, " There, there's Lucretia ! ' ' Now look ye where she lies. That beauteous flower, that innocent, sweet rose, Torn up by ruthless violence ! — gone, gone ! 192 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Say, would ye seek instruction ? would ye setk What ye should do ? Ask ye yon conscious walls, And they will cry, Revenge ! Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove O'er her dead father's corse ; ' twill cry, Revenge ! Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge ! Go to the tomb of Tarquin's murdered wife, And the poor queen, who loved him as her son — Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, Revenge ! The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heavens, The gods themselves, shall justify the cry, And swell the general sound — Revenge ! Re- venge J. H. Payne. WHAT A COMMON MAN MAY SAY; Or, What I Have to be Thankful For. (Good selection for Thanksgiving Day. ) I AM lodged in a house that affords me con- veniences and comforts which even a king could not command some centuries ago. There are ships crossing the seas in every direc- tion, some propelled by steam and some by the wind, to bring what is useful to me from all parts of the earth. In China men are gather- ing the tea-leaf for me ; in the Southern States, they are planting cotton for me ; in the West India Islands, and in Brazil, they are preparing my sugar and my coffee ; in Italy, they are feeding silk-worms for me ; at home, they are shearing sheep to make me clothing ; powerful steam-engines are spinning and weaving for me, and making cutlery for me, and pumping the mines, that minerals useful to me may be pro- cured. My patrimony was small, yet I have locomo- tive engines running, day and night, on all the railroads, to carry my correspondence. I have canals to bring the coal for my winter fire. Then I have telegraphic lines, which tell me what has happened a thousand miles off, the same day of its occurrence ; which flash a message for me in a minute to the bedside of a sick relative hundreds of miles distant ; and I have editors and printers who daily send me an account of what is going on throughout the world, amongst all these people who serve me. By the camera I procure in a few seconds a perfect likeness of myself or friend, drawn without human touch, by the simple agency of light. And then, in a corner of my house, I have books / — the miracle of all my possessions, more wonderful than the wishing-cap of the Arabian Tales ; for they transport me instantly not only to all places, but to all times. By my books I can con'jure up before me, to vivid existence, all the great and good men of old ; and, for my own private satisfaction, I can make them act over again the most renowned of all their ex- ploits. In a word, from the equator to the pole, and from the beginning of time until now, by my books I can be where I please. This picture is not overcharged, and might be much extended ; such being the miracle of God's goodness and providence, that each individual of the civilized millions that cover the earth may have nearly the same enjoyments as if he were the single lord of all. LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. ( Dialectic. ) ""\ TA.H, I shpeaks English a leetle ; berhaps Y you shpeaks petter der German. ' ' " No, not a word. " " Vel, den, meester, it hardt for to be oonderstandt. I vos drei yahr in your country ; I fights in der army mit Sherman — Twentiet' Illinois Infantry — Fightin' Joe Hooker's commandt." " So you've seen service in Georgia — a veteran, eh?"— "Veil, I tell you Shust how it vos. I vent ofer in sixty, und landt in Nei York ; I sphends all mine money, gets sick, und near dies in der Hospiddal Bellevue ; Ven I gets petter I tramps to Sheecago to look for some vork. ' ' "Pretty young then, I suppose?" — "Yah, swansig apout ; und der peebles Vot I goes to for to ask for some vork, dey hafe none for to geef ; YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 193 Efery von laughs ; but I holds my head ope shust so high as der steeples ; Only dot var comes along, or I should have die, I belief." "Ever get wounded? I notice you walk rather lame and unsteady. Pshaw ! got a wooden leg, eh ? What battle ?' ' "At Lookout !" "Don't say! I was there too — wait a minute — why your glass is empty already. Have another. There ! tell me how 'twas you got wounded that day." <( Veil, ve charge ope der side of der mountain — der sky vos all smoky and hazy ; Ve fight all day long in der clouds, but I nefer get hit until night — - But — I don't care to say mooch apout it. Der poys called me foolish and crazy, Und der doctor vot cut ofe my leg, he say, 1 Goot ' — dot it serf me shust right. "But I dinks I vood do dot thing over again, shust der same, and no matter Vot any man say." "Well, let's hear it — you needn't mind talking to me, For I was there, too, as I tell you — and oh ! how the bullets did patter Around on that breastwork of boulders that sheltered our Tenth Tennessee. ' ' "So? Dot vos a Tennessee regiment charged upon ours in de efening, Shust before dark ; und dey yell as dey charge, und ve geef a hurrah ; Der roar of der guns, it vos orful. " " Ah ! yes, I remember, 'twas deafening, The hottest musketry firing that ever our regi- ment saw." "Und after ve drove dem back, und der night come on, I listen, Und dinks dot I hear somepody a callin' — a voice dot cried, < Pringme some vater, for Gott's sake' — I saw his pelt-blate glisten Oonder der moonlight, on der parapet, shust outside. 13 "I dhrow my canteen ofer to vere he'lie, but he answer Dot his left handt vos gone, und his right arm proke mit a fall ; Den I shump ofer, und gife him to drink, but shust as I ran, sir, Bang! came a sharp-shooter's pullet; und dot's how it vos — dot is all." "And they called you foolish and crazy, did they ? Him you befriended — The %— s * — S— d— ^— Q— ^— J— s- g. -Jm f J— =^ ^ — *-* C S— f— f ^tegr^r #=$=8=*: g PM ~^=*=^ i — c »- l=£ :(§: zj— t / Full Chorus. {Snapping fingers.) Play the Chorus twice over for dance round. "ft— li V & *=k; ■ 1/ yi :r=*=i: 5t=: ^s Ar- lean- sas, Snap- poo - Snap Pe- ter Fi Ian- thi Go Sheeter Snap- poo ! YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 199 ^-m- -<*-.-*- fr-m- *» f ■^4 rg; f>H 2. While riding home one Saturday night, Snap-poo ! I passed Miss Smith's and thought I'd light, Snap-poo ! So I hitch' d my hoss and in did go, Just for to spend an hour or so. Chorus {marching up and down, and snapping Ji?igers at Pete). Snap-poo ! Snap-Peter ! Fi-lan-thi-go-shee-ter ! Snap-poo! {Repeat chorus.) 3. When to the door I had safely got, Snap-poo ! She came and pok'd her sweet head out, Snap-poo ! Said she right out, " Why, Mister Pete ! Oh, do walk in and have a seat ! " (Chorus.) 4. With easy step and a jolly heart, Snap-poo ! I bounded in just like a dart, Snap-poo ! And, oh, you may bet, I felt all hunk When into a chair by her I sunk. (Chorus. ) 5. Our chairs got closer as we two rock'd, Snap-poo ! My throat swell' d up till I most chok'd, Snap-poo ! At length they struck, and came to a stop — Now, now, thinks I, 's the time to "pop ! " (Chorus.) 6. I tried to look in her love-lit eyes, Snap-poo ! They were clear and blue as summer skies, Snap-poo ! Not a word could T speak — alas ! poor Pete ! Though she look'd good enough to eat. (Chorus.) 7. I look'd at her, and she look'd at me, Snap-poo ! I heard my heart say pee-dee-dee, Snap-poo ! I twisted my chair, and cross'd my feet — I'd never seen anything half so sweet. (Chorus. ) 8. My tongue grew thick, and my eyes stuck out, Snap-poo ! My hands flew nervously about, Snap-poo ! And, before I could their motion check, They grabb'd that gal right 'round the neck ! (Chorus.) 9. She haul'd away with her pretty fist. Snap-poo ! She gave my jaw an awful twist, Snap-poo ! It seem'd an hour before I spoke — I thought by gum, my head was broke ! ( Chorus. ) 10. The racket we made brought her ma-ma, Snap-poo ! Who straightway call'd her great pa-pa, Snap-poo ! He kicked me out — and, you bet, I fled. That gal won't do, thinks I, to wed ! (Chorus.) ENCORE STANZAS. You're very kind to call me back, Snap-poo ! I still love dear, old Rack-en-sack,* Snap-poo ! But for that gal who smashed my jaw, — I won't be her dad's son-in-law. " (Chorus.) Her ma might git along well with me, Snap-poo ! The gal's as peart as she can be, Snap-poo ! But her dad's big boot and her fat fist I'm sure I never could resist. (Chorus. ) So, rather than be a henpeck'd man, Snap-poo ! I'll seek a wife in another land, Snap-poo ! Where the gals dont knock a feller mute, And answer " No ! " with daddy's boot. (Chorus.) SECOND ENCORE Any lady who a husband wants, Snap-poo ! Please take my name — I am your chance ; Snap-poo ! But, don't forget, I'll not kiss or hug Till we are married, tight and snug. ( Chorus. ) The lesson I learned in Ar-kan-saw, Snap-poo ! Impress' d by Smith's gal on my jaw, Snap-poo ! And kicked into my pantaloon, I'll not forget — not very soon. (Chorus.) * The State of Arkansas (the final syllable pronounced often sas, but properly saw) is sometimes slangily referred to as "Rack-en-sack." 200 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. A MODEL LOVE-LETTER. (Humorous reading. More effective if copied, placed in an envelope, opened and read by a lady as a love-letter received by herself. ) MY DEAR MRS. M : Every time I think of you, my heart flops up and down like a churn -dasher. Sensations of exquisite joy caper over it like young goats on a stable-roof, and thrill through it like Spanish needles through a pair of tow linen trousers. As a gosling swimmeth with delight in a mud-pud- dle, so swim I in a sea of glory. Visions of ecstatic rapture thicker than the hairs of a black- ing-brush, and brighter than the hues of a hum- ming-bird's pinions, visit me in my slumbers, and borne on their invisible wings, your image stands before me, and I reach out to grasp it like a pointer snapping at a blue-bottle fly. When I first beheld your angelic perfections, I was bewildered, and my brain whirled around like a bumble-bee under a glass tumbler. My eyes stood open like a cellar-door in a country town, and I lifted up my ears to catch the silvery accents of your voice. My tongue refused to wag, and in silent adoration I drank in the sweet infection of love as a thirsty man swalloweth a tumbler of hot whiskey punch. Since the light of your face fell upon my life, I sometimes feel as if I could lift myself up by my boot-straps to the top of the church steeple, and pull the bell rope for singing school. Day and night you are in my thoughts. When Aurora, blushing like a bride, rises from her saffron -colored couch ; when the jay-bird pipes his tuneful lay in the apple tree by the spring house ; when the chanticleer's shrill clarion her- alds the coming morn ; when the awaking pig ariseth from his bed and grunteth, and goeth for his morning refreshments; when the drowsy beetle wheels his droning flight at sultry noon- tide ; and the lowing herds come home at milk- ing time, I think of thee ; and like a piece of gum elastic, my heart seems stretched clear across my bosom. Your hair is like the mane of a sorrel horse powdered with gold ; and the brass pins skewered through your waterfall fill me with unbounded awe. Your forehead is smoother than the elbow of an old coat ; your eyes are glorious to behold ; in their liquid depths I see legions of little Cupids bathing, like a cohort of ants in an old army cracker. When their fire hit me upon my manly breast, it penetrated my whole anatomy, as a load of bird-shot through a rotten apple. Your nose is from a chunk of Parian marble, and your mouth is puckered with sweetness. Nectar lin- gers on your lips, like honey on a bear's paw; and myriads of unfledged kisses are there, ready to fly out and light somewhere, like blue-birds out of their parents' nest. Your laugh rings in my ears like the wind-harp's strain, or the bleat of a stray lamb on a bleak hillside. The dimples on your cheeks are like bowers on beds of roses, or hollows in cakes of home-made sugar. I am dying to fly to thy presence, and pour out the burning eloquence of my love, as a thrifty housekeeper pours out hot coffee. Away from, you I am as melancholy as a sick rat. Sometimes I can hear the June bugs of despond- ency buzzing in my ears, and feel the cold lizard of despair crawling down my back. Uncouth fears, like a thousand minnows, nibble at my spirits ; and my soul is pierced with doubts, as an old cheese is bored with skippers. You are fairer than a speckled pullet, sweeter than a Yankee doughnut fried in sorghum mo- lasses, brighter than a topknot plumage on a muscovey duck. You are candy, kisses, raisins,, pound cake, and sweetened toddy all together. If these remarks will enable you to see the in- side of my soul, and me to win your affections, I shall be as happy as a woodpecker on a cherry tree, or a stage-horse in a green pasture. If you cannot reciprocate my thrilling passion, I will pine away like a poisoned bedbug, and fall away from a flourishing vine of life, an untimely branch ; and in the coming years, when the shadows grow from the hills, and the philosophi- cal frog sings his cheerful evening hymns, you, happy in another's love, can come and drop a tear and — catch a cold upon the last resting- place of Yours affectionately, H. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 201 THE OLD CANTEEN. SEND it up to the garret? Well, no: what's the harm If it hangs like a horse-shoe to serve as a charm ? Had its day, to be sure : matches ill with things here ; Shall I sack the old friend just because it is queer ? Thing of beauty 'tis not, but a joy none the less, As my hot lips remember its old-time caress, And I think on the solace once gurgling between My lips from that old, battered tin canteen. It has hung by my side in the long, weary tramp, Been my friend in the bivouac, barrack and camp, In the triumph, the capture, advance and retreat, More than light to my path, more than guide to my feet. Sweeter nectar ne'er flowed, howe'er sparkling and cold, From out chalice of silver, or goblet of gold, For a king or an emperor, princess or queen, Than to me from the mouth of that old canteen. It has cheered the desponding on many a night, Till their laughing eyes gleamed in the camp- fire light. Whether guns stood in silence, or boomed at short range, It was always on duty ; though ' twould not be strange If in somnolent periods just after " taps " Some colonel or captain, disturbed at his naps, May have felt a suspicion that "spirits " unseen Had somehow bedeviled that old canteen. But I think on the time when in lulls of the strife It has called the far look in dim eyes back to life : Helped to stanch the quick blood just beginning to pour, Softened broad, gaping wounds that were stiff- ened and sore Moistened thin, livid lips, so despairing of breath They could only speak thanks in the quiver of death ; If an angel of mercy e'er hovered between This world and the next, 'twas the old canteen. Then banish it not as a profitless thing, Were it hung in a palace it might well swing To tell in its mute, allegorical way How the citizen volunteer won the day ; How he bravely, unflinchingly, grandly won, And how, when the death-dealing work was done, 'Twas as easy his passion from war to wean As his mouth from the lips of that old canteen. By-and-by, when all hate for the rags with the bars Is forgotten in love for the "stripes and the stars ; ' ' When Columbia rules everything solid and sole, From her own ship canal to the ice at the pole : When the Grand Army men have obeyed the last call, And the May flowers and violets bloom for us all : Then away in some garret the cobwebs may screen My battered, old, cloth-covered tin canteen. G. M. White. DEVOTION TO DUTY. YOUNG men of America ! You on whom rests the future of the Republic ! You, who are to become not only our citi- zens but our law-makers : Remember your re- sponsibilities, and, remembering, prepare for them. As the great universe is order and harmony only through the perfection of its laws, so in life and human government, the happiness and prosperity of a people depend on the orderly subservience of act and thought to the good of the whole. Be great, therefore, in small things. If it is your ambition to be a citizen reverenced for his virtues, remember that nothing is more admirable than devotion to duty, and the more admirable as that duty leads to self-sacrifice in others' behalf. 202 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. When Pompeii was exhumed, a few years ago, after lying under the cinders of Vesuvius about eighteen hundred years, the body of a Roman soldier was discovered at the Herculaneum gate of the city. He evidently had been placed there as a sentinel, and there, amid the accumu- lated horrors of that August day, he unflinch- ingly remained. He stood at his post while the earth rocked and shivered beneath his feet. He stood at his post while the grim old mountain towering above him was thundering from base to summit. He stood at his post while the air, surcharged with smoke and ashes, was impenetrable to the sight, though lit up with a lurid glare scarcely less than infernal by the flames bursting and roaring all around him. He stood at his post while the men, women, and children of the doomed city were screaming with affright and agony, as they surged through its narrow streets in their mad- dening efforts to pass the gates to the open coun- try. He stood at his post till enveloped in the mantle of a fiery death ! O hero of the dead city ! Step out from your ashen shroud and exalt us by the lesson of your death. When the very earth rocked beneath your feet, and the heavens seemed falling, you stood on guard, — a sentinel to the gate that pro- tected the city; and standing there were en- tombed, — a sacrifice to duty. Awful death, but oh, how sublime is its lesson ! Who would not honor such heroism ? Build there a mausoleum, for one greater than princes and kings has hal- lowed that spot, and humanity itself will wor- ship there. Emulate this heroism. In whatever position of life you are placed, be true to the trust re- posed in you ; then the Republic is safe. Go forth with a heart glowing, not with the fires of a lordly ambition, to ride to power over opposi- tion and against the wishes of your fellowmen, but with the flame of an honest purpose to be a good citizen and an ornament to the State that gave you birth. Then, indeed, shall you be great. D. N. Shelley. THE RAVEN. ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pon- dered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door. " 'Tis some visitor," I mutter' d, "tapping at my chamber-door — Only this, and nothing more. ' ' Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore, — For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, — Nameless here forevermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, Thrilled me, — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, — "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door, — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door ; That it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger : hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgive- ness I implore ; But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, That I scarce was sure I heard you." — Here I opened wide the door : — Darkness there, and nothing more ! YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 203 Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before ; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whis- pered word, " Lenore !" This /whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, " Lenore !" Merely this, and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. " Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window-lattice ; Let me see then what thereat is and this mystery explore, — Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ; — 'Tis the wind, and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped or stayed he ; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber-door, — Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door — Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the counten- ance it wore, * ' Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou, ' ' I said, ' ' art sure no craven ; Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore, Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore ?' ' Quoth the raven, ' ' Nevermore ! ' ' Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear dis- course so plainly, Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore ; For we cannot help agreeing that no living hu- man being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber-door ; — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber-door With such name as " Nevermore ! " But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered ; not a feather then he fluttered — Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before, On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before. Then the bird said, ' ' Nevermore. ' ' Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master, whom un- merciful disaster Follow' d fast and follow' d faster, till his songs one burden bore, Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy bur- den bore, Of — ' Never — nevermore ? ' " But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door. Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking, " Nevermore ! " 204 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burn'd into my bosom's core ; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp- light gloated o'er; — But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp- light gloating o'er She shall press — ah ! nevermore ! Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, " thy God hath lent thee— by these angels he hath set thee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy mem- ories of Lenore ! Quaff, oh, quaff, this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore ! ' ' Quoth the raven, ' ' Nevermore ! ' ' " Prophet ! " said I, "thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore, — Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, I implore !" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore !" " Prophet !" said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore, Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore ; Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore !" Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" ' ' Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! ' * I shrieked, upstarting, — Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore ; Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! Leave my loneliness unbroken ; — quit the bust above my door. Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door ! ' ' Quoth the raven, ' ' Nevermore ! ' ' And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door ; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor ; And my soul from out that shadow that lies float- ing on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore ! Edgar A. Poe. BUZZARD'S POINT. (By permission of the Author. This selection was awarded a gold medal prize at the Elocutionary Con- test at the Mt. Vernon Institute of Elocution and Languages, Philadelphia, June 14, 1888. ) HUGE, fleecy clouds, like stately ships, drift by, And in their wake come more to join the fleet Now seeming anchored in the southern sky ; A hundred glassy pools reflect the sun, For, save yon brook-like thread, the river bed Is dry, and only sand and shale mark out Where deep Ohio thunders to the sea. Upon the rocky summit of a bluff That juts far out from shore, two lovers sit Beneath the shade of mingling beech and elm. The man is young ; the maid, almost a child ; Yet in the eyes of both is seen the fire Of holy love, true love, that only dies With life- Blue eyes and brown ; her's blue, his brown. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 205 And oh, how gloriously free their hair Coquettes, streams off, now flutters back to kiss Again ; his chestnut dark to twine in sport Amid her living gold. Blow on, fair breeze ; Sing sweet, chirp low, ye merry birds, for here Two hearts make solitude of all the world That lies beyond their rosy world of love. A tree trunk forms the seat whereon they sit, And vines and shrubs a perfect bower make The place, so wild and yet so beautiful : Below them, full a mile, a log hut stands ; The forest trees, like giant infantry Up-drawn, have formed a three-flanked hollow square About the strip of clearing ; further on The river sweeps around a graceful bend And hides its course amidst the dense green leaves. The lovers rise. He places on her head The rough straw hat that so becomes her fair, Sweet face, and then takes up his own broad felt From off the ground. They stand and look afar Among the drifting clouds. The birds chirp low ; Their plumage gay gleams bright, as flashing through A patch of sunlight, swift they dart in glee How tame, how fearless in their native home. See there, among the vines that twine that tree, There, where his rifle rests ! What kind of bird Is that? Its plumes are gray; how slow it moves ! It glides away. Perhaps it may come back. Strange bird. There, where his rifle rests — but see ! His rifle is not there, 'tis gone ! Whiz ! Click ! And, as the tomahawk still trembles in The tree, the startled lovers each spring back, Then turn to see the scowling copper fiend That clasps Ben Dowling's rifle in his hand. No shriek escapes her firm-pressed lips, as calm, Though deathly pale, the girl steps back a pace ; No sign of fear betrays her frozen heart ; She sees her lover slowly draw his knife, Beholds the crouching savage raise the piece To take delib'rate aim. A dash, a flash Of fluttering white, and she has leaped and grasped The rifle in her small brown hands. With yell Of rage the red man springs aside to shun The lover's keen-edged blade, then whipping out His own long knife, with horrid grin prepares To meet his foe. The cunning dog keeps well The lover in a line between himself And that bright barrel resting on a branch ; For Mabel Earle is no mean shot, and with Her finger on the trigger mutely bids The painted wretch beware ! A moment's pause, And now the work begins. Thrust, guard, lunge, cut, Now parry, clink ! the sparks fly as their cold Blades clash. The Indian advances quick, A sudden stroke. " Lost ! O my God, he's killed! " Ben Dowling reels, the red stream trickles down His face. ' ' Kneel ! Kneel ! for life, stoop low!" The girl Is ashen white. Clink ! clink ! more sparks. "O Ben, My own, he's growing faint, he staggers — Oh !" The savage strikes again. The lover falls. A shot — " There, murderer !" The blue smoke veils Her wet blue eyes — the red chief drops his knife, He rallies, clutches at the air, spins 'round And 'round, now nears the brink, is nearer still, Still nearer, gone ! ' ' Oh, speak to me, ' ' she cries, As bending o'er her lover's form she wipes The blood-stains from his pallid face. " Oh, speak To me, but tell me that you live ! Ah, see ! He moves his lips ! Thank Heaven, he lives ! His eyes Unclose, he faintly smiles ! Ha, hark!" "Ye ho! Ye ho !" "Saved, saved!" and placing both her brown Hands to her lips she answers back the cry, " Ye ho ! ye ho !" and swoons away. 206 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. They come, Her father and a trapper friend. The thing That first they see looks like a wounded bird, A buzzard, hanging on a twig above Them high ; another glance and well they know 'Tis but the head-gear of an Indian, Caught off as down he fell. And thenceforth on, Long after Ben and Mabel happy lived And died, the place was known as Buzzard's Point. George M. Vickers. THE JUST RETRIBUTION. Persons Represented. — Alberti, the duke whose life has been assailed, Julian, Mon- TALDI, STEPHANO, LUDOVICO, AMBROSE, VIN- CENT, Guards, Etc. {Enter Guards, condiccting Julian, — all the char- acters follow, — Alberti ascends the judgment seat. ) ALBERTI. My people ! — the cause of your present assemblage, too well is known to you. You come to witness the dispen- sations of an awful, but impartial justice ; — either to rejoice in the acquittal of innocence, wrong- fully accused, or to approve the conviction of guilt, arrested in its foul career. Personal feel- ings forbid me to assume this seat myself: yet fear not but that it will be filled by nobleness and honor ; to Montaldi only, I resign it. Julian. He, my judge ! then I am lost indeed ! Alb. Ascend the seat, my friend, and decide from it as your own virtuous conscience shall direct. This only will I say ; — should the scales of accusation and defense poise doubtfully, let mercy touch them with her downy hand, and turn the balance on the gentler side. Montaldi ( ascending the judgment scat) . Your will and honor are my only governors ! (Bow- ing. ) Julian, stand forth ; you are charged with a most foul and horrible attempt upon the life of my noble kinsman. The implements of mur- der have been found in your possession, and many powerful circumstances combine to fix the guilt upon you. What have you to urge in vin- dication ? Jul. First, I aver by that Power which vice dreads, and virtue reverences, that no word but strictest truth shall pass my lips. On yesterday evening I crossed the mountain to the monastery of St. Bertrand ; my errand thither finished, I returned directly to the valley. Rosalie saw me enter the cottage. Soon afterward, a strange out- cry recalled me to the door ; a mantle spread before the threshold caught my eye ; — I raised it, and discovered a mask within it. The mantle was newly stained with blood ! Consternation seized upon my soul ! The next moment I was surrounded by guards, and accused of murder ! They produced the weapon which I had lost in defending myself against a ferocious animal. Confounded by terror and surprise, I had not power to explain the truth, and loaded with chains and reproaches, I was dragged to the dun- geons of the castle. Here my knowledge of the dark transaction ends, and I have only this to add, I may become the victim of circumstance y but I never have been the slave of crime ! M011. (Ironically smiling. ) Plausibly urged ; have you no more to offer? Jul. Truth needs but few words, — I have spoken ! Mon. Yet bethink yourself. Dare you abide by this wild tale, and brave a sentence on no< stronger plea ? Jul. Alas ! I have none else to offer. Mon. You say, on yesterday evening, you visited the monastery of St. Bertrand. What was your business there ? Jul. To engage Father Nicolo to marry Rosalie and myself, on the following morning. Mon. A marriage, too ! Well, at what time did you quit the monastery ? Jul. The bell for vesper-service had just ceased to toll. Mon. By what path did you return to the valley ? Jul. Across the mountain. Mon. Did you not pass through the wood of olives, where the dark deed was attempted ? Jul. (Pausing. ) The wood of olives ? Mon. Ha ! mark ! he hesitates ; speak ! YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 207 Jul. No ! my soul scorns to tell a falsehood. I did pass through the wood of olives. Mon. Ay ! and pursuit was close behind. Stephano, you seized the prisoner ? Stephano. I did. The bloody weapon bore his name ; the mask and mantle were in his hands, confusion in his countenance, and every limb trembling with alarm. Mon. Enough ! Heavens ! that villainy so monstrous should inhabit with such tender youth ! I fain would doubt, and in spite of reason, hesi- tate to give my sentence ; but conviction glares from every point, and incredulity would now be madness. Not to descant on the absurdity of your defense — a tale too wild for romance to sanction — I find from your admission a chain of circumstances that confirms your criminality. The time at which you passed the wood, and the hour of the duke's attack, precisely correspond. You sought to rush on fortune by the readiest path, and snatch from the unwary traveler that sudden wealth which honest labor could, only by slow degrees, obtain. Defeated in the dark at- tempt, you fled. Pursuit was instant, — your steps were traced, — and, at the very door of your cottage, you were seized before the evi- dences of your guilt could be secreted. O wretched youth ! I warn you to confess. Sin- cerity can be your only claim to mercy. Jul. My heart will burst ; but I have spoken truth. Mon. Then I must exercise my duty. Death is my sentence. Jul. Hold ! pronounce it not as yet ! Mod. If you have any further evidence, pro- duce it. Jul. { With despairing look. ) I call on Ludo- vico ! {Ludovico hastily steps forward. Montaldi starts back with evident trepidation. ) Ludovico. I am here ! Mon. And what can he unfold — only to re- peat what we already know? I will not hear him, the evidence is perfect. Alb. {Rising hastily.) Hold! Montaldi, Lu- dovico must be heard ; to the ear of justice, the slightest syllable of proof is precious. Mon. {Confused.') I stand rebuked. Well, Ludovico, depose your evidence ! Lud. Mine was the fortunate arm appointed by Heaven to rescue the duke. I fought with the assassin, and drove him beyond the trees, into the open lawn. I there distinctly marked his figure, and, from the difference in height alone, I solemnly aver Julian cannot be the person. Mon. This is no proof, the eye might easily be deceived. I cannot withhold my sentence longer. Lud. I have further matter to advance. Just before the ruffian fled, he received a wound across his right hand ; the moonlight directed my blow, and showed me that the cut was deep and dan- gerous. Julian's fingers bear no such mark. Mon. {Manifesting great excitement and invol- untarily drawing his glove close over his hand. ) — A wound ! — mere fable. Lud. Nay, more \ the same blow struck from off one of the assassin's fingers, a jewel; it glittered as it fell ; I snatched it from the ground — thrust it within my bosom, and have ever since preserved it next my heart ; I now produce it — 'tis here — a ring — an amethyst set with brilliants ! Alb. {Rising hastily. ) — What say you ? An amethyst set with brilliants ! even such I gave Montaldi. Let me view it. {As Ludovico ad- vances to present the ring to the duke, Mo?italdi rushes with frantic i?npetuosity between, and at- tempts to seize it. ) Mon. Slave ! resign the ring ! Lud. I will yield my life sooner ! Mon. Wretch ! I will rend thy frame to atoms. ( They struggle with violence. Montaldi snatches at the ring — Ludovico catches his hand and tears off the glove — the wound appears. ) Lud. O Heavens ! murder is unmasked — the bloody mark is here ! Montaldi is the assassin. {All rush forward in astonishment. ) Mon. Shame ! madness ! Alb. Eternal Providence ! Montaldi a mur- derer ? Mon. Ay ! accuse and curse ! idiots ! dupes X I heed you not. I can but die ! Triumph not, Alberti — I trample on thee still ! ( 9 ■*■ r f>on~ 208 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. iard and attempts to destroy himself. The weapon is wrested from his hands by the guards. Alb. Fiend ! thy power to sin is past. M011. (Delirious with passion.) Ha! ha! ha! my brain scorches, and my veins run with fire ! — disgraced, dishonored — Oh, madness ! I can- not bear it ! — save me — oh ! (Falls insensible into the arms of attendants. ) Alb. Wretched man ! bear him to his cham- ber — his punishment be hereafter. (Montaldi is carried off. ) Jul. Oh ! my joy is too full for words ! Ambrose. My noble boy ! Vincent. Rosalie shall reward him. Alb. Yes! they are children of virtue ! their happiness shall be my future care. Let this day, through each returning year, become a festival on my domain. Heaven, with peculiar favor, has marked it for its own, and taught us, by the simple moral of this hour, that, howsoever in darkness guilt may veil its malefactions from the eye of man, an omniscient Judge will penetrate each hidden sin, and still, with never-failing justice, confound the vicious and protect the good ! Dimond. THE ORDER OF NATURE. ALL are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body nature is, and God the soul ; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, Great in the Earth, as in the ethereal frame, Warms in the Sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends through all extent Spreads undivided, operates unspent; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; As full, as perfect, in vile Man that mourns, As the rapt Seraph that adores and burns : To Him, no high, no low, no great, no small ; He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all. Cease, then, nor Order Imperfection name, — Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. Know thy own point : This kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee. Submit ; — in this, or any other sphere, Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear, — Safe in the hand of one Disposing Power, Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee ; All Chance, Direction, which thou canst not see; All Discord, Harmony not understood ; All partial Evil, universal Good : And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite, One truth is clear : Whatever is, is right. Alexander Pope. WHAT MAKES A HERO? T" T^HAT makes a hero? — not succes, not \^/_ fame, Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim Of glutted Avarice, — caps tossed up in air, Or pen of journalist with flourish fair ; Bells pealed, stars, ribbons, and a titular name — These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare ; His rightful tribute, not his end or aim, Or true reward ; for never yet did these Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease What makes a hero ? — An heroic mind, Expressed in action, in endurance proved. And if there be pre-eminence of right. Derived through pain well suffered, to the height Of rank heroic, 'tis to bear unmoved, Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind, Not the brute fury of barbarians blind, But worse — ingratitude and poisonous darts, Launched by the country he had served and loved ; This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure, This, in the strength of silence to endure, A dignity to noble deeds imparts, Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown ; This is the hero's complement and crown ; This missed, one struggle had been wanting still, — One glorious triumph of the heroic will, One self-approval in his heart of hearts. Henry Taylor. F>ART IV. Great Orators and their Orations ANCIENT AND MODERN CONTAINING SPECIMENS OF SENATORIAL, JUDICIAL, PULPIT, FORENSIC AND PATRIOTIC ELOQUENCE ALSO NOTED ORATIONS, AFTER-DINNER SPEECHES, ETC., ON SPECIAL OCCASIONS AGAINST PHILIP.— Demosthenes* Demosthenes, whose claim to the title of the greatest of orators has not yet been superseded, was born at Athens, about 380 B. C. At the age of seventeen he determined to study eloquence, though his lungs were weak, his articulation imperfect, and his gestures awkward. These impediments he overcame by perseverance. When the encroachments of Philip, King of Macedon, alarmed the Grecian states, Demos- thenes roused his countrymen to fesistence by a series of harangues, so celebrated, that similar orations are, to this day, often styled Philippics. The influence which he acquired he employed for the good of his country. The charges that have come down of his cowardice and venality are believed to be calumnious. It is related of Demosthenes, that, while studying oratory, he spoke with pebbles in his mouth, to cure himself of stammering ; that he repeated verses of the poets as he ran up hill, to strengthen his voice, and that he declaimed on the seashore, to accustom himself to the tumult of a popular assembly. He died 322 B. C. The speeches of Demosthenes were delivered before select, not accidental, assemblages of the people. The first four extracts, from the first, third, eighth and ninth Philippics, which follow, together with the extract from iEschines on the Crown, are chiefly translated from Stievenarts excellent and very spirited version. BEGIN, O men of Athens, by not despair- ing of your situation, however deplor- able it may seem; for the very cause of your former reverses offers the best encouragement for the future. And how ? Your utter supineness, O Athenians, has brought about your disasters. If these had come upon you in spite of your most strenuous exertions, then only might all hopes of an amelioration in your affairs be abandoned. When, then, O my countrymen ! when will you do your duty ? What wait you ? Truly, an event ! or else, by Jupiter, necessity ! .But how can we construe otherwise what has already occurred ? For my- self, I can conceive of no necessity more urgent to free souls than the pressure of dishonor. Tell me, is it your wish to go about the public places, here and there, continually, asking, ' ' What is there new ? ' ' Ah ! what should there be new, if not that a Macedonian could conquer Athens, and lord it over Greece ? "Is Philip dead?" ' ' No, by Jupiter ! he is sick. ' ' Dead or sick, what matters it to you? If he were to die, and your vigilance were to continue slack as now, you would cause a new Philip to rise up at once, — since this one owes his aggrandizement less to his own power than to your inertness ! It is a matter of astonishment to me, O Athe- nians, that none of you are aroused either to reflection or to anger, in beholding a war, begun for the chastisement of Philip, degenerate at last into a war of defence against him. And it is evident that he will not stop even yet, unless we bar his progress. But where, it is asked, shall we make a descent. Let us but attack, O, Athenians, and the war itself will disclose the * Demosthenes delivered most of his great orations to the people from what was known as the Bema — a raised step, from which the Athenian orators generally spoke. H 209 210 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. enemy's weak point. But, if we tarry at home, lazily listening to speech-makers, in their emu- lous abuse of one another, never, — no, never, shall we accomplish a single necessary step ! Some among you, retailing the news, affirm that Philip is plotting with Lacedaemon the ruin of Thebes and the dismemberment of our de- mocracies; others make him send ambassadors to the Great King ; others tell us he is fortifying places in Illyria. All have their different stories. For myself, Athenians, I do, by the Gods, believe that this man is intoxicated by his magnificent exploits ; I believe that a thousand dazzling projects lure his imagination ; and that, seeing no barrier opposed to his career, he is inflated by success. But, trust me, he does not so combine his plans that all our fools of low degree may penetrate them ; which fools — who are they but the gossips ? Let us leave them to their reveries. We should consider that this man is our enemy, — our dcspoiler, — that we have long endured his insolence ; that all the succors, on which we counted, have been turned against: us ; that henceforth our only resource is in our- selves ; that, to refuse now to carry the war into his dominions, would surely be to impose upon us the fatal necessity of sustaining it at the gates of Athens ; — if we would comprehend all this, we should then know what it imports us to know, and discard all idiot conjectures. For it is not your duty to dive into the future ; but it does behoove you to look in the face the calamities which that future must bring, unless you shake off your present heedless inactij^ty. DEGENERACY OF ATHENS.— Demosthenes. CONTRAST, O men of Athens, your con- duct with that of your ancestors. Loyal towards the people of Greece, religious towards the gods, faithful to the rule of civic equality, they mounted, by a sure path, to the summit of prosperity. What is your condi- tion, under your present complaisant rulers ? Is it still the same ? Has it in any respect changed? In how many ! I confine myself to this simple fact : Sparta prostrate, Thebes occupied else- where, — with no power capable of disputing our sovereignty, — able, in fact, in the peaceable possession of our own domains, to be the umpire of other Nations, — what have we done? We have lost our own provinces ; and dissipated, with no good result, more than fifteen hundred talents ; the allies which we had gained by war your counsellors have deprived us of by peace ; and we have trained up to power our formidable foe. Whosoever denies this, let him stand forth, and tell me where, then, has this Philip drawn his strength, if not from the very bosom of Athens ? Ah ! but surely, if abroad we have been weak- ened, our interior administration is more flourish- ing. And what are the evidences of this? A few whitewashed ramparts, repaired roads, foun- tains, bagatelles ! Turn — turn your eyes on the functionaries, to whom we owe these vanities. This one has passed from misery to opulence ; that one, from obscurity to splendor. Another has built for himself sumptuous palaces, which look down upon the edifices of the State. In- deed, the more the public fortunes have declined, the more have theirs ascended. Tell us the mean- ing of these contrasts ! Why is it, that formerly all prospered, while now all is in jeopardy ? It is because formerly the People, itself, daring to wage war, was the master of its functionaries, the sovereign dispenser of all favors. It is be- cause individual citizens were then glad to re- ceive from the People honors, magistracies, bene- fits. How are the times changed ! All favors are in the gift of our functionaries ; everything is under their control ; while you — you, the People ! — enervated in your habits, mutilated in your means, and weakened in your allies, stand like so many supernumeraries and lackeys, too happy if your worthy chiefs distribute to you the fund for the theatre — if they throw to you a meagre pittance ! And — last degree of base- ness ! — you kiss the hand which thus makes lar- gess to you of your own ! Do they not imprison you within your own walls, beguile you to your GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 211 ruin, tame you and fashion you to their yoke? Never, O ! never can a manly pride and a noble courage impel men, subjected to vile and un- worthy actions ! The life is necessarily the image of the heart. And your degeneracy — by Heaven, I should not be surprised if I, in A DEMOCRACY HATEFU THERE are persons among you, O Athe- nians, who think to confound a speaker by asking, " What, then, is to be done ? ' ' To which I might answer : ' ' Nothing that you are doing — ever) thing that you leave undone ! ' ' And it would be a just and a true reply. But I will be more explicit ; and may these men, so ready to question, be equally ready to act ! In the first place, Athe- nians, admit the incontestable fact, that Philip has broken your treaties, — that he has declared war against you. Let us have no more crimi- nation and recrimination on this point ! And then, recognize the fact that he is the mortal enemy of Athens,— -of its very soil, — of all within its walls, — ay, of those even who most flatter themselves that they are high in his good graces. What Philip most dreads and abhors is our liberty — our Democratic system. For the de- struction of that, all his snares are laid, all his projects are shaped ! And in this is he not con- sistent? He is well aware that, though he should subjugate all the rest of Greece, his con- quest would be insecure, while your Democracy stands. He knows that, should he experience one of those reverses to which the lot of humanity is so liable, it would be into your arms that all those Nations, now forcibly held under his yoke, would rush. Is there a Tyrant to be driven back ? — Athens is in the field ! Is there a People to be enfranchised? — Lo, Athens, prompt to aid ! What wonder, then, that Philip should be impatient while Athenian liberty is a spy upon his evil days? Be sure, O my country- men, that he is your irreconcilable foe ; that it is against Athens that he musters and disposes all his armaments ; against Athens that all his schemes are laid. charging it home upon you, exposed myself, rather than those who have brought you to it, to your resentment ! To be candid, frankness of speech does not every day gain the entrance of your ears ; and that you suffer it now, may well be matter of astonishment ! L TO PHILIP.— Demosthenes. What, then, ought you, as wise men, con- vinced of these truths, to do ? You ought to shake off your fatal lethargy, contribute according to your means, summon your allies to contribute, and take measures to retain the troops already under arms ; so that, if Philip has an army pre- pared to attack and subjugate all the Greeks, you may also have one ready to succor and to save them. Tell me not of the trouble and expense which this will involve. I grant it all. But consider the dangers that menace you, and how much you will be the gainers by engaging heartily, at once, in the general cause. Indeed, should some god assure you that, however inac- tive and unconcerned you might remain, yet, in the end, you should not be molested by Philip, still it would be ignominious, — be witness, Heaven ! — it would be beneath you — beneath the dignity of your State — beneath the glory of your ances- tors — to sacrifice, to your own selfish repose, the interest of all the rest of Greece. Rather would I perish than recommend such a course ! Let some other man urge it upon you, if he will ; and listen to him, if you can. But, if my sentiments are yours, — if you foresee, as I do, that the more we leave Philip to extend his conquests, the more we are fortifying an enemy, whom, sooner or later, we must cope with, why do you hesitate? What necessity do you wait? Can there be a greater for freemen than the prospect of dishonor? Do you wait for that ? It is here already ; it presses — it weighs on us now. Now, did I say ? Long since — long since, was it before us, face to face. True, there is still another necessity in reserve — the necessity of slaves — blows and stripes ! Wait you for them ? The gods forbid ! The very words, in this place, are an indignity ! 212 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. VENALITY THE RUIN IF ever, O men of Athens, the People of Greece felt the rigor of your rule, or of that of Sparta, their masters were at least their countrymen. But where is our just indignation against Philip and his usurpa- tions? — Philip, the Barbarian! Has he not exhausted his resources of outrage against us ? Without mentioning the Grecian cities which he has sacked, does he not take it upon himself to preside at the Pythian games, a celebration exclu- sively national? And, if absent himself, does he not delegate his slaves to award the crowns ? Master of Thermopylae, and of all the passes of Greece, does he not hold these posts by his garrisons and foreign troops ? Does he not place governors over Thessaly, at his pleasure ? Has he not wrested Echinus from the Thebians ? Is he not, at this moment, on his march against Byzantium — Byzantium, the alley of Athens ! And if such is his audacity towards collective Greece, what will it be when he has mastered us all in detail ? And now, why is all this ? For, not without a cause could Greece, once so jealous of free- dom, now be resigned to servitude. The cause is here. Once, O Athenians, in the hearts of all our People, a sentiment presided, which is paramount no more ; a sentiment which triumphed over all venality, and maintained Greece free, and invincible by land and sea ; but the loss of that sentiment has brought down OF GREECE.— Demosthenes. ruin, and left the country in the dust. What was it — this sentiment, so powerful? Was it the result of any subtle policy of State ? No : it was a universal hatred for the bribed traitors, in the pay of those Powers, seeking to subdue or dishonor Greece ! Venality was a capital offence, and punished with the extremest rigor. Pardon, palliation, were not thought of. And so, orators and generals could not with impu- nity barter those favorable conjunctures which Fortune oftentimes presents to negligence and inactivity against vigilance and vigor. The public concord, the general hatred and distrust of Tyrants and Barbarians, all the guarantees of liberty, were inaccessible to the power of gold. But now all these are offered for sale in the open market ! And, in exchange, we have an importation of morals which are desolating and destroying Greece. What do they exhibit? Envy, for the recipient of base bribes ; deri- sion, should he confess his crime ; pardon, should he be convicted ; and resentment to- wards his accuser ! — in a word, all the laxities which engender corruption. In vessels, in troops, in revenues, in the various resources of war, in all that constitutes the strength of a State, we are richer than ever before ; but all these advantages are paralyzed, crushed, by an infamous traffic. And all this you behold with your own eyes, and my testi- mony in regard to it is quite superfluous ! INVECTIVE AGAINST DEMOSTHENES.— Dinarchus. Dinarchus, a Greek orator, born at Corinth about 360 B. C. When thirty years of age he joined the Macedonian party, and opposed Demosthenes, doing much to send that great orator into exile. Three of his orations are extant, an extract from one of which is here inserted. It is an artful, spirited and virulent invective against Demosthenes when he had fallen into disgrace and the displeasure of his countrymen. The occasion is distinctly recounted by Plutarch. Dinarchus afterwards gave a favorable testimony to the character of Demosthenes, thus personally testifying to the injustice of the following virulent oration : TO what causes, Athenians, is the pros- perity or the calamity of a State to be ascribed ? To none so eminently as to its ministers and generals. Turn your eyes on the state of Thebes. It subsisted once. It was once great. It had its soldiers and com- manders. There was a time when Pelop'idas led the "sacred band;" when Epaminon'das and his colleagues commanded the army. Then did the Thebans gain the victory at Leuctra. Then did they pierce into the territories of La-ce- de'mon, before deemed inaccessible. Then did DEMOSTHENESE. Greatest Orator of Ancient Times. (Born about 382 B. C. Died of poison 322 B. C.) MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. The most famous Roman orator. (Born January 3, 106 B. C. Assassinated Dec. 7, 43 B. C. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 213 they achieve many and noble deeds. For what is the great security of every state and nation ? Good generals and able ministers ! Let this be duly and attentively considered, and let us no longer suffer by the corrupt and pernicious conduct of Demosthenes. Let it not be imagined that we shall ever want good men and faithful counselors. With all the generous severity of our ancestors, let us punish the man whose bribery, whose treason, are unequivocally detected ; who could not resist the temptation of gold ; who in war has proved himself a coward, in his civil conduct a busybody ; who, when his fellow-citizens are called forth to meet their enemies in the field, flies from his post, and hides himself at home ; when the danger is at home, and his aid is demanded here, pretends that he is an ambassador, and runs from the city ! Let this man no longer amuse you with airy hopes and false representations and promises, which he forgets as soon as uttered ! Let not his ready tears and lamentations move you ! Reserve all your pity for your country : your country, which his practices have undone — your country, which now implores you to save it from a traitor's hand. When he would waken all your sympathy for Demosthenes, then turn your eyes on Athens. Consider her former glory. Contrast it with her present degradation ! And ask yourselves, whether Demosthenes has been reduced to greater wretchedness by Athens, or Athens by Demosthenes. AGAINST BRIBERY.— Demosthenes. IT were better, O Athenians ! to die ten thou- sand deaths, than to be guilty of a servile acquiescence in the usurpations of Philip- Not only is he no Greek, and no way allied to Greece, but he sprang from a part of the bar- barian world unworthy to be named — from Macedonia, where formerly we could not find a slave fit to purchase ! And why is it that the insolence of this man is so tamely tolerated? Surely there must be some cause why the Greeks, who were once so jealous of their liberty, now show themselves so basely submissive. It is this, Athenians ! They were formerly impelled by a sentiment which was more than a match for bribing gold; a sentiment which maintained the freedom of Greece, and wrought her triumphs by sea and land, over all hostile powers. It was no subtle or mysterious element of success. It was simply this ; an abhorrence of traitors ; of all who accepted bribes from those princes who were prompted by the ambition of subduing, or the base intent of corrupting, Greece. To receive bribes was accounted a crime of the blackest die — a crime which called for all the severity of public justice. No petitioning for mercy, no pardon, was allowed. Those favorable conjunctures with which fortune often- times assists the supine against the vigilant, and renders men, even when most regardless of their interests, superior to those who exert their utmost efforts, could never be sold by orator or general, as in these degenerate days. Our mutual confidence, our settled hatred and dis- trust of all tyrants, could not be impaired or turned aside by the force of money. But now, opportunity, principles, private honor, and the public good, are exposed to sale as in a market ; and in exchange we have that pernicious laxity which is destroying the safety, the very vitals, of Greece. Let a man receive a bribe, he is envied ; let him confess it, he pro- vokes laughter ; let him be convicted, he is pardoned ! His very accusation only awakens resentment, so thoroughly is public sentiment corrupted ! Richer, more powerful, better prepared, than ever before, we lose all our advantages through these traffickers in their country's welfare. How was it formerly? Listen to the decree which your ancestors inscribed upon a brazen column erected in the citadel : " Let Arthmius of Zelia, the son of Pythonax, be accounted infamous, and an enemy to the Athenians and their allies, both he and all his race ! ' ' Then comes the reason of his sentence : * ' Because he brought gold from Media into Peloponnes'us. ' ' 214 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. This is the decree. And now, in the name of all the gods, think upon it ! Think what wisdom, what dignity appeared in this action of our ancestors ! This receiver of bribes they declare an enemy to them and their confederates, and that he and his posterity shall be infamous ! And the sentence im- ported something more ; for in the laws relat- ing to capital cases, it is enacted, that "when the legal punishment of a man's crime cannot be inflicted, he may be put to death." And it was accounted meritorious to kill him ! "Let not the infamous man," says the law, "be permitted to live;" implying that the citizen is free from guilt who executes this sentence ! Such was the detestation in which bribery was held by our fathers ! And hence was it that the Greeks were a terror to the barbarians — not the barbarians to the Greeks ! Hence was it that wars were fair and open ; that battles were fought, not with gold, but with steel; and won, if won at all, not by treachery, but by force of arms ! DEMOSTHENES DENOUNCED.— ^schines on the Crown. (Translated.) Some authorities state that ^schiues was born 397 years B. C. ; and others, that he was born 389 B. C. , and was only four years the senior of Demosthenes. During the war with Philip, ^schines became a strenuous advocate of compromise and peace — Demosthenes being as resolutely in favor of active resistance. After the battle of Cheronsea, Demosthenes was intrusted with the repairing of the fortifications of the city. The cost of the work was thirteen talents, of which he paid three from his own purse. Ctesiphon proposed that a golden crown should be voted him. ^schines maintained that, under the circumstances, the proposal was illegal, and brought a suit nominally against Ctesiphon, but really to crush Demosthenes. From various causes, the trial was delayed eight years. At last it came on. The accuser's speech was a great effort. But Demosthenes was irresistible. " The greatest oration of the greatest of orators " is the phrase which Lord Brougham applies to the Oration on the Crown. Ctesiphon was acquitted by a considerable majority. JEschines went into banishment at Rhodes, where he set up a school of rhetoric. He once read the oration of Demosthenes to his pupils. Upon their expressing their admiration of it, he said, "What would you have thought, had you heard the lion himself? " "T~ "T"HEN Demosthenes boasts to you, O \ A / Athenians, of his Democratic zeal, -1l AL examine, not his harangues, but his life ; not what he professes to be, but what he really is ; — redoubtable in words, impo- tent in deeds ; plausible in speech, perfidious in action. As to his courage — has he not himself, before the assembled People, confessed his pol- troonery ? By the laws of Athens, the man who refuses to bear arms, the coward, the deserter of his post in battle, is excluded from all share in the public deliberations — denied admission to our religious rites, and rendered incapable of receiving the honor of a crown. Yet now it is proposed to crown a man whom your laws ex- pressly disqualify ! Which, think you, was the more worthy citi- zen — Themistocles, who commanded your fleet when you vanquished the Persian at Salamis, or Demosthenes the deserter? — Miltlades, who con- quered the Barbarians at Marathon, or this hire- ling traitor? — Aristldes, surnamed the Just, or Demosthenes, who merits a far different sur- name? By all the gods of Olympus, it is a profanation to mention in the same breath this monster and those great men ! Let him cite, if he can, one among them all to whom a crown was decreed. And was Athens ungrateful? No ! She was magnanimous ; and those un- crowned citizens were worthy of Athens. They placed their glory, not in the letter of a decree, but in the remembrance of a country, of which they had merited well, — in the living, imperish- able remembrance ! And now a popular orator — the mainspring of our calamities— a deserter from the field of battle, a deserter from the city — claims of us a crown, exacts the honor of a proclamation ! Crown him ? Proclaim his worth? My country- men, this would not be to exalt Demosthenes, but to degrade yourselves, — to dishonor those brave men who perished for you in battle. Crown him ! Shall his recreancy win what was denied to their devotion ? This would indeed GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 215 be to insult the memory of the dead, and to paralyze the emulation of the living ! When Demosthenes tells you that, as ambas- sador, he wrested Byzantium from Philip, — that, as orator, he roused the Acarnanians, and subdued the Thebans, — let not the braggart impose on you. He natters himself that the Athenians are simpletons enough to believe him, — as if in him they cherished the very genius of persuasion, instead of a vile caluminator. But, when, at the close of his defence, he shall sum- mon to his aid his accomplices in corruption, imagine then, O Athenians, that you behold, at the foot of this tribune, from which I now address you, the great benefactors of the Re- public arrayed against them. Solon, who environed our liberty with the noblest institutions, — Solon, the philosopher, the mighty legislator, — with that benignity so characteristic, implores you not to pay more regard to the honeyed phrases of Demosthenes than to your own oaths, your own laws. Aris- tldes, who fixed for Greece the apportionment of her contributions, and whose orphan daugh- ters were dowered by the People, is moved to indignation at this prostitution of justice, and exclaims : ' < Think on your fathers ! Arthmlus of Zelia brought gold from Media into Greece, and, for the act, barely escaped death in banish- ment; and now Demosthenes, who has not merely brought gold, but who received it as the price of treachery, and still retains it, — Demos- thenes it is unblushingly proposed to invest with a golden crown ! ' ' From those who fell at Marathon and at Plataea — from Themistocles — from the very sepulchres of your ancestors — issues the protesting groan of condemnation and rebuke ! REPLY TO /ESCHINES. (Part I.)— Demosthenes on the Crown. {Lord Brougham' s Translation.) The two following extracts are a suggestion of the art and grace with which the orator defended himself, and of the power and fierceness with which he assailed his adversary. LET me begin, Men of Athens, by implor- ing, of all the Heavenly Powers, that the same kindly sentiments which I have, throughout my public life, cher- ished towards this country and each one of you, may now by you be shown towards me in the present contest ! In two respects my adversary plainly has the advantage of me. First, we have not the same interests at stake : it is by no means the same thing for me to forfeit your esteem, and for iEschlnes, an unprovoked volun- teer, to fail in his impeachment. My other dis- advantage is, the natural proneness of men to lend a pleased attention to invective and accusa- tion, but to give little heed to him whose theme is his own vindication. A wicked thing, Athenians, a wicked thing is a calumniator, ever ; — querulous and industrious in seeking pretences of complaint. But this creature is despicable by nature, and incapable of any trace of generous and noble deeds ; ape •of a tragedian, third-rate actor, spurious orator ! For what, y^Eschlnes, does your eloquence profit the country? You now descant upon what is past and gone ; as if a physician, when called to patients in a sinking state, should give no advice, nor prescribe any course by which the disease might be cured ; but, after one of them had died, and the last offices were performing to his remains, should follow him to the grave, and expound how the poor man never would have died had such and such things only been done. Moonstricken ! is it now that at length you too speak out ? As to the defeat, that incident in which you so exult (wretch ! who should rather mourn for it), — look through my whole conduct, and you shall find nothing there that brought down this calamity on my country. Consider only, Athe- nians : Never, from any embassy upon which you sent me, did I come off worsted by Philip's ambassadors ; not from Thessaly, not from Am- bracia, not from Illyria, not from the Thracian kings, not from the Byzantians, nor from any 216 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. other quarter whatever, — nor finally, of late, from Thebes But wheresoever his negotiators were overcome in debate, thither Philip marched, and carried the day by his arms. Do you, then, exact this of me, and are you not ashamed, at the moment you are upbraiding me for weakness, to require that I should defy him single-handed, and by force of words alone ! For what other weapons had I ? Certainly not the lives of men, nor the fortune of warriors, nor the military operations of which you are so blundering as to demand an account at my hands. But, whatever a minister can be accountable for, make of that the strictest scrutiny, and I do not object. What, then, falls within this description? To descry events in their first beginnings, to cast his look forward, and to warn others of their approach. All this I have done. Then, to confine within the narrowest bounds all delays, and backwardness, and igno- rance, and contentiousness, — faults which are inherent and unavoidable in all States ; and, on the other hand, to promote unanimity, and friendly dispositions, and zeal in the perform- ance of public duty: — and all these things I likewise did, nor can any man point out any of them that, so far as depended on me, was left undone. If, then, it should be asked by what means Philip for the most part succeeded in his opera- tions, every one would answer, By his army, by his largesses, by corrupting those at the head of affairs. Well, then, I neither had armies, nor aid I command them ; and therefore the argu- ment respecting military operations cannot touch me. Nay, in so far as I was inaccessible to bribes, there I conquered Philip ! For, as he who pur- chases any one overcomes him who has received the price and sold himself, so he who will not take the money, nor consent to be bribed, has. conquered the bidder. Thus, as far as I am con- cerned, this country stands unconquered. REPLY TO ^ESCHINES. (Part II.) UNDER what circumstances, O Athe- nians, ought the strenuous and patri- otic orator to appear ? When the State is in jeopardy, when the people are at issue with the enemy, then it is that his ve'he- mence is timely. But now, when I stand clear on all hands, — by prescription, by judgments repeatedly pronounced, by my never having been convicted before the people of any offense, — and when more or less of glory has of necessity resulted to the public from my course — now it is that ^Eschlnes turns up, and attempts to wrest from me the honors which you pro- pose to bestow ! Personal spite and envy are at the bottom of all his trumped-up charges, my fellow-citizens ; and I proclaim him no true man. Consider, ^Eschines, whether you are not in reality the country's enemy, while you pretend to be only mine. Let us look at the acts of the orator rather than at the speech. He who pays his court to the enemies of the State does not cast anchor in the same roadstead with the people. He looks elsewhere than to them for his security. Such a man — mark me ! — am not I. I have al- ways made common cause with the people, nor have I shaped my public course for my individual benefit. Can you say as much ? Can you ? You, who, instantly after the battle, repaired as ambassador to Philip, the author of all our calamities ; and this after you had declared loudly, on previous occasions, against engaging in any such commission, — as all these citizens can testify ! What worse charge can anyone bring against an orator than that his words and his deeds do not tally ? Yet you have been discovered to be such a man ; and you still lift your voice and dare to look this assembly in the face ! Think you they do not know you for what you are ? or that such a slumber and oblivion have come over them all as to make them forget the speeches, in which, with oaths and imprecations, you dis- claimed all dealings with Philip, and declared that I falsely brought this charge against you from personal enmity ? And yet, no sooner was. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 217 the advice received of that fatal — O ! that fatal — battle, than your asseverations were forgotten, your connection publicly avowed ! You affected to have been Philip's friend and guest. Such were the titles by which you sought to dignify your prostitution ! But read here the epitaph inscribed by the State upon the monument of the slain, that you may see yourself v& it, ^Eschlnes, — unjust, calum- nious, and profligate. Read ! " These were the brave, unknowing how to yield, Who, terrible in valor, kept the field Against the foe ; and, higher than life's breath Prizing their honor, met the doom of death, Our common doom — that Greece unyoked might stand, Nor shuddering crouch beneath a tyrant's hand. Such was the will of Jove ; and now they rest Peaceful enfolded in their country's breast. The immortal gods alone are ever great, And erring mortals must submit to Fate." Do you hear, ^Eschines ? It pertains only to the gods to control fortune and command suc- cess. To them the power of assuring victory to armies is ascribed, — not to the statesman, but to the gods. Wherefore, then, execrable wretch, wherefore upbraid me with what has happened ? Why denounce against me, what may the just gods reserve for the heads of you and yours ! CATILINE DENOUNCED.— Cicero. Marcus-Tullius-Cicero, the greatest of Roman orators, was born at Arpinum, 106 B. C, two hundred and sixteen years after the death of Demosthenes. Having taken part against Antony, after the assassination of Caesar, Cicero was proscribed. He was murdered by a party of soldiers, headed by Popilius Lsenas, whose life he had former^ saved by his eloquence ; and his head and hands were publicly exhibited on the rostrum at Rome. He perished in his sixty-fourth year, 43 B. C. His writings are voluminous. As an orator, Cicero ranks next to Demosthenes ; and his orations against Catiline and Verres are masterpieces of denun- ciatory eloquence. HOW far, O Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience ? How long shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career? To what extreme wilt thou carry thy audacity ? Art thou nothing daunted by the nightly watch, posted to secure the Palatlum? Nothing, by the city guards? Nothing, by the rally of all good citizens? Nothing, by the assembling of the Senate in this fortified place ? Nothing, by the averted looks of all here present? Seest thou not that all thy plots are exposed ? — that thy wretched conspiracy is laid bare to every man's knowledge, here in the Senate? — that we are well aware of thy proceedings of last night ; of the night before ; — the place of meeting, the company convoked, the measures concerted ? Alas, the times ! Alas, the public morals ! The Senate understands all this. The Consul sees it. Yet the traitor lives ! Lives? Ay, truly, and confronts us here in council, — takes part in our deliberations, — and, with his measuring eye, marks out each man of us for slaughter! And we, all this while, strenuous that we are, think we have amply discharged our duty to the State, if we but shim this madman's sword and fury ! Long since, O Catiline, ought the Consul to have ordered thee to execution, and brought upon thy own head the ruin thou hast been meditating against others ! There was that virtue once in Rome, that a wicked citizen was held more execrable than the deadliest foe. We have a law still, Catiline, for thee. Think not that we are powerless, because forbearing. We have a decree, — though it rests among our archives like a sword in its scabbard, — a decree, by which thy life would be made to pay the forfeit of thy crimes. And, should I order thee to be instantly seized and put to death, I make just doubt whether all good men would not think it done rather too late than any man too cruelly. But, for good reasons, I will yet defer the blow long since deserved. Then will I doom thee, when no man is found, so lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, but shall confess that it was justly dealt. While there is one man that dares defend thee, live ! But thou shalt live so beset, so sur- rounded, so scrutinized by the vigilant guards that I have placed thee, that thou shalt not stir a foot against the Republic, without my knowl- 218 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. edge. There shall be eyes to detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch thy wariest whisper, of which thou shalt not dream. The darkness of night shall not cover thy treason — the walls of privacy shall not stifle its voice. Baffled on all sides, thy most secret counsels clear as noon- day, what canst thou now have in view ? Pro- ceed, plot, conspire, as thou wilt ; there is noth- ing you can contrive, nothing you can propose, nothing you can attempt, which I shall not know, hear and promptly understand. Thou shalt soon be made aware that I am even more active in providing for the preservation of the State than thou in plotting its destruction ! AGAINST CATILINE.— Cicero. CONSCRIPT FATHERS, a camp is pitched against the Roman Republic within Italy, on the very borders of Etruria. Every day adds to the number of the enemy. The leader of those enemies, the commander of that encampment, walks within the walls of Rome, and, with venomous mischief, rankles in the inmost vitals of the commonwealth. Catiline, should I, on the instant, order my lictors to seize and drag you to the stake, some men might, even then, blame me for having procrastinated punishment ; but no man could criminate me for a faithful execu- tion of the laws. They shall be executed. But I will neither act, nor will I suffer, with- out full and sufficient reason. Trust me, they shall be executed, and then, even then, when there shall not be found a man so flagitious, so much a Catiline, as to say you were not ripe for execution. Was not the night before the last sufficient to convince you that there is a good genius protecting that Republic, which a ferocious demoniac is laboring to destroy? I aver, that on that same night you and your complotters assembled. Can even your own tongue deny it ? Yet secret ! Speak out, man ; for, if you do not, there are some I see around me who shall have an agonizing proof that I am true in my assertion. Good and great gods, where are we ? What city do we inhabit? Under what government do we live? Here — here, Conscript Fathers, mixed and mingled with us all — in the center of this most grave and venerable assembly — are men sitting, quietly incubating a plot against my life, against all your lives — the life of every virtuous Senator and citizen ; while I, with the whole nest of traitors brooding beneath my eyes, am parading in the petty formalities of debate, and the very men appear scarcely vulnerable by my voice, who ought long since to have been cut down by the sword. Proceed, Catiline, in your meritorious career ! Go where destiny and desire are driving you. Evacuate the city for a season. The gates stand open. Begone ! What a pity that the Manlian army should look so long for their general ! Take all your loving friends along with you ; or, if that be a vain hope, take, at least, as many as you can, and cleanse the city for some short time. Let the walls of Rome be the mediators between me and thee, for, at present, you are much too near. I will not suffer you, I will not longer endure you ! Lucius Catiline, away ! Begin as soon as you can this shameful and unnatural war. Begin it, on your part, under the shade of every dreadful omen ; on mine, with the sure and certain hope of safety to my country, and glory to myself; and, when this you have done, then do thou, whose altar was first founded by the founder of our State — thou, the establisher of this city — pour out thy vengeance upon this man, and all his adherents ! Save us from his fury, our public altars, our sacred temples, our houses and household goods, our liberties, our lives. Pursue, tutelar god, pursue them, these foes, to the gods and to goodness — these plunderers of Italy — these assassins of Rome ! Erase them out of this life, and in the next let thy ven- geance follow them still, insatiable, implacable, immortal. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 219 CATILINE EXPELLED.— Cicero. AT length, Romans, we are rid of Cati- line ! We have driven him forth, drunk with fury, breathing mischief, threatening to revisit us with fire and sword. He is gone ; he is fled ; he has escaped ; he has broken away. No longer, within the very walls of the city, shall he plot her ruin. We have forced him from secret plots into open rebellion. The bad citizen is now the avowed traitor. His flight is the confession of his treason ! Would that his attendants had not been so few ! Be speedy, ye companions of his dissolute pleasures ; be speedy, and you may overtake him before night, on the Aurelian road. Let him not languish, deprived of your society. Haste to join the congenial crew that composes his army; his army, I say, — for who doubts that the army under Manlius expect Catiline for their leader ? And such an army ! Outcasts from honor, and fugitives from debt ; gamblers and felons ; miscreants, whose dreams are of rapine, murder and conflagration ! Against these gallant troops of your adver- sary, prepare, O Romans, your garrisons and armies ; and first to that maimed and battered gladiator oppose your Consuls and Generals ; next, against that miserable outcast horde, lead forth the strength and flower of all Italy ! On the one side chastity contends ; on the other, wantonness : here purity, there pollution ; here integrity, there treachery ; here piety, there profaneness ; here constancy, there rage ; here honesty, there baseness ; here continence, there lust ; in short, equity, temperance, fortitude, prudence, struggle with iniquity, luxury, cow- ardice, rashness ; every virtue with every vice • and lastly, the contest lies between well- grounded hope and absolute despair. In such a conflict, were even human aid to fail, would not the immortal gods empower such conspicuous virtue to triumph over such complicated vice ? AN opinion has long prevailed, Fathers, that, in public prosecutions, men of wealth, however clearly convicted, are always safe. This opinion, so injurious to your order, so detrimental to the State, it is now in your power to refute. A man is on trial before you who is rich, and who hopes his riches will compass his acquittal ; but whose life and actions are his sufficient condemnation in the eyes of all candid men. I speak of Caius Verres, who, if he now receive not the sentence his crimes deserve, it shall not be through the lack of a criminal, or of a prosecutor ; but through the failure of the ministers of justice to do their duty. Passing over the shameful irregularities of his youth, what does the quaestorship of Verres ex- hibit but one continued scene of villainies ? The public treasure squandered, a Consul stripped and betrayed, an army deserted and reduced to want, a province robbed, the civil and religious rights of a People trampled on ! But his proetor- VERRES DENOUNCED.— Cicero. ship in Sicily has crowned his career of wicked- ness, and completed the lasting monument of his infamy. His decisions have violated all law, all precedent, all right. His extortions from the industrious poor have been beyond computation. Our most faithful allies have been treated as ene- mies. Roman citizens have, like slaves, been put to death with tortures. Men the most worthy have been condemned and banished without a hearing, while the most atrocious criminals have, with money, purchased exemption from the pun- ishment due to their guilt. I ask now, Verres, what have you to advance against these charges ? Art thou not the tyrant praetor, who, at no greater distance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, dared to put to an infamous death, on the cross, that ill-fated and innocent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus? And what was his offence? He had declared his intention of appealing to the justice of his country against your brutal persecutions ! For 220 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. this, when about to embark for home, he was seized, brought before you, charged with being a spy, scourged and tortured. In vain did he ex- claim : "I am a Roman citizen ! I have served under Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panormus, and who will attest my innocence !" Deaf to all remonstrance, remorseless, thirsting for innocent blood, you ordered the savage punishment to be inflicted ! While the sacred words, ' ' I am a Roman citizen," were on his lips, — words which, in the remotest regions, are a passport to protec- tion, — you ordered him to death, to a death upon the cross ! O liberty ! O sound once delightful to every Roman ear ! O sacred privilege of Roman citi- zenship ! once sacred, — now trampled on ! Is it come to this ? Shall an inferior magistrate, a gov- ernor, who holds his whole power of the Roman People, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture, and put to an infa- mous death, a Roman citizen ? Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, the tears of pitying spectators, the majesty of the Roman Commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain the merciless monster, who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the very root of liberty and sets mankind at defiance ? And shall this man escape ? Fathers, it must not be ! It must not be, unless you would undermine the very foundations of social safety, strangle justice, and call down anarchy, massacre and ruin on the commonwealth. GREAT FRENCH ORATORS. AGAINST THE NOBILITY AND CLERGY OF PROVENCE, Feb. 3, 1789. Mirabeau. {Translated.) Honore Gabriel Riquetti, Comte de Mirabeau, was born at Bignon, in France, on the 9th of March, 1749. The early part of his life was one of disorder and misery. The French Revolution offered a field for his energies. Being rejected, at the time of the elections, by the nobility of Province, he hired a ware- house, put up this inscription, — " Mirabeau, woollen-draper," — and was elected deputy from the third estate 'of Aix. His contemporaries speak of the effect of his eloquence as surprising and irresistable. " He trod the tribune with the supreme authority of a master, and the imperial air of a king." Personally, he was quite ugly. He himself has said, in a letter to a lady whom had not seen him : — "Imagine a tiger scarred with the small pox, and you may form some notion of my features." " He was a man," says one of his critics, " who, by his qualities no less than by the singularity of his fortune, is destined to take his place in history by the side of the Demosthenes, the Gracchi, and the other kindred spirits of an antiquity whose gigantic characteristics he so frequently reproduced." He died 1791. In the French National Assembly, every speaker who addresses that body formally, instead of speak- ing from his seat, as in the legislative halls of England and the United States, ascends an elevated platform, or pulpit, called a tribune, from which he makes his harangue. But you, Commons, listen to one, who, unse- duced by your applauses, yet cherishes them in his heart. Man is strong only by union ; happy only by peace. Be firm, not obstinate ; coura- geous, not turbulent ; free, not undisciplined ; prompt, not precipitate. Stop not except at diffi- culties of moment ; and be then wholly in- flexible. But disdain the contentions of self- love, and never thrust into the balance the individual against the country. Above all, hasten, as much as in you lies the epoch of those States-General, from which you are charged with flinching, — the more acrimoniously charged, the more your accusers dread the results ; of those States-General, through which so many IX all countries, in all ages, have aristocrats implacably pursued the friends of the People ; and when, by I know not what combination of fortune, such a friend has uprisen from the very bosom of the aristrocracy, it has been at him pre-eminently that they have struck, eager to inspire wider terror by the elevation of their victim. So perished the last of the Gracchi by the hands of the Patricians. But, mortally smitten, he flung dust towards heaven, calling the avenging gods to witness: and, from that dust, sprang Marius ■ — Marius, less illustrious for having exterminated the Cimbri than for having beaten down the des- potism of the nobility in Rome. 9*3*^ A«£^ HENRY W. GRADY. A noted Southern orator who did much to restore good fellowship between the North and South. (Born 1851, Died 1889.) GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 221 pretensions will be scattered, so many rights re-established, so many evils reformed ; of those States- General, in short, through which the monarch himself desires that France should regenerate herself. For myself, who, in my public career, have had no other fear but that of wrong- doing, — who, girt with my conscience, and armed with my principles, would brave the universe, — whether it shall be my fortune to serve you with my voice and my exertions in the National Assembly, or whether I shall be enabled to aid you there with my prayers only, be sure that the vain clamors, the wrathful menaces, the injurious protestations, — all the convulsions, in a word, of expiring prejudices, — shall not on me impose ! What ! shall he now pause in his civic course, who, first among all the men of France, emphatically proclaimed his opinions on national affairs, at a time when circumstances were much less urgent than now, and the task one of much greater peril ? Never ! No measure of outrages shall bear down my patience. I have been, I am, I shall be, even to the tomb, the man of the Public Liberty, the man of the Constitution. If to be such be to become the man of the People rather than of the Nobles, then woe to the privileged orders ! For privileges shall have an end, but the People is eternal ! NECKER'S FINANCIAL PLAN, Sept. 26, 1789.— Mirabeau. {Translated.) Necker, the minister of finance, having proposed an income tax of twenty-five per cent., with other measures, in view of the desperate state of the financial affairs of France, the proposition was advocated by Mirabeau, who did not, however, profess to comprehend or endorse all its details. Although a known enemy to the minister, he magnanimously made two speeches in behalf of his measure ; without, however, inducing the Assembly to pass it, until, on the eve of its being rejected, Mirabeau rushed to the Tribune, and poured forth a last appeal, an abridgment of which is here given. This speech proved effectual. The Assembly received it with shouts of enthusiam ; and Necker' s plan was adopted. Madame da Stael (Necker's daughter), who was near Mirabeau at the time of the delivery of this speech, says that "its effect was prodigious." THE minister of finance has presented a most alarming picture of the state of our affairs. He has assured us that delay must aggravate the peril ; and that a day, an hour, an instant, may render it fatal. We have no plan that can be substituted for that which he proposes. On this plan, there- fore, we must fall back. But, have we time, Gentlemen ask, to examine it, to probe it thor- oughly, an4 verify its calculations ? No, no ! a thousand time no ! Hap-hazard conjectures, insignificant inquiries, gropings that can but mislead, — these are all that we can give to it now. Shall we therefore miss the decisive moment ? Do Gentlemen hope to escape sacri- fices and taxation by a plunge into national bankruptcy? What, then, is bankruptcy, but the most cruel, most iniquitous, most unequal and disastrous of imposts? Listen to me for one moment ! Two centuries of plunder and abuse have dug the abyss which threatens to engulf the Nation. It must be filled up — this terrible chasm. But how ! Here is a list of proprietors. Choose from the wealthiest, in order that the smallest number of citizens may be sacrificed. But choose ! Shall not a few perish, that the mass of the People may be saved ? Come then ! Here are two thousand Notables, whose property will supply the deficit. Restore order to your finances, peace and prosperity to the Kingdom ! Strike ] Immolate, without mercy, these unfor- tunate victims ! Hurl them into the abyss ! — It closes ! You recoil with dismay from the contempla- tion. Inconsistent and pusillanimous ! What ! Do you not perceive that, in decreeing a public bankruptcy, or what is worse, in rendering it inevitable without decreeing it, you disgrace yourselves by an act a thousand times more criminal, and — folly inconceivable! — gratui- tously criminal ? For, in the shocking alterna- tive I have supposed, at least the deficit would be wiped off. 222 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. But do you imagine that, in refusing to pay, you shall cease to owe ? Think you that the thousands, the millions of men, who will lose in an instant, by the terrible explosion of a bankruptcy, or its revulsion, all that formed the consolation of their lives, and perhaps their sole means of subsistence, — think you that they will leave you to the peaceable fruition of your crime? Stoical spectators of the incalculable evils which this catastrophe would disgorge upon France ; impenetrable egotists, who fancy that these convulsions of despair and of misery will pass, as other calamities have passed, — and all the more rapidly because of their intense violence, — are you, indeed, certain that so many men without bread will leave you tran- quilly to the enjoyment of those savory viands, the number and delicacy of which you are so loth to diminish ? No ! you will perish ; and, in the universal conflagration, which you do not shrink from kindling, you will not, in losing your honor, save a single one of your detestable indulgences. This is the way we are going. And I say to you, that the men who, above all others, are interested in the enforcement of these sacrifices which the Government demands, are you your- selves ! Vote, then, this subsidy extraordinary ; and may it prove sufficient ! Vote it, inasmuch as whatever doubts you may entertain as to the means, — doubts vague and unenlightened, — you can have none as to the necessity, or as to our inability to provide — immediately, at least — a substitute. Vote it, because the circumstances of the country admit of no evasion, and we shall be responsible for all delays. Beware of demanding more time ! Misfortune accords it never. Why, gentlemen, it was but the other day, that, in reference to a ridiculous commotion at the Palais-Royal, * — a Quixotic insurrection, which never had any importance save in the feeble imaginations or perverse designs of certain faithless men, — you heard these wild words : ' ' Catiline is at the gates of Rome, and yet you deliberate I ' ' And verily there was neither a Catiline nor a Rome ; neither perils nor factions around you. But, to-day, bank- ruptcy, hideous bankruptcy, is there before you, and threatens to consume you, yourselves, your property, your honor, — and yet you deliberate ! *The s in Palais is mute, and the dipthong ai has the sound of ai in air, before the r is reached. The French pronunciation of Royal may be expressed in English thus : Roh-ah-ee-ahl ; but the syllables must be fused rapidly in the utterance. THE DISOBEDIENCE OF MAGISTRATES.— Mirabeau. ~Y" "T~E have been told, gentlemen, that the \ A / magistrate is not bound to execute a Jl jL law which he has not adopted. We are told that he is not obliged to adopt, as magistrate, a new law which does not suit him ; that, when he received his powers, he swore to render justice according to established laws. You now offer him new powers ; you exact of him the application of new laws. What is his reply ? "I do not desire these powers. I do not engage to execute these laws." And I, in my turn, reply : These magistrates who are not willing to exercise those functions that have reference to new laws, have they, in disobeying, abdicated their offices, and resigned their commissions? Unless they have done this, then is their conduct inconsistent with their principles. "We are justified," they say, " by our conscience, in disobeying the laws." Their conscience, like that of all men, is the result of their ideas, their sentiments, their habits of thought and action. Let them cease to be magistrates, these men who presume to regard the eternal rights of the people as ' ' new laws; " — who reverence despotic authority, and whose conscience is wounded by the public liberty. Let them abdicate, and become once more as simple citizens ! Who will regret them? Have not all the parliaments of the kingdom recognized the principle that the interruption of justice is a crime — that combined resignations are a forfeiture? The magistrate, the soldier, every man who has public functions to fulfill, may abdicate his place ; but can he desert his GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 223 post ? Can he quit it in the critical moment, at the approach of a combat, when his services are needed ? In such a moment, the refusal of the soldier would be an act of cowardice — the pre- tended scruples of magistrates would be a crime. The principle of these refractory officers is, that they will obey such laws only as suit them ; in other words, they will obey only themselves. EULOGIUM ON FRANKLIN, Ju FRANKLIN is dead ! Restored to the bosom of the Divinity is that genius which gave freedom to America, and rayed forth torrents of light upon Europe. The sage whom two worlds claim — the man whom the History of Empires and the History of Science alike contend for — occupied, it cannot be denied, a lofty rank amonk his species. Long enough have po- litical Cabinets signalized the death of those who were great in their funeral eulogies only. Long enough has the etiquette of Courts pre- scribed hypocritical mournings. For their benefactors only, should Nations assume the emblems of grief; and the Representatives of Nations should commend only the heroes of humanity to public veneration. In the fourteen States of the Confederacy, Congress has ordained a mourning of two months for the death of Franklin ; and America is at this moment acquitting herself of this If this be not a folly and a crime, what is our business here? What need of legislation? What is our power? — what the object of our labors ? Let us hasten to replunge into nothing- ness that constitution which has given birth to so many false hopes. Let the aurora of public liberty be eclipsed, and let the eternal night of despotism cover once more the earth. ne II, 1790. — Mirabeau. (Translated.) tribute of honor to one of the Fathers of her Constitution. Would it not become us, gen- tlemen, to. unite in this religious act ; to partici- pate in this homage, publicly rendered, at once to the rights of man, and to the philosopher who has contributed most largely to their vindi- cation throughout the world ? Antiquity would have erected altars to this great and powerful genius, who, to promote the welfare of mankind, comprehending both the Heavens and the Earth in the range of his thought, could at once snatch the bolt from the cloud and the sceptre from tryants. France, enlightened and free, owes at least the acknowledgment of her remem- brance and regret to one of the greatest intellects that ever served the united cause of philosophy and liberty. I propose that it be now decreed that the National Assembly wear mourning, during three days, for Benjamin Franklin. DEFENSE AGAINST THE CHARGE OF CORRUPTION.— Mirabeau. (Translated.) FOR eight days now rumors of perfidy, of corruption, have been bruited. Popu- lar vengeance has been invoked to en- force the tyranny of opinion ; and denunciations have been uttered, as if, on a subject involving one of the most delicate and difficult questions affecting the organization of society, persons could not dissent without a crime. What strange madness, what deplorable infatuation, is this, which thus incites against one another men whom — let debate run never so high — one common object, one indestructible sentiment of patriotism, ought always to bring together, always to reunite ; but who thus sub- stitute, alas ! the irascibility of self-love for de- votion to the public good, and give one another over, without compunction, to the hatred and distrust of the People ! And me, too — me, but the other day they would have borne in triumph ; — and now they cry in the streets, The great treason of the Count of Mirabeau ! I needed not this lesson to teach me how short the distance front the Capitol to the Tarpeian Rock! But the man who battles for reason, for country, does not so easily admit that he is vanquished. He who 224 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. has the consciousness that he deserves well of that country, and, above all, that he is still able to serve her ; who disdains a vain celebrity, and prizes veritable glory above the successes of the day ; who would speak the truth, and labor for the public weal, independently of the fluctua- tions of popular opinion, — such a man carries in his own breast the recompense of his services, the solace of his pains, the reward* of his dangers. The harvest he looks for — the destiny, the only destiny, to which he aspires — is that of his good name ; and for that he is content to trust to time, — to time, that incorruptible judge, who dispenses justice to all ! Let those who, for these eight days past, have been ignorantly predicting my opinion, — who, at this moment, calumniate my discourse with- out comprehending it, — let them charge me, if they will, with beginning to offer incense to the THE UNION OF CHURCH AN T ~T"E are reproached with having refused to \ A / decree that the Catholic religion, Jl jL Apostolic and Roman, is the national religion. To declare the Christian religion national, would be to dishonor it in its most intimate and essential characteristic. In general terms, it may be said, that religion is not, and cannot be, a relation between the indi- vidual man and society. It is a relation between him and the Infinite Being. Would you understand what was meant by a national conscience ? Religion is no more national than conscience ! A man is not veri- tably religious in so far as he is attached to the religion of a Nation. If there were but one religion in the world, and all men were agreed in professing it, it would be none the less true that each would have the sincere sentiment of religion so far only as he should be himself religious with a religion of his own ; that is to say, so far only as he would be wedded to that universal religion, even though the whole human race were to abjure it. And so, from whatever point we consider religion, to term it national is to give it a designation insignificant or absurd. ' impotent idols I have overturned — with being the vile stipendiary of men whom I have never ceased to combat ; let them denounce as an enemy of the Revolution him, who at least has contributed so much to its cause, that his safety, if not his glory, lies in its support ; — let them deliver over to the rage of a deceived People him, who, for twenty years, has warred against oppression inall its forms ; — who sp'oketo French- men of Liberty, of a Constitution, of Resistance, at a time when his vile calumniators were suck- ing the milk of Courts, — living on those domi- nant abuses which he denounced : — what matters it ! These underhand attacks shall not stop me in my career. I will say to my traducers, Answer if you can, and then calumniate to your heart's content ! And now I re-enter the lists, armed only with my principles, and a steadfast conscience. D STATE.— Mirabeau. {Translated.) Would it be as the arbiter of its truth, or as the judge of its aptitude to form good citizens, that the Legislature would make a religion con- stitutional? But, in the first place, are there national truths ? In the second place, can it be ever useful to the public happiness to fetter the conscience of men by a law of the State ? The law unites us only in those points where adhe- sion is essential to social organization. Those points belong only to the superfices of our being. In thought and conscience men remain isolated ; and their association leaves to them, in these respects, the absolute freedom of the state of nature. What a spectacle would it be for those early Christians, who, to, escape the sword of Perse- cution, were obliged to consecrate their altars in caves or amid ruins, — what a spectacle would it be for them, could they this day come among us, and witness the glory with which their despised religion now sees itself environed ; the temples, the lofty steeples bearing aloft the glittering emblem of their faith ; the evangelic cross, which crowns the summit of all the de- partments of this great Empire ! What a trans- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 225 porting sight for those who, in descending to the tomb, had seen that religion, during their lives, honored only in the lurking places of the forest and the desert ! Methinks I hear them exclaim, even as that stranger of the old time exclaimed, on beholding the encampment of the People of God, — "How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy tabernacles, O Israel ! ' ' Calm, then, ah ! calm your apprehensions, ye ministers of the God of peace and truth ! Blush rather at your incendiary exaggerations, and no longer look at the action of this Assembly through the medium of your passions. We do TO THE FRENCH PEOPLE not ask it of you tj take an oath contrary to the law of your hsart ; but we do ask it of you, in the name of that God who will judge us all, not to confound human opinions and scholastic tra- ditions with the sacred and inviolable rules of the Gospel. If it be contrary to morality to act against one's conscience, it is none the less so to form one's conscience after false and arbi- trary principles. The obligation to form and enlighten one's conscience is anterior to the obli- gation to follow one's conscience. The greatest public calamities have been caused by men who believed they were obeying God, and saving their own souls. 1792. — Vergniaud. ( Translated. ) Vergniaud, the most eloquent orator of the celebrated party known as the Girondists, during the French Revolution, was born at Limoges, in 1759. He was executed in 1793. As an orator, his renown is second only to that of Mirabeau, in France. His speeches were always carefully prepared beforehand. PREPARATIONS for war are manifest on our frontiers ; and we hear of renewed plots against liberty. Our armies re- assemble j mighty movements agitate the Empire. Martial law having become neces- sary, it has seemed to us just. But we have succeeded only in brandishing for a moment the thunderbolt in the eyes of rebellion. The sanc- tion of the King has been refused to our decrees. The princes of Germany make their territory a retreat for the conspirators against you. They favor the plots of the emigrants. They furnish them an asylum — they furnish them gold, arms, horses, and munitions. Is not the patience suicidal which tolerates all this ? Doubtless you have renounced all projects of conquest ; but you have not promised to endure such insolent provocations. You have shaken off the yoke of your tyrants ; but it was not to bend the knee to foreign despots. But, beware ! You are environed by snares. They seek to drive you, by disgust or lassitude, to a state of languor fatal to your courage, — or fatal to its right direction. They seek to sepa- rate you from us ; they pursue a system of calumny against the National Assembly ; they incriminate your Revolution in your eyes. O ! beware of these attempts at panic ! . Repel, in- 15 dignantly, these impostors, who, while they affect a hypocritical zeal for the Constitution, cease not to urge upon you the monarchy ! The monarchy ! With them it is the counter-revolu- tion ! The monarchy ? It is the nobility ! The counter-revolution — what is it but taxation, feu- dality, the Bastille, chains and executioners, to punish the sublime aspirations of liberty ? What is it but foreign satellites in the midst of the State? What, but bankruptcy, engulfing, with your assignats, your private fortunes and the national wealth ; what, but the furies of fanati- cism and of vengeance, — assassinations, pillage, and incendiarism, — in short, despotism and death, disputing, over rivers of blood and heaps of carcasses, the dominion of your wretched country ? The nobility ! That is to say, two classes of men ; the one for grandeur, the other for debasement ! — the one for tyranny, the other for servitude ! The nobility ! Ah ! the very word is an insult to the human race ! And yet, it is in order to secure the success of these conspiracies that Europe is now put in motion against you ! Be it so ! By a solemn declaration must these guilty hopes be crushed. Yes, the free representatives of France, unshaken in their attachment to the Constitution, will be buried beneath its ruins, before they consent to 226 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. a capitulation at once unworthy of them and of you. Rally ! Be reassured ! They would raise the Nations against you: — they will raise only princes. The heart of every People is with you. It is their cause which you embrace, in defending your own. Ever abhorred be war ! It is the greatest of the crimes of men ; — it is the most terrible scourge of humanity ! But, since you are irresistibly forced to it, yield to the course of your destinies. Who can foresee where will end the punishment of the tyrants who will have driven you to take up arms ? AGAINST THE TERRORISM OF THE JACOBINS, ( Translated. ) 1792 . — Vergniaud. THE blinded Parisians presume to call themselves free. Alas ! it is true they are no longer the slaves of crowned tryants ; but they are the slaves of men the most vile, and of wretches the most detest- able ; men who continue to imagine that the Revolution has been made for themselves alone, and who have sent Louis XVI. to the Temple, in order that they may be enthroned at the Tuileries ! * It is time to break these dis- graceful chains — -to crush this new despotism. It is time that those who have made honest men tremble should be made to tremble in their turn. I am not ignorant that they have poniards at their service. On the night of the second of September — -that night of proscription ! — did they not seek to turn them against several depu- ties, and myself among the number? Were we not denounced to the People as traitors ! Fortu- nately, it was the People into whose hands we fell. The assassins were elsewhere occupied. The voice of calumny failed of its effect. If my voice may yet make itself heard from this place, I call you all to witness, it shall not cease to thunder, with all its energy, against tyrants, whether of high or low degree. What to me their ruffians and their poniards? What his own life to the representative of the People, while the safety of the country is at stake ? When William Tell adjusted the arrow which * Pronounced Tweelree. was to pierce the fatal apple that a tryant had placed on his son's head, he exclaimed, " Perish my name, and perish my memory, provided Switzerland may be free!" And we, also, — we will say, " Perish the National Assembly and its memory, provided France may be free ! " f Ay, perish the National Assembly and its memory, so by its death it may save the Nation from a course of crime that would affix an eternal stigma to the French name ; so, by its action, it may show the Nations of Europe that, despite the calumnies by which it is sought to dishonor France, there is still in the very bosom of that momentary anarchy where the brigands have plunged us — there is still in our country some public virtue, some respect for humanity left ! Perish the National Assembly and its memory, if upon our ashes our more fortunate successors may establish the edifice of a Constitution, which shall assure the happiness, of France, and consolidate the reign of liberty and equality ! f The deputies here rose, as by an unanimous im- pulse, and repeated, with enthusiasm, the oath of Vergniaud. The audience, who occupied the gal- leries, also mingled their voices with those of the deputies To appreciate fully the intrepid eloquence of this speech, it should be remembered that France was, at that moment, virtually under the sanguinary dictatorship of the Jacobin Club ; and that their proscriptions and massacres threatened to involve all who did not acquiesce in their measures. Vergniaud soon afterward paid the penalty of his courage ; and justfied his bold words by a bold death on the scaffold. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 227 AGAINST WAR, Jan. 13, 1 SHALL we await the orders of the War Office to overturn Thrones? Shall we await the signal of the Court? In this war against aristocrats and Kings, shall we look to be commanded by these same Patri- cians, these eternal favorites of Despotism? No ! Alone let us march. Our own leaders let us be ! If it is the war of the Court that we must accept, — the war of the Ministers, of Patricians shamming patriotism, — then, alas ! far from anticipating the enfranchisement of the world, I shall not even believe that your own liberty is secure. Our wisest course now is to defend it against the perfidy of those internal enemies who would beguile you with these heroic illusions. I have proved that liberty has no more mortal enemy than war. I have proved that war, recommended by men of doubtful stamp, will be, in the Executive hands, but a means of annihilating the Constitution — but the issue of a plot against the Revolution. To favor these projects of war, under whatever pre- text, is, then, to join in conspiracy against the Revolution. To recommend confidence in the Executive, — to invoke public favor in behalf of 792 . — Robespierre. ( Translated. ) the Generals, — is, then, to deprive the Revolu- tion of its last security, the vigilance and energy of the Nation. If, then, the moment of emancipation for the Nations be not yet arrived, we should have the patience to await it. If this generation be destined only to struggle on in the slough of those vices, where Despotism has plunged it, — if the theatre of our Revolution be doomed to present to the world no other spectacle than the miserable contests of perfidy and imbecility, egotism and ambition, — then to the rising gen- eration will be bequeathed the task of purifying the polluted earth. That generation shall bring — not the peace of Despotism, not the sterile agitations of intrigue, but the torch and the sword to consume Thrones, and exterminate oppressors ! Thou art not alien to us, O more fortunate posterity ! For thee we brave these storms, for thee defy the plots of tyranny. Dis- heartened ofttimes by the obstacles that sur- round us, towards thee we yearn ! For by thee shall our work be finished ! O ! cherish in thy memory the names of the martyrs of liberty ! MORALITY THE BASIS OF CIVILIZED SOCIETY— BELIEF IN GOD THE BASIS OF MORALITY.— Robespierre. {Translated.) The name of Maximilian Robespierre is associated with all that is sanguinary and atrocious in the history of the French Revolution. Whatever his own practice may have been, he had the sagacity to see that there is no security in a Republic which is not based on principle, — and no security in principle which is not based on belief in God and the immortality of the soul. The extract we here give is from his Report, read to the French National Convention, the 7th of May, 1794. THE idea of a Supreme Being and of the immortality of the soul is a continual call to justice. It is therefore a social and republican principle. Who has authorized you to declare that a Deity does not exist ? O, you who support so arid a doctrine, what advantage do you expect to derive from the principle that a blind fatality regulates the affairs of men, and that the soul is nothing but a breath of air impelled towards the tomb? Will the idea of nonenity inspire man with more elevated sentiments than that of immortality ? Will it awaken more respect for others or him- self, more devotion to country, more courage to resist tyranny, greater contempt for pleasure or death ? You, who regret a virtuous friend, can you endure the thought that his noblest part has not escaped dissolution ? You, who weep over the remains of a child or a wife, are you con- soled by the thought that a handful of dust is all that is left of the beloved object? You, the un- fortunate, who expire under the stroke of the assassin, is not your last sigh an appeal to the justice of the Most High? Innocence on the scaffold makes the tyrant turn pale on his tri- umphal car. Would such an ascendency be felt. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. if the tomb levelled alike the oppressor and the oppressed ? The more a man is gifted with sensibility and genius, the more does he attach himself to those ideas which aggrandize his being and exalt his aspirations ; and the doctrine of men of this stamp becomes the doctrine of all mankind. A g;eat man, a. veritable hero, knows his own worth too well to experience complacency in the thought of his nonentity. A wretch, de- spicable in his own eyes, repulsive in those of others, feels that nature but gives him his deserts in annihilation. Confusion to those who seek, by their deso- lating doctrines, to extinguish this sublime enthusiasm, and to stifle this moral instinct of the People, which is the principle of all great actions ! To you, Representatives of the People, it belongs to hasten the triumph of the truths we have developed. If we lack the courage to proclaim them, then deep, indeed, must be the depravity, with which we are environed. Defy the insensate clamors of presumptuous ignorance and of stubborn hypocrisy ! Will posterity credit it, that the vanquished factions have carried their audacity so far as to charge us with luke- warmness and aristocracy for having restored to the Nation's heart the idea of the Divinity, the fundamental principle of all morality? W T ill it be believed that they have dared, even in this place, to assert that we have thereby thrown back human reason centuries in its progress? O, be not surprised that the wretches, leagued against us, are so eager to put the hemlock to our lips ! But, before we quaff it, we will save the country ! ROBESPIERRE'S LAST SPEECH.— (Translated.) The day after this speech — delivered July 28, 1794, and addressed to an assembly bent on his destruc- tion, — Robespierre was executed, at the early age of thirty-five, under circumstances of accumulated horror. His fate is a warning to rulers who would cement even the best of Governments with blood. Robespierre's character is still an enigma ; some regarding him as an honest fanatic, and others as a crafty demagogue. Perhaps the traits of either predominated at times. "Destitute," says Lamartine, "of exterior graces, and of that gift of extemporaneous speaking which pours forth the unpremeditated inspira- tions of natural eloquence, Robespierre had taken so much pains with himself, — he had meditated so much, written and erased so much, — he.had so often braved the inattention and the sarcasms of his audiences. — that, in the end, he succeeded in giving warmth and suppleness to his style, and in transforming his whole person, despite his stiff and meagre figure, his shrill voice and abrupt gesticulation, into an engine of eloquence, of conviction and of passion." THE enemies of the P.epublic call me tyrant ! Were I such they would grovel at my feet. I should gorge them with gold, — I should grant them impunity for their crimes, — and they would be grateful. Were I such, the Kings we have van- quished, far from denouncing Robespierre, would lend me their guilty support. There would be a covenant between them and me. Tyranny must have tools. But the enemies of tyranny, — whither does their path tend? To the tomb, and to immortality ! W T hat tyrant is my pro- protector? To what what faction do I belong? Yourselves ! What faction, since the beginning of the Revolution, has crushed and annihilated so many detected traitors? You, — the People, — our principles, — are that faction ! A faction to which I am devoted, and against which all the scoundrelism of the day is banded ! The confirmation of the Republic has been my object ; and I know that the Republic can be established only on the eternal basis of moral- ity. Against me, and against those who hold kindred principles, the league is formed. My life ? O ! my life, I abandon without a regret ! I have seen the Past ; and I foresee the Future. What friend of his country would wish to survive the moment when he could no longer serve it, — when he could no longer de- fend innocence against oppression ? Wherefore should I continue in an order of things, where intrigue eternally triumphs over truth; where justice is mocked ; where passions the most ab- ject, or fears the most absurd, override the sacred interests of humanity ? In witnessing the multitude of vices which the torrent of the Revolution has rolled in turbid communion with its civic virtues, I confess that GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 229 I have sometimes feared that I should be sullied, in the eyes of posterity, by the impure neighbor- hood of unprincipled men, who had thrust them- selves into association with the sincere friends of humanity ; and I rejoice that these conspirators against my country have now, by their reckless rage, traced deep the line of demarcation be- tween themselves and all true men. Question history, and learn how all the de- fenders of liberty, in all times, have been over- whelmed by calumny. But their traducers died also. The # good and the bad disappear alike from the earth ; but in very different conditions. O, Frenchmen ! O, my countrymen ! Let not your enemies, with their desolating doctrines, degrade your souls, and enervate your virtues ! No, Chaumette,* no ! Death is not " an eternal sleep ' ' ! Citizens ! efface from the tomb that motto, graven by sacrilegious hands, which spreads over all nature a funeral crape, takes from oppressed innocence its support, and af- fronts the beneficent dispensation of death ! Inscribe rather thereon these words : " Death is the commencement of immortality ! " I leave to the oppressors of the People a terrible testament, which I proclaim with the independence befitting one whose career is so nearly ended; it is the awful truth, — "Thou shalt die!" * Chaumette was a member of the Convention, who was opposed to the public recognition of a God and the future state. DEMOCRACY ADVERSE TO SOCIALISM.— Alexis De Tocgueville. Born 1805. Died 1859. ( Translated. ) De Tocqueville was an eminent French statesman and political philospher, who believed that Df racy, like that established in America, would finally become the form of government throughout the world. He was accused of Socialistic tendencies, and this speech is his self- vindication. He wrote much on the subject. His " Democracy in America " is well worth the study of modern political students. DEMOCRACY !— Socialism ! Why pro- fess to associate what, in the nature of things, can never be united ? Can it be, gentlemen, that this whole grand movement of the French Revolution is destined to terminate in that form of society which the Socialists have, with so much fervor, depicted ? A society, marked out with compass and rule ; in which the State is to charge itself with every- thing, and the individual is to be nothing ; in which society is to absorb all force, all life ; and in which the only end assigned to man is his personal comfort ! What ! was it for such a society of beavers and of bees, a society rather of skillful animals than of men free and civil- ized, — was it for such, that the French Revolu- tion was accomplished ? Not so ! It was for a greater, a more sacred end ; one more worthy of humanity. But Socialism professes to be the legitimate de- velopment of Democracy. I shall not search, as many have done, into the true etymology of this word Democracy. I shall not, as gentlemen did yesterday, traverse the garden of Greek roots, to find the derivation of this word. I shall point you to Democracy, where I have seen it, living, active, triumphant ; in the only country in the world where it truly exists, where it has been able to establish and maintain, even to the present time, something grand and durable to claim our admiration, — in the New World, — in America. There shall you see a People, among whom all conditions of men are more on an equality even than among us ; where the social state, the manners, the laws, — everything is Democratic ; where all emanates from the People, and returns to the People ; and where, at the same time, every individual enjoys a greater amount of liberty, a more entire independence, than in any other part of the world, at any period of time ; — a country, I repeat it, essentially Demo- cratic ; the only Democracy in the wide world at this day ; and the only Republic, truly Democratic, which we know of in histor}^. And in this Republic you will look in vain for Socialism. Not only have the theories of the Socialists gained no possession there of the public mind, but they have played so trifling a 230 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. part in the discussions and affairs of that great Nation, that they have not even reached the dignity of being feared. America is at this day that country, of the whole world, where the sovereignty of Democ- racy is most practical and complete ; and it is at the same time that where the doctrines of the Socialists, which you pretend to find so much in accordance with Democracy, are the least in vogue ; the country, of the whole universe, where the men sustaining those doctrines would have the least chance of making an impression. For myself personally, I do not see, I confess, any great objection to the emigration of these proselyting gentlemen to America ; but I warn them that they will not find there any field for their labors. No, gentlemen, Democracy and Socialism are the antipodes of each other. While Demo- cracy extends the sphere of individual independ- ence, Socialism contracts it. Democracy de- velops a man's whole manhood, Socialism makes him an agent, an instrument, a cipher. Demo- cracy and Socialism assimilate on one point only, — the equality which they introduce ; but mark the difference : Democracy seeks equality in liberty, while Socialism seeks it in servitude and constraint. NECESSITY OF RELIGION.— {Translated from Victor Hugo.) Victor Hugo, a celebrated French poet, novelist, statesman, and orator, was born in 1802 and died in 1885. His literary works are well known throughout the world. He was admitted to the French Academy in 1841, and made a Peer in 1845. In 1848 he was elected to the Assembly, and in 1849 joined the party of advanced Democrats, became their leader, and distinguished himself as an orator. Banished from Paris in 1851, he lived abroad until' the fall of the empire, when he returned. In 1871, he was re-elected to the National Assembly. Later in life he removed to Brussels, whence he was expelled for political reasons, and he spent his last years in Paris. Few men have distinguished themselves so signally in so many different lines, or crowded so long a life full of great and noble service. GENTLEMEN, it is not because I would prevent religious instruction, but be- cause I would prevent the union of Church and State, that I oppose this Bill. So far from wishing to proscribe religious instruction, I maintain that it is more essential at this day than ever. The more a man grows the more he ought to believe. As he draws nearer to God, the better ought he to recognize His existence. It is the wretched tendency of our times to base all calculations, all efforts, on this life only, — to crowd everything into this narrow span. In limiting man's end and aim to this terrestrial and material existence, we aggra- vate all his miseries by the terrible negation at its close. We add to the burthens of the unfor- tunate the insupportable weight of a hopeless hereafter. God's law of suffering we convert, by our unbelief, into hell's law of despair. Hence these deplorable social convulsions. That I am one of those who desire — I will not say with sincerity merely, but with inex- pressible ardor, and by all possible means — to ameliorate the material condition of the suffering classes in this life, no one in this Assembly will doubt. But the first and greatest of ameliora- tions is to impart hope. How do our finite mis- eries dwindle, in the presence of an infinite hope ! Our first duty, then, whether we be clergymen or laymen, bishops or legislators, priests or writers, is not merely to direct all our social energies to the abatement of physical misery, but, at the same time, to lift every drooping head towards Heaven — to fix the at- tention and the faith of every human soul on that ulterior life, where justice shall preside, where justice shall be awarded ! Let us pro- claim it aloud to all, No one shall unjustly or needlessly suffer ! Death is restitution. The law of the material world is gravitation ; of the moral world, equity. At the end of all, re- appears God. Let us not forget — let us every- where teach it — There would be no dignity in life, it would not be worth the holding, if in death we wholly perish. All that lightens labor, and sanctifies toil, — all that renders man brave, good, wise, patient, benevolent, just, humble, and, at the same time, great, worthy of intelli- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 231 gence, worthy of liberty, — is to have perpetu- ally before him the vision., of a better world darting its rays of celestial splendor through the dark shadows of this present life. For myself, since Chance will have it that words of such gravity should at this time fall from lips of such little authority, let me be per- mitted here to say, and to proclaim from the elevation of this Tribune, that I believe, that I most profoundly and reverently believe, in that better world. It is to me more real, more sub- stantial, more positive in its effects, than this evanescence which we cling to and call life. It is unceasingly before my eyes. I believe in it with all the strength of my convictions ; and, after many struggles, and much study and expe- rience, it is the supreme certainty of my reason, as it is the supreme consolation of my soul ! I desire, therefore, most sincerely, strenuously, and fervently, that there should be religious instruction ; but let it be the instruction of the Gospel, and not of a party. Let it be sincere, not hypocritical. Let it have Heaven, not earth, for its end ! IN DEFENSE OF UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE, May 20, 1850. ( Translated from Victor Hugo. ) GENTLEMEN, one great object of the Revolution of February was to estab- lish universal suffrage ; and you would now restrict, abridge, and mutilate it ! Have you considered well what you are about ? This law, which gives a share in the popular sovereignty to the down -trodden victim of social and political distinctions — to the des- perate man, ready for revolt — what does it say to him but this, — "Vote! No more fight- ing ! ' ' Universal suffrage says to all, ' ' Be ye tranquil ! Are ye not sovereign ? When you have voted, the sovereignty has spoken." The right of insurrection is abolished by the right of suffrage. Universal suffrage ! — what is it but the over- throw of violence and brute force — the end of the material and the beginning of the moral fact? What was the Revolution of February intended to establish in France, if not this? And now it is proposed to abolish this sacred right ! And what is its abolition, but the re- introduction of the right of insurrection? Ye Ministers and men of State, who govern, where- fore do you venture on this mad attempt ? I will tell you. It is because the People have deemed worthy of their votes men whom you judge worthy of your insults ! It is because the People have presumed to compare your prom- ises with your acts ; because they do not find your Administration altogether sublime ; because they have dared peaceably to instruct you through the ballot-box ! Therefore it is, that your anger is roused, and that, under the pretence that So- ciety is in peril, you seek to chastise the People, — to take them in hand ! And so, like that maniac of whom History tells, you beat the ocean with rods ! And so you launch at us your poor little laws, furious but feeble ! And so you defy the spirit of the age, defy the good sense of the public, defy the Democracy, and tear your unfortunate finger-nails against the granite of universal suffrage ! Go on, gentlemen ! Proceed ! Disfranchise, if you will, three millions of voters, four millions, nay, eight millions out of nine ! Get rid of all these ! It will not matter. What you cannot get rid of is your own fatal incapacity and ig- norance ; your own antipathy for the People, and theirs for you ! What you cannot get rid of is the time that marches, and the hour that strikes ; is the earth that revolves, the onward movement of ideas, the crippled pace of preju- dices ; the widening gulf between you and the age, between you and the coming generation, between you and the spirit of liberty, between you and the spirit of philosophy ! What you cannot get rid of is the great fact that you and the Nation pass on opposite sides ; that what is to you the East is to her the West ; and that, while you turn your back on the Future, this great People of France, their foreheads all 232 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. bathed in light from the day-spring of a new humanity, turn their back on the Past ! Ah ! Whether you will it or no, the Past is passed. Your law is null, void and dead, even before its birth : because it is not just ; because it is not true ; because, while it goes furtively to plunder the poor man and the weak of his right of suffrage, it encounters the withering glance of a Nation's probity and sense of right, before which your work of darkness shall vanish ; because, in the depths of the conscience of every citizen, — of the humblest as well as the highest, — there is a sentiment sublime, sacred, inde- structible, incorruptible, eternal, — the Right ! This sentiment, which is the very element of reason in man, the< granite of the human con- science, — this Right, is the rock upon which shall split and go to pieces the iniquities, the hypocrisies, the bad laws and bad governments,. of the world. There is the obstacle, concealed, invisible, — lost to view in the soul's pro foundest deep, but eternally present and abiding, — against which you shall always strike, and which you shall never wear away, do what you will ! I repeat it, your efforts are in vain. You cannot deracinate, you cannot shake it. You might sooner tear up the eternal Rock from the bottom of the sea, than the Right from the heart of the People ! LIBERTY OF THE PRESS; OR, THE HUMAN MIND, 1850. {Translated from Victor Hugo.) HAVING restricted universal suffrage and the right of public meetings, you now wage war against the liberty of the Press. In the crisis through which we are passing, it is asked : ' ' Who is making all this trouble ? Who is the culprit ? Whom must we punish ? ' ' The alarm party in Europe say, "It is France ! " In France they say, "It is Paris ! " In Paris they say, "It is the Press ! " The man of observation and re- flection says : ' ' The culprit is not the Press ; it is not Paris ; it is not France ; — it is the human mind ! ' ' Yes, it is the human mind, which has made the Nations what they are ; which, from the beginning, has scrutinized, examined, discussed, debated, doubted, contradicted, pro- bated, affirmed, and pursued without ceasing, the solution of the problem, eternally placed before the creature by the Creator. It is the human mind, which, continually per- secuted, opposed, driven back, headed off, has disappeared only to appear again ; and, passing from one labor to another, has taken succes- sively, from age to age, the figure of all the great agitators. It is the human mind, which was named John Huss, and which did not die on the funeral-pile of Constance ; which was named Luther, and shook orthodoxy to its centre ; which was named Voltaire, and shook faith ; which was named Mirabeau, and shook royalty. It is the human mind, which, since history began, has transformed societies and governments according to a law progressively- acceptable to the reason, — which has been the- ocracy, aristocracy, monarchy, and which is to- day democracy. It is the human mind, which has been Baby- lon, Tyre, Jerusalem, Athens, and which to-day is Paris ; which has been, turn by turn, and sometimes all at once, error, illusion, schism, protestation, truth ; it is the human mind,, which is the great pastor of the generations,, and which, in short, has always marched to- wards the Just, the Beautiful and the True, enlightening multitudes, elevating life, raising more and more the head of the People towards the Right, and the head of the individual to- wards God ! And now I address myself to the alarm party, — not in this Chamber, but wherever they may be, throughout Europe, — and I say to them : Consider well what you would* do ; reflect on the task that you have undertaken ; and measure it well before you commence. Suppose . you should succeed : when you have destroyed the Press, there will remain something more to de- stroy, — Paris ! When you have destroyed Paris, there v/ill remain France. When you have de~ GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 233 stroyed France, there will remain the human mind. I repeat it, let this great European alarm party measure the immensity of the task which, in their heroism, they would attempt. Though they annihilate the Press to the last journal, Paris to the last pavement, France to the last hamlet, they will have done nothing. There will remain yet for them to destroy something always paramount, above the gen- erations, and, as it were, between man and his Maker; — something that has written all the books, invented all the arts, discovered all the worlds, founded all the civilizations ; — some- thing which will always grasp, under the form of Revolutions, what is not yielded under the form of progress ; — something which is itself unseizable as the light, and unapproachable as the sun, — and which calls itself the human mind ! ON THE PUNISHMENT OF LOUIS XV 'I.— Robespierre. TO what punishment shall we condemn Louis the Sixteenth ? ' ' The punish- ment of death is too cruel," says one. ' ' No, ' ' says another, ' ' life is more cruel still j let him live." Advocates of the king, is it from pity or from cruelty that you wish to withdraw him from the penalty of his crimes ? For my part, I abhor the punishment of death, inflicted so unsparingly by your laws, and I have for Louis neither love nor hatred ; I hate only his crimes. I asked for the abolition of the punishment of death in the Assembly which you still call Con- stituent, and it is not my fault if the first prin- ciples of reason appeared to it moral and political heresies ; but if you never thought of renouncing them in favor of so many unfortunate men, whose offenses are less theirs than those of the government, by what fatality do you remember them only to plead the cause of the greatest of all criminals ? You demand an exception to the punishment of death for him alone who can render it legiti- mate ! Yes, the punishment of death, in gen- THE TWO NAPOLEONS. THE monarchy of glory ! There are a class of monarchists in France who now speak to us of a monarchy of glory. Legitimacy is impossible. Mon- archy by right divine, the monarchy of princi- ple, is dead ; but there is another monarchy, the monarchy of glory, — the Empire, we are told, which is not only possible, but necessary. eral,'is a crime ; and, for this reason alone, that, according to the indestructible principles of nature, it can be justified only in the cases where it is necessary for the security of individ- uals or of society. Now, the public security never calls for it against ordinary offenses, be- cause society can always prevent them by other means, and put it out of the power of the guilty to be dangerous ; but a dethroned king in the bosom of a revolution, which is nothing less than cemented by laws, — a king whose name alone brings down the plague of war upon the agitated nation, neither imprisonment nor exile can render his existence a matter of indifference to the public welfare ; and this cruel exception to ordinary laws, which justice avows, can only be imputed to the nature of his crimes. I pronounce with regret this fatal truth ; but Louis must die, because the country must live. A people at peace, free and respected within and without, might listen to the advice which is given you to be generous ; but a people whose liberty is still disputed, after so many sacrifices and combats, can not afford to do so. -{Translated from Victor Hugo.) This glory, where is it ? What are its elements ?' Of what is it composed ? I am curious to wit- ness the glory which this present Government can show. What do we see ? All our liberties, one after another, entrapped and bound ; uni- versal suffrage mutilated and betrayed, socialist, manifestoes terminating in a Jesuitical policy, and for a Government, one immense intrigue,— 234 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. history, perchance, will call it a conspiracy, — by which the Republic is to be made the basis of the Empire through the Bonapartist free- masonry of five hundred thousand office-holders; every reform postponed or smothered ; burden- some taxes maintained or re-established ; the Press shackled ; juries packed ; too little justice and too much police ; misery at the foot, an- archy at the head of the social state. Abroad, the wreck of the Roman Republic ; Austria — that is to say, the gallows — with her foot upon Hungary, upon Lombardy, upon Milan, upon Venice, a latent coalition of Kings, waiting for an opportunity ; our diplomacy dumb, I will not say an accomplice ! This is our situation. France bows her head ; Napoleon quivers with shame in his tomb ; and five or six thousand hirelings shout, ' ' Vive V empereur J ' ' But nobody dreams of the Empire, you tell us. What mean, then, those cries of Vive V em- pereur? and who pays for them? What means this mendicant petition for a prolongation of the President's powers? What is a prolongation ? The Consulate for life ! And where leads the Consulate for life ? To the Empire ! Gentle- men, here is an intrigue. We will let in day- light upon it, if you please. France must not wake up, one of these fine mornings, and find herself emperor-ridden, without knowing why. An emperor ! Let us consider the subject a little. Because there was once a man who gained the battle of Marengo, and who reigned, must the man who gained only the battle of Satory reign also ? Because, ten centuries ago, Charle- magne, after forty years of glory, let fall on the face of the globe a sceptre and a sword of such proportions that no one dared to touch them ; and because, a thousand years later, — for it re- quires a gestation of a thousand years to produce such men, — another genius appeared, who took up that sword and sceptre, and stood up erect under the weight ; a man who chained Revolu- tion in France, and unchained it in the rest of Europe ; who added to his name the brilliant synonyms of Rivoli, Jena, Essling, Friedland, Montmirail ; because this man, after ten years of a glory almost fabulous in its grandeur, let fall, in his turn, that sceptre and sword which had accomplished such colossal exploits, — you would come, — you, you would presume, after him, to catch them up as he did, — he, Napoleon, after Charlemagne, — and grasp in your feeble hands this sceptre of the giants, this sword of the Titans ! What to do ? What ! after Augustus must we have August- ulus ? Because we have had a Napleon the Great, must we now have Napoleon the Little ? GREAT ENGLISH ORATORS. AGAINST MR. PITT, 1741.— S*> SIR, — I was unwilling to interrupt the course of this debate while it was car- ried on, with calmness and decency, by men who do not suffer the ardor of opposition to cloud their reason, or transport them to such expressions as the dignity of this assembly does not admit. I have hitherto deferred to answer the gentleman who de- claimed against the Bill with such fluency of rhetoric, and such vehemence of gesture, — who charged the advocates for the expedients now proposed with having no regard to any interest but their own, and with making laws Robert Walpole. Born 1676. Died 1745. only to consume paper, and threatened them with the defection of their adherents, and the loss of their influence, upon this new discovery of their folly, and their ignorance. Nor, sir, do I now answer him for any other purpose than to remind him how little the clamors of rage, and the petulancy of invectives, contribute to the purposes for which this assembly is called together ; — how little the discovery of truth is promoted, and the security of the Nation estab- lished, by pompous diction and theatrical emo- tions. Formidable sounds and furious declamations, GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 235 confident assertions and lofty periods, may affect the young and inexperienced ; and per- haps the gentleman may have contracted his habits of oratory by conversing more with those of his own age than with such as have had more opportunities of acquiring knowledge, and more successful methods of communicating their sen- timents. If the heat of his temper, sir, would suffer him to attend to those whose age and long acquaintance with business give them an indis- putable right to deference and superiority, he would learn, in time, to reason rather than de- claim, and to prefer justness of argument, and an accurate knowledge of facts, to sounding epithets, and splendid superlatives, which may disturb the imagination for a moment, but which leave no lasting impression on the mind. He will learn, sir, that to accuse and prove are very different ; and that reproaches, unsup- ported by evidence, affect only the character of him that utters- them. Excursions of fancy, and flights of oratory, are, indeed, pardonable in young men, but in no other ; and it would surely contribute more, even to the purpose for which some gentlemen appear to speak (that of depreciating the conduct of the administration), to prove the inconveniences and injustice of this Bill, than barely to assert them, with whatever magnificence of language, or appearance of zeal, honesty, or compassion. REPLY TO SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, 1741.— William Pitt, afterwards Earl of Chatham. William Pitt, first Earl of Chatham, — one of the greatest orators of modern times, and especially endeared to Americans for his eloquent appeals in their behalf against the aggressions of the Mother Country, — was born on the 15th of November, 1708, in the parish of St. James, in the city of Westminster, England, and died on the nth of May, 1778. His second son was the celebrated William Pitt, whose fame equals, though it does not eclipse, that of his father. "Viewing the forms of the two Pitts, father and son," says a biographer of the latter, " as they stand in history, what different emotions their images call forth ! The impassioned and romantic father seems like a hero of chivalry ; the stately and classical son, as a Roman dictator, compelled into the dimensions of an English minister!" "The principle," says Hazlitt, "by which the Earl of Chatham exerted his influence over others, was sympathy. He himself evidently had a strong possession of his subject, a thorough conviction, an intense interest; and this communicated itself from his manner, from the tones of his voice, from his commanding attitudes, and eager gestures, instinctively and unavoidably, to his hearers." The first sound is said to have terrified Sir Robert Walpole, who immediately exclaimed, "We must muzzle that terrible cornet of a horse." Sir Robert offered to promote Mr. Pitt in the army, provided he gave up his seat in Parliament. Probably Mr. Pitt -was unwarrantably severe in the following reply to the foregoing remarks of Sir Robert. The reply appeared originally in Dr. Johnson's Register of Debates, and probably received many touches from his pen. SIR, — The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honorable gentle- man has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me, I shall neither at- tempt to palliate nor deny ; — but content myself with wishing that I may be one of those whose follies may cease with their youth, and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of expe- rience. Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I will not, sir, assume the province of determining ; but surely age may become justly contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have passed away without im- provement, and vice appears to prevail when the passions have subsided. The wretch who, after having seen the consequences of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object of either abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that his gray hairs should secure him from insult. Much more, sir, is he to be abhorred, who, as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and becomes more wicked with less temptation ; who prostitutes himself for money which he cannot enjoy, — and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his country. But youth, sir, is not my only crime : I have been accused of acting a theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply some peculiari- ties of gesture, or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and an adoption of the opinions and language of another man. In the first sense, sir, the charge is too trifling to be con- futed, and deserves only to be mentioned, to be despised. I am at liberty, like every other 236 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. man, to use my own language, and though, per- haps, I may have some ambition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under any re- straint, nor very solicitously copy his diction or his mien, however matured by age or modelled by experience. If any man shall, by charging me with the- atrical behavior, imply that I utter any senti- ments but my own, I shall treat him as a cal- umniator and a villain ; — nor shall any protec- tion shelter him from the treatment he deserves. I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity intrench themselves, — nor shall any- thing but age restrain my resentment ; — age, which always brings one privilege, that of being, insolent and supercilious without punishment. But with regard, sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of opinion that, if I had acted a borrowed part, \ should have avoided their cen- sure : the heat that offended them is the ardor of conviction, and that zeal for the service of my country which neither hope nor fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit uncon- cerned while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon public robbery. I will exert my endeavors, at whatever hazard, to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, — who- ever may protect them in their villainy, and whoever may partake of their plunder. REPEAL CLAIMED BY AMERICANS AS A RIGHT.— Earl of Chatham. IT is not repealing this or that act of Parlia- ment, — it is not repealing a piece of parchment, — that can restore America to our bosom. You must repeal her fears and her resentments ; and you may then hope for her love and gratitude. But, now, insulted with an armed force posted at Boston, irritated with a hostile array before her eyes, her conces- sions, if you could force them, would be suspi- cious and insecure, — the dictates of fear, and the extortions of force ! But it is more than evi- dent that you cannot force them, principled and united as they are, to your unworthy terms of submission. Repeal, therefore, my Lords, I say ! But bare repeal will not satisfy this enlightened and spirited People. You must go through the work. You must declare you have no right to tax. Then they may trust you. There is no time to be lost. Every moment is big with dangers. While I am speaking, the decisive blow may be struck, and millions involved in the consequence. The very first drop of blood shed in civil and unnatural war will make a wound which years, perhaps ages, may not heal. It will be immedicabile vulnus. When your Lordships look at the papers transmitted to us from America, — when you consider their decency, firmness, and wisdom, — you cannot but respect their cause, and wish to< make it your own. I must declare and avow, that, in the master States of the world, I know not the People nor the Senate, who, under such a complication of difficult circumstances, can stand in preference to the delegates of America assembled in General Congress at Philadelphia. For genuine sagacity, for singular moderation, for solid wisdom, manly spirit, sublime senti- ments, and simplicity of language, — for every- thing respectable and honorable, — they stand unrivalled. I trust it is obvious to your Lordships that all attempts to impose servitude upon such men, to establish despotism over such a mighty Continental Nation, must be vain, must be fatal. This wise People speak out. They do not hold the language of slaves. They tell you what they mean. They do not ask you to repeal your laws as a favor. They claim it as a right — they demand it. They tell 3 ou they will not submit to them. And I tell you, the acts must be repealed. We shall be forced ulti- mately to retract. Let us retract while we can, not when we must. I say we must necessarily undo these violent, oppressive acts. They must be repealed. You will repeal them. I pledge myself for it, that you will, in the end, repeal them. I stake my reputation on it. I will con- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 237 •sent to ' be taken for an idiot, if they are not finally repealed. * Avoid, then, this humiliating, this disgraceful necessity. Every motive of justice and of policy, of dignity arid of prudence, urges you to allay the ferment in America, by a removal of your troops from Boston, by a repeal of your acts of Parliament. On the other hand, every danger and every hazard impend, to deter you *The prediction of the Earl of Chatham was veri- fied. After three years' fruitless war, the repeal of the offensive acts was sent out as a peace-offering to the Colonists ; but it was too late. from perseverance in your present ruinous meas- ures : — foreign war hanging over your heads by a slight and brittle thread, — France and Spain watching your conduct, and waiting the matur- ity of your errors ! To conclude, my Lords : if the Ministers thus persevere in misadvising and misleading the King, I will not say that they can alienate the affections of his subjects from the Crown, but I will affirm that they will make his Crown not worth his wearing ; I will not say that the King is betrayed, but I will pronounce that the King- dom is undone ! REPLY TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON.-Z^ Thurlow. Edward Thurlow, who rose to be Lord High Chancellor of Great Britiau, was born in 1732, and died in 1806. Butler, in his " Reminiscences," says : "It was my good fortune to hear his celebrated reply to the Duke of Grafton, who reproached Lord Thurlow with his plebeian extraction, and his recent admission into the peerage. His Lordship had spoken too often, and began to be heard with a civil but visible impatience ; and, under these circumstances, he was attacked in the manner we have mentioned. Lord Thurlow rose from the woolsack, and advanced slowly to the place from which the . Chancellor generally addresses the House of Lords, and then, fixing on the Duke the look of Jove, when he has grasped the thunder, he said (in a level tone of voice), ' I am amazed at the attack which the noble Duke has made on me.' Then, raising his voice, — 'Yes, my Lords, I am amazed, etc' " I AM amazed at the attack which the noble Duke has made on me. Yes, my Lords, I am amazed at his Grace's speech. The noble Duke cannot look before him, be- hind him, or on either side of him, without see- ing some noble Peer who owes his seat in this House to his successful exertions in the profes- sion to which I belong. Does he not feel that it is as honorable to owe it to these, as to being the accident of an accident ? To all these noble Lords the language of the noble Duke is as applicable, and as insulting, as it is to myself. But I do not fear to meet it single and alone. CONQUEST OF THE AMERICANS Bom 1717. I CALL the war with our brethren in America an unjust and felonious war, because the primary cause and confessed origin of it is to attempt to take their money from them without their consent, con- trary to the common rights of all mankind, and those great fundamental principles of the Eng- lish Constitution for which Hampden bled. I No one venerates the Peerage more than I do ; but, my Lords, I must say that the Peerage soli- cited me, — not I the Peerage. Nay, more, — I can say, and will say, that, as a Peer of Parlia- ment, as Speaker of this right honorable House, as keeper of the great seal, as guardian of his Majesty's conscience, as Lord High Chancellor of England, — nay, even in that character alone in which the noble Duke would think it an af- front to be considered, but which character none can deny me, — as a man, — I am, at this moment, as respectable, — I beg leave to add, I am as much respected, — as the proudest Peer I now look down upon ! IMPRACTICABLE, 1775.- -John Wilkes. Died 17 07. assert, sir, that it is a murderous war, because it is an effort to deprive men of their lives for standing up in defence of their property and their clear rights. Such a war, I fear, sir, will draw down the vengeance of Heaven on this devoted Kingdom. Sir, is any Minister weak enough to flatter himself with the conquest of the Americans? 238 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. You cannot, with all your allies, — with all the mercenary ruffians of the North, — you cannot effect so wicked a purpose. The Americans will dispute every inch of territory with you, every narrow pass, every strong defile, every Thermopylae, every Bunker's Hill ! More than half the Empire is already lost, and almost all the rest is in confusion and anarchy. We have appealed to the sword ; and what have we gained? Bunker's Hill only, — and that with the loss of twelve hundred men ! Are we to pay as dear for the rest of America? The idea of the conquest of that immense country is as romantic as unjust. The honorable gentleman who moved this address says, "The Americans have been treated with lenity." Will facts justify the assertion? Was your Boston Port Bill a measure of lenity? Was your Fishery Bill a measure of lenity ? Was your Bill for taking away the charter of Massachusetts Bay a measure of lenity, or even of justice? I omit your many other gross provocations and insults, by which the brave Americans have been driven to their present state. Sir, I disapprove, not only the evil spirit of this whole Address, but likewise the wretched adulation of almost every part of it. My wish and hope, therefore, is, that it will be rejected by this House ; and that another, dutiful yet decent, manly Address, will be pre- sented to his Majesty, praying that he would sheathe the sword, prevent the further effusion of the blood of our fellow-subjects, and adopt some mode of negotiation with the general Congress, in compliance with their repeated petition, thereby restoring peace and harmony to this distracted Empire. THE AMERICAN WAR DENOUNCED, 1781.— William Pitt. William Pitt, second son of the great Earl of Chatham, entered Parliament in his twenty-second year. He was born the 28th of May, 1759 ; and took his seat in the House of Commons, as representative for the borough of Appleby, on the 23d of January, 1781. He made his first oratorical effort in that body the 26th of February following ; and displayed great and astonishing powers of eloquence. Burke said of him, "He is not merely a chip of the old block, but he is the old block itself." At the age of twenty-four, Pitt became the virtual leader of the House of Commons, and Prime Minister of England. He died January 23, 1S06. The subjoined remarks were made in reference to a resolution declaring that immediate measures ought to be adopted for concluding peace with the American Colonies GENTLEMEN have passed the highest eulogiums on the American war. Its justice has been defended in the most fervent manner. A noble Lord, in the heat of his zeal, has called it a holy war. For my part, although the honorable gentleman who made this motion, and some other gentle- men, have been, more than once, in the course of the debate, severely reprehended for calling it a wicked and accursed war, I am persuaded, and would affirm, that it was a most accursed, wicked, barbarous, cruel, unnatural, unjust and diabolical war ! It was conceived in injustice ; it was nurtured and brought forth in folly ; its footsteps were marked with blood, slaughter, persecution and devastation ; — in truth, every- thing which went to constitute moral depravity and human turpitude were to be found in it. It was pregnant with misery of every kind. The mischief, however, recoiled on the un- happy People of this country, who were made the instruments by which the wicked purposes, of the authors of the war were effected. The Nation was drained of its best blood, and of its vital resources of men and money. The expense of the war was enormous, — much beyond any former experience. And yet, what has the British Nation received in return ? Nothing but a series of ineffective victories, or severe de- feats ; — victories celebrated only by a temporary triumph over our brethren, whom we would, trample down and destroy ; victories which, filled the land with mourning for the loss of dear and valued relatives, slain in the impious cause- of enforcing unconditional submission, or with narratives of the glorious exertions of men struggling in the holy cause of liberty, though struggling in the absence of all the facilities and. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 239 advantages which are in general deemed the necessary concomitants of victory and success. Where was the Englishman, who, on reading the narratives of those bloody and well-fought contests, could refrain from lamenting the loss of so much British blood spilt in such a cause i or from weeping, on whatever side victory might be declared ? ON WAR WITH FRANCE OR AMERICA, MIS.— Charles James Fox. Charles James Fox was born in England, on the 24th of January, 1749. He made his first speech in Parliament on the 15th of April, 1769. In the style of his oratory he has been compared, by some critics, to Demosthenes. "A certain sincerity and open-heartedness of manner; an apparently entire and thorough conviction of being in the right ; an abrupt tone of vehemence and indignation ; a steadfast love of freedom, and corresponding hatred of oppression in all its forms ; a natural and idiomatic style, — vigor, argument, power, — these were characteristics equally of the Greek and English orator." Fox died on the 13th of September, 1806, in the fifty-eighth year of his age. YOU have now two wars before you, of which you must choose one, for both you cannot support. The war against America is against your own country- men — you have stopped me from saying against your fellow-subjects ; that against France is against your inveterate enemy and rival. Every blow you strike in America is against your- selves ; it is against all idea of reconciliation, and against your own interest, though you should be able, as you never will be, to force them to sub- mit. Every stroke against France is of advantage to you : America must be conquered in France ; France never can be conquered in America. The war of France is a war of interest ; it was her interest which first induced her to engage in it, and it is by that interest that she will measure its continuance. Turn your face at once against her ; attack her Avherever she is exposed; crush her commerce wherever you can ; make her feel heavy and immediate distress throughout the nation : the LIBERTY IS STRENGTH.- PINIONS become dangerous to a State only when persecution makes it neces- sary for the People to communicate their ideas under the bond of secrecy. What a mockery ! What an insult, to say to the People of Ireland that they have the right of petition ! To tell them that they shall have a right to applaud, a right to rejoice, a right to meet when they are happy ; but not a right to condemn, not a right to .deplore their misfor- tunes, not a right to suggest a remedy ! People will soon cry out to their Government. The war of the Americans is a war of passion. It is of such a nature as to be supported by the most powerful virtues, love of liberty and of their country ; and, at the same time, by those passions in the human heart which give courage, strength, and perseverance, to man, the spirit of revenge for the injuries you have done them, of re- taliation for the hardships you have inflicted on them, and of opposition to the unjust powers you have exercised over them. Everything combines to animate them to this war, and such a war is without end ; for whatever obstinacy enthusiasm ever inspired man with, you will now find in America. No matter what gives birth to that enthusiasm, whether the name of religion or of liberty, the effects are the same ; it inspires a. spirit which is unconquerable, and solicitous to undergo difficulty, danger, and hardship : and as long as there is a man in America, a being formed such as we are, you will have him pre- sent himself against you in the field. Fox, 1797, on the State of Ireland. Liberty is order. Liberty is strength. Look round the world, and admire, as you must, the instructive spectacle. You will see that liberty not only is power and order, but that it is power and order predominant and invincible, — that it derides all other sources of strength. And shall the preposterous imagination be fostered, that men bred in liberty — the first of human kind who asserted the glorious distinction of forming for themselves their social compact — can be con- demned to silence upon their rights ? Is it to be 240 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. conceived that men, who have enjoyed, for such a length of days, the light and happiness of freedom, can be restrained, and shut up again in the gloom of ignorance and degradation ? As well, sir, might you try, by a miserable dam, to shut up the flowing of a rapid river ! The roll- ing and impetuous tide would burst through every impediment that man might throw in its way ; and the only consequence of the impotent attempt would be, that, having collected new force by its temporary suspension, enforcing itself through new channels, it would spread devastation and ruin on every side. The pro- gress of liberty is like the progress of the stream. Kept within its bounds, it is sure to fertilize the country through which it runs ; but no power can arrest it in its passage ; and short- sighted, as well as wicked, must be the heart of the projector that would strive to divert its course. ON MR. TIERNEY'S MOTION, Dec. 11, 1798.— George Canning. George Canning was born in London, on the nth of April, 1770. He entered into public life the avowed pupil of Mr. Pitt, and made his maiden speech in Parliament, from which the following is an extract, in 1794. He was repeatedly a member of the Ministry, and became Premier shorty before his death, which occurred in 1827. Mr. Canning meditated his speeches carefully, and they are models of Parliamentary style. "No English speaker," says Sir James Mackintosh, "used the keen and brilliant weapon of wit so long, so often, or so effectively, as Mr. Canning." THE friendship of Holland ! The inde- pendence of Spain ! Is there a man so besotted as to suppose that there is one hour of peace with France pre- served by either of these unhappy countries, that there is one syllable of friendship uttered by them towards France, but what is extorted by the immediate pressure, or by the dread and terror, of French arms ? — " Mouth -honor, breath, Which the poor heart would fain refuse, but dare not." Have the regenerated Republic of Holland, the degraded Monarchy of Spain, such reason to re- joice in the protection of the French Republic, that they would voluntarily throw themselves between her and any blow which might menace her existence ? But does the honorable gentleman intend his motion as a motion for peace ? If he really thinks this a moment for opening a negotiation, why has he not the candor and manliness to say so ? Mark, I entreat you, how delicately he manages it ! He will not speak to France, but he would speak at her. He will not propose — not he — that we should say to the Directory, "Will you make peace?" No, sir; we are merely to say to ourselves, loud enough for the Directory to overhear us : "I wish these French gentlemen to make an overture to us." Now, sir, does this save the dignity of the country ? or is it only a sneaking, shabby way of doing what, if fit to be done at all, must, to have any serious effect, be done openly, unequivocally, and directly? But I beg the honorable gentleman's pardon; — I misrepresent him ; I certainly do. His motion does not amount even to so much as I have stated. He begins further off. The solilo- quy which he prompts us, by his motion, is no more than this — "We must continue to make war against France., to be sure ; — and we are sorry for it ; but we will not do it as if we bore malice. We will not make an ill-natured, hos- tile kind of war any longer, — that we won't. And who knows, but, if they should happen to overhear this resolution, as the Directory are good-natured at bottom, their hearts may soften and grow kind towards us — and then they will offer to make a peace ! " And thus, sir, and thus only, is the motion a motion for peace. Since, then, sir, this motion appears to me to be founded on no principle of policy or neces- sity ; since, if it be intended for a censure on ministers, it is unjust, — if for a control, it is nugatory ; as its tendency is to impair the power of prosecuting war with vigor, and to diminish GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 241 the chance of negotiating peace with dignity, or concluding it with safety ; as it contradicts, without reason, and without advantage, the established policy of our ancestors ; as it must degrade in the eyes of the world the character of this country; as it must carry dismay and terror throughout Europe ; and, above all, as it must administer consolation, and hope, and power, and confidence, to France, — I shall give it my most hearty and decided negative. THE PARTITION OF POLAND, 1800— Charles James Fox. >^k ~T~OW, sir, what was the conduct of your X^ own allies to Poland ? Is there a JL. ^| single atrocity of the French in Italy, in Switzerland, in Egypt, if you please, more unprincipled and inhuman than that of Russia, Austria, and Prussia, in Poland? What has there been in the conduct of the French to foreign j^owers ; what in the violation of solemn treaties ; what in the plunder, devastation, and dismemberment of unoffending countries; what in the horrors and murders perpetrated upon the subdued victims of their rage in any district which they have overrun, — worse than the con- duct of those three great powers in the misera- ble, devoted, and trampled-on Kingdom of Poland, and who have been, or are, our allies in this war for religion, social order, and the rights of Nations? O, but you " regretted the partition of Poland ! ' ' Yes, regretted ! — you regretted the violence, and that is all you did. You united yourselves with the actors ; you, in fact, by your acquiescence, confirmed the atrocity. But they are your allies ; and though they overran and divided Poland, there was nothing, perhaps, in the manner of doing it, which stamped it with peculiar infamy and disgrace. The hero of Poland, perhaps, was merciful and mild ! He was " as much superior to Bonaparte in bravery, and in the discipline which he maintained, as he was superior in virtue and humanity ! He was animated by the purest principles of Christianity, and was re- strained in his career by the benevolent precepts which it inculcates ! ' ' Was he ? Let unfortunate Warsaw, and the miserable inhabitants of the suburb of Praga in particular, tell ! What do we understand to have been the conduct of this magnanimous hero, with whom, it seems, Bonaparte is not to be compared ? He entered the suburb of Praga, the most populous suburb of Warsaw, and there he let his soldiery loose on the miserable, unarmed and unresisting people ! Men, women and children, — nay, in- fants at the breast, — were doomed to one indis- criminate massacre ! Thousands of them were inhumanly, wantonly butchered ! And for what? Because they had dared to join in a wish to meliorate their own condition as a People, and to improve their Constitution, which had been confessed, by their own sovereign, to be in want of amendment. And such is the hero upon whom the cause of "religion and social order " is to repose ! And such is the man whom we praise for his discipline and his virtue, and whom we hold out as our boast and our dependence ; while the conduct of Bonaparte unfits him to be even treated with as an enemy ! A COLLISION OF VICES MY honorable and learned friend (Sir James Mackintosh) began by telling us that, after all, hatred is no bad thing in itself. ' ' I hate a tory, ' ' says my honorable friend ; ' ' and another man hates a cat ; but it does not follow that he would hunt down the cat, or I the tory. ' ' Nay, so far from it, hatred, if it be properly managed, 16 1825. — Ceorge Canning. is, according to my honorable friend's theory, no bad preface to a rational esteem and affec- tion. It prepares its votaries for a reconcilia- tion of differences ; for lying down with their most inveterate enemies, like the leopard and the kid in the vision of the prophet. This dogma is a little startling, but it is not altogether without precedent. It is borrowed 242 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. from a character in a play, which is, I dare say, as great a favorite with my learned friend as it is with me, — I mean the comedy of the Rivals ; in which Mrs. Malaprop, giving a lecture on the subject of marriage to her neice (who is unrea- sonable enough to talk of liking, as a necessary preliminary to such a union), says, " What have you to do with your likings and your prefer- ences, child? Depend upon it, it is safest to begin with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor, dear uncle like a blackamoor before w T e were married ; and yet, you know, my dear, what a good wife I made him. ' ' Such is my learned friend's argument, to a hair. But, finding that this doctrine did not appear to go down with the House so glibly as he had expected, my honorable and learned friend presently changed his tack, and put forward a theory which, whether for novelty or for beauty, I pronounce to be incomparable ; and, in short, as wanting nothing to recommend it but a slight foundation in truth. " True philosophy," says my honorable friend, ' ' will always continue to lead men to virtue by the instrumentality of their conflicting vices. The virtues, where more than one exists, may live harmoniously together ; but the vices bear mortal antipathy to one another, and, therefore, furnish to the moral engineer the power by which he can make each keep the other under control. ' ' Admirable ! but r upon this doctrine, the poor man who has but one single vice must be in a very bad way. No> fulcrum, no moral power, for effecting his cure ! Whereas, his more fortunate neighbor, who has two or more vices in his composition, is in a fair way of becoming a very virtuous member of society. I wonder how my learned friend would like to have this doctrine introduced into his domestic establishment. For instance, suppose that I discharge a servant because he is addicted to liquor, I could not venture to recommend him to my honorable and learned friend. It might be the poor man's only fault, and therefore clearly incorrigible ; but, if I had the good fortune to find out that he was also addicted to stealing, might I not, with a safe conscience, send him to my learned friend with a strong recommenda- tion, saying, ' ' I send you a man whom I know to be a drunkard ; but I am happy to assure you he is also a thief: you cannot do better than employ him ; you will make his drunkenness counteract his thievery, and no doubt you will bring him out of the conflict a very moral personage ! ' ' PUBLIC OPINION AND THE SWORD, Oct. lO, 1831.— T. B. Macaulay. Thomas B. Macaulay. Born October 25, 1800. Died December 28, 1859. Eminent English scholar,, critic, poet, and historian. Entered Parliament in 1830. While at school in Cambridge he distinguished himself as an orator. His speeches in Parliament on the Reform Bill, and on the renewal of the charter of the East India Company, have established his fame as an able and eloquent speaker, entitling him to be ranked among the famous British orators. His learning was prodigious. He is said to have been able to read one hundred ordinary octavo pages per hour. At the coffee houses and clubs w T hich he frequented, great crowds always gathered to hear him talk. His conversation was not only brilliant, but eloquent, and his random talks on current topics were fit to be printed and distributed as the choicest literature. AT the present moment I can see only one question in the State, the Ques- tion of Reform ; only two parties — the friends of the Bill, and its ene- mies. No observant and unprejudiced man can look forward, without great alarm, to the effects which the recent decision of the Lords may pos- sibly produce. I do not predict, I do not ex- pect, open, armed insurrection. What I appre- hend is this — that the People may engage in a silent but extensive and persevering war against the law. It is easy to say, ' ' Be bold ; be firm ;. defy intimidation ; let the law have its course ; the law is strong enough to put down the sedi- tious." Sir, we have heard this blustering be- fore ; and we know in what it ended. It is the blustering of little men, whose lot has fallen on a great crisis. Xerxes scourging the waves, Canute commanding the waves to recede from his footstool, were but types of the folly. The law has no eyes ; the law has no hands ; the law is nothing — nothing but a piece of paper GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 243 printed by the King's printer, with the King's arms at the top — till public opinion breathes the breath of life into the dead letter. We found this in Ireland. The elections of 1826 ■ — the Clare election,, two years later — proved the folly of those who think that nations are governed by wax and parchment : and, at length, in the close of 1828, the Government had only one plain alternative before it — con- cession or civil war. I know only two ways in which societies can permanently be governed — by Public Opinion, and by the Sword. A Government having at its command the armies, the fleets, and the reve- nues of Great Britain, might possibly hold Ire- land by the Sword. So Oliver Cromwell held Ireland ; so William the Third held it ; so Mr. Pitt held it • so the Duke of Wellington might, perhaps, have held it. But, to govern Great Britain by the Sword — so wild a thought has never, I will venture to say, occurred to any public man of any party ; and, if any man were frantic enough to make the attempt, he would find, before three days had expired, that there is no better Sword than that which is fashioned out of a Ploughshare ! But, if not by the Sword, how is the people to be governed? I understand how the peace is kept at New York. It is by the assent and support of the People. I understand, also, how the peace is kept at Milan. It is by the bayonets of the Austrian soldiers. But how the peace is to be kept when you have neither the popular assent nor the mili- tary force, — how the peace is to be kept in Eng- land by a Government acting on the principles of the present Opposition, — I do not understand. ON LIMITING THE HOURS OF LABO^, 1846.— T. B. Macaulay. IF we consider man simply in a commercial point of view, simply as a machine for productive labor, let us not forget what a piece of mechanism he is, — how "fear- fully and wonderfully made." If we have a fine horse, we do not use him exactly as a steam-engine ; and still less should we treat man so, more especially in his earlier years. The depressing labor that begins early in life, and is continued too long every day, enfeebles his body, enervates his mind, weakens his spirits, overpowers his understanding, and is incompat- ible with any good or useful degree of educa- tion. A state of society in which such a system prevails will inevitably, and in no long space, feel its baneful effects. What is it which makes one community prosperous and flourishing, more than another ? You will not say that it is the soil ; you will not say that it is its climate ; you will not say that it is its mineral wealth, or its natural advantages, — its ports, or its great rivers. Is it anything in the earth, or in the air, that makes Scotland a richer country than Egypt ; or, Batavia, with its mars-hes, more prosperous than Sicily ? No ; but Scotchmen made Scotland what she is, and Dutchmen raised their marshes to such eminence. Look to America. Two centuries ago, it was a wilder- ness of buffaloes and wolves. What has caused the change ? Is it her rich mould ? Is it her mighty rivers ? Is it her broad waters ? No ; her plains were then as fertile as they are now, — her rivers were as numerous. Nor was it any great amount of capital that the emigrants car- ried out with them. They took a mere pittance. What is it, then, that has effected the change ? It is simply this, — you placed the Englishman, instead of the red man, upon the soil ; and the Englishman, intelligent and energetic, cut down the forests, turned them into cities and fleets, and covered the land with harvests and orchards in their place. I am convinced, sir, that this question of limiting the hours of labor, being a question connected, for the most part, with persons of tender years, — a question in which public health is concerned, and a question relating to public morality, — it is one with which the State may properly interfere. Sir, as lawgivers, we have errors of two different kinds to repair. We have done that which we ought not to have done ; we. have left undone that which we ou^ht 244 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. to have done. We have regulated that which we ought to have left to regulate itself ; we have left unregulated that which it was our especial business to have regulated. We have given to certain branches of industry a protection which was their bane. We have withheld from public health, and from public morality, a protection which it was our duty to have given. We have prevented the laborer from getting his loaf where he could get it cheapest, but we have not prevented him from prematurely destroy- ing the health of his body and mind, by inordinate toil. I hope and believe that we are approaching the end of a vicious system of interference, and of a vicious system of non-interference. GREAT IRISH ORATORS. ENTERPRISE OF AMERICAN COLONISTS, MIS,— Edmund Burke. Born 1730. Died 1797. Burke, the greatest of Irish statesmen, and unsurpassed as a writer of English prose, impaired his immediate success as a speaker by a badly-regulated voice, and an infelicitous delivery. Grattan, his countryman and contemporary, wrote of him : " Burke is unquestionably the first orator of the Commons of England, notwithstanding the want of energy, the want of grace, and the want of elegance, in his manner." "He was a prodigy of nature and of acquisition. He read everything — he saw everything. His knowledge of history amounted to a power of foretellings, and, when he perceived the wild work that was doing in France, that great political physician, cognizant of symptoms, distinguished between the access of fever and the force of health, and what others conceived to be the vigor of her constitution he knew to be the parox}^sm of her madness ; and then, prophet-like, he pronounced the destinies of France, and in his prophetic fury admonished nations." FOR some time past, Mr. Speaker, has the Old World been fed from the New. The scarcity which you have felt would have been a desolating famine, if this child of your old age, — if America, — with a true filial piety, with a Roman charity, had not put the full breast of its youthful exuberance to the mouth of its exhausted parent. Turning from the agricultural resources of the Colonies, consider the wealth which' they have drawn from the sea by their fisheries. The spirit in which that enterprising employment has been exercised ought to raise your esteem and admira- tion. Pray, sir, what in the world is equal to it? Pass by the other parts, and look at the manner in which the People of New England have of late carried on the whale fishery. Whilst we follow them among the tumbling mountains of ice, and behold them penetrating into the deepest frozen recesses of Hudson's Bay, and Davis' Straits, whilst we are looking for them beneath the Artie Circle, we hear that they have pierced into the opposite region of Polar cold, that they are at the antipodes, and engaged under the frozen serpent of the South. Falkland Island, which seemed too remote and romantic an object for the grasp of national ambition, is but a stage and resting-place in the progress of their victorious industry. Nor is the equinoctial heat more discouraging to them than the accumulated winter of both the Poles. We know that whilst some of them draw the line and strike the harpoon on the coast of Africa, others run the longitude, and pursue their gigantic game, along the coast of Brazil. No sea but what is vexed by their fisheries. No climate that is not witness to their toils. Neither the perseverance of Holland, nor the activity of France, nor the dexterous and firm sagacity of English enterprise, ever carried this most perilous mode of hardy industry to the extent to which it has been pushed by this recent People ; a People who are' still, as it were, but in the gristle, and not yet hardened into the bone, of manhood. When I contemplate these things, — when I know that the Colonies in general owe little or nothing to- any care of ours, and that they are not squeezed into this happy form by the con- straints of a watchful and suspicious Govern- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 245 merit, but that, through a wise and salutary ! the pride of power sink, and all presump- neglect, a generous nature has been suffered to take her own way to perfection, — when I reflect upon these effects, when I see how profitable they have been to us, I feel all tion in the wisdom of human contrivances melt, and die away within me. My rigor relents. I pardon something to the spirit of liberty. IMPEACHMENT OF WARREN HASTINGS, 1788.— Burke. The unremitting energy of Burke's appeals, in the prosecution of Hastings, was a subject of wonder at the time, and is a lasting memorial of his zeal in what he believed an honest cause, for the admiration of posterity. Hastings himself has said of Burke's eloquence against him,—" For the first half-hour, I looked up to the orator in a reverie of wonder ; and, during that time, I felt myself the most culpable man on earth." The trial of Warren Hastings commenced in Westminster Hall, February 18, 1788. The whole process occupied ten years, from 1785 to 1795. On the 23d of April, 1796, Hastings was acquitted by a large majority of the Peers. Economy of space prevents our making a longer extract from this famous speech. MY Lords, I do not mean now to go further than just to remind your Lordships of this, — that Mr. Has- tings' government was one whole system of oppression, of robbery of individuals, of spoliation of the public, and of supersession of the whole system of the English Government, in order to vest in the worst of the natives all the power that could possibly exist in any Gov- ernment ; in order to defeat the ends which all Governments ought, in common, to have in view. In the name of the Commons of Eng- land, I charge all this villany upon Warren Has- ings, in this last moment of my application to you. My Lords, what is it that we want here, to a great act of national justice? Do we want a cause, my Lords? You have the cause of op- pressed princes, of undone women of the first rank, of desolated Provinces, and of wasted Kingdoms. Do you want a criminal, my Lords ? When was there so much iniquity ever laid to the charge of any one ? — No, my Lords, you must not look to punish any. other such delinquent from India. Warren Hastings has not left sub- stance enough in India to nourish such another delinquent. My Lords, is it a prosecutor you want ? You have before you the Commons of Great Britain as prosecutors ; and I believe, my Lords, that the sun, in his beneficent progress round the world, does not behold a more glorious sight than that of men, separated from a remote People by the material bonds and barriers of nature, united by the bond of a social and. moral community ; — all the Commons of Eng- land resenting, as their own, the indignities and cruelties that are offered to all the people of India. Do we want a tribunal ? My Lords, no example of antiquity, nothing in the modern world, nothing in the range of human imagi- nation, can supply us with a tribunal like this. We commit safely the interests of India and humanity into your hands. Therefore, it is with confidence that, ordered by the; Commons, — I impeach Warren Hastings, Esquire, of high: crimes and misdemeanors. I impeach him in the name of the Commons, of Great Britain in Parliament assembled, whose Parliamentary trust he has betrayed. I impeach him in the name of all the Com- mons of Great Britain, whose national character he has dishonored. I impeach him in the name of the People of India, wdiose laws, rights and liberties, he has subverted ; whose properties he has destroyed ; whose country he has laid waste and desolate. I impeach him in the name and by virtue of those eternal laws of justice which he has violated. I impeach him in the name of human nature itself, which he has cruelly outraged, injured, and oppressed, in both sexes, in every age, rank., situation, and condition of life. 246 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. TO THE ELECTORS OF (On being accused of too much sympathy GENTLEMEN, I have had my day. I can never sufficiently express my grati- tude unto you for having set me in a place wherein I could lend the slight- est help to great and laudable designs. If I have had my share in any measure giving quiet to private property and private conscience ; if by my vote I have aided in securing to families the best possession, peace ; if I have joined in reconciling kings to their subjects, and subjects to their prince ; if I have assisted to loosen the foreign holdings of the citizen, and taught him to look for his protection to the laws of his country, and for his comfort to the good will of his countrymen ; if I have thus taken my part with the best of men in the best of their actions, — I can shut the book ; — I might wish to read a page or two more, — but this is enough for my measure. I have not lived in vain. And now, gentlemen, on this serious day, when I come, as it were, to make up my ac- BRISTOL.— Edmund Burke. and benevolence in his administrations. ) count with you, let me take to myself some degree of honest 'pride, on the nature of the charges that are against me. I do not here stand before you accused of venality, or of neglect of duty. It is not said that, in the long period of my service, I have, in a single instance, sacrificed the slightest of your inter> ests to my ambition, or to my fortune. It is not alleged that, to gratify any anger or revenge of my own, or of my party, I have had a share in wronging or oppressing any description of men, or any one man in any description. No ! the charges against me are all of one kind, — that I have pushed the principles of general justice and benevolence too far, — further than a cautious policy would warrant, and further than the opinions of many would go along with me. In every accident which may happen through life, — in pain, in sorrow, in depression and dis- tress, — I will call to mind this accusation, and be comforted. DECLARATION OF IRISH RIGHTS, \1 BO— Henry Grattan. Henry Grattan, one of the most renowned of Irish orators, was born in Dublin, on the 3d of July, 1746, and died in 1820. In December, 1775, he took his seat in the Irish House of Commons ; and from that time till 1800, he figured politically in that body chiefly. The Irish Revolution of 1782 was carried mainly by his efforts. Although a Protestant, he was a most earnest advocate of the entire emancipation of the Catholics from all invidious distinctions and disabilities. In 1805 Grattan took his seat in the British Parliament, where he became the leading Champion of Catholic rights. The passages from his speeches in this collec- tion bearing date anterior to 1805 were pronounced in the Irish Parliament ; those of a subsequent date were delivered before the popular branch of the Imperial Parliament. Of Grattan we may add in the words of the Rev. Sydney Smith : — "No Government ever dismayed him ; the world could not bribe him ; he thought only of Ireland ; lived for no other object ; dedicated to her his beautiful fancy, his manly courage, and all the splendor of his astonishing eloquence." SIR, I have entreated an attendance on this day, that you might, in the most public manner, deny the claim of the British Parliament to make law for Ire- land, and with one voice lift up your hands against it. England now smarts under the lesson of the American war ; her enemies are a host, pouring upon her from all quarters of the earth ; her armies are dispersed ; the sea is not hers ; she has no minister, no ally, no admiral, none in whom she long confides, and no general whom she has not disgraced ; the balance of her fate is in the hands of Ireland ; you are not only her last connection, — you are the only Nation in Europe that is not her enemy. Let corruption tremble ; but let the friends of liberty rejoice at these means of safety, and this hour of redemption. You have done too much not to do more ; you have gone too far not to go on ; you have brought yourselves into that situation in which you must silently abdicate the rights of your country, or publicly restore them. Where is the freedom of trade ? Where is the security of property? Where is the liberty of the People? I therefore say, nothing is safe, sat- isfactory or honorable, nothing except a declara- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 247 tion of rights. What ! are you, with three hundred thousand men at your back, with charters in one hand and arms in the other, afraid to say you are a free People? If Eng- land is a tyrant, it is you have made her so; it is the slave that makes the tyrant, and then murmurs at the master whom he himself has constituted. The British Minister mistakes the Irish char- acter ; had he intended to make Ireland a slave, he should have kept her a beggar. There is no middle policy : win her heart by the restoration of her rights, or cut off the Nation's right hand; greatly emancipate, or fundamentally destroy. We may talk plausibly to England, but so long as she exercises a power to bind this country, so long are the Nations in a state of war; the claims of the one go against the liberty of the other, and the sentiments of the latter go to oppose those claims to the last drop of her blood. The English opposition, therefore, are right; mere trade will not satisfy Ireland. They judge of us by other great Nations ; by the Nation whose political life has been a struggle for liberty, — America ! They judge of us with a true knowledge and just deference for our character ; that a country enlightened as Ire- land, chartered as Ireland, armed as Ireland, and injured as Ireland, will be satisfied with nothing less than liberty. I might, as a constituent, come to your bar and demand my liberty. I do call upon you, by the laws of the land and their violation, by the instruction of eighteen centuries, by the arms, inspiration and providence of the present mo- ment, tell us the rule by which we shall go ; assert the law of Ireland ; declare the liberty of the land. I will not be answered by a public lie in the shape of an amendment ; neither, speaking for the subject's freedom, am I to hear of faction. I wish for nothing but to breathe, in this our island, in common with my fellow- subjects, the air of liberty. I have no ambition, unless it be the ambition to' break your chain, and contemplate your glory. I never will be satisfied so long as the meanest cottager in Ire- land has a link of the British chain clanking to his rags. He may be naked, — he shall not be in iron. And I do see the time is at hand, the spirit is gone forth, the declaration is planted ; and though great men should apostatize, yet the cause will live; and though the public speaker should lie, yet the immortal fire shall outlast the organ which conveyed it, and the breath of liberty, like the word of the holy man, will not die with the prophet, but survive him. REPLY TO MR. FLOOD, 1783.— Henry Grattan. At the time of this speech in the Irish Parliament, Flood and Grattan, although previously friends, stood before the British public as rival leaders. A bitter animosity had arisen between them ; and Grattan having unfortunately led the way in personality, by speaking of his opponent's " affectation of infirmity," Flood replied with great asperity, denouncing Grattan as "a mendicant patriot," who, " bought by his country for a sum of money, then sold his country for prompt payment." He also sneered at Grattan's 4 ' aping the style of Lord Chatham." To these taunts Grattan replied in a speech, an abridgment of which we here give. An arrangement for a hostile meeting between the parties was the consequence of this speech ; but Flood was arrested, and the crime of a duel was not added to the offence of vindictive person- ality, of which both had been guilty. Grattan lived to regret his harshness, and speak in generous terms of his rival. IT is not the slander of an evil tongue that can defame me. I maintain my reputa- tion in public and in private life. No man, who has not a bad character, can ever say that I deceived. No country can call me a cheat. But I will suppose such a public character. I will suppose such a man to have existence. I will begin with his character in his political cradle, and I will follow him to the last stage of political dissolution. I will sup- pose him, in the first stage of his life, to have been intemperate ; in the second, to have been corrupt ; and in the last, seditious ; that, after an envenomed attack on the persons and meas- ures of a succession of viceroys, and after much declamation against their illegalities and their profusion, he took office, and became a sup- porter of Government, when the profusion of 248 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. ministers had greatly increased, and their crimes multiplied beyond example. With regard to the liberties of America, which were inseperable from ours, I will suppose this gentleman to have been an enemy decided and unreserved ; that he voted against her liberty, and voted, moreover, for an address to send four thousand Irish troops to cut the throats of the Americans ; that he called these butch- ers "armed negotiators," and stood with a metaphor in his mouth and a bribe in his pocket, a champion against the rights of America, — of America, the only hope of Ireland, and the only refuge of the liberties of mankind. Thus de- fective in every relationship, whether to consti- tution, commerce, and toleration, I will suppose this man to have added much private improbity to public crimes ; that this probity was like his patriotism, and his honor on a level with his oath. He loves to deliver panegyrics on him- self. I will interrupt him, and say : Sir, you are much mistaken if you think that your talents have been as great as your life has been reprehensible. You began your parlia- mentary career with an acrimony and person- ality which could have been justified only by a supposition of virtue ; after a rank and clamor- ous opposition, you became, on a sudden, silent; HEAVEN FIGHTS ON THE SIDE THE Kingdom of Ireland, with her im- perial crown, stands at your Bar. She applies for the civil liberty of three- fourths of her children. Will you dis- miss her without a hearing ? You cannot do it ! I say cou cannot finally do it ! The interest of your country would not support you ; the feelings of your country would not support you : it is a proceeding that cannot long be persisted in. No courtier so devoted, no politician so hardened, no conscience so capacious ! I am not afraid of oc- casional majorities. A majority cannot overlay a great principle. God will guard His own cause against rank majorities. In vain shall men appeal to a church-cry, or to a mock thunder ; the pro- prietor of the bolt is on the side of the People. you were silent for seven years ; you were silent on the greatest questions, and you were silent for money ! You supported the unparalleled profusion and jobbing of Lord Harcourt's scan- dalous ministry. You, sir, who manufacture stage thunder against Mr. Eden for his anti- American principles, — you, sir, whom it pleases to chant a hymn to the immortal Hampden ; — you, sir, approved of the tyranny exercised against America, — and you, sir, voted four thous- and Irish troops to cut the throats of the Ameri- cans fighting for their freedom, fighting for your freedom, fighting for the great principle, libe?'ty / But you found, at last, that the Court had bought, but would not trust you. Mortified at the discovery, you try the sorry game of a trim- mer in your progress to the acts of an incen- diary ; and observing, with regard to Prince and People, the most impartial treachery and deser- tion, you justify the suspicion of your Sovereign by betraying the Government, as you had sold the People. Such has been your conduct, and at such conduct every order of your fellow- subjects have a right to exclaim ! The merchant may say to you, the constitutionalist may say to you, the American may say to you, — and I, I now say, and say to your beard, sir, — you are not an honest man ! OF A GREAT PRINCIPLE.— Grattan. It was the expectation of the repeal of Cath- olic disability which carried the Union. Should you wish to support the minister of the crown against the People of Ireland, retain the Union, and perpetuate the disqualification, the conse- quence must be something more than aliena- tion. When you finally decide against the Cath- olic question, you abandon the idea of gov- erning Ireland by affection, and you adopt the idea of coercion in its place. You are pro- nouncing the doom of England. If you ask how the People of Ireland feel towards you, ask yourselves how you would feel towards us, if we disqualified three-fourths of the People of Eng- land forever. The day you finally ascertain the disqualification of the Catholic, you pronounce: GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 249 the doom of Great Britain. It is just it should be so. The King who takes away the liberty of his subjects loses his Crown ; the People who take away the liberty of their fellow -subjects lose their Empire. The scales of your own destinies are in your own hands ; and if you throw out the civil liberty of the Irish Catholic, depend on it, Old England will be weighed in the balance, and found wanting : you will then have dug, your own grave, and you may write your own epitaph thus: — "England died, because she. taxed America, and disqualified Ireland." SECTARIAN TYRANNY ""¥" "T^HENEVER one set degrades another \ A / on account of religion, such degra- -1l_JL dation is the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that, on account of his religion, no Catholic shall sit in Parliament, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that no Catholic shall be a sheriff, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that no Catholic shall be a general, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. There are two descriptions of laws, — the municipal law, which binds the People, and the law of God, which binds the Parliament and the People. Whenever you do any act which is contrary to His laws, as expressed in His work, which is the world, or in His book, the Bible, you exceed your right ; whenever you rest any 1812. — Henry Grattan. of your establishments on that excess, you rest it on a foundation which is weak and fallacious ; whenever you attempt to establish your Govern- ment, or your property, or your Church, on religious restrictions, you establish them on that false foundation, and you oppose the Almighty ; and though you had a host of mitres on your side, you banish God from your ecclesiastical Constitution, and freedom from your political. In vain shall men endeavor to make this the cause of the Church ; they aggravate the crime, by the endeavor to make their God their fellow in the injustice. Such rights are the rights of ambition ; they are the rights of conquest ; and, in your case, they have been the rights of suicide. They begin by attacking liberty ; they end by the loss of empire ! SATIRE ON THE PENSION SYSTEM, 1786.— C*~b». John Philpot Curran was born in Newcastle, Ireland, July 24, 1750. His Senatorial career was confined to the Irish Parliament, and was entirely eclipsed by his reputation at the bar. "There never lived a greater advocate," says Charles Phillips ; " certainly never one more suited to the country in which his lot was cast. His eloquence was copious, rapid and ornate, and his powers of mimicry beyond all description." In his boyhood he had a confusion in his utterance, from which he was called by his school-fellows " Stut- tering Jack Curran." He employed every means to correct his elocution, and render it perfect. "He accustomed himself. " says one of his biographers, "to speak very slowly, to correct his precipitate utter- ance. He practiced before a glass, to make his gestures graceful. He spoke aloud the most celebrated orations. One piece — the speech of Antony over the dead body of Caesar — he was never weary of repeat- ing. This he recommended to his young friends at the bar as a model of eloquence. And while he thus used art to smooth a channel for his thoughts to flow in, no man's eloquence ever issued more freshly and spontaneously from the heart. It was always the heart of the man that spoke. ' ' Curran died October 14, 1817. THIS polygot of wealth, this museum of curiosities, the Pension List, embraces every link in the human chain, every description of men, women, and chil- dren, from the exalted excellence of a Hawke or a Rodney, to the debased situation of the lady who humbleth herself that she may be exalted. But the lessons it inculcates form its greatest perfection : It teacheth, that Sloth and Vice may eat that bread which Virtue and Honesty may starve for after they have earned it. It teaches the idle and dissolute to look up for that support which they are too proud to stoop and earn. It directs the minds of men to an entire reliance on the ruling Power of the State, who feeds the ravens of the Royal aviary, that cry continually for food. It teaches them to imitate those Saints on the Pension List, that are like the lilies of the field ; they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet are arrayed like Solomon in 250 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. his glory. In fine, it teaches a lesson, which, indeed, they might have learned from Epictetus, that it is sometimes good not to be over-virtuous ; it shows, that, in proportion as our distresses increase, the munificence of the Crown in- creases also ; in proportion as our clothes are rent, the royal mantle is extended over us. Notwithstanding that the Pension List, like charity, covers a multitude of sins, give me leave to consider it as coming home to the mem- bers of this House ; — give me leave to say, that REPLY TO THREATS OF "Y" ~T"E have been told this night, in express \ A / words, that the man who dares to do _JL AL his duty to his country in this House may expect to be attacked without these walls by the military gentlemen of the Castle. If the army had been directly or in- directly mentioned in the course of the debate, this extraordinary declaration might be attrib- utable to the confusion of a mistaken charge, or an absurd vindication ; but, without connection with the subject, a new principle of government is advanced, and that is — the bayonet ! And this is stated in the fullest house, and the most crowded audience, I ever saw. We are to be silenced by corruption within, or quelled by force of arms without. If the strength of num- bers or corruption should fail against the cause of the public, it is to be backed by assassina- tion. Nor is it necessary that those avowed principles of bribery and arms should come from any high personal authority ; they have the Crown, in extending its charity, its liberal- ity, its profusion, is laying a foundation for the independence of Parliament ; for, hereafter, in- stead of orators or patriots accounting for their conduct to such mean and unworthy persons as freeholders, they will learn to despise them, and look to the first man in the State ; and they will, by so doing, have this security for their independence, — that while any man in the Kingdom has a shilling, they will not want one! VIOLENCE, 1790.— Curran. been delivered by the known retainers of Ad- ministration, in the face of that bench, and heard even without a murmur of dissent or dis- approbation. For my part, I do not know how it may be my destiny to fall ; — it may be by chance, or malady, or violence ; but, should it be my fate to perish the victim of a bold and honest dis- charge of my duty, I will not shun it. I will do that duty ; and, if it should expose me to sink under the blow of the assassin, and become a victim to the public cause, the most sensible of my regrets would be, that on such an altar there should not be immolated a more illustrious sacrifice. As to myself, while I live, I shall despise the peril. I feel in my own spirit the safety of my honor, and in my own and the spirit of the People do I feel strength enough to hold that Administration, which can give a sanc- tion to menaces like these, responsible for their consequences to the Nation and the individual. ON THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL.— Daniel O'Connell. Daniel O'Connell, the great Irish "agitator " or " liberator," as he was frequently called, was born in the county of Kerry, Ireland, in 1775. He died in 1847. " His was that marvellous admixture of mirth, pathos, drollery, earnestness and dejection," says Charles Phillips, "which, well compounded, form the true Milesian. He could whine and wheedle, and wink with one eye while he wept with the other. His fun was inexhaustible." O'Connell was apt to be too violent and vituperative in his denunciations, and they consequently failed of their effect. The abuse that is palpably exaggerated is not much to be feared. I DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this House ; — I do not rise to supplicate you to be merciful toward the Nation to which I belong, — toward a Nation which, though subject to England, yet is distinct from it. It is a distinct Nation ; it has been treated as such by this country, as may be proved by history, and by seven hundred years of tyranny. I call upon this House, as you value the liberty of England, not to allow the present nefarious Bill to pass. In it are involved the liberties of Eng- land, the liberty of the Press, and of every other GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 251 institution dear to Englishmen. Against the Bill I protest, in the name of the Irish People, and in the face of Heaven. I treat with scorn the puny and pitiful assertions, that grievances are not to be complained of, — that our redress is not to be agitated ; for, in such cases, remon- strances cannot be too strong, agitation cannot be too violent, to show to the world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under what tyranny the People suffer. The clause which does away with trial by jury, — what, in the name of Heaven, is it, if it is not the establishment of a revolutionary tribunal ? It drives the judge from his bench ; it does away with that which is more sacred than the Throne itself, — that for which your king reigns, your lords deliberate, your commons as- semble. If ever I doubted, before, of the suc- cess of our agitation for repeal, this Bill, — this infamous bill, — the way in which it has been received by the House ; the manner in which its opponents have been treated ; the personalities VIOLATION OF ENGLISH MY lord, the Irish Catholics never, never broke their faith ; they never violated their plighted promise to the English. I appeal to history for the truth of my assertion. My lord, the English never, never observed their faith with us — they never performed their plighted promise ; the history of the last six hundred years proves the accuracy of my assertion. I will leave the older periods, and fix myself at the revolution. More than a hundred and twenty years have elapsed since the treaty of Limerick. That treaty has been honorably and faithfully performed by the Irish Catholics ; it has been foully, disgracefully, and directly vio- lated by the English. English oaths and sol- emn engagements bound them to its perform- ance : it remains still of force and unperformed ; and the ruffian yell of English treachery, which accompanied its first violation, has, it seems, been repeated even in the senate-house at the last repetition of the violation of that treaty. to which they have been subjected ; the yells with which one of them has this night been greeted, — all these things dissipate my doubts, and tell me of its complete and early triumph. Do you think those yells will be forgotten ? Do you suppose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured and insulted country ; that they will not be whispered in her green valleys, and heard from her lofty hills? O, they will be heard there ! — yes ; and they will not be for- gotten. The youth of Ireland will bound with indignation, — they will say, "We are eight millions ; and you treat us thus, as though we were no more to your country than the isle of Guernsey or of Jersey !" I have done my duty. I stand acquitted to my conscience and my country. I have opposed this measure throughout ; and I now protest against it, as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, un- just ; — as establishing an infamous precedent. by retaliating crime against crime ; — as tyran- nous, — cruelly and vindictively tyrannous ! PROMISES.— Daniel O'Connell. They rejoiced and they shouted at the perjuries of their ancestors ; at their own want of good faith or common sense. Nay, are there not men present, who can tell us, of their own knowledge, of another instance of English treachery? Was not the assent of many of the Catholics to the fatal — O ! the' fatal measure of the union ! — purchased by the express and written promise of Catholic emancipation, made from authority by Lord Cornwallis, and confirmed by the prime min- ister, Mr. Pitt? And has that promise been performed? Or, has Irish credulity afforded only another instance of English faithlessness ? Now, my lord, I ask this assembly whether they can confide in English promises ? I say nothing of the solemn pledges of individuals. Can you confide in the more than punic faith of your hereditary taskmasters? Or shall we be accused of over-scrupulous jealousy, when we reject, with indignation, the contamination of English control over our Church ? 252 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. THE PRESS THE PROTECTION OF THE PEOPLE.— Daniel CTConnelL This extract is from O'Cormell's famous speech at the trial of John McGee accused of libelling the Duke of Richmond in the Hibernian Journal. THE Attorney-General has talked of his impartiality ; he will suppress, he says, the licentiousness of the press. Gen- tlemen, the Attorney-General was waited on, and respectfully requested to prose- cute the Hibernian Journal upon the terms of having the falsehood of certain libelous asser- tions first proved to him. I need not tell you he refused. These are not the libelers he prosecutes. Contrast the situation of my client with that of the proprietor of the Hibernian Journal. The one is prosecuted with all the weight and influence of the Crown, the other pensioned by the ministers of the Crown ; the one dragged to your bar for the sober discussion of political topics, the other hired to disseminate the most horrid calumnies. Let the Attorney-General now boast of his impartiality ; can you credit him on your oaths ? Let him talk of his veneration for the liberty of the press ; can you believe him in your consciences? Let him call the press the protection of the People against the Government. Yes, gentlemen, believe him when he says so ! Let the press be the protection of the People ! — he admits that it ought to be so. Will you find a verdict for him that shall con- tradict the only assertion upon which he and I, however, are both agreed ? Gentlemen, the Attorney- General is bound by this admission. It is part of his case, and he is the prosecutor here. It is a part of the evidence before you,, for he is the prosecutor. Then, gentlemen, it is. your duty to act upon that evidence, and to allow the press to afford some protection to the People. Is there amongst you any one friend to free- dom ? Is there amongst you one man who esteems equal and impartial justice, who values, the people's right as the foundation of private happiness, and who considers life as no boon without liberty? Is there amongst you one friend to the Constitution? — one man who hates, oppression ? If there be, my client appeals to his kindred mind, and confidently expects an acquittal. There are amongst you men of great religious zeal — -of much public piety. Are you sincere? Do you believe what you profess! With all this zeal, with all this piety, is there any conscience amongst you? Is there any terror of violating your oaths? Be ye hypo- crites, or does genuine religion inspire you ? If you be sincere, if you have consciences, if your oaths can control your interests, then my client confidently expects an acquittal. If amongst you there be cherished one ray of pure religion, if amongst you there glow a single spark of liberty, if I have alarmed patriotism or roused the spirit of freedom in one breast amongst you, my client is safe, and his country is served. But, if there be none — if you be slaves and hypocrites — he will await your verdict, and despise it. THE REPEAL OF THE UNION, 1834.-5^^7. Richard Lalor Sheil was born in Dublin, Ireland, August 16, 1791, and died at Florence, Italy, where he held the post of British Minister, May 25, 1851. He was returned to the Imperial Parliament in 1829, and for twenty years was a prominent member of the House of Commons. A contemporary says of him : " His great earnestness and apparent sincerity, his unrivalled felicity of illustration, his extraordinary power of pushing the meaning of words to the utmost extent, and wringing from them a force beyond the range of ordinary expression, were such, that when he rose to speak, members took their places, and the hum of private conversation was hushed, in order that the House might enjoy the performances of an accomplished artist." His style of speaking was peculiar ; his gesticulation rapid, fierce and incessant; his enunciation remarkably quick and impetuous. His matter was uniformly well arranged and logical. T HE population of Ireland has doubled since the Union. What is the condi- tion of the mass of the People ? Has her capital increased in the same pro- portion? Behold the famine, the wretchedness, and pestilence, of the Irish hovel, and, if you have the heart to do so, mock at the calamities, of the country, and proceed in your demonstra- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 253 lions of the prosperity of Ireland. The mass of the People are in a condition more wretched than that of any Nation in Europe ; they are worse housed, worse covered, worse fed, than the basest boors in the provinces of Russia ; they dwell in habitations to which your swine would not be committed ; they are covered with rags which your beggars would disdain to wear, and not only do they never taste the flesh of animals which crowd into your markets, but, while the sweat drops from their brows, they never touch the bread into which their harvests are converted. For you they toil, for you they delve ; they reclaim the bog, and drive the plough to the mountain's top, for you. And where does all this misery exist ? In a country teeming with fertility, and stamped with the beneficent intents of God ! When the famine of Ireland prevailed, — when her cries crossed the Channel, and pierced your ears, and reached your hearts, — the granaries of Ireland were bursting with their contents, and, while a People knelt down and stretched out their hands for food, the business of deportation, the absentee tribute, was going on ! Talk of the prosperity of Ireland ! Talk of the external magnificence of the poor-house, gorged with misery within ! But the Secretary for the Treasury exclaims : " If the agitators would but let us alone, and allow Ireland to be tranquil ! " — The agitators, foorsooth ! Does he venture — has he the intre- pidity — to speak thus ? Agitators ! Against deep potations let the drunkard rail ; — at Crock- ford's let there be homilies against the dice- box ; — let every libertine lament the progress of licentiousness, when his Majesty's ministers deplore the influence of demagogues, and Whigs complain of agitation ! How did you carry the Reform ? Was it not by impelling the People almost to the verge of revolution ? Was there a stimulant for their passions, was there a pro- vocative for their excitement, to which you did not resort? If you have forgotten, do you think that we shall fail to remember your meet- ings at Edinburgh, at Paisley, at Manchester, at Birmingham? Did not three hundred thou- sand men assemble ? Did they not pass resolu- tions against taxes ? Did they not threaten to march on London ? Did not two of the cabinet ministers indite to them epistles of gratitude and of admiration ? and do they now dare — have they the audacity — to speak of agitation ? Have we not as good a title to demand the resti- tution of our Parliament, as the ministers to insist on the reform of this House? IRISH ALIENS AND ENGLISH VICTORIES, \837. —S/ieil. The following brilliant appeal — one of the most eloquent in the annals of British oratory — is from •Shell's speech on the Irish Municipal Bill, in the House of Commons, February 22, 1837. The episode was called forth by an unfortunate expression which Lord Lyndhurst had employed, some time before, in the House of Lords, in alluding to the Irish as " aliens, in blood and religion." During Sheil's speech, his Lordship was sitting under the gallery ; and it is recorded that Sheil shook his head indignantly at him, as he spoke. The effect upon the House was very marked. Nearly all the members turned towards Lord Lyndhurst ; and the shouts of the Ministerialists, encountered by the vehement outcries of the Conservatives, continued for some minutes. The latter half of this speech demands great rapidity of utterance in the delivery. The speaker should be in deepest earnestness. His whole being should writhe under the injustice felt ; his eye should burn with indignation and his manner be proudly defiant, demanding rights rather than asking favors ; his gesticulation should be positive and emphatic. I SHOULD be suprised, indeed, if, while you are doing us wrong, you did not pro- fess your solicitude to do us justice. From the day on which Strongbow set his foot upon the shore of Ireland, Englishmen were never wanting in protestations of their deep anxiety to do us justice ; — even Strafford, the deserter of the People's cause, — the renegade Wentworth, who gave evidence in Ireland of the spirit of instinctive tyranny which predominated in his character, — even Strafford, while he trampled upon our rights, and trod upon the heart of the country, protested his solicitude to do justice to Ireland ! What marvel is it, then, that gentlemen opposite should deal in such ve- hement protestations? There is, however, one 254 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. man, of great abilities, — not a member of this House, but whose talents and whose boldness have placed him in the topmost place in his party, — who, disdaining all imposture, and thinking it the best course to appeal directly to the religious and national antipathies of the People of this country, — abandoning all reserve, and flinging off the slender veil by which his political associates affect to cover, although they cannot hide, their motives, — distinctly and audaciously tells the Irish People that they are not entitled to the same privileges as Englishmen ; and pronounces them, in any particular which could enter his minute enu- meration of the circumstances by which fellow- citizenship is created, in race, identity and religion, to be aliens : — to be aliens in race, to be aliens in country, aliens in religion ! Aliens ! good God ! was Arthur, Duke of Wellington, in the House of Lords, — and did he not start up and exclaim: "Hold! I have seen the ALIENS DO THEIR DUTY ! ' ' The Duke of Wellington is not a man of an excitable temperament. His mind is of a cast too martial to be easily moved ; but, notwith- standing his habitual inflexibility, I cannot help thinking that, when he heard his Roman Catholic countrymen (for we are his countrymen) desig- nated by a phrase as offensive as the abundant vocabulary of his eloquent confederate could supply, — I cannot help thinking that he ought to have recollected the many fields of fight in which we have been contributors to his renown. ' ' The battles, sieges, fortunes that he has passed," ought to have come back upon him. He ought to have remembered that, from the earliest achievement in which he displayed that military genius which has placed him foremost in the annals of modern warfare, down to that last and surpassing combat which has made his name imperishable, — from Assaye to Waterloo, — the Irish soldiers, with whom your armies are filled, were the inseparable auxiliaries to the glory with which his unparalleled successes have been crowned. Whose were the arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera through the phalanxes that never reeled in the shock of war before? What desperate valor climbed the steeps and filled the moats at Badajos ? All his victories should have rushed and crowded back upon his memory — Vimiera, Badajos, Salamanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and, last of all, the greatest . Tell me, — for you were there, — I appeal to the gal- lant soldier before me (Sir Henry Hardinge), from whose opinions I differ, but who bears, I know, a generous heart in an intrepid breast ; — tell me, — for you must needs remem- ber, — on that day when the destinies of man- kind were trembling in the balance, while death fell in showers, when the artillery of France was levelled with a precision of the most deadly science, — when her legions, in- cited by the voice and inspired by the example of their mighty leader, rushed again and again to the onset, — tell me if, for an instant, when to hesitate for an instant was to be lost, the " aliens " blenched ? And when, at length, the moment for the last and decided movement had arrived, and the valor which had so long been wisely checked was, at last, let loose, — when, with words familiar, but immortal, the great captain com- manded the great assault, — tell me if Catholic Ireland with less heroic valor than the natives of this your own glorious country precipitated her- self upon the foe ? The blood of England, Scotland, and cf Ireland, flowed in the same stream, and drenched the same field. When the chill morning dawned, their dead lay cold and stark together ; — in the same deep pit their bodies were deposited ; the green corn of spring is now breaking from their commingled dust ; the dew falls from heaven upon their union in the grave. Partakers in every peril, in the glory shall we not be permitted to participate ; and shall we be told, as a. requital, that we are estranged from the noble country for whose salvation our life blood was poured out ? GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 255 THE NATURE OF JUSTICE.— Sheridan. (From the speech on the trial of Warren Hastings, June 6th, 1788.) Richard Brinsley Sheridan was born in Dublin, September, 1751, and died July 7, 1816, in London. He distinguished himself greatly, in company with Burke, in the prosecution against Warren Hastings ; but the reports of his speeches at the trial are imperfect and conflicting. Sheridan's fame as a dramatist is quite equal to his Parliamentary reputation. Lord Byron was a great admirer of Sheridan and reckoned him as ranking with Pitt, Fox and Burke as an orator, while he surpassed them in certain respects. LET me call the attention of the court to the magnificent paragraph in which Mr. Hastings concludes his communi- cation. It will give you some idea of this man's notion of justice. "I hope," says Mr. Hastings, ' ' it will not be a departure from official language to say, that the majesty of justice ought not to be reproached without solicita- tion. She ought not to descend to inflame or provoke, but to withhold her judgment until she is called on to determine." Justice ought not to be approached without solicitation ! Justice ought not to descend ! But, my lords, do you, the judges of this land, and the expounders of its rightful laws, do you approve of this mockery, and call it justice ? No ! justice is not this halt and miserable object ; it is not the ineffective bauble of an Indian pagod ; it is not the portentous phantom of despair; it is not like any fabled monster, formed in the eclipse of reason, and found in some unhallowed grove of superstitious darkness and political dismay ! No, my lords. • In the happy reverse of all these, I turn from this disgusting caricature to the real image/ Justice I have now before me, august and pure — the abstract idea of all that would be perfect in the spirits and the aspirings of men ; where the mind rises, where the heart expands ; where the countenance is ever placid and benign ; where her favorite attitude is to stoop to the unfortunate, to hear their cry and to help them ; to rescue and relieve, to succor and save ; majestic from its mercy ; venerable from its utility ; uplifted with- out pride, firm without obduracy ; beneficent in each preference, lovely though in her frown ! On that justice I rely, deliberate and sure, abstracted from all party purpose and political speculation, not in words, but in facts. You, my lords, who hear me, I conjure, by those rights it is your best privilege to preserve ; by that fame it is your best pleasure to inherit; by all those feelings which refer to the first term in the series of existence, the original compact of our nature, our controlling rank in the creation. This is the call on all, to administer to truth and equity, as they would satisfy the laws ; ay, as they w r ould satisfy themselves with the most exalted bliss possible or conceivable for our nature, — the self-approving consciousness of virtue, when the condemnation we look for will be one of the most ample mercies accomplished for mankind since the creation of the world ! My lords, I have done. AGAINST POLITICAL JOBBING, 1794.— J?. B. Sheridan. IS this a time for selfish intrigues, and the little dirty traffic for lucre and emolu- ment ! Does it suit the honor of a gen- tlemen to ask at such a moment ? Does it become the honesty of a minister to grant ? What ! in such an hour as this, — at a moment pregnant with the national fate, when, pressing as the exigency may be, the hard task of squeez- ing the money from the pockets of an impover- ished People, from the toil, the drudgery of the shivering poor, must make the most practiced collector's heart ache while he tears it from them — can it be that the people of high rank, and professing high principles — that they or their families should seek to thrive on the spoils of misery, and fatten on the meals wrested from industrious poverty ? O, shame ! shame ! Is it intended to confirm the pernicious doctrine so industriously propagated, that all public men are impostors, and that every politician has his price ? Or, even where there is no principle in the bosom, why does not prudence hint to the 256 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. mercenary and the vain to abstain awhile, at least, and wait the fitting of the times? Improvident impatience ! Nay, even from those who seem to have no direct object of office or profit, what is the language which their actions speak? ' ' The Throne is in danger ! we will support the Throne ; but let us share the smiles of royalty !" ' ' The order of nobility is in danger ! I will fight for nobility," says the Viscount; " but my zeal would be greater if I were made an Earl ! " ' ' Rouse all the Marquis within me, ' ' exclaims the Earl ; ' ' the Peerage never turned forth a more undaunted champion in its cause than I shall prove ! " "Stain my green ribbon blue," cries out the illustrious Knight, "and the fountain of honor will have a fast and faithful servant ! ' ' What are the People to think of our sin- cerity? What credit are they to give to our professions? Is this system to be persevered in ? Is there nothing that whispers to that right honorable gentleman that the crisis is too big, that the times are too gigantic, to be ruled by the little hackneyed and every- day means of ordinary corruption? Or, are we to believe that he has within himself a conscious feeling that disqualifies him from re- buking the ill-timed selfishness of new allies? Let him take care that the corruptions of the Government shall not have lost it the public heart ; that the example of selfishness in the few has not extinguished public spirit in the many ! ON BEING FOu^D GUILTY OF HIGH TREASON.— Robert Emmett. On the 23d of June, 1803, a rebellion against the Government broke out in Dublin, in which Robert Emmett, at the time only twenty-three years of age, was a principal actor. It proved a failure. Emmett was arrested, having missed the opportunity of escape, it is said, by lingering to take leave of a daughter of Curran, the gifted orator, to whom he bore an attachment, which was reciprocated. On the 19th of Sep- tember, 1803, Emmett was tried for high treason at the Sessions House, Dublin, before Lord Norbury, one of the Chief Judges of the King's Bench, and others ; was found guilty, and executed the next day. Through his counsel, he had asked, at the trial, that the judgment of the Court might be postponed until the next morning. This request was not granted. The clerk of the Crown read the indictment, and announced the verdict found, in the usual form. He then concluded thus: " What have you, therefore, now to say, why judgment of death and execution should not be awarded against you, according to law? " Standing forward in the dock, in front of the Bench, Emmett made the following impromptu address, which we give entire, dividing it only into passages of a suitable length for declamation. As a masterpiece of extemporaneous eloquence its counterpart cannot be found, perhaps, in any language. It entitles its author to rank among the great orators of earth. At his execution, Emmett displayed great fortitude. As he was passing out of his cell, on his way to the gallows, he met the turnkey, who had become much attached to him. Being fettered, Emmett could not give his hand ; so he kissed the poor fellow on the cheek, who, •overcome by the mingled condescension and tenderness of the act, fell senseless at the feet of the youthful victim, and did not recover till the latter was no longer among the living. Emmett's own fate is scarcely less pathetic than that of his promised bride. The story is touchingly told by Washington Irving under the title of " Broken Hearts," and may be found elsewhere in this volume. ~T~ ~T""HAT have I to say, why sentence of \ A / death should not be pronounced on JlAL me, according to law? I have nothing to say which can alter your predetermination, or that it would become me to say with any view to the mitigation of that sentence which you are here to pronounce, and which I must abide. But I have that to say which interests me more than life, and which you have labored — as was necessarily your office in the present circumstances of this oppressed country — to destroy. I have much to say, why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which has been heaped upon it. I do not imagine that, seated where you are, your minds can be so free from impurity as to receive the least impression from what I am going to utter. I have no hope that I can anchor my character in the breast of a Court constituted and trammelled as this is. I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your Lordships may suffer it to float down your memories, untainted by the foul breath of pre- judice, until it finds some more hospitable har- bor, to shelter it from the rude storm by which it is at present buffeted. Were I only to suffer death, after being ad- judged guilty by your tribunal, 1 should bow in GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 257 silence, and meet the fate that awaits me, with- out a murmur. But the sentence of the law which delivers my body to the executioner will, through the ministry of that law, labor, in its own vindication, to consign my character to ob- loquy : for there must be guilt somewhere, — whether in the sentence of the Court, or in the catastrophe, posterity must determine. A man in my situation, my Lords, has not only to encoun- ter the difficulties of fortune, and the force of pow T er over minds which it has corrupted or sub- jugated, but the difficulties of established preju- dice : — the man dies, but his memory lives : that mine may not perish, that it may live in the respect of my countrymen, I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself from some of the charges alleged against me. When my spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly port, — when my shade shall have joined the bands of those martyred heroes who have shed their blood, on the scaffold and in the field, in defence of their country and of virtue, — this is my hope : I wish that my memory and name may animate those who survive me, while I look down with complacency on the destruction of that perfidious Government which upholds its dominion by blas- phemy of the Most High, — which displays its power over man as over the beasts of the forest, — which sets man upon his brother, and lifts his hand, in the name of God, against the throat of his fellow, who believes or doubts a little more, or a little less, than the Government standard, — a Government which is steeled to barbarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears of the widows which it has made. (Following the foregoing paragraph, Lord Norbury said : ' ' The weakened enthusiasts who feel as you feel, are unequal to the accomplish- ments of their wild designs. ' ' In answer to which remark Emmett continued as follows : ) II. I appeal to the immaculate God, — to the throne of Heaven, before which I must shortly appear, — to the blood of the murdered patriots who have gone before, — that my conduct has 17 been, through all this peril, and through all my purposes, governed only by the convictions which I have uttered, and by no other view than that of the emancipation of my country from the super- inhuman oppression under which she has so long and too patiently travailed; and that I con- fidently and assuredly hope that, wild and chimerical as it may appear, there is still union and strength in Ireland to accomplish this noblest enterprise. Of this I speak with the confidence of intimate knowledge, and with the consolation that appertains to that confidence. Think not, my Lords, I say this for the petty gratification of giving you a transitory uneasiness ; a man who never yet raised his voice to assert a lie will not hazard his character with prosterity by asserting a falsehood on a subject so important to his coun- try, and on an occasion like this. Yes, my Lords ; a man who does not wish to have his epitaph written until his country is liberated will not leave a weapon in the power of envy, nor a pretence to impeach the probity which he means to preserve even in the grave to which tyranny consigns him. (Lord Norbury again interrupted by saying : ' ' You proceed to unwarrantable lengths, in order to exasperate and delude, and circulate danger- ous opinions for the purpose of mischief. ' ' To which Emmett replied with dignified sarcasm : ) Again I say, that what I have spoken was not intended for your Lorhships, whose situation I commiserate rather than envy ; — my expressions were for my countrymen ; if there is a true Irish- man present, let my last words cheer him in the hour of his affliction — (Lord Norbury replied with great heat : " What you have hitherto said confirms and justi- fies the verdict of the jury." Emmett's rejoin- der was a withering rebuke : ) I have always understood it to be the duty of a judge, when a prisoner has been convicted, to pronounce the sentence of the law ; I have also understood that judges sometimes think it their duty to hear with patience, and to speak with humanity ; to exhort the victim of the laws, and to offer, with tender benignity, opinions of the 258 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. motives by which he was actuated in the crime of which he had been adjudged guilty. That a judge has thought it his duty so to have done, I have no doubt ; but where is the boasted freedom of your institutions, — where is the vaunted impar- tiality, clemency, and mildness of your courts of justice, — if an unfortunate prisoner, whom your policy, and not justice, is about to deliver into the hands of the executioner, is not suffered to explain his motives sincerely and truly, and to vindicate the principles by which he was actuated ? III. My lords, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to bow a man's mind, by humiliation, to the purposed ignominy of the scaffold ; but worse to me than the scaffold's shame, or the scaffold's terrors, would be the shame of such foul and unfounded imputations as have been laid against me in this Court. You, my Lord, are a judge. I am a supposed culprit. I am a man, — you are a man also. By a revolution of power, we might change places, though we never could change characters. If I stand at the bar of this Court, and dare not vindicate my character, what a farce is your justice ! If I stand at this bar, and dare not vindicate my character, how dare you calumniate it ? Does the sentence of death, which your unhallowed policy inflicts on my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, and my reputation to reproach? Your executioner may abridge the period of my existence ; but while I exist, I shall not forbear to vindicate my character and motives from your aspersions. As a man to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in doing justice to that reputation which is to live after me, and which is the only legacy I can leave to those I honor and love, and for whom I am proud to perish. As men, my Lord, we must appear, on the great day, at one common tribunal ; and it will then remain for the Searcher of all hearts to show a collective universe who are engaged in the most virtuous actions, or actuated by the purest motives, — my country's oppressors or — (Here Lord Norbury exclaimed: "Listen, sir to the sentence of the law." To which Emmett replied with great spirit :) My Lord, shall a dying man be denied the legal privilege of exculpating himself, in the eyes of the community, of an undeserved reproach thrown upon him during his trial, by charging him with ambition, and attempting to cast away, for a paltry consideration, the liberties of his country ? Why, then, insult me ? or, rather, why insult justice, in demanding of me why sen- tence of death should not be pronounced? I know, my Lord, that form prescribes that you should ask the question ; the form also presumes the right of answering ! This, no doubt, may be dispensed with ; and so might the whole cere- mony of the trial, since sentence was already pronounced at the Castle before your jury was impanelled. Your Lordships are but the priests of the oracle, and I submit to the sacrifice ; but I insist on the whole of the forms. (Here Emmett paused and would have stopped, but the Court desired him to proceed, which he did ; discussing in the following masterly and eloquent manner the charges on which he had been arraigned : ) IV. I am charged with being an emissary of France. An emissary of France ! — and for what end ? It is alleged that I wished to sell the inde- pendence of my country ! And for what end ? Was this the object of my ambition ? and is this the mode by which a tribunal of justice reconciles contradictions ? No ! I am no emissary. My ambition was to hold a place among the deliver- ers of my country, — not in power, nor in profit, but in the glory of the achievement. Sell my country's independence to France ! And for what ? For a change of masters ? No ; but for ambition ! O, my country ! was it personal ambition that could influence me ? Had it been the soul of my actions, could I not, by my edu- cation and fortune, by the rank and consideration of my family, have placed myself among the proudest of your oppressors? My country 'was my idol. To it I sacrificed every selfish, every endearing sentiment ; and for it I now offer up GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 259 my life ! O God ! No ! my Lord ; I acted as an Irishman, determined on delivering my coun- try from the yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and from the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, its joint partner and perpetrator in the patricide, whose reward is the ignominy of existing with an exterior of splendor, and a consciousness of depravity. It was the wish of my heart to extricate my country from this doubly rivited despotism. I wished to place her inde- pendence beyond the reach of any power on earth. I wished to exalt her to that proud station in the world which Providence had fitted her to fill. Connection with France was, indeed, intended; but only as far as mutual interest would sanction or require. Were the French to assume any authority inconsistent with the purest indepen- dence, it would be the signal for their destruction. We sought aid of them ; and we sought it, as we had assurance we should obtain it, — as auxiliaries in war, and allies in peace. Were the French to come as invaders or enemies, uninvited by the wishes of the People, I should oppose them to the utmost of my strength. Yes, my countrymen, I would meet them on the beach, with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. I would meet them with all the destructive fury of war ; and I would animate you to immolate them in their boats, before they had contaminated the soil. If they succeeded in landing, and if we were forced to retire before superior discipline, I would dispute every inch of ground, raze every house, burn every blade of grass before them, and the last intrenchment of liberty should be my grave. What I could not do myself, if I should fall, I would leave in charge to my countrymen to accomplish ; because I should feel conscious that life, more than death, is unprofitable, when a foreign nation holds my country in subjection. But it was not as an enemy that the succors of France were to land. I looked, indeed, for the assistance of France ; but I wished to prove to France, and to the world, that Irishmen deserved to be assisted, that they were indignant at slavery, and ready to assert the independence and liberty of their country ! I wished to procure for my country the guarantee which Washington pro- cured for America, — to procure an aid which, by its example, would be as important as by its valor, — allies disciplined, gallant, pregnant with science and experience ; who would preserve the good and polish the rough points of our charac- ter ; who would come to us as strangers, and leave us as friends, after sharing our perils and elevating our destiny. These were my objects ; not to receive new task-masters, but to expel old tyrants. These were my views, and these only become Irishmen. It was for these ends I sought aid from France, because France, even as an enemy, could not be more implacable than the enemy already in the bosom of my country. (Here the court interrupted, but after an exciting parley Emmett was allowed to proceed. ) V. I have been charged with that importance, in the efforts to emancipate my country, as to be considered the key-sto?ie of the combination of Irishmen, or, as your Lordship expressed it, ' ' the life and blood of the conspiracy. ' ' You do me honor overmuch. You have given to the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged in this conspiracy who are not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of yourself, my Lord ; — men, before the splendor of whose genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and who would think them- selves dishonored to be called your friends, — who would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand ! (This so exasperated Lord Norbury that he attempted to stop the speaker, but the enthusiasm was so great he dared not insist, and Emmett proceeded shaking his finger at Lord Norbury : ) What, my Lord, shall you tell me, on the pas- sage to the scaffold which that tyranny, of which you are only the intermediate minister, has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that has been and will be shed, in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppres- sor? Shall you tell me this, and must I be so 260 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. very a slave as not to repel it ? I, who fear not to approach the Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of my short life, — am I to be appalled here, before a mere remnant of mortal- ity ? — by you, too, who, if it were possible to col- lect all the innocent blood that you have caused to be shed, in your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your Lordship might swim in it ! (This invective was so severe that the judge interfered, insisting that Emmettbe less personal. After a moment's pause the speaker composed himself and proceeded as follows : ) Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonor. Let no man attaint my mem- ory by believing that I could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's liberty and independence, or that I could have become the pliant minion of power in the oppression and the miseries of my countrymen. The proclamation of the Provisional Government speaks for my views. No inference can be tortured from it to coun- tenance barbarity or debasement at home, or subjection, humiliation or treachery, from abroad. I would not have submitted to a foreign oppres- sor, for the same reason that I would resist the domestic tyrant. In the dignity of freedom I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and its enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who lived but for my country — who have subjected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, and my country her independence, — am I to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent it ? No. God forbid ! (At this point Lord Norbury told Emmett that his principles were treasonable, that his father would not have countenanced such sentiments, that his language was unbecoming, to which Emmett replied with feeling : ) If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns and cares of those who were dear to them in this transitory life, O, ever dear and venerated shade of my departed father, look down with scrutiny upon the conduct of your suffering son, and see if I have, even for a moment, devi- ated from those principles of morality and patri- otism which it was your care to instil into my youthful mind, and for which I am now to offer up my life ! My Lords, you seem impatient for the sacri- fice. The blood for which your thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround your victim ; — it circulates, warmly and unruf- fled, through the channels which God created for nobler purposes, but which you are bent to destroy, for purposes so grievous that they cry to Heaven. Be ye patient ! I have but a few words more to say. I am going to my cold and silent grave. My lamp of life is nearly extin- guished. My race is run. The grave opens to receive me, — and I sink into its bosom ! I have but one request to ask, at my departure from this world ; — it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph ; for, as no man who knows my motives dare 7iow vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, — then, and not till then, — let my epitaph be written ! I have done. The above speech is given in full, because no subdivision of it could do justice to the orator on this great occasion. It may, of course, be spoken in sections, as divided. An excellent entertainment may be arranged by costuming the participants in the dress of that day, and arranging the characters — Judges, Jurymen and Court Spectators— on the stage. GEORGE CANNING, England's Master of Wit and Sarcastic Speech LOUIS KOSSUTH, The Greatest Hungarian Orator. VICTOR HUGO, a *2l ^ Distinguished French Poet, Statesman, and Orator. 00 Tne ^ MAXIMILIAN ROBESPIERRE, Eloquent Orator of the French Revolution. U NOTED IRISH ORATORS GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 261 GREAT AMERICAN ORATORS. RESISTANCE TO BRITISH AGGRESSION.— Patrick Henry. Patrick Henry was born May 29, 1736, in Hanover County, Virginia. His father was a native of Aber- deen, in Scotland. Patrick's education was scanty, and he entered upon the practice of the law after only six weeks of preparation. But his powers of eloquence were remarkable. He was elected repeatedly to the most important offices in the gift of the People of Virginia. In 1788, he was a member of the Conven- tion which met there to consider the Constitution of the United States, and exerted himself strenuously against its adoption. He died in 1799. The Virginia Convention having before them resolutions of a temporizing character towards Great Britain, March 23, 1775, Mr. Henry introduced others, manly and decided in their tone, and providing that the Colony should be immediately put in a state of defence. These counter resolutions he supported in the following memorable speech, the result of which was their adoption. Of the effect of this speech, Mr. Wirt says, that, when Henry took his seat, at its close, " No murmur of applause was heard. The effect was too deep. After the trance of a moment, several members started from their seats. The cry to arms ! seemed to quiver on every lip, and gleam from every eye. They became impatient of speech. Their souls were on fire for action." MR. PRESIDENT, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of Hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren, till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty ? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern our temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, — to know the worst, and to pro- vide for it ! I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided ; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry, for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House ? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet ! Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss ! Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike prepara- tions which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be recon- ciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation, — the last arguments to which Kings resort. I ask gentlemen, Sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumu- lation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us ; they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them ? — Shall we try argu- ment? Sir, we have been trying that, for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in e.very light of which it is capa- ble ; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble suppli- cation ? What terms shall we find which have not already been exhausted ? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated, we have prostrated ourselves be- fore the Throne, and have implored its inter- position to arrest the tyrannical hands of the Ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have 262 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. been slighted, our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult, our supplications have been disregarded, and have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the Throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, — if we mean to preserve invio- THE WAR INEVITABLE, March, 1775. THEY tell us, sir, that we are weak, — un- able to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house ? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction ? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of People, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our late those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending, — if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, — we must fight ; I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An appeal to arms, and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! -( Continuation of the foregoing. ) — Patrick Henry. battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery ! Our chains are forged ! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The war is inevitable ; and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, peace, peace ! — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God ! I know not what course others may take ; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death! FOR INDEPENDENCE, 1776.— Richard Henry Lee. Bom 1732. Died 179 %. THE time will certainly come when the fated separation between the mother country and these Colonies must take place, whether you will or no ; for so it is decreed by the very nature of things, — by the progressive increase of our population, the fertility of our soil, the extent of our territory, the industry of our countrymen, and the immen- sity of the ocean which separates the two coun- tries. And, if this be true, — as it is most true, — who does not say that the sooner it takes place, the better ; that it would be the height of folly, not to seize the present occasion, when British injustice has filled all hearts with indignation, inspired all minds with courage, united all opin- ions in one, and put arms in every hand ? And how long must we traverse three thousand miles of a stormy sea, to solicit of arrogant and inso- lent men either counsels or commands to regu- late our domestic affairs ? From what we have already achieved, it is easy to presume what we shall hereafter accomplish. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 263 Why do we longer delay, — why still deliber- ate ? Let this most happy day give birth to the American Republic. Let her arise, not to devastate and conquer, but to re-establish the reign of peace and of the laws. The eyes of Europe are fixed upon us ; she demands of us a living example of freedom, that may contrast, by the felicity of the citizens, with the ever-increas- ing tyranny which desolates her polluted shores. She invites us to prepare an asylum where the unhappy may find solace, and the persecuted repose. She entreats us to cultivate a propitious soil, where that generous plant which first sprang up and grew in England, but is now withered by the poisonous blasts of Scottish tyranny, may revive and flourish, sheltering under its salubri- ous and interminable shade all the unfortunate of the human race. This is the end presaged by so many omens : — by our first victories ; by the present ardor and union ; by the flight of Howe, and the pestilence which broke out among Dun- more 's people ; by the very winds which baffled the enemy's fleets and transports, and the terrible tempest which engulfed seven hundred vessels upon the coast of Newfoundland. If we are not this day wanting in our duty to country, the names of the American Legislators will be placed, by posterity, at the side of those of Theseus, of Lycurgus, and Romulus, of Numa, of the three Williams of Nassau, and of all those whose mem- ory has been, and will be, forever dear to virtuous men and good citizens ! THE GENERAL GOVERNMENT AND THE STATES.— Alexander Hamilton. Alexander Hamilton was born in Nevis, one of the West India Islands, in 1757. After some military experience, he entered upon the study of the law, and rose to great eminence in the Councils of the Nation. With Madison and Jay, he wrote the '"' Federalist," and labored strenuously in behalf of the Constitution. He was the first Secretary of the Treasury of the United States. He was shot by Aaron Burr, in a duel, in 1804. The following speech was delivered in the Convention of New York, on the adoption of the Constitution, 1788. MR. CHAIRMAN, it has been advanced as a principle, that no Government but a Despotism can exist in a very extensive country. This is a mel- ancholy consideration, indeed. If it were founded on truth, we ought to dismiss the idea of a Republican Government, even for the State of New York. But the position has been misappre- hended. Its application relates only to demo- cracies, where the body of the people meet to transact business, and where representation is unknown. The application is wrong in respect to all representative Governments, but especially in relation to a Confederacy of States, in which the Supreme Legislature has only general powers, and the civil and domestic concerns of the Peo- ple are regulated by the laws of the several States. I insist that it never can be the interest or desire of the national Legislature to destroy the State Governments. The blow aimed at the members must give a fatal wound to the head, and the destruction of the States must be at once a polit- ical suicide. But imagine, for a moment, that a political frenzy should seize the Government; suppose they should make the attempt. Certain- ly, sir, it would be forever impracticable. This has been sufficiently demonstrated by reason and experience. It has been proved that the mem- bers of Republics have been, and ever will be, stronger than the head. Let us attend to one general historical example. In the ancient feudal Governments of Europe, there were, in the first place, a Monarch ; subor- dinate to him, a body of Nobles ; and subject to these, the vassals, or the whole body of the Peo- ple. The authority of the Kings was limited, and that of the Barons considerably independent. The histories of the feudal wars exhibit little more than a series of successful encroachments on the prerogatives of Monarchy. Here, sir, is one great proof of the superiority which the members in limited Governments pos- sess over their head. As long as the Barons enjoyed the confidence and attachment of the People, they had the strength of the country on their side, and were irresistible. I may be told in some instances the Barons were overcome ; but how did this happen ? Sir, they took advan- 264 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. tage of the depression of the royal authority, and the establishment of their own power, to oppress and tyrannize over their vassals. As commerce enlarged, and wealth and civilization increased, the People began to feel their own weight and consequence ; they grew tired of their oppres- sions ; united their strength with that of their Prince, and threw off the yolk of Aristocracy. These very instances prove what I contend for. They prove that in whatever direction the popular weight leans, the current of power will flow ; whatever the popular attachments be, there will rest the political superiority. Sir, can it be supposed that the State Gov- ernments will become the oppressors of the People? Will they forfeit their affections? Will they combine to destroy the liberties and happiness of their fellow-citizens, for the sole purpose of involving themselves in ruin ? God forbid ! The idea, sir, is shocking ! It outrages every feeling of humanity, and every dictate of common sense ! THE BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON.— Rufus Choate. Born 1799. Died 1858. THE birthday of the "Father of his Country! " May it ever be freshly remembered by American hearts ! May it ever re- awaken in them in filial vener- ation for his memory ; ever rekindle the fires of patriotic regard to the country he loved so well ; to which he gave his youthful vigor and his youthful energy, during the perilous period of the early Indian warfare ; to which he devoted his life, in the maturity of his powers, in the field ; to which again he offered the counsels of his wisdom and his experience, as President of the Convention that framed our Constitution ; which he guided and directed while in the Chair of State, and for which the last prayer of his earthly supplication was offered up, when it came the moment for him so well, and so grandly, and so calmly, to die. He was the first man of the time in which he grew. His memory is first and most sacred in our love ; and ever hereafter, till the last drop of blood shall freeze in the last American heart, his name shall be a spell of power and might. Yes, gentlemen, there is one personal, one vast felicity, which no man can share with him. It was the daily beauty and towering and match- less glory of his life, which enabled him to create his country, and, at the same time, secure an undying love and regard from the whole Ameri- can people. "The first in the hearts of his countrymen ! ' ' Yes, first ! He has our first and most fervent love. Undoubtedly there were brave and wise and good men, before his day, in every colony. But the American Nation, as a Nation, I do not reckon to have begun before 1774. And the first love of that young America was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her earliest breath spoke it. It still is her proud ejaculation ; and it will be the last gasp of her expiring life ! Yes, Others of our great men have been appre- ciated, —many admired by all. But him we love. Him we all love. About and around him we call up no dissentient and discordant and dissatis- fied elements, — no sectional prejudice nor bias, — no party, no creed, no dogma of politics. None of these shall assail him. Yes. When the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm, and cheer every American heart. It shall relume that Promethean fire, that sub- lime flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, which his words have commended, which his example has consecrated. Well did Lo^ Byron write : " Where may the wearied eye repose, When gazing on the great, Where neither guilty glory glows, Nor despicable state ? — Yes — one — the first, the last, the best, The Cincinnatus of the West, Whom Envy dared not hate, Bequeathed the name of Washington, To make man blush, there was but one." GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 265 SANCTITY OF TREATIES, 1796.— Fisher Ames. Fisher Ames, one of the most eloquent of American Statesmen and writers, was born in Dedham, Massachusetts, 1758, and died July 4, 1808. He was a member of Congress during the eight years of Wash- ington's administration, of which he was the earnest and able champion. ~*Y~ "T^E are either to execute this treaty, \ A / or k rea k our faith. To expatiate on JL JL the value of public faith may pass with some men for declamation : to such men I have nothing to say. What is patriotism ? Is it a narrow affection for a spot where a man was born ? Are the very clods where we tread entitled to this ardent pre- ference, because they are greener ? No, sir ; this is not the character of the virtue. It soars higher for its object. It is an extended self-love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting itself with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thus we obey the laws of society, because they are the laws of virtue. In their authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the venerable image of our country's honor. Every good citizen makes that honor his own, and cherishes it, not only as precious, but as sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defence, and is conscious that he gains protec- tion while he gives it. What rights of a citizen will be deemed invio- lable, when a State renounces the principles that constitute their security ? Or, if his life should not be invaded, what would its enjoyments be, in a country odious in the eye of strangers, and dishonored in his own? Could he look with affection and veneration to such a country, as his parent ? The sense of having one would die within him ; he would blush for his patriotism, if he retained any, — and justly, for it would be a vice. He would be a banished man in his native land. I see no exception to the respect that is paid among Nations to the law of good faith. It is the philosophy of politics, the religion of Governments. It is observed by barbarians. A whiff of tobacco smoke, or a string of beads, gives not merely binding force, but sanctity, to treaties. Even in Algiers, a truce may be bought for money ; but when ratified, even Algiers is too wise, or too just, to disown and annul its obli- gation. THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.—/ Q. Adams. John Quincy Adams, the sixth President of the United States, and son of John Adams, the second President, was born at Quincy, Massachusetts, July 11, 1767. After studying law he entered political life, was appointed minister to the Netherlands by Washington, and filled many high offices, till he reached the highest, in 1825. He died in the Capitol, at Washington, while a member of the House of Representatives, 1848. His last words, as he fell in a fit, from which he did not recover, were, "This is the last of earth ! " THE Declaration of Independence ! The interest which, in that paper, has sur- vived the occasion upon which it was issued, — the interest which is of every age and every clime, — the interest which quick- ens with the lapse of years, spreads as it grows old, and brightens as it recedes, — is in the prin- ciples which it proclaims. It was the first solemn declaration by a Nation of the only legiti- mate foundation of civil Government. It was the corner-stone of a new fabric, destined to cover the surface of the globe. • It demolished, at a stroke, the lawfulness of all Governments founded upon conquest. It swept away all the rubbish of accumulated centuries of servitude. It announced, in practical form, to the world, the transcendent truth of the inalienable sover- eignty of the People. It proved that the social compact was no figment of the imagination, but a real, solid, and sacred bond of the social union. From the day of this declaration, the People of North America were no longer the fragment of a distant empire, imploring justice and mercy from an inexorable master, in another hemis- phere. They were no longer children, appealing in vain to the sympathies of a heartless mother ; no longer subjects, leaning upon the shattered columns of royal promises, and invoking the faith 266 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. of parchment to secure their rights. They were a Nation, asserting as of right, and maintaining by war, its own existence. A Nation was born in a day. " How many ages hence Shall this, their lofty scene, be acted o'er, In States unborn, and accents yet unknown ? " It will be acted o'er, fellow-citizens, but it can never be repeated. It stands, and must forever stand, alone ; a beacon on the summit of the mountain, to which all the inhabitants of the earth may turn their eyes, for a genial and saving light, till time shall be lost in eternity and this globe itself dissolve, nor leave a wreck behind. It stands forever, a light of admonition to the rulers of men, a light of salvation and redemption to the oppressed. So long as this planet shall be inhabited by human beings, so long as man shall be of a social nature, so long as Government shall be necessary to the great moral purposes of society so long as it shall be abused to the purposes of oppression, — so long shall this declaration hold out, to the sover- eign and to the subject, the extent and the bound- aries of their respective rights and duties, founded in the laws of Nature and of Nature's God. BRITISH INFLUENCE, 1811.-; John Randolph. Born 1773. Died 1833. John Randolph, an eccentric Statesman, but a man of marked talents, was a Virginian by birth, and a descendant, in the seventh generation, from the celebrated Pocahontas, the daughter of Powhatan, a great Indian chief. IMPUTATIONS of British influence have been uttered against the opponents of this war. Against whom are these charges brought? Against men who, in the war of the Revolution, were in the Councils of the Nation, or fighting the battles of your country ! And by whom are these charges made? By run- aways, chiefly from the British dominions, since the breaking out of the French troubles. The great autocrat of all the Russias receives the hom- age of our high consideration. The Dey of Algiers and his divan of Pirates are very civil, good sort of people, with whom we find no diffi- culty in maintaining the relations of peace and amity. "Turks, Jews and Infidels," — Meli- melli or the Little Turtle, — barbarians and sav- ages of every clime and color, are welcome to our arms. With chiefs of banditti, negro or mulatto, we can treat and can trade. Name, however, but England, and all our antipathies arc up in arms against her. Against whom? Against those whose blood runs in our veins ; in common with whom we claim Shakespeare, and Newton, and Chatham, for our countrymen ; whose form of government is the freest on earth, our own only excepted ; from whom every valu- able principle of our own institutions has been borrowed, — representation, jury trial, voting the supplies, writ of habeas corpus, our whole civil and criminal jurisprudence ; against our fellow- Protestants, identified in blood, in language, in religion, with ourselves. In what school did the worthies of our land — the Washmgtons, Henrys, Hancocks, Franklins, Rutledges, of America — learn those principles of civil liberty which were so nobly asserted by their wisdom and valor? American resistance to British usurpation has not been more warmly cherished by these great men and their compa- triots, — not more by Washington, Hancock and Henry, — than by Chatham, and his illustrious associates in the British Parliament. It ought to be remembered, too, that the heart of the English people was with us. It was a selfish and corrupt Ministry, and their servile tools, to whom we were not more opposed than they were. I trust that none such may ever exist among us ; for tools will never be wanting to subserve the pur- poses, however ruinous or wicked, of kings and ministers of state. I acknowledge the influence of a Shakespeare and a Milton upon my imagina- tion ; of a Locke, upon my understanding ; of a Sidney, upon my political principles; of a Chat- ham, upon qualities which would to God I pos- sessed in common with that illustrious man ! of a Tillotson, a Sherlock, and a Porteus, upon my religion. This is a British influence which I can never shake off. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 267 IN FAVOR OF A STATE LAW AGAINST DUELLING.- -John Randolph. THE bill which has been read, Mr. Speaker, claims the serious attention of this House. It is one in which every citi- zen is deeply interested. Do not, I implore you, confound the sacred name of honor with the practice of duelling, — with that ferocious prejudice which attaches all the virtues to the point of the sword, and is only fitted to make bad men bold. In what does this prejudice consist? In an opinion the most extravagant and barbarous that ever took possession of the human mind ! — in the opinion that all the social duties are supplied by courage ; that a man is no more a cheat, no more a rascal, no more a cal- umniator, if he can only fight ; and that steel and gunpowder are the true diagnostics of inno- cence and worth. And so the law of force is made the law of right ; murder, the criterion of honor ! To grant or receive reparation, one must kill or be killed ! All offences may be wiped out by blood ! If wolves could reason, would they be governed by maxims more atrocious than these ? But we are told that public opinion— the opin- ion of the community in which we live — upholds the custom. And, sir, if it were so, is there not more courage in resisting than in following a false public opinion ? The man with a proper self-respect is little sensitive to the unmerited contempt of others. The smile of his own con- science is more prized by him than all that the world can give or take away. Is there any guilt to be compared with that of a voluntary homicide? Could the dismal recollection of blood so shed cease ever to cry for vengeance at the bottom of the heart ? The man who, with real or affected gayety and coolness, goes to a mortal encounter with a fellow-being, is, in my eyes, an object of more horror than the brute beast who strives to tear in pieces one of his kind. True courage is constant, immutable, self- poised. It does not impel us, at one moment, to brave murder and death ; and, the next, to shrink pusillanimously from an injurious public opinion. It accompanies the good man every- where, — to the field of danger, in his country's cause ; to the social circle, to lift his voice in behalf of truth or of the absent ; to the pillow of disease, to fortify him against the trials of sick- ness, and the approach of death. Sir, if public opinion is unsound on this subject, let us not be participants in the guilt of upholding a barbarous custom. Let us affix to it the brand of legisla- tive rebuke and disqualification. Pass this bill and you do your part in arresting it. Pass this bill, and you place a shield between the man who refuses a challenge and the public opinion that would disgrace him. ON RECOGNIZING THE INDEPENDENCE OF GREECE, \S2A>.— Henry Clay. Henry Clay was born in Virginia, April 12, 1777. Died at Washington . June, 1852. He served success- ively in the Kentucky Legislature. State Senate, United States House of Representatives and Senate ; and was one of the four candidates for President in 1824, and also a candidate in 1844, being defeated both times. As an orator, Mr. Clay is, perhaps, second only to his great contemporary, Daniel Webster, in the history of American politics. ens ; If the great mass of Christendom can look coolly and calmly on, while all this is perpetrated on a Christian People, in their own vicinity, in their very presence, let us, at least, show that, in this distant extremity, there is still some sensibility and sympathy for Christian wrongs and sufferings ; that there are still feelings which can kindle into indigna- tion at the oppression of a People endeared ARE we so low, so base, so despicable, that we may not express our horror, articulate our detestation, of the most brutal and atrocious war that ever stained the earth, or shocked high Heaven, with the ferocious deeds of a brutal soldiery, set on by the clergy and followers of a fanatical and inimi- cal religion, rioting in excess of blood and butch- ery, at the mere details of which the heart sick- 268 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. to us by every ancient recollection, and every modern tie. But, sir, it is not first and chiefly for Greece that I wish to see this measure adopted. It will give them but little aid, — that aid purely of a moral kind. It is, indeed, soothing and solacing, in distress, to hear the accents of a friendly voice. We know this as a People. But, sir, it is prin- cipally and mainly for America herself, for the credit and character of our common country, that I ho,pe to see this resolution pass ; it is for our own unsullied name that I feel. What appearance, sir, on the page of history, would a record like this make : — " In the month of January, in the year of our Lord and Saviour 1824, while all European Christendom beheld with cold, unfeeling apathy the unexampled wrongs and inexpressible misery of Christian Greece, a proposition was made in the Congress of the United States, — almost the sole, the last, the greatest repository of human hope and of human freedom, the representatives of a Nation capable of bringing into the field a million of bayonets, — while the freemen of that nation were spontaneously expressing its deep-toned feeling, its fervent prayer for Grecian success ; while the whole Continent was rising, by one simultaneous motion, solemnly and anxiously supplicating and invoking the aid of Heaven to spare Greece, and to invigorate her arms ; while temples and senate- houses will be resounding with one burst of gen- erous sympathy ; — in the year of our Lord and Saviour, — that Saviour alike of Christian Greece and of us, a proposition was offered in the American Congress, to send a messenger to Greece, to inquire into her state and condition, with an expression of our good wishes and our sympathies ; — and it was rejected ! " Go home, if you dare, — go home, if you can, — to your constituents, and tell them that you voted it down ! Meet, if you dare, the appall- ing countenances of those who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank from the declaration of your own sentiments ; that, you cannot tell how, but that some unknown dread, some indescrib- able apprehension, some indefinable danger, affrighted you ; that the spectres of cimeters and crowns, and crescents, gleamed before you, and alarmed you ; and that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by National independence, and by humanity ! I cannot bring myself to believe that such will be the feeling of a majority of this House. ON THE EXPUNGING RESOLUTION, 1837.— Henry Clay. The Senate having, in 1834, passed resolutions to the effect that President Jackson had assumed and exercised powers not granted by the Constitution, notice was given of a motion to expunge the same, which motion was taken up and carried in 1837, when the majority of the Senate was of a different party complexion. T "T"HAT patriotic purpose is to be accom- \ A / pbshed by this expunging reso- -IljL lution? Can you make that not to be which has been ? Can you eradi- cate from memory and history the fact that, in March, 1834, a majority of the Senate of the United States passed the resolution which excites your enmity ? Is it your vain and wicked object to arrogate to yourselves that power of annihilating the past which has been denied to Omnipotence itself? Do you intend to thrust your hands into our hearts, and to pluck out the deeply-rooted convictions which are there? Or, is it your design merely to stigmatize us ? You cannot stigmatize us ! " Ne'er yet did base dishonor blur our name." Standing securely upon our conscious rectitude, and bearing aloft the shield of the Constitution of our country, your puny efforts are impotent, and we defy all your power ! But why should I detain the Senate, or need- lessly waste my breath in fruitless exertions ? The decree has gone forth. It is one of urgency, too. The deed is to be done,— that foul deed, which, like the stain on the hands of the guilty Macbeth, all ocean's waters will never wash out. Proceed, then, to the noble work which lies before you ; and, like other skillful executioners, do it quickly. And, when you have perpetrated fe( CHARLES JAMES FOX, The Demosthenes of the English ParliE WILLIAM PITT (The younger), fC>j Eminent Orator and Prime Minister of England at the J //Av~ Age of Twenty-four Years ~ GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 269 it, go home to the People, and tell them what glorious honors you have achieved for our com- mon country. Tell them that you have extinguished one of the brightest and purest lights that ever burnt at the altar of civil liberty. Tell them that you have silenced one of the noblest batteries that ever thundered in defence of the Constitution, and that you have bravely spiked the cannon. Tell them that, henceforward, no matter what daring or outrageous act any President may per- form, you have forever hermetically sealed the mouth of the Senate. Tell them that he may fearlessly assume what power he pleases, — snatch from its lawful custody the Public Purse, com- mand a military detachment to enter the halls of the Capitol, overawe Congress, trample down the Constitution, and raze every bulwark of free- dom, — but that the Senate must stand mute, in silent submission, and not dare to lift an oppos- ing voice; that it must wait until a House of Representatives, humbled and subdued like itself, and a majority of it composed of the partisans of the President, shall prefer articles of impeach- ment. Tell them, finally, that you have restored the glorious doctrine of passive obedience and non-resistance ; and, when you have told them this, if the People do not sweep you from your places with their indignation, I have yet to learn the character of American freemen ! ON THE PROSPECT OF WAR WITH GREAT BRITAIN, \&\\—John C. Calhoun. John C. Calhoun, born in South Carolina, March, 1782 ; died at Washington in 1850. A distinguished American statesman and orator, contemporary with Clay and Webster, both of whom he at times opposed in politics. He served as Vice-President with General Jackson, but resigned on account of his differences with the President. He is commonly considered as the father of secession, and it is not to be doubted that his radical views on State sovereignty contributed much toward fanning the flame which later burst into open revolt of the Southern States. As an orator Calhoun's powers were great, and his varied accomplish- ments were equal to those of any statesman of his time. T ~T"E are told of the danger of war. We \ A / are ready to acknowledge its hazard JljL and misfortune, but I cannot think that we have any extraordinary dan- ger to apprehend, — at least, none to warrant an acquiescence in the injuries we have received. On the contrary, I believe no war would be less danger- ous to internal peace, or the safety of the country. The gentleman is at a loss to account for what he calls our hatred to England. He asks, How can we hate the country of Locke, of Newton, Hampden and Chatham ; a country having the same language and customs with ourselves, and descended from a common ancestry? Sir, the laws of human affections are steady and uniform. If we have so much to attach us to that country, powerful, indeed, must be the cause which has overpowered it. Yes, sir ; there is a cause strong enough. Not that occult, courtly affec- tion which he has supposed to be entertained for France ; but continued and unprovoked insult and injury, — a cause so manifest, that the gentle- man had to exert much ingenuity to overlook it. But, in his eager admiration of that country, he has not been sufficiently guarded in his argu- ment. Has he reflected on the cause of that ad- miration ? Has he examined the reasons of our high regard for her Chatham ? It is his ardent patriotism, his heroic courage, which could not brook the least insult or injury offered to his coun- try, but thought that her interest and honor ought to be vindicated, be the hazard and expense what they might. I hope, when we are called on to admire, we shall also be asked to imitate. THE NOBLEST PUBLIC VIRTUE, 1841.— Henry Clay. P ¥ "\HERE is a sort of courage, which, I I, frankly confess it, I do not possess, — a _JL boldness to which I dare not aspire, a valor which I cannot covet. I cannot lay myself down in the way of the welfare and happiness of my country. That, 1 cannot, — I have not the courage to do. I cannot interpose the power with which I may be invested — a power conferred, not for my personal benefit, nor for my aggrandizement, but for my country's 270 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. good — to check her onward march to greatness and glory. I have not courage enough. I am too cowardly for that. I would not, I dare not, in the. exercise of such a threat, lie down, and place my body across the path that leads my country to prosperity and happiness. This is a sort of courage widely different from that which a man may display in his private conduct and personal relations. Personal or private courage is totally distinct from that higher and nobler courage which prompts the patriot to offer himself a voluntary sacrifice to his country's good. Apprehensions of the imputation of the want of firmness sometimes impel us to perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is the greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of the want of courage. But pride, vanity, egotism, so unami- able and offensive in private life, are vices which partake of the character of crimes, in the conduct AGAINST THE FORCE IT is said that the bill ought to pass, because the law must be enforced. The law must be enforced ! The imperial edict must be executed! It is under such sophistry, couched in general terms, without looking to the limitations which must ever exist in the practical exercise of power, that the most cruel and despotic acts ever have been covered. It was such sophistry as this that cast Daniel into the lions' den, and the three Innocents into the fiery furnace. Under the same sophistry the bloody edicts of Nero and Ca-lig'-u-la were executed. The law must be enforced! Yes, the act imposing the tea-tax ' ' must be exe- cuted." This was the very argument which impelled Lord North and his administration in that mad career which forever separated us from the British Crown. Under a similar sophistry, < ' that religion must be protected, ' ' how many massacres have been perpetrated, and how many martyrs have been tied to the stake ! What ! acting on this vague abstraction, are you prepared to enforce a law, without considering whether it be just or unjust, constitutional or unconstitutional? Will you ot public affairs. The unfortunate victim of these passions cannot see beyond the little, petty, contemptible circle of his own personal interests. All his thoughts are withdrawn from his country, and concentrated on his consistency, his firmness, himself! The high, the exalted, the sublime emotions of a patriotism which, soaring towards Heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul-transporting thought of the good and the glory of one's country, are never felt in his impenetrable bosom. That patriotism which, catching its inspirations from the immortal God, and, leaving at an immeasurable distance below all lesser, grovelling, personal interests and feelings, animates and prompts to deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of death itself, — that is public virtue ; that is the noblest, the sublimest cf all public virtues ! BILL, 1833.— John C. Calhoun. collect money when it is acknowledged that it is not wanted ? He who earns the money, who digs it from the earth with the sweat of his brow, has a just title to it, against the universe. No one has a right to touch it without his consent, except his government, and that only to the extent of its legitimate wants ; — to take, more is robbery ; and you purpose by this bill to enforce robbery by murder. Yes ! to this result you must come, by this miserable sophistry, this vague abstraction of enforcing the law, without a regard to the fact whether the law be just or unjust ; constitutional or un- constitutional ! In the same spirit we are told that the Union must be preserved, without regard to the means. And how is it proposed to preserve the Union ? By force. Does any man in his senses, believe that this beautiful structure, this harmonious aggregate of States, produced by the joint con- sent of all, can be preserved by force ? Its very introduction would be the certain destruction of this Federal Union. No, no ! You cannot keep the States united in their constitutional and fed- eral bonds by force. Has reason fled from our GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 271 borders ? Have we ceased to reflect ? It is madness to suppose that the Union can be pre- served by force. I tell you, plainly, that the Bill, should it pass, cannot be enforced. It will prove only a blot upon your statute-book, a reproach to the year, and a disgrace to the American Senate. I repeat that it will not be executed ; it will rouse the dormant spirit of the People, and open their eyes to the approach of despotism. The country has sunk into avarice and political corruption, from which nothing can arouse it but some measure on the part of the Government, of folly and madness, such as that now under consideration. SYMPATHY WITH SOUTH AMERICAN REPUBLICANISM, 1826.— Webster. Daniel Webster — born in New Hampshire, 1782 ; died October 24, 1852 — is universally acknowledged to have been the greatest orator that ever lived in the Western Hemisphere. Less vehement than Calhoun, less persuasive than Clay, he was more grand and powerful than either. The public speeches and distin- guished services of Mr. Webster have been extensively published. Lack of space prevents the numerous extracts we should be pleased to insert. The selections made are representative of the sentiment of the man and style of his oratory. "T" "T"E are told that the country is deluded \ A / and deceived by cabalistic words. It V Cabalistic words ! If we express an emotion of pleasure at the results of this great action of the spirit of political liberty ; if we rejoice at the birth of new republican Nations, we happen to speak of sister Republics, of the great American family of Nations, or of the political systems and forms of Government of this hemisphere, — then, indeed, do we impose on the judgment and feeling of the community by cabalistic words ! Sir, what is meant by this ? Is it intended that the People of the United States ought to be totally indifferent to the for- tunes of these new neighbors ? Is no change in the lights in which we are to view them, to be wrought, by their having thrown off foreign dominion, established independence, and insti- tuted, on our very borders, republican Govern- ments, essentially after our own example ? Sir, I do not wish to overrate — I do not over- rate — the progress of these new States, in the great work of establishing a well- secured popular liberty. I know that to be a great attainment, and I know they are but pupils in the school. But, thank God, they are in the school ! They are called to meet difficulties such as neither we nor our fathers encountered. For these we ought to make large allowances. What have we ever known like the colonial vassalage of these States? Sir, we sprang from another stock. We belong to another race. We have known nothing — we have* felt nothing — of the political despotism of Spain, nor of the heat of her fires of in- tolerance. No rational man expects that the South can run the same rapid career as the North, or that an insurgent province of Spain is in the same condition as the English Colonies when they first asserted their independence. There is, doubtless, much more to be done in the first than in the last case. But, on that account, the honor of the attempt is not less ; and, if all diffi- culties shall be, in time, surmounted, it will be greater. The work may be more arduous, — it is not less noble, — because there may be more of ignorance to enlighten, more of bigotry to subdue, more of prejudice to eradicate. If it be a weak- ness to feel a strong interest in the success of these great revolutions, I confess myself guilty of that weakness. If it be weak to feel that I am an American, — to think that recent events have not only opened new modes of intercourse but have created, also, new grounds of regard and sympathy, between ourselves and our neighbors ; if it be weak to feel that the South, in her pres- ent state, is somewhat more emphatically a part of America than when she lay, obscure, oppressed, and unknown, under the grinding bondage of a foreign power ; if it be weak to rejoice when, even in any corner of the earth, human beings are able to get up from beneath oppression, — to erect themselves, and to enjoy the proper hap- piness of their intelligent nature, — if this be weak, it is a weakness from which I claim no exemption. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. SOUTH CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS, January, 1830.— Webster. The two following passages by Mr. Webster are from his speeches in reply to Mr. Hayne, of South Carolina, in the Senate of the United States, January, 1830. This celebrated intellectual combat, between these distinguished men, grew out of a Resolution offered by Mr. Foote, directing the committee on Public Lands to inquire into the quantity of the public lands remaining unsold, and other matters connected there- with. This resolution afforded a text for a very irrelevant debate. Of the irrelevancy of Mr. Hayne's remarks, Mr. Webster said : ' ' He has spoken of everything but the public lands. They have escaped his notice. To that subject, in all his excursions, he has not even paid the cold respect of a passing glance." Mr. Hayne had affirmed the right of the State to annul the Acts of Congress, had assailed New England, and provoked Mr. Webster by caustic personalities. This reply and great argument by Mr. Webster, in defense of the Union and the Constitution, was probably the most remarkable speech ever made in the American Congress. His peroration, comprised in the last paragraph, second division, for patriotic eloquence has not a counterpart, perhaps, in all history. The speech is the more remarkable for the fact that Mr. Webster had but a single night in which to make preparation. THE eulogium pronounced on the char- acter of the State of South Carolina, by the honorable gentleman, for her Revolutionary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowl- edge that the honorable member goes before me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent or distinguished character South Carolina has pro- duced. I claim part of the honor, I partake in the pride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurenses, the Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumpters, the Marions, — Americans all, — whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by State lines, than their talents and patriotism were capable of being cir- cumscribed within the same narrow limits. In their day and generation, they served and hon- ored the country, and the whole country ; and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him whose honored name the gen- tleman himself bears, — does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sym- pathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, in- stead of South Carolina ? Sir, does he suppose it is in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright as to produce envy in my bosom ? No, sir : increased gratification and delight, rather. Sir, I thank God, that, if I am gifted with little of the spirit which is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. When I shall be found, sir, in my place here, in the Senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it happened to spring up beyond the little limits of my own State or neighborhood ; when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sin- cere devotion to liberty and the country ; or, if I see an uncommon endowment of heaven, — if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South, — and if, moved by local prejudice, or gangrened by State jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ! Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections ; let me indulge in refreshing remembrance of the past ; let me remind you that, in early times, no States cherished greater harmony, both of prin- ciple and feeling, than Massachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again return ! Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Revolution, hand in hand they stood round the administration of Washington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for sup- port. Unkind feeling, if it exist, — alienation and distrust, — are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great arm never scattered. Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts ; — she needs none. There she is, — behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her history, — the world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bun- ker Hill, — and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great strug- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 273 gle for Independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every State from New England to Geor- gia, — and there they will lie forever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still fives, in the strength of its man- hood, and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it, — if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it, — if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraints, shall succeed to separate it from that Union by which alone its existence is made sure, — it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked ; it will stretch forth its arm, with what- ever vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather round it ; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin ! LIBERTY AND UNION, 1830.— Webster. [Continuation of the foregoing.) I PROFESS, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that Union we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That Union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests imme- diately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings ; and although our terri- tory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread further and further, they have not outran its protection, or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, personal happiness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below ; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this Government whose thoughts should be mainly bent on con- 18 sidering, not how the Union should be best pre- served, but how tolerable might be the condition of the People when it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to pene- trate the veil. God grant that, in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise ! God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind ! When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the Sun in Heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union ; on States severed, discordant, beligerent ; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous Ensign of the Republic, now known and hon- ored throughout the earth, still full high ad- vanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, — bearing, for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as — What is all this worth ? — nor those other words of delusion and folly — Liberty first and Union afterwards, — but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart — Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable ! 274 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. REPLY TO MR. WEBSTER, Jan. 1830— Hayne. Robert Y Hayne was born near Charleston, S. C, Nov. 10, 1791, and died Sept. 24, 1839. He attained great distinction at the bar, and received the highest honors in the gift of his native State. He was fluent and graceful in speech, and was esteemed one of the most eloquent men of his time. The two selections following are from his famous contest with Mr. Webster. THE honorable gentleman from Massachu- setts, after deliberating a whole night upon his course, comes into this cham- ber to vindicate New England ; and, instead of making up his issue with the gentle- man from Missouri, on the charges which he had perferred, chooses to consider me as the author of those charges ; and, losing sight entirely of that gentleman, selects me as his adversary, and pours out all the vials of his mighty wrath upon my devoted head. Nor is he willing to stop there. He goes on to assail the institutions and policy of the South, and calls in question the principles and conduct of the State which I have the honor to represent. When I find a gentleman of mature age and experience, of acknowledged talents, and profound sagacity, pursuing a course like this, declining the contest offered from the West, and making war upon the unoffending South, I must believe — I am bound to believe — he has some object in view which he has not ventured to disclose. Mr. President, why is this ? Has the gentleman dis- covered, in former controversies with the gentle- man from Missouri, that he is overmatched by THE SOUTH DURING THE ( Continuation of I COME now to the war of 1812, — a war which I well remember, was called, in de- rision (while its event was doubtful), the Southern war, and sometimes the Carolina war ; but which is now universally acknowledged to have done more for the honor and prosperity of the country than all other events in our history put together. What, sir, were the objects of that war ? ' < Free trade and sailors' rights ! " It was for the protection of Northern shipping, and New England seamen, that the country flew to arms. What interest had the South in that con- test ? If they had sat down coldly to calculate that Senator ? And does he hope for an easy victory over a more feeble adversary? Has the gentleman's distempered fancy been disturbed by gloomy forebodings of ' ' new alliances to be formed," at which he hinted? Has the ghost of the murdered coalition come back, like the ghost of Banquo, to ' * sear the eye-balls of the gentleman," and will it not " down at his bid- ding ? ' ' Are dark visions of broken hopes, and honors lost forever, still floating before his heated imagination ? Sir, if it be his object to thrust me between the gentleman from Missouri and himself, in order to rescue the East from the contest it has provoked with the West, he shall not be gratified. Sir, I will not be dragged into the defence of my friend from Missouri. The South shall not be forced into a conflict not its own. The gentleman from Missouri is able to fight his own battles. The gallant West needs no aid from the South to repel any attack which may be made on them from any quarter. Let the gen- tleman from Massachusetts controvert the facts and arguments of the gentleman from Missouri, if he can ; and, if he win the victory, let him wear the honors. I shall not deprive him of his laurels. WAR OF 1812.— Hayne, 1830. the foregoing. ) the value of their interests involved in it, they would have found that they had everything to loose, and nothing to gain. But, sir, with that generous devotion to coun- try so characteristic of the South, they only asked if the rights of any portion of their fellow- citizens had been invaded ; and when told that Northern ships and New England seamen had been arrested on the common highway of Na- tions, they felt that the honor of their country was assailed ; and, acting on that exalted senti- ment " which feels a stain like a wound," they resolved to seek, in open war, for a redress of GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 275 those injuries which it did not become freemen to endure. Sir, the whole South, animated as by a common impulse, cordially united in declar- ing and promoting that war. South Carolina sent to your councils, as the advocates and sup- porters of that war, the noblest of her sons. How they fulfilled that trust, let a grateful country tell. Not a measure was adopted, not a battle fought, not a victory won, which contrib- uted, in any degree, to the success of that war, to which Southern councils and Southern valor did not largely contribute. Sir, since South Carolina is assailed, I must be suffered to speak it to her praise, that at the very moment when, in one quarter we heard it solemnly proclaimed ' ' that it did not become a religious and moral People to rejoice at the victories of our Army or our Navy, ' ' her Legislature unanimously ' ' Resolved, That we will cordially support the Government in the vigorous prosecution of the war, until a peace can be obtained on honorable terms; and we will cheerfully submit to every pri- vation that may be required of us, by our Govern- ment, for the accomplishment of this object. ' ' South Carolina redeemed that pledge. She threw open her treasury to the Government. She put at the absolute disposal of the officers of the United States all that she possessed, — her men, her money, and her arms. She appropri- ated half a million dollars, on her own account, in defence of her maritime frontier ; ordered a brigade of State troops to be raised ; and, when left to protect herself by her own means, never suffered the enemy to touch her soil, without being instantly driven off or captured. Such, sir, was the conduct of the South — such the con- duct of my own State — in that dark hour ' ' which tried men's souls ! " BURR AND BLENNERHASSETT.— William Wirt. William Wirt, one of the brightest ornaments of the American bar, was born at Bladensburg, Maryland, November 8, 1772. The most memorable case in which his talents as an advocate were exercised was the celebrated trial of Aaron Burr, in 1807, for treason, in which Wirt was retained as counsel for the Govern- ment. His exquisite description of the temptation of Blennerhassett by Burr is a most graceful and masterly specimen of forensic art. In 1817 Mr. Wirt was appointed Attorney-General of the United States. He died February iS, 1834. A PLAIN man, who knew nothing of the curious transmutations which the wit of man can work, would be very apt to wonder by what kind of legerde- main Aaron Burr had contrived to shuffle himself down to the bottom of the pack, as an acces- sory, and turn up poor Blennerhassett as princi- pal, in this treason. Who, then, is Aaron Burr, and what the part which he has borne in this transaction ? He is its author, its projector, its active executor. Bold, ardent, restless, and as- piring, his brain conceived it, his hand brought it into action. Who is Blennerhassett ? A native of Ireland, a man of letters, who fled from the storms of his own country, to find quiet in ours. On his ar- rival in America, he retired, even from the popu- lation of the Atlantic States, and sought quiet and solitude in the bosom of our western forests. But he brought with him taste, and science, and wealth ; and " lo, the desert smiled !" Possess- ing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shenstone might have envied, blooms around him. Music, that might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his. An extensive library spreads its treasures before him. A philosophical apparatus offers to him all the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tran- quillity, and innocence, shed their mingled de- lights around him. And, to crown the enchant- ment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lovely even beyond her sex, and graced with every accomplishment that can render it irre- sistible, had blessed him with her love, and made him the father of several children. The evidence would convince you, sir, that this is but a faint picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this innocence, and this tranquillity, — this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the heart, — the destroyer comes. 276 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. He comes to turn this paradise into a hell. Yet the flowers do not wither at his approach, and no monitory shuddering through the bosom of their unfortunate possessor warns him of the ruin that is coming upon him. A stranger pre- sents himself. It is Aaron Burr. Introduced to their civilities by the high rank which he had lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their hearts, by the dignity and elegance of his de- meanor, the light and beauty of his conversation, and the seductive and fascinating power of his address. The conquest was not difficult. Inno- cence is ever simple and credulous. Conscious of no designs itself, it suspects none in others. It wears no guard before its breast. Every door and portal and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all who choose it enter. Such was the state of Eden, when the serpent entered its bowers! The prisoner, in a more engaging form, wind- ing himself inio the open and unpracticed heart of the unfortunate Blennerhassett, found but little difficulty in changing the native character of that heart and the object of its affection. By de- grees, he infuses into it the poison of his own ambition. He breathes into it the fire of his own courage ; a daring and desperate thirst for glory ; an ardor, panting for all the storm, and bustle, and hurricane of life. In a short time, the whole man is changed, and every object of his former delight relinquished. No more he enjoys the tranquil scene ; it has become flat and insipid to his taste. His books are aban- doned. His retort and crucible are thrown aside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upon the air in vain — he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks the rich melody of music ; it longs for the trumpet's clangor, and the cannon's roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longer affects him • and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unfelt and unseen. Greater objects have taken possession of his soul. His imagination has been dazzled by vis- ions of diadems, and stars, and garters, and titles of nobility. He has been taught to burn with restless emulation at the names of great heroes and conquerors, — of Cromwell, and Caesar, and Bonaparte. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse into a wilderness ; and, in a few months, we find the tender and beautiful partner of his bosom, whom he lately "permitted not the winds of ' ' summer ' ' to visit too roughly, ' ' — we find her shivering at midnight, on the wintry banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the torrents that froze as they fell. Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his happiness, — thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace, — thus confounded in the toils which were deliberately spread for him, and overwhelmed by the master- ing spirit and genius of another, — this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to play a subor- dinate part in this grand drama of guilt and treason, — this man is to be called the principal offender ; while he, by whom he w T as thus plunged in misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere accessory ! Is this reason ? Is it law ? Is it humanity? Sir, neither the human heart nor the human understanding will bear a perversion so monstrous and absurd, so shocking to the soul ; so revolting to reason ! RELIEF FOR STARVING IRELAND, 1847.— 5. S. Prentiss. S. S. Prentiss was born in Maine, 1808 ; died in Mississippi, 1850. An eminent American orator and lawyer. In early manhood he moved to Mississippi, where he lived from 1832 to the time of his death. In 1837 he was elected to Congress. His reputation as an orator and advocate at the bar was superior to any lawyer in the Southwestern States. "X" "T"E have assembled, not to respond to \ A / shouts of triumph from the victori- -IljL ous army of the Union against Mexico in the West, but to answer the cry of want and suffering which comes from the East. The Old World stretches out her arms to the New. The starving parent suppli- cates the young and vigorous child for bread. There lies, upon the other side of the wide Atlantic, a beautiful island, famous in story and /^-; jzjzjZ^Ls^Z) - ::•"•'•'-:.. But when a whole people, united by a com- mon disregard of justice, conspire to defraud public creditors, and States vie with States in an infamous repudiation of just debts, by open or sinister methods ; and nations exert their sovereignty to protect and dignify the knavery of the commonwealth, then the confusion of domestic affairs has bred a fiend before whose flight honor fades away, and under whose feet the sanctity of truth and the religion of solemn compacts are stamped down and ground into the dirt. Need we ask the cause of growing dishonesty among the young, the increasing untrustworthiness of all agents, when States are seen clothed with the panoply of dis- honesty, and nations put on fraud for their garments ? Absconding agents, swindling schemes, and defalcations, occurring in such melancholy abundance, have at length ceased to be wonders, and rank with the common accidents of fire and flood. The budget of each week is incomplete without its mob and runaway cashier — its duel and defaulter, and as waves which roll to the shore are lost in those which follow on, so the villainies of each week obliterate the record of the last. Men of notorious immorality, whose dis- honesty is flagrant, whose private habits would disgrace the ditch, are powerful and popular. I have seen a man stained with every sin, except those which required courage ; into whose head I do not think a pure thought has entered for forty years ; in whose heart an honorable feeling would droop for very lonli- ness ; in evil, he was ripe and rotten ; hoary and depraved in deed, in word, in his present life and in all his past ; evil when by himself, and viler among men ; corrupting to the young ; to domestic fidelity, recreant ; to common honor, a traitor ; to honesty, an outlaw ; to religion, a hypocrite — base in all that is worthy of man and accomplished in whatever is dis- graceful, and yet this wretch could go where he would — enter good men's dwellings and purloin their votes. Men would curse him, yet obey him ; hate him, and assist him ; warn their sons against him, and lead them to the polls for him. A public sentiment which produces ignominious knaves cannot bree^ 1 honest men. We have not yet emerged from a period in which debts were insecure ; the debtor legally protected against the rights of the creditor; taxes laid, not by the requirements of justice, but for political effect, and lowered to a dis- honest inefficiency, and when thus diminished, not collected ; the citizens resisting their own officers ; officers resigning at the bidding of GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 279 the electors ; the laws of property paralyzed ; bankrupt laws built up, and stay-laws uncon- stitutionally enacted, upon which the courts look with aversion, yet fear to deny them lest the wildness of popular opinion should roll back EULOGY ON GENERAL Part I. ANOTHER name is added to the roll of those whom the world will not wil- lingly let die. A few years since, storm-clouds filled his heaven, and obloquy, slander and bitter lies rained down upon him. The clouds are all blown away ; under a serene sky General Grant laid down his life and the whole nation wept. The path to his tomb is worn by the feet of innumerable pilgrims. The mildewed lips of slander are silent, and even criticism hesitates lest some incautious word should mar the history of the modest, gentle, magnanimous warrior. The whole nation watched his passage through humiliating misfor- tunes with unfeigned sympathy — the whole world sighed when his life ended. At his burial the unsworded hands of those whom he had fought lifted his bier and bore him to his tomb with love and reverence. The South had laid the foundation of her indus- try, her commerce, and her very commonwealth upon slavery. It was slavery that inspired her councils, that engorged her philanthropy, that corrupted her political economy and theology, that disturbed all the ways of active politics — broke up sym- pathy between North and South. The hand that fired upon Sumter exploded the mine under the Flood Rock of slavery and opened the way to civilization. The spark that was there kindled fell upon the North like fire upon autumnal prairies. Men came together in the presence of this universal calamity with sudden fusion ; the whole land became a military school. But the Northern armies once organized, an amiable folly of conciliation began to show itself. Some peaceable way out of the war was hoped for. disdainfully upon the bench to despoil its dignity and prostrate its power. General suffering has made us tolerant of general dishonesty, and the gloom of our commercial disaster threatens to become the pall of our morals. GRANT.— Henry Ward Beecher. Generals seemed to fight so that no one should be hurt. The South had smelted into a glowing mass ; it believed in its course with an infatua- tion that would have been glorious if the cause had been better ; it put its whole soul into it and struck hard. For two years the war lingered, unmarked by great deeds. Lincoln, sad and sorrowful, felt the moderation of his generals and longed for a man of iron mould, who had but two words in his military vocabulary — victory or annihilation. He was coming ; he was heard from at Henry and Donelson. Three great names were rising to sight, — Sherman, Thomas, Sheridan, and, larger than any, Grant. At the opening of the war his name was almost unknown. It was with difficulty he could obtain a command. Once set forward, Donelson, Shi- loh, Vicksburg, Chattanooga, the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Petersburg, Appomattox — these were his footsteps ! In four years he had risen, without political favor, from the bottom to the very highest command — not second to any living commander in all the world. His plans were large, his undiscouraged will was patient to obduracy. He was not fighting for reputation, nor for thedisplay of generalship, nor for a future Presidency. He had but one motive, and that as intense as life itself — the subjugation of the rebellion and the restoration of the broken Union. He embodied the feelings of the com- mon people ; he was their perfect representative. Part II. The war was waged for the maintenance of the Union, the suppression of armed resistance, and, at length, for the eradication of slavery. Every step, from Donelson to Appomattox, evinced with increasing intensity this as Grant's one terrible purpose. He never wavered, turned aside, or 280 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. dallied: he waded through blood to the horses' bridles. The moment that the South lay panting and helpless upon the ground, Grant carried himself with magnanimous and sympathetic considera- tion. He imposed no humiliating conditions, spared the feelings of his antagonists, sent home the disbanded Southern men with food and with horses for working their crops, and when a revengeful spirit in the Executive chair showed itself, and threatened the chief Southern generals, Grant, with a holy indignation, interposed him- self and compelled his superior to relinquish his rash purpose. He never forgot that the South was a part of the country. The tidings of his death, long expected, gave a shock to the whole world. Governments, rulers, eminent statesmen, and scholars from all civilized nations gave sincere tokens of sympathy. For the hour sympathy rolled as a wave over all our own land. It closed the last furrow of war> it extinguished the last prejudice, it effaced the last vestige of hatred, and cursed be the hand that shall bring them back ! Johnson and Buckner on one side, Sherman and Sheridan upon the other, of his bier, he went to his tomb, a silent symbol that liberty had conquered slavery, patriotism rebellion, and peace war. He rests in peace. No drum or cannon shall disturb his rest. Sleep, hero, until another trumpet shall shake the heavens and the earth — then come forth to glory in immortality ! THE CAUSE OF TEMPERANCE.- John B. Gough. John B. Gough. Born in England, 1817. Died 1886. The most celebrated temperance lecturer of the nineteenth century. Came to America in 1829. Was a book-binder ; acquired the habits of intemperance and sunk to the lowest depths of poverty and wretchedness. In 1840, he was induced to sign the pledge of total abstinence, and from 1843 to the time of his death devoted himself, without interruption, to lecturing on temperance in the United States, Canada, and the British Isles. Mr. Gough combines the qualities of the dramatic actor with those of a great orator. OUR enterprise is in advance of the public sentiment, and those who carry it on are glorious iconoclasts, who are going to break down the drunken Dragon wor- shipped by their fathers. Count me over the chosen heroes of this earth, and I will show you men that stood alone — ay, alone, while those they toiled, and labored, and agonized for, hurled at them contumely, scorn, and contempt. They stood alone ; they looked into the future calmly, and with faith ; they saw the golden beam inclining to the side of perfect justice ; and they fought on amid the storm of persecu- tion. In Great Britain they tell me when I go to see such a prison : ' < Here is such a dungeon, in which such a one was confined;" "Here, among the ruins of an old castle, we will show you where such a one had his ears cut off, and where another was murdered." Then they will show me monuments towering up to the heavens. " There is a monument to such a one ; there is a monument to another. ' ' And what do I find ? That the one generation persecuted and howled at these men, crying, ' ' crucify them ! crucify them ! ' ' and danced around the blazing fagots that consumed them ; and the next generation busied itself in gathering up the scatrered ashes of the martyred heroes, and depositing them in the golden urn of a nation's history. O, yes ! the men that fight for a great enterprise are the men that bear the brunt of the battle, and " He who seeth in secret" — seeth the desire of his children, their steady purpose, their firm self- denial — "will reward them openly," though they may die and see no sign of the triumphs of their enterprise. Our cause is a progressive one. I read the first constitution of the first temperance society formed in the State of New York, in 1809, and one of the by-laws stated, ' 'Any member of this association who shall be convicted of intoxica- tion shall be fined a quarter of a dollar, except such act of intoxication shall take place on the Fourth of July, or any other regularly appointed military muster. ' ' We laugh at that now ; but it was a serious matter in those days ; it was in GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 281 advance of the public sentiment of the age. The very men that adopted that principle were persecuted ; they were hooted and pelted through the streets, the doors of their houses were black- ened, their cattle mutilated. The fire of perse- cution scorched some men so that they left the work. Others worked on, and God blessed them. Some are living to-day ; and I should like to stand where they stand now, and see the mighty enterprise as it rises before them. They worked hard. They lifted the first turf — pre- pared the bed in which to lay the corner-stone. They laid it amid persecution and storm. They worked under the surface ; and men almost forgot that there were busy hands laying the solid foundation far down beneath. By-and-by they got the foundation above the surface, and then commenced another storm of persecution. Now we see the superstructure — pillar after pillar, tower after tower, column after column, with the capitals emblazoned with "Love, truth, sym- pathy, and good-will to men." Old men gaze upon it as it grows up before them. They will not live to see it completed, but they see in faith the crowning cope-stone set upon it. Meek- eyed women weep as it grows in beauty ; chil- dren strew the pathway of the workmen with flowers. We do not see its beauty yet — we do not see the magnificence of its superstructure yet — because it is in course of erection. Scaf- folding, ropes, ladders, workmen ascending and descending, mar the beauty of the building ; but by-and-by, when the hosts who have labored shall come up over a thousand battle-fields waving with bright grain, never again to be crushed in the distillery — through vineyards, under trellised vines, with grapes hanging in all their purple glory, never again to be pressed into that which can debase and degrade man- kind — when they shall come through orchards, under trees hanging thick with golden, pulpy fruit, never to be turned into that which can injure and debase — when they shall come up to the last distillery and destroy it ; to the last stream of liquid death, and dry it up ; to the last weeping wife, and wipe her tears gently away ; to the last little child, and lift him up to stand where God meant that man should stand ; to the last drunkard, and nerve him to burst the burning fetters and make a glorious accompani- ment to the song of freedom by the clanking of his broken chains — then, ah ! then will the cope-stone be set upon it, the scaffolding will fall with a crash, and the building will start in its wondrous beauty before an astonished world. The last poor drunkard shall go into it, and find a refuge there ; loud shouts of rejoicing shall be heard, and there shall be joy in heaven, when the triumphs of a great enterprise shall usher in the day of the tri- umphs of the cross of Christ. I believe it ; on my soul, I believe it. Will you help us?" That is the question. We leave it with you. Good-night. WHAT IS A MINORITY?- John B. Gough. ""¥"" ~T"HAT is a minority? The chosen \ A / heroes of this earth have been in a JljL minority. There is not a social, political, or religious privilege that you enjoy to-day that was not bought for you by the blood and tears and patient sufferings of the minority. It is the minority that have vindi- cated humanity in every struggle. It is a minority that have stood in the van of every moral conflict, and achieved all that is noble in the history of the world. \ You will find that each generation has always been busy in gathering up the scattered ashes of the martyred heroes of the past, to deposit them in the golden urn of a nation's history. Look at Scotland, where they are erecting monuments. — to whom ! To the Covenanters. Ah ! they . were in a minority ! Read their history if you can without the blood tingling to the tips of your fingers. These were the minority that, through blood and tears and hootings and scourgings — dyeing the waters with their blood, and staining the heather with their gore — fought the glorius battle of religious freedom. 282 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. Minority ! If a man stand up for the right, though he eat, with the right and truth, a wretched crust; if he walk with obloquy and scorn in the by-lanes and streets, while false- hood and wrong parade in silken attire, let him remember that wherever the right and truth are, there are always "Troops of beautiful, tall, angels" gathered round him ; and God Himself stands within the dim future and keeps watch over His own ! If a man stands for the right and truth, though every man's finger be pointed at him, though every woman's lip be curled at him in scorn, he stands in a majority, for God and good angels are with him, and greater are they that are for him than all that be against ! THE NEW SOUTH.— H. W. Grady. (By permission of H. C. Hudgins, publisher of "I/ife of Grady.") Henry Woodfin Grady was born in Athens, Ga., May 17, 1851, and died in Atlanta, Ga., December 23, 1889. No written memorial can indicate the strong hold which this young orator had upon the Southern people. Although he died at the early age of thirty-eight, his fame was world-wide, and there was, perhaps, no man in the nation more honored and respected, both North and South, than was this phenome- nally gifted writer and speaker during the last few years of his life. On the 21st of December, 1887, Mr. Grady, in response to an urgent invitation, delivered an address at the banquet of the New England Club, New York, of which the following extract forms a closing part. This, and similar speeches, did much to wipe out the prejudices engenered by the war, bridge the bloody chasm, and draw the two sections into a closer union. "rp Part I. HERE was a South of secession and slavery — that South is dead. There is a South of Union and freedom — that South is living, breathing, grow- ing every hour. I accept the term, ' ' The New South, " as in no sense disparaging to the Old. Dear to me is the home of my childhood and the traditions of my people. There is a New South, not through protest against the Old, but because of new conditions, new adjustments, and, if you please, new ideas and aspirations. It is to this that I address myself. You have just heard an elo- quent description of the triumphant armies of the North, and the grand review at Washington. I ask you, gentlemen, to picture, if you can, the foot-sore soldier, who, buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was taken, testimony to his children of his fidelty and faith, turned his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865. Think of him as ragged, half- starved, heavy-hearted, enfeebled by want and wounds. Having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades, and, lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, pulls his gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and painful journey. What does he find? — let me ask you, who went to your homes eager to find all the welcome you had justly earned, full payment for your four years' sacrifice — what does he find, when he reaches the home he left four years before ? He finds his house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves freed, his stock killed, hib barns empty, his trade destroyed, his money worthless, his social system, feudal in its magnifi- cence, swept away, his people without law or legal status, his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy on his shoulders. Crushed by defeat, his very traditions gone, without money, credit, employment, material, or training — and, besides all this, confronted with the gravest problem that ever met human intelligence — the establishing of a status for the vast body of his liberated slaves. What does he do — this hero in gray with a heart of gold — does he sit down in sullenness and despair? Not for a day. Surely, God, who had scourged him in his prosperity, inspired him in his adversity ! As ruin was never before so overwhelming, never was restoration swifter. The soldiers stepped from the trenches into the furrow ; the horses that had charged upon General Sherman's line marched before the plow, and fields that ran red with human blood in April were green with the harvest in June. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 283 From the ashes left us in 1864, we have raised a brave and beautiful city; and, somehow or other, we have caught the sunshine in the bricks and mortar of our homes and have builded therein not one single ignoble prejudice or memory. It is a rare privilege, sir, to have had part, however humble, in this work. Never was nob- ler duty confided to human hands than the uplift- ing and upbuilding of the prostrate South — misguided, perhaps, but beautiful in her suffering, and honest, brave, and generous always. On the record of her social, industrial, and political restoration we await with confidence the verdict of the world. Part II. The old South rested everything on slavery and agriculture, unconscious that these could neither give nor maintain healthy growth. The new South presents a perfect democracy, the oligarchs leading into the popular movement — a social system compact and closely knitted, less splendid on the surface but stronger at the core — a hundred farms for every plantation, fifty homes for every palace, and a diversified industry that meets the complex needs of this complex age. The new South is enamored of her new work. Her soul is stirred with the breath of a new life. The light of a grander day is falling fair in her face. She is thrilling with the consciousness of growing power and prosperity. As she stands full-statured and equal among the people of the earth, breathing the keen air and looking out upon an expanding horizen, she understands that her emancipation came because in the inscrutable wisdom of God her honest pur- pose was crossed and her brave armies were beaten. This is said in no spirit of time-serving and apology. The South has nothing to take back ; nothing for which she has excuses to make. In my native town of Athens is a monument that crowns its central hills — a plain white shaft. Deep cut into its shining sides is a name dear to me above the names of men, that of a brave and simple man who died in brave and simple faith. Not for all the glories of New England, from Plymouth Rock all the way, would I exchange the heritage he left me in his patriot's death. But, sir, speaking from the shadow of that mem- ory, which I honor as I do nothing else on earth, I say that the cause in which he suffered and for which he gave his life was adjudged by higher and fuller wisdom than his or mine, and I am glad that the omniscient God held the balance of battle in His almighty hand and that the Ameri- can Union was saved from the wreck of war. I stand here, Mr. President, to profess no new loyalty. When General Lee, whose heart was the temple of our hopes and whose arm was clothed with our strength, renewed his allegiance to the government at Appomattox, he spoke from a heart too great to be false, and he spoke for every honest man from Maryland to Texas. From that day to this, Hamilcar has nowhere in the South sworn young Hannibal to hatred and vengeance — but everywhere to loyalty and to love. Witness the soldier standing at the base of a Confederate monument above the graves of his comrades, his empty sleeve tossing in the April wind, adjuring the young men about him to serve as honest and loyal citizens the government against which their fathers fought. This message, delivered from that sacred presence, has gone home to the hearts of my fellows ! And, sir, I declare here, if physical courage be always equal to human aspirations, that they would die, sir, if need be, to restore this Republic their fathers fought to dissolve ! This message, Mr. President, comes to you from consecrated ground. What answer has New England to this message ! Will she permit the prejudices of war to remain in the hearts of the conquerors, when it has died in the hearts of the conquered ? Will she transmit this prejudice to the next generation, that in hearts which never felt the generous ardor of conflict it may perpet- uate itself? Will she withhold, save in strained courtesy, the hand which straight from his sol- dier's heart Grant offered to Lee at Appomattox ? Will she make the vision of a restored and happy people, which gathered about the couch of your dying captain, filling his heart with peace, touch- 284 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. ing his lips with praise, and glorifying his path to the grave — will she make this vision, on which the last sigh of his expiring soul breathed, a benediction, or a cheat and a delusion ? If she does, the South, never abject in asking for com- radeship, must accept with dignity its refusal. But if she does not refuse to accept in frankness and sincerity this message of good -will and friend- ship, then will the prophecy of Webster, delivered to this very Society forty years ago amid tremen- dous applause, be verified in its fullest and final sense, when he said : ' ' Standing hand to hand and clasping hands, we should remain united as we have been for sixty years, citizens of the same country, members of the same government, united, all united now and united forever. ' ' REGARD FOR THE NEGRO RACE.—//. W. Grady. (By permission of*H. C. Hudgins, publisher of "Life of Grady." Extract from speech on the Race Problem, at annual banque£ of the Boston Merchants' Association, December, 1889.) THE resolute, clear-headed, broad-minded men of the South — the men whose genius made glorious every page of the first seventy years of American history — whose courage and fortitude you tested in four years of the fiercest war — realize, as you cannot, what this race problem means — what they owe to this kindly and dependent race. Nor are they wholly to blame for the presence of slavery. The slave-ships sailed from your ports — the slaves once worked in your fields, and you sold them to the South. Neither of us now defends the traffic, nor the institution. The love the whites of the South feel for the negro race you cannot measure nor comprehend. As I attest it here, the spirit of my old black mammy from her home up there looks down to bless, and through the tumult of this night steals the sweet music of her croonings as thirty years ago she held me in her black arms and led me smiling into sleep. This scene vanishes as I speak, and I catch a vision of an old Southern home, with its lofty pillars, and its white pigeons fluttering down through the golden air. I see women with strained and anxious faces, and children alert yet helpless. I see night come down with its dangers and its apprehensions, and in a big homely room I feel on my tired head the touch of loving hands — now worn and wrinkled, but fairer to me yet than the hands of mortal woman, and stronger yet to lead me than the hands of mortal man — as they lay a mother's bless- ing there while at her kness — the truest altar I yet have found — I thank God that she is safe in her sanctuary, because her slaves, sen- tinel in the silent cabin or guard at her chamber door, puts a black man's loyalty between her and danger. I catch another vision. The crisis of battle — a soldier struck, staggering, fallen. I see a slave, scuffling through the smoke, winding his black arms about the fallen form, reckless of the hurtling death — bending his trusty face to catch the words that tremble on the stricken lips, so wrestling meantime with agony that he would lay down his life in his master's stead. I see him by the weary bedside, ministering with uncomplaining patience, praying with all his humble heart that God will lift his master up, until death comes in mercy and in honor to still the soldier's agony and seal the soldier's life. I see him by the open grave,. mute, motionless, uncovered, suffering for the death of him who in life fought against his freedom. I see him when the mound is heaped and the great drama of his life is closed, turn away and with down- cast eyes and uncertain step start out into new and strange fields, faltering, struggling, but moving on, until his shambling figure is lost in the light of this better and brighter day. And from the grave comes a voice saying, ' ' Follow him ! Put your arms about him in his need, even as he put his about me. Be his friend as he was mine." And out into this new world — strange to me as to him, dazzling, be- wildering both — I follow ! And may God forget my people — when they forget these. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 285. THE WORLD WE LIVE IN.— T. De Witt Talmage. (Extract from a Lecture. ) T. De Witt Talmage. Born 1832. One of the most eminent orators of the American pulpit. Mr. Talmage 's power as a delineator, or word painter, is, perhaps, unequalled in modern times. His sermons have been printed in the leading weekly newspapers throughout the world. No preacher has ever enjoyed the distinction of speaking to so many auditors through the public press. Mr. Talmage has traveled, lectured, and preached throughout the world. Few public speakers have spoken more directly to the hearts of the people. His happy way of putting wholesome truth so it both amuses and instructs, without offending, is illustrated in the following selection : Part I. IF you or I had been consulted as to which of all the stars we would choose to walk upon, we could not have done a wiser thing than to select this. I have always been glad that I got aboard this planet. The best color that I can think of for the sky is blue, for the foliage is green, for the water is crystalline flash. The mountains are just high enough, the flowers suf- ficiently aromatic, the earth right for solidity and growth. The human face is admirably adap- ted for its work — sunshine in its smile, tempest in its frown ; two eyes, one more than absolutely necessary, so that if one is put out we still can look upon the sunrise and the faces of our friends. One nose, which is quite sufficient for those who w r alk among so many city nuisances, being an organ of two stops, and adding dignity to the human face, whether it have the graceful arch of the Roman, or turn up toward the heavens with celestial aspirations in the shape of a pug, or wavering up or down, now as if it would aspire, now as if it would descend, until suddenly it shies off into an unexpected direction, illustrat- ing the proverb that it is a long lane which has no turn. People are disposed, I see, to laugh about the nose, but I think it is nothing to be sneezed at. Standing before the grandest architectural achievements, critics have differences of opin- ion ; but where is the blasphemer of his God who would criticize the arch of the sky, or the crest of a wave, or the flock of snow-white, fleecy clouds driven by the shepherd of the wind across the hilly pastures of the heavens, or the curve of a snow bank, or the burning cities of the sunset, or the fern-leaf pencilings of frost on a window-pane ? Where there is one discord there are ten thousand harmonies. A skyful of robins to one owl croaking ; whole acres of rolling meadow land to one place cleft by the grave-digger's spade ; to one mile of rapids, where the river writhes among the rocks, it has hundreds of miles of gentle flow ; water-lilies anchored ; hills coming down to bathe their feet ; stars lay- ing their reflections to sleep on its bosom ; boatmen's oars dropping on it necklaces of diamonds ; chariots of gold coming forth from the gleaming forge of the sun to bear it in triumphant march to the sea. Why, it is a splendid world to live in. Not only is it a pleasant world, but we are living in such an enlightened age. I would rather live ten years now than five hundred in the time of Methuselah. But is it not strange that in such an agreeable world there should be so many disagreeable people? But I know that everybody in this audience is all right. Every wife meets her husband at night with a smile on her face, his slippers and supper ready ; and the husband, when the wife asks him for money, just puts his hand in his pocket, throws her the purse, and says : ' ' Here you are, my darling, take all you want ; ' ' every brother likes his own sister better than any other fellow's sister, and the sister likes best the arm of a brother, when around her waist. Part II. Of all the ills that flesh is heir to, a cross, crabbed, ill-contented man is the most unen- durable, because the most inexcusable. No occasion, no matter how trifling, is permitted to pass without eliciting his dissent, his sneer, or his growl. His good and patient wife never yet prepared a dinner that he liked. One day she 286 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. prepares a disn that she thinks will particularly please him. He comes in the front door, and says: "Whew! whew! what have you got in the house ? Now, my dear, you know that I never did like codfish. ' ' Some evening, resolv- ing to be especially gracious; he starts with his family to a place of amusement. He scolds the most of the way. He cannot afford the time or the money, and he does not believe the enter- tainment will be much, after all. The music begins. The audience are thrilled. The orches- tra, with polished instruments, warble and weep, and thunder and pray — all the sweet sounds of the world flowering upon the strings of the base viol, and wreathing the flageolets, and breathing from the lips of the cornet, and shaking their flower-bells upon the tinkling tambourine. He sits motionless and disgusted. He goes home saying: "Did you see that fat musician that got so red blowing that French horn ? He looked like a stuffed toad. Did you ever hear such a voice as that lady has? Why it was a perfect squawk! The evening was wasted." And his companion says : ' ' Why, my dear ! ' ' "There, you needn't tell me — you are pleased with everything. But never ask me to go again ! ' ' He goes to church. Perhaps the sermon is di- dactic and argumentative. He yawns. He gapes. He twists himself in his pew, and pretends he is asleep, and says: "I could not keep awake. Did you ever hear anything so dead? Can these dry bones live ? " Next Sabbath he enters a church where the minister is much given to illustration. He is still more displeased. He says : " How dare that man bring such every-day things into his pulpit? He ought to have brought his illustrations from the cedar of Leba- non and the fir-tree, instead of the hickory and sassafrass. He ought to have spoken of the Euphrates and the Jordan, and not of the Ken- nebec and Schuylkill. He ought to have men- tioned Mount Gerizim instead of the Catskills. Why, he ought to be disciplined. Why, it is ridiculous." Perhaps afterward he joins the church. Then the church will have its hands full. He growls and groans and whines all the way up toward the gate of heaven. He wishes that the choir would sing differently , that the minister would preach differently, that the elders would pray differently. In the morning, he said, ' ' The church was as cold as Greenland ; " in the evening, "It was hot as blazes." They painted the church; he didn't like the color. They carpeted the aisles ; he didn't like the fig- ure. They put in a new furnace ; he didn't like the patent. He wriggles and squirms, and frets and stews, and worries himself. He is like a horse, that, prancing and uneasy to the bit, worries himself into a lather of foam, while the horse hitched beside him just pulls straight ahead, makes no fuss, and comes to his oats in peace. Like a hedge-hog, he is all quills. Like a crab that, you know, always goes the other way, and moves backward in order to go forward, and turns in four directions all at once, and the first you know of his whereabouts you have missed him, and when he is completely lost he has gone by the heel — so that the first thing you know you don't know anything — and while you expected to catch the crab, the crab catches you. So some men are crabbed — all hard-shell anc obstinacy and opposition. I do not see how he is to get into heaven unless, he goes in backward, and then there will be danger that at the gate he will try to pick a quarrel with St. Peter. Once in, I fear he will not like the music, and the services will be too long, and that he will spend the first two or three years in trying to find out whether the wall of heaven is exactly plumb. Let us stand off from such tendencies. Listen for sweet notes rather than discords, picking up marigolds and harebells in preference to thistles and coloquintida, culturing thyme and anemones rather than night-shade. And in a world where God has put exquisite tinge upon the shell washed in the surf, and planted a paradise of bloom in a child's cheek, and adorned the pillars of the rock by hanging tapestry of morning mist, the lark saying, ' ' I will sing soprano, ' ' and the cascade replying, ' ' I will carry the bass, ' ' let us leave it to the owl to hoot, and the frog to croak, and the bear to growl, and the grumbler to find fault, GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 287 BACK FROM THE WAR — T. De Witt Talmage. Those who have heard Dr. Talmage in sublime and dramatic passages, and followed his graphic and vivid descriptions of great scenes and events, will recognize in this a masterpiece of descriptive elo- quence, a living, moving panorama, which those unacquainted with the orator cannot appreciate in its fullness. I NEVER realized what this country was and is as on the day when I first saw some of these gentlemen of the Army and Navy. It was when, at the close of the war, our armies came back, and marched in review before the President's stand at Washington. I do not care whether a man was a Republican or a Democrat, a Northern man or a Southern man, if he had any emotion of nature he could not look upon it without weeping. God knew that the day was stupendous, and he cleared the heaven of cloud and mist and chill, and sprung the blue sky as a triumphal arch for the return- ing warriors to pass under. From Arlington Heights the spring foliage shook out its wel- come, as the hosts came over the hills, and the sparkling waters of the Potomac tossed their gold to the feet of the battalions as they came to the Long Bridge and in almost interminable line passed over. The Capitol never seemed so majestic as that morning, snowy white, looking down upon the tides of men that came surging down, billow after billow. Passing in silence, yet I heard in every step the thunder of con- flicts through which they had waded, and seemed to see dripping from their smoke- blackened flags the blood of our country's martyrs. For the best part of two days we stood and watched the filing on of what seemed endless battalions, brigade after brigade, divi- sion after division, host after host, rank beyond rank ; ever moving, ever passing ; marching, marching ; tramp, tramp, tramp — thousands after thousands, battery front, arms shouldered, col- umns solid, shoulder to shoulder, wheel to wheel, charger to charger, nostril to nostril. Commanders on horses whose names were intwined with roses, and necks enchained with garlands, fractious at the shouts that ran along the line, increasing from the clapping of children clothed in white, standing on the steps of the Capitol, to the tumultous vociferation of hun- dreds of thousands of enraptured multitudes, crying Huzza ! Huzza ! Gleaming muskets, thundering parks of artillery, rumbling pontoon- wagons, ambulances from whose wheels seemed to sound out the groans of the crushed and the dying that they had carried. These men came from balmy Minnesota, those from Illinois prairies. These were often hummed to sleep by the pines of Oregon, those were New England lumber- men. Those came out of the coal-shafts of Pennsylvania. Side by side in one great cause, consecrated through fire and storm and darkness, brothers in peril, on their way home from Chan- cellorsville and Kenesaw Mountain and Fred- ericksburg, in lines that seemed infinite they passed on. We gazed and wept and wondered, lifting up our heads to see if the end had come ; but no ! Looking from one end of that long avenue to the other, we saw them yet in solid column, battery front, host beyond host, wheel to wheel, charger to charger, nostril to nostril, coming as it were from under the Capitol. Forward ! Forward ! Their bayonets caught in the sun, glimmered and flashed and blazed, till they seemed like one long river of silver, ever and anon changed into a river of fire. No end to the procession, no rest for the eyes. We turned our heads from the scene, unable longer to look. We felt disposed to stop our ears, but still we heard it marching, marching ; tramp, tramp, tramp. But hush — uncover every head ! Here they pass, the rem- nant of ten men of a full regiment. Silence ! Widowhood and orphanage look on, and wring their hands. But wheel into line, all ye people ! North, South, East, West — all decades, all cen- turies, all millenniums ! Forward, the whole line ! Huzza ! Huzza ! 288 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE.-lVendell Phillips. Wendell Phillips. Born in Boston, Mass., i8n, and died 1884. A renowned American orator and scholar. The following extract is regarded as one of the greatest masterpieces of eulogistic eloquence in the English language. [Toussaint L'Ouverture, who has been pronounced one of the renowned statesmen and generals of the nineteenth century, saved his master and family by hurrying them on board a vessel at the insur- rection of the negroes of Hayti. He then joined the negro army, and soon found himself at their head Napoleon sent a fleet with French veterans, with orders to bring him to France at all hazards. But all the skill of the French soldiers could not subdue the negro army ; and they finally made a treaty, placing Toussaint L'Ouverture governor of the island. The negroes no sooner disbanded their army, than a squad of soldiers seized Toussaint by night, and taking him on board a vessel hurried him to France. There he was placed in a dungeon, and finally starved to death.] IF I were to tell you the story of Napoleon, I should take it from the lips of French- men, who find no language rich enough to paint the great captain of the nineteenth century. Were I to tell you the story of Wash- ington, I should take it from your hearts — you, who think no marble white enough on which to carve the name of the Father of his country. But I am to tell you the story of a negro, Toussaint L'Ouverture, who has left hardly one written line. I am to glean it from the reluc- tant testimony of his enemies, men who despised him because he was a negro and a slave, hated him because he had beaten them in battle. Cromwell manufactured his own army. Na- poleon, at the age of twenty-seven, was placed at the head of the best troops Europe ever saw. Cromwell never saw an army till he was forty ; this man never saw a soldier till he was fifty. Cromwell manufactured his own army — out of what ? Englishmen — the best blood in Europe. Out of the middle class of Englishmen — the best blood of the island. And with it he con- quered what ? Englishmen — their equals. This man manufactured his army out of what ? Out of what you call the despicable race of negroes, debased, demoralized by two hundred years of slavery, one hundred thousand of them imported into the island within four years, unable to speak a dialect intelligible even to each other. Yet out of this mixed, and, as you say, despicable mass he forged a thunderbolt and hurled it at what? At the proudest blood in Europe, the Spaniard, and sent him home conquered ; at the most warlike blood in Europe, the French, and put them under his feet ; at the pluckiest blood in Europe, the English, and they skulked home to Jamaica. Now, blue -eyed Saxon, proud of your race, go back with me to the commencement of the century, and select what statesman you please. Let him be either American or European ; crown his temples with the silver locks of seventy years, and show me the man of Saxon lineage for whom his most sanguine admirer will wreathe a laurel, rich as embittered foes have placed on the brow of this inspired black of St. Domingo. Some doubt the courage of the negro. Go to Hayti, and stand on those fifty thousand graves of the best soldiers France ever had, and ask them what they think of the negro's sword. I would call him Napoleon, but Napoleon made his way to empire over broken oaths and through a sea of blood. This man never broke his word. I \yould call him Cromwell, but Cromwell was only a soldier, and the state he founded went down with him into his grave. I would call him Washington, but the great Virginian held slaves. This man risked his empire rather than permit the slave-trade in the humblest village of his dominions. You think me a fanatic, for you read history, not with your eyes but with your prejudices. But fifty years hence, when Truth gets a hearing, the Muse of history will put Phocion for the Greek, Brutus for the Roman, Hampden for England, Fayette for France, choose Washing- ton as the bright consummate flower of our earliest civilization, then, dipping her pen in the sunlight, will write in the clear blue, above them all, the name of the soldier, the statesman, the martyr, Toussaint L'Ouverture. PART V. Speeches of Great Warriors CONTAINING THE ADDRESSES AND EXTRACTS FROM IMPUTED SPEECHES OF FAMOUS GENERALS AND NOTED MARTIAL HEROES, DELIVERED IN THE CAMP, ON THE EVE OF BATTLE, AND BEFORE THE PUBLIC ON STIRRING OCCASIONS RECALLING HISTORIC MILITARY EVENTS FROM THE DAYS OF ANCIENT GREECE TO RECENT TIMES REPLY OF ACHILLES TO THE ENVOYS OF AGAMEMNON, SOLICITING A RECONCILIATION.— Cowper's "Homer." Agamemnon had taken the beautiful captive maiden whom Achilles had made his wife, thus incensing the latter. To appease Achilles, Agamemnon proffered him his daughter in marriage, but Achilles spurnec the offer. I MUST with plainness speak my fixed re- solve ; For I abhor the man, — not more the gates Of hell itself! — whose words belie his heart. So shall not mine ! My judgment undisguised Is this : that neither Agamemnon me Nor all the Greeks shall move ! For ceaseless toil Wins here no thanks ; one recompense awaits The sedentary and the most alert ! The brave and base in equal honor stand, — And drones and heroes fall unwept alike. I, after all my labors, who exposed My life continual in the field, have earned No very sumptuous prize ! As the poor bird Gives to her unfledged brood, a morsel gained After long search, though wanting it herself, So I have worn out many sleepless nights, And waded deep through many a bloody day 19 In battle for their wives. I have destroyed Twelve cities with my fleet ; and twelve, save one, On foot contending, in the fields of Troy. From all these cities precious spoil I took Abundant, and to Agamemnon's hand Gave all the treasure. He within his ships Abode the while, and, having all received, Little distributed, and much retained. He gave, however, to the Kings and Chiefs A portion, and they keep it. Me alone, Of all the Grecian host, hath he despoiled ! My bride, my soul's delight, is in his hands ! Tell him my reply : And tell it him aloud, that other Greeks May indignation feel like me, if, armed Always in imprudence, he seek to wrong Them also. Let him not henceforth presume — Canine and hard in aspect though he be — To look me in the face. I will not share 289 290 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. His counsels, neither will I aid his works. Let it suffice him, that he wronged me once, — Deceived me once ; — henceforth his glozing arts Are lost on me ! But, let him rot in peace, Crazed as he is, and, by the stroke of Jove, Infatuate ! I detest his gifts ! — and him So honor as the thing which most I scorn ! And would he give me twenty times the worth Of this his offer, — all the treasured heaps Which he possesses, or shall yet possess, All that Orchomenos within her walls, And all that opulent Egyptian Thebes Receives, — the city with a hundred gates, Whence twenty thousand chariots rush to war, And would he give me riches as the sands, And as the dust of earth, — no gifts from him Should soothe me, till my soul were first avenged For all the offensive license of his tongue. I will not wed the daughter of your Chief, — Of Agamemnon. CoulJ she vie in charms With golden Venus, — had she all the skill Of blue-eyed Pallas, — even so endowed. She were no bride for me ! Bea*- ye mine answer back. HECTOR'S REBUKE TO POLYDAMUS.— Cowper 's "Homer." Hector was the son of King Priam. POLYDAMAS to dauntless Hector spake : Ofttimes in council, Hector, thou art wont To censure me, although advising well ; Yet hear my best opinion once again. Proceed we not in our attempt against The Grecian fleet. The omens we have seen All urge against it. When the eagle flew, Clutching the spotted snake, then dropping it Into the open space between the hosts, Troy's host was on the left. Was this propitious? No. Many a Trojan shall we leave behind, Slain by the Grecians in their fleet's defence. An augur skilled in omens would expound This omen thus, and faith would win from all. To whom dark-louring Hector thus replied : Polydamus ! I like not thy advice ; Thou couldst have framed far better ; but if this Be thy deliberate judgment, then the Gods Make thy deliberate judgment nothing worth, ALEXANDER THE GREAT AT length, fellow-soldiers, we enter on the last of our battles. How many regions have we traversed, looking forward to the victory which we must this day achieve ! We have crossed the Gran'i-cus, we have climbed the ridges of Cilicia, we have passed through Syria and Egypt ; our very entrance into a country has been the signal of victory ; what more irresist- He was killed in battle by Achilles. Who bidd'st me disregard the Thunderer's firm Assurance to myself announced, and make The wild inhabitants of air my guides, Which I alike despise, speed they their course With right-hand flight toward the ruddy East, Or leftward down into the shades of eve ! Consider we the will of Jove alone, Sovereign of Heaven and Earth. Omens abound ? But the best omen is oicr country'' s cause* Wherefore should fiery war thy soul alarm ? For were we slaughtered, one and all, around The fleet of Greece, thou need'st not fear to- die, Whose courage never will thy flight retard. But if thou shrink thyself, or by smooth speech Seduce one other from a soldier's part, Pierced by this spear incontinent thou diest ! * The nobleness of this reply may have been par- alleled, but not surpassed, by patriots of succeeding times. TO HIS MEN.— Quintus Cur tins. ible incitements could we have to confidence and glory? The Perisian fugitives, overtaken, rally and attempt to make head against us, simply because they cannot fly. This is the third day that they have stood under their loads, of armor, fixed in one position, scarcely surviv- ing their terrors. What stronger proof of their desperate con- dition could they give than in burning their SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 291 cities, and laying waste their fields ; thus acknowledging, in act, that whatever they can- not destroy must fall into our hands ? We hear of unknown tribes that have joined them, — tribes with barbarous names. Be sure, soldiers, their names are the most formidable part of them. But when were brave men scared by names ? And how does it affect the fate of this contest to know who are Scythians, or who Cadusians ? Obscurity is the lot of the ignoble. Heroes do not dwell in oblivion. These unwar- like hordes, dragged from their dens and caves, bring into the field — their alarming names / Well, even in names we can beat them ; for to such eminence in manly virtue have you arrived, that there is not a spot in the whole earth where the name of the Macedonians is not known and respected. Observe the wretched appointments of these barbarians. Some have no weapon but a dart ; others poise stones in a sling ; few have proper and efficient arms. There stands the larger mob — here stands the stronger army I Soldiers ! Intrepid sons of Macedonia ! Your courage has been tried in many a well-fought field ; nor do I ask you now to show once more that bravery which could defy all odds, unless you see me, Alexander, your general, fighting to the last gasp, in front of the banners ! My scars I shall count as ornaments. What spoils we seize shall be bestowed in honoring and enriching yourselves. Did Alexander ever stint you of your share ? Thus much to the brave. Should there be others here, — very few, if any, they must be, — let them consider, that, having advanced thus far, it is impossible for us to retreat. We must conquer — or we must perish. There is no alter- native. Such is the extent of country to be retraced, so multiplied and difficult are the rivers and mountains obstructing return, so hos- tile the tribes in our way, that we can cut a pas- sage to our native land and our household gods no otherwise than by the sword. Forward, then, Macedonians — forward to the field, and victory shall secure at once your glory and your safety ! DARIUS TO THIS day, O soldiers, will terminate or establish the largest empire that any age has known. But recently lords of all the climes from the Hellespont to the ocean, we have now to fight, not for glory, but for safety, and, for what we prize above safety — liberty ! If we cannot make a stand here, no place of retreat remains. By continued arma- ments everything in our rear is exhausted. The cities are deserted. The very fields are aban- doned by their cultivators. Our wives and chil- dren, who have followed the levies, are but so many spoils prepared for the enemy, unless we interpose our bodies as a rampart before the dear- est objects and pledges of affection. On my part, I have collected an army such as the largest plain can hardly contain. I have chosen a field of battle where our whole line can act. The rest depends on yourselves. Dare to conquer, and you will conquer ! We hear of the enemy's reputation. Reputation ! — as if HIS ARMY.— Quintus Curtius. that were a weapon which brave men had not learnt to despise ! These spacious plains expose the poverty of your foe — a poverty which the Cilician mountains concealed. We perceive thin ranks, wire-drawn wings, a centre quite drained ; while their last line faces to the rear, in readi- ness to fly. If we but conquer now, all the victories of the war will be transferred to us. The enemy have no place of refuge ; here the Euphrates bars them in, and there the Tigris. A heavy booty impedes their operations. Entangled in the spoils they have won from us, they may be easily over- whelmed ; and thus the means of our triumph will be its reward. Does a name startle you ? — the name of Alex- ander? Let girls and cowards stand in awe of it ! Imprudent, reckless, absurd, our own irreso- lution, and not his courage, has been the cause of his successes hitherto. Nothing that is not built on moderation can last. His prosperity 292 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. has reached its height, and punishment now awaits his presumption. By our guardian deities, O soldiers ! by the eternal fire carried before us on our altars ; by the dazzling sun which rises within the limits of my dominions ; by the immortal memory of Cyrus, who transferred the empire from the Medes and Lydians to the Persians; by your ADDRESS OF NICIAS TO HIS TROOPS ATHENIANS,^ must remind you that you left behind you no more such ships in your docks, nor so fine a body of heavy- armed troops ; and that if any- thing else befall you but victory, your enemies here will immediately sail thither, and those of our countrymen who are left behind there will be unable to defend themselves against both their opponents on the spot and those who will join them ; and thus, at the same time, you who are here will be at the mercy of the Syracusans (and you know with what feelings you came against them), and those who are there at home at that hopes of freedom and your scorn of oppres- sion, I con-jure you to vindicate your name and nation from the last disgrace ! In your own right hand you carry liberty, power, and every future reliance. Whoever despises death, es- capes it. Follow me, then, — for home and country, family and freedom, — follow me to the field ! —{From " The Peloponnesian War.") — Thucydides. of the Lacedaemonians. Being brought then to this one struggle for both parties, fight bravely now, if you ever did ; and reflect, both individ- ually and collectively, that those of you who will now be on board your ships represent both the army and the navy of the Athenians, all that is left of your country, and the great name of Athens : in behalf of which, whatever be the point in which one man excels another, either in science or courage, on no other occasion could he better display it, so as both to benefit himself and to contribute to the preservation of all. BRUTUS OVER THE DEAD YOU are amazed, O Romans ! even amid the general horror at Lucretia's death, that Brutus, whom you have known hitherto only as the fool, should all at once assume the language and bearing of a man. Did not the Sibyl say, a fool should set Rome free? I am that fool ! Brutus bids Rome be free ! If he has played the fool, it was to seize the wise man's opportunity. Here he throws off the mask of madness. 'Tis Lucius Junius now, your coun- tryman, who calls upon you, by this innocent blood, to swear eternal vengeance against kings ! Look, Romans ! turn your eyes on this sad spectacle ! — the daughter of Lucretius, Colla- tlnus' wife ! By her own hand she died ! See there a noble lady, whom the ruffian lust of a Tarquin reduced to the necessity of being her own executioner, to attest her innocence ! Hos- pitably entertained by her as her husband's kins- man, Sextus, the perfidious guest, became her brutal ravisher. The chaste, the generous Lucre- LUCRETIA. — Original and Compiled. tia, could not survive the outrage. Heroic matron ! But once only treated as a slave, life was no longer endurable ! And if she, with her soft woman's nature, disdained a life, that de- pended on a tyrant's will, shall we — shall men, with such an example before their eyes, and after five-and-twenty years of ignominious servitude — shall we, through a fear of death, delay one moment to assert our freedom ? No, Romans ! The favorable moment is come. The time is — now ! Fear not that the army will take the part of their Generals, rather than of the Peo- ple. ' The love of liberty is natural to all ; and your fellow-citizens in the Camp feel the weight of oppression as sensibly as you. Doubt not they will as eagerly seize the opportunity of throwing off their yoke. Courage, Romans ! The Gods are for us ! those Gods whose temples and altars the im- pious Tarquin has profaned. By the blood of the wronged Lucretia, I swear, — hear me, ye SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 293 Powers Supreme ! — by this blood, which was once so pure, and which nothing but royal vil- liany could have polluted, — I swear that I will pursue, to the death, these Tarquins, with fire and sword ; nor will I ever suffer any one of that family, or of any other family whatsoever, to be King in Rome ! — On to the Forum ! Bear the body hence, high in the public view, through all the streets ! On, Romans, on ! The fool shall set you free ! LEONIDAS TO HIS THREE HUNDRED.— Translated. Leonidas was King of Greece. Xerxes, King of Persia, was marching against him with an overwhelm- ing army. With three hundred men, Iyeonidas defended the pass of Thermopylae until he and all of his soldiers perished. YE men of Sparta, listen to the hope with which the Gods inspire Leonidas ! Consider how largely our death may redound to the glory and benefit of our country. Against this barbarian King, who, in his battle array, reckons as many nations as our ranks do soldiers, what could united Greece effect? In this emergency there is need that some unexpected power should interpose itself ; that a valor and devotion, unknown hitherto, even to Sparta, should strike, amaze, confound this ambitious Despot ! From our blood, here freely shed to-day, shall this moral power, this sublime lesson of patriotism, proceed. To Greece it shall teach the secret of her strength ; to the Persians the certainty of their weakness. Before our scarred and bleeding bodies, we shall see the great King grow pale at his own victory, and recoil affrighted. Or, should he succeed in forcing the pass of Thermopylae, he will tremble to learn, that, in marching upon our cities, he will find ten thousand, after us, equally prepared for death. Ten thousand, do I say? O, the swift contagion of a generous en- thusiasm ! Our example shall make Greece all fertile in heroes. An avenging cry shall follow the cry of her affliction. Country ! Independence ! From the Messenian hills to the Hellespont, every heart shall respond ; and a hundred thousand heroes, with one sacred accord, shall arm them- selves, in emulation of our unanimous death. These rocks shall give back the echo of their oaths. Then shall our little band, — the brave three hundred, — from the world of shades, revisit the scene ; behold the haughty Xerxes, a fugi- tive, re-cross the Hellespont in a frail bark ; while Greece, after eclipsing the most glorious of her exploits, shall hallow a new Olympus in the mound that covers our tombs. Yes, fellow-soldiers, history and posterity shall consecrate our ashes. Wherever courage is hon- ored, through all time, shall Thermopylae and the Spartan three hundred be remembered. Ours shall be an immortality such as no human glory has yet attained. And when ages shall have swept by, and Sparta's last hour shall have come, then, even in her ruins, shall she be eloquent. Tyrants shall turn away from them, appalled ; but the heroes of liberty — the poets, the sages, the historians of all time — shall invoke and bless the memory of the gallant three hundred of Leonidas 1 CATILINE TO HIS ARMY, NEAR FJESULJE—BenJonson. Born 157 4. Died 1637. A paraphrase of the celebrated speech which Sallust attributes to Catiline, previous to the engagement which ended in the rout of his army, and his own death. I NEVER yet knew, Soldiers, that in fight Words added virtue unto valiant men ; Or that a General's oration made An army fall or stand: but how much prowess, Habitual or natural, each man's breast Was owner of, so much in act it showed. Whom neither glory nor danger can excite, 'Tis vain to attempt with speech. Two armies wait us, Soldiers ; one from Rome The other from the provinces of Gaul. The sword must now direct and cut our pas- sage. 294 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. I only, therefore, wish you, when you strike, To have your valors and your souls about you; And think you carry in your laboring hands The things you seek, — glory and liberty ! For by your swords the Fates must be in- structed ! If we can give the blow, all will be safe ; We shall not want provision, nor supplies ; The colonies and free towns will lie open ; Where, if we yield to fear, expect no place, Nor friend, to shelter those whom their own fortune And ill-used arms have left without protection. You might have lived in servitude or exile, Or safe at Rome, depending on the great, But that, you thought those things unfit for men; And, in that thought, my friends, you then were valiant ; For no man ever yet changed peace for war But he that meant to conquer. Hold that purpose. Meet the opposing army in that spirit. There's more necessity you should be such, In fighting for yourselves, than they for others. He's base who trusts his feet, who hands are armed. Methinks I see Death and the Furies waiting What we will do, and all the Heaven at leisure For the great spectacle. Draw then your swords, And, should our destiny begrudge our virtue The honor of the day, let us take care, To sell ourselves at such a price as may Undo the world to buy us. MARCUS BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF C/ESAR. -Shakespeare. Marcus Junius Brutus. Born 80 B. C. Killed himself 36 B. C. A noted Roman general who joined the conspiracy against the life of Caesar, and afterwards became the leader of the republican army against Antony and Octavius. (This selection, and the one following, will be rendered more effective if the speakers dress in Roman costume, and have several spectators on the stage to represent the Roman people. Other details, such as the mantle, coffin, etc., suggested by the text, may be added with good effect.) ROMANS, countrymen, and lovers ! Hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, — any dear friend of Caesar's, — to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was not less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer : Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all freemen ? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him ; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are teais, for his love ; joy, for his fortune ; honor, for his valor ; and death, for his ambition ! Who is here so base, that would be a bondman? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. None ? — Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony ; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying a place in the commonwealth : As which of you shall not ? With this I depart : That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please ,my country to need my death. SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 295 MARK ANTONY TO THE PEOPLE, ON CESAR'S DEATH— Shakespeare. Mark Antony. Born 83 B. C. Died 30 B. C. A noted Roman general and statesman who was a friend of Caesar, and after Caesar's death couducted, with Octavius, a war against Brutus and Cassius. (For convenience in recitation, this selection is divided into two parts.) Part I. FRIENDS, Romans, countrymen lend me your ears I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them ; The good is oft interred with their bones : So let it be with Caesar ! Noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious : — If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; And grieously hath Caesar answered it ! Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest— Tor Brutus is an honorable man ! So are they all ! all honorable men,— Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me, — But Brutus says he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honorable man ! He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept. Ambition should be made of sterner stuff ! — Yet Brutus says he was ambitious. And Brutus is an honorable man ! You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse : was this ambition? — Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; And sure he is an honorable man ! I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ; But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once ; not without cause : What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him ! O judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason ! Bear with me : My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar ; And I must pause till it come back to me. — But yesterday, the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world ; — now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence ! masters ! if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men ! — I will not do them wrong : I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will wrong such honorable men ! — But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar, — I found it in his closet, — 'tis his will ! Let but the commons hear this testament, — Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read, — And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue ! Part II. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now % You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on : 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, — That day he overcame the Nervii ! — Look ! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through ! See what a rent the envious Casca made ! — Through this, — the well-beloved Brutus stabbed And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it ! As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ! For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel. Judge, O ye gods, how dearly Caesar loved him ! This was the most unkindest cut of all ! For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty heart And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statue, — 296 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. Which all the while ran blood ! — great Caesar fell ! O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down ; Whilst bloody treason nourished over us ! O, now you weep ; and I perceive you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops ! Kind souls ! what ! weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded? — look you here ! Here is himself, — marred, as you see, by trait- ors ! Good friends ! sweet friends ! let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny ! They that have done this deed are honorable ! What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not, That made them do it : they are wise and hon- orable, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : I am no orator, as Brutus is ; But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, That love my friend, — and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him, — For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,, To stir men's blood : I only speak right on. I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, — poor, poor,. dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny ! HANNIBAL TO HIS ARMY .—Abridgment from Livy. When Hannibal was a child his father made him swear eternal enmity to Rome. HERE, soldiers, you must either conquer or die. On the right and left two seas enclose you; and you have no ship to fly to for escape. The river Po around you, — the Po, larger and more impetuous than the Rhone, — the Alps behind, scarcely passed by you when fresh and vigorous, hem you in. Here Fortune has granted you the termina- tion of your labors ; here she will bestow a re- ward worthy of the service you have undergone. All the spoils that Rome has amassed by so many triumphs will be yours. Think not that, in pro- portion as this war is great in name, the victory will be difficult. From the Pillars of Hercules, from the ocean, from the remotest limits of the world, over mountains and rivers, you have ad- vanced victorious through the fiercest Nations of Gaul and Spain. And with whom are you now to fight ? With a raw army, which this very summer was beaten, conquered, and surrounded ; an army unknown to their leader, and he to them ! Shall I compare myself, almost born, and certainly bred, in the tent of my father, that illustrious commander, — myself, the conqueror, not only of the Alpine Nations, but of the Alps themselves, — myself, who was the pupil of you all, before I became your commander, — to this six months' general ? or shall I compare his army with mine ? On what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold all full of courage and strength : — a veteran in- fantry ; a most gallant cavalry ; you, our allies,, most faithful and valiant ; you, Carthagenians, whom not only your country's cause, but the justest anger, impels to battle. The valor, the confidence of invaders, are ever greater than those of the defensive party. As the assailants in this war, we pour down, with hostile standards, upon Italy. We bring the war. Suffering, in- jury and indignity, fire our minds. First they demanded me, your leader, for punishment ; and then all of you, who had laid siege to Saguntum. And, had we been given up, they would have visited us with the severest tortures. Cruel and haughty Nation ! Everything must be yours, and at your disposal ! You are to prescribe to us with whom we shall have war, with whom peace \ You are to shut us up by the boundaries of moun- SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 297 tains and rivers, which we must not pass ! But you — you are not to observe the limits yourselves have appointed ! Soldiers, there is nothing left to us, in any quarter, but what we can vindicate with our swords. Let those be cowards who have some- thing to look back upon ; whom, flying through safe and unmolested roads, their own country will receive. There is a necessity for us to be brave. There is no alternative but victory or death ; and if it must be death, who would not rather encounter it in battle than in flight ? The immortal gods could give no stronger incentive to victory. Let but these truths be fixed in your minds, and once again I proclaim, you are con- querors ! After the above speech, Hannibal gained a great victory over Scipio, the Roman general. The follow- ing address is supposed to be delivered by Scipio to his army, prior to the same engagement, namely, Ticinus, 218 B. C. SCIPIO TO HIS ARMY —Abridgment from Livy. NOT because of their courage, O soldiers, but because an engagement is now inevitable, do the enemy prepare for battle. Two-thirds of their infantry and cavalry have been lost in the passage of the Alps. Those who survive hardly equal in num- ber those who have perished. Should any one say, "Though few, they are stout and irresisti- ble," I reply, — Not so! They are the veriest shadows of men ; wretches, emaciated with hun- ger, and benumbed with cold ; bruised and en- feebled among the rocks and crags ; their joints frost-bitten, their sinews stiffened with the snow, their armor battered and shivered, their horses lame and powerless. Such is the cavalry, such the infantry, against which you have to con- tend ; — not enemies, but shreds and remnants of enemies ! I fear nothing more, than that when you have fought Hannibal, the Alps may seem to have been beforehand, and to have robbed you of the renown of a victory. But perhaps it was fitting that the gods themselves, irrespec- tive of human aid, should commence and carry forward a war against a leader and a people who violate the faith of treaties; and that we, who next to the gods have been most injured, should complete the contest thus commenced, and nearly finished. I would, therefore, have you fight, O soldiers, not only with that spirit with which you are wont to encounter other enemies, but with a certain indignation and resentment, such as you might experience if you should see your slaves suddenly taking up arms against you. We might have slain these Carthaginians, when they were shut up in Eryx, by hunger, the most dreadful of human tortures. We might have carried over our victorious fleet to Africa, and, in a few days, have destroyed Carthage, without opposition. We yielded to their prayers for pardon ; we released them from the blockade ; we made peace with them when conquered ; and we afterwards held them under our protection, when they were borne down by the African war. In return for these benefits, they come, under the leadership of a hot-brained youth, to lay waste our country. Ah ! would that the con- test on your side were now for glory, and not for safety ! It is not for the possession of Sicily and Sardinia, but for Italy, that you must fight : nor is there another army behind, which, should we fail to conquer, can resist the enemy ; nor are there other Alps, during the passage of which, fresh forces may be pro- cured. Here, soldiers, here we must make our stand. Here we must fight, as if we fought before the walls of Rome ! Let every man bear in mind, it is not only his own person, but his wife and children, he must now defend. Nor let the thought of them alone possess his mind. Let him remember that the Roman Senate — the Roman People — are looking, with anxious eyes, to our exertions; and that, as our valor and our strength shall this day be, such will be the fortune of Rome — such the welfare — nay, the very existence, of our country ! 298 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. ALFRED THE GREAT TO MY friends, our country must be free ! The land Is never lost that has a son to right her, — And here are troops of sons, and loyal ones ! Strong in her children should a mother be : Shall ours be helpless, that has sons like us ? God save our native land, whoever pays The ransom that redeems her ! Now, what wait we? — For Alfred's word to move upon the foe? Upon him, then ! Now think ye on the things You most do love ! Husbands and fathers, on Their wives and children ; lovers, on their be- loved ; And all, upon their country ! When you use Your weapons, think on the beseeching eyes, To whet them, could have lent you tears for water ! O, now be men, or never ! From your hearths Thrust the unbidden feet, that from their nooks Drove forth your aged sires — your wives and babes ! The couches, your fair-handed daughters used To spread, let not the vaunting stranger press, HIS MEN. — Adaptation from Knowles. Weary from spoiling you ! Your roofs, that hear The wanton riot of the intruding guest, That mocks their masters, — clear them for the sake Of the manhood to which all that's precious clings Else perishes. The land that bore you — O ! Do honor to her ! Let her glory in Your breeding ! Rescue her ! Revenge her, — or Ne'er call her mother more ! Come on, my friends, And, where you take your stand upon the field, However you advance, resolve on this, That you will ne'er recede, while from the tongues Of age, and womanhood, and infancy, The helplessness, whose safety in you lies, Invokes you to be strong ! Come on ! Come on ! I'll bring you to the foe ! And when you meet him, Strike hard ! Strike home ! Strike while a dying blow Is in an arm ! Strike till you're free, or fall ! GALGACUS TO THE CALEDONIANS.— Abridgment from Tacitus. REFLECTING on the origin of this war, and on the straits to which we are reduced, I am persuaded, O Caledo- nians, that to your strong hands and indomitable will is British liberty this day con- fided. There is no retreat for us, if vanquished. Not even the sea, covered as it is by the Roman fleet, offers a path for escape. And thus war and arms, ever welcomed by the brave, are now the only safety of the cowardly, if any such there be. No refuge is behind us ; naught but the rocks, and the waves, and the deadlier Romans : men whose pride you have vainly tried to conciliate by forbearance ; whose cruelty you have vainly sought to deprecate by modera- tion. The robbers of the globe, when the land fails, they scour the sea. Is the enemy rich, — they are avaricious ; is he poor, — they are am- bitious. The East and the West are unable to satiate their desires. Wealth and poverty are alike coveted by their rapacity. To carry off, to massacre, to make seizures under false pre- tences, this they call empire ; and when they make a desert, they call it peace ! Do not suppose, however, that the prowess of these Romans is equal to their lust. They have thrived on our divisions. They know how to turn the vices of others to their own profit. Casting off all hope of pardon, let us exhibit the courage of men to whom salvation and glory are equally dear. Nursed in freedom as we have been, unconquered and unconquerable, let us, in the first onset, show these usurpers what manner of men they are that Old Cale- SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 299 donia shelters in her bosom ! All the incite- ments to victory are on our side. Wives, parents, children, — these we have to protect; and these the Romans have not. They have none to cry shame upon their flight ; none to shed tears of exultation at their success. Few in numbers, fearful from ignorance, gazing on unknown forests and untried seas, the gods have delivered them, hemmed in, bound and helpless, into our hands. Let not their showy aspect, their glitter of silver and gold, dismay you. Such adornments can neither harm nor protect from harm. In the very line of the enemy we shall find friends. The Britons, the Gauls, the Germans, will recognize their own cause in ours. Here is a leader ; here an army ! There are tributes, and levies, and badges of servitude, — impositions, which to assume, or to trample under foot for- ever, lies now in the power of your arms. Forth, then, Caledonians, to the field ! Think of your ancestors ! Think of your descendants ! MARULLUS TO THE ROMAN POPULACE.— Shakespeare. ~X" THEREFORE rejoice that Caesar comes \ A / in triumph ? JL JL What conquest brings he home ? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels ? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ! O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome ! Knew ye not Pompey ? Many a time and oft Have you climbed up the walls and battle- ments, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The life-long day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome ; And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks To hear the replication of your sounds, Made in her concave shores ? And do you now put on your best attire ? And do you now cull out a holiday ? And do you now strew flowers in his way, That comes in triumph over Pompey' s blood ? Begone ! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude ! CATILINE TO THE GALLIC CONSPIRATORS.— Adaptation from Croly. MEN of Gaul ! What would you give for Freedom? — For Freedom, if it stood before your eyes ; For Freedom, if it rushed to your embrace ; For Freedom, if its sword were ready drawn To hew your chains off? Ye would give death or life ! Then marvel not That I am here — that Catiline would join you ! — The great Patrician ? — Yes — an hour ago — But now the rebel ; Rome's eternal foe, And your sworn friend ! My desperate wrong's my pledge There's not in Rome, — no — not upon the earth, A man so wronged. The very ground I tread Is grudged me. — Chieftains ! ere the moon be down, My land will be the Senate's spoil ; my life, The mark of the first villain that will stab For lucre. — But there's a time at hand ! — Gaze on ! If I had thought you cowards, I might have come And told you lies. But you have now the thing I am ; — Rome's enemy, — and fixed as fate To you and yours forever ! The State is weak as dust. Rome's broken, helpless, heart-sick. Venge- ance sits Above her, like a vulture o'er a corpse, Soon to be tasted. Time, and dull decay, Have let the waters round her pillar's foot ; And it must fall. Her boasted strength's a ghost, Fearful to dastards ; — yet, to trenchant swords, 300 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. Thin as the passing air ! A single blow, In this diseased and crumbling state of Rome, Would break your chains like stubble. But " ye've no swords ! " Have you no ploughshares, scythes? When men are brave, the sickle is a spear ! Must Freedom pine till the slow armorer Gilds her caparison, and sends her out To glitter and play antics in the sun ? Let hearts be what they ought, — the naked earth Will be their magazine ; — the rocks — the trees — Nay, there's no idle and unnoted thing, But, in the hand of Valor, will out-thrust The spear, and make the mail a mockery ! CATILINE'S LAST HARANGUE TO HIS ARMY .—Croly. BRAVE comrades ! all is ruined ! I disdain To hide the truth from you. The die is thrown ! And now, let each that wishes for long life Put up his sword, and kneel for peace to Rome. Ye are all free to go. — What ! no man stirs ! Not one ! — a soldier's spirit in you all ? Give me your hands ! (This moisture in my eyes Is womanish — 'twill pass.) My noble hearts! Well have you chosen to die ! For, in my mind, The grave is better than o'erburthened life; — Better the quick release of glorious wounds, Than the eternal taunts of galling tongues ; — Better the spear-head quivering in the heart, Than daily struggle against Fortune's curse; Better, in manhood's muscle and high blood, To leap the gulf, than totter to its edge In poverty, dull pain, and base decay. — Once more, I say, — are ye resolved ? Then, each man to his tent, and take the arms That he would love to die in, — for, this hour, We storm the Consul's camp. — A last farewell ! When next we meet, we'll have no time to look, How parting clouds a soldier's countenance: — . Few as we are, we'll rouse them with a peal That shall shake Rome ! — Now to your cohorts' heads, — the word's — Revenge / REGULUS TO THE ROMAN SENATE.— Sargent. In the wars with Carthage, Regulus, the Roman general, was taken prisoner. He was released to make a tour to Rome to sue for peace, and, on the condition of its being granted, Regulus was to be liberated ; otherwise, he gave his word to return. On appearing before the Roman Senate, to the astonishment of the Carthaginian ambassadors, he advised Rome against the overtures of Carthage, and returned to captivity, where he suffered death rather than break his promise to return. ILL does it become me, O Senators of Rome ! — ill does it become Regulus, — after having so often stood in this venerable Assembly clothed with the supreme dignity of the Republic, to stand before you a captive — the captive of Carthage ! Though outwardly I am free, — though no fetters encumber the limbs, or gall the flesh, — yet the heaviest of chains, — the pledge of a Roman Consul, — makes me the bonds- man of the Carthaginians. They have my promise to return to them, in the event of the failure of this their embassy. My life is at their mercy. My honor is my own ; — a possession which no reverse of fortune can jeopard ; a flame which imprisonment cannot stifle, time cannot dim, death cannot extinguish. Of the train of disasters which followed close on the unexampled successes of our arms, — of the bitter fate which swept off the flower of our soldiery, and consigned me, your General, wounded and senseless, to Carthaginian keep- ing, — I will not speak. For five year's, a rigor- ous captivity has been my portion. For five years, the society of family and friends, the dear amenities of home, the sense of freedom, and the sight of country, have been to me a recollection and a dream, — no more ! But during that period Rome has retrieved her defeats. She has re- covered under Metellus what under Regulus she lost. She has routed armies. She has taken unnumbered prisoners. She has struck terror to the hearts of the Carthaginians ; who have now SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 301 sent me hither with their Ambassadors, to sue for peace, and to propose that, in exchange for me, your former Consul, a thousand common prisoners of war shall be given up. You have heard the Ambassadors. Their intimations of some unimaginable horror — I know not what — impending over myself, should I fail to induce you to accept their terms, have strongly moved your sympathies in my behalf. Another appeal, which I would you might have been spared, has lent force to their suit. A wife and children, threatened with widowhood and orphanage, weeping and despairing, have knelt at your feet, on the very threshold of the Senate-cham- ber. — Conscript Fathers ! Shall not Regulus be saved ? Must he return to Carthage to meet the cruelties which the Ambassadors brandish before our eyes? With one voice you answer, No ! — Countrymen ! Friends ! For all that I have suffered — for all that I may have to suffer — I am repaid in the compensation of this moment ! Un- fortunate, you may hold me ; but, O, not unde- serving ! Your confidence in my honor survives all the ruin that adverse fortune could inflict. You have not forgotten the past. Republics are not ungrateful ! May the thanks I cannot utter bring down blessings from the Gods on you and Rome ! Conscript Fathers ! There is but one course to be pursued. Abandon all thought of peace. Reject the overtures of Carthage ! Reject them wholly and unconditionally ! What ! Give back to her a thousand able-bodied men, and receive in return this one attenuated, war-worn, fever- wasted frame, — this weed, whitened in a dun- geon's darkness, pale and sapless, which no kindness of the sun, no softness of the summer breeze, can ever restore to health and vigor? It must not — it shall not be ! O ! were Regulus what he was once, before captivity had unstrung his sinews and enervated his limbs, he might pause, — he might proudly think he were well worth a thousand of the foe ; — he might say, ' ' Make the exchange ! Rome shall hot lose by it !" But now — alas ! now 'tis gone, — that im- petuosity of strength, which could once make him a leader indeed, to penetrate a phalanx or guide a pursuit. His very armor would be a burthen now. His battle-cry would be drowned in the din of the onset. His sword would fall harmless on his opponent's shield. But, if he cannot live, he can at least die, for his country ! Do not deny him this supreme consolation. Consider : every indignity, every torture, which Carthage shall heap on his dying hours, will be better than a trumpet's call to your armies. They will re- member only Regulus, their fellow-soldier and their leader. They will forget his defeats. They will regard only his services to the Republic. Tunis, Sardinia, Sicily, — every well-fought field, won by his blood and theirs, — will flash on their remembrance, and kindle their avenging wrath. And so shall Regulus, though dead, fight as he never fought before against the foe. Conscript Fathers ! There is another theme. My family — forgive the thought ! To you, and to Rome, I confide them. I leave them no legacy but my name, — no testament but my example. Ambassadors of Carthage ! I have spoken, though not as you expected. I am your cap- tives. Lead me back to whatever fate may await me. Doubt not that you shall find, to Roman hearts, country is dearer than life, and integrity more precious than freedom ! REGULUS TO THE CARTHAGINIANS.-^. Kellogg. After the return of Regulus to Carthage, he is supposed to have delivered this heroic address to the Cartha- ginians assembled to put him to death. YE doubtless thought — for ye judge of Roman virtue by your own — that I would break my plighted oath, rather than, returning, brook your ven- geance. If the bright blood that fills my veins, transmitted free from godlike ancestry, were like that slimy ooze which stagnates in your arteries, I had remained at home, and broke my plighted oath to save my life. I am a Roman citizen ; therefore have I re- 302 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. turned, that ye might work your will upon this mass of flesh and bones, that I esteem no higher than the rags that cover them. Here, in your capital, do I defy you. Have I not conquered your armies, fired your towns, and dragged your generals at my chariot wheels, since first my youthful arms could wield a spear ? And do you think to see me crouch and cower before a tamed and shattered Senate ? The tearing of flesh and rending of sinews is but pastime compared with the mental agony that heaves my frame. The moon has scarce yet waned since the proudest of Rome's proud matrons, the mother upon whose breast I slept, and whose fair brow so oft had bent over me before the noise of battle had stirred my blood, or the fierce toil of war nerved my sinews, did with fondest memory of bygone hours entreat me to remain. I have seen her, who, when my country called me to the field, did buckle on my harness with trembling hands, while the tears fell thick and fast down the hard corselet scales, — I have seen her tear her gray locks and beat her aged breast, as on her knees she begged me not to return to Carthage ; and all the assembled Senate of Rome, grave and reverend men, proffered the same request. The puny torments which ye have in store to welcome me withal, shall be, to what I have endured, even as the murmur of a summer's brook to the fierce roar of angry surges on a rocky beach. Last night, as I lay fettered in my dungeon, I heard a strange, ominous sound : it seemed like the distant march of some vast army, their harness clanging as they marched, when sud- denly there stood by me Xanthippus, the Spar- tan general, by whose aid you conquered me, and, with a voice low as when the solemn wind moans through the leafless forest, he thus ad- dressed me : " Roman, I come to bid thee curse, with thy dying breath, this fated city; know that in an evil moment, the Carthaginian gen- erals, furious with rage that I had conquered thee, their conqueror, did basely murder me. And then they thought to stain my brightest honor. But, for this foul deed, the wrath of Jove shall rest upon them here and hereafter. ' * And then he vanished. And now, go bring your threatened tortures. The woes I see impending over this guilty realm shall be enough to sweeten death, though every nerve should tingle in its agony. I die ! but my death shall prove a proud triumph; and, for every drop of blood ye from my veins do draw, your own shall flow in rivers. Woe to thee, Carthage ! Woe to the proud city of the waters ! I see thy nobles wailing at the feet of Roman Senators ! Thy citizens in terror ! Thy ships in flames ! I hear the victorious shouts of Rome ! I see her eagles glittering on thy ram- parts. Proud city, thou art doomed ! The curse of God is on thee — a clinging, wasting curse. It shall not leave thy gates till hungry flames shall lick the fretted gold from off thy proud palaces,, and every brook runs crimson to the sea. RIENZI TO THE ROMANS.— Mary Russell Mitford. FRIENDS ! I come not here to talk. Ye know too well The story of our thraldom. We are slaves ! The bright sun rises to his course, and lights A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam Falls on a slave : not such as, swept along By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads To crimson glory and undying fame, — But base, ignoble slaves ! — slaves to a horde Of petty tyrants, feudal despots ; lords, Rich in some dozen paltry villages ; Strong in some hundred spearmen ; only great In that strange spell — a name ! Each hour,, dark fraud Or open rapine, or protected murder, Cry out against them. But this very day, An honest man, my neighbor — there he stands — Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore The badge of Ursini ! because, forsooth, He tossed not high his ready cap in air, Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men, SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 303 And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not The stain away in blood? Such shames are common. I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye; I had a brother once, a gracious boy, Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, Of sweet and quiet joy ; there was the look Of Heaven upon his face, which limners give To the beloved disciple. How I loved That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years Brother at once and son ! He left my side, A summer bloom on his fair cheeks — a smile Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour, That pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans ! Rouse, ye slaves ! Have ye brave sons ? — Look in the next fierce brawl To see them die ! Have ye fair daughters ? — - Look To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,. Dishonored ; and, if ye dare call for justice, Be answered by the lash ! Yet, this is Rome, That sate on her seven hills, and from her throne Of beauty ruled the world ? Yet, we are Romans I Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman Was greater than a King ! And once again — Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread Of either Brutus ! — once again I swear The Eternal City shall be free ! SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA.— E. Kellogg. Spartacus was born about no B. C. He was a Thracian soldier, who was taken prisoner by the- Romans, made a slave, and trained as a gladiator. He escaped with a number of fellow-gladiators to the mountains, where he became leader of a numerous band, and defeated Claudius Pulcher, a Roman general. He proclaimed freedom to all slaves who would join him, and thus raised a powerful army, defeating, repeatedly, the Roman Consuls sent against him. His army numbered more than 100,000 men, and he would, no doubt, have conquered Rome, had not dissentions arisen among his soldiers. He was prudent and. brave, and altogether a most extraordinary man with all the qualities of a great hero. He was killed in battle 71 B. C, and the great Servile War, of which he was leader, ended with his death. IT had been a day of triumph in Capua. Len- tulus, returning with victorious eagles, had amused the populace with the sports of the amphitheatre to an extent hitherto un- known even in that luxurious city. The shouts of revelry had died away ; the roar of the lion had ceased ; the last loiterer had retired from the banquet ; and the lights in the palace of the vic- tor were extinguished. The moon, piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dew-drops on the corslet of the Roman sentinel, and tipped the dark waters of the Vulturnus with a wavy, tremu- lous light. No sound was heard, save the last sob of some retiring wave, telling its story to the smooth pebbles of the beach ; and then all was as still as the breast when the spirit has departed. In the deep recesses of the amphitheatre, a band of gladiators were assembled ; their muscles still knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam upon their lips, the scowl of battle yet lingering on their brows ; when Spartacus, arising in the midst of that grim assembly, thus addressed them : " Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who, for twelve long years, has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad, empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say, that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him stand forth, and say it. If there be three in alL your company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I was not always, thus, — a hired butcher, a savage chief of still more savage men ! My ancesters came from old Sparta, and settled among the vine -clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported ; and when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle which. 304 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon, and Leuctra ; and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had withstood a whole army. I did not then know what war was ; but my cheeks burned, I knew not why, and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, until my mother, parting the hair from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go to /est, and think no more of those old tales and savage wars. That very night, the SPARTACUS. Romans landed on our coast. I saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the hoof of the war-horse ; the bleeding body of my father flung amidst the blazing rafters of our dwelling ! "To-day I killed a man in the arena; and, when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold ! he was my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died ; — the same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, in adventurous boy- hood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish tri- umph. I told the prsetor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and brave ; and I begged that I might bear away the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay ! upon my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, for- sooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of that piece of bleeding clay ! And the praetor drew back as if I were pollution, and sternly said : ' Let the carrion rot ; there are no noble men but Romans ! ' And so, fellow -gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. O, Rome ! Rome ! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Ay, thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute -note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint ; taught him to drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe; — to gaze into the glaring eye-balls of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a boy upon a laughing girl ! And he shall pay thee back, until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled ! ' ' Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are ! The strength of brass is in your toughened sinews ; but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark ! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? ' Tis three days since he tasted flesh ; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours — and a dainty meal for him ye will be ! If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife ! If ye are men, — follow me ! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at Old Thermopylae ! Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a belabored hound SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 305 beneath his master's lash? O comrades ! war- 1 us slaughter our oppressors! If we must die, riors ! Thracians ! — if we must fight, let us let it be under the clear sky, by the bright tight for ourselves ! If we must slaughter, let waters, in noble, honorable battle ! " After the above speech, Spartacus, with his gladiator companion, is supposed to have fought his way out ; and, when free, soon collected an army, with which he forced Rome to treat for peace. SPARTACUS TO THE ROMAN ENVOYS IN ETRURIA.— Sargent. (This should be spoken with great dignity, yet intense suppressed feeling.) ENVOYS of Rome, the poor camp of Spartacus is too much honored by your presence. And does Rome stoop to parley with the escaped gladiator, with the rebel ruffian, for whom heretofore no slight bias been too scornful ? You have come, with steel in your right hand, and with gold in your left. What heed we give the former, ask Cossinius ; ask Claudius ; ask Varinius ; ask the bones of your legions that fertilize the Lucanian plains. And for your gold— would ye know what we do with that, — go ask the laborer, the trodden poor, the helpless and the hopeless, on our route ; ask all whom Roman tyranny has crushed, or Roman avarice plundered. Ye have seen me before ; but ye did not then shun my glance as now. Ye have seen me in the arena, when I was Rome's pet ruffian, daily smeared with blood of men or beasts. One day — shall I forget it ever? — ye were present ; — I had fought long and well. Exhausted as I was, your muner- ator, your lord of the games, bethought him, it were an equal match to set against me a new man, younger and lighter than I, but fresh and valiant. With Thracian sword and buckler, forth he came, a beautiful defiance on his brow ! Bloody and brief the fight. "He has it!" cried the People! "habet! habet/" But still he lowered not his arm, until, at length, I held him, gashed and fainting, in my power. I looked around upon the Podium, where sat your Senators and men of State, to catch the signal of release, of mercy. But not a thumb was reversed. To crown your sport, the van- quished man must die ! Obedient brute that I was, I was about to slay him, when a few hurried words — rather a wel- come to death than a plea for life — told me he 20 was a Thracian. I stood transfixed. The arena vanished. I was in Thrace, upon my native hills ! The sword dropped from my hands. I raised the dying youth tenderly in my arms. O, the magnanimity of Rome ! Your haughty leaders, enraged at being cheated of their death-show, hissed their disappointment, and shouted ' ' Kill ! " I heeded them as I would heed the howl of wolves. Kill him ? — They might better have asked the mother to kill the babe, smiling in her face. Ah ! he was already wounded unto death ; and, amid the angry yells of the spectators, he died. That night I was scourged for disobedience. I shall not forget it. Should memory fail, there are scars here to quicken it. Well ! do not grow impatient. Some hours after, finding myself, with seventy fellow-gladi- ators, alone in the amphitheatre, the laboring thought broke forth in words. I said, — I know not what. I only know that, when I ceased, ■my comrades looked each other in the face — and then burst forth the simultaneous cry, ' ' Lead on ! lead on, O Spartacus ! ' ' Forth we rushed, — seized what rude weapons Chance threw in our way, and to the mountains speeded. There, day by day, our little band increased. Disdainful Rome sent after us a handful of her troops, with a scourge for the slave Spartacus. Their weapons soon were ours. She sent an army ; and down from old Vesuvius we poured, and slew three thousand. Now it was Spar- tacus, the dreaded rebel. A larger army, headed by the Praetor, was sent, and routed ; then an- other still. And always I remembered that fierce cry, riving my heart, and calling me to "kill!" In three pitched battles, have T not obeyed it ! And now affrighted Rome sends 306 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. her two Consuls, and puts forth all her strength by land and sea, as if a Pyrrhus or a Hannibal were on her borders ! Envoys of Rome ! To Lentulus and Gellius bear this message : ' ' Their graves are measured ! ' ' Look on that narrow stream, a silver thread, high on the mountain side ! Slenderly it winds, but soon is swelled by others meeting it, until a torrent, terrible and strong, it sweeps to the abyss, where all is ruin. So Spartacus comes HENRY V. TO HIS "T~ "T"HAT'S he that wishes for more men \ A / from England ? _1l jL My cousin Westmoreland ? No, my fair cousin ; If we are marked to die, we are enow To do our country loss ; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honoi. I pray thee do not wish for one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous of gold ; Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; — Such outward things dwell not in my desires : But if it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul alive. No, ' faith my Lord, wish not a man from England: I would not lose, methinks, so great an honor As only one man more would share from me, For the best hope I have. O ! do not wish one more Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host. That he, which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart ; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse. We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is called the feast of Crispian on ! So swells his force, — small and despised at first, but now resistless ! On, on to Rome we come! The gladiators come ! Let Opulence tremble in all his palaces ! Let Oppression shud- der to think the oppressed may have their turn f Let Cruelty turn pale at thought of redder hands than his ! O ! we shall not forget Rome's many lessons. She shall not find her training was all wasted upon indocile pupils. Now begone ! Pre- pare the Eternal City for our games ! SO LDIERS.— Shakespeare. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home> Will stand a tip -toe when this day is named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and sees old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors, And say — to-morrow is Saint Crispian ! Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars. Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, — Familiar in his mouth as household words, — Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, — Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. This story shall the good man teach his son : And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered ; We few, we happy few, we band of brothers : For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me, Shall be my brother : be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition. And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, Shall think themselves accursed they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks That fought with us upon St. Crispian 's day. TO THE ARMY BEFORE QUEBEC, 1759 —General Wolfe. Born 1726. Died 1759. I CONGRATULATE you, my brave coun- trymen and fellow-soldiers, on the spirit and success with which you have executed this important part of our enterprise. The formidable Heights of Abraham are now surmounted ; and the city of Quebec, the object of all our toils, now stands in full view before us. A perfidious enemy, who have dared to exasper- ate you by their cruelties, but not to oppose you on equal ground, are now constrained to face SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 307 you on the open plain, without ramparts or in- trenchments to shelter them. You know too well the forces which compose their army to dread their superior numbers. A few regular troops from old France, weakened by hunger and sickness, who, when fresh, were un- able to withstand the British soldiers, are their General's chief dependence. Those numerous companies of Canadians, insolent, mutinous, unsteady and ill-disciplined, have exercised his utmost skill to keep them together to this time ; and, as soon as their irregular ardor is damped by one firm fire, they will instantly turn their backs, and give you no further trouble but in the pursuit. As for those savage tribes of Indians, whose horrid yells in the forests have struck many a bold heart with affright, terrible as they are with a tomahawk and scalping-knife to a flying and prostrate foe, you have experienced how little their ferocity is to be dreaded by resolute men upon fair and open ground : you can now only consider them as the just objects of a severe revenge for the unhappy fate of many slaughtered countrymen. This day puts it into your power to terminate the fatigues of a siege which has so long em- ployed your courage and patience. Possessed with a full confidence of the certain success which British valor must gain over such enemies, I have led you up these steep and dangerous rocks, only solicitous to show you the foe within your reach. The impossibility of a retreat makes no difference in the situation of men re- solved to conquer or die : and, believe me, my friends, if your conquest could be bought with the blood of your General, he would most cheerfully resign a life which he has long devoted to his country. PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE TO THE MEN OF GHENT.— Henry Taylor. SIRS, ye have heard these knights discourse to you Of your ill fortunes, telling on their fingers The worthy leaders ye have lately lost. True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs ; And ill would it become us to make light Of the great loss we suffer by their fall. They died like heroes ; for no recreant step Had e'er dishonored them, no stain of fear, No base despair, no cowardly recoil. They had the hearts of freemen to the last, And the free blood that bounded in their veins Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy. But had they guessed, or could they but have dreamed, The great examples which they died to show Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here, That men should say, " For liberty these died, Wherefore let us be slaves," — had they thought this, O, then, with what an agony of shame, Their blushing faces buried in the dust, Had their great spirits parted hence for heaven ! What ! shall we teach our chroniclers hence- forth To write, that in five bodies were contained The sole brave hearts of Ghent ! which five de- funct, The heartless town, by brainless counsel led, Delivered up her keys, stript off her robes, And so with all humility besought Her haughty Lord that he would scourge her lightly. It shall not be — no, verily! for now, Thus looking on you as ye stand before me, Mine eye can single out full many a man Who lacks but opportunity to shine As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell. But, lo ! the Earl is ' ' mercifully minded ! ' ' And, surely, if we, rather than revenge The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame, And fall upon our knees, and say we've sinned, Then will my Lord the Earl have mercy on us, And pardon us our strike for liberty ! O, Sirs ! look round you, lest ye be deceived Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue, Forgiveness may be written with the pen, 308 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. But* think not that the parchment and mouth pardon Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart. There's that betwixt you been which men re- member Till they forget themselves, till all's forgot, — Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed From which no morrow's mischief rouses them. THE EARL OF RICHMOND MORE than I have said, loving country- men, The leisure and enforcement of the time Forbids to dwell on. Yet remember this : — God, and our good cause, fight upon our side, The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls, Like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our faces. Richard except, those whom we fight against Had rather have us win than him they follow. For what is he they follow ? Truly, gentleman, A bloody tyrant and a homicide ; One raised in blood, and one in blood established ; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughtered those that were the means to help him A base, foul stone, made precious by the foil Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; One that hath ever been God's enemy. There's that betwixt you been which you your- selves Should ye forget, would then not be yourselves, For must it not be thought some base men's souls Have ta'en the seats of yours and turned you out, If, in the coldness of a craven heart, Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes ! TO HIS ARMY.— Shakespeare. Then, if you fight against God's enemy, God will, in justice, guard you as his soldiers ; If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ; If you do fight against your country's foes, Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire; If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors ; If you do free your children from the sword, Your children's children quit it in your age. Then, in the name of God and all these rights, Advance your standards, draw your willing swords. For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face ; But, if I thrive, the gain of my attempt, The least of you shall share his part thereof. Sound drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully : God, and St. George ! Richmond and victory ! TO THE ARMY OF 'TALY, May 15, 1796.— Translated. Napoleon Bonaparte. SOLDIERS : You have precipitated your- selves like a torrent from the Apennines. You have overwhelmed or swept before you all that opposed your march. Pied- mont, delivered from Austrian oppression, has returned to her natural sentiments of peace and friendship towards France. Milan is yours; and over all Lombardy floats the flag of the Re- public. To your generosity only, do the Dukes of Parma and of Modena now owe their political existence. The army which proudly threatened you finds no remaining barrier of defence against yor.r courage. The Po, the Tesslno, the Adda, could not stop you a single day. Those vaunted Born 1769. Died 1821. ramparts of Italy proved insufficient, you trav- ersed them as rapidly as you did the Apennines. Successes so numerous and brilliant have carried joy to the heart of your country. Your repre- sentatives have decreed a festival, to be celebrated in all the communes of the Republic, in honor of your victories. There will your fathers, mothers, wives, sisters, all who hold you dear, rejoice over your triumphs, and boast that you belong to them. Yes, soldiers, you have done much ; but much still remains for you to do. Shall it be said of us that we knew how to conquer, but not to profit by victory ? Shall posterity reproach us with SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 309 having found a Capua in Lombardy? Nay, fellow-soldiers ! I see you already eager to cry ' ' to arms ! ' ' Inaction fatigues you ; and days lost to glory are days lost to happiness. Let us, then, begone ! We have yet many forced marches to make ; enemies to vanquish ; laurels to gather ; and injuries to avenge ! Let those who have sharpened the poniards of civil war in France, who have pusillanimously assassinated our Ministers, who have burned our vessels at Toulon, — let them now tremble ! The hour of vengeance has knolled ! But let not the People be disquieted. We are the friends of every People : and more es- pecially of the descendants of the Brutuses, the Scipios, and other great men to whom we look as bright exemplars. To re-establsh the Capitol ; to place there with honor the statues of the heroes who made it memorable ; to rouse the Roman People, unnerved by many centuries of oppres- sion, — such will be some of the fruits of our victories. They will constitute an epoch for posterity. To you, Soldiers, will belong the im- mortal honor of redeeming the fairest portion of Europe. The French People, free and respected by the whole world, shall give to Europe a glori- ous peace, which shall indemnify it for all the sacrifices which it has borne, the last six years. Then, by your own firesides you shall repose ; and your fellow-citizens, when they point out any one of you, shall say : "He belonged to the army of Italy ! ' ' WAT TYLER'S ADDRESS TO THE KING.— Robert Southey. Bor?i 1774. KING of England, Petitioning for pity is most weak, — The sovereign People ought to demand justice. » I lead them here against the Lord's anointed, Because his Ministers have made him odious ! His yoke is heavy, and his burden grievous. Why do ye carry on this fatal war, To force upon the French a King they hate ; Tearing our young men from their peaceful homes, Forcing his hard-earned fruits from the honest peasant Distressing us to desolate our neighbors ? Why is this ruinous poll-tax imposed, But to support your Court's extravagance, And your mad title to the Crown of France ? Shall we sit tamely down beneath these evils, Petitioning for pity ? King of England, Why are we sold like cattle in your markets, Deprived of every privilege of man ? Must we lie tamely at our tyrant's feet, And, like your spaniels, lick the hand that beats us? You sit at ease in your gay palaces. The costly banquet courts your appetite ; Died I843. Sweet music soothes your slumbers : we, the while, Scarce by hard toil can earn a little food, And sleep scarce sheltered from the cold night wind, Whilst your wild projects wrest the little from us Which might have cheered the wintry hours of age! The Parliament forever asks more money ; We toil and sweat for money for your taxes ; Where is the benefit, — what good reap we From all the counsels of your government ? Think you that we should quarrel with the French ? What boots to us your victories, your glory ? We pay, we fight, — you profit at your ease ! Do you not claim the country as your own ? Do you not call the venison of the forest, The birds of Heaven, your own? — prohibit- ing us, Even though in want of food, to seize the prey Which Nature offers ? King ! is all this just ? Think you we do not feel the wrongs we suffer ? The hour of retribution is at hand, And tyrants tremble — mark me, King of Eng- land ! 310 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. WASHINGTON TO HIS SOLDIERS.— General George Washington. Born 1732. Died 1799. Addressed to the American troops before the battle of Long Island, 1776. THE time is now near at hand which must probably determine whether Americans are to be freeman or slaves ; whether they are to have any property they can call their own ; whether their houses and farms are to be pillaged and destroyed, and themselves consigned to a state of wretchedness from which no human efforts will deliver them. The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army. Our cruel and unrelenting enemy leaves us only the choice of a brave resistance, or the most abject submis- sion. We have, therefore, to resolve to conquer or to die. Our own, our country's honor, calls upon us for a vigorous and manly exertion ; and if we now shamefully fail, we shall become infamous to the whole world. Let us, then, rely on the goodness of our cause, and the aid of the Supreme Being, in whose hands victory is, to animate and encourage us to great and noble actions. The eyes of all our countrymen are now upon us ; and we shall have their blessings and praises, if happily we are the instruments of saving them from the tyranny meditated against them. Let us, therefore, animate and encourage each other, and show the whole world that a free- man contending for liberty on his own ground is superior to any slavish mercenary on earth. Liberty, property, life and honor, are all at stake. Upon your courage and conduct rest the hopes of our bleeding and insulted country. Our wives, children and parents, expect safety from us only ; and they have every reason to believe that Heaven will crown with success so just a cause. The enemy will endeavor to intimidate by show and appearance; but remember they have been repulsed on various occasions by a few brave Americans. Their cause is bad, — their men are conscious of it ; and, if opposed with firmness and coolness on their first onset with our advantage of works, and knowledge of the ground, the victory is most assuredly ours. Every good soldier will be silent and attentive, wait for orders, and reserve his fire until he is sure of doing execution. LORD BYRON TO THE GREEKS.— Translated from Alphonse De Lamartine. Lord Byron joined the Greeks in their struggle for liberty from Turkish oppression in 1823. He was put in command of a division of Greek soldiers, and, it is said by his biographers, they were deeply attached to him. He died of fever at Missilongi while serving in the Greek army. A STRANGER to your clime, O men of Greece ! — born under a sun less pure, of an ancestry less renowned, than yours, — I feel how unworthy is the offering of the life I bring you — you, who num- ber kings, heroes, and demi-gods among your progenitors. But, throughout the world, where - ever the lustre of your history has shed its rays, — wherever the heart of man has thrilled at the thought of glory, or softened at the mention of misfortune, — Greece may count a friend, and her children an avenger. I come not here in the vain hope to stimulate the courage of men already roused and resolved. One sole cry remained for you, and you have uttered it. Your language lias now one only word — Liberty ! Ah ! what other invocation need the men of Sparta— of Athens — to bid them rise ? These blue heavens, these mountains, these waters, — here are your orators, — here is your present Demosthenes ! Wherever the eye can range, wherever the feet can tread, your consecrated soil recounts a tri- umph or a glorious death. From Leuctra to Marathon, every inch of ground responds to you — cries to you — for vengeance ! liberty ! glory ! virtue ! country ! These voices, which tyrants cannot stifle, demand, — not words, but steel. .'Tis here ! Receive it ! Arm. Let the thirsting earth at length be refreshed with the blood of her oppressors ! What sound more awakening to the brave than the clank of his country' s fetters ? Should the sword ever tremble SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 11 in your grasp, remember yesterday ! think of to- morrow ! For myself, in return for the alliance which I bring you, I ask but the recompense of an hon- orable grave. I ask but the privilege of shedding my blood with you, in your sacred cause. I ask but to know, in dying, that I, too, belong to Greece — to liberty ! Yes, might the Pilgrim hope that, on the pillars of a new Parthenon, his name might, one day, be inscribed, — or, that in the nobler mausoleum of your hearts his memory might be cherished, — he were well content. The tomb where Freedom weeps can never have been prematurely reached by its inmate. Such mar- tyrdom is blessed, indeed. What higher fortune can ambition covet ? ADDRESS OF BLACK HAWK TO GENERAL STREET. The simple, strong eloquence of Indian orators has been dwelt upon by writers of early colonial and United States history. Many of the savage chiefs, in their treaties and dealings with the whites, displayed a natural eloquence of the highest order. The following speeches are fair specimens of their style and spirit of oratory. Y OU have taken me prisoner, with all my warriors. I am much grieved ; for I expected, if I did not defeat you, to hold out much longer, and give you more trouble before I surrendered. I tried hard to bring you into ambush, but your last General understood Indian fighting. I determined to rush on you, and fight you face to face. I fought hard. But your guns were well aimed. The bullets flew like birds in the air, and whizzed by our ears like the wind through the trees in winter. My warriors fell around me ; it began to look dismal. I saw my evil day at hand. The sun rose dim on us in the morning, and at night it sank in a dark cloud, and looked like a ball of fire. That was the last sun that shone on Black Hawk. His heart is dead, and no longer beats quick in his bosom. He is now a prisoner to the white men ; they will do with him as they wish. But he can stand torture, and is not afraid of death. He is no coward. Black Hawk is an Indian. He has done nothing for which an Indian ought to be ashamed. He has fought for his countrymen, against white men, who came, year after year, to cheat them, and take away their lands. You know the cause of our making war. It is known to all white men. They ought to be ashamed of it. The white men despise the In- dians, and drive them from their homes. They smile in the face of the poor Indian, to cheat him ; they shake him by the hand, to gain his confidence, to make him drunk, and to deceive him. We told them to let us alone, and keep away from us ; but they followed on and beset our paths, and they coiled themselves among us like the snake. They poisoned us by their touch. We were not safe. We lived in danger. We looked up to the Great Spirit. We went to our father. We were encouraged. His great council gave us fair words and big promises ; but we got no satisfaction : things were growing worse. There were no deer in the forest. The opossum and beaver were fled. The springs were drying up, and our squaws and pappooses with- out victuals to keep them from starving. We called a great council, and built a large fire. The spirit of our fathers arose, and spoke to us to avenge our wrongs or die. We set up the war-whoop, and dug up the tomahawk ; our knives were ready, and the heart of Black Hawk swelled high in his bosom, when he led his war- riors to battle. He is satisfied. He will go to the world of spirits contented. He has done his duty. His father will meet him there, and com- mend him. Black Hawk is a true Indian, and disdains to cry like a woman. He feels for his wife, his children, and his friends. But he does not care for himself. He cares for the Nation and the Indians. They will suffer. He laments their fate. Farewell, my Nation ! Black Hawk tried to save you, and avenge your wrongs. He drank the blood of some of the whites. He has been taken prisoner, and his plans are crushed. He can do no more. He is near his end. His sun is setting, and he will rise no more. Fare- well to Black Hawk ! 312 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. LOGAN, A MINGO CHIEF, TO LORD DUNMORE. The charge against Colonel Cresap, in the subjoined speech, — or, rather, message, — sent to Lord Dunmore, Governor of Virginia, in 1774, through John Gibson, an Indian trader, has been proved to be untrue. Gibson corrected Logan on the spot, but probably felt bound to deliver the speech as it was. delivered to him. I APPEAL to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat ; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During the course of the last long and bloody war Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advo- cate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed at me as. they passed, and said, " Logan is the friend of white men. ' ' I had even thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and un- provoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not sparing even my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have glutted my vengeance. For my country, I re- joice at the beams of peace. But do not think that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. Logan will not turn on his heel to save his life.. Who is there to mourn for Logan ? Not one. TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR, 1824.— Pushmataha. FATHER — I have been here at the council - house some time ; but I have not talked. I have not been strong enough to talk. You shall hear me talk to-day. I be- long to another district. You have, no doubt, heard of me. I am Pushmataha. Father — When in my own country, I often looked towards this council-house, and wanted to come here. I am in trouble. I will tell my distresses. I feel like a small child, not half as high as its father, who comes up to look in his father's face, hanging in the bend of his arm, to tell him his troubles. So, father, I hang in the bend of your arm, and look in your face ; and now hear me speak. Father — When I was in my own country, I heard there were men appointed to talk to us. I would not speak there ; I chose to come here, and speak in this beloved house ; for Pushmataha Born 1764. Died 182 4. can boast, and say, and tell the truth, that none of his fathers, or grandfathers, or any Choctaw, ever drew bow against the United States. They have always been friendly. We have held the hands of the United States so long, that our nails are long like birds' claws ; and there is no danger of their slipping out. Father — I have come to speak. My nation, has always listened to the applications of the white people. They have given of their country till it is very small. I came here, when a young man, to see my Father Jefferson. He told me, if ever we got into trouble, we must run and tell him. I am come. This is. a friendly talk ; it is like that of a man wha meets another, and says, How do you do ? Another of my tribe shall talk further. He shall say what Pushmataha would say, were he stronger. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF A CHIEF OF THE POCUMTUC INDIANS.— Edward EveretL "T" "yHITE man, there is eternal war be- \ A / tween m e and thee ! I quit not Jl JL the land of my fathers but with my life. In those woods where I bent my youthful bow, I will still hunt the deer. Over yonder waters I will still glide unrestrained in my bark canoe. By those dashing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter's store of food. On these fertile meadows I will still plant my corn. Stranger, the land is mine ! I understand not these paper rights. I gave not my consent when, as thou sayest, these broad regions were pur- chased, for a few baubles, of my fathers. They could sell what was theirs ; they could sell no more. SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 313 How could my fathers sell that which the Great Spirit sent me into the world to live upon ? They knew not what they did. The stranger came, a timid suppliant, few and feeble, and asked to lie down on the red man's bear-skin, and warm himself at the red man's fire, and have a little piece of land to raise corn for his women and children ; and now he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads out his parchment over the whole, and says, It is mine. Stranger, there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit has not made us to live together. There is poison in the white man's cup; the white man's dog barks at the red man's heels. If I should leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly ? Shall I go to the South, and dwell among the graves of the Pequots ? Shall I wander to the West ? — the fierce Mohawk, the man-eater, is my foe. Shall I fly to the East ? — the great water is before me. No, stranger ; ALASCO TO HIS C( here I have lived, and here I will die ! and if here thou abidest, there is eternal war between me and thee. Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction. For that alone I thank thee ; and now take heed to thy steps ; — the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth by day, my bullet shall whistle by thee ; when thou liest down at night, my knife is at thy throat. The noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy, and the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood ; thou shalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with ashes ; thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will follow after with the scalping-knife ; thou shalt build, and I will burn, till the white man or the Indian shall cease from the land. Go thy way, for this time, in safety ; but remem- ber, stranger, there is eternal war between me and thee ! SOLDIERS, the chief, Malinski, has be- betrayed His post, and fled. I would that every knave He has left behind him would strip the patriot cloak And follow him. Such ruffian spirits taint The cause of freedom. They repel its friends, And so disfigure it by blood and violence, That good men start, and tremble to embrace it. But now, my friends, a sterner trial waits us : Within yon castle's walls we sleep to-night, Or die to-day before them. Let each man Preserve the order of advance, and charge As if he thought his individual sword Could turn the scale of fate. String every heart To valor's highest pitch ; —fight, and be free ! This is no common conflict, set on foot ARMINIUS TO HIS SOLDIERS and friends ! we soon shall reach the ground Where your poor country waits the sac- rifice, The holiest offering of her children's blood ! For hireling hosts to ply the trade of war. Ours is a noble quarrel. We contend For what's most dear to man, wherever found — Free or enslaved — a savage, or a sage ; — The very life and being of our country. 'Tis ours to rescue from the oblivious grave, Where tyrants have combined to bury them, A gallant race, a nation, and her fame ; To gather up the fragments of our State, And in its cold, dismembered body breathe The living soul of empire. Such a cause Might warm the torpid earth, put hearts in stones,. And stir the ashes of our ancestors, Till from their tombs our warrior sires come forth, Range on our side, and cheer us on to battle. Strike, then, ye patriot spirits, for your country !: Fight, and be free ! — for liberty and Poland. SOLDIERS.— Murphy. Here have we come, not for the lust of conquest,. Not for the booty of the lawless plunderer ; No, friends, we come to tell our proud invaders That we will use our strength to purchase free- dom ! 314 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. Freedom — prime blessing of this fleeting life ! — Is there a man that hears thy sacred name, And thrills not to the sound with loftiest hope, With proud disdain of tyrant whips and chains ? Much-injured friends, your slavish hours are past ! Conquest is ours ! not that your German swords Have keener edges than the Roman falchions ; Not that your shields are stouter, nor your armor Impervious to the swift and deadly lance ; Not that your ranks are thicker than the Roman ; — No, no ; they will outnumber you, my soldiers ; — But that your cause is good ! They are poor slaves Who fight for hire and plunder, — pampered ruffians, Who have no soul for glory. We are Germans ; Who here are bound, by oaths indissoluble, To keep your glorious birthrights or to die ! This is a field where beardless boys might fight, And, looking on the angel Liberty, Might put such mettle in their tender arms That veteran chiefs would ill ward off their blows. I say no more, my dear and trusty friends ! Your glorious rallying-cry has music in it, To rouse the sleepiest spirit from his trance, — For Freedom and Germania ! SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.— Byron. ^T" "TTARRIORS and chiefs! should the \ A / shaft or the sword Jl-IL Pierce me in leading the hosts of the Lord, Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path: Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath ! Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet! Mine be the doom, which they dared not to meet. Farewell to others, but never we part, Heir to my royalty, son of my heart ! Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day ! GUSTAVUS VASA TO THE DALECARLIANS. Christian II., King of Denmark, having made himself master of Sweden, confined Gustavus at Copen- hagen ; but he, making his escape, contrived to reach the Dalecarlian mountains, where he worked at the mines like a common slave. Having seized a favorable opportunity, he declared himself to the miners and peasants, whom he incited to join his cause. Fortune befriended him, and in the year 1527 he gained the throne of Sweden. SWEDES ! countrymen ! behold at last, after a thousand dangers past, your chief, Gustavus, here. Long have I sighed ' mid foreign bands, long have I roamed in foreign lands ; —at length, 'mid Swedish hearts and hands, I grasp a Swedish spear \ Yet, look- ing forth, although I see none but the fearless and the free, sad thoughts the sight inspires ; for where, I think, on Swedish ground, save where these mountains frown around, can that best heritage be found — the freedom of our sires ? — Yes, Sweden pines beneath the yoke ; the gall- ing chain our fathers broke is round our country now ! On perjured craft and ruthless guilt his power a tyrant Dane has built, and Sweden's crown, all blood-bespilt, rests on a foreign brow. On you your country turns her eyes — on you, on you, for aid relies, scions of noblest stem ! The foremost place in rolls of fame, by right your fearless fathers claim ; yours is the glory of their name — 'tis yours to equal them. — As rushing down, when winter reigns, resistless to the shaking plains, the torrent tears its way, and all that bars its onward course sweeps to the sea with headlong force, — so swept your sires the Dane and Norse : — can ye do less than they ? Rise ! reassert your ancient pride, and down the hills a living tide of fiery valor pour. Let but the storm of battle lower, back to his den the foe will cower; — then, then shall Freedom's glorious hour strike for our land once more ! SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 315 What ! silent — motionless, ye stand ? Gleams not an eye ? Moves not a hand ? Think ye to fly your fate ? Or till some better cause be given, wait ye ? — Then wait ! till, banished, driven, ye fear to meet the face of Heaven ; till ye are slaughtered, wait ! But no ! your kindling hearts gainsay the thought. Hark ! Hear that bloodhound's bay ! Yon blazing village see ! Rise, countrymen ! Awake ! Defy the haughty Dane ! Your battle- cry be Freedom / We will do or die ! On ! Death or victory ! HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS AT THE SIEGE OF HARFLEUR.— Shakespeare. ONCE more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; Or close the wall up with our English dead ! In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility : But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger ; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage : Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; Let it pry through the portage of the head, Like the brass cannon. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To its full height ! On, on, you noblest English, Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war proof! Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot ; Follow your spirit : and upon this charge, Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and St. George ! GERMANICUS TO HIS MUTINOUS TROOPS.- Tacitus. A. D. 14, the Roman soldiers on the lower Rhine mutinied on receiving the news of the death of the Emperor Augustus, and the accession of Tiberius. According to Tacitus, the following speech, by German / icus, the consul, recalled the mutinous troops to their duty, and restored discipline. TO this audience what name shall I give ? Can I call you soldiers ? Soldiers ! you who have beset with arms the son of your emperor — confined him in your trenches ? Citizens, can I call you ? you who have trampled under your feet the authority of the Senate ; who have violated the most awful sanctions, even those which hostile states have ever held in respect — the rights of ambassadors and the laws of nations ? Julius Caesar, by a single word, was able to quell a mutiny ; he spoke to the men who re- sisted his authority : he called them Romans, and they returned to their allegiance. Augustus showed himself to the legions who fought at Actium, and the majesty of his countenance awed them into submission. The distance be- tween myself and these illustrious characters I know is great ; and yet, descended from them, with their blood in my veins, I should resent with indignation a parallel outrage from the soldiers of Syria or of Spain ; and will you, men of the first and the twentieth legions, — the former enrolled by Tiberius himself, the other his con- stant companions in so many battles, and by him enriched with so many bounties, — will you thus requite his benefits ? From every other quarter of the empire Tibe- rius has received none but joyful tidings ; and must I wound his ears with the news of your revolt ? Must he hear from me, that neither the soldiers raised by himself, nor the veterans who fought under him, are willing to own his author- ity ? Must he be told that neither exemptions from service, nor money lavishly bestowed, can appease the fury of ungrateful men ? Must I tell him that here centurions are butchered, trib- unes expelled, ambassadors imprisoned ; the camp and the rivers polluted with blood ; and that a Roman general drags out a precarious ex- istence at the mercy of men implacable and mad? Wherefore, on the first day that I addressed 316 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. you, did you wrest from me that sword which I was on the point of plunging into my heart? Officious friends ! Greater was the kindness of that man who proffered me a sword. At all events, I should have fallen ere I had become aware of the enormities committed by my army. You would have chosen a general who, though he might leave my death unatoned for, would yet avenge the massacre of Varus and his three legions. May that revenge be still reserved for the Roman sword ! May the gods withhold from the Belgic states, though now they court the op- portunity, the credit and renown of retrieving the Roman name, and of humbling the German nations ! May thy spirit, O, deified Augustus ! which is received into heaven, — thy image, my father Drusus ! — prevail with these soldiers, who, even now, I see, are touched with a noble re- morse ! May your inspiration dispel the disgrace that sits heavy upon them ; and may the rage of civil discord discharge itself on the enemies of Rome ! FAREWELL TO THE ARMY AT SOLDIERS ! receive my adieu. During twenty years that we have lived to- gether, I am satisfied with you. I have always found you in the paths of glory. All the powers of Europe have armed against me. Some of my generals have betrayed their trust and France. My country herself has wished another destiny : with you, and the other brave men who have remained true to me, I could have maintained a civil war : but France would have been unhappy. FONTAINEBLEAU, 1814.— Napoleon Bonaparte. Be faithful to your new king. Be submissive to your new generals ; and do not abandon our dear country. Mourn not my fortunes. I shall be happy while I am sure of your happiness. I might have died ; but if I have consented to live, it is still to serve your glory ; I shall record now the great deeds which we have done together. Bring me the eagle standard ; let me press it to my heart. Farewell, my children ; my hearty wishes go with you. Preserve me in your memories. THE VETERANS.-^ AS you all know, comrades especially, I was but one of those leaders who fought in the war. We are veterans, and our white hairs tell us that, our feelings tell us that, and as we look over the crowds here to-day, we old soldiers realize the fact, without being told, that our days of fighting are past ; that our days of rest and peace from the gun are here, and that we should, every one of us, come together on all suitable occasions to press each other's hands and look back and around us ; to look back and see if that for which we fought honestly and truly, that for which we left our dead comrades upon the bare pine-fields of the South — whether it remains secure to us and whether we may now sleep in rest and peace. Every man, be he American, English, French, or German, was as much interested that America should be a free land — to-day free from Main to Texas and from Florida to Oregon — as you who William Tecumseh Sherman. are living here in your homes in New Hampshire. We fought for mankind. We fought for all the earth and for all civilization, and now stand pre- eminent among the nations of the earth, with a glorious past, a magnificent present and future, at which we may all rejoice. Anybody can fight with a stranger ; anybody can shoot an Indian down, and it is not a very hard thing to pull the trigger on a foreigner, but when we come to shoot each other, and when we had to go to fight these Southern friends of ours, and sometimes fight in our own streets, that called for nerve, and the highest kind of nerve ; and that is what I want the citizen to bear in mind when he looks at soldiers in this country. They went out, fought and conquered, and when it was done they stopped and went home. The war has passed and a new generation has grown up, young men capable of doing as much as those who fought. From the simple mechanic. SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 317 and farmer we can secure as capable men for put- ting on the blue and buckling on the cartridge- belt and taking a rifle, and if their hearts be in the right place and their heads ordinarily clear, they can go on the field and be as good men as Sheridan, Sherman, and Grant ever were. We have yet 50,000,000 such people in America, and the work is not done yet. I do not think there are any more civil wars before us, but we must be prepared for what God brings us and be true to ourselves, our country, and our God. WHAT SAVED THE UNION. (Fourth of July Speech of General Grant at Hamburg.) I SHARE with you in all the pleasure and gratitude which Americans so far away should feel on this anniversary. But I must dissent from one remark of our consul, to the effect that I saved the country during the recent war. If our country could be saved or ruined by the efforts of any one man, we should not have a country, and we should not now be celebrating our Fourth of July. There are many men who would have done far better than I did, under the circumstances in which I found myself during the war. If I had never held command, if I had fallen, if all our generals had fallen, there were ten thousand behind us who would have done our work just as well, who would have followed the confc t to the end, and never surrendered the Union. Therefore, it is a mistake and a reflection upon the People to attribute to me, or to any number of us who hold high commands, the salvation of the Union. We did our work as well as we could, so did hundreds of thousands of others. We demand no credit for it, for we should have been unworthy of our country and of the American name if we had not made every sacri- fice to save the Union. What saved the Union was the coming forward of the young men of the nation. They came from their homes and fields, as they did in the time of the Revolu- tion, giving everything to the country. To their devotion we owe the salvation of the Union. The humblest soldier who carried a musket is entitled to as much credit for the results of the war as those who were in com- mand. So long as our young men are animated by this spirit there will be no fear for the Union. CROMWELL ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES I— Adapted from Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. BY what law fell King Charles ? By all the laws He left us ! And I, Cromwell, here proclaim it. Sirs, let us, with a calm and sober eye, Look on the spectre of this ghastly deed. Who spills man's blood, his shall by man be shed ! 'Tis Heaven's first law ; to that law we had come, — None other left us. Who, then, caused the strife That crimsoned Naseby's field, and Marston's moor? It was the Stuart ; — so the Stuart fell ! A victim, in the pit himself had digged ! He died not, Sirs, as hated Kings have died, In secret and in shade, — no eye to trace The one step from their prison to their pall ; He died i' the eyes of Europe, — in the face Of the broad heaven ; amidst the sons of Eng- land, Whom he had outraged; by a solemn- sentence, Passed by a solemn Court. Does this seem guilt ? You pity Charles ! 'tis well ; but pity more The tens of thousand honest humble men, Who, by the tyranny of Charles compelled To draw the sword, fell butchered in the field ! Good Lord ! when one man dies who wears a Crown, How the earth trembles, — how the Nations gape, Amazed and awed ! — but when that one man's victims, Poor worms, unclothed in purple, daily die, In the grim cell, or on the groaning gibbet, 318 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. Or on the civil field, ye pitying souls Drop not one tear from your indifferent eyes ! He would have stretched his will O'er the unlimited empire of men's souls, Fettered the Earth's pure air, — for freedom is That air, to honest lips, — and here he lies. In dust most eloquent, to after time A never-silent oracle for Kings ! Was this the hand that strained within its grasp So haught a sceptre ? — this the shape that wore Majesty like a garment ? Spurn that clay, — It can resent not ; speak of royal crimes, And it can frown not ; schemeless lies the brain Whose thoughts were sources of such fearful deeds. What things are we, O Lord, when, at thy will, A worm like this could shake the mighty world ! A few years since, and in the port was moored s WARREN'S TAND ! the ground's your own, my braves ! Will ye give it up to slaves ? Will you look for greener graves? Hope ye mercy still ? What's the mercy despots feel? Hear it in that battle peal ! Read it on yon bristling steel ! Ask it — ye who will. Fear ye foes who kill for hire ? Will ye to your homes retire ? Look behind you ! they're afire ! And, before you, see A bark to far Columbia's forests bound ; And I was one of those indignant hearts Panting for exile in the thirst for freedom. Then, that pale clay (poor clay, that was a King !) Forbade my parting, in the wanton pride Of vain command, and with a fated sceptre Waved back the shadow of the death to come. Here stands that baffled and forbidden wanderer, Loftiest amid the wrecks of ruined empire, Beside the coffin of a headless King ! He thralled my fate, — I have prepared his doom ; — He made me captive, — lo ! his narrow cell ! So hands unseen do fashion forth the earth Of our frail schemes into our funeral urns ; So, walking dream-led in Life's sleep, our steps Move blindfold to the scaffold or the Throne ! ADDRESS. Who have done it ! — From the vale On they come ! — and will ye quail? — Leaden rain and iron hail Let their welcome be ! In the God of battles trust ! Die we may — and die we must : — But, oh, where can dust to dust Be consigned so well, As where heaven its dews shall shed On the martyred patriot's bed, And the rocks shall raise their head, Of his deeds to tell ? PlERPONT. PART VI Miscellaneous Selections CONTAINING CHOICE READINGS, RECITATIONS, DECLAMATIONS AND DIALOGUES EMBRACING PATRIOTIC, MARTIAL, RELIGIOUS, TEMPERANCE, DRAMATIC, DESCRIPTIVE, PATHETIC, HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC SELECTIONS, SUITABLE FOR LYCEUMS, SCHOOLS AND GENERAL OCCASIONS THE RED KING'S WARNING. Historians relate that the death of William Rufus, in the New Forest, was preceded by several predic- tions clearly announcing his fate. "T" TTTH hound and horn the wide New For- ^[ est rung, When William Rufus, at the bright noon -day, Girt by his glittering train, to saddle sprung, And to the chase spurred forth his gallant gray. O'er hill, o'er dale, the hunters held their track; But that gray courser, fleeter than the wind, Was foremost still — and as the king looked back, Save Tyrrell, all were far and far behind. Slow through a distant pass the train defiled \ Alone the king rode on — when in mid course, Lo ! rushed across his path a figure wild, And on his bridle-rein with giant force Seized* then swift pointing to a blighted oak, Thus to the astonished king his warning spoke : "Curb thy race of headlong speed ! Backward, backward, turn thy steed ! Death is on thy onward track, — Turn, O, turn thy courser back ! "See'st thou, King, yon aged tree, — Blighted now, alas ! like me ? Once it bloomed in strength and pride, And my cottage stood beside ; * The right hand should be here thrust forward, as in the act of grasping the bridle, while the other hand should be extended, pointing to the supposed object. There should be a suspensive pause at "Seized." "Till on Hastings' fatal field England's baleful doom was sealed ! Till the Saxon stooped to own Norman lord on English throne ! "Where the forest holds domain, Then were fields of golden grain ; Hamlets then and churches stood Where we see the wide waste wood. "But the Norman king must here Have his wood to hunt his deer. What were we ? He waved his hand, And we vanished from the land. " Fiercely burned my rising ire When I saw our cots on fire ! When ourselves were forced to fly, Or to beg, or rob, or die ! "Then on William's head abhorred, Then my deepest curse I poured. Turning to this aged oak, Thus in madness wild I spoke : " ' Powers of Hell, or Earth, or Air, Grant an injured Saxon's prayer ! Ne'er may one of William's race Pass alive this fatal place ! " ' Powers of Hell, or Earth, or Air, Give a sign ye grant my prayer ! Give ! O, give ! ' While yet I spoke, Lightning struck yon witness oak ! 319 320 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 'Shun, O King ! thy certain lot !■ Fly with speed the fatal spot ! — Here to death thy uncle passed ;- Here thy nephew breathed his last ! "Yes, my curse has worked too well ! Sorrow seized me when they fell. Would, O would I might revoke What in madness wild I spoke ! " Monarch ! to my words give heed, Backward, — backward turn thy steed ! Danger, de.ath, beset thee round ; Chase not on the fated ground ! ' ' "Away," fierce William cried, " ill-boding seer ! Think' st thou to strike thy sovereign's heart with fear? — Think' st thou with idle threats to bar my way? — — I scorn thy warning ! — On my gallant gray !" He plunged his spurs deep in his courser's side, When from the blighted oak as he advanced, Right to the monarch's heart an arrow glanced : The blood gushed forth, — he fell ! he groaned ! he died ! Anon, {altered). CCEUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. The body of Henry II. lay in state in the abbey- church of Fontevrault, where it was visited by Richard Cceur de L/ion, who, on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and bitterly reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the means of bringing his father to an untimely death. TORCHES were blazing clear, Hymns pealing deep and slow, Where a king lay stately on his bier In the church of Fontevrault, Banners of battle o'er him hung, And warriors slept beneath, And light as noon's broad light was flung On the settled face of death, — On the settled face of death A strong and ruddy glare ; Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath, Yet it fell still brightest there ; As if each deeply furrowed trace Of earthly years to show. Alas ! that sceptred mortal's race Had surely closed in woe ! The marble floor was swept By many a long dark stole, As the kneeling priests, round him that slept, Sang mass for the parted soul ; And solemn were the strains they poured Through the stillness of the night, With the cross above, and the crown and sword, And the silent king in sight. There was heard a heavy clang, As of steel-girt men the tread, And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang With a sounding thrill of dread ; And the holy chant was hushed awhile, As by the torch's flame, A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle With a mail-clad leader came. He came with haughty look, An eagle glance and clear ; But his proud heart through its breast-plate shook When he stood beside the bier ! He stood there still with a drooping brow, And clasped hands o'er it raised; For his father lay before him low, It was Cceur de Lion gazed ! And silently he strove With the workings of his breast ; But there's more in late repentant love Than steel may keep suppressed ! And his tears brake forth, at last, like rain, Men held their breath in awe, For his face was seen by his warrior-train, And he recked not that they saw. He looked upon the dead, And sorrow seemed to lie, — A weight of sorrow, even like lead, Pale on the fast-shut eye. He stooped and kissed the frozen cheek, And the heavy hand of clay, Till bursting words — yet all too weak — Gave his soul's passion way. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 321 "O father! is it vain, This late remorse and deep? Speak to me, father, once again ! I weep, — behold, I weep ! . Alas ! my guilty pride and ire. Were but this work undone, I would give England's crown, my sire, To hear thee bless thy son. ' ' Speak to me ! mighty grief Ere now the dust hath stirred ! Hear me, but hear me ! — father, chief, My king, I ?nust be heard ! Hushed, hushed, — how is it that I call, And that thou answerest not? When was it thus, woe, woe for all The love my soul forgot ! ' ' Thy silver hairs I see, So still, so sadly bright ! And father, father ! but for me, They had not been so white ! I bore thee down, high heart, at last ! No longer couldst thou strive ; — Oh, for one moment of the past, To kneel and say, — ' Forgive !' * ' Thou wert the noblest king On royal throne e'er seen ; And thou didst wear in knightly ring, Of all, the stateliest mien ; And thou didst prove, where spears are proved, In war, the bravest heart. Oh, ever the renowned and loved Thou wert, — and there thou art ! " Thou that my boyhood's guide Didst take fond joy to be ! The times I've sported at thy side, And climbed thy parent knee \ f And there before the blessed shrine, My sire, I see thee lie ; How will that sad still face of thine Look on me till I die !" Felicia Hemans. 21 CATO OVER THE DEAD BODY OF HIS SON. The opening line of the following should be uttered with emotion, and with eyes and hands elevated. At the second line the speaker may take a step forward, as if to meet the body. He is to imagine friends around him, and, in places, to ad- dress them. The beautiful climax, beginning "The mistress of the world," etc., should be spoken with animation ; the voice rising at each successive step of the climax. In the sixth line from the end of the extract, at the words "brave youth," the speaker may point to where the dead body is supposed to lie. THANKS to the Gods ! my boy has done his duty. Welcome, my son ! here lay him down, my friends, Full in my sight ; that I may view at leisure The bloody corse, and count those glorious wounds. How beautiful is Death when earned by Virtue ! Who would not be that youth ! what pity is it That we can die but once to serve our country ! Why sits this sadness on your brows, my friends ? I should have blushed if Cato's house had stood Secure and flourished in a civil war. Portius, behold thy brother, and remember Thy life is not thy own, when Rome demands it. Alas, my friends ! Why mourn you thus ? Let not a private loss Afflict your hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our tears. The mistress of the world, the seat of empire The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods, That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth, And set the nations free, — Rome is no more ! O, liberty ! O virtue ! O, my country ! Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdued, The sun's whole course, the day and year, are Caesar's ! For him the self-devoted Decii died, The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquered : Even Pompey fought for Caesar. O, my friends ! How is the toil of fate, the work of ages, The Roman empire fallen ! O, cursed ambition ! Fallen into Caesar's hands ! our great forefathers Had left him naught to conquer but his country. 322 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Lose not a thought on me, — I'm out of danger : Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand. Caesar shall never say, ' ' I conquered Cato ! ' ' But, O ! my friends, your safety fills my heart With anxious thoughts : a thousand secret terrors Rise in my soul : how shall I save my friends ? 'Tis now, O Caesar, I begin to fear thee ! Farewell, my friends ! If there be any of you Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, Know, there are ships prepared by my command (Their sails already opening to the winds) That shall convey you to the wished for port. Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you? The conqueror draws near. Once more, fare- well ! If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet In happier climes, and on a safer shore, Where Caesar never shall approach us more. There the brave youth, with love of virtue fired, Who greatly in his country's cause expired, Shall know he conquered. The firm patriot there, Who made the welfare of mankind his care, Though still by Faction, Vice, and Fortune crost, Shall find the generous labor — was not lost. Addison. OESAR'S MESSAGE TO CATO. ( Dialogue between Decius and Cato. ) Decius. Caesar sends health to Cato. Cato. Could he send it To Cato's slaughtered friends, it would be wel- come. Are not your orders* to address the Senate ? Dec. My business is with Cato, Caesar sees The straits to which you're driven; and, as he knows Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life. Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome. Would he save Cato ? Bid him spare his country. Tell your dictator this : and tell him, Cato Disdains a life which he has power to offer. Dec. Rome and her senators submit to Caesar ; Her generals and her consuls are no more, Who checked his conquests, and denied his triumphs. Why will not Cato be this Caesar's friend? Cato. Those very reasons thou hast urged for- bid it. Dec. Cato, I've orders to expostulate, And reason with you, as from friend to friend. Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head, And threatens every hour to burst upon it ; Still may you stand high in your country's honors : Do but comply and make your peace with Caesar, Rome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato, As on the second of mankind. Cato. No more ; I must not think of life on such conditions. Dec. Caesar is well acquainted with your vir- tues, And therefore sets this value on your life : Let him but know the price of Cato's friendship, And name your terms. Cato. Bid him disband his legions, Restore the commonwealth to liberty, Submit his actions to the public censure, And stand the judgment of a Roman Senate ; Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend. Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wisdom— Cato. Nay, more, — though Cato's voice was ne'er employed To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, Myself will mount the Rostrum in his favor, And strive to gain his pardon from the people. Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror. Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman. Dec. What is a Roman, that is Caesar's foe? Cato. Greater than Caesar, he's a friend to virtue. Dec. Consider, Cato, you're in Utica, And at the head of your own little Senate ; You don't now thunder in the Capitol, With all the mouths of Rome to second you. Cato. Let him consider that who drives us hither ; 'Tis . Caesar's sword has made Rome's Senate little, MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 323 And thinned its ranks. Alas ! thy dazzled eye Beholds this man in a false glaring light, Which conquest and success have thrown upon him; Didst thou but view him right, thou'dst see him black With murder, treason, sacrilege, and — crimes That strike my soul with horror but to name them. I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch Beset with ills, and covered with misfortunes ; But, as I love my country, millions of worlds Should never buy me to be like that Caesar. Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Caesar, For all his generous cares and proffered friend- ship ? Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain : Presumptuous man ! the gods take care of Cato. Would Caesar show the greatness of his soul, Bid him employ his care for these my friends, And make good use of his ill-gotten power, By sheltering men much better than himself. Addison. CATILINE'S DEFIANCE To the Roman Senate on the following decree being read by the Consul : ' ' Lucius Sergius Catiline, by the decree of the Senate, you are declared an enemy and an alien to the State, and banished from the territory of the Commonwealth." BANISHED from Rome ! — what's banished but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe? "Tried and convicted traitor!"* — Who says this? Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head ? Banished? — I thank you for't. It breaks my chain ! I held some slack allegiance till this hour — But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords ! I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, To leave you in your lazy dignities. But here I stand and scoff you : — here I fling * Here he quotes the words of Cicero against him. Hatred and full defiance in your face. Your Consul's merciful. For this all thanks. He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. ' ' Traitor ! " I go — but I return. This — trial ! Here I devote your Senate ! I've had wrongs, To stir a fever in the blood of age, Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. This day's the birth of sorrows ! — This hour's work Will breed proscriptions. — Look to your hearths, my lords, For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods, Shapes hot from Tar'tarus ! — all shames and crimes ; — • Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; Naked Rebellion, with the torch and ax, Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave ! Rev. George Croly. THE FOUR KISSES. (By permission of the Author. ) A BABY on a woman's breast, Has fallen asleep in peaceful rest ; With tender care she lays it down, Draws o'er its feet the tiny gown ; Then, thrilled with love, with holy bliss, Bends low and gives A mother's kiss. With blushing cheeks, with downcast eyes A maiden struggles, softly sighs, Then yields. And from her fancy's flow Drinks deep the joy that angels know ; Thus two hearts learn the rapturous bliss That comes to all, with Love's first kiss. A troop halts at a cottage door, A young wife craves one moment more ; Her husband draws her to his side, *' Thou art," says he, "a soldier's bride ; O love, I can but give thee this — And this — and this — My farewell kiss." 324 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. The lamps shed forth a tender light Upon a sweet face, cold and white ; The flowers lie strewn, the dirge is sung, The rite is o'er, the bell has rung : God help them, by that dread abyss, Who sobbing press • The last sad kiss. Geo. M. Vickers. THE DRUMMER BOY. (Pathetic. An incident of the Crimean War. ) « /^\ APTAIN GRAHAM, the men were sayin' V^ Ye would want a drummer lad, So I've brought my boy Sandie, Tho' my heart is woful sad ; But nae bread is left to feed us, And no siller to buy more, For the gudeman sleeps forever, Where the heather blossoms o'er. " Sandie, make your manners quickly, Play your blithest measure true — Give us ' Flowers of Edinboro',' While yon fifer plays it too. Captain, heard ye e'er a player Strike in truer time than he ? " "Nay, in truth, brave Sandie Murray Drummer of our corps shall be. ' ' " I give ye thanks — but, Captain, maybe Ye will hae a kindly care For the friendless, lonely laddie, When the battle wark is sair ; For Sandie 's aye been good and gentle, And I've nothing else to love, Nothing — but the grave ofT yonder, And the Father up above. ' ' Then her rough hand gently laying On the curl-encircled head, She blest her boy. The tent was silent, And not another word was said ; For Captain Graham was sadly dreaming Of a benison long ago, Breathed above his head, then golden, Bending now, and touched with snow. "Good-bye, Sandie." "Good-bye, mother; I'll come back some summer day ; Don't you fear — they don't shoot drummers Ever. Do they, Captain Gra — ? One more kiss — watch for me, mother, You will know 'tis surely me, Coming home — for you will hear me Playing soft the reveille." After battle. Moonbeams ghastly Seemed to link in strange affright, As the scudding clouds before them Shadowed faces dead and white ; And the night wind softly whispered, When low moans its light wing bore — Moans that ferried spirits over Death's dark wave to yonder shore. Wandering where a footstep careless Might go splashing down in blood, Or a helpless hand lie grasping Death and daisies from the sod — Captain Graham walked swift onward, While a faintly-beaten drum Quickened heart and step together : " Sandie Murray ! See, I come ! " Is it thus I find you, laddie ? Wounded, lonely, lying here, Playing thus the reveille ? See — the morning is not near. ' ' A moment paused the drummer boy, And lifted up his drooping head : " Oh, Captain Graham, the light is coming, 'Tis morning, and my prayers are said. " Morning ! See, the plains grow brighter — Morning — and I'm going home ; That is why I play the measure, Mother will* not see me come ; But you'll tell her, won't you, Captain—" Hush, the boy has spoken true ; To him the day has dawned forever, Unbroken by the night's tattoo. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 325 B TO A SKELETON. The MSS. of this poem was found in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, in London, near a perfect human skeleton, and sent by the curator to the Morning Chronicle for publication. It excited so much attention that every effort was made to dis- cover the author, and a responsible party went so far as to offer fifty guineas for information that would discover its origin. The author preserved his incog- nito, and, we believe, has never been discovered. EHOLD this ruin! 'Twas a skull, Once of ethereal spirit full. This narrow cell was life's retreat, This space was thought's mysterious seat. What beauteous visions filled this spot, What dreams of pleasure long forgot ? Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear, Have left one trace of record here. Beneath this mouldering canopy Once shone the bright and busy eye ; But start not at the dismal void ; If social love that eye employed, If with no lawless fire it gleamed, But through the dews of kindness beamed, — That eye shall be forever bright When stars and sun are sunk in night. Within this hollow cavern hung The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue ; If falsehood's honey it disdained, And when it could not praise was chained ; If bold in virtue's cause it spoke, Yet gentle concord never broke, — This silent tongue shall plead for thee When time unveils eternity ! Say, did these fingers delve the mine, Or with the envied rubies shine ? To hew the rock or wear a gem Can little now avail to them. But if the page of truth they sought, Or comfort to the mourner brought, These hands a richer meed shall claim Than all that wait on wealth and fame. Avails it whether bare or shod These feet the paths of duty trod ? If from the bowers of ease they fled, To seek affliction's humble shed ; I If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, And home to virtue's cot returned, — These feet with angel wings shall vie, And tread the palace of the sky ! BETTY AND THE BEAR. (Humorous.) N a pioneer's cabin out West, so they say, A great big black grizzly trotted one day, And seated himself on the hearth, and began, To lap the contents of a two-gallon pan Of milk and potatoes, — an excellent meal, — And then looked about to see what he could steal. The lord of the mansion awoke from his sleep, And, hearing a racket, he ventured to peep Just out in the kitchen, to see what was there, And was scared to behold a great grizzly bear. So he screamed in alarm to his slumbering/n?a/, " Thar's a bar in the kitchingas big's a cow !" < A what ?" " Why a bar ! " " Well, murder him, then !" " Yes, Betty, I will, if you'll first venture in." So Betty leaped up, and the poker she seized, While her man shut the door, and against it he squeezed. As Betty then laid on the grizzly her blows, Now on his forehead, and now on his nose, Her man through the key-hole kept shouting within, ' ' Well done, my brave Betty, now hit him agin, Now a rap on the ribs, now a knock on the snout, Now poke with the poker, and poke his eyes out. ' ' So, with rapping and poking, poor Betty alone, At last laid Sir Bruin as dead as a stone. Now when the old man saw the bear was no more, He ventured to poke his nose out of the door, And there was the grizzly, stretched on the floor. Then off to the neighbors he hastened, to tell All the wonderful things that that morning befell ; And he published the marvellous story afar, How " me and my Betty jist slaughtered a bar ! O yes, come and see, all the neighbors hev sid it, Come see what we did, me and Betty, we did it. ' ' 326 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. FAREWELL. (By permission of Geo. M. Vickers, the Author.) {Let the first stanza of the song be sung by a quartette. The music then ceases, while two stanzas of the poem, "Farewell" is recited. As the speaker closes the second stanza, the quartette immediately sings the second stanza ; and, as they sing the words " ever bind me" the speaker resumes his recitation, and speaks the last tzuo stanzas, during which some soft accompaniment may be played on the instrument. ) "T' "yiTH white sails set the vessels glide VW Fast onward o'er the drifting tide. ' Tis now while near and yet in view That still is heard the fond adieu ; 'Tis now that lips and gestures tell The heart's good-by, the sad farewell ! To-night, when sails to sight are lost And gloomy darkness veils the coast ; To-night, when children fast asleep Forget who sails the lonely deep, To one will sound, like funeral knell, Her husband's dreaded word, farewell. The helmsman as he grasps the wheel The sea spray on his cheek can feel, And to his mind each drop appears The moisture of his loved ones' tears ; And in a song he tries to quell The sadness of their sweet farewell. Each day the word farewell is said, The silent, parting tear is shed ; And so each day warm hearts unite, Some home is reached, some eye made bright ; What glooms the word is, none can tell Which time 'twill be a last farewell. THE AMERICAN'S FAREWELL. G. M. V. QUARTETTE. GEO. M. VICKERS. This beautiful quartette is the first American farewell song ever written, and furnishes something that has long been wanted by tourists and others departing from our shores. In the event of a war with a foreign country, it would have a peculiar significance to our soldiers and sailors. The author, Geo. M. Vickers, has composed many patriotic songs, among them being " Guard the Flag," " Columbia, My Country," the new music for "America,"' etc. I :B=^z -m aj *l : 1. Fare - well, fare-well, my 2. Fare - well, fare-well, each m EE* iEJIP =£=i=£=3*=V Moderate con espressione. — 1^ i i I i I J \-oi-J-m-- m - -m- I I III MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 327 own dear land, This heart will ne'er de - ceive thee, And as I watch thy fad - ing strand I faith-ful heart, What joy when-e'er I met thee; And, oh, what pain it is to part, Yet *=x \ — I V~ I- ^— d- •!=«: ?2= *\=*w 3E^ ig=g: i ^ -*•—•» -fs- sigh be-cause I leave thee ; The home I prize, the tear - ful eyes, The ties I leave be- I shall ne'er for - get thee ! A - mer - i - ca, how sweet thy name ; Still true thou'lt ev-er w^ $*£=*&£: ig==g=g— g « 3=2: ^y- — & 4 ■¥— V '-rTTT^rr wm -A P— 1 U — I S-A ! 1 P-l \- 5t=#* ipi— *- ■3- • -af- I I* gfcgzi 5=S=* i l I JT~g|=« i :*t=a|: jwtzan w& :sl=3=i: B* ■»*- -^ - -*- i=ra= -ft- P» ■=Si iH-d- =*=5F — 1 1 «- -jpi 1 1 3- &-%. ^^-JL-^ ■ # hind find -£2- Si: me, me -1 — Though years I roam 'neath for - eign skies, To thee in love shall ev - er bind me. ; O land a - glow with freedom's flame, To thee my love shall ev-er bind me. I* -. HS-t— Omr^m- ! i±=*w£=Jbrf &Z3M1 &—m -- -<=?- gU J &- -=H*-4 t=^=fe=5 W~k^ v— ^— t^i p ^=i *=5t S -f— 3 — wh ^-.%. ^^f^^ ^ Copyright, 1896, by Geo. M. Vickers, Phila. 328 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. THE SOLDIER'S PARDON. (Suited to Soldier's reunion.) T" TTLD blew the gale in Gibraltar one night, y^[ As a soldier lay stretched in his cell ; And anon, 'mid the darkness, the moon's silver light On his countenance dreamily fell. Naught could she reveal, but a man true as steel, That oft for his country had bled ; And the glance of his eye might the grim king defy, For despair, fear, and trembling had fled. But in rage he had struck a well-merited blow At a tyrant who held him in scorn ; And his fate soon was sealed, for alas ! honest Joe Was to die on the following morn. Oh ! sad was the thought to a man that had fought 'Mid the ranks of the gallant and brave, — To be shot through the breast at a coward's be- hest, And laid low in a criminal's grave ! The night call had sounded, when Joe was aroused By a step at the door of his cell ; 'Twas a comrade with whom he had often caroused, That now entered to bid him farewell. "Ah, Tom ! is it you come to bid me adieu ? 'Tis kind, my lad ! give me your hand ! Nay — nay — don't get wild, man, and make me a child!— I'll be soon in a happier land !" With hands clasped in silence, Tom mournfully said, "Have you any request, Joe, to make? — Remember by me 'twill be fully obeyed : Can I anything do for your sake ?' ' "When it's over, to-morrow!" he said, filled with sorrow, " Send this token to her whom I've sworn All my fond love to share ! " — 'twas a lock of his hair, And a prayer-book, all faded and worn. "Here's this watch for my mother; and when you write home," — And he dashed a bright tear from his eye — "Say I died with my heart in old Devonshire, Tom, Like a man, and a soldier ! — Good bye !" Then the sergeant on guard at the grating ap- peared, And poor Tom had to leave the cold cell, By the moon's waning light, with a husky "Good night! God be with you, dear comrade ! — farewell !" Gray dawned the morn in a dull cloudy sky, When the blast of a bugle resounded ; And Joe ever fearless, went forward to die, By the hearts of true heroes surrounded. ' ' Shoulder arms ' ' was the cry as the prisoner passed by : "To the right about — march!" was the word; And their pale faces proved how their comrade was loved, And by all his brave fellows adored. Right onward they marched to the dread field of doom : Sternly silent, they covered the ground ; Then they formed into line amid sadness and gloom, While the prisoner looked calmly around. Then soft on the air rose the accents of prayer, And faint tolled the solemn death-knell, As he stood on the sand, and with uplifted hand, Waved the long and the lasting farewell. " Make ready ! ' ' exclaimed an imperious voice : "Present!" : struck a chill on each mind ; Ere the last word was spoke, Joe had cause to rejoice, For ' ' Hold ! — hold ! ' ' cried a voice from be- hind. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 329 Then wild was the joy of them all, man and boy, As a horseman cried, " Mercy ! — Forbear!" With a thrilling " Hurrah ! — a free pardon ! — huzzah ! ' ' And the muskets rang loud in the air. Soon the comrades were locked in each other's embrace : No more stood the brave soldiers dumb : With a loud -cheer they wheeled to the right- about-face, Then away at the sound of the drum ! And a brighter day dawned in sweet Devon's fair land, Where the lovers met never to part ; And he gave her a token — true, warm, and un- broken — The gift of his own gallant heart ! James Smith. THE LAST STATION. ( Pathetic reading. ) HE had been sick at one of the hotels for three or four weeks, and the boys on the road dropped in daily to see how he got along, and to learn if they could render him any kindness. The brakeman was a good fellow, and one and all encouraged him in the hope that he would pull through. The doctor didn't regard the case as dangerous ; but the other day the patient began sinking, and it was seen that he could not live the night out. A dozen of his friends sat in the room when night came, but his mind wandered, and he did not recognize them. It was near one of the depots, and after the great trucks and noisy drays had ceased rolling by, the bells and short, sharp whistles of the yard-engines sounded painfully loud. The patient had been very quiet for half an hour, when he suddenly unclosed his eyes and shouted : ' ' Kal-a-ma-zoo ! ' ' One of the men brushed the hair back from the cold forehead, and the brakeman closed his eyes, and was quiet for a time. Then the wind whirled around the depot and banged the blinds on the window of his room, and he lifted his hand, and cried out : ' ' Jack-son ! Passengers going north by the Saginaw Road change cars ! ' ' The men understood. The brakeman thought he was coming east on the Michigan Central. The effort seemed to have greatly exhausted him, for he lay like one dead for the next five minutes, and a watcher felt for his pulse to see if life had not gone out. A tug going down the river sounded her whistle loud and long, and the dying brakeman opened his eyes and called out : ' ' Ann Arbor ! ' ' He had been over the road a thousand times, but had made his last trip. Death was drawing a spectral train over the old track, and he was brakeman, engineer and conductor. One of the yard-engines uttered a shrill whistle of warning, as if the glare of the head- light had shown to the engineer some stranger in peril, and the brakeman called out : " Yp-silanti ! Change cars here for the Eel River Road! " " He is coming in fast, ' ' whispered one of the men. ' 'And the end of his ' run ' will be the end of his life, ' ' said a second. The dampness of death began to collect on the patient's forehead, and there was that ghastly look on the face that death always brings. The slamming of a door down the hall startled him again, and he moved his head, and faintly said : ' ' Grand Trunk Junction ! Passengers going east by the Grand Trunk change cars ! ' ' He was so quiet after that that all the men gathered around the bed, believing that he was dead. His eyes closed, and the brakeman lifted his hand, moved his head, and whispered : "De— " Not "Detroit," but Death! He died with the half-uttered whisper on his lips. And the headlight on death's engine shone full in his face, and covered it with such pallor as naught but death can bring. L V ijEORGE M.yiCKERS IT happened 'way back in the fifties When the country was cra2y on gold, When the gulches and hills near 'Frisco Were yielding their wealth untold ; It happened when men and women, Of every manner and kind, Came seeking the yellow nuggets That the thrifty diggers mined. ~' * The camp was of rambling shanties, With a single narrow street, And a tall tree shaded the tavern And the crowd from the noon-day heat ; In a circle the miners were seated, A jury of fifty or more, And the prisoner sat in a wagon In front of the bar-room door. , 330 She was one of those wretched creatures Whose lives are made up of sin, Whose crimes are all seen on the surface, But none of the good within. Tom Scott was the judge and spokesman, And he briefly lined out his case That the woman was guilty of murder, Cowardly, cruel and base. A man had been found in a thicket With a bullet-hole through his head j Still the blood from the wound was flowing But the spark of his life had fled : While the party that found him wondered Who fired the fatal shot, This woman was silently stealing. Away from the dreadful spot. -^ - No doubt she'd have robbed the body, But, hearing them, took alarm ; In her hand she still held this pistol, It was empty, the barrel was warm. When the witnesses asked why she did it, She uttered a piercing shriek, But in spite of their threats and questions Not a word would the woman speak. An old man, pale and grizzled, Then pushed to the open place In the circle of angry miners, And glanced at each threatening face. " Let me speak, for I am a witness, And my strength is failing fast, Let me speak for the sake of justice Ere the power to speak is past. tjf vLEDGE with wine — pledge with wine ! " Y^ cried the young and thoughtless Harry Wood. "Pledge with wine," ran through the brilliant crowd. The beautiful bride grew pale — the decisive hour had come, — she pressed her white hands together, and the leaves of her bridal wreath trembled on her pure brow ; her breath came quicker, her heart beat wilder. From her child- hood she had been most solemnly opposed to the use of all wines and liquors. ' ' Yes, Marion, lay aside your scruples for this once," said the judge in a low tone, going towards his daughter, ' ' the company expect it ; do not so seriously infringe upon the rules of etiquette ; — in your own house act as you please ; but in mine, for this once please me. ' ' Every eye was turned towards the bridal pair. Marion's principles were well known. Henry had been a convivialist, but of late his friends noticed the change in his manners, the differ- ence in his habits — and to-night they watched him to see, as they sneeringly said, if he was tied down to a woman's opinion so soon. Pouring a brimming beaker, they held it with tempting smiles towards Marion. She was very pale, though more composed, and her hand shook not, as smiling back, she gratefully ac- cepted the crystal tempter and raised it to her lips. But scarcely had she done so, when every hand was arrested by her piercing exclamation of " Oh, how terrible ! " " What is it ? " cried one and all, thronging together, for she had slowly carried the glass at arm's length, and was fixedly regarding it as though it were some hideous object. 'Wait," she answered, while an inspired light shone from her dark eyes, " wait and I will tell you. I see," she added, slowly pointing one jewelled finger at the sparkling ruby liquid, "a sight that beggars all description; and yet listen ; I will paint it for you if I can : It is a lonely spot ; tall mountains, crowned with ver- dure, rise in awful sublimity around ; a river runs through, and bright flowers grow to the water's edge. There is a thick, warm mist that the sun seeks vainly to pierce ; trees, lofty and beautiful, wave to the airy motion of the birds ; but there, a group of Indians gather ; they flit to and fro with something like sorrow upon their dark brows ; and in their midst lies a manly form, but his cheek, how deathly ; his eye wild with the fitful fire of fever. One friend stands beside him, nay, I should say kneels, for he is pillow- ing that poor head upon his breast. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 365 " Genius in ruins. Oh ! the high, holy-look- ing brow ! Why should death mark it, and he so young ? Look how he throws the damp curls ! see him clasp his hands ! hear his thrilling shrieks for life ! mark how he clutches at the form of his companion, imploring to be saved. Oh ! hear him call piteously his father's name ; see him twine his fingers together as he shrieks for his sister — his only sister — the twin of his soul — weeping for him in his distant native land. ' ' See ! ' ' she exclaimed, while the bridal party shrank back, the untasted wine trembling in their faltering grasp, and the judge fell, over- powered, upon his seat; "see! his arms are lifted to heaven ; he prays, how wildly, for mercy ! hot fever rushes through his veins. The friend beside him is weeping ; awe-stricken, the dark men move silently, and leave the living and dying together. ' ' There was a hush in that princely parlor, broken only by what seemed a smothered sob, from some manly bosom. The bride stood yet upright, with quivering lip, and tears stealing to the outward edge of her lashes. Her beau- tiful arm had lost its tension, and the glass, with its little troubled red waves, came slowly towards the range of her vision. She spoke again ; every lip was mute. Her voice was low, faint, yet awfully distinct : she still fixed her sorrowful glance upon the wine-cup. "It is evening now ; the great white moon is coming up, and her beams lie gently on his fore- head. He moves not ; his eyes are set in their sockets ; dim are their piercing glances ; in vain his friend whispers the name of father and sister — death is there. Death ! and no soft hand, no gentle voice to bless and soothe him. His head sinks back ! one convulsive shudder ! he is dead! " A groan ran through the assembly, so vivid was her description, so unearthly her look, so inspired her manner, that what she described seemed actually to have taken place then and there. They noticed also, that the bridegroom hid his face in his hands and was weeping. " Dead ! " she repeated again, her lips quiver- ing faster and faster, and her voice more and more broken: "and there they scoop him a grave ; and there, without a shroud, they lay him down in the damp, reeking earth. The only son of a proud father, the only idolized brother of a fond sister. And he sleeps to-day in that distant country, with no stone to mark the spot. There he lies — my father's son — my own twin brother ! a victim to this deadly poison." "Father," she exclaimed, turning suddenly, while the tears rained down her beau- tiful cheeks, " father, shall I drink it now? " The form of the old judge was convulsed with agony. He raised his head, but in a smothered voice he faltered — " No, no, my child; in God's name, no." She lifted the glittering goblet, and letting it suddenly fall to the floor it was dashed into a thousand pieces. Many a tearful eye watched her movements, and instantaneously every wine- glass was transferred to the marble table on which it had been prepared. Then, as she looked at the fragments of crystal, she turned to the company, saying : ' ' Let no friend, here- after, who loves me, tempt me to peril my soul for wine. Not firmer the everlasting hills than my resolve, God helping me, never to touch or taste that terrible poison. And he to whom I have given my hand ; who watched over my brother's dying form in that last solemn hour, and buried the dear wanderer there by the river in that land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in that resolve. Will you not, my husband ? ' ' His glistening eyes, his sad, sweet smile was her answer. The judge left the room, and when an hour later he returned, and with a more subdued manner took part in the entertainment of the bridal guests, no one could fail to read that he, too, had determined to dash the enemy at once and forever from his princely rooms. Those who were present at that wedding, can never forget the impression so solemnly made. Many from that hour forswore the social glass. 366 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. THE THIEF ON THE CROSS. (By permission of the Author.) [Argument : — In order to portray the bold, defiant nature of the thief, he is first presented to the reader while lying in wait for a traveller, whom he attacks ; during th? combat the traveller momentarily gains the mastery, and the thief 's life is threatened. Yet he scorns to plead for mercy, but, with a sudden effort, overpowers the traveller, whom he robs and leaves by the wayside. Again he is discovered in prison. It is the day of execution, just prior to the dread march to Cal- vary ; here once more he shows an indomitable spirit — proud to the very death. The final scene is upon the cross, where, witnessing the sufferings and marvellous magnanimity of the dying Christ, he at last succumbs to the mighty power of love.] CROUCHING low, but not with fear, A robber earthward bends his ear ; The distant footfalls nearer grow — Hesitating, stumbling, slow ; Then quicker, as the 'lated wight Beholds each cheerful, twinkling light : Jerusalem lies at his feet, Anon he'll tread the lively street ; Soon Olivet will be descended, Kedron crossed, his journey ended ; And, as he nears her looming walls, The gladdening sight his strength recalls. II. But hark ! What awful shrieks are those That break the peaceful night's repose ! Two darksome forms, like goblins grim, Weird antics cut in the starlight dim : Advancing — retreating — a parry, a thrust, Now having the 'vantage, now prone in the dust — Ha ! See ! The traveller's gleaming knife Has all but reached the bandit's life ! But the groan suppressed by an iron will His mettle proves, though bandit still ; E'en wounded, yet he scowls disdain, The gash ignores, unheeds the pain : He scorns to cringe — but, with a bound, Hurls crushed his victim to the ground ! III. 'Twas morn in ancient Palestine, The air was hushed, the sky serene ; No leaflet stirred, no warbler sang ; Yet nature seemed to feel a pang. But why ? The dewdrop sparkled still — Fair blossoms scented vale and hill — E'en the sunward sky poured forth its flood, Its red, inverted sea of blood. IV. Ho ! Barabbas, ho ! Hear Pilate's decree : The Nazarene diest, but thou goest free ! Off went the shackles, and forth from the cell Stepped the bold felon ; then followed the yell, The cry of despair, and of anguish, and pain, As the door of the dungeon swung to again. Yet within the walls of that living grave Was a bandit bad — but a bandit brave ; He was one of the three in that prison-room Who hopelessly waited a terrible doom ; Yet he stood with his arms athwart his breast, And the measured rise and the fall o' the chest, With the sweeping glance of his fearless eye, All told of a villain that dared to die ! V. Already there floated within the gate Wild rumors of how they met their fate, — Of the earnest though haughty mien of him Who shuddered and writhed on an outer limb ; Of the One who imploringly raised his eyes, Who seemed to be .gazing beyond the skies ; Of another who jeered in the jaws of death, And cursed the law with his waning breath ; Of the which should be first or latest to die, As happened the thoughts of the passers-by. VI. But out on the road as ye move along, Behold the returning, the sated throng ! Press onward and upward — thrust them aside ; Their flush of confusion shall be your guide ; Halt ! Rigidly, grimly there hang the three — On the veriest crest of Calvary ! Look at the sunken, the bloodshot eye Of the raving blasphemer about to die : Note how he gasps, how he twists with pain, Cursing, and cursing, yet cursing in vain ! And the One in the centre, say, who is He Whom the soldiers and rabble press round to see? What legend of crime, what sign of disgrace, That flutters and flares at the populace ? Come, read what is writ o'er the victim's head — Soft ! Ye must move with a reverent tread. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 367 VII. And thus run the words that your eyes peruse : Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews ! A bandit hath seen them, and read them, too, And he scans them again, like the thing were new : And each time the meek Monarch breathes forth a prayer It seemeth to lessen the robber's despair, For the proud look of courage fades out from his face, And a tender expression beams forth in its place. Perhaps as the soul is about to take flight, New scenes glad the view of its wondering sight, As mariners nearing a newly-found shore Gaze enraptured on beauties unheard of before. VIII. Still he dwells on the face of the crucified King, Nor gives heed to the shouts that derisively ring; On the thorn-tortured brow, on the dry, moving lips, On the blood that adown the pale cheek slowly drips ; All, all meet his gaze, and he utters a sigh, While a single bright teardrop starts forth from his eye. As the pain-stricken babe to its mother reveals, By the language of looks, the keen anguish it feels, So the robber's sad glances now seem to impart To yon Jesus the weight of remorse at his heart. IX. Remember me, Lord ! Hear the bandit implore ! He whom life could not tempt to crave pity before. What strange fascination hath conquered the thief? What power converts to the mystic belief? And the merciful Jesus replies from the tree : " In Paradise with me this day shalt thou be ! " Oh, love is the victor that taketh the heart, Than the lightning 'tis swifter, and stronger than art ; In the sea, in the earth, in the heavens above, There dwelleth no power more mighty than love ! George M. Vickers. I PAPA'S LETTER. WAS sitting in my study, Writing letters, when I heard, 1 Please, dear mamma, Mary told me Mamma musn't be 'isturbed. "But I'se tired of the kitty, Want some ozzer fing to do, Witing letters, is 'ou, mamma ? Tan't I wite a letter too?" "Not now, darling, mamma's busy: Run and play with kitty, now." "No, no, mamma; me wite letter, Tan if 'ou will show me how." I would paint my darling's portrait As his sweet eyes searched my face- Hair of gold and eyes of azure, Form of childish, witching grace. But the eager face was clouded, As I slowly shook my head, Till I said, " I'll make a letter Of you, darling boy, instead." So I parted back the tresses From his forehead high and white,. And a stamp in sport I pasted 'Mid its waves of golden light. Then I said, "Now, little letter, Go away and bear good news. ' ' And I smiled as down the staircase Clattered loud the little shoes. Leaving me, the darling hurried , Down to Mary in his glee, "Mamma's writing lots of letters ; I'se a letter, Mary — see !" No one heard the little prattler, As once more he climbed the stair, Reached his little cap and tippet. Standing on the entry stair. No one heard the front door open, No one saw the golden hair, 368 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. As it floated o'er his shoulders In the crisp October air. Down the street the baby hastened Till he reached the office door. "I'se a letter, Mr. Postman ; Is there room for any more ? "'Cause dis letter's doin' to papa, Papa lives with God, 'ou know, Mamma sent me for a letter, Does 'ou link 'at I tan go?" But the clerk in wonder answered, "Not to-day, my little man," "Den I'll find anozzer office, 'Cause I must do if I tan." Fain the clerk would have detained him, But the pleading face was gone, And the little feet were hastening — By the busy crowd swept on. « Suddenly the crowd was parted, People fled to left and right, As a pair of maddened horses At the moment dashed in sight. No one saw the baby figure — No one saw the golden hair, Till a voice of frightened sweetness Rang out on the autumn air. 'Twas too late — a moment only Stood the beauteous vision there, Then the little face lay lifeless, Covered o'er with golden hair. Reverently they raised my darling, Brushed away the curls of gold, Saw the stamp upon the forehead, Growing now so icy cold. Not a mark the face disfigured, Showing where a hoof had trod ; But the little life was ended — " Papa's letter " was with God. BROKEN HEARTS.— Washington Irving. ( Pathetic reading. ) Robert Emmet?-, the Irish patriot, was born in 1780. He was executed on September 20, 1803. His oration is given in full in the department of Great Orators. See page 256. EVERY one must recollect the tragical story of young Emmett, the Irish patriot : it was too touching to be soon forgotten. During the troubles in Ireland he was tried, con- demned, and executed, on a charge of treason. His fate made a deep impression on public sym- pathy. He was so young — so intelligent — so generous — so brave — so everything that we are apt to like in a young man. His conduct under trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid ! The noble indignation with which he repelled the charge of treason against his country — the elo- quent vindication of his name — and his pathetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless hour of con- demnation — all these entered deeply into every generous bosom, and even his enemies lamented the stern policy that dictated his execution. But there was one heart, whose anguish it would be impossible to describe. In happier days and fairer fortunes, he had won the affec- tions of a beautiful and interesting girl, the daughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him with the disinterested fervor of a woman's first and early love. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself against him ; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and dan- ger darkened around his name, she loved him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must have been the agony of her, whose whole soul was occupied by his image ? Let those tell who have had the portals of the tomb suddenly closed between them and the being they most loved on earth — who have sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a cold and lonely world, from whence all that was most lovely and loving had departed. But then the horrors of such a grave ! so frightful, so dishonored ! There was nothing for memory to dwell on that could soothe the pang of separation — none of those tender though MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 369 melancholy circumstances that endear the parting scene — nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent, like the dews of heaven, to revive the heart in the parting hour of anguish. To render her widowed situation more deso- late, she had incurred her father's displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and generous sensi- bilities. The most delicate and cherishing at- tentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led into society, end they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement to dissipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of her love. But it was all in vain. There are some strokes of calamity that scath and scorch the soul — that penetrate to the vital seat of happiness, and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blos- som. She never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but she was as much alone there as in the depths of solitude. She walked about in a sad reverie, apparently unconscious of the world around her. She carried with her an inward woe that mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and ' ' heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely. ' ' The person who told me her story had seen her at a masquerade. There can be no exhibi- tion of far-gone wretchedness more striking and painful than to meet it in such a scene. To find it wandering like a specter, lonely and joyless, where all around is gay — to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and woe-begone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After strolling through the' splendid rooms and giddy crowd with an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and looking about for some time with a vacant air, that showed her insensibility to the garish scene, she began, with the capriciousness of a 24 sickly heart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice ; but on this occasion it was so simple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of wretchedness, that she drew a crowd mute and silent around her, and melted every one into tears. The story of one so true and tender could not but excite great interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It completely won the heart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her, and thought that one so true to the dead could not but prove affectionate to the living. She declined his attentions, for her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed by the memory of her former lover. He, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her conviction of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute and dependent situation, for she was existing on the kindness of friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assurance that her heart was unalterably another's. He took her with him to' Sicily, hoping that a change of scene might wear out the remembrance of early woes. She was an amiable and ex- emplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy one ; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had entered into her very soul. She wasted away in a slow but hope- less decline, and at length sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken heart. LINES RELATING TO CURRAN'S DAUGHTER. (Robert Kmmett's affianced bride.) SHE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are sighing ; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying. She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, Every note which he loved awaking — Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains. How the heart of the minstrel is breaking. 370 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. He had lived for his love — for his country he died; They were all that to life had entwined him — Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him. Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, When they promise a glorious morrow ; They'll shine o'er her sleep like a smile from the west, From her own loved island of sorrow. Thomas Moore. SHYLOCK'S SOLILOQUY AND ADDRESS. HOW like a fawning publican he looks ! I hate him, for he is a Christian ; But more, for that, in .low simplicity, He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, Even there where merchants most do congregate, On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, Which he calls interest : cursed be my tribe, If I forgive him ! — Signor Antonio, many a time and oft, In the Rialto you have rated me About my moneys, and my usances : Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, And all for use of that which is mine own. Well then, it now appears, you need my help : Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, ' ' Shy lock, we would have moneys ; ' ' you say so : You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me, as you spur a stranger cur Over your threshold ; moneys is your suit. What would I say to you ? Should I not say, " Hath a dog money? is it possible A cur can lend three thousand ducats ?' ' or Shall I bend low, and in a bondsman's key, With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness, Say this, — " Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last : You spurned me such a day ; another time You called me — dog ; and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much moneys." Shakespeare. SOLILOQUY OF MANFRED. THE spirits I have raised abandon me — The spells which I have studied baffle me — The remedy I recked of tortured me : I lean no more on superhuman aid ; It hath no power upon the past, and for The future, till the past be gulfed in darkness, It is not of my search. My mother earth ! And thou, fresh -breaking day; and you, ye mountains, Why are ye beautiful ? I cannot love ye. And thou, the bright eye of the universe, That open' st over all, and unto all Art a delight — thou shin'st not on my heart. And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath Behold the tall pines dwindle as to shrubs In dizziness of distance ; when a leap, A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed To rest forever — wherefore do I pause ? I feel the impulse — yet I do not plunge ; I see the peril — yet do not recede ; And my brain reels — and yet my foot is firm : There is a power upon me which withholds, And makes it my fatality to live — If it be life to wear within myself This barrenness of spirit, and to be My own soul's sepulcher ; for I have ceased To justify my deeds unto myself — The last infirmity of evil. — Ay, Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister, (An eagle passes.) Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, Well may' st thou swoop so near me — I should be Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets ; thou art gone Where the eye cannot follow thee ; but thine Yet pierces downward, onward, or above, MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 371 With a pervading vision. — Beautiful ! How beautiful is all this visible world ! How glorious in its action and itself ! But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, Half dust, half deity, alike unfit To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make A conflict of its elements, and breathe The breath of degradation and of pride, Contending with low wants and lofty will Till our mortality predominates, And men are — what they name not to themselves, And trust not to each other. Byron. SOLILOQUY OF ROMEO IN THE GARDEN. BUT, soft ! what light through yonder win- dow breaks ! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious : Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it ; cast it off. — It is my lady : O, it is my love : that she knew she were ! — She speaks, yet she says nothing : what of that ? Her eye discourses ; I will answer it. — 1 am too bold ; 'tis not to me she speaks : Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head ? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp ; her eye in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing, and think it were not night. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! O that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek ! She speaks : — O speak again, bright angel ! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white, upturned, wondering eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air. Shakespeare. HOTSPUR'S SOLILOQUY ON THE CONTENTS OF A LETTER. (Speaker should address remarks to letter which he holds in hand. ) ' * T~) UT for mine own part, my lord, I could : [j be well contented to be there, in re- spect of the love I bear your house. ' ' — He could be contented to be there ! Why is he not then ? — In respect of the love he bears our house ! He shows in this, he loves hi& own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more. "The purpose you undertake is dangerous." — Why, that's certain: 'tis dan- gerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink : but I tell you, my lord Fool, out of this nettle danger, we pluck the flower safety. ' ' The purpose you undertake is dangerous ; the friends you have named, uncertain ; the time itself, unsorted ; and your whole plot too light for the counter- poise of so great an opposition." — Say you so, say you so : I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this ! Our plot is a good plot as ever was laid ; our friends, true and constant ; a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation ; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this ! Why, my lord of York commends the plot, and the general course of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rascal I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and are there not some of them set forward already ? What a pagan rascal is this ! an in- fidel ! — Ha ! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. Oh ! I could 72 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. divide myself and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honorable an action ! — Hang him ! let him tell the king. We are prepared, 'I will set forward to-night. Shakespeare. SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD III. BEFORE THE BATTLE OF BOSWORTH. ; AnrMS now the dead of night, and half the world Is with a lonely solemn darkness hung ; Yet I, (so coy a dame is sleep to me,) With all the weary courtship of My care-tired thoughts, can't win her to my bed, Though e'en the stars do wink, as 'twere with overwatching. I' 11 forth and walk a while. The air's refreshing, And the ripe harvest of the new-mown hay Gives it a sweet and wholesome odor. — How awful is this gloom ! And hark ! from camp to camp The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fixed sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each others' watch : Steed threatens steed in high and boastful neigh- ings, Piercing the night's dull ear. Hark ! from the tents The armorers, accomplishing the knights, With clink of hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation ; while some, Like sacrifices, by their fires of watch, With patience sit, and inly ruminate The morning's danger. By yon Heaven, my stern Impatience chides this tardy-gaited night, Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp So tediously away. I'll to my couch, And once more try to sleep her into morning. Shakespeare. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. TO be, or not to be, that is the question ; — Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous for- tune ; Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them? To die, — to sleep, — No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to : 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, — to sleep : — To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there's the rub ; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When he have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life ; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con- tumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveler returns, — puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. Shakespeare. CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON THE IM- MORTALITY OF THE SOUL. (Speaker sits in meditative mood with book in hand, to which he often looks. ) IT must be so — Plato, thou reason' st well ! — Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality ? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'Tis the divinty that stirs within us : 'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter, FIRMNESS AND DEFIANCE. 'A SAIL, HO! A SAIL! MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 373 And intimates eternity to man. Eternity ! thou'pleasing, dreadful thought ! Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me ; But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it, — Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us, (And that there is, all nature cries aloud Through all her works,) he must delight in virtue, And that which he delights in must be happy. But when or where ? This world — was made for Caesar. I'm weary of conjectures — this must end them — {Laying his hand on his sword. ) Thus am I doubly arm'd. My death and life, My bane and antidote, are both before me. This in a moment brings me to an end ; But this informs me I shall never die. The soul, secured in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. — The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. Addison. SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD III. "T "TAS ever woman in this humor wooed ? j^[_ Was ever woman in this humor won ? I'll have her ; but I will not keep her long. What ! I, that killed her husband, and- his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate? With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of my hatred by ; With God, her conscience, and these bars, against me, And I no friends to back my suit withal, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, — And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing — Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabbed in my angry mood, at Tewksbury ? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman — Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right loyal — The spacious world can not again afford. And will she yet abase her eyes on me, That cropped the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woeful bed ? — On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus ? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while. Upon my life, she finds, although I can not, Myself to be a marvelous proper man. I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain a score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body. Since I am crept in favor with myself, I will maintain it with some little cost. But, first, I'll turn yon fellow in his grave ; And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass That I may see my shadow as I pass ! Shakespeare. LADY MACBETH'S SOLILOQUY. GLAMIS thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised. — Yet do I fear thy nature ; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great ; Art not without ambition ; but without The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win ; thou'dst have, great Glamis, That which cries, " Thus thou must do, if thou have it ; And that which rather thou dost fear to do, Than wishest should be undone." Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ; And chastise with the valor of my tongue All that impedes me from the golden round, 374 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crowned withal. The raven himself is hoarse, That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; That no compunctuous visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect, and it ! Come, you murd'ring min- isters, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ; Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry, " Hold ! hold !" Shakespeare. OH I WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD? [This poem was a great favorite with Abraham Iyincoln. A noted artist who painted the President's picture tells us that on one occasion Mr. Iyincoln repeated the poem in full to him with great effect, and commented upon the influence which it had exerted over his life.] OH ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave. The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around, and together be laid ; And the young and the old, and the low and the high, Shall molder to dust, and together shall lie. The infant a mother attended and loved ; The mother that infant's affection who proved ; The husband that mother and infant who blessed, — Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, Shone beauty and pleasure, — her triumphs are by ; And the memory of those who loved her and praised Are alike from the minds of the living erased. The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne ; The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn ; The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave. The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap ; The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep ; The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, Have faded away like the grass that we tread. The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven ; The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven ; The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weed That withers away to let others succeed ; So the multitude comes, even those we behold, To repeat every tale that has often been told. For we are the same our fathers have been ; We see the same sights our fathers have seen ; We drink the same stream, and view the same sun, And run the same course our fathers have run. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think ; From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink ; To the life we are clinging they also would cling ; But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing. They loved, but the story we cannot unfold ; They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold ; They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come ; They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. They died, aye ! they died ; and we things that are now, Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 375 Who make in their dwelling a transient abode, Meet the things that they met on their pilgrim- age road. Yea ! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, We mingle together in sunshine and rain ; And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge, Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. 'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, Prom the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud, — Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? William Knox. WHERE ARE THE DEAD? (Reflective.) T "T^HERE are the mighty ones of ages past, \A/ Who o'er the world their inspirations cast, — Whose memories stir our spirits like a blast ? — Where are the dead ? Where are the mighty ones of Greece ? Where be The men of Sparta and Thermopylae? The conquering Macedonian, where is he ? Where are the dead ? Where are Rome's founders? Where her chief- est son, Before whose name the whole known world bowed down, — Whose conquering arm chased the retreating sun? — Where are the dead ? Where's the bard-warrior-king of Albion's state, A pattern for earth's sons to emulate, — The truly, nobly, wisely, goodly great ? — Where are the dead ? Where is Gaul's hero, who aspired to be A second Caesar in his mastery, — To whom earth's crowned ones trembling bent the knee? Where are the dead ? Where is Columbia's son, her darling child, Upon whose birth Virtue and Freedom smiled, — The Western Star, bright, pure, and undented? — Where are the dead ? Where are the sons of song, the soul-inspired, — The bard of Greece, whose muse (of heaven acquired) With admiration ages past has fired, — The classic dead ? Where is the poet * who in death was crowned, — Whose clay-cold temples laurel chaplets bound, Mocking the dust, — in life no honor found, — The insulted dead ? Greater than all, — an earthly sun enshrined, — Where is the king of bards ? Where shall we find The Swan of Avon, — monarch of the mind, — ■ The mighty dead ? When their frail bodies died, did they all die, Like the brute dead, passing for ever by ? Then wherefore was their intellect so high, — The mighty dead ? Why was it not confined to earthly sphere, — To earthly wants ? If it must perish here, Why did they languish for a bliss more dear, — The blessed dead ? All things in nature are proportionate : Is man alone in an imperfect state, — He who doth all things rule and regulate ? Then where the dead ? If here they perished, in their beings' germ, — Here were their thoughts', their hopes', their wishes' term, — Why should a giant's strength propel a worm? — The dead ! the dead ! There are no dead ! The forms, indeed, did die, That cased the ethereal beings now on high : 'Tis but the outward covering is thrown by : — This is the dead ! The spirits of the lost, of whom we sing, Have perished not ; they have but taken wing, — Changing an earthly for a heavenly spring : There are the dead ! * Torquato Tasso. 376 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Thus is all nature perfect. Harmony Pervades the whole, by His all-wise decree, With whom are those, to vast infinity, We misname dead. Anon. THE QUALITY OF MERCY. /"TAHE quality of mercy is not strained ; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed : It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. ' Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown. His scepter shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings : But mercy is above his sceptered sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Shakespeare. OTHELLO'S FAREWELL. O ! now for ever Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance, of glorious war ! And, O ! ye mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone ! Shakespeare. COLUMBUS IN CHAINS. AND this, O Spain ! is thy return For the new world I gave ! Chains ! — this the recompense I earn ! The fetters of the slave ! Yon sun that sinketh 'neath the sea Rises on realms I found for thee. I served thee as a son would serve ; I loved thee with a father's love ; It ruled my thought, and strung my nerve, To raise thee other lands above. That thou, with all thy wealth, might be The single empress of the sea. For thee my form is bowed and worn With midnight watches on the main ; For thee my soul hath calmly borne Ills worse than sorrow, more than pain ; Through, life, whate'er my lot might be, I lived, dared, suffered, but for thee. My guerdon ! — 'Tis a furrowed brow, Hair gray with grief, eyes dim with tears, And blighted hope, and broken vow, And poverty for coming years, And hate, with malice in her train : — What other guerdon ? — View my chain ! Yet say not that I weep for gold ! No, let it be the robber's spoil. — Nor yet, that hate and malice bold Decry my triumph and my toil. — I weep but for Spain's lasting shame ; I weep but for her blackened fame. No more. — The sunlight leaves the sea ; Farewell, thou never-dying king ! Earth's clouds and changes change not thee, And thou — and thou, — grim, giant thing, Cause of my glory and my pain, — Farewell, unfathomable main ! Miss Jewsbury. THE POLISH BOY. T" T~HENCE come those shrieks so wild and \h[ shrill, That cut, like blades of steel, the air, Causing the creeping blood to chill With the sharp cadence of despair ? " Again they come, as if a heart Were cleft in twain by one quick blow, And every string had voice apart To utter its peculiar woe. Whence came they ? from yon temple, where An altar raised for private prayer, MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 377 Now forms the warrior's marble bed, Who Warsaw's gallant armies led? The dim funereal tapers throw A holy lustre o'er his brow, And burnish with their rays of light The mass of curls that gather bright Above the haughty brow and eye Of a young boy that's kneeling by. - What hand is that, whose icy press Clings to the dead with death's own grasp, But meets no answering caress? No thrilling ringers seek its clasp ; It is the hand of her whose cry Ran wildly late upon the air, When the dead warrior met her eye Outstretched upon the altar there. With pallid lip and stony brow, She murmurs forth her anguish now. But hark ! the tramp of heavy feet Is heard along the bloody street ! Nearer and nearer yet they come, With clanking arms and noiseless drum. Now whispered curses, low and deep, Around the holy temple creep ; — The gate is burst ! a ruffian band Rush in and savagely demand, ■ With brutal voice and oath profane, The startled boy for exile's chain ! - The mother sprang with gesture wild, And to her bosom clasped her child ; Then, with pale cheek and flashing eye, Shouted, with fearful energy, "Back, ruffians, back ! nor dare to tread Too near the body of my dead ! Nor touch the living boy ; I stand Between him and your lawless band ! Take me, and bind these arms, these hands, With Russia's heaviest iron bands, And drag me to Siberia's wild, To perish, if ' twill save my child ! ' ' "Peace, woman, peace ! " the leader cried, Tearing the pale boy from her side, And in his ruffian grasp he bore His victim to the temple door. "One moment ! " shriekad the mother; "one! Will land or gold redeem my son ? Take heritage, take name, take all, But leave him free from Russian thrall ! Take these ! ' ' and her white arms and hands, She stripped of rings and diamond bands, And tore from braids of long black hair The gems that gleamed like starlight there. Her cross of blazing rubies, last Down at the Russian's feet she cast. He stooped to seize the glittering store ; — Up springing from the marble floor, The mother, with a cry of joy, Snatched to her leaping heart the boy ! But no ! the Russian's iron grasp Again undid the mother's clasp. Forward she fell, with one long cry Of more than mortal agony. But the brave child is roused at length, And, breaking from the Russian's hold, He stands, a giant in the strength Of his young spirit fierce and bold ! Proudly he towers ; his flashing eye, So blue, and yet so bright, Seems kindled from the eternal sky, So brilliant is its light. His curling lips and crimson cheeks Foretell the thought before he speaks ; With a full voice of proud command He turns upon the wondering band : "Ye hold me not ! no, no, nor can ! This hour has made the boy a man. I knelt beside my slaughtered sire, Nor felt one throb of vengeful ire. I wept upon his marble brow — Yes, wept ! I was a child ; but now — My noble mother on her knee Has done the work of years for me!" He drew aside his broidered vest, And there, like slumbering serpent's crest, The jeweled haft of poniard bright Glittered a moment on the sight. " Ha ! start ye back ? Fool ! coward ! knave 1 Think ye my noble father's glaive 878 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Would drink the life-blood of a slave ? The pearls that on the handle flame Would blush to rubies in their shame ; The blade would quiver in my breast, Ashamed of such ignoble rest. No ! thus I rend the tyrant's chain, And fling him back a boy's disdain ! " A moment, and the funeral light Flashed on the jewelled weapon bright ; Another, and his young heart's blood Leaped to the floor, a crimson flood ! Quick to his mother's side he sprang, ' And on the air his clear voice rang : "Up, mother, up ! I'm free ! I'm free ! The choice was death or slavery ! Up, mother, up ! Look on thy son ! His freedom is forever won ! And now he waits one holy kiss To bear his father home in bliss, One last embrace, one blessing — one ! To prove thou knowest, approvest thy son ! What ! silent yet ? Canst thou not feel My warm blood o'er thy heart congeal? Speak, mother, speak ! lift up thy head ! What ! silent still ? Then art thou dead ! Great God ! I thank thee ! Mother, I Rejoice with thee — and thus — to die ! " One long, deep breath, and his pale head Lay on his mother's bosom — dead ! DER DRUMMER. (Dialectic) "T THO puts oup at der pest hotel, \\[ Und dakes his oysders on der schell, Und mit der frauleins cuts a schwell ? Der drummer. Who vas it gomes indo mine schtore, Drows down his pundles on de vloor, Und nefer schtops to shut der door ? Der drummer. Who dakes me py der handt, und say, "Hans PfeifTer, how you vas to-day?" Und goes vor peeseness righdt avay ? Der drummer. Who shpreads his zamples in a trice, Und dells me, " Look, und see how nice?" Und says I gets ' ' der bottom price ? ' ' Der drummer. Who dells how sheap der goods vas bought, Mooch less as vot I gould imbort, But lets dem go as he vas " short?" Der drummer. Who says der tings vas eggstra vine, — "Vrom Sharmany, ubon der Rhine," — Und sheats me den dimes oudt off nine ? Der drummer. Who varrants all der goots to suit Der gustomers ubon his route, Und ven day gomes dey vas no goot ? Der drummer. Who gomes aroundt ven I been oudt, Drinks oup mine bier, and eats mine kraut, Und kiss Katrina in der mout' ? Der drummer. Who, ven he gomes again dis vay, Vill hear vot PfeifTer has to say, Und mit a plack eye goes avay ? Der drummer. Chas. F. Adams. I YAWCOB STRAUSS, (Dialectic recitation. ) HAF von funny leedle poy, Vot gomes schust to mine knee ; Der queerest schap, der createst rogue, As efer you did see. He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings In all barts off der house : But vot off dot ? he vas mine son, Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. He get der measles und der mumbs, Und eferyding dot's oudt ; He sbills mine glass off lager bier, Poots schnuff into mine kraut. He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese, — Dot was der roughest chouse : MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. :79 I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy Bui leedle Yawcob Strauss. He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, Und cuts mine cane in dwo, To make der schticks to beat it mit, — Mine cracious, dot vas drue ! I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart, He kicks oup sooch a touse : But nefer mind ; der poys vas few- Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. He asks me questions such as dese : Who baints mine nose so red ? Who vas it cut dot schmoodth blace oudt Vrom der hair ubon mine hed ? Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp Vene'er der glim I douse. How gan I all dose dings eggsblain To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss ? I somedimes dink I schall go vild Mit sooch a grazy poy, Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest, Und beaceful dimes enshoy ; But ven he was ashleep in bed, So guiet as a mouse, I prays der Lord, " Dake anyding, But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." Chas. F. Adams. PADDY'S REFLECTIONS ON CLEO- PATRA'S NEEDLE. ( Humorous. Irish Dialect. ) SO that's Cleopathera's Naadle, bedad, An' a quare lookin' naadle it is, I'll be bound j What a powerful muscle the queen must have had That could grasp such a weapon an' wind it around ! Imagine her sittin' there stichin' like mad With a naadle like that in her hand ! I declare It's as big as the Round Tower of Slane,an', bedad, It would pass for a round tower, only its square! The taste of her, ordherin' a naadle of granite ! Begorra, the sight of it shtrikes me quite dumb ! And look at the quare sort of figures upon it ; I wondher can these be the thracks of her thumb ? I once was astonished to hear of the faste Cleopathera made upon pearls ; but now I declare, I would not be surprised in the laste If ye told me the woman had swallowed a cow ! It's easy to see why bould Caesar should quail In her presence an' meekly submit to her rule ; Wid a weapon like that in her fist I'll go bail She could frighten the soul out of big Finn Mac- Cool ! But, Lord, what poor pigmies the women are now, Compared with the monsthers they must have been then ! Whin the darlin's in those days would kick up a row, Holy smoke, but it must have been hot for the men. Just think how a chap that goes courtin' would start If his girl was to prod him with that in the shins ! I have often seen naadles, but bouldly assart That the naadle in front of me there takes the pins ! O sweet Cleopathera ! I'm sorry you're dead ; An' whin lavin' this wonderful naadle behind, Had ye thought of bequeathin' a spool of your thread And yer thimble an' scissors, it would have been kind. But pace to your ashes, ye plague o' great men, Yer strenth is departed, yer glory is past ; Ye' 11 never wield sceptre nor naadle again, And a poor little asp did yer bizness at last. Cormac O'Leary. 380 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. (Permission of AT last the cottage was rented That vacant had stood so long, And the silent gloom of its chambers Gave way to mirth and song. Ever since the sheriff sold it, And poor Dobson moved away, Not a soul had crossed the threshold Till the strangers came in May ; Then the mold on the steps of marble Was scoured and well rinsed off, And the packed dead leaves of autumn Were thrown from the dry pump trough ; And the windows were washed and polished, And the paints and floors were scrubbed, While the knobs and hearthstone brasses Were cleaned and brightly rubbed. Now right across the turnpike Lived old Aunt Polly Green, And through the window lattice The cottage could be seen. There wasn't abed or mattress, There wasn't a thing untied, Not a box, a trunk, or a bundle, But what Aunt Polly spied. Such high-toned, stylish neighbors The village had never known ; And the family had no children — The folks were all full-grown ; the Author.) That is, there were two young ladies, The husband and his wife, " And she," said old Aunt Polly, ' ' Hain' t seen a bit of life. ' ' And so Aunt Polly watched them, Oft heard the husband say, " Good-bye, my love," when leaving His wife but for the day ; And when he came at sunset She saw them eager run, Striving the wife and daughters To be the favored one ; And as Aunt Polly, peeping, Beheld his warm embrace, And noted well the love-light That lit the mother's face, She shook her head and muttered, " Them two hain't long been wed, A pity for his first wife, Who's sleepin' cold and dead." " The poor thing died heart-broken, Neglected by that brute, ' l Who, soon as she was buried, Began his new love suit, < ' I know it, ' ' said old Aunt Polly, 11 1 see the hull thing through ; How kin he so forget her, Who always loved him true ? ' T -^ NOTED IRISH ORATORS 2£ THE GAMBLER'S WIFE. Dark is the night! How dark! No light! No fire! Cold, on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 381 And tears of woman's pity Streamed down Aunt Polly's face, As in her mind she pictured The dead wife's resting-place. << To think/' sobbed good Aunt Polly, " How the daughters, too, behave, When their poor and sainted mother Fills a lone, forgotten grave." One day when old Aunt Polly Sat knitting, almost asleep, When the shadows under the woodbine Eastward began to creep, A rosy-cheeked, brown-eyed maiden Walked up to the kitchen door, Where never a soul from the cottage Had dared to walk before : 'Tis true that she walked on tip-toe, And cautiously peered around ; But she smiled and courtesied sweetly When the one she sought was found : *< I rapped on the front door knocker, And wondered where you could be, So I hope you will pardon my boldness In walking around to see. ' ' *■ ' Boldness, ' ' said Polly, rising, And fixing her glasses straight, " Boldness ain't nothin' now-' days, To some, at any rate. Sit down in that cheer and tell me Who 'twas that sent you here ; And tell me how long ago, Miss, You lost your mother dear. ' ' The girl stood still, astonished, She knew not what to say, She wished herself in the cottage That stood across the way. "Now don't stand there a sulkin', Have a little Christian shame, Even if she is a bold one That bears your father's name." " Madam, or Miss," said the maiden, " There's surely a great mistake, Or else I must be dreaming — ' ' "No you hain't, you're wide awake ; I blame your bold stepmother For learnin' you this deceit ; Now answer me true the question Which again I must repeat — When did you lose your mother, And of what did the poor child die, And wasn't her pale face pinched like, An didn't she often sigh? Horrors ! jist look at the heathen, A laughin' right in my face, When speakin' about her mother, In her last lone restin' place. ' ' " You say you was sent to invite me To the cottage over the way, That to-night's the celebration Of your mother's marriage day, That this is the silver weddin' , Of that young and frisky thing, That for five and twenty summers She's wore her plain gold ring? Well, looks they are deceivin' , Why her hair's not one mite gray, And her cheek is like a lily Gathered for Easter Day. An' will I come ? Yes, dearie ; But let me your pardon crave, For I've been like an old fool weepin', A mournin' an empty grave. ' ' THIRTY YEARS WITH A SHREW. ( Humorous. ) ST. PETER stood guard at the golden gate With a solemn mien and an air sedate, When up at the top of the golden stair A man and a woman, ascending there, Applied for admission. They came and stood Before St. Peter, so great and good, In hope the City of Peace to win, And asked St. Peter to let them in. The woman was tall and lank and thin, With a scraggy beardlet upon her chin ; The man was short and thick and stout, His stomach was built so it rounded out; His face was pleasant, and all the while He wore a kindly and genial smile; 382 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. The choirs in the distance the echoes awoke, And the man kept still while the woman spoke. " O, thou who guardest the gate," said she, < ' We come up hither, beseeching thee To let us enter the heavenly land, And play our harps with the heavenly band. Of me, St. Peter, there is no doubt, There's nothing from Heaven to bar me out; I've been to meeting three times a week, And almost always I'd rise and speak. "I've told the sinners about the day When they'd repent of their evil way; I've told my neighbors — I've told them all 'Bout Adam and Eve and the primal fall. I've shown them what they'd have to do If they'd pass in with the chosen few. I've marked their path of duty clear, Laid out the plan of their whole career. "I've talked and talked to them loud and long, For my lungs are good and my voice is strong ; So good St. Peter, you'll clearly see The gate of Heaven is open for me ; But my old man, I regret to say, Hasn't walked exactly the narrow way. He smokes and chews and grave faults he's got, And I don't know whether he'll pass or not. " He never would pray with an earnest vim, Or go to revival or join in a hymn ; So I had to leave him in sorrow there While I in my purity said my prayer, He ate what the pantry chose to afford, While I sung at church in sweet accord ; And if cucumbers were all he got, It's a chance if he merited them or not. "But O, St. Peter, I love him so, To the pleasures of Heaven please let him go I've done enough — a saint I've been. Won't that atone? Can't you let him in? But in my grim gospel I know ' tis so, That the unrepentant must fry below ; But isn't there some way you can see That he may enter, who's dear to me? " It's a narrow gospel by which I pray, But the chosen expect to find the way Of coaxing or fooling or bribing you So that their relations can amble through. And say, St. Peter, it seems to me This gate isn't kept as it ought to be. You ought to stand right by the opening there, And never sit down in that easy chair, "And say, St. Peter, my sight is dimmed, But I don't like the way your whiskers are trimmed ; They're cut too wide and outward toss ; They'd look better narrow, cut straight across. Well, we must be going, our crowns to win, So open, St. Peter, and we'll pass in." St. Peter sat quiet, he stroked his staff, But spite of his office he had to laugh ; Then he said, with a fiery gleam in his eye, "Who's tending this gate, you or I?" And then he rose in his stature tall, And pressed the button upon the wall, And said to the imp who answered the bell, ' ' Escort this lady around to — Hades. ' ' The man stood still as a piece of stone- Stood sadly, gloomily there alone ; A lifelong settled idea he had, That his wife was good and he was bad ; He thought if the woman went down below, That he would certainly have to go ; That if she went to the regions dim, There wasn't a ghost of a chance for him. Slowly he turned, by habit bent, To follow wherever the woman went. St. Peter standing on duty there Observed that the top of his head was bare. He called the gentleman back and said, " Friend, how long have you been wed ?" " Thirty years " (with a weary sigh) And then he thoughtfully added, " Why?" St. Peter was silent. With eye cast down, He raised his head and scratched his crown ; MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 383 Then seeming a different thought to take, Slowly, half to himself, he spake : " Thirty years with that woman there ? No wonder the man hasn't any hair ; Chewing is nasty ; smoke's not good ; He smoked and chewed ; I should think he would. " Thirty years with a tongue so sharp ? Ho ! Angel Gabriel, give him a harp ; A jeweled harp with a golden string ; Good sir, pass in where the angels sing ; Gabriel, give him a seat alone — One with a cushion — up near the throne ; Call up some angels to play their best ; Let him enjoy the music and rest ! See that on the finest ambrosia he feeds ; He's had about all the Hades he needs. It isn' t just hardly the thing to do, To roast him on earth and the future, too. ' ' 2$c *£* y^ ?f^ They gave him a harp with golden strings, A glittering robe and a pair of wings ; And he said as he entered the realms of day, " Well, this beats cucumbers any way. ' ' And so the Scriptures had come to pass, That "The last shall be first, and the first shall be last." UNCLE PETE. Characters : George Peyton, a planter. Uncle Pete, a venerable darkey, looking the worse for wear, with more patches than pantaloons. Scene. — Exterior view of a planter's cabin with practicable door. George Peyton discovered, seated on a bench, under veranda, reading a newspaper. Enter Uncle Pete, L.,* a limp noticeable in his left leg, the knee of which is bowed out- ward, hoe on his shoulder. Uncle Pete. {Pausing as he enters, shading his eyes with his hand, and gazing towards George Peyton. ) Yes, dar he is \ dar is Marse George, * R. signifies right ; L., left, and C, centre of stage. a-sittin' on the poarch, a-readin' his papah. Golly, I cotch um at home ! {Advancing and calling) Marse George, Marse George, I's come to see you once mo', once mo', befo' I leabes you fo'ebber. Marse George, I's gwine to de odder shoah ; I's far on de way to my long home, to dat home ober acrost de ribber, whar de wicked hab no mo' trouble, and where water- millions ripen all the year ! Youns has all bin, berry kine to me heah, Marse George, berry kine to de ole man, but I's gwine away, acrost de dark ribber. I's gwine ober, an' dar, on dat odder shoah, I'll stan' an' pick on de golden hawp among de angels, an' in de company of de blest. Dar I'll fine my rest ; dar I'll stan' befo' de throne fo'ebber mo' a-singin' an' a-shoutin' susannis to de Lord ! George Peyton. Oh, no, Uncle Pete, you're all right yet — you're good for another twenty years. Uncle P. Berry kine o' you to say dat, Marse George — berry kine — but it's no use. It almos' breaks my hawt to leab you, an' to leab de missus an' de chillun, Marse George, but I's got my call — I's all gone inside. George P. Don't talk so, Uncle Pete; you are still quite a hale old man. Uncle P. No use talkin', Marse George, I's gwine to hebben berry soon. 'Pears like I can heah the singin' on de odder shoah. 'Pears like I can heahde voice of ob "Aunt 'Liza " an' de odders dat's gone befoah. You'se bin berry kine, Marse George — de missus an' de chillun' s bin berry good — seems like all de people's bin berry good to poor ole Pete — poor cretur like me. George P. Nonsense, Uncle Pete {kindly and encouragingly'), nonsense, you are good for many years yet. You'll see the sod placed on the graves of many younger men than you are, before they dig the hole for you. What you want just now, Uncle Pete, is a good square meal. Go into the kitchen and help yourself — fill up inside. There is no one at home, but I think you know the road. Plenty of cold vic- tuals of all kinds in there. 384 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Uncle P. {A smile illuminating his face.) 'Bleedged t'ye, Marse George, 'bleeged t'ye, sah, I'll go ! For de little time I has got to stay, I'll not go agin natur'; but it's no use. I's all gone inside — I's got my call. I'm oneo' dem dat's on de way to de golden shoah. {Exit Uncle Pete through door, his limp hardly noticeable. His manner showing his de- light. ) George P. Poor old Uncle Pete, he seems to be the victim of religious enthusiasm. I sup- pose he has been to camp-meeting, but he is a cunning old fox, and it must have taken a regular hard-shell sermon to convert the old sinner. He was raised on this plantation, and I have often heard my father say, he hadn't a better negro on the place. Ever since the war, he has been working a little, and loafing a good deal, and I have no doubt he sometimes sighs to be a slave again at work on the old plantation. {Starts and listens. ) Uncle P. {Singing inside :) Jay bird, jay bird, sittin' on a limb, He winked at me, an' I at him ; Cocked my gun, an* split his shin, An' left the arrow a-stickin'. George P. {Starting up. ) Zounds ! if that old thief hasn't found my bitters bottle ! Pete ! Pete, you rascal ! Uncle P. { Continues singing :) Snake bake a hoe cake, An' set the frog to mind it ; But the frog fell asleep, An' the lizard come an' find it. George P. Pete ! you rascal, come out of that. Uncle P. { Who does not hear the planter, continues singing, and dances a gentle, old- fashioned shuffle- ) De debbil cotch the groun' hog A-sittin' in desun, An' kick him off de back-log, Jes' to see de fun. George P. {Furious.) Pete; you infernal nigger, come out of that, I say. Uncle P. {Still singing and dancing ;) De 'possum up de gum tree, A-playin' wid his toes, An' up comes de ginny pig, Den off he goes. George P. {Thoroughly aroused, throwing down his paper. ) You, Pete ; blast the nigger. Uncle P. { Continues singing:) De weasel went to see de polecat's wife, You nebber smelt such a row in all yer — George P. {Pushes in the cabin, interrupts the singing, and drags Pete out by the ear.) Pete ! Pete, you infernal old rascal, is that the way you are crossing the river ? Are those the songs they sing on the golden shore ? Is this the way for a man to act when he has got his call — when he is all gone inside ? Uncle P. {Looking as if he had been caught in a hen-roost.) Marse George. I's got de call, sah, an' I's gwine acrost de dark ribber soon, but I's now braced up a little on de inside, an* de 'scursion am postponed — you see, de 'scur- sion am postponed, sah ! George P. {Folding his arms, looking at Pete, as if in admiration of his impudence.) The excursion is postponed, is it ? Well, this excursion is not postponed, you old scoundrel. {Seizes Pete by the coat- collar and runs him off stage, L.) [curtain.] PAT'S EXCUSE. Characters : i NoRA ' * ^ oun ^ Irish lass ' ( Pat Murphy, a gay deceiver. Curtain rises. — Discovers Nora in kitchen, peeling potatoes. Nora. Och ! it's deceivin' that all men are ! Now I belaved Pat niver would forsake me, and here he's trated me like an ould glove, and I'll niver forgive him. How praties make your eyes water. ( Wipes tears away. ) Almost as bad as onions. Not that I'm cryin'; oh, no. Pat Murphy cant see me cry. {Knock without.) There is Pat now, the rascal. I'll lock the door. {Hastens to lock door. ) Pat {without). Arrah, Nora, and here I am. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 385 Nora. And there ye' 11 stay, ye spalpeen. Pat (without*). Ah, come now, Nora, — ain't it opening the door you are after? Sure, I'm •dyin' of cold. Nora. Faith, you are too hard a sinner to die aisy — so you can take your time about it. Pat. Open the door, cushla ; the police will fte takin' me up. Nora. He won't kape you long, alanna ! Pat. Nora, if you let me in, I'll tell you how I came to lave you at the fair last night. Nora {relenting). Will you, for true? Pat. Indade I will. {Nora unlocks door. Enter Pat gayly. He snatches a kiss from her. ) Nora. Be off wid ye ! Now tell me how you happened to be wid Mary O'Dwight last night? Pat {sitting down). Well, you see it happened this way ; ye know Mike O' Dwight is her brother, and he and me is blatherin' good friends, ye know ; and as we was going to Caltry the ither -day, Mike says tome, says he: "Pat, what' 11 you take fur that dog?" and I says, says I — Nora {who has been listening earnestly). Bother you, Pat, but you are foolin' me again. Pat {coaxingly takes her hand). No — no — Nora — I'll tell ye the truth this time, sure. Well, as I was sayin', Mike and me is good friends; -and Mike says, says he: "Pat, that's a good dog. " " Yis, ' ' says I, "it is. ' ' And he says, says he. "Pat, it is a blatherin' good dog." 1 ' Yis, ' ' says I ; and then — and then — {Scratches his head as if to aid his imagination. ) Nora {angrily snatching away hand). There ! I'll not listen to another word ! She Sings. (Tune-Rory O'Moore.) Oh, Patrick Murphy, be off wid you, pray, I been watching your pranks this many a day ; You're false, and ye' re fickle, as sure as I live And your hateful desaivin' I'll niver forgive. Ouch ! do you think I was blind yester night, When you walked so fine with Mary O'Dwight? You kissed her, you rascal, and called her your own, And left me to walk down the dark lane alone. Pat {taking up song). Oh, Nora, me darlint, be off wid your airs, For nobody wants you, and nobody cares ! 25 For you do want your Patrick, for don't you see, You could not so well love any but me. When my lips met * Miss Mary ' s, now j ust look at me, I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don't you see ? And when the kiss came, what did I do ? — I shut my eyes tight, and made believe it was you / Nora. Be off wid your nonsense — a word in 3 T our ear, Ivisten, my Patrick, be sure that you hear ; Last night when Mike Duffy came here to woo, We sat in the dark, and made believe it was you — And when the kiss came, now just look at me, — I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don't you see ? And when our lips met, what did I do, But keep my eyes shut, and make belave it was you ! {Nora, laughing; Pat, disconcerted.) [quick curtain.] THE DUEL. Enter Sir Lucius O' Trigger to left, with pistols ; followed by Acres. Acres. (Z.f ) By my valor, then, Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good distance. Odds levels and aims ! — I say it is a good distance. Sir Lucius. {R.) Is it for muskets or small field-pieces ? Upon my conscience Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me. — Stay, now — I ' 11 show you . ( Measures paces along the floor. ) There, now, that is a very pretty distance — a pretty gentleman's distance. Acr. {R. ) Zounds ! we might as well fight in a sentry-box ! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the further he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim. Sir L. (Z. ) Faith ! then I suppose you would aim at him best of all if he was out of sight ! Acr. No, Sir Lucius; but I should think forty or eight-and-thirty yards — Sir L. Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense ! Three or four feet between the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile. Acr. Odds bullets, no ! — by my valor ! there is no merit in killing him so near ! Do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot : — a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me ! * From the asterisk they sing only the first strain of" Rory O'More " — omitting the minor strain, with which Nora finishes her first stanza. fZ.. signifies left ; R., right, and C, centre of stage. 386 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Sir L. Well, the gentlemen's friend and I must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute for you ? Acr. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius — but I don't understand — Sir L. Why, you may think there's no being shot at without a little risk ; and if an unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it — I say it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters. Acr. A quietus ! Sir L. For instance, now — if that should be the case — would you choose to be pickled and sent home ? — or would it be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey? — I'm told there is very snug lying in the Abbey. Acr. Pickled ! — Snugly in the Abbey ! — Odds tremors ! Sir Lucius, don't talk so ! Sir L. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair of this kind before. Acr. No, Sir Lucius, never before. Sir L. Ah! that's a pity! — there's nothing like being used to a thing. Pray, now, how would you receive the gentlemen's shot? Acr. Odds files ! — I've practiced that — there, Sir Lucius — there. {Puts himself in an alti- tude.') A side front, hey? I'll make myself small enough : I'll stand edgeways. Sir L. Now — you're quite out — for if you stand so when I take my aim — {Leveling at him. ) Acr. Zounds ! Sir Lucius — are you sure it is not cocked ? Sir L. Never fear. Acr. But — but — you don't know — it may go off of its own head ! Sir L. Pooh ! be easy. Well, now, if I hit you in the body, my bullet has a double chance ; for, if it misses a vital part of your right side, 'twill be very hard if it don't succeed on the left. Acr. A vital part ! Sir L. But, there, fix yourself so — {placing him) — let him see the broadside of your full front , there, now, a ball or two may pass clean through your body, and never do any harm at all. Acr. Clean through me ! — a ball or two clean through me ! Sir L. Ay, may they ; and it is much the genteelest attitude into the bargain. Acr. Look'ee, Sir Lucius ! I'd just as lie ve be shot in an awkward posture as a genteel one ; so, by my valor ! I will stand edgeways. Sir L . {Looking at his watch. ) Sure, they don ' t mean to disappoint us. Ha ! no, faith ; I think I see them coming. ( Crosses to R. ) Acr. (Z.) Hey ! — what ! — coming ! — Sir L. Ay. Who are those yonder, getting over the stile ? Acr. There are two of them, indeed ! Well — let them come — hey, Sir Lucius ! we — we — we — we — won't run ! Sir L. Run ! Acr. No, — I say, — -we won't run, by my valor ! Sir L. What's the matter with you? Acr. Nothing — nothing — my dear friend — my dear Sir Lucius! but I — I don't feel quite so bold, somehow, as I did. Sir L. O, fy ! Consider your honor. Acr. Ay — true — my honor. Do, Sir Lucius, edge in a word or two every now and then about my honor. Sir L. Well, here \..\ /re coming. {Look- ing R. ) Acr. Sir Lucius, if I wa'n't with you, I should almost think I was afraid ! If my valor should leave me ! — Valor will come and go. Sir L. Then pray keep it fast while you have it. Acr. Sir Lucius, I doubt it is going ! — yes — my valor is certainly going ! — it is sneaking off ! I feel it oozing out, as it were, at the palms of my hands ! Sir L. Your honor ! your honor ! Here they are. Acr. O mercy ! — now — that I was safe at Clod Hall ! or could be shot before I was aware ! (Sir Lucius takes Acres by the ann, and leads- him reluctlantly off, R. ) Sheridan. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 387 READING THE WILL. Characters : Swipes, a brewer. Currie, a saddler. Frank Millington, and 'Squire Drawl. Enter Swipes, R.* Currie, Z., Swipes. A sober occasion this, brother Currie ! Who would have thought the old lady was so near her end ? Currie. Ah ! we must all die, brother Swipes. Those who live longest outlive the most. Swipes. True, true; but, since we must die and leave our earthly possessions, it is well that the law takes such good care of us. Had the old lady her senses when she departed ? Cur. Perfectly, perfectly. 'Squire Drawl told me she read every word of her last will and test- ament aloud, and never signed her name better. Swipes. Had you any hint from the 'Squire what disposition she made of her property? Cur. Not a whisper ! the ' Squire is as close as a miser's purse. But one of the witnesses hinted to me that she has cut off her graceless nephew with a shilling. Swipes. Has she? Good soul! Has she? You know I come in, then, in right of my wife. Cur. And I in my own right ; and this is, no doubt, the reason why we have been called to hear the reading of the will. 'Squire Drawl knows how things should be done, though he is as air-tight as one of your own beer-barrels, brother Swipes. But here comes the young rep- robate. He must be present, as a matter of course, you know. {Enter Frank Millington, R. ) Your servant, young gentleman. So, your benefactress has left you, at last ! Swipes. It is a painfull thing to part with old and good friends, Mr. Millington. Frank. It is so, sir ; but I could bear her loss better, had I not so often been ungrateful for her kindness. She was my only friend, and I knew not her value. Cur. It is too late to repent, Master Milling- ton. You will now have a chance to earn your own bread. *R. signifies right ; L„ left, and C, centre of stage. Swipes. Ay, ay, by the sweat of your brow, as better people are obliged to. You would make a fine brewer's boy, if you were not too old. Cur. Ay, or a saddler's lackey, if held with a tight rein. Frank. Gentlemen, your remarks imply that my aunt has treated me as I deserved. I am above your insults, and only hope you will bear your fortune as modestly, as I shall mine submissively. I shall retire. (As he is going , R. , enter ' Squire Drawl, R. ) 'Squire. Stop, stop, young man ! We must have your presence. Good-morning, gentle- men : you are early on the ground. Cur. I hope the 'Squire is well to-day. 'Squire. Pretty comfortable for an invalid. Swipes. I trust the damp air has not affected your lungs. 'Squire. No, I believe not. You know I never hurry. Slow and sure is my maxim. Well, since the heirs-at-law are all convened, I shall proceed to open the last will and testament of your deceased relative, according to law. Swipes. ( Wliile the 'Squire is breaking the seal.) It is a trying scene to leave all one's possessions, 'Squire, in this manner ! Cur. It really makes me feel melancholy when I look round and see everything but the venerable owner of these goods. Well did the preacher say, All is vanity ! 'Squire. Please to be seated, gentlemen. (All sit. — The 'Squire puts on his spectacles, and reads slowly. ) ' ' Imprimis : Whereas my nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobedience and ungrateful conduct, has shown himself un- worthy of my bounty, and incapable of manag- ing my large estate, I do hereby give and be- queath all my houses, farms, stocks, bonds, moneys and property, both personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt street, brewer, and Christopher Currie, of Fly Court, saddler." ('Squire takes off his spectacles to wipe them. ) Swipes. (Dreadfully overcome.) Generous creature ! kind soul ! I always loved her. 388 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Cur. She was good, she was kind ! She was in her right mind. Brother Swipes, when we divide, I think I will take the mansion-house. Swipes. Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Cur- rie ! My wife has long had her eye upon that, and must have it. {Both rise. ) Cur. There will be two words to that bar- gain, Mr. Swipes ! And, besides, I ought to have the first choice. Did not I lend her a new chaise every time she wished to ride ? And who knows what influence . Swipes. Am I not named first in her will? And did I not furnish her with my best small beer for more than six months? And who knows . Frank. Gentlemen, I must leave you. V ' ( Going. ) 1 Squire. { Wiping his spectacles, and putting them on. ) Pray, gentlemen, keep your seats. I have not done yet. {All sit. ) Let me see ; where was I? — Ay, — "All my property, both personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt street, brewer ' ' Swipes. Yes ! 'Squire. "And Christopher Currie, Fly Court, saddler " Cur. Yes ! 'Squire. " To have and to hold in trust, for the sole and exclusive benefit of my nephew, Francis Millington, until he shall have attained the age of twenty-one years ; by which time I hope he will have so far reformed his evil habits, as that he may safely be intrusted with the large fortune which I hereby bequeath to him." Swipes. What's all this? You don't mean that we are humbugged? In trust / — how does that appear ? Where is it ? 1 Squire. {Pointing to the parchment.*) There! In two words of as good old English as I ever penned. Cur. Pretty well, too, Mr. 'Squire, if we must be sent for to be made a laughing-stock of ! She shall pay for every ride she had out of my chaise, I promise you ! Swipes. And for every drop of my beer. Fine times, if two sober, hard-working citizens are to be brought here to be made the sport of a graceless profligate ! But we will manage his property for him, Mr. Currie ! We will make him feel that trustees are not to be trifled with ! Cur. That will we ! 'Squire. Not so fast, gentlemen ; for the instrument is dated three years ago, and the young gentleman must already be of age, and able to take care of himself. Is it not so, Francis ? Frank. It is, your worship. 'Squire. Then, gentlemen, having attended to the breaking of this seal according to law, you are released from any further trouble in the premises. {Exit Swipes and Currie in earnest conversa- tion. ) Sargent. THE DEBTOR AND THE DUN. Enter Remnant, R.* Remnant. Well, I am resolved I'll collect my bill of Col. Blarney this time. He shan't put me off again. This is the twentieth, time, as I'm a sinner, that I have dunned him ! His smooth words shan't humbug me now. No, no ! Richard Remnant is not such a goose as to be paid in fine words for fine clothes. ( Takes out a long bill and unrolls it.) A pretty col- lection of items, that ! Why, the interest alone would make a good round sum. But hark ! He is coming. {Hastily rolls up the bill and returns it to his pocket. ) Enter Col. Blarney, R. Blarney. Ah ! my dear Remnant, a thousand welcomes ! How delighted I am to see you ! And what stupidity on the part of my people not to make you enter at once ! True, I had given orders that they should admit nobody ; but those orders did not extend to you, my dear sir, for to you I am always at home. Rem. Much obliged, sir. {Fumbling in his pocket for his bill. ) Blar. {calling to his servants.) What, ho! * The initials R. and L. stand for the Right and Left of the stage, facing the audience. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 389 John ! Martha ! confound you ! I will teach you to keep my friend Remnant kicking his heels in the entry ! I will teach you to dis- tinguish among my visitors ! Rem. Indeed, sir, it is no sort of consequence. Blar. But it is consequence ! To tell you — you, one of my best friends — that I was not in ! Rem. I am your humble servant, sir. {Draw- ing forth dill.) I just dropped in to hand you this little — Blar. Quick, there, quick ! A chair for my friend Remnant ! Rem. I am very well as I am, sir. Blar. Not at all ! I would have you seated. Rem. It is not necessary. {Servant hands a common chair.) Blar. Rascal ! — not that ! An arm-chair ! Rem. You are taking too much trouble.. {An arm-chair is placed for him. ) Blar. No, no ; you have been walking some distance, and require rest. Now be seated. Rem. There is no need of it — I have but a single word to say. I have brought — Blar.- Be seated, I say. I will not listen to you till you are seated. Rem. Well, sir, I will do as you wish. {Sits. ) I was about to say — Blar. Upon my word, friend Remnant, yo*u are looking remarkably well. Rem. Yes, sir, thank heaven, I am pretty well. I have come with this — Blar. You have an admirable stock of health — lips fresh, skin ruddy, eyes clear and bright — really — Rem. If you would be good enough to — Blar. And how is Madam Remnant ? Rem. Quite well, sir, I am happy to say. Blar. A charming woman, Mr. Remnant ! A very superior woman. Rem. She will be much obliged, sir. As I was saying — Blar. And your daughter, Claudine, how is she? Rem. As well as can be. Blar. The beautiful little thing that she is ! I am quite in love with her. Rem. You do us too much honor, sir. I — you — Blar. And little Harry — does he make as much noise as ever, beating that drum of his ? Rem. Ah, yes ! He goes on the same as ever. But, as I was saying — ■ Blar. And your little dog, Brisk, — does he bark as loud as ever, and snap at the legs of your visitors ? Rem. More than ever, sir, and we don't know how to cure him. He, he ! But I dropped in to — Blar. Do not be surprised if I want par- ticular news of all your family, for I take the deepest interest in all of you. Rem. We are much obliged to your honor, much obliged. I — Blar. { Giving his hand. ) Your hand upon it, j Mr. Remnant. Don't rise. Now, tell me, do ! you stand well with the people of quality? — for I can make interest for you among them. Rem. Sir, I am your humble servant. Blar. And I am yours, with all my heart. {Shaking hands again. ) Rem. You do me too much honor. Blar. There is nothing I would not do for you. Rem. Sir, you are too kind to me. Blar. At least I am disinterested ; be sure of that, Mr Remnant. Rem. Certainly I have not merited these favors, sir. But, sir, — Blar. Now I think of it, will you stay and sup with me ? — without ceremony, of course. Rem. No, sir, I must return to my shop ; I should have been there before this. I — Blar. What ho, there ! A light for Mr. Rem- nant ! and tell the coachman to bring the coach and drive him home. Rem. Indeed, sir, it is not necessary. I can walk well enough. But here — ( Offering bill. ) Blar. O ! I shall not listen to it. Walk ? Such a night as this ! I am your friend, Rem- nant, and, what is more, your debtor — your debtor, I say — all the world may know it. Rem. Ah ! sir if you could but find it conve- nient — 390 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Blar. Hark ! There is the coach. One more embrace, my dear Remnant ! {Shakes hands again.') Take care of the steps. Command me always ; and be sure there is nothing in the world I would not do for you. There ! Good-by. {Exit Remnant, conducted by Col. B. ) Altered from Moliere. THE DISAGREEABLE MEDDLER. Enter Doubledot and Simon, Z.* Doubledot. Plague take Mr. Paul Pry ! He is one of those idle, meddling fellows, who, having no employment themselves, are perpetually in- terfering in other people's affairs. Simon. Ay, and he's inquisitive into all mat- ters, great and small. Doub. Inquisitive ! Why, he makes no scruple of questioning you respecting your most private concerns. Then he will weary you to death with a long story about a cramp in his leg, or the loss of a sleeve-button, or some such idle matter. And so he passes his days, '* dropping in, " as he calls it, from house to house at the most unreasonable times, to the annoyance of every family in the village. But I'll soon get rid of him. Enter Pry, Z., with umbrella, which he places against the wall. Pry. Ha! how d'ye do, Mr. Doubledot? Doub. Very busy, Mr. Pry, and have scarcely time to say, "Pretty well, thank ye." {Turns from him as if writing in memorandum book. Simon advances.) Pry. Ha, Simon ! you here ? Rather early in the morning to be in a public house. Been taking a horn, eh ? Sent here with a message from your master, perhaps ? I say, Simon, when this wedding takes place, I suppose your master will put you all into new liveries, eh ? Simon. Can't say, sir. Pry. Well, I think he might. (Touches Simon's sleeve.) Between ourselves, Simon, it won't be before you want 'em, eh ? *Z,. signifies left ; R., right, and C, centre ot stage. Simon. That's master's business, sir, and neither yours nor mine. Pry. Mr. Simon, behave yourself, or I shall complain of you to the colonel. By the way, Simon, that's an uncommon fine leg of mutton the butcher has sent to your house. It weighs thirteen pounds five ounces. Doub. And how do you know that ? Pry. I asked the butcher. I say, Simon, is it for roasting or boiling ? Simon. Half and half, with the chill taken off. There's your answer. (Exit Simon, R.) Pry. That's an uncommon ill-behaved ser- vant ! Well, since you say you are busy, I won't interrupt you ; only, as I was passing, I thought I might as well drop in. Doub. Then you may now drop out again. The railway 'bus will be in presently, and — Pry. No passengers by it to-day, for I have been to the hill to look for it. Doub. Did you expect any one by it, that you were so anxious ? Pry. No ; but I make it my business to see the coach come in every day. I can't bear to be idle. Doub. Useful occupation, truly ! Pry. Always see it go out ; have done so these ten years. Doub. ( Going up. ) Tiresome blockhead ! Well ; good morning to you. Pry. Good-morning, Mr. Doubledot. Your tavern doesn't appear to be very full just now. Doub. No, no. Pry. Ha ! you are at a heavy rent? (Pauses for an answer after each question.) I've often thought of that. No supporting such an estab- lishment without a deal of custom. If it's not an impertinent question, don't you find it rather a hard matter to make both ends meet when the first of the month comes round ? Doub. If it isn't asking an impertinent ques- tion, what's that to you? Pry. O, nothing; only some folks have the luck of it : they have just taken in a nobleman's family at the opposition house, the Green Dragon. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 391 Doub. What's that? A nobleman at the Green Dragon ! Pry. Traveling carriage and four. Three servants on the dickey and an outrider, all in blue liveries. They dine and stop all night. A pretty bill there will be to-morrow, for the servants are not on board wages. Doub. Plague take the Green Dragon ! How did you discover that they are not on board wages ? Pry. I was curious to know, and asked one of them. You know I never miss any thing for want of asking. 'Tis no fault of mine that the nabob is not here, at your house. Doub. Why, what had you to do with it ? Pry. You know I never forget my friends. I stopped the carriage as it was coming down the hill — brought it to a dead stop, and said that if his lordship — I took him for a lord at once — that if his lordship intended to make any stay, he couldn't do better than to go to Doubledot's. Doub. Well? Pry. Well, — would you believe it? — out pops a saffron-colored face from the carriage window, and says, " You're an impudent rascal for stop- ping my carriage, and I'll not go to Doubledot's if there's another inn to be found within ten miles of it !" Doub. There, that comes of your confounded meddling ! If you had not interfered I should have stood an equal chance with the Green Dragon. Pry. I'm very sorry ; but I did ii for the best. Doub. Did it for the best, indeed! Deuce take you ! By your officious attempts to serve, you do more mischief in the neighborhood than the exciseman, the apothecary, and the attorney, all together. Pry. Well, there's gratitude ! Now, really, I must go. Good-morning. {Exit Paul Pry.) Doub. I'm rid of him at last, thank fortune ! (Pry re-enters.') Well, what now? Pry. I've dropped one of my gloves, Now, that's very odd — here it is in my hand all the time! Doub. Go to confusion ! {Exit. ) Pry. Come, that's civil ! If I were the least of a bore, now, it would be pardonable — But — Hullo ! There's the postman ! I wonder whether the Parkins' s have got letters again to- day. They have had letters every day this week, and I can't for the life of me think what they can — {Feels hastily in his pockets. ) By the way, talking of letters, here's one I took from the postman last week for the colonel's daughter, Miss Eliza, and I. have always forgot- ten to give it to her. I dare say it is not of much importance. {Peeps into it — reads.) ' ' Likely — unexpected — affectionate. ' ' I can' t make it out. No matter; I'll contrive to take it to the house — though I've a deal to do to-day. {Runs off and returns.) Dear me ! I had like to have gone without my umbrella. [curtain.] John Poole. SPARTACUS AND JOVIUS. Enter Spartacus, L. ,* Jovius, R. Spartacus. Speak, Roman ! wherefore does thy master send Thy gray hairs to the " cut throat's " camp? Jovius. Brave rebel — Spart. Why, that's a better name than rogue or bondman ; But in this camp I am called General. Jov. Brave General, — for, though a rogue and bondman, As you have said, I'll still allow you General, As he that beats a consul surely is. Spart. Say two — two consuls ; and to that e'en add A proconsul, three praetors, and some generals. Jov. Why, this is no more than true. Are you a Thracian? Spart. Ay. Jov. There is something in the air of Thrace Breeds valor up as rank as grass. 'Tis pity You are a barbarian. Spart. Wherefore? Jov. Had you been born A Roman, you had won by this a triumph. *L. signifies left ; R. y right, and C, centre of stage. 392 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Spart. I thank the gods I am barbarian ; For I can better teach the grace-begot And heaven-supported masters of the earth How a mere dweller of a desert rock Can bow their crowned heads to his chariot- wheels, Their regal necks to be his stepping -blocks. But come, what is thy message ? Jov. Julia, niece Of the prsetor, is thy captive. . Spart. Ay. Jov. For whom Is offered in exchange thy wife, Senona, And thy young boy. Spart. Tell thou the praetor, Roman, The Thracian's wife is ransomed. Jov. How is that ? Spart. Ransomed, and by the steel, from out the camp Of slaughtered Gellius ! {Pointing off. ) Be- hold them, Roman ! Jov. {Looking as Spart. points.) This is sorcery ! But name a ransom for the general's neice. Spart. Have I not now the praetor on the hip? He would, in his extremity, have made My wife his buckler of defence ; perhapL Have doomed her to the scourge ! But this is Roman. Now the barbarian is instructed. Look ! I hold the praetor by the heart ; and he Shall feel how tightly grip barbarian fingers. Jov. Men do not war on women. Name her ransom. Spart. Men do not war on women ! Look you : One day I climbed up to the ridgy top Of the cloud-piercing Haemus, where, among The eagles and the thunders, from that height, I looked upon the world, as far as where, Wrestling with storms, the gloomy Euxine chafed On his recoiling shores ; and where dim Adria In her blue bosom quenched the fiery sphere. Between those surges lay a land, might once Have matched Elysium ; but Rome had made it A Tartarus. In my green youth I looked From the same frosty peak where now I stood, And then beheld the glory of those lands, Where Peace was tinkling on the shepherd's bell And singing with the reapers. Since that glad day, Rome's conquerors had passed With withering armies there, and all was changed. Peace had departed ; howling War was there, Cheered on by Roman hunters. Then, methought,. E'en as I looked upon the altered scene, Groans echoed through the valleys, through. which ran Rivers of blood, like smoking Phlegethons ; Fires flashed from burning villages, and Famine- Shrieked in the empty cornfields ! Women and children, Robbed of their sires and husbands, left to starve — These were the dwellers of the land ! Say'st thou. Rome wars not, then, on women ? Jov. This is not to the matter. Spart. Now, by Jove, It is ! These things do Romans. But the earth Is sick of conquerors. There is not a man, Not Roman, but is Rome's extremest foe : And such am I ; sworn from that hour I saw Those sights of horror, while the gods support me, To wreak on Rome such havoc as Rome wreaks,, Carnage and devastation, woe and ruin. Why should I ransom, when I swear to slay ? Begone ! This is my answer ! Bird. THE RESOLVE OF REGULUS.— Sargent. (Regulus, a Roman consul, having been defeated, in battle and taken prisoner by the Carthaginians* was detained in captivity five years, and then sent on an embassy to Rome to solicit peace, under a promise that he would return to Carthage if the proposals, were rejected. These, it was thought, he would urge in order to obtain his own liberty ; but he urged contrary and patriotic measures on his coun toy- men ; and then, having carried his point, resisted, the persuasions of his friends to remain in Rome, and returned to Carthage, where a martyr's death awaited him. Some writers say that he was thrust into a cask covered over on the inside with iron spikes, and thus rolled down hill. The following scene pre- sents Regulus j ust as he has made known to his friends in Rome his resolution to return to Carthage. ) Enter Regulus, followed by Sertorius. Sertorius. Stay, Roman, in pity ! — if not for thy life, For the sake of thy country, thy children, th7 wife. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 393 Sent, not to urge war, but to lead Rome to peace, Thy captors of Carthage vouchsafed thee release. Thou return 'st to encounter their anger, their rage ;— No mercy expect for thy fame or thy age ! Regulus. To my captors one pledge, and one only, I gave : To return, though it were to walk into my grave ! No hope I extended, no promise I made, Rome's Senate and people from war to dissuade. If the vengeance of Carthage be stored for me now, I have reaped no dishonor, have broken no vow. Serf. They released thee, but dreamed not that thou wouldst fulfil A part that would leave thee a prisoner still ; They hoped thy own danger would lead thee to sway The councils of Rome a far different way ; Would induce thee to urge the conditions they crave, If only thy freedom, thy life-blood, to save. Thought shudders, the torment and woe to depict Thy merciless foes have the heart to inflict ! Remain with us, Regulus ! do not go back ! No hope sheds its ray on thy death-pointing track ! Keep faith with the faithless? The gods will forgive The balking of such. O, live, Regulus, live ! Reg. With the consciousness fixed in the core of my heart, That I had been playing the perjurer's part ? With the stain ever glaring, the thought ever nigh, That I owe the base breath I inhale to a lie? O, never ! Let Carhage infract every oath, Be false to her word and humanity both, Yet never will I in her infamy share, Or turn for a refuge to guilt from despair ! Serf. O, think of the kindred and friends who await To fall on thy neck, and withhold thee from fate; O, think of the widow, the orphans to be, And let thy compassion plead softly with me. Reg. O, my friend, thou canst soften, but canst not subdue ; To the faith of my soul I must ever be true. If my honor I cheapen, my conscience discrown. All the graces of life to the dust are brought down; All creation to me is a chaos once more — No heaven to hope for, no God to adore ! And the love that I feel for wife, children, and friend, Has lost all its beauty, and thwarted its end. Serf. Let thy country determine. Reg. My country ? Her will, Were I free to obey, would be paramount still. I go to my doom for my country alone ; My life is my country's; my honor, my own ! Serf. O, Regulus ! think of the pangs in reserve ! Reg. What menace should make me from probity swerve ? Serf. Refinements of pain will these mis- creants find To daunt and disable the loftiest mind. Reg. And 'tis to a Roman thy fears are addressed ! Serf. Forgive me. I know thy unterrified breast. Reg. Thou know' st me but human — as weak to sustain As thyself, or another, the searchings of pain. This flesh may recoil, and the anguish they wreak Chase the strength from my knees, and the hue from my cheek ; But the body alone they can vanquish and kill ; The spirit immortal shall smile at them still. Then let them make ready their engines of dread, Their spike-bristling cask, and their torturing bed; Still Regulus, heaving no recreant breath, Shall greet as a friend the deliverer, Death ! Their cunning in torture and taunt shall defy, And hold it in joy for his country to die. 394 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. HOW THE MONEY GOES. (A temperance play.) Characters. — Man, about thirty -five years old; his Wife ; Nellie, his daughter, ten years old ; Friend, man about husband 's age, dressed in a man-of-the-world style ; A. and B., two young men, dressed as business men, should appear about thirty years of age. Scene I. (Mr. L. and his wife on the stage ; Mr. L. dressed for his work, and about to go. ) Mrs. L. Albert, I wish you would give me seventy-five cents. Mr. L. What do you want seventy-five cents for? Mrs. L. I want to get some braid for my new dress. Mr. L. I thought you had material enough on hand for that. Mrs. L. So I thought I had; but it looks rather plain witli no trimming at all. You know I was intending to trim it with that fringe ; but it looks too gray, come to try it by the side of the dress. Mr. L. Haven't you something else that will do? Mrs. L. No. But, then, braid is cheap ; and I can make it look quite pretty with seventy-five cents. Mr. L. Plague take these women's fashions. Your endless trimmings and thing-a-ma-jigs cost more than the dress is worth. It is nothing but shell out money when a woman thinks of a new dress. Mrs. L. I don't have many new dresses. I do certainly try to be as economical as I can. Mr. L. It is funny kind of economy, at all events. But if you must have it, I suppose you must. ( Takes out his purse, and counts out carefully seventy-five cents, and puts his purse away, angrily. He starts to go; but when at the door, he thinks he will take his umbrella, and goes back for it. Finds his wife in tears, which she tries hastily to conceal. ) Mr. L. Good gracious ! Kate, I should like to know if you are crying at what I said about the dress. Mrs. L. I was not crying at what you said ; but you were so reluctant to grant the small favor! I was thinking how hard I have to work. I am tied to the house. I have many little things to perplex me. Then to think — Mr. L. Pshaw! What do you want to be foolish for. . (Exit.) (In the hall he was met by his little girl, Lizzie. ) Lizzie {holding both his hands) . O, papa, give me fifteen cents. Mr. L. What? Lizzie. I want fifteen cents. Please give me fifteen cents. Mr. L. What in the world do you want it for? Are they changing books again ? Lizzie. No. I want a hoop. It's splendid rolling ; and all the girls have one. Mr. Grant has some real nice ones to sell. Please, can't I have one ? Mr. L. Nonsense ! If you want a hoop, go and get one off some old barrel. I can't afford to buy hoops for you to trundle about the streets. ( Throws her off. ) Lizzie (in a pleading tone) . Please, papa? Mr. L. No, I told you ! (She bursts into tears, and he goes off muttering, 11 Cry, then, and cry it out.") Scene II. (Albert enters, his wife, entering on the opposite side. She kisses him as a greeting. ) Mrs. L. I am glad you are home thus early. How has business gone to-day ? Mr. L. Well, I am happy to say. Mrs. L. Are you very tired ? Mr. L. No ; why ? Mrs. L. I want you to go to the sewing circle to-night. Mr. L. I can't go ; I have an engagement. Mrs. L. I am sorry. You never go with me now. You used to go a great deal. (Just then Iazzie comes in crying, dragging an old hoop, and rubbing her eyes. ) MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 395 Mr. L. What is the matter with you, darling? Lizzie. The girls have been laughing at me, and making fun of my hoop. They say mine is ugly and homely. Mr. L. Never mind ; perhaps we'll have a new one some time. Lizzie. Mayn't I have one now? Mr. Grant has one left — a real pretty one. Mr. L. Not now, Lizzie ; not now. I'll think of it. (Lizzie goes out crying, followed by her mother. A friend of Mx. L. enters.) Friend. Hello, Albert ! What's up? Mr. L. Nothing in particular. Take a chair. Friend. How's business? Mr. L. Cxood. Friend. Did you go to the club last night ? Mr. L. Don't speak so loud ! Friend. Ha! wife don't know — does she? Where does she think you go? Mr. L. I don't know. She never asks me, and I am glad of it. She asked me to go with her to-night, and I told her I was engaged. Friend. Good ! I shan't ask you where, but take it for granted that it was with me. What do you say for a game of billiards ? Mr. L. Good ! I'm in for that. {They rise to go. ) Have a cigar, Tom ? Friend. Yes. ( They go out. ) Scene III. { Two men in conversation as they come upon the stage. ) B. Billiards ? No, I never play billiards. A. Why not? B. I don't like its tendency. A. It is only a healthy pastime. I am sure it has no evil tendency. B. I cannot assert that the game in its most innocent form is, of itself, an evil, to be sure. But, although it has the advantage of calling forth skill and judgment, yet it is evil when it excites and stimulates beyond the bounds of healthy recreation. A. That result can scarcely follow such a game. B. You are wrong there. The result can follow in two ways. First, it can lead men away from their business. Secondly, it leads those to spend money who have none to spend. Look at that young man just passing. He looks like a mechanic ; and I should judge from his appearance that he has a family. I see by his face that he is kind and generous, and wants to do as near right as he can. I have watched him in the billiard saloon time after time, and only last night I saw him pay one dollar and forty cents for two hours' recreation. He did it cheerfully, too, and smiled at his loss. But how do you suppose it is at home ? Suppose his wife had asked him for a dollar or two for some household ornament, or his child, if he has one, for a picture-book or toy, what do you suppose he would have answered ? This is not conjecture ; for you and I both know plenty of such cases. A. Upon my word, B., you speak to the point ; for I know that young man, and what you have said is true. I can furnish you with facts. We have a club for a literary paper in our village, and last year he was one of the sub- scribers. This year he was obliged to discon- tinue. His wife was very anxious to take it ; but he said he could not afford the $1.25 for it. And his little Lizzie, ten years old, has coaxed her father for fifteen cents, for a hoop, in vain. My Nellie told me that. B. Yes ; and that two hours' recreation last night, would have paid for both. It is well for wives and children that they do not know where all the money goes. THE SALUTATORIAN'S DIFFI- CULTIES. characters. Frank Clayton. Sammy Long. Harry Thompson. Johnny Wilson. Tommy Watkins. Willie Brown. Scene. — A stage. Curtain rises, and Frank Clayton comes forwai-d and speaks. Frank. Ladies and gentlemen : Our perform- ances are now about to commence. We have 396 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. spent some time in preparing for this exhibition, and we hope you will be pleased with all the performances that may be given. You well know that we have not had much practice in giving school exhibitions, and if you see any errors, we hope you will kindly forgive and overlook. We will endeavor to give our recita- tions correctly, and act our parts truthfully, and we ask you to — and we ask you to — and — and — and we ask that — that — {Enter Harry Thompson. He comes in front of Frank and coimnences to speak. ) ' ' Did you ever hear of Jehosophat Boggs, A dealer and raiser of all sorts of dogs ? No ? Then I'll endeavor in doggerel verse To just the main points of the story rehearse. Boggs had a good wife — ' ' Frank. {Speaking in a loud whisper. ) Harry, what did you come out here for? I'm not through with the introductory speech yet. Harry. { Turns half way round, puts his hand to his mouth, as if to keep the audience from hear- ing, and speaks in a loud whisper. ) I know you weren't through, but you stuck, and I thought I had better come on. You know my recitation is second on the programme, and I didn' t want to have a bungle right at the commencement of the exhibition. Frank. Go back to your place, you little rascal, and don't interrupt me again. I'm going to speak my piece. Harry. { With his hand up to hide his mouth as before.} Oh, you're stuck and you'd better retire. ( Turns to audience and continues to speak his piece.} " Boggs had a good wife, the joy of his life, There was nothing between them inclining to strife. Except her dear J.'s dogmatic employment; And that, she averred, did mar her enjoyment. ' ' Frank. { Whispering as before. ) I say, Harry, get from before me and let me speak my piece. Harry. { Turns, puts up his hand, and whis- pers as before. ) Oh, you keep shady until I get through. {Turns to audience and speaks.*) 11 She often had begged him to sell off his dogs, And instead to raise turkeys, spring chickens or hogs. She made him half promise at no distant day He would sell the whole lot, not excepting old Tray; And as good luck would have it, — " Frank. {Turning Harry by the collar and pulling him back. ) I tell you to get out of this until I have spoken my piece. Harry. I won't. Let me alone, I say. You have stuck fast, and do you want to spoil the exhibition? Didn't you know enough to keep off the stage until I had spoken my piece ? Frank. {Still holding him by the collar. ) It is you that are spoiling the exhibition. ( Leads him off the stage. ) Ha?'ry. {Speaking loudly as he goes out.y I call this an outrage. Frank. {Returning to his place and com- mencing to speak.) Ladies and gentlemen, my speech has been interrupted, and I will com- mence again. Our performances are now about to commence. We have spent some time in preparing for this exhibition, and we hope you will be pleased with all the performances that may be given. You know that we have not had much practice in giving school exhibitions, and if you see any errors, we hope you will kindly forgive and overlook. We will endeavor to give our recitations correctly, and act our parts truthfully, and we ask you to — to — and we ask you to — and act .our parts truthfully, and we ask you to — and we ask you to — {In a lower tone. ) I've forgotten it again; isn't that too bad? {Speaking as before. ) And we ask you to — to — to — {Enter Tommy Watkins. He comes in front of Frank, and commences to speak " The Ghost. ' ' ) " 'Tis about twenty years since Abel Law, A short, round, favored merry Old soldier of the Revolutionary War, MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 397 Was wedded to a most abominable shrew. The temper, sir, of Shakespeare's Catharine Could no more be compared with hers Than mine With Lucifer's. Frank. {In a loud whisper. ) Tommy Watkins, get from before me. Don't you see I'm speak- ing ? I don't want to be interrupted — I want to finish my speech. Tommy. {Facing the audience and speaking in the sa?ne tone as when reciting his speech. ) Oh, you'd better quit! You've stuck twice now, and if you don't go off the stage the audi- ence will become disgusted. Sammy Long. {Seated in the audience. ) The people are disgusted now with that boy's open- ing speech. He'd better go home, memorize it, and speak it some time next year. Tommy. There ! You hear what they say out there in the audience. They are disgusted, and they think you had better leave the stage. Frank. Oh, that's nobody but Sammy Long, and he is displeased because we didn't invite him to take part in the exhibition. Tom??iy. Well, I'll go ahead and speak my piece while you are trying to think up the words you have forgotten. Her eyes were like a weasel's ; she had a harsh Tace, like a cranberry marsh, All spread with spots of white and red ; Hair of the color of a wisp of straw, And a disposition like a cross-cut saw. The appellation of this lovely dame Was Nancy ; don't forget the name. Frank. Stop, Tommy ; I can finish my speech now. Tommy. So can I. ( Continues his recitation. ) His brother David was a tall, Good-looking chap, and that was all ; One of your great big nothings, as they say Out in Rhode Island, picking up old jokes, And cracking them on other folks. Well, David undertook one night to play The Ghost, and frighten Abel, who, He knew, Would be returning from a journey through A grove of forest wood That stood Below The house some distance — half a mile or so. With a long taper Cap of white paper, Just made to cover A wig, nearly as large over As a corn -basket, and a sheet With both ends made to meet Across his breast (The way in which ghosts are always dressed), He took His station near A huge oak-tree, Whence he could overlook The road and see Whatever might appear. It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel Had left the table Of an inn, where he had made a halt, With horse and wagon, To taste a flagon Of malt Liquor, and so forth, which, being done, He went on, Caring no more for twenty ghosts Than if they had been so many posts David was nearly tired of waiting ; His patience was abating ; At length, he heard the careless tones Of his kinsman's voice, And then the noise Of wagon- wheels among the stones. Abel was quite elated, and was roaring With all his might, and pouring Out, in great confusion, Scraps of old songs made in "the Revolution." His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton ; And jovially he went on. 398 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Scaring the whip-po' -wills among the trees With rhymes like these : (Sings. Air, ' ' Yankee Doodle. ' ' ) ' ' See the Yankees Leave the hill, With baggernetts declining, With lopped-down hats And rusty guns, And leather aprons shining. ' ' "'See the Yankees' — Whoa! Why, what is that ? ' ' Said Abel, staring like a cat, As, slowly, on the fearful figure strode Into the middle of the road. ' ' My conscience ! what a suit of clothes ! Some crazy fellow, I suppose. Hallo! friend, what's your name? by the powers of gin, That's a strange dress to travel in." ' ' Be silent, Abel ; for I now have come To read your doom ; Then hearken, while your fate I now declare. I am a spirit — ' ' "I suppose you are ; But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why : Here is a fact which you cannot deny ; — All spirits must be either good Or bad — that's understood — And be you good or evil, I am sure That I'm secure. If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil — And I don't know but you may be the devil — If that's the case, you'll recollect, I fancy, That I am married to your sister Nancy ! ' ' (Bows and turns to go off. To Frank. ) Now, Frank, you can go ahead again until you come to the sticking place. I hope that, during the time I have generously given you by speaking my piece, you have been collecting your scattered senses, and will now be able to finish what you began. (Exit Tommy. ) Frank. Ladies and gentlemen, I am not at all pleased with this way of doing business. I think these boys have not treated me with proper respect. I was selected to give the opening or introductory address, and you see how it has been done. Sammy. (In the audience.) We didn't see very much of it. Don't you think it would be well enough for you to retire and memorize your speech ? Frank. You boys out there had better keep silent and not create a disturbance. There is an officer in the house. (Enter Willie Brown. He comes before Frank and commences to speak. ) " 'Twas night ! The stars were shrouded in a veil of mist; a clouded canopy o'erhung the world ; the vivid lightnings flashed and shook their fiery darts upon the earth — ' ' Frank. (Speaking out. ) I say, Willie Brown, what did you come here for ? I haven't finished the opening speech yet. Willie. What's the use of having an open- ing speech now ? The exhibition is half over. ( Continues his speech. ) "The deep-toned thunder rolled along the vaulted sky ; the elements were in wild commo- tion; the storm-spirit howled in the air; the winds whistled ; the hail-stones fell like leaden balls ; the hugh undulations of the ocean dashed upon the rock-bound shore ; and torrents leaped from mountain tops ; when the murderer sprang from his sleepless couch with vengeance on his brow — murder in his heart — and the fell instru- ment of destruction in his hand. ' ' Frank. Stop, I say. What kind of an exhi- bition will this be without an introductory speech ? Stop, I say. We will be the laugh- ing-stock of the country if we don't open our exhibition with an introductory speech. Johnny. (In the audience. ) Oh, nobody cares for the introductory speech. Let the speech go and give us some dialogues and songs. Willie. No dialogues and songs until I have finished my speech. This is my place on the programme. (Continues his speech. Frank comes and stands near him and they both speak at the same time, Willie giving the concluding por- tion of his speech and Frank commencing at the MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 399 first of his Opening Speech and going as far as he had gone before. Willie should finish just before Frank cofnmences to stammer. ) " The storm increased ; the lightnings flashed with brighter glare ; the thunder growled with deeper energy ; the winds whistled with a wilder fury ; the confusion of the hour was congenial to his soul, and the stormy passions which raged in his bosom. He clenched his weapon with a sterner grasp. A demoniac smile gathered on his lip; he grated his teeth; raised his arm; sprang with a yell of triumph upon his victim, and relentlessly killed — a mosquito? ' ' {Bows and turns to go of. To Frank. ) Stuck again, my boy? If we had waited for the opening speech we would not have got our exhibition opened for a week or ten days. {Exit Willie. ) {Enter Harry Thompson. He comes forward and speaks. ) Our parts are performed and our speeches are ended, We are monarchs and courtiers and heroes no more ; To a much humbler station again we've de- scended, And are now but the school-boys you've known us before. Farewell then our greatness — 'tis gone like a dream, 'Tis gone — but remembrance will often re- trace The indulgent applause which rewarded each theme, And the heart-cheering smiles that enlivened each face. We thank you ! Our gratitude words cannot tell, But deeply we feel it — to you it belongs ; With heartfelt emotion we bid you farewell, And our feelings now thank you much more than our tongues. We will strive to improve, since applauses thus cheer us, That our juvenile efforts may gain your kind looks ; And we hope to convince you, the next time you hear us, . That praise has but sharpened our relish for books. {Bows and turns to go off. ) I have spoken the valedictory, and the exhibition is over. Ring down the curtain. Erank. {Excitedly.') Stop! Hold! Don't! I haven't finished my speech yet. Johnny. {In the audience.) You've given us enough for the present. You can finish it out next Christmas. Harry. Ring down the curtain. Era?ik. Stop ! Don't ! Don't ! I want to speak my piece. {A bell is rung and the curtain falls. ) Erank. {Drawing the curtain aside and looking out.) Here's a go ! How are we going to get along without an Opening Speech? {Disap- pears. ) [curtain.] GO, FEEL WHAT I HAVE FELT. (Earnest temperance recitation.) O, feel what I have felt, Go, bear what I have borne ; Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt, And the cold, proud world's scorn. Thus struggle on from year to year, Thy sole relief the scalding tear. Go, weep as I have wept O'er a loved father's fall; See every cherished promise swept, Youth's sweetness turned to gall; Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way. That led me up to woman's day. Go, kneel as I have knelt : Implore beseech and pray. Strive the besotted heart to melt, The downward course to stay ; Be cast with bitter curse aside, — Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied. G 400 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Go, stand where I have stood, And see the strong man bow ; With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood And cold and livid brow ; Go, catch his wandering glance, and see There mirrored his soul's misery. Go, hear what I have heard, — The sobs of sad despair, As memory's feeling fount hath stirred, And its revealings there Have told him what he might have been, Had he the drunkard's fate forseen. Go to my mother's side, And her crushed spirit cheer ; Thine own deep anguish hide, Wipe from her cheek the tear ; Mark her dimmed eye, her furrowed brow, The gray that streaks her dark hair now, The toil-worn frame, the trembling limb, And trace the ruin back to him Whose plighted faith in early youth, Promised eternal love and truth, But who, forsworn, hath yielded up This promise to the deadly cup, And led her down from love and light, Trom all that made her pathway bright, And chained her there 'mid want and strife, That lowly thing, — a drunkard's wife ! And stamped on childhood's brow, so mild, That withering blight, — a drunkard's child ! Go, hear, and see, and feel, and know All that my soul hath felt and known Then look within the wine-cup's glow; See if its brightness can atone ; Think of its flavor would you try, If all proclaimed, — ' Tis drink and die. Tell me I hate the bowl, — Hate is a feeble word ; I loathe, abhor, my very soul By strong disgust is stirred Whene'er I see, or hear; or tell Of the DARK BEVERAGE OF HELL ! THE PROGRESS OF MADNESS. (Dramatic. ) STAY, jailer, stay and hear my woe ! He is not mad who kneels to thee ; For what I'm now too well I know, And what I was — and what should be ! I'll rave no more in proud despair — My language shall be mild though sad ; But yet I'll firmly, truly swear, I am not mad ! I am not mad ! My tyrant foes have forged the tale, Which chains me in this dismal cell ! My fate unknown my friends bewail — O ! jailer, haste that fate to tell ! O ! haste my father's heart to cheer; His heart at once 'twill grieve and glad, To know, though chained a captive here, I am not mad ! I am not mad ! He smiles in scorn — he turns the key — He quits the grate — I knelt in vain ! His glimmering lamp still, still I see — 'Tis gone— and all is gloom again ! Cold, bitter cold ! — no warmth, no light ! Life, all thy comforts once I had ! Yet here I'm chained, this freezing night, Although not mad ! no, no — not mad ! 'Tis sure some dream — some vision vain ! What ! I — -the child of rank and wealth — Am I the wretch who clanks this chain, Bereft of freedom, friends, and health ? Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fled, Which never more my heart must glad, How aches my heart, how burns my head ! But 'tis not mad ! it is not mad ! Hast thou, my child, forgot e'er this A parent's face, a parent's tongue? I'll ne'er forget thy parting kiss, Nor round my neck how fast you clung ! Nor how with me you sued to stay, Nor how that suit my foes forbade ; Nor how — I'll drive such thoughts away — They'll make me mad ! they'll make me mad ! MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 401 Thy rosy lips, how sweet they smiled ! Thy mild blue eyes, how bright they shone ! None ever saw a lovelier child ! And art thou now forever gone ? And must I never see thee more, My pretty, gracious, noble lad ? — I will be free ! Unbar the door ! I am not mad ! I am not mad ! O, hark! what mean those yells and cries? His chain some furious madman breaks ! He comes ! I see his glaring eyes ! Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes ! Help ! help ! — he's gone ! O, fearful woe, Such screams to hear, such sights to see ! My brain, my brain ! I know, I know, I am not mad — but soon shall be ! Yes, soon ; for, lo ! now, while I speak, Mark, how yon demon's eyeballs glare ! He sees me — now, with dreadful shriek, He whirls a serpent high in air ! Horror ! the reptile strikes his tooth Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad ! Ay, laugh, ye fiends ! I feel the truth ! Your task is done — I'm mad ! I'm mad ! M. G. Lewis. OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY. (This selection is more effective if the speaker and .a lady, impersonating the wife, be dressed as if leav- ing the house, in which case they should stand to the side of the stage near a door, and the speaker appear unconscious of the audience and address the old wife.) OUT of the old house, Nancy — moved up into the new ; All the hurry and worry are just as good as through ; Only a bounden duty remains for you and I, And that's to stand on the door-step here and bid the old house good-bye. "What a shell we've lived in these nineteen or twenty years ! Wonder it hadn't smashed in and tumbled about our ears ; Wonder it stuck together and answered till to-day, IBut every individual log was put up here to stay. 26 Yes, a deal has happened to make this old house dear: Christenin's, funerals, weddin's — what haven't we had here? Not a log in this old buildin' but its memories has got — And not a nail in this old floor but touches a tender spot. Out of the old house, Nancy — moved up into the new ; All the hurry and worry is just as good as through ; But I tell you a thing right here, that I ain't ashamed to say : There's precious things in this old house we never can take away. Here the old house will stand, but not as it stood before ; Winds will whistle through it and rains will flood the floor ; And over the hearth once blazing, the snow- drifts oft will pile, And the old thing will seem to be a mournin' all the while. Fare you well, old house ! you're naught that can feel or see, But you seem like a human being — a dear old friend to me ; And we never will have a better home, if my opinion stands, Until we commence a keepin' house in the " house not made with hands." GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN. John. I'VE worked in the field all day, a-plowin' the ' ' stony streak ; ' ' I've scolded my team till I'm hoarse ; I've tramped till my legs are weak ; I've choked a dozen swears, (so's not to tell Jane fibs,) When the plow-pint struck a stone, and the handles punched my ribs. 402 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. I've put my team in the barn, and rubbed their sweaty coats ; I've fed 'em a heap of hay and half a bushel of oats ; L And to see the way they eat makes me like eatin' feel, And Jane won't say to-night that I don't make out a meal. Well said ! the door is locked ! but here she's left the key, Under the step, in a place known only to her and me ; I wonder who's dyin' or dead, that she's hus- tled off pell-mell ; But here on the table's a note, and probably this will tell. Good God ! my wife is gone ! my wife is gone astray ! The letter it says, " Good-bye, for I'm a-going away; I've lived with you six months, John, and so far I've been true ; But I'm going away to-day with a handsomer man than you. ' ' A han'somer man than me ! Why, that ain't much to say ; There's han'somer men than me go past here every day. There's han'somer men than me — I ain't of the han'some kind ; But a loverf er man than I was, I guess she'll never find. Curse her ! curse her ! I say, and give my curses wings ! May the words of love I've spoken be changed to scorpion stings ! Oh, she filled my heart with joy, she emptied my heart of doubt, And now, with a scratch of a pen, she lets my heart's blood out ! Curse her ! curse her ! say I, she'll some time rue this day ; She'll some time learn that hate is a game that two can play ; And long before she dies she'll grieve she ever was born, And I'll plow her grave with hate, and seed it down to scorn. As sure as the world goes on, there'll come a time when she Will read the devilish heart of that han'somer man than me ; And there'll be a time when he will find, as others do, That she who is false to one, can be the same with two. And when her face grows pale, and when her eyes grow dim, t And when he is tired of her and she is tired of him, She'll do what she ought to have done, and coolly count the cost ; And then she'll see things clear, and know what she has lost. And thoughts that are now asleep will wake up in her mind, And she will mourn and cry for what she has left behind ; And maybe she'll sometimes long for me — for me — but no ! I've blotted her out of my heart, and I will not have it so. And yet in her girlish heart there was somethin' or other she had That fastened a man to her, and wasn't entirely bad; And she loved me a little, I think, although it didn't last ; But I mustn't think of these things — I've buried 'em in the past. I'll take my hard words back, nor make a bad matter worse ; She'll have trouble enough; she shall not have my curse ; MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 403 But I'll live a life so square — and I well know that I can, — That she always will sorry be that she went with that han'somer man. Ah, nere is her kitchen dress ! it makes my poor eyes blur ; It seems when I look at that, as if 'twas holdin' her. And here are her week-day shoes, and there is her week-day hat, And yonder' s her weddin' gown; I wonder she didn't take that. 'Twas only this mornin' she came and called me her "dearest dear," And said I was makin' for her a regular paradise here ; God ! if you want a man to sense the pains of hell, Before you pitch him in just keep him in heaven a spell ! Good-bye ! I wish that death had severed us two apart. You've lost a worshiper here, you've crushed a lovin' heart. I'll worship no woman again ; but guess I'll learn to pray, And kneel as yoic used to kneel, before you run away. And if I thought I could bring my words on Heaven to bear, And if I thought I had some little influence there, 1 would pray that I might be, if it only could be so, As happy and gay as I was a half hour ago. Jane ( entering) . Why, John, what a litter here ! you've thrown things all around ! Come, what's the matter now? and what have you lost or found ? And here's my father here, a waiting for supper, too ; I've been a riding with him — he's that "hand- somer man than you." Ha ! ha ! Pa, take a seat, while I put the ket- tle on, And get things ready for tea, and kiss my dear old John. Why, John, you look so strange ! come, what has crossed your track ? I was only a joking, you know; I'm willing to take it back. John {aside). Well, now, if this ain't a joke, with rather a bitter cream ! It seems as if I'd woke from a mighty ticklish dream ; And I think she "smells a rat," for she smiles at me so queer, I hope she don't; good gracious ! I hope that they didn't hear ! 'Twas one of her practical drives — she thought I'd understand ! But I'll never break sod again till I get the lay of the land. But one thing's settled with me — to appreciate heaven well, ' Tis good for a man to have some fifteen minutes of hell. Will Carleton. I CAUGHT IN THE QUICKSAND. (Dramatic reading. ) T sometimes happens that a man, traveler or fisherman, walking on the beach at low tide, far from the bank, suddenly notices that for several minutes he has been walking with some difficulty. The strand beneath his feet is like pitch ; his soles stick in it ; it is sand no longer ; it is glue. The beach is perfectly dry, but at every step he takes, as soon as he lifts his foot, the print which it leaves fills with water. The eye, how- ever, has noticed no change ; the immense strand is smooth and tranquil ; all the sand has the same appearance ; nothing distinguishes the surface which is solid from that which is no longer so ; the joyous little crowd of sand-flies continue to leap tumultuously over the wayfarer's feet. The man pursues his way, goes forward, 404 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. inclines to the land, endeavors to get nearer the upland. He is not anxious. Anxious about what ? Only he feels, somehow, as if the weight of his feet increases with every step he takes. Suddenly he sinks in. He sinks in two or three inches. Decidedly he is not on the right road ; he stops to take his bearings ; now he looks at his feet. They have disappeared. The sand covers them. He draws them out of the sand ; he will retrace his steps. He turns back, he sinks in deeper. The sand comes up to his ankles ; he pulls himself out and throws himself to the left — the sand half leg deep. fie throws himself to the right ; the sand comes up to his shins. Then he recognizes with unspeakable terror that he is caught in the quick- sand, and that he has beneath him the terrible medium in which man can no more walk than the fish can swim. He throws off his load if he has one, lightens himself as a ship in distress ; it is already too late ; the sand is above his knees. He calls, he waves his hat or his handkerchief ; the sand gains on him more and more. If the beach is deserted, if the land is too far off, if there is no help in sight, it is all over. He is condemned to that appalling burial, long infallible, implacable, and impossible to slacken or to hasten ; which endures for hours, which seizes you erect, free, and in full health, and which draws you by the feet ; which at every effort that you attempt, at every shout you utter, drags you a little deeper, sinking you slowly into the earth while you look upon the horizon, the sails of the ships upon the sea, the birds fly- ing and singing, the sunshine and the sky. The victim attempts to sit down, to lie down, to creep ; every movement he makes inters him ; he straightens up, he sinks in ; he feels that he is being swallowed. He howls, implores, cries to the clouds, despairs. Behold him waist deep in the sand. The sand reaches his breast ; he is now only a bust. He rai:es his arms, utters furious groans, clutches the beach with his nails, would hold by that straw, leans upon his elbows to pull himself out of this soft sheath ; sobs frenziedly ; the sand rises ; the sand reaches his shoulders ; the sand reaches his neck ; the face alone is visible now. The mouth cries, the sand fills it — silence. The eyes still gaze, the sand shuts them — night. Now the forehead decreases, a little hair flutters above the sand ; a hand comes to the surface of the beach, moves, and shakes, disappears. It is the earth-drowning man. The earth filled with the ocean becomes a trap. It presents itself like a plain, and opens like a wave. Victor Hugo. THE AMERICAN INDIAN. NOT many generations ago, where you now sit, circled with all that exalts and em- bellishes civilized life, the rank thistle nodded in the wind, and the wild fox dug his hole unscared. He lived and loved another race of beings. Beneath the same sun that rolls over your heads, the Indian hunter pursued the panting deer ; gazing on the same moon that smiles for you, the Indian lover wooed his dusky mate. Here the wigwam blaze beamed on the tender and helpless, the council fire glared on the wise and daring. Now they dipped their noble limbs in your sledgy lakes, and now they paddled the light canoe along your rocky shores. Here they warred ; the echoing whoop, the bloody grapple, the defying death-song, all were here ; and when the tiger strife was over, here curled the smoke of peace. Here, too, they worshipped ; and from many a dark bosom went up a pure prayer to the Great Spirit. He had not written his laws for them on tables of stone, but he had traced them on the tables of their hearts. The poor child of nature knew not the God of revelation, but the God of the universe he acknowledged in every thing around. He beheld him in the star that sunk in beauty behind his lonely dwelling ; in the sacred orb that flamed on him from his mid- day throne ; in the flower that snapped in the morning breeze ; in the lofty pine, that defied a thousand whirlwinds ; in the timid warbler that never left its native grove ; in the fearless eagle MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 405 whose untired pinion was wet in clouds ; in the worm that crawled at his feet ; and in his own matchless form, glowing with a spark of that light, to whose mysterious source he bent in humble, though blind, adoration. And all this has passed away. Across the ocean came a pilgrim bark, bearing the seeds of life and death. The former were sown for you ; the latter sprang up in the path of the simple native. Three hundred years have changed the character of a great continent, and blotted forever from its face a whole peculiar people. Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and the children of education have been too powerful for the tribes of the ignorant. Here and there a stricken few remain ; but how unlike their bold, untamed, untamable progenitors ! The Indian of falcon glance and lion bearing, the theme of the touching ballad, the hero of the pathetic tale, is gone ! and his degraded offspring crawl upon the soil where he walked in majesty, to remind us how miserable is man when the foot of the conqueror is on his neck. As a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows are broken, their springs are dried up, their cabins are in the dust. Their council- fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast dying to the untrodden West. Slowly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide which is pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave, which will settle over them forever. Charles Sprague. DAVID'S LAMENT FOR ABSALOM. THE waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still, Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse. The reeds bent down the stream : the willow leaves With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide, Forgot the lifting winds ; and the long stems Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way, And leaned, in graceful attitude, to rest. How strikingly the course of nature tells By its light heed of human suffering, That it was fashioned for a happier world. King David's limbs were weary. He had fled From far Jerusalem : and now he stood With his faint people, for a little space, Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow, To its refreshing breath ; for he had worn The mourner's covering, and had not felt That he could see his people until now. They gathered round him on the fresh green bank And spoke their kindly words : and as the sun Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there, And bowed his head upon his hands to pray. Oh ! when the heart is full, — when bitter thoughts Come crowding thickly up for utterance, And the poor common words of courtesy, Are such a very mockery — how much The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer ! He prayed for Israel : and his voice went up Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those, Whose love had been his shield : and his deep tones Grew tremulous.' But, oh ! for Absalom, — For his estranged, misguided Absalom, — The proud bright being who had burst away In all his princely beauty, to defy The heart that cherished him — for him he poured In agony that would not be controlled Strong supplication, and forgave him there, Before his God, for his deep sinfulness. The pall was settled. He who slept beneath Was straightened for the grave : and as the folds Sank to the still proportions, they betrayed The matchless symmetry of Absalom. His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls Were floating round the tassels as they swayed 406 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. To the admitted air, as glossy now As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing The snowy fingers of Judea's girls. His helm was at his feet : his banner soiled With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid, Reversed, beside him ; and the jewelled hilt Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade, Rested like mockery on his covered brow. The soldiers of the King trod to and fro, Clad in the garb of battle ; and their chief, The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier, And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly, As if he feared the slumberer might stir. A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade As if a trumpet rang : but the bent form Of David entered, and he gave command In a low tone to his few followers, And left him with his dead. The King stood still Till the last echo died : then, throwing off The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back The pall from the still features of his child, He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth In the resistless eloquence of woe : "Alas ! my noble boy ! that thou should' st die, — Thou who wert made so beautifully fair ! That death should settle in thy glorious eye, And leave his stillness in this clustering hair — How could he mark thee for the silent tomb ? My proud boy, Absalom ! ' ' Cold is thy brow, my son ! and I am chill As to my bosom I have tried to press thee — How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, Like a rich harp string, yearning to caress thee — And hear thy sweet ' My father, ' from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom ! "The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young : And life will pass me in the mantling blush, And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung, — But thou no more with thy sweet voice shalt come To meet me, Absalom ! "And, oh ! when I am stricken, and my heart Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as T depart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token ! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom ! "And now farewell. 'Tis hard to give thee up, With death so like a gentle slumber on thee ; And thy dark sin — oh ! I could drink the cup If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My lost boy, Absalom ! ' ' He covered up his face, and bowed himself A moment on his child ; then giving him A look of melting tenderness, he clasped His hands convulsively, as if in prayer : And as if strength were given him of God, He rose up calmly and composed the pall Firmly and decently, — and left him there, As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. N. P. Willis. POOR LITTLE JOE. P (Touchingly pathetic. ) ROP yer eyes wide open, Joey, For I've brought you sumpin' great. Apples ? No, a heap sight better ! Don't you take no int'rest? Wait ! Flowers, Joe — I know'd you'd like 'em — Ain't them scrumptious? Ain't them high? Tears, my boy? Wot's them fur, Joey? There — poor little Joe ! — don't cry ! I was skippin' past a winder, Where a bang-up lady sot, All amongst a lot of bushes — Each one climbin' from a pot ; Every bush had flowers on it — Pretty ? Mebbe not ! Oh, no ! Wish you could a seen 'em growin', It was sich a stunnin' shbw Well, I thought of you, poor feller, Lyin' here so thin and weak, MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 407 Never knowin' any comfort, And I puts on lots o' cheek. "Missus," says I, "If you please, mum, Could I ax you for a rose ? For my little brother, missus — Never seed one, I suppose. ' ' Then I told her all about you, — How I bringed you up — poor Joe ! (Lackin' women folks to do it.) Sich a 'imp you was, you know — Till yer got that awful tumble, Jist as I had broke yer in (Hard work, too,) to earn yer livin' Blackin' boots for honest tin. How that tumble crippled of you, So's you couldn't hyper much — Joe, it hurted when I seen you Fur the first time with your crutch. "But," I says, he's laid up now, mum, ' Pears to weaken every day ; ' ' Joe, she up and went to cuttin' — ■ That's the how of this bokay. Say ! It seems to me, ole feller, You is quite yerself to-night ; Kind o' chirk — it's been a fornit Sence yer eyes has been so bright. Better ? Well, I'm glad to hear it ! Yes, they're mighty pretty, Joe, Smelhri of ' ' e?ri 's made you happy ? Well, I thought it would, you know ! Never see the country, did you ? Flowers growin' everywhere ! Some time when you're better, Joey, Mebbe I kin take you there. Flowers in heaven ? 'M — I s'pose so ; Dunno much about it, though ; Ain't as fly as wot I might be On them topics, little Joe. But I've heard it hinted somewheres That in heaven's golden gates Things is everlastin' cheerful — B'lieve that's wot the Bible states. Likewise, there folks don't git hungry, So good people, when they dies, Finds themselves well fixed forever — Joe, my boy, wot ails yer eyes ? Thought they looked a little sing'ler. Oh, no ! Don't you have no fear ; Heaven was made fur such as you is — Joe, wot makes you look so queer ? Here — wake up ! Oh, don't lqok that way : Joe ! My boy ! Hold up yer head ! Here's yer flowers — you dropped 'em, Joey ! Oh, my God, can Joe be dead? P. Arkwright. DOT LAMBS WHAT MARY HAF GOT. (Dialectic. ) MARY haf got a leetle lambs already ; Dose vool vos vite like shnow ; Und efery times dot Mary did vend oud, Dot lambs vent also out, wid Mary. Dot lambs dit follow Mary von day of der school-house, Vich vos obbosition to der rules of her school- master ; Also, vich it did caused dose schillen to smile out loud, Ven dey did saw dose lambs on der insides ov der school-house. Und so dot school-master dit kick der lambs gwick oud ; Likewise dot lambs dit loaf around on der outsides, Und did shoo der flies mit his tail off patiently aboud — Until Mary did come also from dot school- house oud. Und den dot lambs did run right away gwick to Mary, Und dit make his het gwick on Mary's arms, Like he would said, " I don't was schared, Mary would kept me from droubles ena- how!" 408 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. " Vot vos der reason aboud it, of dat lambs und Mary?" Dose schillen did ask it dot school-master : " Veil, don'd you know it, dot Mary lofe dose lambs already?" Dot school-master did said. THE MISER. AN old man sat by a fireless hearth, Though the night was dark and chill, And mournfully over the frozen earth The wind sobbed loud and shrill. His locks were gray, and his eyes were gray, And dim, but not with tears ; And his skeleton form had wasted away With penury, more than years. A rush-light was casting a fitful glare O'er the damp and dingy walls, Where the lizard hath made his slimy lair, And the venomous spider crawls ; But the meanest thing in this lonesome room Was the miser worn and bare, Where he sat like a ghost in an empty tomb, On his broken and only chair. He had bolted the window and barred the door, And every nook had scanned ; And felt the fastening o'er and o'er With his cold and skinny hand ; And yet he sat gazing intently round, And trembled with silent fear, And started and shuddered at every sound That fell on his coward ear. "Ha, ha ! " laughed the miser: "I'm safe at last From this night so cold and drear, From the drenching rain and driving blast, With my gold and treasures here. I am cold and wet with the icy rain, And my health is bad, 'tis true ; Yet if I should light that fire again, It would cost me a cent or two. " But I'll take a sip of the precious wine: It will banish my cold and fears : It was given long since by a friend of mine — I have kept it for many years." So he drew a flask from a mouldy nook, And drank of its ruby tide ; And his eyes grew bright with each draught he took, And his bosom, swelled with pride. "Let me see ; let me see ! " said the miser then,, " 'Tis some sixty years or more Since the happy hour when I began To heap up the glittering store : And well have I sped with my anxious toil, As my crowded chest will show : I've more than would ransom a kingdom's spoil,. Or an emperor could bestow. ' ' He turned to an old worm-eaten chest, And cautiously raised the lid, And then it shone like the clouds of the west, With the sun in their splendor hid : And gem after gem, in precious store, Are raised with exulting smile ; And he counted and counted them o'er and o'er In many a glittering pile. Why comes the flush to his pallid brow, While his eyes like his diamonds shine ? Why writhes he thus in such torture now ? What was there in the wine ? He strove his lonely seat to gain : To crawl to his nest he tried ; But finding his efforts all in vain, . He clasped his gold, and died. George W. Cutter. ARTEMUS WARD AT THE TOMB OF SHAKESPEARE. (A droll reading.) I'VE been lingerin by the Tomb of the lamentid Shakespeare. It is a success. I do not hes'tate to pronounce it as such. You may make any use of this opinion that you see fit. If you think its publication will subswerve the cause of litteratoor, you may publicate. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 40^ I told my wife Betsey, when I left home, that I should go to the birth-place of the orthur of Otheller and other Plays. She said that as long as I kept out of Newgate she didn't care where I went. "But," I said, "don't you know he was tne greatest Poit that ever lived ? Not one of these common poits, like that young idyit who writes verses to our daughter, about the Roses as groses, and the breezes as blowses — but a Boss poit — also a philosopher, also a man who knew a great deal about everything. ' ' Yes. I've been to Stratford onto the Avon, the Birth-place of Shakespeare. Mr. S. is now no more. He's been dead over over three hun- dred (300) years. The peple of his native town are justly proud of him. They cherish his mem'ry, and them as sell picturs of his birth- place, &c, make it prof'tible cherishin it. Almost everybody buys a pictur to put into their Albiom. "And this," I said, as I stood in the old church-yard at Stratford, beside a Tombstone, "this marks the spot where lies William W. Shakespeare. Alars ! and this is the spot where — ' ' "You've got the wrong grave," said a man, — a worthy villager: "Shakespeare is buried inside the church." " Oh," I said, "a boy told me this was it." The boy larfed and put the shillin I'd given him into his left eye in a inglorious manner, and commenced moving backwards towards the street. I pursood and captered him, and, after talk- ing to him a spell in a sarkastic stile, I let him went. William Shakespeare was born in Stratford in 1564. All the commentators, Shakesperian scholars, etsetry, are agreed on this, which is about the only thing they are agreed on in re- gard to him, except that his mantle hasn't fallen onto any poet or dramatist hard enough to hurt said poet or dramatist much. And there is no doubt if these commentators and persons con- tinner investigatin Shakspeare's career, we shall not in doo time, know anything about it at all. When a mere lad little William attended the Grammar School, because, as he said, the Gram- mar School wouldn't attend him. This re- markable remark coming from one so young and inexperunced, set peple to thinkin there might be something in this lad. He subse- quently wrote Hamlet and George Barnwell. When his kind teacher went to London to accept a position in the offices of the Metropolitan Railway, little William was chosen by his fellow- pupils to deliver a farewell address. " Go on, sir, ' ' he said, " in a glorious career. Be like a eagle, and soar, and the soarer you get the more we shall be gratified ! That's so. " Charles F. Browne. HUSBAND'S PROGRAMME. The Things He Told His Wife, and Those He Actually Did. HE had meditated making this declaration, of independence for a long while, and he finally concluded to spring it on. Thanksgiving eve. " Therese," he said to his wife about an hour after supper that night, as he pulled on his gloves and overcoat, ' ' Thanksgiving eve comes only once every year, and it ought to be celebrated.. I am going out. I am not going to the lodge. I am not going down to the office to fix up my~ books. I am not going to sit up with a sick friend. I am not suddenly called to Baltimore on business that will keep me away until morn- ing. But I'm going to have a bully good time right here in Washington, and maybe I won't get home before 4 or 5 o'clock to-morrow morn- ing. So you needn't stay up for me. "From here I'm going down to ' Jim' Bludso's, where there's going to be a turkey raffle. I'm. going to. blow in the price of a turkey chucking dice for that one. If I win it, I'll send it up by a boy. If I don't, I'll buy one at the market, and send it up. I expect to have about three Martigny cocktails at Bludso's, and maybe one or two gin rickeys. Then I'm going to the variety show with ' Tom ' Atkinson and some more of the fellows. While we're there we'lL 410 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. perhaps have a few more rickeys. After the show we're going to sit down to a quiet little game of poker, with a dollar limit. We have already agreed to break up the game at i o'clock sharp in the morning. After the game I'm going to a Turkish bath, and splash around and get boiled out for awhile. Then I'm coming home. See ? ' ' Then he bolted for the front door and was out on the street before she had a chance to reply. About two hours later — it was only 9.30 in the evening — she heard a hack draw up and stop in front of the house. From the front window she saw him sprawl out of the hack. In the bright moonlight she could make out that he had two colossal turkeys slung over his new overcoat. He made his way up the front steps with great difficulty. Five minutes later he was in bed, sleeping heavily. He was very repentant in the morning, not- withstanding his head. " I didn't really mean to stay out so late, honest Injun, I didn't," he said to his wife, in a conciliatory tone, "and I only talked that way before going out last night for fun. But I just couldn't break away from the boys. They wouldn't let me go. I swore to 'em that I'd have to quit and make a run for home shortly after midnight, but it was no use. Wasn't drinking anything, either. Had a little cider, that's all. Well, I won $60 in the game, any- how, but Ave couldn't manage to break it up much before 2 o'clock this morning. Then I made a rush for the Turkish bath outfit, and got through as quick as I could. Got home about 3.30 this morning. Never was so sober in my life. Well, when I came in here and found you asleep and looking pretty and flushed and all that, you know, I felt cheap, for a fact, and I was glad you didn't wake up. I feel pretty rocky from the loss of sleep, and it's the last time I stay out till all hours of the morning, you may depend upon that. ' ' He doesn't know yet how and at what hour he came home Thanksgiving eve, and he prob- ably won't know until he reads this. Washington Post. TOO LATE FOR THE TRAIN. (Humorous reading.) T T"HEN they reached the depot, Mr. Mann VV and his wife gazed in unspeakable disappointment at the receding train, which was just pulling away from the bridge switch at the rate of a mile a minute. Their first impulse was to run after it, but as the train, was out of sight and whistling for Sagetown before they could act upon the impulse, they remained in the carriage and disconsolately turned their horses' heads homeward. Mr. Mann broke the silence, very grimly : " It all comes of having to wait for a woman to get ready." " I was ready before you were, ' ' replied his wife. ' ' Great heavens, ' ' cried Mr. Mann, with great impatience, nearly jerking the horses' jaws out of place, " just listen to that ! And I sat in the buggy ten minutes yelling at you to come along until the whole neighborhood heard me. " "Yes," acquiesced Mrs. Mann, with the pro- voking placidity which no one can assume but a woman, ' ' and every time I started down stairs, you sent me back for something you had for- gotten." Mr. Mann groaned. "This is too much to bear, ' ' he said, ' ' when everybody knows that if I were going to Europe I would just rush into the house, put on a clean shirt, grab up my grip- sack, and fly, while you would want at least six months for preliminary preparations, and then dawdle around the whole day of starting until every train had left town." Well, the upshot of the matter was that the Manns put off their visit to Aurora until the next week, and it was agreed that each one should get himself or herself ready and go down to the train and go, and the one who failed to get ready should be left. The day of the match came around in due time. The train was going at 10.30, and Mr. Mann, after attending to his business, went home at 9.45. "Now, then," he shouted, "only three- quarters of an hour's time. Fly around; a fair field and no favors, you know. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 411 And away they flew. Mr. Mann bulged into this room and flew through that one, and dived into one closet after another with inconceivable rapidity, chuckling under his breath all the time to think how cheap Mrs. Mann would feel when he started off alone. He stopped on his way up-stairs to pull off his heavy boots to save time. For the same reason he pulled off his coat as he ran through the dining-room, and hung it on a corner of the silver-closet. Then he jerked off his vest as he rushed through the hall and tossed it on the hat-rack hook, and by the time he had reached his own room he was ready to plunge into his clean clothes. He pulled out a bureau-drawer and began to paw at the things like a Scotch terrier after a rat. "Eleanor," he shrieked, "where are my shirts?" "In your bureau -drawer, " calmly replied Mrs. Mann, who was standing before a glass calmly and deliberately coaxing a refractory crimp into place. "Well, but they ain't," shouted Mr. Mann, a little annoyed. "I've emptied everything out of the drawer, and there isn't a thing in it I ever saw before." Mrs. Mann stepped back a few paces, held her head on one side, and after satisfying her- self that the crimp would do, replied : "These things scattered around on the floor are all mine. Probably you haven't been looking into your own drawer. ' ' "I don't see," testily observed Mr. Mann, "why you couldn't have put my things out for me when you had nothing else to do all the morning." "Because," said Mrs. Mann, setting herself into an additional article of raiment with awful deliberation, "nobody put mine out for me. A fair field and no favors, my dear. ' ' Mr. Mann plunged into his shirt like a bull at a red flag. "Foul! " he shouted in malicious triumph. ' * No buttons on the neck ! ' ' "Because," said Mrs. Mann, sweetly, after a deliberate stare at the fidgeting, impatient man, during which she buttoned her dress and put eleven pins where they would do the most good, ' ' because you have got the shirt on wrong side out. ' ' When Mr. Mann slid out of the shirt he began to sweat. He dropped the shirt three times before he got it on, and while it was over his head he heard the clock strike ten. When his head came through he saw Mrs. Mann coaxing the ends and bows of her necktie. " Where are my shirt-studs ? " he cried. Mrs. Mann went out into another room and presently came back with gloves and hat, and saw Mr. Mann emptying all the boxes he could find in and around the bureau. Then she said, " In the shirt you just pulled off." Mrs. Mann put on her gloves while Mr. Mann hunted up and down the room for his cuff- buttons. "Eleanor," he snarled at last, "I believe you must know where those cuff-buttons are. " " I haven't seen them," said the lady settling her hat; "didn't you lay them down on the window-sill in the sitting-room last night ? ' ' Mr. Mann remembered, and he went down stairs on the run. He stepped on one of his boots and was immediately landed in the hall at the foot of the stairs with neatness and dispatch, attended in the transmission with more bumps than he could count with Webb's Adder, and landed with a bang like the Hell Gate explosion. "Are you nearly ready, Algernon? " sweetly asked the wife of his bosom, leaning over the banisters. The unhappy man groaned. "Can't you throw me down the other boot ? " he asked. Mrs. Mann piteously kicked it down to him. "My valise?" he inquired, as he tugged at the boot. " Up in your dressing-room, " she answered. "Packed?" " I do not know ; unless you packed it your- self, probably not, ' ' she replied with her hand on the door-knob ; "I had barely time to pack my own." She was passing out of the gate when the 412 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. door opened, and he shouted, " Where in the name of goodness did you put my vest ? It has all my money in it." " You threw it on the hat-rack," she called. " Good-bye, dear." Before she got to the corner of the street she was hailed again : • ' Eleanor ! Eleanor ! Eleanor Mann ! Did you wear off my coat ? " She paused and turned, after signaling the street car to stop, and cried, ' ' You threw it in the silver closet. ' ' The street car engulfed her graceful form and she was seen no more. But the neighbors say that they heard Mr. Mann charging up and down the house, rushing out of the front door every now and then, shrieking after the uncon- scious Mrs. Mann, to know where his hat was, and where she put the valise key, and if she had his clean socks and undershirts, and that there wasn't a linen collar in the house. And when he went away at last, he left the kitchen- door, the side-door and the front-door, all the down-stairs windows and the front-gate wide open. The loungers around the depot were somewhat amused, just as the train was pulling out of sight down in the yards, to see a flushed, enterprising man, with his hat on sideways, his vest unbut- toned and necktie flying, and his grip-sack flap- ping open and shut like a demented shutter on a March night, and a door-key in his hand, dash wildly across the platform and halt in the middle of the track, glaring in dejected, im- potent, wrathful mortification at the departing train, and shaking his fist at a pretty woman who was throwing kisses at him from the rear platform of the last car. WAS IT RIGHT? (To be spoken in a droll, meditative manner.) A GREAT many puzzling things come up in the course of daily life. Sometimes we are puzzled to know just whether it is right or not. Several things have puzzled me latelv, and I'll relate a few of the circumstances and ask you to help me determine as to the right or wrong of the cases. For instance : Weary Peddler walked up to the cashier of the National Bank of Sandville, and said : "Want any cockroach powder to-day, sir ? Warranted to kill flies, ants, bedbugs, cockroaches, gold- bugs, and all sich vermin ; price, only — ' ' Cashier (to office boy). "Johnny, telephone for a policeman ; this man is undoubtedly an anarchist. ' ' Was he right ? Again, someone asked in my hearing : ' ' What caused the coldness between Mrs. Neuwoman and her companion-in-marriage ? ' * Then the answer : ' ' He said he was more of a man than she was." Now, was he right? Then, again, the other day I asked a friend of mine whose mother-in-law had just taken up her quarters at his home : "Has your wife's mother come to live witli you for good ? ' ' And he answered crabbedly : " Yes and no. ' ' Had he struck it right / ' ' A friend of mine thinks of going to Chicago. His mother objected. He said he could take care of himself in Chicago. His mother asked, him : ' ' If you were in a large city without money^ what would you do ?" "Somebody" he replied. She asked him how, and he said he Knew the art. That puzzled me. But, speaking of art reminas me of another circumstance over which I've thought a good deal. A rich old speculator imagined that he knew all about art, whereas he was an ignoramus in regard to everything, in fact, except in making money. This old fraud determined to make a valuable present to his son-in-law, who was a. preacher. It was suggested to him that an oil painting representing Daniel in the lion's den would be very appropriate, so an order was given MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 413 to a painter to produce the work of art It was almost finished when the old speculator was called to inspect it. It represented a cross-sec- tion of the den with Daniel walking about among the lions. When the old man saw the picture he refused to take it. He insisted that if Daniel was in the den neither he nor the lions could be seen, and the artist had to cover the lions and Dan with a coat of black paint. When the son-in-law was presented with the picture he was somewhat dazed to know what it represented. "It represents Daniel in the lion's der " re- plied the art critic. " But I don't see either of them." "That makes no difference. They are in there. I saw 'em myself." That was rather an odd way to paint a picture. Was the old man right ? I was out in the country the other day visit- ing my Uncle Josh. If there is a man in the world that I dote on doing the very thing that's right and square it is my old Uncle Josh. But he did something that day which made me doubt whether or not his head was just exactly level. I'll tell it and see what you think of it. We were out in the field, and a tramp came along. "Please, sir," said the tramp, as he came along to where the farmer was blowing up stumps with dynamite, "are you willin' to give an unfortunit man a show ? ' ' " No, sir — no, sir — go on with you! " shouted Uncle Josh, in reply. "Are you not willin' to — " 1 ' No, sir — no, sir ! One of your sort of fellers cum along here the other day and wanted to be blowed up with a stump, and it took me three hours to dig a grave and bury his mangled karcass. I try to be naburly and all that, but I—" " What I wanted was cold vittles," put in the tramp. Oh ! I see ! Waal, go to the house and tell the old woman to fill you up. I thought you wanted to be blowed up with this stump, and I'm durned if anybody works that trick on me agin ! Jest cold vittles, eh ? That's a different thing." Now, was Uncle Josh right? Arranged from Texas Siftings. T RESIGNATION. (Sunday-school or church occasion.) HERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted ! Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death ! What seems so is transition : This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution. She lives whom we call dead. Day after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air ; Year after year, her tender steps pursuing. Behold her grown more fair. 414 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives, Thinking that our remembrance, though un- spoken, May reach her where she lives. Not as a child shall we again behold her ; For when with raptures wild In our embraces we again enfold her, She will not be a child : But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, Clothed with celestial grace ; And beautiful with all the soul's expansion Shall we behold her face. And though, at times, impetuous with emotion And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, That cannot be at rest, — We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly- stay ; By silence sanctifying, not concealing The grief that must have way. Longfellow. THE NOBILITY OF LABOR. (Suited to Labor Day occasions.) I CALL upon those whom I address to stand up for the nobility of labor. It is Heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Let not that great ordinance be broken down. What do I say ? It is broken down ; and it has been broken down for ages. Let it, then, be built up again ; here, if anywhere, on these shores of a new world — of a new civilization. But how, I may be asked, is it broken down? Do not men toil ? it may be said. They do, indeed, toil ; but they too, generally do it because they must. Many submit to it as, in some sort, a degrading necessity ; and they desire nothing so much on earth as escape from it. They fulfill the great law of labor in the letter, but break it in the spirit ; fulfill it with the muscle, but break it with the mind. To some field of labor, mental or manual, every idler should fasten, as a chosen and coveted theatre of improvement. But so is he not impelled to do, under the teachings of our imperfect civilization. On the contrary, he sits down, folds his hands, and blesses himself in his idleness. This way of thinking is the herit- age of the absurd and unjust feudal system, under which serfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away. Ashamed to toil, art thou ? Ashamed of thy dingy workshop and dusty labor-field ; of thy hard hands, scarred with service more honorable than that of war ; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on which Mother Nature has embroidered, 'midst sun and rain, 'midst fire and steam, her own heraldic honors? Ashamed of these tokens and titles, and envious of the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness and vanity ? It is treason to Nature — it is impiety to Heaven — it is breaking Heaven's great ordinance. Toil, I repeat — toil, either of the brain, or of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood, the only true nobility ! Rev. Orville Dewey. HANS AND FRITZ. HANS and Fritz were two Deutschers who lived side by side, Remote from the world, its deceit and its pride : With their pretzels and beer the spare moments were spent, And the fruits of their labor were peace and content. Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one day, And, lacking a part of the Geld, — as they say, — Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan To help him to pay for his beautiful roan. Fritz kindly consented the money to lend, And gave the required amount to his friend ; Remarking — his own simple language to quote — " Berhaps it vas bedder ve make us a note." The note was drawn up in their primitive way, — " I Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars to-day; " MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 415 When the question arose, the note being made, " Vich von holds dot baper until it vas baid ? " " You geeps dot," says Fritz, " und den you vill know You owes me dot money." Says Hans, "Dot ish so : Dot makes me remempers I haf dot to bay, Und I prings you der note und der money some day." A month had expired, when Hans, as agreed, Paid back the amount, and from debt he was freed. Says Fritz, " Now dot settles us. ' ' Hans replies, " Yaw : Now who dakes dot baper accordings by law ? ' ' "I geeps dot now, aind't it?" says Fritz; ' ' den you see, I alvays remempers you paid dot to me. ' ' Says Hans, ' ' Dot ish so : it was now shust so blain, Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows again." Charles F. Adams. J JOHN AND TIBBIE DAVISON'S DISPUTE. (Scotch dialect. Humorous.) OHN DAVISON and Tibbie, his wife, Sat toasting their taes ae nicht When something startit in the fluir, And blinkit by their sicht. "Guidwife," quoth John, "did ye see that moose ? Whar sorra was the cat ? ' ' "A moose?" "Aye, a moose." " Na, na, guidman, It was'na a moose, 'twas a rat." "Ow, ow, guidwife, to think ye've been Sae lang aboot the hoose, An' no to ken a moose frae a rat ! Yon was'na a rat ! 'twas a moose." "I've seen mair mice than you, guidman — An' what think ye o' that ? Sae haud your tongue an' say nae mair — I tell ye, it was a rat. ' ' Me haud my tongue for you, guidwife ! I'll be mester o' this hoose — I saw't as plain as een could see't, An' I tell ye, it was a moose ! " "If you're the mester o' the hoose It's I'm the mistress o't ; An' /ken best what's in the hoose, Sae I tell ye it was a rat. ' ' " Weel, weel, guidwife, gae mak' the brose, An' ca' it what ye please." So up she rose and made the brose, While John sat toasting his taes. They supit, and supit, and supit the brose, And aye their lips played smack ; They supit, and supit, and supit the brose, Till their lugs began to crack. "Sic fules we were to fa' oot guidwife, Aboot a moose — ' ' ' 'A what ? It's a lee ye tell, an' I say it again, It was'na a moose, 'twas a rat ! " ' ' Wad ye ca' me a leear to my very face ? " My faith, but ye craw croose ! I tell ye, Tib, I never will bear't — 'Twas a moose ! " " 'Twas a rat ! " " 'Twas a moose ! ' ' Wi' her spoon she strack him ower the pow — " Ye dour auld doit, tak' that ; Gae to your bed, ye canker' d sumph — 'Twas a rat ! 'Twas a moose ! 'Twas a rat ! " See sent the brose caup at his heels, As he hirpled ben the hoose ; Yet she shoved oot his head as he streekit the door, Aud cried, ' < ' Twas a moose ! ' twas a moose ! ' ' But when the carle was fast asleep She paid him back for that, And roared into his sleeping lug, " 'Twas a rat ! 'twas a rat ! 'twas a rat ! " 416 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. The de'il be wi' me if I think It was a beast ava ! — Neist mornin', as she sweepit the fluir, She faund wee Johnnie's ba' ! Robert Leighton. JENKINS GOES TO A PICNIC. (Humorous.) MARIA ANN recently determined to go to a picnic. Maria Ann is my wife — unfortunately she had planned it to go alone, so far as I am concerned, on that picnic excursion ; but when I heard about it, I determined to assist. She pretended she was very glad ; I dc ■" ' t believe she was. " It will do you good to get away from your yvork a day, poor fellow, ' ' she said ; ' i and we jhall so much enjoy a cool morning ride on the cars, and a dinner in the woods. ' ' On the morning of that day, Maria Ann got up at five o'clock. About three minutes later she disturbed my slumbers, and told me to come to breakfast. I told her I wasn't hungry, but it didn't make a bit of difference, I had to get up. The sun was up ; I had no idea that the sun began his business so early in the morning, but there he was. ' ' Now, ' ' said Maria Ann, ' ' we must fly around, for the cars start at half-past six. Eat all the breakfast you can, for you won't get any- thing more before noon. ' ' I could not eat anything so early in the morn- ing. There was ice to be pounded to go around the pail of ice cream, and the sandwiches to be cut, and I thought I would never get the legs of the chicken fixed so I could get the cover on the big basket. Maria Ann flew around and piled up groceries for me to pack, giving directions to the girl about taking care of the house, and putting on her dress all at once. There is a deal of energy in that woman, perhaps a trifle too much. At twenty minutes past six I stood on the front steps, with a basket on one arm and Maria Ann's waterproof on the other, and a pail in each hand, and a bottle of vinegar in my coat -skirt pocket. There was a camp-chair hung on me somewhere, too, but I forget just where. "Now," said Maria Ann, "we must run or we shall not catch the train." "Maria Ann," said I, " that is a reasonable idea. How do you suppose I can run with all this freight?" "You must, you brute. You always try to tease me. If you don't want a scene on the street, you will start, too." So I ran. I had one comfort, at least. Maria Ann fell down and broke her parasol. She called me a brute again because I laughed. She drove me all the way to the depot at a brisk trot, and we got on the cars ; but neither of us could get a seat, and I could not find a place where I could set the things down, so I stood there and held them. "Maria," I said, "how is this for a cool morning ride ? ' ' Said she, "You are a brute, Jenkins." Said I, "You have made that observation before, my love." I kept my courage up, yet I knew there would be an hour of wrath when we got home. While we were getting out of the cars, the bottle in my coat-pocket broke, and consequently I had one boot half-full of vinegar all day. That kept me pretty quiet, and Maria Ann ran off with a big whiskered music-teacher, and lost her fan, and got her feet wet, and tore her dress, and enjoyed herself so much, after the fashion of picnic goers. I thought it would never come dinner-time, and Maria Ann called me a pig because I wanted to open our basket before the rest of the baskets were opened. At last dinner came — the " nice dinner in the woods, ' ' you know. Over three thousand little red ants had got into our dinner, and they were worse to pick out than fish-bones. The ice cream had melted, and there was no vinegar for the cold meat, except what was in my boot, and, of course, that was of no immediate use. The music-teacher spilled a cup of hot coffee on Maria Ann's head, and pulled all the frizzles out MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 417 trying to wipe off the coffee with his handker- chief. Then I sat on a piece of raspberry -pie, and spoiled my white pants, and concluded I didn't want anything more. I had to stand up against a tree the rest of the afternoon. The day offered considerable variety, compared to every- day life, but there were so many drawbacks that I did not enjoy it so much as I might have done. THE TEXAS COW. ( Droll humor. ) THE ''pure dairy milk" which the Texas milkman ladles out to his customers has a suspicious resemblance in color and thinness to the cholera infantum producing liquid which the New York milkman circulates among the public. For this reason a good many people in the towns and cities of Texas prefer to keep a cow. The Texas cow is, physically speaking, a com- bination of the Queen Anne and Swiss cottage styles of architecture. She seems to be made up of numerous angles, lean rib-roasts and emaciated soup bones attached to a wide-spreading set of horns ; but, nevertheless, she supplies a fluid that contains the elements of a bona fide milk. After the concierge of a Texas cow has wrenched from her all the milk he needs, he lets down the bars of the pen and permits her to go into the boulevard for the night, relying on her maternal instinct to bring her home next morning. The cow waits until gentlemen are returning from the various lodges, and then, selecting a conveniently dark place in the dimly lighted street, she unlimbers her legs and sinks into the arms of Morpheus. She always selects a place where people can stumble over her without going out of their way. The man who stumbles over a cow, couchant, can be readily recognized in a crowd a week after- wards, provided he is able to be out on crutches. The Texas cow couchant has been known to take a wheelbarrow aside and give it points. The man who stumbles over a Texas cow in the dark cannot gloat over the man who falls down stairs with a cooking stove in his arms. 27 At first, when he unconsciously festoons her neck with his legs, and she begins to rise to to receive company, he imagines some cataclysm of nature has broken loose. He is as much sur- prised as the lightning was when it struck a magazine containing a few tons of powder. Then he begins to fall off. Like the Gospel, he is spread more or less all over the earth. He eventually puts his ear to the ground to hear something drop, and he not only hears it, but feels it for weeks afterwards. No two men's experiences are exactly alike. Some hit the planet with all the force of a stepmother's arm. Some plow up the ground with their noses as if propelled by some mysterious motor. After there has been a steady falling off of the inhabitants for an hour or so, the cow proceeds to crowd her stomach with valuable shrubs and costly tropical plants that grow in the gardens of the elite. How does she get into the gardens ? I hear someone ask. Leave her alone for that. She gets in by hook or by crook, but usually by hook. She hooks the gate, already weakened by lovers leaning upon it in the twilight, off its hinges. But she is sure to get in. It would not keep her out if admission were charged. If she couldn't get in any other way she would steal the materials and build a step-ladder. Texas Siftings. JIM SMILEY'S FROG. (Humorous reading.) "T "TELL, this yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, \/V and chicken-cocks, and all them kind of things, till you couldn't rest, and you couldn't fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd match you. He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal'klated to edercate him ; and so he never done nothing for three months but set in his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet he did learn him, too. He'd give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you'd see that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut, — - see him turn one summerset, or maybe a couple, 418 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. if he got a good start, and come down flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the matter of catching flies, and kept him in practice so constant, that he'd nail a fly every time as far as he could see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was education, and he could do most anything ; and I believe him. Why, I've seen him set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor, — Dan'l Webster was the name of the frog, — and sing out, "Flies, Dan'l, flies," and quicker' n you could wink he'd spring straight up, and snake a fly off 'n the counter there, and flop down on the floor again, as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no idea he'd been doing any more'n any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and straight- for'ard as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it came to fair and square jumping on a dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand ; and when it come to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be, for fellers that had travelled and been everywheres, all said he laid over any frog that ever they see. Well, Smiley kept the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him down town some- times, and lay for a bet. One day a fellar, — a stranger in the camp, he was, — came across him with his box, and says : "What might it be that you've got in the box?" And Smiley says, sorter indifferent like, ' c It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, may- be, but it ain't, — it's only just a frog." And the fellar took it, and looked at it care- ful, and turned it round this way and that, and says, "H'm! so 'tis. Well, what's he good for?" "Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he's good enough for one thing, I should judge, — he can outjump'any frog in Calaveras county." The feller took the box again, and took an- other long particular look, and gave it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, "Well, I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better' n any other frog." "Maybe you don't," Smiley says. "May- be you understand frogs, and maybe you don't understand 'em; maybe you've had experience, and maybe you ain't only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I've got my opinion, and I'll risk forty dollars that he can outjump ary frog in Calaveras country. ' ' And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like, "Well, I'm only a stranger here, and I ain't got no frog; but if I had a frog, I'd bet you." And then Smiley says, "That's all right, — that's all right ; if you'll hold my box a minute, I'll go and get you a frog." And so the feller took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley' s, and set down to wait. So he set there a good while, thinking and thinking to to hisself, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open, and took a teaspoon and filled him full of quail shot, — filled him pretty near up to his chin, — and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp, and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says : "Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his fore-paws just even with Dan'l, and I'll give the word." Then he says, " One — two — three — jump ; ' ' and him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off, but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders, — so, — like a French- man, but it wan't no use, — he couldn't budge ;. he was planted as solid as an anvil, and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of course. The feller took the money and started away ; and when he was going out at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulders, — this way, — at Dan'l, and says again, very delib- MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 419 erate, "Well, / don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better' n any other frog." Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan'l a long time, and at last he says, "I do wonder what in the nation that frog throwed off for ; I wonder if there ain't some- thing the matter with him, he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow." And he ketched Dan'l by the nap of the neck, and lifted him up, and says, "Why, blame my cats, if he don't weigh five pound ! ' ' and turned him upside down, and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man. He set the frog down, and took out after that feller, but he never ketched him. Mark Twain. THE PIPE. (Parody on "The Bells." This piece may be made more interesting if a gentleman in smoking- jacket and slippers recite it, sitting or standing be- fore an open grate, holding in his hand a pipe, from which he occasionally takes a " whiff," and turns it about in different positions as he soliloquizes. ) OH, I love the merry gurgle of my pipe. Brier pipe ; When the flavor of the weed within is ripe ; What a lullaby it purls, As the smoke around me curls, Mounting slowly higher, higher, As I dream before the fire, With a flavor in my mouth, Like a zephyr from the South, And my favorite tobacco By my side — Near my side, With the soothing necromancy Sweetly linking fact to fancy, In a golden memory-chain To the gurgle, sweet refain, Of my pipe, brier pipe, To the fancy-breeding gurgle of my pipe. Oh, what subtle satisfaction in my pipe, Brier pipe ; Nothing mundane can impart Such contentment to my heart ; She's my idol, she's my queen, Is my lady Nicotine ; When in trouble how I yearn For the incense which I burn At her shrine. How I pine For the fragrance of her breath ; Robbed of terror e'en is death By her harmless hypnotism ; Healed is every mortal schism. Foe and friend Sweetly blend At the burning of the brier ; Greed, cupidity, desire Fade away within the smoke, In the fragrant, fleecy smoke From my pipe, magic pipe, From my glowing, peace-bestowing, gurg- gling pipe. Philadelphia Times. D SAY! O you think that a metaphysician, With a long psychological plan, Could induce microscopical effort, In an anthropological man ? Could a flat phrenological failure, With a physiological chill, Love a sociological expert With a meteorological thrill ? Could an archaeological sprinter Of a dark theological hue Give a nice philosophical treatise On the eyes of my Nellie so blue ? Could a methodological blockhead Having craniological feet Paint a dry neurological picture Of a wet geological street ? Could a smooth astrological fakir With a teleological brain Give a palaeological hoodoo In a long euchological strain? Do you think ethnological records, Astronomical worlds, will embue With correct biographical statements As to why Nellie's eyes are so blue ? L. I. Melroy, in Chicago Record. 420 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. PYGMALION AND GALATEA. Characters. Pygmalion, an Athenian sculptor. Galatea, a statue. Costumes. — Gentleman, in the habit oj a Greek artist. Lady, in statuesque drapery or ordinary Greek costume. (A noted Greek sculptor, Pygmalion, makes a most beautiful statute of woman. Having attained per- fection of form he longs to breathe life into his work, and blames the gods that they have limited his power. He stands on the stage, to the left, looking thoughtfully up as if imploring the gods. While ap- parently uttering his complaints, Galatea, coming to life, calls to him from behind the curtain. ) Galatea (from behind curtain, C.*). Pyg- malion ! Pygmalion (after a pause) . Who called? Gal. Pygmalion ! (Pygmalion tears away curtain and discovers Galatea alive.) Pyg. Ye gods ! It lives ! Gal. Pygmalion ! Pyg. It speaks ! I have my prayer ! my Galatea breathes ! Gal. Where am I ? Let me speak, Pygmalion ; Give me thy hand — both hands — how soft and warm ! Whence came I ? (Descends. ) Pyg. Why, from yonder pedestal. Gal. That pedestal ! Ah, yes, I recollect, There was a time when it was part of me. Pyg . That time has passed forever, thou art now A living, breathing woman, excellent In every attribute of womankind. Gal. Where am I, then ? Pyg. Why, born into the world By miracle. Gal. Is this the world ? Pyg. It is, Gal. This room ? Pyg. This room is a portion of a house ; The house stands in a grove ; the grove itself Is one of many, many hundred groves In Athens. Gal. And is Athens, then, the world ? Pyg. To an Athenian — yes — * C. indicates crntre ; /?., right, and L., left of stage. Gal. And I am one ? Pyg. By birth and parentage, not by descent. Gal. But how came I to be ? Pyg. Well, let me see. Oh ! you were quarried in Pentelicus ; I modelled you in clay ; my artisans Then roughed you out in marble ; I, in turn, Brought my artistic skill to bear on you, And made you what you are, in all but life. The gods completed what I had begun, And gave the only gift I could not give. Gal. Then this is life ? Pyg. It is. Gal. And not long since I was a cold, dull stone. I recollect That by some means I knew that I was stone, That was the first dull gleam of consciousness ; I became conscious of a chilly self, A cold immovable identity. I knew that I was stone, and knew no more ; Then by an imperceptible advance, Came the dim evidence of outer things, Seen, darkly and imperfectly, yet seen ; The walls surrounded me, and I alone. That pedestal — that curtain — then a voice That called on Galatea ! At that word, Which seemed to shake my marble to the core, That which was dim before, came evident. Sounds that had hummed around me, indistinct, Vague, meaningless — seemed to resolve them- selves Into a language I could understand ; I felt my frame pervaded with a glow That seemed to thaw my marble into flesh ; Its cold, hard substance throbbed with active life, My limbs grew supple, and I moved — I lived ! Lived in the ecstasy of new born life ; Lived in the love of him that fashioned me ; Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope, Love, gratitude, thoughts that resolved them- selves Into one word, that word, Pygmalion ! ( Kneels to him. ) Pyg. I have no words to tell thee of my joy, O woman — perfect in thy loveliness. Gal. What is that word? Am I a woman ? MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 421 Pyg. Yes. Gal. Art thou a woman ? Pyg. No, I am a man ! Gal. What is a man ? Pyg. A being strongly framed, To wait on woman, and protect her from All ills that strength and courage can avert ; To work and toil for her, that she may rest ; To weep and mourn for her, that she may laugh ; To fight and die for her, that she may live ! Gal. {after a pause). I'm glad I am a woman. ( Takes his hand — he leads her down, L. ) Pyg. So am I. {They sit ) Gal. That I escape the pains thou hast to bear? Pyg. That I may undergo those pains for thee. Gal. With whom wouldst thou fight ? Pyg. With any man Whose word or deed gave Galatea pain. Gal. Then there are other men in this strange world ? Pyg. There are, indeed ? Gal. And other women ? Pyg. {taken aback). Yes; Though for the moment I'd forgotten it ! Yes, other women. Gal. And for all of these Men work, and toil, and mourn, and weep, and fight? Pyg. It is man's duty, if he's called upon, To fight for all — he works for those he loves. Gal. Then by thyworkslknowthoulovestme? Pyg. Indeed, I love thee. {Embraces her.) Gal. What kind of love ? Pyg. I love thee {recollecting himself and re- leasing her) as. a sculptor loves his work ! {Aside. ) There is diplomacy in that reply. Gal. My love is different in kind to thine : I am no sculptor, and I've done no work, Yet I do love thee ; say — what love is mine ? Pyg. Tell me its symptoms, then I'll answer thee. Gal. Its symptons ? Let me call them as they come. A sense that I am made by thee for thee. That I've no will that is not wholly thine, That I've no thought, no hope, no enterprise, That does not own thee as its sovereign ; That I have life that I may live for thee, That I am thine — that thou and I are one ! What kind of love is that ? Pyx A kind of love That I shall run some risk in dealing with. Gal. And why, Pygmalion ? Pyg. Such love as thine A man may not receive, except, indeed, From one who is, or is to be, his wife. Gal. Then I will be thy wife. Pyg. That may not be ; I have a wife — the gods allow but one. Gal. Why did the gods then send me here to thee? Pyg. I cannot say — unless to punish me {Pises. ) For unreflecting and presumptuous prayer ! I pray'd that thou shouldst live. I have my prayer, And now I see the fearful consequence That must attend it ! Gal. Yet thou lovest me ? {Pises. ) Pyg. Who could look on that face and stifle love? Gal. Then I am beautiful ? Pyg. Indeed thou art. Gal. I wish that I could look upon myself, But that's impossible. Pyg. Not so, indeed, {Crosses, P.) This mirror will reflect thy face. Behold ! {Hands her a mirror from table, R. C. ) Gal. How beautiful ! I am very glad to know That both our tastes agree so perfectly ; Why, my Pygmalion, I did not think That aught could be more beautiful than thou, Till I behold myself. Believe me, love, I could look in this mirror all day long. So I'm a woman. Pyg. There's no doubt of that ! Gal. Oh ! happy maid, to be so passing fair ! And happier still Pygmalion, who can gaze At will upon so beautiful a face ! Pyg. Hush ! Galatea — in thine innocence ( Taking glass from her. ) Thou sayest things that others would reprove. 422 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Gal. Indeed, Pygmalion ; then it is wrong To think that one is exquisitely fair? Pyg. Well, Galatea, it's a sentiment That every other woman shares with thee ; They think it — but they keep it to themselves. Gal. And is thy wife as beautiful as I ? Pyg. No, Galatea \ for in forming thee I took her features — lovely in themselves— And in marble made them lovelier still. Gal. {disappointed). Oh! then I am not orig- inal ? Pyg. Well— no— That is, thou hast indeed a prototype, But though in stone thou didst resemble her, In life, the difference is manifest. Gal. I'm very glad that I am lovelier than she. And am I better ? (Sits, L.) Pyg. That I do not know. Gal. Then she has faults. Pyg. Very few, indeed ; Mere trivial blemishes, that serve to show That she and I are of one common kin. I love her all the better for such faults. Gal. (after a pause). Tell me some faults and I'll commit them now. Pyg. There is no hurry ; they will come in time : (Sits beside her, L. ) Though for that matter, it's a grievous sin To sit as lovingly as we sit now. Gal. Is sin so pleasant ? If to sit and talk As we are sitting, be indeed a sin, Why I could sin all day. But tell me, love, Is this great fault that I'm committing now, The kind of fault that only serves to show That thou and I are of one common kin ? Pyg. Indeed, I am very much afraid it is. Gal. And dost thou love me better for such fault ? Pyg. Where is the mortal that could answer "no?" Gal. Why then I'm satisfied, Pygmalion ; Thy wife and I can start on equal terms. She loves thee ? Pyg- Gal. I like thy wife. Very much. I'm glad of that. Pyg. And why ? Gal. (surprised at the question). Our tastes agree We love Pygmalion well, and what is more, Pygmalion loves us both. I like thy wife ; I'm sure we shall agree. Pyg. (aside). I doubt it much. Gal. Is she within ? Pyg. No, she is not within. Gal. But she'll come back ? Pyg. Oh ! yes, she will come back. Gal. How pleased she'll be to knc w when she returns, That there was someone here to fill her place. Pyg. (dryly). Yes, I should say she'd be ex- tremely pleased. (Pises. ) Gal. Why, there is something in thy voice which says That thou art jesting. Is it possible To say one thing and mean another ? Pyg. Yes, It's sometimes done. Gal. How very wonderful ! So clever ! Pyg. And so very useful. Gal. Yes. Teach me the art. Pyg. The art will come in time. My wife will not be pleased ; there — that's the truth. Gal, I do not think that I shall like thy wife. Tell me more of her. Pyg. Well— Gal What did she say When she last left thee ? Pyg. Humph ! Well, let me see : Oh ! true, she gave thee to me as my wife — Her solitary representative ; (Tenderly) She feared I should be lonely till she she came, And counselled me, if thoughts of love should come, To speak those thoughts to thee, as I am wont To speak to her. Gal. That's right. Pyg. (releasing her). But when she spoke MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 423 Thou wast a stone, now thou art flesh and blood, Which makes a difference. Gal. It's a strange world ; A woman loves her husband very much, And cannot brook that I should love him too ; She fears he will be lonely till she comes, And will not let me cheer his loneliness : She bids him breathe his love to senseless stone, And when that stone is brought to life — be dumb! It's a strange world, I cannot fathom it. (Crosses, B.) Pyg. (aside'). Let me be brave, and put an end to this. (Aloud.) Come, Galatea — till my wife returns, My sister shall provide thee with a home ; Her house is close at hand. Gal. (astonished and alarmed). Send me not hence, Pygmalion — let me stay. Pyg. It may not be. Come, Galatea, we shall meet again. Gal. (^resignedly). Do with me as thou wilt, Pygmalion ! But we shall meet again ? — and very soon ? Pyg. Yes, very soon. Gal. And when thy wife returns, She'll let me stay with thee ? Pyg. I do not know. (Aside.) Why should I hide the truth from her? (Aloud. ) Alas ! I may not see thee then. Gal. Pygmalion ! What fearful words are these ? Pyh The bitter truth. I may not love thee ; I must send thee hence. Gal. Recall those words, Pygmalion, my love ! Was it for this that Heaven gave me life ? Pygmalion, have mercy on me ; see I am thy work, thou hast created me ; The gods have sent me to thee. I am thine, Thine ! only and unalterably thine ! (Music. ) This is the thought with which my soul is charged. Thou tellest me of one who claims thy love, That thou hast love for her alone ! Alas ! I do not know these things ; I only know That Heaven has sent me here to be with thee. Thou tellest me of duty to thy wife, Of vows that thou wilt love but her; alas ! I do not know these things ; I only know That Heaven, who sent me here, has given me One all-absorbing duty to discharge — To love thee, and to make thee love again ! (During this speech Pygmalion has shown symptoms of irresolution ; at its conclusion he • takes her in his arms and embraces he? passion- ately.) W. S. Gilbert. QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. (A dialogue for two men. From Act IV. of Julius Ccssar. Before rendering the dialogue it is presumed that the participants will read the whole play from a volume of Shakespeare, and familiarize themselves with the spirit of the selection. The interest will be enhanced by the use of proper costumes. Where these cannot be hired — as they generally may in cities and large towns — they may be easily impro- vised by observing the simple Roman dress as illus- trated in historical works. ) ( Curtain rises, revealing Brutus and Cassius in heated conversation on the stage. ) Cassius. That you have wronged me doth appear in this ; You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella For taking bribes here of Sardinians ; Wherein my letters (praying on his side Because I knew the man) were slighted of. Brutus. You wronged yourself, to write in such a case. Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offence should bear its com- ment. Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemned to have an itching palm ; To sell and mart your offices for gold, To undeservers. Cas. I an itching palm ? You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last ! Bru. The name of Cassius honors this cor- ruption, And chastisement doth therefore hide its head. Cas. Chastisement ! 424 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember ! Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? What villain touched his body, that did stab, And not for justice ? — What ! shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world, But for supporting robbers, — shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honors For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? — I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman ! Cas. Brutus, bay not me ! I'll not endure it. You forget yourself, To hedge me in : I am a soldier, I, Older in practice, abler than yourself To make conditions. Bru. Go to ! you're not Cassius! Cas. I am. Bru. I say you are not. Cas. Urge me no more : I shall forget myself : Have mind upon your health : tempt me no fur- ther ! Bru. Away, slight man ! Cas. Is't possible? Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ? Cas. Must I endure all this ? Bru. All this ? Ay, more ! Fret till your proud heart break ! Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humor ? You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Though it do split you; for, from this day forth, I'll use you for my mirth, — yea, for my laugh- ter, — When you are waspish. Cas. Is it come to this ? Bru. You say you are a better soldier ; Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well. For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men. Cas. You wrong me every way ; you wrong me, Brutus : I said an elder soldier, not a better. Did I say better ? Bru. If you did, I care not. Cas. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. Bru. Peace, peace ! you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I durst not ? Bru. No. Cas. What ! durst not tempt him ? Bru. For your life you durst not. Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love. I may do that I shall be sorry for. Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; For I am armed so strong in honesty, That they pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; — For I can raise no money by vile means : I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions ; Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius ? Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, Dash him to pieces ! Cas. I denied you not. Bj-u. You did. Cas. I did not : he was but a fool That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart, A friend should bear a friend's infirmities ; But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bru. I do not, till you practice them on me. Cas. You love me not. Bru. I do not like your faults. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 425 Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus. Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come ! Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius ; For Cassius is a- weary of the world — Hated by one he loves ; braved by his brother; Checked like a bondman ; all his faults observed, Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep My spirit from my eyes ! — There is my dagger, And here my naked breast ; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold ; If that thou be' st a Roman, take it forth : I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : Strike as thou didst at Caesar ; for I know, When thou didst hate him worse, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. Bru. Sheathe your dagger : Be angry when you will, it shall have scope : Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. O, Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, That carries anger as the flint bears fire ; Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again. Cas. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him ? Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too. Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. Bru. And my heart, too. — Cas. O, Brutus ! Bru. What's the matter? Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humor which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful ? Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and, henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. [curtain.] Shakespeare. TABLEAU. — Friendship Restored, Curtain rises, revealing Brutus and Cassius with one hand laid upon the other' s shoulder, while the right hands firmly clasp. On the face of each beams the light of noble love and manly friendship, showing their mutual joy. The bear- ing should be dignified and manly. SCENE BETWEEN HAMLET AND THE QUEEN. ( Dialogue for elderly lady and young man. From Act III. of the tragedy of Hamlet. The part of Hamlet is a very difficult one to play, and should be thoroughly studied. The whole tragedy should be read from Shakespeare, any illustrated volume of which will suggest appropriate costume. The Ghost may be impersonated by a voice, unless a suitable costume and staging are available. ) ( Curtain rises and reveals Hamlet approach- ing his Mother, who may be seated and appar- ently in much distress. ) Hamlet. Now, mother, what's the matter? Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. Hamlet. Mother, you have my father much offended. * Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. Hamlet. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ! Hamlet. What's the matter now? Queen. Have you forgot me ? Hamlet. No, by the rood, not so. You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; And — would it were not so — you are my mother. Queen. Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak. Hamlet. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not budge : You go not till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part of you. Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not murther me ? Help, help, ho ! Polonius {behind}. What, ho ! help, help, help ! 426 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Hamlet (drawing. ,) How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead ! (Makes a pass through the arras.) Polonius (behind'). O, I am slain ! (Falls and dies. ) Queen. O me, what hast thou done ? Hamlet. Nay, I know not ; Is it the king ? Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! Hamlet. A bloody deed ! almost as bad, good mother, As kill a king, and marry with his brother. Queen. As kill a king ! Hamlet. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. — (Lifts up the arras and discovers Polonius. ) Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! I took thee for thy better : Leave wringing of your hands : peace ! sit you down, And let me wring your heart ; for so I shall, If it be made of penetrable stuff, If damned custom have not braz'd it so That it is proof and bulwark against sense. Queen. What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue In noise so rude against me ? Hamlet. Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows As false as dicers' oaths ; O, such a deed . As from the body of contraction plucks The very soul, and sweet religion makes A rhapsody of words : heaven's face doth glow, Yea, this sondity and compound mass, With tristful visage, as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act. Queen, Ay me, what act, That roars so loud and thunders in the index ? Hamlet. Look here, upon this picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See what a grace was seated on this brow ; Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; A station like the herald Mercury New- lighted on a heaven -kissing hill ; A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man. This was your husband. Look you now, what follows : Here is your husband ; like a mildew' d ear. Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? Ha ! have you eyes? You cannot call it love, for at your age The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment ; and what judg- ment Would step from this to this ? O shame ! where is thy blush ? Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more ; Thou turns' t mine eyes into my very soul, And there I see such black and grained spots As will not leave their tinct. O, speak to me no more ; These words like daggers enter in mine ears : No more, sweet Hamlet ! Hamlet. A murtherer and a villain ; A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe Of your precedent lord ; a vice of kings ; A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, And put it in his pocket ! Queen. No more ! Hamlet. A king of shreds and patches, — (Enter Ghost.) Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards ! — What would your gra- cious figure ? Queen. Alas ! he's mad ! Hamlet. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, laps' d in time and passion, lets go by The important acting of your dread command ? O, say ! Ghost. Do not forget. This visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But, look, amazement on thy mother sits : MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 427 O, step between her and her righting soul ; Speak to her, Hamlet. Hcunlet. How is it with you, lady ? Queen. Alas, how is't with you, That you do bend your eye on vacancy And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ? O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? Hamlet. On him, on him ! Look you, how pale he glares ! His form and cause conjoin' d, preaching to stones, Would make them capable. Do not look upon me ; Lest with this piteous action you convert My stern effects ; then what I have to do Will want true color ; tears perchance for blood. Queen. To whom do you speak this ? Hamlet. Do you see nothing there ? Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see. Hamlet. Nor did you nothing hear ? Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. Hamlet. Why, look you there ! look, how it steals away ! My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the por- tal. {Exit Ghost.) Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain ; This bodiless creation ecstasy Is very cunning in. Hamlet. Ecstasy ! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music : it is not madness That I have utter' d ; bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word, which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks ; It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; Repent what's past, avoid what is to come. Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain. Hamlet, O, throw away the worser part of it, And live the purer with the other half. For this same lord, {Pointing to Polonius. ) I do repent ; I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gave him, — So, again, good-night. I must be cruel, only to be kind ; Thus bad begins, and worse remains hehind. [curtain.] Shakespeare. LOCHIEL'S WARNING. (This piece is frequently recited by one person, but is much more effective in dialogue. Lochiei,, a Highland chieftain, while on his march to join the Pretender, is met by one of the Highland seers, or prophets, who warns him to return, and not incur the certain ruin and disaster which await the unfor- tunate prince and his followers on the field of Cullo- den. When used as a dialogue, a blast of trumpet is heard. The curtain being drawn, Lochiee enters, attired in the Highland fighting costume, and follow- ing him should appear in the doorway of the stage two or three armed Scotch soldiers to give the idea of a large number behind them. The SEER meets him from the other direction, dressed in flowing robes, and with long white hair and beard, and, raising his hands in the attitude of warning, speaks imploringly as follows : ) Seer. LOCHIEL, Lochiei, beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in flight : They rally, they bleed, for their country and crown, — Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down ! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But, hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 'Tis thine, O Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair ! Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! O ! weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead ! For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave — Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave ! 42$ MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. LochieL Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer ! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright ! Seer. Ha ! laugh' st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the North? Lo ! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad : But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! Ah ! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of Heaven. O, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn \ Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stoo'd, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood ! LochieL False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshall'd my clan : Their swords are a thousand; their bosoms are one: They are true to the last of their blood, and their breath, And like reapers, descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock ! But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud ; All plaided, and plum'd in their tartan array — Seer. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day ! For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, Yet man cannot cover what God would reveal : 'Tis the snnset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden 's dread echoes shall ring With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. Lo ! anointed by Heaven with vials of wrath, Behold where he flies on his desolate path ! Now in darkness, and billows, he sweeps from my sight : Rise ! Rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 'Tis finish' d. — Their thunders are hush'd on the moors ; Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. But where is the iron-bound prisoner ! Where ? For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. Say, mounts he the ocean -wave, banish' d, for- lorn, Like a limb from his country, cast bleeding, and torn ? Ah ! no ; for a darker departure is near ; The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ; His death-bell is tolling ; oh ! mercy, dispel Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! Life flutters, convuls'd in his quivering limbs, And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. Accurs'd be the fagots that blaze at his feet, Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat, With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale — Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale ; For never shall Albin a destiny meet So black with dishonor — so foul with retreat. Tho' his perishing ranks should be strow'd in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf- beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight, or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 429 Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe! And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. Campbell, [curtain.] TABLEAU. A very pretty tableau may be quickly, formed behind the curtain, and at the close of applause from the audience the curtain be raised, showing Lochiel standing proud and imperious -, his clan gathered around him, and the old Seer upon his knees, head thrown back, with hands and face raised imploringly . MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTLAND. (Adapted from Schiller, Scene II. , Act III. Arranged for two ladies and two gentleman. Characters : Mary, Queen of Scotland. Elizabeth, Queen of England. Robert, Earl of Leicester. Talbot, a friend of Mary . Costumes. — Elizabethan age of England and Scotland. Enter Mary and Talbot. Mary. Talbot, Elizabeth will soon be here. I cannot see her. Preserve me from this hateful interview. Talbot. Reflect a while. Recall thy courage. The moment is come upon which everything depends. Incline thyself; submit to the neces- sity of the moment. She is the stronger. Thou must bend before her. Mary. Before her ? I cannov \ Tal. Thou must do so. Speak to Ler humbly ; invoke the greatness of her generous heart; dwell not too much upon thy rights. But see first how she bears herself towards thee. I my- self did witness her emotion on reading thy letter. The tears stood in her eyes. Her heart, 'tis sure, is not a stranger to compassion ; there- fore place more confidence in her, and prepare thyself for her reception. Mary. {Taking his hand.) Thou wert ever my faithful friend. Oh, that I had always re- mained beneath thy kind guardianship, Talbot ! Their care of me has indeed been harsh. Who attends her ? Tal. Leicester. You need not fear him ; the earl doth not seek thy fall. Behold, the queen approaches . ( Retires. ) Enter Elizabeth and Leicester. Mary. {Aside. ) O heavens ! Protect me ! her features say she has no heart ! Elizabeth. {To Leicester.) Who is this woman? {Feigning surprise.) Robert, who has dared to — Lei. Be not angry, queen, and since heaven has hither directed thee, suffer pity to triumph in thy noble heart. Tal. {Advancing. ) Deign, royal lady, to cast a look of compassion on the unhappy woman who prostrates herself at thy feet. [Mary, having attempted to approach Elizabeth, stops short, overcome by repugnance, her gestures indicating internal struggle.^ Eliz. {Haughtily.') Sirs, which of you spoke of humility and submission ? I see nothing but a proud lady, whom misfortune has not succeeded in subduing. Mary. {Aside. ) I will undergo even this last degree of ignominy. My soul discards its noble but, alas ! impotent pride. I will seek to forget who I am, what I have suffered, and will humble myself before her who has caused my disgrace. ( Turns to Elizebeth. ) Heaven, O sister, has declared itself on thy side, and has graced thy happy head with the crown of victory. {Kneel- ing. ) I worship the Deity who hath rendered thee so powerful. Show thyself noble in thy triumph, and leave me not overwhelmed by shame ! Open thy arms, extend in mercy to me thy royal hand, and raise me from my fearful fall. Eliz. {Drawing back. ) Thy place, Stuart, is there, and I shall ever raise my hands in grati- tude to heaven that it has not willed that I should kneel at thy feet, as thou now crouchest in the dust at mine. 430 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Mary. ( With great emotion. ) Think of the vicissitudes of all things human ! There is a Deity above who punisheth pride. Respect the Providence who now doth prostrate me at thy feet. Do not show thyself insensible and piti- less as the rock, to which the drowning man, with failing breath and outstretched arms, doth cling. My life, my entire destiny, depend upon my words and the power of my tears. Inspire my heart, teach me to move, to touch thine own. Thou turnest such icy looks upon me, that my soul doth sink within me, my grief parches my lips, and a cold shudder renders my entreaties mute. {Rises. ) Eliz. ( Coldly. ) What wouldst thou say to me ? thou didst seek converse with me. Forgetting that I am an outraged sovereign, I honor thee with my royal presence. 'Tis in obedience to a generous impulse that I incur the reproach of having sacrificed my dignity. Mary. How can I express myself? how shall I so choose every word that it may penetrate, without irritating, thy heart ? God of mercy ! aid my lips, and banish from them whatever may offend my sister ! I cannot relate to thee my woes without appearing to accuse thee, and this is not my wish. Towards me thou hast been neither merciful nor just. I am thine equal, and yet thou hast made me a prisoner, a sup- pliant, and a fugitive. I turned to thee for aid, and thou, trampling on the rights of nations and of hospitality, hast immured me in a living tomb ! Thou hast abandoned me to the most shameful need, and finally exposed me to the ignominy of a trial ! But, no more of the past ; we are now face to face. Display the goodness of thy heart ! tell me the crimes of which I am accused ! Wherefore didst thou not grant me this friendly audience when I so eagerly desired it? Years of misery would have been spared me, and this painful interview would not have occurred in this abode of gloom and horror. Eliz. Accuse not fate, but thine own wayward soul and the unreasonable ambition of thy house. There was no quarrel between us until thy most worthy ally inspired thee with the mad and rash desire to claim for thyself the royal titles and my throne ! Not satisfied with this, he then urged thee to make war against me, to threaten my crown and my life. Amidst the peace which reigned in my dominions, he fraudulently excited my subjects to revolt. But heaven doth protect me, and the attempt was abandoned in despair. The blow was aimed at my head, but 'tis on thine that it will fall. Mary. I am in the hand of my God, but thou wilt not exceed thy power by committing a deed so atrocious ? Eliz. What could prevent me ? Thy kinsman has shown monarchs how to make peace with their enemies ! Who would be surety for thee if, imprudently, I were to release thee? How can I rely on thy pledged faith ? Nought but my power renders me secure. No ! there can be no friendship with a race of vipers. Mary. Are these thy dark suspicions? To thine eyes, then, I have ever seemed a stranger and an enemy. If thou hadst but recognized me as heiress to thy throne — as is my lawful right — love, friendship, would have made me thy friend — thy sister. Eliz. What affection hast thou that is not feigned ? I declare thee heiress to my throne ! Insidious treachery ! In order, forsooth, to overturn the state, and — wily Armida that thou art — entrap within thy snares all the youthful spirits of my kingdom, so that during my own lifetime all eyes would turn towards thee — the new constellation ! Mary. Reign on in peace ! I renounce all right to thy sceptre. The wings of my ambi- tion have long drooped, and greatness has no longer charms for me. 'Tis thou who hast it all ; I am now only the shade of Mary Stuart ! My pristine ardor has been subdued by the ignominy of my chains. Thou hast nipped my existence in the bud. But pronounce those magnanimous words for which thou cam'st hither; for I will not believe that thou art come to enjoy the base delight of insulting thy victim ! Pronounce the words so longed for, and say, "Mary, thou crt free ! Till now thou hast known only my power ; MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 431 now know my greatness. ' ' Woe to thee, shouldst thou not depart from me propitious, beneficent, like an invoked Deity. O sister ! not for all England, not for all the lands the vast ocean embraces, would I present myself to thee with the inexorable aspect with which thou now re- gardest me ! Eliz. At length thou confessest thyself van- quished ! Hast thou emptied thy quiver of the artifices it contained ? Hast thou no more as- sassins ? Does there not remain to thee one single hero to undertake in thy defence the duties of knight-errant? Gone, Mary, gone forever are those days. Thou canst no longer seduce a follower of mine; other causes now inflame men's hearts. In vain didst thou seek a fourth husband among my English subjects; they knew too well that thou murderest thy husbands, as thou dost thy lovers. Mary. {Shuddering.*) O heavens! sister! Grant me resignation. Eliz. {To Leicester, with contempt.) Earl, are these the boasted features, on which no mortal eye could gaze with safety? Is this the beauty to which no other woman's could be compared ? In sooth, the reputation appears to have been easily won. To be thus celebrated as the reigning beauty of the universe seems merely to infer that she has been universal in the distribution of her favors. Mary. Ah, 'tis too much. Eliz. { With a smile of satisfaction. ) Now thou showest thyself in thine own form. Till now thou hast worn a mask. Mary. { With dignified pride. ) They were mere human errors that overcame my youth. My grandeur dazzled me. I have nought to conceal, nor deny my faults ; my pride has ever disdained the base artifices of vile intriguers. The worst I ever did is known, and I may boast myself far better than my reputation. But woe to thee, thou malignant hypocrite, if thou ever lettest fall the mantle beneath which thou con- cealest thy shameless amours ! Thou, the daughter of Anne Boleyn, hast not inherited virtue ! The causes that brought thy sinful mother to the block are known to all. Tal. {Stepping between them.) Is this, O Mary, thine endurance? Is this thy humility? Mary. Endurance ? I have endured all that a mortal heart can bear. Hence, abject humil- ity ! Insulted patience, get ye from my heart ! And thou, my long pent-up indignation, break thy bonds, and burst forth from thy lair ! Oh, thou gavest to the angry serpent his deadly glance ; arm my tongue with poisonous stings. Tal. { To Elizabeth. ) Forgive the angry transports which thou hast thyself provoked. Lei. {Inducing Elizabeth to withdraw.) Hear not the ravings of a distracted woman. Leave this ill — Mary. The throne of England is profaned by a base-born — the British nation is duped by a vile pretender ! If right did prevail, thou wouldst be grovelling at my feet, for 'tis I who am thy sovereign. (Elizabeth retires. Leicester and Talbot follow.) She departs, burning with rage, and with bitterness of death at heart. Now happy I am ! I have degraded her in Leicester's presence. At last ! at last ! After long years of insult and contumely, I have at least enjoyed a season of triumph. {Sinks upon the floor.) [curtain.] Schiller. TABLEAU. Curtain rises. Mary reclines upon the floor, disheveled hair, face buried in hands, shaking with emotion. Elizabeth stands glaring at her, face livid with anger, clenched fists. Leicester is restraining her ; his hand is raised as if admon- ishing her not to yield to her rage and do an act unbecoming a queen. Talbot leans over Mary, to whom he appears to offer words of hope and consolation, at the same lime lifting his right hand imploringly to Elizabeth. 432 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. A DEBATE. Question: "Are the Mental Capacities of the Sexes Equal?" (A debate arranged for seventeen male speakers, followed by a lady. There should be seats for all those who are to take part in the debate, the Chairman being distinguished from the others by being more elevated in his position, and having a table or desk before him. Should there not be room on the stage for all the debaters, some can sit grouped on the floor adjoining. Every speaker as he rises should try to catch the eye of the Chair- man, and the latter should check every tendency to confusion by rapping on the table, and calling gentlemen to order. To give an air of spontaneous- ness to the debate, several speakers may at times rise at once, crying "Mr. Chairman." The Chair- man should be courteous and attentive to all, but prompt in his decisions, and energetic in maintain- ing them. Occasional applause, or indications of dissent, are allowable.) The Chairman. Gentlemen: I feel very highly the honor you have done me by placing me in the chair. I will not waste your time, however, .by inflicting a speech upon you, but will proceed at once to the proper business of the meeting. The question we are to discuss is as follows {reads from a roll of paper*) : "Are the mental capaci- ties of the sexes equal ? " I beg to call upon the Opener to commence the debate. I have only to add that I hope the discussion will be carried on in a manner befitting the importance and grav- ity of the subject. {The Chairman resumes his seat amid applause, and the Opener rises . ) The Opener. Sir, in rising to open the ques- tion which has been put from the chair, I assure you that I feel the need of much indulgence, and I hope that I shall not be denied it. I expect no small amount of reproach and con'tu- mely for the part I mean to take in this debate ; for I know the gallantry of many of my friends around me, and I fully make up my mind to smart under the weight of it. However, I will meet my fate boldly, at all events ; I will de- clare, at once, that I am a believer in the men- tal inferiority of the ladies. {"Of Of" met by cries of "Hear/ hear!' 1 ) And, If my clamorous friends will let me, I will endeavor to prove that I am right. I will take my proofs from history. Which shines the brighter, the male sex or the female ? Look among sover- eigns — Where is the female Caesar ? — the female Alfred? — the female Alexander? — the female Napoleon? Or take legislators — What woman have we to compare with Solon or Lycurgus? with Washington or Hamilton? Or take the glorious list of orators. Can you point to a female Demos'the-nes, or Mirabeau, or Chatham, or Patrick Henry, or Webster? No, sir! The ladies may have the gift of the — I beg pardon — the gift of loquacity, but not of eloquence. Where are the female philosophers, moreover? Where is their Soc'ra-tes, their Plato, their New- ton, their Jonathan Edwards? Where is their great discoverer — their Columbus, their Frank- lin, their Herschel, their Daguerre? Where their great inventor — their Fulton, their Morse, their Whitney, their Edison? In literature, too, are the great names those of the fairer or the sterner sex? Homer, Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, Campbell, Irving, Dickens — what lady writers equal these ? {Applause. ) I shall not enter into the philosophical part of the question at all. Facts are the strongest arguments, and these I have produced. Besides, I dare say that some of my supporters will choose that view of the matter, and into their hands I am quite willing to resign it. I feel that I should weaken my cause were I to say more. I therefore commit the question to your fair and full discussion, quite convinced that a just conclusion will at length be arrived at. {Applause. ) Second Speaker. Sir, my friend, wno nas just resumed his seat, has regarded this question as it is answered by history : I will view it by the light of reason and philosophy. I think, then, that women are meant to be inferior to men. The female of every kind of animal is weaker than the male, and why should a distinction be made with the human species ? ( " That's so.") The sphere which the female is called upon to fill is the domestic one. To rule and to command is the sphere of man. He is here to govern and to guide. Now, the exercise of authority requires greater mental power than the duties of the other sex demand ; and I think that man would not have been called upon to rule, MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 433 had not greater power been conferred upon him. Where would be the unutterable delight that now dwells in the magic, word " Home," if woman were more intellectually subtle than she is ? All these true joys would be lost to us ; and woman, instead of earning our gratitude and affection by creating them, would be studying metaphysics, diving into theology, or searching out new stars. It seems to me that the very happiness of the world depends upon the inequalities and differ- ences existing in the minds of the sexes, and therefore I shall vote with my friend, the Opener. {Applause. ) Third Speaker. Sir, I rise to defend the ladies. {Applause.*) I admit the ability of my two friends who have preceded me ; but I dispute their arguments, and I utterly deny their con- clusions. I shall deal with the Opener only, and leave the other gentleman to the tender mercies of the succeeding speakers. Our friend referred us to history ; very unfor- tunately, I think. He spoke of rulers. Where is the female Caesar? said he, and the female Alexander? I am proud to reply — Nowhere. No, sir ; the fair sex can claim no such murderers, no such usurpers, no such enemies of mankind. But I will tell my friend what the fair sex can boast : can boast an Elizabeth, and also a Victoria. {Loud applause. ) While the ladies can claim such rulers as these, their male detractors may keep their Caesars and Alexanders to themselves ; and I, for one, shall never reclaim them from their keeping. {Applause. ) I had more to say, sir, but I feel that other speakers would occupy your time more profitably, and so I will resume my seat. Fourth Speaker. Sir, the speaker who has just sat down was scarcely justified in calling his opponents " detractors of the ladies ; " such an epithet is scarcely fair, and he would prove his point better, by using more moderate language. He has spoken of Elizabeth and Victoria, and I agree in his admiration of at least the latter of those distinguished characters ; but I would just remind him that history speaks of a Bloody Mary as well as an Elizabeth — of a Cleopatra as well as a Victoria. I am not determined, sir, upon 28 which side I shall vote. I wait to be convinced; and I assure my friends on both sides, that I am quite open to conviction. {Applause. ) Fifth Speaker. Then I, sir, will try to con- vince my friend. I will try to convince him that he should adopt the cause of the ladies. The fair sex have not yet had justice done them. What is the argument employed to prove their inferiority? Simply this — that they are not such strong rulers, such learned law-givers, or such great poets. But suppose I grant this; the sexes may be mentally equal, notwithstanding. For, if I can show that the female sex possess qualities which the male sex do not, — qualities which, though widely different from those named, are quite as valuable to the world, — I establish an argument in their favor quite as strong as that against them. And I can prove this. In affec- tion, in constancy, in patience, in purity of sentiment, and in piety of life, they as far surpass men as men surpass them in mere bodily strength. {Applause. ) And what qualities are superior to these? Is strength of intellect superior to strength of heart ? Is the ability to make laws superior to the power that wins and keeps affec- tion ? Is a facility in making rhymes superior to sisterly love and maternal solicitude? I think, sir, that it is unwise and unfair to judge between the two. The spheres of the sexes are different, and require different powers ; but, though different in degree, they may be, and I believe they are, fully equal in amount. {Loud applause. ) Sixth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, my speech shall consist of one question. Woman's brain is smaller than man's : now, if, as philosophers tell us, the size of the brain is the evidence of intel- lectual power, is not woman's intellect neces- sarily inferior to man's? {"LLear ! hear f and laughter. ) Seventh Speaker. Sir, my friend who has just sat down gave his speech in a question : I will give him another in reply. If the size of the brain is the proof of intellectual power, how is it that the calf is more stupid than the dog? {Laughter and applause. ) 434 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Eighth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, the last speaker's happy reply has saved me the neces- sity of answering the sagacious question of the gentleman who spoke before him. My friend, the opener of the debate, said, rather plausibly, that as the male sex can boast a Shakespeare, a Milton, and a Byron, and the other sex cannot, therefore the male sex must be superior. It is but a poor augument, sir, when plainly looked at. We should recollect that there is but 07ie Shakespeare, but one Milton, but one Byron. Who can say that the female sex may not some day surpass these writers, famous though they be? Another gentleman spoke of philosophers. Let me remind him — for he seems to have for- getten, or not to know — that the female sex can produce a De Stael, a Somerville, and a George Elliott. Not that I would claim for the ladies, for one moment, any merit on this ground. I think that scientific and literary excellence is by no means the choicest laurel for their gathering. Learning does not sit so gracefully on the female as on the masculine brow : — a blue- stocking is proverbially disagreeable. We can tolerate the spectacle of a Newton or a Locke so immersed in study that he plays the sloven ; but the sight of a female — a lady — so abstracted as to play the — ( Cries of ' ' Order ! order /" ) I say, sir, the sight of a lady so abstracted as to forget that her hair is in papers, her dress untidy, or her fingers inky, is simply repulsive. No amount of beauty will reconcile us to the absence of the feminine attribute of neatness. Woman's office, sir, is to teach the heart, not the mind ; and when she strives for intellectual superiority, she quits a higher throne than ever she can win. {Applause.) Ninth Speaker. Sir, the gentleman who called this a question of difference, not amount of intel- lect, put the question, to my thinking, in its proper light. I quite agree with the opener of the debate, that in mere mental power, in mere clearness, force, and intensity of intellect, the male sex is unquestionably superior to the female. But, at the same time, I can by no means admit that this proves woman to be inferior to the other sex. Much of what man has done results from his superior physical strength ; and, more- over, if man has done great things visibly and mentally, woman has accomplished great things morally and silently. In every stage of society she has kept alive the conscience, refined the manners, and improved the taste ; in barbarism and in civilization alike, she has gladdened the homes and purified the hearts of those she has gathered round her. Whilst, therefore, I admit that in mental strength woman is not, and can never be, equal to the other sex, I maintain that her superior morality makes the balance at least e ven . ( Applause . ) Tenth Speaker. I am quite ready to concede, sir, with the last speaker, that in the private and domestic virtues the female sex is superior to the male : but I cannot go so far with him as to say that man is morally woman's inferior. For which are the highest moral virtues ? Courage, fortitude, endurance, perseverance ; and these, I think, man possesses far more prominently than woman. Let the field of battle test his courage : with what heroic boldness he faces certain death ! His fortitude again : what shocks he bears, what bereavements he patiently sus- tains ! Mark his endurance, too. Privation, hunger, cold, galling servitude, heavy labor, these he suffers oftentimes without a murmur. See also how he perseveres ! He sets some plan before him. Days, months, years, find it still distant, still unwon : he continues his exertions, and at last he gains the prize. These, sir, I contend, are amongst the highest moral virtues, and I think I have shown that the male sex pos- sesses them more abundantly than the other. (Applause.) Eleventh Speaker. Sir, I quite agree with the gentleman who spoke last, that courage, endur- ance, and fortitude, are amongst the highest moral virtues ; but I do not agree with him when he says that the female sex possesses them in an inferior degree to the male. True, man shows his courage in the battle-field. He faces death, and meets it unshrinkingly. But has not woman courage quiet as great. She fights battles, — not MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 435 a few : oftentimes with want, starvation, and ruin : and bravely indeed does she maintain her ground. Far more bravely than the man, in fact. The first shock overcomes him at once : when attacked by distress, he is in a moment laid prostrate. Then it is, sir, that woman's moral courage, endurance, and fortitude, shine out the most. She sustains, she cheers, she en- courages, she soothes the other ; nerves him by her example, invigorates him by her tenderness, and directs him by gentle counsel and affection- ate encouragement, to put his shoulder to the wheel of his broken fortune, and restore himself to the position he has lost. ' ' O, woman ! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, — When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel, thou ! " Sir, gentlemen have boasted of their Alex- anders and their Napoleons ; so has woman to match them her Joan of Arc. But I can point them to a spectacle which sends a warmer thrill to the heart than the contemplation of 'Alexander crossing the Gran'icus, or of Napoleon heading the impetuous onset across the bridge of Lodi. I behold a woman quitting the comforts of an affluent home in England, and standing by the bedside of wounded and plague-stricken soldiers in the hospitals of Constantinople. Sir, if that was not courage, it was something nobler, braver, more divine ; and the name of Florence Night- ingale — {interruption of loud applause} — the name of Florence Nightingale, I say, sir, is to my mind crowned with a halo more luminous and admirable than any false glare that surrounds the fame of any conqueror or man -slayer that ever spread desolation through a land. With equal praise I might refer to her successor in our own land, Clara Barton, that heroic woman of the Red Cross. Sir, let me quote one other instance. When that illustrious French woman and true friend of liberty, Madam Ro-land', in the bloody times of the French Revolution, for the crime of holding adverse political opinions, was dragged to the scaffold by — (Heaven save the mark ! ) — by men — alas, sir ! men — she, a pure, heroic, lovely, and innocent woman — there sat by her side in the victims' cart a man, a stranger, also a prisoner, and, like her, on his way to the guil- lotine. But, sir, the man wept bitterly with anguish and dismay ; while the woman was calm, composed, intrepid. She devoted her last moments to cheering and comforting her male companion. She even made him smile. She seemed to forget her own great wrongs and suf- ferings in encouraging him. She saw his head fall under the guillotine, and then, stepping lightly up to the scaffold, she uttered those im- mortal words addressed to the statute of Lib- erty — " O ! Liberty, what crimes are committed in thy name!" — and told the executioner (the man, sir!) to do his duty. The next moment the fair head of this young, fearless, and highly- gifted woman was severed from the body, and men stood by to applaud the infernal act. Sir, let us hear no more, after this, of woman's in- feriority to man in fortitude, courage, endurance, and all that ennobles humanity. {Applause. ) Twelfth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, I cannot help thinking that some of the last speakers have wandered a little from the true subject before us. The question was "Are the Mental Capaci- ties of the Sexes Equal ? ' ' and the speakers are now hotly discussing whether the sexes are morally equal, with which point I submit we have nothing to do. To bring back the dis- cussion, therefore, to its proper track, I beg to repeat that which has been yet unanswered, namely, That as the male sex have produced the more remarkable evidences of mental power, the palm of mental superiority is evidently theirs. Much has been said during this debate, but no one has disproved this assertion, or denied the deduction from it : till cause is shown, there- fore, why the verdict should not be in favor of the male sex, I submit that we have the right to demand it. {Applause.} Thirteenth Speaker. Sir, the last speaker has, in a taunting manner, challenged us to deny his assertion, and to disprove his argument. I will do both — at least, attempt to do so — and 436 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. I trust I shall succeed in convincing my bold friend that he has not quite so good a cause as he thinks. {Applause.*) In the first place, sir, I will not admit that mental superiority does not involve moral. It is my conviction that it does. I maintain it, sir, there is something wanting in the intellectual mechanism of that man who, while he can write brilliant poetry, or discourse eloquently on philosophical subjects, is morally deficient and unsound. But, I will not admit that the female sex is outdone by the male. True, the one sex has produced a Shakespeare, a Milton, and a Byron; but the other has a Sappho, a Barbauld, a Hemans, a Sigourney, and a George Elliott. I will not, however, pursue the intellectual comparison, for it would be an endless one. {Applause.') But suppose I were to grant what the last speaker claimed, namely, that the female sex has achieved less than the male — what then ? I can show that woman's education has been neglected : if, then, woman has not possessed the advantages conferred upon the other sex, how can you say that she is not naturally man's equal ? Till this is answered, nothing has been proved. And, thanks to Heaven, our colleges are now giving her that chance which was for- merly denied her, and she is stepping bravely to the front in all great movements. She is writing our books and teaching our schools, and soon she will be helping to make our laws. {Applause.) Sir, as bearing upon this subject, and elo- quently embodying my own views, let me quote, if my memory will allow me, a little poem by Ebenezer Elliott : 4< What highest prize hath woman won in science or in art? What mightiest work, by woman done, boasts city, field, or mart? ' She hath no Raphael ! ' Painting saith ; ' No New- ton ! ' Learning cries ; ' Show us her Steamship ! her Macbeth! her thought- won victories ! ' " Wait, boastful man ! though worthy are thy deeds, when thou art true, Things worthier still, and holier far, our sister yet will do ; For this the worth of woman shows, on every peo- pled shore, — That still as man in wisdom grows, he honors her the more. " O ! not for wealth, or fame, or power, hath man's meek angel striven, But, silent as the growing flower, to make of earth a heaven ! And in her garden of the sun heaven's brightest rose shall bloom ; For woman's best is unbegun! her advent yet to come ! " ( Vociferous applause. ) Fourteenth Speaker. Sir, I think that an answer may very easily be given to the objec- tions raised by the last speaker. Great stress has been laid upon the fact that education has not been extended to woman, and therefore, it is said, she is not equal to man. The fact, then, of her inferiority is admitted ; and now let us look at the excuse. I think it a very shallow one, sir. Was Shakespeare educated? Was Burns educated ? Was James Watt edu- cated ? Was Benjamin Franklin educated ? Was Henry Clay educated ? No ! They achieved their greatness in spite of the disadvantages of their position ; and this, sir, genius will always do. Nothing can keep it down ; it is superior to all human obstacles, and will mount. It is for want of genius, therefore, not for want of education, that woman has remained behind in the mental race. {Applause. ) Fifteenth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, in spite of the learned and eloquent speeches of the ladies' champions, I am still inclined to vote with the Opener. I think my conclusion rests on good authority. We find, from Scripture history, that man was created first, and that woman was formed from a part of man — from a rib, in fact. Now, I would humbly submit, that as man was first formed, he was intended to be superior to woman ; and that woman, being made from a part of man only, cannot be looked upon as his equal. We find, too, in Scripture, that woman is constantly told to obey man ; and I contend that this would not be the case, were she not inferior. {Applause. ) Besides, sir, as it has been ably argued, her MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 437 duties do not require such great intellect as man's. Now, nature never gives unnecessary- strength : and as woman is not called upon to use great mental power, we mav be sure she does not possess it. Sixteenth Speaker. Sir, it seems to me that the remarks of the last speaker may be easily shown to be. most inconclusive and inconsistent. In the first place, he says, that as Adam was created before Eve, Adam was intended to be superior. I think, sir, that this argument is singularly unhappy. Why, we read that the birds, beasts, and fishes, were created before Adam ; and, if my friend's logic were sound, Adam must have been inferior to the said birds, beasts, and fishes, in consequence : an argu- ment, as I take it, not quite supported by fact. (Laughter and applause. ) Sir, so far as we can judge, the most important creatues seem to have been formed last, and therefore Eve must, according to that, be not inferior, but superior, to Adam. Then, as to the argument about the rib. Why, what was Adam formed out of? The dust of the earth. Now, it seems to me that a living rib is a much more dignified thing to be made out of than the lifeless dust of the ground : and if so, my friend's argument turns against himself rather than against the ladies. I heard the gentleman say, too — and I confess I heard it with some impatience — that woman's sphere does not require so much intellect as man's. Where he got such an argument, I can- not imagine ; and I think it by no means credit- able either to his taste or to his discernment. Who has to rear the infant mind ? to tend and instruct the growing child? to teach it truth, and goodness, and piety ? Not impetuous, im- patient man, but enduring, gentle, and con- siderate woman. What more important or more difficult task could mortal undertake ? It requires the noblest intellect to teach a child, and that intellect being required in woman, I feel sure that she possesses it. Although, then, I own that there are great and inborn differences between the intellectual capacities of the sexes, I cannot for an instant imagine that the one is, in the aggregate, at all inferior to the other. (Loud applause. — A pause ensues. ) The Chairman rises and says : If no other gentleman is inclined to speak, I will put the question. Sixteenth Speaker. Perhaps our worthy Chair- man would like to offer a few observations. ( The Chairman then temporarily vacates the chair, calling one of the members to the same. ) Chairman. Gentlemen, the subject has inter- ested me so much, that I will act on my friend's suggestion, and venture upon a few remarks. I have reflected calmly and dispassionately upon the question before us, whilst I have been listen- ing to the speeches made by my friends around me ; and although I own that I was at first inclined to vote in the affirmative of this ques- tion, I am not ashamed to say that my views have undergone a material alteration during the debate, and that I have now made up my mind to defend and vote for the ladies. (Applause. ) In the first place, I think we are necessarily unfair judges ; we are interested in the verdict, and therefore ought not to sit upon the judg- ment seat. It gratifies our pride to think that we are superior to the other sex ; and reflection upon this point has convinced me, that upon the ground of good taste and modesty alone, we ought at once to give up the point, and admit woman's claims to ^e at least equal to our own. Reason also moves me to adopt the same con- clusion. I concede, at once, that there are great dijferences between the capacities of the sexes ; but not greater than between various races of our own sex. The roving savage is inferior to the studious philosopher. Why? Because he has not been educated. So with woman. When you can show me that woman has received the same advantages as man, and has not then equaled him, why, then I will vote against her; hut not till then. (Applause.) In conclusion, I would say, that as the Creator , formed woman to be a help meet for man, I cannot believe that she was made inferior. She was given to him as a companion 438 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. and friend, not as a slave and servant ; and I think that we are displaying great arrogance and presumption, as well as a contemptuous depre- ciation of the Creator's best gifts, if we declare and decide that she who adorns and beautifies and delights our existence is inferior to our- selves in that intelligence which became a part of man's soul when God breathed into him the breath of life ! {Loud and continued applause. ) {The Chairman resumes his seat, and then says :) ».- Will the opener of this debate have the good- ness to reply ? The Openei' {in reply*). Mr. Chairman, — You have called on me to reply. Now, I beg at once, and frankly, to say, that I, like you, have undergone conviction during this debate, and that I mean to vote against the proposition which a short time ago I recommended. {Loud cries of ' ' Hear ! hear ! ' ' and applause. ) I was misled by appeara?ices. I looked into history ; but I did not examine it correctly. I looked at the surface only. I saw great deeds, and I saw that men had performed them ; but I did not estimate what had been done silently. I am not sorry, however, that I introduced the question. It has changed those who were wrong, it has confirmed those who were right, and it has caused all to think. Let me hope that all who spoke on my side of the question are, like their leader, converted ; and let me, in conclusion, say, that I trust we shall take to our hearts the truth we adopt ; and whilst we vote here that the mental capacity of the female sex is equal to our own, show, by our conduct toward that sex, that we feel their high value and dignity, and treat them in every respect as our full equals and as our best friends. {En- thusiastic applause.) ^ The Chairman. Those who think that the Mental Capacities of the Sexes are equal will please to signify the same in the usual manner. {Loud cries of "All! all!") I am happy to see, gentlemen, that we are all of one way of thinking : there is no need for me to put the other side of the question. I do declare it, then, decided by this meeting, that the Mental Capacities of the Sexes are equal. A Lady {rising in the audience). Mr. Chair man, with your kind permission I should be pleased to offer a few words on this interesting occasion. Chairman. If the gentleman of the society have no objection — All. Let us hear from the lady. {Applause as she walks upon the stage. ) Lady. Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen : I have arisen to express my appreciation, — with that ot all the ladies in this audience, — of the verdict you have so unanimously reached. Until this occasion I believe no body of men ever agreed in such a decision. {Applause. ) Imagine, then, our delight at last — after six thousand years of waiting — at last, by the magic wand of your eloquence, we have the precious boon of equality restored to us. {Applause. ) But seriously, Mr. Chairman, the great exam- ples cited are convincing and inspiring. There was no man who could save France when Joan of Arc led her hosts to victory. The wisdom of Queen Elizabeth and Victoria, the heroism of Florence Nightingale and Clara Barton, the philosophy and wit of de Stael, the literature of George Eliott, the persuasive eloquence of Fran- ces Willard — who has been offered thirty thous- and dollars per annum to lecture — show the versatility and strength of the female mind, and what woman can do when she has the opportunity. When equal privileges are ac- corded her by the world, then, and not till then, will war and crime disappear and the great march of civilization, embodying edu- cation, temperance, morality, religion, and all the ennobling and elevating arts and sciences move with a dignity and beneficence which the world has never seen. I thank you, Mr. Chair- man and gentlemen, for the courtesy extended, and suggest that when you have another debate, especially on a question of such vital importance, that you invite some of your now exalted sisters to take part in the discussion. {Sits down, amid great applause. ) ROW TO DRAFT Constitution and By-La^s FOR THE ORGANIZATION AND CONDUCT OF LITERARY SOCIETIES. TT LL permanent associations formed for J~\ mutual benefit must have a Constitution by which they shall be governed. Where it is intended to organize a society for the intellectual improvement or social enjoy- ment of its members, a number of persons meet together and select a name for the organization. •The next step is to appoint a committee, whose duty it shall be to prepare a Constitution and code of By-Laws for the society. These must be reported to the society at its next meeting, and must be adopted by the votes of a majority of that body before they can take effect. The Constitution consists of the rules which form the foundation upon which the organiza- tion is to rest. It should be brief and explicit. It should be considered and adopted section by section ; should be recorded in a book for that purpose, and should be signed by all the mem- bers of the society. Amendments to the Constitution should be adopted in the same way, and should be signed by each member of the society. In addition to the Constitution, it is usual to adopt a series of minor rules, which should be explanatory of the principles of the Constitu- tion. These are termed By-Laws, and should be recorded in the same book with the Constitu- tion, and immediately after it. New by-laws maybe added from time to time, as the necessity for them may arise. It is best to have as few as possible. They should be brief, and as clear that their meaning may be easily comprehended, and should govern the action of the body. CONSTITUTION. As growth and development of mind, together with readiness and fluency of speech, are the result of investigation and free discussion of religious, education, political, and other topics, the undersigned agree to form an association, and for its government, do hereby adopt the following Constitution : Article I. — The name and title of this organization shall be "The Philomathian Literary Society," and its objects shall be the free discussion of any subject coming before the meeting for the pur- pose of diffusing knowledge among its members. Article II. — The officers of the Association shall consist of a President, two Vice-Presidents, a Corresponding Secretary, a Recording Secre- tary, a Treasurer and a Librarian, who shall be elected annually by ballot, on the first Monday in January of each year, said officers to hold their position until their successors are elected. Article III. — It shall be the duty of the President to preside at all public meetings of the Society. The first Vice-President shall preside in the absence of the President, and in case of the absence of both President and Vice-Presi- dent, it shall be the duty of the second Vice- President to preside. The duty of the Secretary shall be to conduct the correspondence, keep the records of the Society, and read at each meeting a report of the work done at the preceding meeting. The Treasurer shall keep the funds of the 439* 440* HOW TO DRAFT CONSTITUTION AND BY-LAWS. Society, making an annual report of all moneys received, disbursed, and the amount on hand. It shall be the duty of the Librarian to keep, in a careful manner, all books, records and manuscripts in the possession of the Society. Article IV. — There shall be appointed by the President, at the first meeting after his election, the following standing committees, to consist of three members each, namely : On lectures, library, finance, and printing, whose duties shall be designated by the President. The question for debate at the succeeding meeting shall be determined by a majority vote of the members present. Article V. — Any lady or gentleman may become a member of this Society by the consent of. the majority of the members present, the signing of the Constitution, and the payment of two dollars as membership fee. It shall be the privilege of the Society to elect any person whose presence may be advantageous to the Society, an honorary member who shall not be required to pay membership fees or dues. Article VI. This Association shall meet weekly, and at such other times as a majority, consisting of at least five members of the Associa- tion, shall determine. The President shall be authorized to call special meetings upon the written request of any five members of the Society, at which meetings one-third of the members shall be sufficient to constitute a quorum for the transaction of business. Article VII. — It shall be the duty of the Finance Committee to determine the amount of dues necessary to be collected from each member, and to inform the Treasurer of the amount, who shall promptly proceed to collect the same at such times as the committe may designate. Article VIII. — The parliamentary rules and general form of conducting public meetings, as shown in "Cushing's Manual of Practice," shall be the standard authority in governing the deliberations of this Association. Article IX. — Any member neglecting to pay dues, or who shall be guilty of improper con- duct, calculated to bring this Association into disrepute, shall be expelled from the membership of the Society by a two-thirds vote of the members present at any regular meeting. No member shall be expelled, however, until he shall have had notice of such intention on the part of the Association, and has been given an opportunity of being heard in his own defense. Article X. — By giving written notice of change at any regular meeting, this Constitution may be altered Dr amended at the next stated meeting by a vote of two-thirds of the members presen*. BY-LAWS. Rule i. — No question shall be stated unless moved by two members, nor be open for con- sideration until stated by the chair. When a question is before the Society, no motion shall be received, except to lay on the table, the previous question, to postpone, to refer, or to amend ; and they shall have precedence in the order in which they are here arranged. Rule 2. — When a member intends to speak on a question, he shall rise in his place, and respectfully address his remarks to the President, confine himself to the question, and avoid per- sonality. Should more than one member rise to speak at the same time the President shall de- termine who is entitled to the floor. Rule 3. — Every member shall have the privi- lege of speaking three times on any question under consideration, but not oftener, unless by the consent of the Society (determined by vote) ; and no member shall speak more than once, until every member wishing to speak shall have spoken. Rule 4. — The President, while presiding, shall state every question coming before the Society ; and immediately before putting it to- vote shall ask : ' Are you ready for the ques- tion ?" Should no member rise to speak, he shall rise to put the question ; and after he has risen no member shall speak upon it, unless by permission of the Society. Rule 5. — The affirmative and negative of the question having been both put and answered, the President declares the number of legal votes cast, and whether the affirmative or negative have it. HOW TO DRAFT CONSTITUTION AND BY-LAWS. *441 Rule 6. — All questions, unless otherwise fixed by law, shall be decided by a majority of votes. Rule 7. — After any question, except one of indefinite postponement, has been decided, any member may move a reconsideration thereof, if done in two weeks after the decision. Amotion for reconsideration the second time, of the same question, shall not be in order at any time. Rule 8. — Any two members may call for a division of a question, when the same will admit of it. Rule 9. — The President, or any member, may call a member to order while speaking, when the debate must be suspended, and the member take his seat until the question of order is decided. Rule 10. — The President shall preserve order and decorum ; may speak to points of order in preference to other members ; and shall decide all questions of order, subject to an appeal to the Society by any member, on which appeal no person shall speak but the President and the member called to order. Rule ii. — No motion or proposition on a subject different from that under consideration shall be admitted under color of an amendment. Rule 12. — No addition, alteration, or amend- ment to the Constitution, By-Laws, etc., shall be acted upon, except in accordance with the Constitution. Rule 13. — No nomination shall be considered as made until seconded. Rule 14. — The President shall sign all pro- ceedings of the meetings. Rule 15. — No member shall vote by proxy. Rule 16. — No motion shall be withdrawn by the mover unless the second withdraw his second. Rule 17. — No extract from any book shall be read consuming more than five minutes. Rule 18. — No motion for adjournment shall be in order-until after nine o'clock. Rule 19. — Every motion shall be reduced to writing, should the officers of the society desire it. Rule 20. — An amendment to an amendment is in order, but not to amend an amendment to an amendment of a main question. Rule 21. — The previous question shall be put in this form, if seconded by a majority of the members present : ' ' Shall the main question be put ?' ' If decided in the affirmative, the main question is to be put immediately, and all further debate or amendment must be suspended. Rule 22. — Members not voting shall be con- sidered as voing in the affirmative, unless excused by the Society. Rule 23. — Any member offering a protest against any of the proceedings of this Society may have the same, if, in respectful language, entered in full upon the minutes. Rule 24. No subject laid on the table shall be taken up again on the same evening. Rule 25. — No motion shall be debatable until seconded. Rule '26. — Points of order are debatable to the Society. Rule 27. — Appeals and motions to reconsider or adjourn are not debatable. Rule 28. — When a very important motion or amendment shall ' be made and seconded, the mover thereof may be called upon to reduce the same to writing, and hand it in at the table, from which it shall be read, open to the Society for debate. Rule 29. — -The mover of a motion shall be at liberty to accept any amendment thereto ; but if an amendment be offered and not accepted, yet duly seconded, the Society shall pass upon it before voting upon the original motion. Rule 30. — Every officer, on leaving his office, shall give to his successor all papers, documents, books, or money belonging to the Society. Rule 31. — No smoking, and no refreshments, except water, shall be allowed in the Society's, hall. Rule 32. — When a motion to adjourn is car- ried, no member shall leave his seat until the President has left his chair. Rule 33. — No alteration can be made in these rules of order without a four-fifth vote of the society, and two weeks' notice ; neither can they be suspended, but by a like vote, and then for the evening only. 442* SUGGESTED SUBJECTS FOR DEBATE. i. Should there be a Board of Arbitration appointed by the Government for Settling Dis- putes between Employees and Employers ? 2 . Is England Rising or Falling as a Nation ? Note. — Compare the Elements of Modern with the Elements of Ancient Prosperity. 3. Has Nature or Education the Greater In- fluence in the Formation of Character ? 4. From which does the Mind gain the more Knowledge, Reading or Observation ? 5 . Is the Character of Queen Elizabeth deserv- ing of our Admiration ? 6. Is an Advocate Justified in Defending a Man whom he Knows to be Guilty of the Crime with which he is Charged ? 7. Which does the most to Produce Crime — Poverty, Wealth, or Ignorance ? 8. Is a Limited Monarchy, like that of Eng- land, the Best Form of Government ? 9. Is not Private Virtue essentially requisite to Greatness of Public Character ? 10. Is Eloquence a Gift of Nature, or may it be Acquired ? 11. Is Genius an Innate Capacity ? 12. Is a Rude or a Refined Age the More Favorable to the Production of Works of Imagi- nation ? 13. Is the Shakespearian the Augustan Age of English Literature ? 14. Ought Pope to Rank in the First Class of Poets? 1 5 . Has the Introduction of Machinery been Generally Beneficial to Mankind ? 16. Which Produce the Greater Happiness, the Pleasures of Hope or of Memory ? 17. Is the Existence of Parties in the State Favorable to the Public Welfare? 18. Is there any Ground for Believing in the Ultimate Perfection and Universal Happiness of the Human Race? 19. Is Co-operation more Adapted to Promote the Virtue and Happiness of Mankind than Com- petition? 20. Was the Banishment of Napoleon to St. Helena a Justifiable Proceeding ? 21. Ought Persons to be Excluded from the Civil Offices on Account of their Religious Opinions ? 22. Which Exercises the Greater Influence on the Civilization and Happiness of the Human Race, the Male or the Female Mind ? 23. Which did the Most to Produce the French Revolution, the Tyranny of the Govern- ment, the Excesses of the Higher Orders, or the Writings of Voltaire, Montesquieu and Rous- seau? • 24. Which was the Greater Poet, Byron or Burns ? 25. Is there Reasonable Ground for Believing that the Character of Richard the Third was not so Atrocious as is Generally Supposed? 26. Does Happiness or Misery Preponderate in Life ? 27. Should the Press be Totally Free? 28. Do Modern Geological Discoveries Agree with Holy Writ ? 29. Did Circumstances Justify the First French Revolution ? 30. Could not Arbitration be Made a Substi- tute for War ? 31. Which Character is the More to be Admired, that of Loyola or Luther? 32. Are there Good Grounds for Applying the Term ' ' Dark ' ' to the Middle Ages ? 33. Which was the Greater Poet, Chatterton or Cowper ? 34. Are Public or Private Schools to be Pre- ferred ? 35. Is the System of Education Pursued at our Universities in Accordance with the Require- ments of the Age ? 36. Which is the More Healthful Exercise, Bicycle Riding or Walking ? 37. Does the Game of Foot-Ball Produce more Evil than Beneficial Effects ? 38. Would the Free and Unlimited Coinage of both Silver and Gold be better than the Single Gold Standard in America ? 39. Should Women be Granted the Right to Vote on all State and National Questions? 40. Would Absolute Prohibition be a Benefit to the Country? MANUAL OF PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE, AS AUTHORIZED AND TAUGHT BY CUSHING AND OTHER STANDARD AUTHORITIES, Note. — Charles Sumner declared Luther S. Cushing to be " The most authoritative ex- pounder of American Parliamentary Law." The justice of Mr. Sumner's judgment has been thoroughly tested and approved. The remarkable accuracy, extended research, and great ability of the author have been everywhere acknowledged; and by common consent, Cushing' s Manual has become, the authoritative guide in nearly all deliberative assemblies and Legislative bodies through- out the United States. Mr. Cushing's complete work, entitled "The Law and Practice of Legislative Assemblies," is a large octavo volume of nearly 1 200 pages, and is universally admitted to be the most elaborate, complete, and reliable presentation of Parliamentary Law ever published. The present manual contains in a compact form all the essential points of this large work, simplified, revised, and adapted for quick and ready reference by a system of paragraphing and indexing, enabling the reader to refer immediately to the point desired. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PARAGRAPH INTRODUCTION i to 12 CHAPTER I. — Certain Preliminary Matters ... 13 to 21 Sect. I. Quorum 13 to 15 Sect. II. Rules and Orders , i6to 18 Sect. HI. Time of Meeting 19 Sect. IV. Principle of Decision 20, 21 CHAPTER II.— Officers 22 to 31 Sect. I. The Presiding Officer 23 to 26 Sect. II. The Recording Officer 27 to 31 CHAPTER III. — The Rights and Duties of Members 32 to 35 CHAPTER IV. — The Introduction of Business ... 36 to 49 CHAPTER V.— Motions in General 50 to 52 CHAPTER VI.— Motions to Suppress 53 to 57 Sect. I. Previous Question 53 to 56 Sect. II. Indefinite Postponement 57 CHAPTER VII.— Motions to Postpone 58 to 61 CHAPTER VIII.— Motions to Commit 62 to 66 CHAPTER IX.— Motions to Amend 67 to 107 Division of a Question 68 to 71 Filling Blanks 72, 73 Addition— Separation — Transposition . 74 to 76 Withdrawal, Modification, etc., by the Mover 78, 79 General Rules Relating to Amendments 80 to 85 Amendments, by striking out 86 to 91 Amendments, by inserting 92 to 96 Amendments, by striking out and in- serting 97 to 102 Amendments, changing the nature of a question ♦,,,,,, 103 to 107 Sect. I. Sect. II. Sect. III. Sect. IV. Sect. V. Sect. VI. Sect. VII. Sect. VIII Sect. IX. PARAGRAPH CHAPTER X.— The Order and Succession v,j? Busi- ness 108 to 148 Sect. I. Privileged Questions no to 123 Adjournment in to 114 Questions of Privilege 115 Orders of the Day 116 to 123 Sect. II. Incidental Questions 124 to 135 Questions of Order 125 to 128 Reading of Papers 129 to 134 Suspension of a Rule 135 Sect. III. Subsidiary Questions 136 to 148 Lie on the Table 138 Previous Question 139, 140 Postponement 141 to 143 Commitment 144,145 Amendment 146 to 148 CHAPTER XI. — The Order of Proceeding 149 to 157 CHAPTER XII.— Order in Debate 158 to 184 Sect. I. As to the Manner of Speaking .... 159 to 163 Sect. II. As to the Matter in Speaking . . . . 164 to 168 Sect. III. As to Times of Speaking 169 to 172 Sect. IV. As to Stopping Debate 173 to 175 Sect. V. As to Decorum in Debate 176 to 179 Sect. VI. As to Disorderly Words 180 to 184 CHAPTER XIII.— The Question 185 to 197 CHAPTER XIV.— Reconsideration 198 to 203 CHAPTER XV.— Committees 204 to 248 Sect. I. Their Nature and Functions 204 to 206 Sect. II. Their Appointment 20710215 Sect. III. Their Organization, etc . 216 to 228 Sect. IV. Their Report .22910234 Sect, V. Committee of the Whole 235 to 248 443 444 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. INTRODUCTION. 1. For whatever purpose a deliberative assem- bly or society of any kind be called together, it is necessary, in the first place, that it be properly constituted and organized; and, secondly, that it should conduct all proceedings according to certain rules, and agreeably to certain forms, which experience has shown to be the best adapted to the purpose. 2.. Some deliberative assemblies, such as muni- cipal and other corporations, are usually consti- tuted by virtue of certain legal provisions; while others, such as conventions, political meetings, societies, etc., constitute and organize themselves upon their assembling together for the purpose of some definite object. 3. The most usual mode of organizing a de- liberative assembly is the following : The members being assembled together, in the place, and at' the time, appointed for their meeting^ one of them, addressing himself to the others, requests them to come to order ; the members thereupon seating themselves, and giving their attention to him, he suggests to the members to nominate some person to act as chairman of the meeting; a name or names being thereupon mentioned, he declares that such a person (whose name was first heard by him) is nominated for chairman, and puts a question that the person so named be re- quested to take the chair. When a chairman is elected, he takes the chair, and proceeds in the same manner to complete the organization of the assembly, by the choice of a secretary and such other officers, if any, as may be deemed neces- sary. 4. The presiding officer is usually denominated the president, and the recording officer the secre- tary ; though sometimes these officers are desig- nated respectively as the chairman and clerk. It is not unusual, besides a president, to have one or more vice-presidents, who take the chair occa- sionally, in the absence cf the president from the assembly, or when he withdraws from the chair to take part in the proceedings as a member, but who at other times, though occupying seats with the president, act merely as members. It is fre- quently the case, also, that several persons are appointed secretaries, in which case the first named is considered as the principal officer. The presiding officer does not usually engage in the debate, and votes only when the assembly is equally divided. 5. In all deliberative assemblies, the members of which are chosen or appointed to represent others, it is necessary, before proceeding to busi- ness, to ascertain who are duly elected and re- turned as members. The proper time for this investigation is after the temporary and before the permanent organization, or when the assem- bly is permanently organized, in the first instance, before it proceeds to the transaction of any other business ; and the most convenient mode of con- ducting it is by the appointment of a committee to receive and report upon the credentials of the members. 6. When a question arises involving the right of a member to his seat, such member is entitled to be heard on the question, and he is then to withdraw from the assembly until it is decided ; but if, by the indulgence of the assembly, he remains in his place during the discussion, he ought neither to take any further part in it, nor to vote when the question is proposed. 7. The place where an assembly is held being in its possession, and rightfully appropriated to its use, no person is entitled to be present therein but by the consent of the assembly. 8. Every deliberative assembly is perfectly competent to adopt, aside from general parliamen- tary rules, certain special rules for the regulation of its proceedings. Where this is the case, these latter supersede the ordinary parliamentary rules in reference to all points to which they relate, leaving what may be called the common parlia- mentary law in full force in all other respects. 9. The rules of parliamentary proceedings in this country are derived from, and essentially the same with, those of the British Parliament; though, in order to adapt these rules to the cir- cumstances and wants of our legislative assem- blies, they have in some few respects been changed, in others differently applied, and in others, again, extended beyond their origin "1 intention. To these rules, each legislative assem- PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 445 bly is accustomed to add a code of its own. The result is, that a system of parliamentary rules has been established in each State, different in some particulars from those of every other State, but yet, founded in and embracing all the essential rules of the common parliamentary law. 10. The judgment, opinion, sense, or will of a deliberative assembly, is expressed, according to the nature of the subject, either by a resolu- tion, order, or vote. When it commands, it is by an order ; but facts, principles, its own opin- ions or purposes, are most properly expressed in the form of a resolution ; the term vote may be applied to the result of every question decided by the assembly. In whatever form, however, a question is proposed, or by whatever name it may be called, the mode of proceeding is the same. 11. The judgment or will of any number of persons considered as an aggregate body is that which is evidenced by the consent or agreement of the greater number of them ; and the only mode by which this can be ascertained, in refer- ence to any particular subject, is for some one of them to begin by submitting to the others a proposition expressed in such a form of words that, if assented to by the requisite number, it will purport to express the judgment or will of the assembly. 12. When a proposition is made, if it be not agreed to or rejected at once, the assembly may be unwilling to consider and act upon it at all ; or it may wish to postpone the consideration of the subject to a future time ; or it may be willing to adopt the proposition with certain modifica- tions ; or, lastly, approving the subject-matter, but finding it presented in so crude, imperfect, or objectionable a form that it cannot, in that state, be considered at all, the assembly may desire to have the proposition further examined and di- gested before being presented. In order to enable the assembly to take whichever of the courses above indicated it may think proper, and then to dispose of every proposition in a suitable manner, certain motions or forms of question have been invented, which are perfectly adapted for the purpose, and are in common use in all deliberative assemblies. CHAPTER I. Preliminary Matters. Section I. Quorum. 13. In all councils, and other collective bodies of the same kind, it is necessary that a certain number, called a quorum, of the members should meet and be present, in order to the transaction of business. 14. The number necessary to constitute a quorum of any assembly may be fixed by law, as is the case with most of our legislative assem- blies; or by usage, ao in the English House of Commons ; or it may be fixed by the assembly itself : but if no rule is established on the sub- ject, in any of these ways, a majority of the mem- bers composing the assembly is the requisite number. 15. No business can regularly be entered upon or transacted without a quorum is present ; and if at any time, in the course of the proceedings, notice is taken that a quorum is not present, the assembly must be immediately adjourned. Sect. II. Rules and Orders. 16. Every deliberative assembly is subject to general rules of proceeding. It may also provide for itself such special rules as it may find neces- sary. 17. When a code of rules is adopted before- hand, it is usual also to provide therein as to the mode in which they may be amended, repealed, or dispensed with. Where there is no provision, it will be competent for the assembly to act at any time, and in the usual manner, upon ques- tions of amendment or repeal ; but in reference to dispensing with a rule cr suspending it in a particular case, if there is no express provision on the subject, it seems that it can only be done by general consent. (General consent usually means unanimous favor.) 18. When any of the rule*,, relative to the manner of proceeding, is disregarded or infringed, every member has the right to require that the presiding officer, or any other whose duty it is, shall carry such rule into execution ; and in that case the rule must be enforced at once, without debate or delay. It is then too late to alter, re- 446 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. peal, or suspend the rule: so long as any one member insists upon its execution, it must be en- forced. Sect. III. Time of Meeting. 19. Every assembly which is not likely to finish its business at one sitting should come to some order or resolution beforehand, as to the time of re-assembling after an adjournment. Do not wait to arrange this in connection with the motion to adjourn. Sect. IV. Principle of Decision. 20. The principle upon which the decisions of all aggregate bodies, such as councils, corpo- rations, and deliberative assemblies, are made, is that of the majority of votes, or suffrages ; and this rule holds not only in reference to questions and subjects which admit only of an affirmative on one side and a negative on the other, but also in reference to elections in which more than two persons may receive the suffrages. 21. But this rule may be controlled by a special rule in reference to some particular sub- ject or question, by which any less number than a majority may be admitted, or any greater num- ber required, to express the will of the assembly. Thus it is frequently provided, in legislative assemblies, that one-third or one-fourth only of the members shall be sufficient to require the taking of a question by yeas and nays; and, on the other hand, that no alteration shall take place in any of the rules and orders, without the consent of at least two-thirds, or even a larger number. CHAPTER II. Officers. 22. The usual and necessary officers ui a de- liberative assembly are those already mentioned, namely, a presiding and a recording officer ; both of whom are elected or appointed by the assem- bly itself, and removable at its pleasure. These officers are always to be elected by absolute majorities, even in those States in which elec- tions are usually effected by a plurality. Section I. The Presiding Officer. 23. The principal duties of this officer are the following : — To open the sitting at the time to which the assembly is adjourned, by taking the chair, and calling the members to order ; To announce the business before the assembly, in the order in which it is to be acted upon ; To receive and submit, in the proper manner, all motions and propositions presented by the members ; To put to vote all questions which are regu- larly moved, or necessarily arise in the course of the proceedings, and to announce the result ; To restrain the members, when engaged in debate, within the rules of order ; To enforce on all occasions the observance of order and decorum among the members ; To receive all messages and other communica- tions, and announce them to the assembly ; To authenticate, by his signature, when neces- sary, all the acts, orders, and proceedings of the assembly ; To inform the assembly, when necessary or when referred to for the purpose, in a point of order or practice ; To name the members (when directed to do so in a particular case, or when it is made a part of his general duty by a rule) who are to serve on committees ; and, in general, To represent and stand for the assembly, de- claring its will, and in all things obeying im- plicity its commands. 24. If the assembly is organized by the choice of a president and vice-presidents, it is the duty of one of the latter to take the chair in case of the absence of the president from the assembly, c ' of his withdrawing from the chair for the pur- pose of participating in the proceedings. 25. Where but one presiding officer is ap- pointed in the first instance, his place can only be supplied, in case of his absence, by the ap- pointment of a president or chairman pro tem- pore ; and in the choice of this officer, who ought to be elected before any other business is done, it is the duty of the secretary to conduct the pro- ceedings. 26. The presiding officer may read sitting, but should rise to state a motion, or put a ques- tion to the assembly. PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 447 Sect. II. Recording Officer {Secretary or Clerk.) 27. The principal duties of this officer consist in taking notes of ali the proceedings, and in making true entries in his journal of all " the things done and passed ' ' in the assembly ; but he is not, in general, required to take minutes of " particular men's speeches " or to make entries of things merely proposed or moved without coming to a vote. He is to enter what is done and passed, but not what is said or moved. This is the rule in legislative assemblies. In others, though the spirit of the rule ought to be ob- served, it is generally expected of the secretary that his record shall be both a journal and in some sort a report of the proceedings. 28. It is also the duty of the secretary to read all papers, etc., which may be ordered to be read ; to call the roll of the assembly, and take note of those who are absent, when a call is ordered ; to call the roll, and note the answers of the mem- bers, when a question is taken by yeas and nays ; to notify committees of their appointment and of the business referred to ihem, and to authenti- cate by his signature (sometimes alone and some- times in conjunction with the president) all the acts, orders, and proceedings of the assembly. 29. The clerk is also charged with the custody of all the papers and documents of every descrip- tion, belonging to the assembly, as well as the journal of its proceedings, and is to let none of them be taken from the table by any member or other person, without the leave or order of the assembly. 30. When but a single secretary or clerk is appointed, his place can only be supplied, dur- ing his absence, by the appointment of some one to act pro tempore. When several persons are appointed, this inconvenience is not likely to occur. 31. The clerk should stand while reading, or calling the assembly. CHAPTER III. Rights and Duties of the Members. 32. Every member, however humble he may be, has the same right with every other, to sub- mit his propositions to the assembly, to explain and recommend them in discussion, and to have them patiently examined and deliberately decided upon by the assembly ; and, on the other hand, it is the duty of every one so to conduct himself, both in debate and in his general deportment in the assembly, as not to obstruct any other mem- ber in the enjoyment of his equal rights. It may be stated generally, that no member is to disturb another or the assembly itself by hissing, cough- ing, or spitting; by speaking or whispering to other members ; by standing up to the interrup- tion of others ; by passing between the presiding officer and a member speaking ; going across the assembly-room, or walking up and down in it; taking books or papers from the table, or writing there. Assaults by one member upon another, threats, challenges, affrays, etc., are also high breaches of decorum. It is also a breach of de- corum for a member to come into the assembly- room with his head covered. 33. In all instances of irregular and disorderly- deportment, it is competent for every member, and is the special duty of the presiding officer, to complain to the assembly, or to take notice of the offence and call the attention of the assembly to it. The member who is thus charged with an offence against the assembly is entitled to be heard in his place in exculpation, and is then to withdraw. Being withdrawn, the assembly pro- ceeds to consider of the degree and amount of punishment to be inflicted. 34. No member ought to be present in the assembly when any matter or business concern- ing himself is debating, and the assembly may compel him to withdraw, if he do not offer to do so of his own accord. If present by the indulgence of the assembly, he should not vote. If, notwithstanding, a member should remain in the assembly and vote, his vote may, and ought to be, disallowed. A man should not sit and act as a judge in his own case. 35. The only punishments which can be in- flicted upon its members bv a deliberative assem- bly of the kind now under consideration, consist of reprimanding, exclusion from the assembly, a prohibition to speak or vote for a specified time, 448 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. and expulsion ; to which are to be added such other forms of punishment — as by apology, beg- ging pardon, etc., as the assembly may see fit to impose, and to require the offender to submit to on pain of expulsion. CHAPTER IV. The Introduction of Business. 36. The proceedings of a deliberative assem- bly, in reference to any particular subject, are ordinarily set in motion, in the first instance, by some one of the members either presenting a communication from persons not members, or himself submitting a proposition to the assembly. 37. Propositions made by members are drawn up and introduced, by motion, in the form which they are intended by the mover to bear, as orders, resolutions, or votes, if they should be adopted by the assembly. 38. When a member has occasion to make any communication, motion, or statement what- ever to the assembly, he must, in the first place, "obtain the floor" for the purpose he has in view. In order to do this he must rise in his place and, standing uncovered, address himself to the presiding officer by his title ; the latter, on hearing himself thus addressed, calls to the member by his name ; and the member may then, but not before, proceed with his business. 39. If two or more members rise and address themselves to the presiding officer at the same time, or nearly so, he should give the floor to the member whose voice he first heard. If his de- cision should not be satisfactory, any member may call it in question, saying that, in his opinion, such a member (not the one named) was first up; and have the sense of the assembly taken thereon, as to which of the members should be heard. In this case, the question should be first taken upon the name of the member announced by the pre- siding officer; and, if this question should be decided in the negative, then upon the name of the member for whom the floor was claimed in opposition to him. 40. A petition, in order to be received, should be subscribed by the petitioner himself, with his own hand, either by name or mark, except in case of inability from sickness, or because tho petitioner is attending in person ; and should be presented or offered, not by the petitioner him- self, but by some member to whom it is intrusted for that purpose. 41. The member who presents a petition should previously have informed himself of its contents, so as to be able to state the substance of it on offering it to the assembly, to answer all questions, and defend it. 42. Being thus prepared, the member rises in his place, with the petition in his hand, and informs the assembly that he has a certain peti- tion, stating the substance of it, which he there- upon presents or offers to the assembly, and at the same time moves (which, however, may be done by any other member) that it be received ; this motion being seconded, the question is put, whether the assembly will receive the petition or not. 43. If the question of reception is determined in the affirmative, the petition is brought up to the table by the member presenting it, and is there read, as of course by the clerk. It is then regularly before the assembly, to be dealt with as it thinks proper ; the usual course being either to proceed to consider the subject of it immediately, or to assign some future time for its considera- tion, or to order it to lie on the table for the examination and consideration of the members individually. 44. Whenever a member introduces a propo- sition of his own, for the consideration of tlv* assembly, he puts it into the form he desires it should have, and then moves that it be adopted as the resolution, order, or vote of the assembly. If this proposition so far meets the approbation of other members that one of them rises in his place and seconds it, it may then be put to the question ; and the result, whether affirmative or negative, becomes the judgment of the assembly. 45. A motion must be submitted in writing $ otherwise the presiding officer will be justified in refusing to receive it ; he may do so, however, if he pleases, and is willing to take the trouble him- self to reduce it to writing. This rule extends only to principal motions, which when adopted PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 449 uecome the act, and express the sense, of the assembly; but not to subsidiary or incidental motions, 1 which merely enable the assembly to dispose of the former in the manner it desires, and which are always in the same form. In the case of a motion to amend, which is a subsidiary motion, the rule admits of an exception, so far as regards the insertion of additional words, which, as well as the principal motion, must be in writing. 46. A motion must also be seconded, that is, approved by some one member, at least, express- ing his approval by rising, and saying that he seconds the motion ; and if a motion be not seconded, no notice whatever is to be taken of it by the presiding officer, though in practice very many motions, particularly those which occur in the ordinary routine of business, are admitted without being seconded. This rule applies as well to subsidiary as principal motions. The seconding of a motion seems to be required, op the ground that the time of the assembly ought not to be taken up by a question which, for anything that appears, has no one in its favor but the mover. There are some apparent excep- tions to this rule, which will be stated hereafter, in those cases in which one member alone has the right of instituting or giving direction to a particular proceeding; and an actual exception is sometimes made by a special rule, requiring certain motions to be seconded by more than one member. An exception to the general rule requir- ing motions to be seconded occurs when it is proposed to proceed with, or to execute, or to enforce, an order of the assembly ; as, for ex- ample, when it is moved to proceed with an order of the day, or when a member suggests or calls for the enforcement of some order relating to the observance of decorum, or the regularity of pro- ceeding. Thus, in the English House of Com- mons, a single member may require the enforce- ment of the standing order for the exclusion of strangers ; and so, when the second or other reading of a bill is made the order for a particu- 1 Such as, to adjourn, lie on the table, for the previous question, for postponement, commitment, etc, 29 P-? lar day, a motion on that day to read the bill according to the order need not be seconded. 47. When a motion has been made and sec- onded, it is then to be stated by the presiding officer to the assembly, and thus becomes a ques- tion for its decision ; and, until so staged, it is not in order for any other motion to be made, or for any member to speak to it. When moved, seconded, and stated from the chair, a motion is in the possession of the assembly, and cannot be withdrawn by the mover, but by special leave of the assembly, which must be obtained by a motion made and seconded as in other cases, and requires a unanimous vote of the assembly, unless some special rule of the assembly provides to the contrary ; but before a motion has been stated by the chair the mover may modify it, or withdraw it altogether, at his pleasure. As a matter of courtesy, he generally asks the consent of his second on doing so. 48. When a motion is regularly before the assembly, it is the duty of the presiding officer to state it, if it be not in writing, or to cause it to be read if it be, as often as any member desires to have it stated or read for his informa- tion. 49. When a motion or proposition is regu- larly before the assembly, no other motion can be received, unless it be one which is previous, in its nature, to the question under consideration, and consequently entitled to take its place for the time being, and be first decided. CHAPTER V. Motions in General. 50. When a proposition is made to a delib- erative assembly, for its adoption, the assembly may be willing to come to a decision upon it at once ; and, when this is the case, nothing more can be necessary than to take the votes of the members, and ascertain the result.' But the assembly may prefer some other course of pro- ceeding to an immediate decision of the question in the form in which it is presented. Certain forms of question have from time to time been invented, and are now in general use, for that purpose. These forms of question may properly 4^0 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. be called subsidiary, in order to distinguish them from the principal motion or question to which they relate. 51. The different states of mind in which a proposition may be received by a deliberative assembly, and the corresponding forms of pro- ceeding, or subsidiary motions to which they give rise, in order to ascertain the sense of the assem- bly, are the following: — First. The assembly may look upon the propo- sition as useless or inexpedient, and may therefore desire to suppress it either for a time or alto- gether. The subsidiary motions for this purpose are the previous question and indefinite postponement* Second. The assembly may be willing to enter- tain and consider a proposition, but not at the time when it is made. The usual motions, under such circumstances, are postponement to some future day or time, and to lie on the table. Third. The subject-matter of a proposition may be regarded with favor, but the form in which it is introduced may be defective. In this case it is most proper to refer the proposition to a committee Fourth. The proposition may be acceptable, but certain alterations and amendments may be thought proper. The motion adapted to this case is to amend. 52. It is not to be supposed that the subsi- diary motions above specified are the only ones that have at any time been adopted or used ; but they are the forms in most common use, and are entirely sufficient for all practical purposes, CHAPTER VI. Motions to Suppress. 53. When a proposition is moved which it is supposed may be regarded by the assembly as useless or inexpedient, and which it may there- fore be desirous to get rid of, such proposition may be suppressed for a time by means of the previous question, or altogether by a motion for indefinite postponement. Section I. Previous Question 54. The original use of the previous question was the suppression of a main question, tuc in this country it has been perverted to a wholly different use, namely, the suppression of debate. When first made use of, in the House of Com- mons, two centuries ago, the form of the motion was, Shall the main question be put? and the effect of a decision of it in the negative was to suppress the main question for the whole session. The form of it was afterwards changed to that which it has at present, namely, Shall the main question be now put? and the effect of a negative decision of it now is to suppress the main question for the residue of the day only. 55. But the previous question may be decided in the affirmative, as well as the negative; that is, that the main question shall now be put: in which case, that question is to be put immedi- ately, without any further debate, and in the form in which it then exists. This Operation of the previous question, when decided affirmatively, has led to the use of it for the purpose of sup- pressing debate on a principal question, and com- ing to a vote upon it immediately ; and this is ordinarily the only object of the previous ques- tion, as made use of in the legislative assemblies of the United States. 56. In England the previous question is used only for suppressing a main question ; the object of the mover is to obtain a decision of it in the negative; and the effect of such a decision is, practically and by parliamentary usage, to dispose of the subject altogether. In this country the previous question is used chiefly for suppressing debate on a main question ; the object of the mover is to obtain a decision of it in the affirm- ative ; and the effect of a decision the other way is, in general, merely to suspend the taking of the question for that day. The operation of an affirmative decision is the same in both countries ; namely, the putting of. the main question imme- diately, and without further debate, delay, or consideration. Sect. II. Indefinite Postponement. 57. In order to suppress a question altogether, without coming to a direct vote upon it, in such a manner that it cannot be renewed, the proper motion is for indefinite postponement; that is, a PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 451 postponement or adjournment of the question, without fixing any day for resuming it. The effect of this motion, if decided in the affirmative, is to quash the proposition entirely; as an indefi- nite adjournment is equivalent to a dissolution, or the continuance of a suit without day is a dis- continuance of it. A negative decision has no effect whatever. CHAPTER VII. Motions to Postpone. 58. If the assembly is willing to entertain and consider a question, but not at the time when it is moved, the proper course is either to postpone the subject to another day, or to order it to lie on the table. 59. When the members individually want more information than they possess at the time a question is moved, or desire further time for reflection and examination, the proper motion is, to postpone the subject to such/ future day as will answer the views of the assembly. 60. If the assembly has something else be- fore it, which claims its present attention, and is therefore desirous to postpone a particular proposition until that subject is disposed of, such postponement may be effected by means of a motion that the matter in question lie on the table until the other topic or subject is disposed of. The proper motion for proceeding with a matter that has been ordered to lie on the table is, that the assembly do now proceed to consider that matter or subject, or that the subject be taken up for consideration. 61. A motion to lay on the table is some- limes made use of for the final disposition of a subject ; and it always has that effect, when no motion is afterwards made to take it up. CHAPTER VIII. Motions to Commit. 62. When the subject-matter of a proposition is regarded with favor ; but revision or consider- ation is necessary that cannot conveniently be given to it in the assembly itself, the course of proceeding then is, to refer the subject to a com- mittee. 63. If there is a standing committee of the assembly, whose functions embrace the subject in question, the motion should be to refer it to that committee ; if there is no such committee, then the motion should be to refer to a select committee. 64. When a subject is referred or recom- mitted, the committee may be instructed or ordered by the assembly, as to any part or the whole of the duties assigned them ; or the sub- ject may be left with them without instructions. The committee can only consider the matter referred to it ; and consequently is not at liberty, like the assembly itself, to change the subject under consideration by means of an amendment. This rule is equally applicable to committees of the whole 65. A part only of a subject may be com- mitted, without the residue ; or different parts may be committed to different committees. 66. A commitment with instructions is some- times made use of, as a convenient mode of pro- curing further information, and, at the same time, of postponing the consideration of a subject to a future though uncertain day. CHAPTER IX. Motions to Amend. 67. When the assembly is satisfied with the subject-matter of a proposition, but desires to make some addition to it, or change in its form, the course of proceeding then is to make its details satisfactory by means of amendments having the same general purpose in view. The amendment will be first considered when taking the vote. Section I. Division of a Question. 68. When a proposition or motion is compli- cated, that is, composed of two or more parts which are so far independent of each other as to be susceptible of division into several questions, and it is supposed that the assembly may approve of some, but not of all these parts, it is a com- pendious mode of amendment to divide the motion into separate questions, to be separately voted upon and decided by the assembly. This 452 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. division may take place by the order of the assembly, or a motion regularly made and sec- onded for the purpose. 69. When a motion is thus divided, it be- comes a series of questions to be considered and treated each by itself, as an independent propo- sition in the order in which they stand. A complicated question can only be separated by moving amendments to it in the usual manner, or by moving to a division of it in the manner above stated. 70. It is usually the province of the presiding officer (subject, of course, to the revision of the assembly) to decide, when the division of a motion is demanded, first, whether the proposi- tion is susceptible of division; and, secondly, into how many and what parts it may be divided. 71. A proposition, in order to be divisible, must comprehend points so distinct and entire that if one or more of them be taken away, the others may stand entire and by themselves. Sect. II. Filling Blanks. 72. It often happens that a proposition is in- troduced with blanks purposely left by the mover to be filled by the assembly, either with times and numbers, or with provisions analogous to those of the proposition itself. In the latter case, blanks are filled in the same way that other amendments by the insertion of words are made. In the former, propositions to fill blanks are not considered as amendments to the question, but as original motions, to be made and decided before the principal question. 73. In determining upon the order to be adopted, the object is not to begin at that ex- treme, which and more, being within every man's wish, no one can vote against it, and yet, if it should be carried in the affirmative, every ques- tion for more would be precluded; but at that extreme which will be likely to unite the fewest, and then to advance or recede until a number or time is reached which will unite a majority. Sect. III. Addition, Separation, Trans- position. 74. When the matters contained in two sep- arate propositions might be better put into one, the mode of proceeding is to reject one of them, and then to incorporate the substance of it with the other by way of amendment. A better mode, however, if the business of the assembly will admit of its being adopted, is to refer both pro- positions to a committee, with instructions to incorporate them together in one. 75. If the matter of one proposition would be more properly distributed into two, any part of it may be struck out by way of amendment, and put into the form of a new and distinct proposi- tion. But in this, as in the former case, a better mode would generally be to refer the subject to a committee. 76. In like manner, if a paragraph or section requires to be transposed, a question must be put on striking it out where it stands, and another for inserting it in the place desired. Sect. IV. Withdrawal, Modification or Amendment by the Mover. 77. The mover of a proposition, after it has been stated as a question by the presiding officer, must obtain the permission of the assembly, by a motion and question for the purpose, in order to enable him to modify or withdraw his proposi- tion. A withdrawal requires unanimous consent of the members present. 78. So, too, when an amendment has been regularly moved, seconded and stated, its relation is the same with that described in the preceding paragraph, it of course rests upon the same foun- dation, and is subject to the same rule. Before a motion has been stated, the mover may modify or withdraw it at his pleasure ; after it has been stated, he can only withdraw or mod- ify it by general consent ; he may, however, like any other member, move to amend. Section V. General Rules relating to Amendments. 79. All amendments of which a proposition is susceptible, so far as form is concerned, may be effected in one of three ways, namely : either by inserting or adding certain words ; or by strik- ing out certain words; or by striking out certain words and inserting or adding others. These PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 453 several forms 01 amendment are subject to certain general rules, which, being equally applicable to toem all, require to be stated beforehand. 80. First Rule. When a proposition consists of several sections, paragraphs, or resolutions, the natural order of considering and amending it is to begin at the beginning, and to proceed through it in course by paragraphs ; and, when a latter part has been amended, it is not in order to recur back, and make any alteration or amendment of a former part. 81. Second Rule. Every amendment which can be proposed, whether by striking out, or insert- ing, or striking out and inserting, is itself sus- ceptible of amendment ; but there can be no amendment of an amendment to an amendment. 82. Thus, if a proposition consist of A B, and it is proposed to amend by inserting C D, it may be moved to amend the amendment by inserting E F; but it cannot be moved to amend this amendment, as, for example, by inserting G. The only mode by which this can be reached is to reject the amendment in the form in which it is presented, namely, to insert E F, and to move it in the forui in which it is desired to be amended, namely, to insert E F G. 83. Third Rule. Whatever is agreed to by the assembly, on a vote, either adopting or rejecting a proposed amendment, cannot be afterwards altered or amended. Thus, if a proposition consist of A B, and it is moved to insert C, if the amendment prevail, C cannot be afterwards amended, because it has been agreed to in that form; and so, if it is moved to strike out B, and the amendment is rejected, B cannot afterwards be amended, be- cause a vote against striking it out is equivalent to a vote agreeing to it as it stands. 84. Fourth Rule. Whatever is disagreed to by the assembly, on a vote, cannot be afterwards moved again. This rule is the converse of the preceding, and may be illustrated in the same manner. 85. Fifth Rule. The inconsistency or incom- patibility of a proposed amendment with one which has already been adopted is a fit ground for its rejection by the assembly, but not for the suppression of it by the presiding officer, against order. as against order. Section VI. Amendments by Striking Out. 86. If an amendment is proposed by striking out a particular paragraph or certain words, and the amendment is rejected, it cannot be again moved to strike out the same words or a part of them ; but it may be moved to strike out the same words with others, or to strike out a part of the same words with others, provided the coher- ence to be struck out be so substantial as to make these, in fact, different propositions from the former. 87. If an amendment by striking out is agreed to, it cannot be afterwards moved to insert the same words struck Out, or a part of them ; but it may be moved to insert the same words with others, or a part of the same words with others, provided the coherence to be inserted make these propositions substantially different from the first. 88. When it is proposed to amend by striking out a particular paragraph, it may be moved to amend this amendment in three different ways, namely : either by striking out a part only of the paragraph, or by inserting or adding words, or by striking out and inserting. 89. As an amendment must necessarily be put to the question before the principal motion, so the question must be put on an amendment to an amendment before it is put on the amendment. 90. When a motion for striking out words is put to the question, the parliamentary form always is, whether the words shall stand as part of the principal motion, and not whether they shall be struck out. 91. On a motion to amend by striking out certain words, the manner of stating the ques- tion is, first to read the passage proposed to be amended, as it stands ; then the words proposed to be struck out ; and, lastly, the whole passage as it will stand if the amendment is adopted. Sect. VII. Amendments by Inserting. 92. If an amendment is proposed by inserting or adding a paragraph or words, and the amend- 454 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. ment is rejected, it cannot be moved again to in- sert the same words or a part of them; but it may be moved to insert the same words with others or a part of the same words with others, provided the coherence really make them differ- f ent propositions. 93. If it is proposed to amena by inserting a paragraph, and the amendment prevails, it can- not be afterwards moved to strike out the same words or a part of them ; but it may be moved to strike out the same words with others, 1 or a part of the same words with others, provided the coherence be such as make the proposition really different from the first. 94. When it is proposed to amend by insert- ing a paragraph, this amendment may be amended in three different ways ; namely, either by striking out a part of the paragraph, or by inserting something into it, or by striking out and inserting. 95. When it is proposed to amend by insert- ing a paragraph, those who are in favor of the amendment should amend it, if necessary, before the question is taken ; because, if it is rejected, it cannot be moved again, and if received, it cannot be amended. 96. On a motion to amend by inserting a paragraph, the manner of stating the question is first to read the passage to be amended, as it stands ; then the words proposed to be inserted ; and lastly, the whole passage as it will stand if the amendment prevails. Sect. VIII. Amendment by Striking out and Inserting. 97. The third form of amending a proposition, namely, by striking out certain words and insert- ing others in their place, is, in fact, a combina- tion of the other two forms, and may accord- ingly be divided into those two forms, either by a vote of the assembly, or on the demand of a member under a special rule to that effect. When the parliamentary form of putting the question, on a motion to strike or leave out words, is adopted, the question is first stated that 1 This is the common case of striking out a paragraph, after having amended it by inserting words. the words proposed to be struck out stand as part of the motion. If this question passes in the negative, a question is then to be stated on inserting the words proposed, which may be amended like any other motion to insert or add words. If the question on the standing of the words passes in the affirmative, the residue of the motion to strike out and insert falls without a question. According to the parliamentary form, therefore, a motion to strike out and insert is necessarily divided. 98. When the motion is divided, the question is first to be taken on striking out, and if that is decided in the affirmative, then on inserting ; but if the former is decided in the negative, the lat- ter falls, of course. On a division, the proceed- ings are the same in reference to each branch of the question, beginning with the striking out, as if each branch had been moved by itself. 99. If the motion to strike out and insert is put to the question undivided, and is decided in the negative, the same motion cannot be made again : but it may be moved to strike out the same words, and, i, insert nothing; 2, insert other words ; 3, insert the same words with others ; 4, insert a part of the same words with others; 5, strike out the same words with others, and insert the same ; 6, strike out a part of the same words with others, and insert the same; 7, strike out other words, and insert the same ; and, 8, insert the same words, without striking out anything. 100. If the motion to strike out and insert is decided in the affirmative, it cannot be then moved to insert the words struck out or a part of them, or to strike out the words inserted or a part of them: but it may be moved, 1, to insert the same words with others ; 2, to insert a part of the same words with others ; 3, to strike out the same words with others ; or, 4, to strike out a part of the same words with others. 101. When it is proposed to amend by strik- ing out and inserting, this amendment may be amended in three different ways in the para- graph proposed to be struck out, and also in the paragraph proposed to be inserted ; namely, by striking out, or inserting, or striking out and PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 455 inserting. And those who are in favor of either paragraph must amend it before the question is taken, for the reasons that, if decided in the affirmative, the part struck out cannot be restored, nor can the part inserted be amended ; and, if decided in the negative, the part proposed to be struck out cannot be amended, nor can the para- graph proposed to be inserted be moved again. 102. On a motion to amend by striking out certain words and inserting others, the manner ■of stating the question is, first to read the whole passage to be amended, as it stands ; then the words proposed to be struck out ; next, those to be inserted ; and, lastly, the whole passage as it will stand when amended. [Note. — It is essential to any tolerably rapid transaction of business, that no proposition should by a simple change of form be brought twice before the assembly. If it desires further to con- sider the matter, it can always do so by a vote to reconsider, although it might be necessary in .some cases to suspend a general rule for that purpose.] Sec. IX. Amendments Changing the Nature of a Question. 103. The term "amendment" is in strict- ness applicable only to those changes of a propo- sition by which it is improved. Hence it seems proper, that those only should undertake to amend a proposition who are friendly to it ; but this is by no means the rule : when a proposition is regularly moved, seconded and stated, it is in the possession of the assembly, and may be put into any shape, and turned to any purpose, that the assembly may think proper. 104. It is consequently allowable to amend a proposition in such a manner as entirely to alter its nature, and to make it bear a sense differ- ent from what it was originally intended to bear; so that the friends of it, as it was first introduced, may themselves be forced to vote against it in its amended form. 105. This mode of proceeding is sometimes adopted for the purpose of defeating a proposi- tion, by compelling its original friends to unite with those who are opposed to it, in voting for its rejection. But sometimes the nature of a proposition is changed by means of amendments, with a view to its adoption in a sense the very opposite of what it was originally intended to bear. 106. Another mode of defeating a proposi- tion is to carry out or extend the principle of it, by means of amendments, so as to show the in- convenience, absurdity, or danger of its adop- tion, with such evident clearness that it becomes impossible for the assembly to agree to it. Thus, a motion having been made in the House of Commons, "for copies of all the letters written by the lords of the admiralty to a certain officer in the navy," it was moved to amend the motion by adding these words : " which letters may contain orders, or be relative to orders not executed and still subsisting." This amendment being adopted, the motion as amended was unan- imously rejected. 107. It will be seen, from the foregoing, that, as the mover of a proposition is under no restric- tion as to embracing incongruous matters under the same motion, so, on the other hand, the as- sembly may ingraft upon a motion, by way of amendment, matter which is not only incongru- ous with, but entirely opposed to, the motion as originally introduced ; and in legislative assem- blies it is not unusual to amend a bill by striking out all after the enacting clause, and inserting an entirely new bill ; or, to amend a resolution by striking out all after the words, "Resolved that," and inserting a proposition of a wholly different tenor. CHAPTER X. The Order and Succession of Questions. 108. It is a general rule that when a proposi- tion is regularly before a deliberative assembly, for its consideration, no other proposition or motion can regularly be made or arise so as to take the place of the former, and be first acted upon, unless it be either, first, a privileged question; secondly, a subsidiary question ; or, thirdly, an incidental question or motion. 109. All these motions take the place of the principal motion, or main question, as it is usually 456 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. called, and are to be first put to the question ; and among themselves, also, there are some which, in like manner, take the place of all the others. Some of these questions merely super- sede the principal question, until they have been decided, and when decided, whether affirmatively or negatively, leave that question as before. Others of them also supersede the principal ques- tion until they are decided ; and, when decided one way, dispose of the principal question, but, if decided the other way, leave it as before. Section I. Privileged Questions. 110. There are certain motions or questions which, on account of the superior importance attributed to them, either in consequence of a vote of the assembly, or in themselves consid- ered, or of the necessity of the proceedings to which they lead, are entitled to take the place of any other subject or proposition which may then be under consideration, and to be first acted upon and decided by the assembly. These are called privileged questions, because they are enti- tled to precedence over other questions, though they are of different degrees among themselves. Questions of this nature are of three kinds: namely, first, motions to adjourn ; secondly, mo- tions or questions relating to the rights and priv- ileges of the assembly, or of its members indi- vidually ; and, thirdly, motions for the orders of the day. Adjournment. 111. A motion to adjourn takes the place of all other questions whatsoever (but it may not immediately follow a motion to adjourn, before another motion or business has been considered); for otherwise the assembly might be kept sitting against its will, and for an indefinite time ; but, in order to entitle this motion to precedence, it must be simply to "adjourn," without the addi- tion of any particular day or time ; though, if a motion to adjourn is made when no other busi- ness is before the assembly, it may be amended like other questions. 112. A motion to adjourn is merely, "that this assembly do now adjourn ; " and, if it is carried in the affirmative, the assembly is adjourned to the next sitting day; unless it has previously come to a resolution, that, on rising, it will ad- journ to a particular day; in which case, it is adjourned to that day. 113. An adjournment without day, that is, without any time being fixed for re-assembling, would, in the case of any other than a legislative assembly, be equivalent to a dissolution. A bet- ter form would be a motion to dissolve, where the organization is not to meet again. 114. When a question is interrupted by an adjournment before any vote or question has been taken upon it, it is thereby removed from before the assembly, and will not stand before it, as a matter of course, at its next meeting, but must be brought forward in the usual way. Questions of Privilege. 115. The questions next in relative impor- tance, and which supersede all others for the time being, except that of adjournment, are those which concern the rights and privileges of the assembly or of its individual members ; as, for example, when the proceedings of the assem- bly are disturbed or interrupted, whether by strangers or members, or where a quarrel arises between two members ; and, in these cases, the matter of privilege supersedes the question pend- ing at the time, together with all subsidiary and incidental ones, and must be first disposed of. When settled, the question interrupted by it is to be resumed at the point where it was suspended.. Orders of the Day. 116. When the consideration of a subject has been assigned for a particular day, by an order of the assembly, the matter so assigned is called the order of the day for that day. If, in the course of business, as commonly happens in legislative assemblies, there are several subjects assigned for the same day, they are called the orders of the day. 117. A question which is thus made the sub- ject of an order for its consideration on a parti- cular day is thereby made a privileged question for that day ; the order being a repeal, as to this special case, of the general rule as to business. PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 457 If, therefore, any other proposition (with the exception of the two preceding) is moved, or arises, on the day assigned for the consideration of a particular subject, a motion for the order of the day will supersede the question first made, together with all subsidiary and incidental ques- tions connected with it, and must be first put and decided ; for, if the debate or consideration of that subject were allowed to proceed, it might continue through the day, and thus defeat the order. 118. But this motion, to entitle it to prece- dence, must be for the orders generally, if there is more than one, and not for any particular one ; and if decided in the affirmative, that is, that the assembly will now proceed to the orders of the day, they must then be read and gone through with in the order in which they stand ; priority of order being considered to give priority of right. 119. If the consideration of a subject is as- signed for a particular hour on the day named, a motion to proceed to it is not a privileged mo- tion, until that*hour has arrived; but, if no hour is fixed, the order is for the entire day and every part of it. 120. Where there are several orders of the day, and one of them is fixed for a particular hour, if the orders are taken up before that hour, they are to be proceeded with as they stand, until that hour, and then the subject assigned for that hour is the next in order; but, if the orders are taken up at that time or afterwards, that par- ticular subject must be considered as the first in order. 121. If the motion for the orders of the day is decided in the affirmative, the original question is removed from before the assembly, in the same manner as if it had been interrupted by an ad- journment, and does not stand before the assem- bly, as a matter of course, at its next meeting, but must be renewed in the usual way. 122. If the motion is decided in the negative, the vote of the assembly is a discharge of the orders, so far as they interfere with the considera- tion of the subject then before it, and entitles that subject to be first disposed of. 123. Orders of the day, unless proceeded in and disposed of on the day assigned, fall, of course, and must be renewed for some other day. It may be provided, however, by a special rule, as in the legislative assemblies of Massachusetts, that the orders for a particular day shall hold for every succeeding day, until disposed of. Sect. II. Incidental Questions. 124. Incidental questions are such as arise out of other questions, and are consequently to be decided before the questions which give rise to them. Of this nature are, first, questions of order ; second, motions for the reading of papers, etc.; third, leave to withdraw a motion; fourth, suspension of a rule; and, fifth, amendment of an amendment. Questions of Order. 125. It is the duty of the presiding officer of a deliberative assembly to enforce the rules and orders of the body over which he presides, in all its proceedings; and this without question, de- bate, or delay, in all cases in which the breach of order, or the departure from rule, is manifest. It is also the right of every member, taking notice of the breach of a rule, to insist upon the enforcement of it in the same manner. 126. But though no question can be made as to the enforcement of the rules, when there is a breach or manifest departure from them, so long as any member insists upon their enforcement, yet questions may and do frequently arise as to the fact of their being a breach of order, or a violation of the rules, in a particular proceeding ; and these questions must be decided before a case can arise for the enforcement of the rules. Questions of this kind are denominated questions of order. 127. When any question of this nature arises in the course of any other proceeding, it neces- sarily supersedes the further consideration of the subject out of which it arises, until that question is disposed of; then the original motion or pro- ceeding revives, and resumes its former position, unless it has been itself disposed of by the ques- tion of ord^r. 458 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 128. When a question of order is raised, it is decided, in the first instance, by the presiding officer, without any previous debate or discussion by the assembly. The presiding officer may, be- fore giving his opinion, if he pleases, ask the opinions of others, but when he is ready to give his opinion he may do so at once without hearing further from any member. If the decision of the presiding officer is not satisfactory, any one mem- ber may object to it, and have the question de- cided by the assembly. This is called appealing from the decision of the chair. The question is then stated by the presiding officer, on the ap- peal ; namely, Shall the decision of the chair stand as the decision of the assembly ? and it is there- upon debated and decided by the assembly in the same manner as any other question ; except that the presiding officer is allowed to take a part in the debate, which, on ordinary occasions, he is prohibited from doing. Reading Papers. 129. It is, for obvious reasons, a general rule, that where papers are laid before a deliberative assembly for its action, every member has a right to have them once read at the table, before he can be compelled to vote on them; and con- sequently, when the reading of any paper relative to a question before the assembly is called for under this rule, no question need be made as to the reading : the paper is read by the clerk, under the direction of the presiding officer, as a matter of course. 130. But, with the exception of papers coming under this rule, it is not the right of any member to read himself, or to have read, any paper, book, or document whatever, without the leave of the assembly, upon a motion made and a question put for the purpose. The delay and interruption which would otherwise ensue from reading every pa;>er that might be called for show the absolute necessity of restricting the rule within the nar- rowest possible limits, consistently with permit- ting every member to have as much information as possible on the subjects in reference to which he is about to vote. 131. When, therefore, a member desires that any paper, book, or document, on the table, whether printed or written (except as above men- tioned), should be read for his own information, or that of the assembly ; or desires to read any such paper, book, or document, in his place, in the course of a debate or otherwise, or even to read his own speech which he has prepared be- forehand, and committed to writing, — in all these cases, if any objection is made, he must obtain leave of the assembly for the reading, by a mo- tion and vote for the purpose. 132. When the reading of a paper is evidently for information, and not for delay, it is the usual practice for the presiding officer to allow it, unless objection is made, in which case leave must be asked ; and this is seldom refused, where there is no intentional or gross abuse of the time and patience of the assembly. 133. It is not now the practice, as it once was, in legislative assemblies, to read all papers that are presented, especially when they are referred to committees immediately on their presentation; though the right of every member to insist upon one reading is still admitted. It would be im- possible, with the amount of business done by legislative bodies at the present day, to devote much of their time to the reading of papers. 134. When, in the course of a debate or other proceeding, the reading of a paper is called for, and a question is made upon it, this question is incidental to the former, and must be first decided. Suspension of a Rule. 135. When any contemplated motion or pro- ceeding is rendered impracticable, by reason of the existence of some special rule by which it is prohibited, it has become an established practice in this country, to suspend or dispense with the rule, for the purpose of admitting the proceeding or motion which is desired. This can only be done by a motion and question ; usually re- quiring, by special rule, a majority of two-thirds to three-fourths to carry ; where this is not pro- vided, there is no other mode of suspending or dispensing with a rule than by general consent. A motion to suspend the rule supersedes the orig- PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 459 inal question for the time being, and is first to be decided. Section III. Subsidiary Questions. 136. Subsidiary or secondary questions or motions are those which relate to a principal motion, and are made use of to enable the as- sembly to dispose of it in the most appropriate manner. These motions have the effect to super- sede, and in some cases, when decided one way, to dispose of, the principal question. 137. The subsidiary motions in common use are the following, namely : lie on the table, the previous question, postponement either indefinite or to a day certain, commitment, and amend- ment. All of which have already been consid- ered, consequently are but briefly treated here. Lie on the Table. 3.38. The motion to lay on the table takes pre- cedence of and supersedes all other subsidiary motions. If decided in the affirmative, the prin- cipal motion, together with all the other motions, subsidiary and incidental, connected with it, is removed from before the assembly, until it is again taken up ; which it may be by motion and vote, at any time when the assembly pleases. If decided in the negative, the business proceeds in the same manner as if the motion had never been made. Previous Question. 139. This motion stands in an equal degree with all the other subsidiary motions, except the motion to lie on the table ; and consequently, if first moved, is not subject to be superseded by a motion to postpone, commit, or amend. 140. If the previous question is moved before the others above mentioned, and put to the ques- tion, it has the effect to prevent those motions from being made at all. The same rule holds good for motions to postpone, commit, or amend. The motion first made takes precedence of all other subsidiary motions, except to lie on the table. Postponement. 141. The motion to postpone is either indefi- nite or to a day certain, and, in both these forms, may be amended, — in the former, by making it to a day certain ; in the latter, by substituting one day for another. 142. If, therefore, a motion is made for an indefinite postponement, it may be moved to amend the motion by making it to a day certain. If a motion is made for a postponement to a day certain, it may be amended by the substitution of a different day. 143. If a motion for postponement is decided affirmatively, the proposition to which it is applied is removed from before the assembly, with all its appendages and incidents, and conse- quently there is no ground for either of the other subsidiary motions; if decided negatively, that the proposition shall not be postponed, that ques- tion may then be suppressed by the previous question, or committed, or amended. Commitment. 144. A motion to commit, or recommit (which is the term used when the proposition has already been once committed), may be amended by the substitution of one kind of committee for another, or by enlarging or diminishing the number of the members of the committee as originally proposed, or by instructions to the committee. 145. If decided affirmatively, the proposition is removed from before the assembly, and conse- quently there is no ground for the previous question or for postponement or amendment; if negatively, to wit, that the principal question shall not be committed, that question may then be suppressed by the previous question, or post- poned, or amended. Amendment. 146. A motion to amend, as has been seen, may be itself amended. This motion is liable to be superseded by a motion to postpone to a day certain; so that, amendment and postponement competing, the latter is to be first put. The reason is, that a question for amendment is not suppressed by postponing or adjourning the principal question, but remains before the assem- bly whenever the main question is resumed. 460 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 147. A motion to amend may also be super- seded by a motion to commit ; so that the latter, though subsequently moved, is to be first put, because, " in truth, it facilitates and befriends the motion to amend." 148. The effect of both a negative and an affirmative decision of amendments has already been considered. (79 to 102.) CHAPTER XI. The Order of Proceeding. 149. When several subjects are before the assembly, that is, on their table for consideration (for there can be but a single subject under con- sideration at any. one time), and no priority has been given to any one over another, the presid- ing officer is not precisely bound to any order as to what matters shall be first taken up ; but is left to bis own discretion, unless the assembly on a question decide to take up a particular subject. 150. A settled order of business, however, is useful if not necessary for the government of the presiding officer, and to restrain individual mem- bers from calling up favorite measures. The order of business may be established in virtue of some general rule, or by special orders relating to each particular subject, and must, of course, necessarily depend upon the nature and amount of the matters before the assembly. 151. The natural order in considering and amending any paper which consists of several distinct propositions is, to begin at the begin- ning, and proceed through it by paragraphs. To this natural order of beginning at the beginning, there is one exception according to parliamentary usage, where a resolution or series of resolutions, or other paper, has a preamble or title ; in which case, the preamble or title is postponed until the residue of the paper is gone through with. 152. In considering a proposition consisting of several paragraphs, the course is, for the whole paper to be read entirely through, in the first place, by the clerk ; then a second time, by the presiding officer, by paragraphs ; pausing at the end of each, and putting questions for amending, if amendments are proposed ; and, when the whole paper has been gone through with in this manner, the presiding officer puts the final ques- tion on agreeing to or adopting the whole paper, as amended or unamended. 153. When a paper which has been referred to a committee, and reported back to the assem- bly, is taken up for consideration, the amend- ments only are first read, in course, by the clerk. The presiding officer then reads the first, and puts it to the question, and so on until the whole are adopted or rejected, before any other amend- ment is admitted, with the exception of an amendment to an amendment, afterwards giving opportunity for the assembly to offer amend- ments ; and, when through the whole, he puts the question on agreeing to or adopting the paper, as the resolution, order, etc., of the assem- bly. If carried, the resolution or order is then to be entered in the journal as the resolution, etc., of the assembly, and not as the report of the committee accepted. 154. When the paper referred to a commit- tee is reported back, as amended, in a new draft (which may be and often is done, where the amend- ments are numerous and comparatively unimport- ant), the new draft is to be considered as an amendment, and it is to be first amended, if necessary, and then put to the question as an amendment reported by the committee ; or, the course may be first to accept the new draft as a substitute for the original paper, and then to treat it as such. 155. It often happens, that, besides a prin- cipal question, there are several others connected with it, pending at the same time, which are to be taken in their order : as, for example, suppose, first, a principal motion; second, a motion to amend ; third, a motion to commit ; fourth, the preceding motions being pending, a question of order arises in the debate, which gives occasion, fifth, to a question of privilege ; and this leads, sixth, to a subsidiary motion, as, to lie on the table. The regular course of proceeding requires the motion to lie on the table to be first put ; if this is negatived, the question of privilege is then settled ; after that comes the question of order ; then the question of commitment ; if that is negatived, the question of amendment is PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 461 taken; and, lastly, the main question. This example will sufficiently illustrate the manner in which questions may grow out of one another, and in what order they are to be decided. 1 156. It is a most unparliamentary and abusive proceeding to allow a principal motion, and a subsidiary one relating to it, to be proposed and stated together, and to be put to the question in their order ; as is done when a member moves a principal question — a resolution, for example — and, at the same time, the previous question, or that the resolution lie on the table. In such a case the presiding officer should take no notice whatever of the subsidiary motion, but should propose the principal one by itself in the usual manner, before allowing any other to be made. Other members then would not be deprived of their rights in debate, etc. , in relation to the subject moved. 157. When a member has obtained the floor, he cannot be cut off from addressing the assem- bly on the one question before it; nor, when speaking, can he be interrupted in his speech by any other member rising, and moving an adjourn- ment, or for the orders of the day, or by making any other privileged motion of the same kind : it being a general rule that a member in possession of the floor, or proceeding with his speech, can- not be taken down or interrupted but by a call to order ; and the question of order being decided he is still to be heard through. A call for an adjournment, or for the orders of the day, or for the question, by gentlemen in their seats, is not a motion ; as no motion can be made without rising and addressing the chair, and being called to by the presiding officer. Such calls for the question are themselves breaches of order, which, though the member who has risen may respect them as an expression of the impatience of the assembly at further debate, do not prevent him from going on if he pleases. When, therefore, a member rises whilst another is speaking, and addresses the chair, he should inform the presid- ing officer that he rises to a point of order, or to the orders of the assembly, or to a matter of 1 The order of motions, for the disposal of any question, is usually fixed by a special rule, in legislative assemblies. privilege. It will then be the duty of the presid- ing officer to direct the member speaking to sus- pend his remarks, or to resume his seat, and the member rising to proceed with the statement of his point or other matter of order or of privilege. If the latter, on proceeding, discloses matter which shows that the interruption was proper, the sub- ject so introduced must first be disposed of; and then .the member who was interrupted is to be directed to proceed with his speech. If it ap- pears that there was no sufficient ground for the interruption, the member rising is to be directed to resume his seat ; and the member interrupted to proceed with his speech. Any matter of privilege affecting the assembly itself, or any of its members, of which the assembly ought to have instant information, furnishes an occasion for interruption ; as, for example, where access to the place of sitting of the assembly is obstructed, or the person of a member is attacked ; or where something connected with the proceeding of the assembly requires instant attention, as where it becomes necessary to have lights ; or where something occurs relative to the member himself who is speaking, as where he is annoyed and dis- turbed by noise and disorder, or where, in con- sequence of his strength failing him, it becomes necessary that he should finish his speech sitting. CHAPTER XII. Order in Debate. 158. It is a general rule, in all deliberative assemblies, that the presiding officer shall not participate in the debate or other proceedings, in any other capacity than as such officer. He is only allowed, therefore, to state matters of fact within his knowledge ; to inform the assembly on points of order or the course of proceeding, when called upon for that purpose, or when he finds it necessary to do so ; and, on appeals from his decision on questions of order, to address the assembly in debate. Section I. As to the Manner of Speaking. 159. When a member desires to address the assembly on any subject before it (as well as to make a motion), he is to rise and stand up in his 4G2 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. place, uncovered, and to address himself not to the assembly or any particular member, but to the presiding officer, who, on hearing him, calls to him by his name, that the assembly may take notice who it is that speaks, and give their attention accordingly. If any question arises, as to who shall be entitled to the floor where several members rise at or nearly at the same time, it is decided in the manner already de- scribed (38), as to obtaining the floor to make a motion. 160. It is customary, indeed, for the presiding officer, after a motion has been made, seconded, and proposed, to give the floor to the mover, 1 in preference to others, if he rises to speak ; or, on resuming a debate after an adjournment, to give the floor, if he desires it, to the mover of the adjournment, in preference to other members; or, where two or more members claim the floor, to prefer him who is opposed to the meas- ure in question ; but, in all these cases, the deter- mination of the presiding officer may be over- ruled by the assembly. 161. No person, in speaking, is to mention a member then present by his name ; but to de- scribe him by his seat in the assembly, or as the member who spoke last, or last but one, or on the other side of the question, or by some other equivalent expression. The purpose of this rule is to guard as much as possible against the excite- ment of all personal feeling, by separating, as it were, the official from the personal character cf each member. 162. If the presiding officer rises up to speak, any other member who may have risen for the same purpose ought to sit down, in order that the former may be first heard ; but this rule does not authorize the presiding officer to interrupt a mem- ber whilst speaking, or to cut off one to whom he has given the floor; he must wait like other members, until such member has done speaking, 1 Sometimes a member, instead of proposing his motion at first, proceeds with his speech ; but in such a case he is liable to be taken down to order, unless he states that he intends to conclude with a motion, and informs the assem- bly what that motion is ; and then he may be allowed to proceed. except when the member himself is guilty of a breach of order. 163. A member, whilst speaking, must remain standing in his place, uncovered ; and, when he has finished his speech, he ought to resume his seat ; but if unable to stand without pain or in- convenience, in consequence of age, sickness, or other infirmity, he may be indulged to speak sitting. Sect. II. As to the Matter in Speaking. 164. Every question that can be made in a deliberative assembly is susceptible of being de- bated 2 according to its nature ; that is, every member has the right of expressing his opinion upon it. Hence it is a general rule, and the principal one relating to this matter, that, in debate, those who speak are to confine them- selves to the question, and not to speak imperti- nently or beside the subject. So long as a mem- ber has the floor, and keeps within the rule, he may speak for as long a time as he pleases. 165. It is also a rule, that no person, in speak- ing, is to use indecent language against the pro- ceedings of the assembly, or to reflect upon any of its prior determinations, unless he means to conclude his remarks with a motion to rescind such determination; but while a proposition under consideration is still pending, and not adopted, though it may have been reported by a committee, reflections on it are no reflections on the assembly. The rule applies equally to the proceedings of committees ; which are, indeed, the proceedings of the assembly. 166. Another rule in speaking is, that no member is at liberty to digress from the matter of the question, to fall upon the person of another, and to speak reviling, nipping, or un- mannerly words of or to him. The nature or con- sequences of a measure may be reprobated in strong terms ; but to arraign the motives of those who advocate it, is a personality and against order. 2 In legislative bodies, it is usual to provide that certain questions, as, for example, to adjourn, to lie on the table, for the previous question, or as to the order of business, shall be decided without debate. PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 463 167. It often happens, in the consideration of a subject, that, whilst the general question re- mains the same, the particular question before the assembly is constantly changing : thus while, for example, the general question is on the adop- tion of a series of resolutions, the particular question may, at one moment, be on an amend- ment ; at another, on postponement ; and, again, on the previous question. In all these cases, the particular question supersedes, for the time, the main question ; and those who speak to it must confine their remarks accordingly. The enforce- ment of order in this respect requires the closest attention on the part of the presiding officer. 168. When a member is interrupted by the presiding officer, or called to order by a member, for irrelevancy or departing from the question, he is still to be allowed to proceed in order, that is, abandoning the objectionable course of remark. Sect. III. As to Times of Speaking. 169. The general rule in all deliberative as- semblies, unless it is otherwise specially provided, is, that no member shall speak more than once to the same question; 1 but when all members who desire to speak have spoken, a member may speak a second time by leave of the assembly. 170. If a resolution is moved and debated, and then referred to a committee, those who speak on the introduction of the motion may speak again on the question presented by the report of the committee, though it is sub- stantially the same question with the former ; and so a member who has spoken on the princi- pal or main question may speak again on all the subsidiary or incidental questions arising in the course of the debate. That is, he may speak to the same subject as often as it is presented in the form of a different question. 171. A member may also be permitted to speak a second time in the same debate, in order to clear a matter of fact, or merely to explain himself in some material part of his speech ; or 1 The mover and seconder, if they do not speak to the question at the time when the motion is made and seconded, have the same right with other members to address the as» sembly. to the orders of the assembly, if they be trans- gressed (although no question may be made), but carefully keeping within that line, and not (ailing into the matter itself. 172. It is sometimes supposed that because a member has a right to explain himself, he there- fore has a right to interrupt another member whilst speaking, in order to make the explana- tion, but this is a mistake ; he should wait until the member speaking has finished ; and if a member, on being requested, yields the floor for an explanation, he relinquishes it altogether. Sect. IV. As to Stopping Debate. 173. The only mode in use in this country,. until recently, for the purpose of putting an end to an unprofitable or tiresome debate, was by moving the previous question ; the effect of which motion has already been explained. 174. The other mode of putting an end to debate, which has recently been introduced into use, is for the assembly to adopt beforehand, a special order in reference to a particular subject, that at such a time specified, all debate upon it shall cease, and all motions or questions pending in relation to it shall be decide J. 175. Another rule, which has lately been in- troduced for the purpose of shortening rather than stopping debate, is that no member shall be permitted to speak more than a certain specified time on any question ; so that when the time allotted has expired, the presiding officer an- nounces the fact, and the member speaking resumes his seat. Sect. V. As to Decorum in Debate. 176. Every member having the right to be heard, every other member is bound to conduct himself in such a manner that this right may be eifectual. Hence it is a rule of order, as well as of decency, that no member is to disturb another in his speech by any disorderly deportment which tends to disturb or disconcert a member who is speaking. (See 32.) 177. But if a member speaking finds that he is not regarded J with that respectful attention which his equal right demands, — that it is not the- 4G4 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. inclination of the assembly to hear him, and that by conversation or any other noise they endeavor to drown his voice, — it is his most prudent course to submit himself to the pleasure of the assembly, and to sit down. 178. It is the duty of the presiding officer, in such a case, to endeavor to reduce the assembly to order and decorum ; but if his repeated calls to order, and his appeals to the good sense and decency of the members prove ineffectual, it then becomes his duty to call by name any member who obstinately persists in irregularity and to try him before the assembly as already provided. (33 and 34-) 179. If, on repeated -trials, the presiding offi- cer finds that the assembly will not support him in the exercise of his, authority, he will then be justified, but not till then, in permitting without CSJlsure every kind of disorder. Sect VI. As to Disorderly Words. 180. If a member, in speaking, makes use of language which is personally offensive to another or insulting to the assembly, and the member' offended, or any other, thinks proper to com- plain of it to the assembly, the course of pro- ceeding is as follows : 181. The member speaking is immediately interrupted in the course of his speech, by an- other or several members rising and calling to order; and the member who objects or com- plains of the words is then called upon by the presiding officer to state the words which he com- plains of, repeating them exactly as he conceives them to have been spoken, in order that they may be reduced to writing by the clerk ; or the member complaining, without being so called upon, may proceed at once to state the words either verbally or in writing and desire that the clerk may take them down at the table. The presiding officer may then direct the clerk to take them down ; but if he sees the objection to be a trivial one, and thinks there is no foundation for their being thought disorderly, he will prudently delay giv- ing any such directions, in order not unneces- sarily to interrupt the proceedings ; though if the members generally seem to be in favor of having the words taken down, by calling out to that effect, or by a vote which the assembly may doubtless pass, the presiding officer should cer- tainly order the clerk to take them down in the form and manner in which they are stated by the member who objects. 182. The words objected to being thus written down, and forming a part of the minutes in the clerk's book, they are next to be read to the member who was speaking, who may deny that those are the words which he spoke ; in which case the assembly must decide by a question, whether they are the words or not. 1 If he does not deny that he spoke those words, or when the assembly has itself determined what the words are, then the member may either justify them, or explain the sense in which he used them, so as to remove the objection to their being disorderly ; or he may make an apology for them. 183. If the justification or explanation or apology of the member is thought sufficient by the assembly, no further proceeding is necessary ; the member may resume and go on with his speech, the assembly being presumed, unless some further motion is made, to be satisfied; but if any two members think it necessary, then the sense of the assembly must be taken by vote, the member withdrawing, and such further proceed- ings had in relation to punishing the member, as may be thought necessary and proper. 184. If offensive words are not taken no- tice of at the time they are spoken, but the member is allowed to finish his speech, and then any other person speaks, or any other matter of business intervenes, before notice is taken of the words which gave offense, the words are not to be written down, or the member using them censured. CHAPTER XIII. The Question. 185. When any proposition is made to a de- liberative assembly, it is called a motion ; when it is stated or propounded to the assembly for their acceptance or rejection, it is denominated a ques- 1 The words, as written down, may be amended so as to conform to what the assembly thinks to be the truth. PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 465 Hon; and, when adopted, it becomes the order, resolution, or vote, of the assembly. 186. When any proposition, whether princi- pal, subsidiary, or incidental, or of whatever nature it may be, is made, seconded, and stated, if no alteration is proposed, or if it admits of none, or if it is amended, and the debate upon it, if any, appears to be brought to a close, the presiding officer then inquires whether the assem- bly is ready for the question ; and, if no person rises, the question is then stated, and the votes of the assembly taken upon it. Strictly speaking, no question can arise in a deliberative assembly without a motion being first made and seconded. 187. The question is not always stated to the assembly in the precise form in which it arises or is introduced; thus, for example, when a mem- ber presents a petition, or the chairman of a com- mittee offers a report, the question which arises, if no motion is made, is, Shall the petition or the report be received? and so, when the previous question is moved, it is stated in this form, Shall the main question be now put ? the question being stated, in all cases, in the form in which it will appear on the journal, if it passes in the affirm- ative. 188. In matters of trifling importance, or which are generally of course, such as receiving petitions and reports, withdrawing motions, read- ing papers, etc., the presiding officer most com- monly supposes or takes for granted the consent of the assembly, where no objection is expressed, and does not go through the formality of taking the question by a vote. But if, after a vote has been taken in this informal way and declared, any member rises to object, the presiding officer should consider everything that has passed as nothing, and at once go back and pursue the regular course of proceeding. 189. The question being stated by the presid- ing officer, he first puts it in the affirmative, namely : As many as are of the opinion that [repeating the words of the question] say Aye ; and immediately all the members who are of that opinion answer Aye. The presiding officer then puts the question negatively : As many as are of a different opinion, say No ; and thereupon all 30 p-s the members who are of that opinion answer No, The presiding officer judges by his ear which side has "the more voices," and decides accordingly that the ayes have it, or the noes have it, as the case may be. If the presiding officer is doubtful as to the majority of voices, he may put the ques- tion a second time ; and if he is still unable to decide, or if, having decided according to his judgment, any member rises and declares that he believes the ayes or the noes (whichever it may be) have it, contrary to the declaration of the presiding officer, 1 then the presiding officer directs the assembly to divide, in order that the members on the one side and the other may be counted. All divisions, if called at all, must be called and taken immediately after the announce- ment from the chair. 190. In some of our legislative assemblies, and especially in those of the New England States, the votes are given by the members holding up their right hands, first those in the affirmative, and then those in the negative, of the question. 191. When a division of the assembly takes place, the presiding officer sometimes directs the members to range themselves on different sides of the assembly-room, and either counts them him- self, or they are counted by tellers appointed by him for the purpose, or by monitors permanently appointed for that and other purposes ; or the members rise in their seats, first on the affirma- tive and then on the negative, and (standing un- covered) are counted in the same manner. When the members are counted by the presiding officer, he announces the numbers, and declares the re- sult. When they are counted by tellers or moni- tors, the tellers must first agree among themselves, and then the one who has told for the majority reports the numbers to the presiding officer, who thereupon declares the result. 192. If the members are equally divided, it then becomes the duty of the presiding officer to give the casting vote ; in doing which he may, if he pleases, give his reasons. 193. It is a general rule, that every member who is in the assembly-room at the time when !The most common expression is, " I doubt the vote; " or, u That vote is doubted." 466 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. the question is stated has not only the right, but is bound, to vote ; and, on the other hand, that no member can vote who was not in the room at that time. > 194. Another form of taking the question, which is peculiar to the legislative bodies of the United States, is called taking the question by yeas and nays. In order to take a question in this manner, it is stated on both sides at once: namely, As many as are of opinion that, etc., will, when their names are called, answer Yes ; and, As many as are of a different opinion will, when their names are called, answer No. The roll of the assembly is then called over by the clerk ; and each member, as his name is called, rises in his place, and answers yes or no, and the clerk notes the answer as the roll is called. 1 When the roll has been gone through, the clerk reads over first the names of those who have answered in the affirmative, and then the names of those who have answered in the negative, in order that if he has made any mistake in noting the answer, or if any member has made a mistake in his answer, the mistake of either may be corrected. The names having been thus read over, and the mis- takes, if any, corrected, the clerk counts the numbers on each side or announces the last figures representing them, and reports them to the presiding officer, who declares the result to the assembly. 195. In any of the modes of taking a question, in which it is first put on one side and then on the other, it is no full question until the negative as well as the affirmative has been put. Con- sequently, until the negative has 4 been put, it is in order for any member, in the same manner as if the division had not commenced, to rise and speak, make motions for amendment or other- wise, and thus renew the debate; and this whether such member was in the assembly-room, or not, when the question was put and partly taken. In such a case, the question must be put over again on the affirmative, as well as the nega- 1 Sometimes the clerk places a figure in pencil opposite the name, at left or right according as the answer is yes or no. The last two numbers or figures represent the respec- tive number of affirmative and negative votes. tive side ; but when a question is taken by yeas and nays, and the negative as well as the affirma- tive of the question is stated, and the voting on each side begins and proceeds at the same time, the question cannot be opened and the debate renewed after the voting has commenced. 196. If any question arises in a point of order, as, for example, as to the right or the duty of a member to vote during a division, the presiding officer must decide it peremptorily, subject to the revision and correction of the assembly after the division is over. In a case of this kind, there can be no debate, though the presiding officer may if he pleases receive the assistance of mem- bers with their advice, which they are to give sitting, in order to avoid even the appearance of a debate; but this can only be with the leave of the presiding officer, as otherwise the division might be prolonged to an inconvenient length ; nor can any question be taken, for otherwise there might be division upon division without end. 197. When, from counting the assembly on a division, it appears that there is not a quorum present, there is no decision ; but the matter in question continues in the same state in which it was before the division; and when afterwards resumed, whether on the same or on some future day, it must be taken up at that precise point. CHAPTER XIV. Reconsideration . 198. It is a principle of parliamentary law, upon which many of the rules and proceedings previously stated are founded, that when a ques- tion has been once put to a deliberative assembly and decided, whether in the affirmative or nega* tive, that decision is the judgment of the assem- bly, and cannot again be brought into ques- tion. 199. This principle holds equally, although the question proposed is not the identical question which has already been decided, but only its equivalent; as, for example, where the negative of one question amounts to the affirmative of the other, and leaves no other alternative, these ques- tions are the equivalent of one another, and a PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 467 decision of the one necessarily concludes the other. 200. The inconvenience of this rule, which is still maintained in all its strictness in the British Parliament (though divers expedients are there resorted to, to counteract or evade it), has led to the introduction into the parliamentary practice of this country of the motion for recon- sideration; which, while it recognizes and up- holds the rule in all its ancient strictness, yet allows a deliberative assembly, for sufficient rea- sons, to relieve itself from the embarrassment and inconvenience which would occasionally result from a strict enforcement of the rule in a par- ticular case. 201. It has now come to be a common prac- tice in all our deliberative assemblies, and may consequently be considered as a principle of the common parliamentary law of this country, to reconsider a vote already passed, whether affirma- tively or negatively, when so desired. 2.02.. For this purpose a motion is made and seconded, in the usual manner, that such a vote be reconsidered ; and if this motion prevails, the matter stands before the assembly in precisely the same state and condition, and the same questions are to be put in relation to it, as if the vote re- considered had never been passed. Thus, if an amendment by inserting words is moved and rejected, the same amendment cannot be moved again, but the assembly may reconsider the vote by which it was rejected ; and then the question will recur on the amendment, precisely as if the former vote had never been passed. 203. It is usual in legislative bodies to regu- late by a special rule the time, manner, and by whom a motion to reconsider may be made ; but where there is no special rule on the subject, a motion to reconsider must be considered in the same light as any other motion, and as subject to no other rules. On the motion to reconsider, the whole subject is as much open for debate as if it had not been discussed at all ; and, if the motion prevail, the subject is again open for de- bate on the original motion, in the same manner as if that motion had never been put to the question. CHAPTER XV. Committees. Section I. Their Nature and Functions. 204. It is usual in all deliberative assemblies to prepare matters to be acted upon in the assem- bly, by means of committees composed either of members specially selected for the particular occasion, or appointed beforehand for all mat- ters of the same nature. Committees of the first kind are usually called select, the others standing committees. A committee which is composed of all the members of the assembly is denominated a committee of the whole. 205- The advantages of proceeding in this mode are manifold. It enables a deliberative assembly to do many things which, from its num- bers, it would otherwise be unable to do; to accomplish a much greater quantity of business, by dividing it among the members, than could possibly be accomplished if the whole body were obliged to devote itself to each particular subject. 206. The powers and functions of commit- tees depend chiefly upon the general authority and particular instructions given them by the assem- bly at the time of their appointment ; but they may also be, and very often are, further instructed whilst they are in the exercise of their functions ; and sometimes it even happens that these addi- tional instructions wholly change the nature of a committee, by charging it with inquiries quite different from those for which it was originally established. Sect. II. Their Appointment. 207. In the appointment of select commit- tees, the first thing to be done is to fix upon the number. This is usually effected in the same manner that blanks are filled ; namely, by mem- bers proposing, without the formality of a motion, such numbers as they please, which are then separately put to the question, beginning with the largest, and going regularly through to the smallest, until the assembly comes to a vote. 208. The number being settled, there are three modes of selecting the members ; to wit, by the appointment of the presiding officer, by 468 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. ballut, and by nomination and vote of the as- sembly. 209. In deliberative assemblies whose sittings are of considerable length, as legislative bodies, it is usual to provide by a standing rule, that, unless otherwise ordered in a particular case, all committees shall be named by the presiding officer. Sometimes also the rule fixes the number of which, unless otherwise ordered, committees shall consist. * 210. When a committee is ordered to be appointed by ballot, the members are chosen by the assembly, either singly or all together, as may be ordered, in the same manner that other elections are made. 211. When a committee is directed to be appointed by nomination and vote, the names of the members proposed are put to the question singly, and approved or rejected by the assembly by a vote taken in the usual manner. When the nomination is directed to be made at large, the presiding officer calls upon the assembly to nomi- nate ; and, names being mentioned accordingly, he puts to vote the first name he hears. 212. It is also a compendious' mode of ap- pointing a committee, to revive one which has already discharged itself by a report; or by charging a committee appointed for one pur- pose, with some additional duty of the same or a different character. 213. In regard to the appointment of commit- tees, so far as the selection of the members is concerned, it is a general rule in legislative bodies, when a bill is to be referred, that none who speak directly against 'the body of it are to be of the committee, for the reason that he who would totally destroy will not amend ; but that, for the opposite reason, those who only take exceptions to some particulars in the bill are to be of the committee. 214. It is customary, in all deliberative assem- blies, to constitute a committee of such persons (the mover and seconder of a measure being of course appointed), a majority of whom, at least, are favorably inclined to the measure proposed. 215. When a committee has been appointed in reference to a particular subject, it is the duty of the secretary of the assembly to make out a list of the members, together with a certified copy of the authority or instructions under which they are to act, and to give the papers to the member first named on the list of the committee, if convenient ; but, otherwise, to anv other mem- ber of the committee. Sect. III. Their Organization and Manner of Proceeding. 216. The person first named on a committee acts as its chairman, or presiding officer, so far as relates to the preliminary steps to be taken, and is usually permitted to do so through the whole proceedings; but this is a matter of courtesy, every committee having a right to elect its own chairman, who presides over it, and makes the report of its proceedings to the assembly. 217. A committee is properly to receive direc- tions from the assembly, as to the time and place of its meeting, and cannot regularly sit at any other time or place: and it maybe ordered to sit immediately, whilst the assembly is sitting, and make its report forthwith. 218. When no directions are given, a commit- tee may select its own time and place of meeting ; but, without a special order to that effect, it is not at liberty to sit whilst the assembly sits ; and, if a committee is sitting when the assembly comes to order after an adjournment, it is the duty of the chairman to rise instantly, on being certified of it, and, with the other members, to attend the service of the assembly. 219. In regard to its forms of proceeding, a committee is essentially a miniature assembly : a majority of the member.; is necessary to consti- tute a quorum for business, unless a larger or smaller number lias been fixed by the assembly itself; and a committee has full power over what- ever may be committed to it, except that it is not at liberty to change the title or subject. 220. When a committee is ordered to meet at a particular time, and it fails of doing so for any cause, the committee is closed, and cannot act without being newly directed to sit. 221. Disorderly words spoken in a committee must be written down in the same manner as in PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 4G9 the assembly ; but the committee, as such, can do nothing more than report them to the assembly for its animadversion ; neither can a committee punish disorderly conduct of any other kind, but must report it to the assembly. 222. When any paper is before a committee to be considered, the course for it is the same as if it were before the assembly; but the same strictness in adhering to rules does not seem so necessary in a committee as in the assembly. 223. If the paper before a committee is one which has originated with the committee, ques- tions are put on amendments proposed, but not on agreeing to the several paragraphs of which it is composed, separately, as they are gone through with; this being reserved for the close, when a question is to be put on the whole, for agreeing to the paper as amended or unamended. 224. If the paper be one which has been re- ferred to the committee, they proceed as in. the other case to put questions of amendment, if proposed, but no final question on the whole; because all parts of the paper, having been passed upon if not adopted by the assembly as the basis of its action, stand of course, unless altered or struck out by a vote of the assembly. 225. In the case of a paper originating with a committee, they may erase or interline it as much as they please ; though, when finally agreed to, it ought to be reported in a clear draft, fairly writ- ten, without erasure or interlineation. 226. But, in the case of a paper referred to a committee, they are not at liberty to erase, inter- line, blot, disfigure, or tear it in any manner; but they must in a separate paper set down the amendments they have agreed to report, stating the words which are to be inserted or omitted, and the places where the amendments are to be made, by references to the paragraph or section, line, and word. 227. If the amendments agreed to are very numerous and minute, the committee may report them altogether, in the form of a new and amended draft. 228. When a committee has gone through the paper, or agreed upon a report on the subject which has been referred to them, it is then moved by some member, and thereupon voted, that the committee rise, and that the chairman or some other member make their report to the assembly Sect. IV. Their Report. 229. When the report of a committee is to be made, the chairman, or member appointed to make the report, standing in his place, informs the assembly that the committee to whom was referred such a subject or paper have, according to order, had the same under consideration, and have directed him to make a report thereon, or to report the same with sundry amendments, or without amendment, as the case may be, which he is ready to do when the assembly shall please ; and he or any other member may then move that the report be now received. On this motion be- ing made, the question is put whether the assem- bly will receive the report at that time; and a vote passes accordingly, either to receive it then, or fixing upon some future time for its reception. 230. A minority report is not recognized as a report of the committee, or acted upon as such : it is received by courtesy, and allowed to accom- pany the report, as representing the opinions of the minority ; and, in order to its being adopted by the assembly, it must be moved as an amend- ment to the report, when that comes to be con- sidered. 231. At the time the report is to be received, the chairman reads it in his place, and then de- livers it, together with all the papers connected with it, to the clerk at the table; where it is again read, and then lies on the table until the time assigned, or until it suits the convenience of the assembly to take it up for consideration. In practice, however, a report, if of any consider- able length, is seldom read, either by the chair- man in his place or by the clerk at the table, until it is taken up for consideration. In legis- lative assemblies, the printing of reports generally renders the reading of them unnecessary. 232. The report of a committee being made and received, the committee is dissolved, and can act no more without a new power, and the report becomes the basis of future proceedings of the assembly ; but their authority may be revived 470 PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. by a vote, and the same matter recommitted to them. If a report, when offered to the assembly, is not received, the committee is not thereby dis- charged, but may be ordered to sit again, and a time and place appointed accordingly; or the assembly may recommit to a different com- mittee. 233. At the time assigned for the considera- tion of a report, it may be treated and disposed of precisely like any other proposition (48 to 66) ; and may be amended in the same manner (67 to 107), both in the preliminary statement, reasoning, or opinion, if it contain any, and in the resolutions or otb^r propositions with which it concludes. 234. The final question on a report, whatever form it may have, is usually stated on its accept- ance ; and, when accepted, the whole report is adopted by the assembly, becoming the act of the assembly, in the same manner as if done originally by the assembly itself, without the in- tervention of a committee. Sect. V. Committee of the Whole. 235. When a subject has been ordered to be referred to a committee of the whole, the form of going from the assembly into committee is, for the presiding officer, at the time appointed for the committee to sit, on motion made and seconded for the purpose, to put the question that the assembly do now resolve itself into a com- mittee of the whole, to take under consideration such a matter, naming it. If this question is de- termined in the affirmative, the result is declared by the presiding officer, who, naming some mem- ber to act as chairman of the committee, then leaves the chair, and takes a seat elsewhere like any other member; and the person appointed chairman seats himself, not in the chair of the assembly, but at the clerk's table. 236. The chairman named by the presiding officer is generally acquiesced in by the commit- tee ; though, like all other committees, a com- mittee of the whole have a right to elect a chair- man for themselves ; some member, by general consent, putting the question. 237. The same number of members is neces- sary to constitute a quorum of a committee of the whole, as of the assembly ; and; if the members present fall below a quorum at any time in the course of the proceedings, the chairman on a motion and question rises ; the presiding officer thereupon resumes the chair; and the chairman informs the assembly (he can make no other report) of the cause of the dissolution of the committee. 238. When the assembly is in committee of the whole, it is the duty of the presiding officer to remain in the assembly-room, in order to be at hand to resume the chair in case the commit- tee should be broken up by some disorder or for want of a quorum, or should rise, either to report progress, or to make their final report upon the matter committed to them. 239. The clerk of the assembly does not act as clerk of the committee (this is the duty of the assistant clerk in legislative bodies), or record in his journal any of the proceediegs or votes of the committee, but only their report as made to the assembly. 240. The proceedings in a committee of the whole, though in general similar to those in the assembly itself and in other committees, are yet different in some respects, the principal of which are the following : — 241. First. The previous question cannot be moved in a committee of the whole. The only means of avoiding an improper discussion is, to move that the committee rise; and, if it is appre- hended that the same discussson will be attempted on returning again into committee, the assembly can discharge the committee, and proceed itself with the business, keeping down any improper discussion by means of the previous question. 242. Second. A committee of the whole can- not adjourn, like other committees, to some other time or place, for the purpose of going on with and completing the consideration of the subject referred to them; but, if their business is unfin- ished at the usual time for the assembly to ad- journ, or for any other reason they wish to pro- ceed no further at a particular time, the form of proceeding is, for some member to move that the committee rise, report progress, and ask leave to PARLIAMENTARY RULES AND PRACTICE. 471 sit again. If leave to sit again is not granted, the committee is of course dissolved. 243. Third. In a committee of the whole, every member may speak as often as he pleases, provided he can obtain the floor ; whereas, in the assembly itself, no member can speak more than once on the same question. 244. Fourth. A committee of the whole can- not refer any matter to another committee ; but other committees may and do frequently exercise their functions, and expedite their business, by means of sub-committees of their own members. 245. Fifth. In a committee of the whole, the presiding officer of the assembly has a right to take a part in the debate and proceedings in the same manner as any other member. 246. Sixth. A committee of the whole, like a select committee, has no authority to punish a breach of order, whether of a member or stranger ; but can only rise and report the matter to the assembly, who may proceed to punish the of- fender. 247. When a committee of the whole have gone through with the matter referred to them, a member moves that the committee rise, and that the chairman (or some other member) report their proceedings to the assembly ; which being re- solved, the chairman rises and goes to his place, the presiding officer resumes the chair of the as- sembly, and the chairman informs him that the committee have gone through with the business referred to them, and that he is ready to make their report when the assembly shall think proper to receive it. 248. If the assembly are ready to receive it at the time, they cry out, " Now, now," whereupon the chairman proceeds ; if not then ready, some other time is mentioned, as "to-morrow" or " Monday," and that time is fixed by vote or by general consent. PROGRAMMES AND HOW TO MAKE THEM FROM THE CONTENTS OF THIS VOLUME. THE selections in this volume have been made with a special view to supplying appropriate material for all varieties of literary entertainments. With this end always before him, the compiler has inserted, in perhaps hundreds of instances, suggestions just before the text of selections, advising not only as to how they should be rendered, but to what special entertainment they are particularly adapted. The Little Folks' Department of the volume is a great children's programme — a com- plete storehouse of the brightest and best things for little folks — with instructions and suggestions so frequent that it is unnecessary to give a sample children's programme. It will be but a few minutes' work to make up from this department any and every sort of programme for children's parties, picnic, Sunday-school, day-school, holiday and all sorts of entertainments. Dialogues, like the recitations and readings, have been graded to suit different ages — little tots, schoolboys and girls, and mature men and women ; and for the special benefit of lyceums there are a number of heavy dialogues and Amateur Plays, appealing to the most cultivated tastes and commanding the highest order of tragic and dramatic talent. Shakespeare, Addison, Sheridan, Gilbert and other noted playwriters have been put under tribute for these selections. The Illustrations in this volume will furnish a number of suggestions for tableaux, with ideas for costuming, as well as for attitudes and expression. The Programmes printed on the following pages may be used either as they are written or changed to suit local requirements. Many more programmes on the same subjects and for every other occasion may be prepared from the ample contents of the book. These are intended as outlines. It would be impossible for us to make out and publish here programmes for the various general and special entertainments that are continually being given ; but, with these as guides, any intelligent person may quickly select the material from this book, and prepare an appropriate and highly instructive and entertaining programme for any occasion. The above suggestions and the following sample programmes, if properly observed, wili develop a proficiency in the ' ' getting up ' ' and arrangement of entertainments that will have as great a bearing upon the success of the occasion as the execution of the individual parts. THE PUBLISHERS. 472 Programme for Washington's Birthday Entertainment. Music — Hail to the Chief .'By band or orchestra. March Boys and girls bearing U. S. flags. Declamation — The Birthday of Washington Page 264_ (To be spoken by man or large boy as if an original oration. ) Male Quartette Columbia the Gem of the Ocean (or any patriotic song). Prose Recitation — Christopher Columbus Page 182. (A humorous dialectic account by an Italian of the great discoverer. Should be spoken by one who can. imitate the Italian accent and hurried, nervous manner. ) Music Vocal solo by a lady. Declamation — Washington Page 344. (A character sketch of our hero, suited to oratorical gentleman or boy.) Music -By band. Speeches of Great Warriors Compared. Let them appear as called out, each dressed in < fitting costume, if such can be procured. f 1. Alexander the Great to His Men . 2. Darius of Persia to His Army . . 3. Leonidas to His Three Hundred . 4. Hannibal to His Army . . . . . 5. Scipio to His Army 6. Alfred the Great to His Men . . 7. Napoleon to the Army of Italy . 8. Washington to His Soldiers . . . Page 290. 291. 293. 296. 297. 298. 308. 310. Music — A medley of national airs By band. Tableau The Heroes of the Nations. (Composed of the eight speakers (great warriors) in costume, Washington arranged in centre and elevated above the others, who are grouped around, looking up. Above his head is an arch or banner, inscribed, " The Greatest of Them Aei*.") Music — My Country, 'tis of Thee By band, and song by audience. Note. — Other selections may be added or substituted as occasion may require. Suggestions preceding many selections will prove an easy guide in choosing them. In Little Folks' Department (pages 43 to 90) will be found many children's parts if it is desirable to introduce children, as it will be when the entertain- ment is held at school or church. 473 Programme for ^bth of July Entertainment. Music By band or orchestra. Reading The Declaration of Independence . Song . My Country, 'tis of Thee. (By special choir or by the whole company. ) Original Oration The Causes which Led to the Declaration. (Five minutes long. ) Music Vocal solo by lady. Declamation — Repeal Claimed by Americans as a Right Page 236. (An earnest declamation from friendly English standpoint, by Chatham. The effect will be enhanced if speaker dress as English Karl in Chatham's time. The succeeding speakers should also dress in costume, if possible.) Declamation — The American War Denounced Page 238. (For a young man, impersonating William Pitt. ) March British Redcoats. (Six to twelve dressed as English soldiers.) Music — Revolutionary tunes or modern patriotic airs By band. Recitation — The Old Canteen Page 201. (Suited to man in soldier costume. For this particular occasion a revolutionary costume, if available, will be desirable. ) Music Cornet solo. Declamation — Resistance to British Aggression Page 261. Declamation — The War Inevitable " 262. (The above two are from Patrick Henry, and may be spoken by same person at same time, or one omitted. ) Declamation — For Independence Page 262. Music — Columbia the Gem of the Ocean By band March . Revolutionary soldiers. (Six to twelve, in Continental soldiers' uniforms.) Tableau The Foes. (May be made by representing a British and a revolutionary soldier engaged in the act of combat, the Briton dressed in red coat, the American as a revolutionary soldier, as in the marches. In the back- ground those speakers which have represented Pitt, Chatham, Patrick Henry and Richard Henry Lee, if in costume, may show themselves, as if witnessing the contest. ) NOTE. — Numerous selections of a miscellaneous character may be introduced, either interspersed or added at the close. 474 Programme for Church Entertainment. Music Organ or piano recital. Opening Remarks By the Pastor. (May consist of a prayer, followed by telling briefly any incidents of the church history that he deems appropriate. Should not exceed five or ten minutes, and by no means a sermonette. ) Song Familiar hymn. (The audience invfted to stand and unite in singing.) Salutatory Address — By a boy Page 145. (The wording of this declamation may be changed to suit any special feature or object of the meeting.) Music Violin solo — sacred air. Recitation — No Sects in Heaven Page 367. (May be recited by lady or gentleman. ) Hemorous Reading — Counting Eggs Page 184 (Suited to gentleman who can initate the Negro dialect. The counting and dialogue should be done well. The speaker should practice the shrewd, droll part of the old Negro, and the innocent, unsuspecting part of the lady. The gestures and facial expressions of the Negro in counting the eggs, and his forced interest in the lady's family, to distract attention from the correct count, are the points which need particular study and practice. Very funny when well done. ) Recitation. — Washing Dolly's Clothes Page 76. (For a bright little girl of six years, with washtub, etc. See instructions. ) Song Solo by lady or gentleman. Recitation — The Quality of Mercy Page 376. (Suited to any good reciter. Should be spoken deliberately, and the meaning well interpreted by proper emphasis and inflection.) Recitation — Oh! Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud? Page 374. (This poem is suited to either gentleman or lady. Some elderly person — good elocutionist — would be most appropriate, since the reflective character of the piece is thereby better personified. Before rendering the selection the speaker might repeat the reference to President Lincoln's fondness for the poem, which is printed just before the text. ) Song By the audience. (The audience is invited to rise. This is always restful. "Sweet Bye-and-Bye " or any popular and familiar song will suit.) Humorous Recitation — Yawcob Strauss Page 378. (A funny German character poem in dialect. If the gentleman will dress himself in German style and look fat and jolly it will add to the innocent merriment. No one should attempt this except one who can imitate the German accent. ) Recitation — Things I Do Not Like to See Page 69. (For boy or girl of eight or nine years.) Recitation for Two Gentlemen — Differences of Opinion Page 98. (See instructions. ) Music Vocal quartette. Reading — Good-night y Papa . Page 363. (Pathetic reading, for a lady. ) Declamation — Union of Church and State Page 224. (Suited to gentleman. Should be delivered in an earnest oratorical style, with a desire to impress the errors of a national religion. ) Music Cornet or violin solo. Tableau 1st. Three Graces of Religion (Faith, Hope and Charity). (Should be dressed in Grecian costume, Three tall, graceful ladies. As the curtain is raised, a voice from behind scene may read the Scripture quotation, closing with " the greatest of these is charity. " ) Tableau 2d. Rock of Ages. (Cross, with handsome girl in white robe, bare arms, long flowing hair hanging gracefully. The face should be raised, and a deep devotional expression of countenance should be maintained. One stanza of song sung softly from behind the scenery. Closing Song — God be with You till we Meet Again . By the audience. 475 Programme for Labor Day Entertainment. Music . . . ' Selection by the band. Opening Address By Chairman or invited orator'. (Five to ten minutes.) Song Vocal solo by lady. Declamation — The Nobility of Labor . Page 414. (Suited to young man or bright boy.) Humorous Reading — Too Late for the Train . Page 410. (Suited to a lady. A very humorous narrative when well rendered.) Music Cornet solo. Declamation — What a Common Man May Say Page 192. ( May be recited by a man dressed as a laborer, and accompanied by others similarly dressed and carrying spades, picks, hammers, etc.) Recitation — Socrates Snooks Page 343. (Humorous. Suited to a man who can imitate the voice of a woman at the points required. ) Music Patriotic selections by the band. Narrative Recitation or Reading — The Fireman's Prayer Page 350 (May be rendered by either lady or gentleman. The dramatic parts should be carefully studied and rendered so as to make the fire scene as realistic as possible.) Song Male quartette. Declamation — Devotion to Duty Page 201. (Earnest style, the object being to show there is nothing so noble as standing to the post of duty. ) (Humorous selection. Adapted to one who can imitate the Negro dialect and act the Negro character. ) Remarks — Was it Right? . Page 413. (A bit of dry humor. The r»*>rrator must appear unconscious of the fact that he is making frn, and keep his countenance straight. ) Vocal Duet Lady and gentleman. Declamation — Success in Life . . . Page 188. (Should be spoken with force and earnestness, as if an original address.) Dialogue — How the Money Goes Page 394. (A selection for several characters, the object being to impress a lesson of economy and warn men against drink and play which consumes their money. It also suggests important domestic truths. ) Tableau The Army of Labor. (Let fifteen or twenty persons be arranged on the stage, representing different pursuits : 1. Shoemaker at his last. 2. Blacksmith at his anvil. 3. Farmer with his plow. 4. Carpenter at his bench. 5. Paddy with his spade. 6. Printer at his case. 7. Weaver at his loom, etc. The number may be increased to suit, and made as elaborate as circumstances will permit.) Note. — For special children's and young people's parts, consult pages 43 to 208. Humorous, dramatic and other selections may also be added indefinitely, by consulting Miscellaneous Selections, pages 300 to 425. 476 Recitation — De Pint wid Old Pete Page loc Programme for School Entertainment. Music School glee club or orchestra. Opening Remarks By Superintendent or Principal. Declamation — The Salutatoriari s Difficulties Page 395. (Funny medley for several boys. If well acted, will appear quite realistic to the audience.) Humorous Recitation — Betty and the Bear Page 325. (For bright girl.) Music Piano duet by two girls. Dialogue — Handy Andy and the Squire Page 150. (For two bright boys. One to play the Irishman, the other a gentleman.) Declamation — Eloquence of Action . , ....... Page 197. (For a large boy.) Humorous Reading — A Model Love Letter Page 200. (For young lady of fourteen to eighteen years. See instructions.) Music Vocal solo, with chorus. Dialogue — The Hunter and the Child Page 132. (Big boy and little girl. See instructions. ) Recitation — -Joe Page 136. (Pathetic and dramatic. Suited to large girl or young lady. ) Humorous Reading — -Judge Brown s Watermelon Story Page 93. ( Adapted to large boy, who can control himself and tell a funny story without laughing. ) Music Violin and piano duet by boy and girl. Recitation — Kentucky Philosophy . Page 342. (Negro dialect piece for bright girl or boy, impersonating an old Negro woman. ) Recitation — -The Gambler's Wife - Page 360. (For young lady.) Humorous Recitation — Mollie's Little Ram Page 342. (For boy or girl. ) Drill Calisthenics, fan or broom drill, with music. Note. — Numerous other selections found in Parts III., IV., V. and VI. of this volume. 477 Programme for Thanksgiving Day Entertainment. Music Organ or piano recital. Reading The 23d Psalm — " The Lord is My. Shepherd." Prayer By Minister or Chaplain. Music National airs by band. Recitation — Tom's Thanksgiving Page 359 " (Suited to lady of maternal appearance ) Recitation — Grandfather 's Barn . Page 94. (Parody on "Old Oaken Bucket.'' Should be spoken by a gentleman in a tone of pleasant recollection with regret that the happy days are gone.) Music . Vocal quartette. Recitation — The Dressed Turkey ' Page 10? (Suited to male or female.) Humorous Reading — Putting Up