Class TN^ Z H't Book . ^3 3 Copyright^ . COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. Patriotic recitations TOGETHER WITH NINETY-NINE OTHER CHOICE READINGS AND RECITATIONS This choice collection of Recitations includes, in addition to all of the well known patriotic pieces many others suitable for read- ing's on all occasions. While many are especially adapted for Decoration Day, Fourth of July, Washington's and Lincoln's Birthdays, etc., there are others in both poetry and prose of a humorous, pathetic and descriptive character. A •:..:; PUBLISHERS Yhe J^enneberry Qompany CHICAGO TM ***» t THF LIBRARY ©F ©CNGfiESS, Two Cop»b» Rtcervei MAR. 8 * 1902 «©pyR«HT SWTftY CLASS A^XXa N* y COPY B. Copyright 1901 BY THE HENNEBERRY COMPANY. • ■ # «» ••• • ■ --- * », • • •„••••• « • ^ j » • • • •••,**.. 41.. • • ♦•••••••*« ... .•• .•» • .« »*. •*• •• ••■• « * ?• 1 • • * ■■••«•»• • • * . PREFACE The day will never come when the memorizing" and reciting of poems and choice prose — efforts by our best writers and greatest orators — will cease to be popular with our American youth. It is a part of your inheritance to preserve the utter- ance of the men and women who have, by their voice and pen, done much to advance the spirit of patriotism— the chief char- acteristic of our American manhood and womanhood. The art of oratory is best acquired bv the committing and delivery of approved examples of speeches and poems, hence the aspirant for great oratorical skill should count no labor lost that requires much study and practice of what others have written and delivered. Webster, Clay, Calhoun, Benton, Fox and Sheridan, as well as the great orators of antiquity, Demos- thenes, Cicero, owed their wonderful elocutionary powers to this practice, and he who would emulate their success must be willing to pay the price thereof. It is believed that not only teachers and pupils, but those young men and women who have gone out into the work-a-day world to battle with life's currents, will welcome this new series of speakers, a full contents of which may be found in the back of all of our publications. Choice *Re citations. Dialogues and Entertainments Published by The, HEjsrjVEizE'R'Rjr CoMTAjsry * 4-09-429 Dearborn St. CHICAGO American Nights Entertainments. By Josephine Stafford. Contains nearly 100 Original Games, Costume Parties, etc. Cloth, 50 cents; paper, 25 cents. American Star Speaker and Elocutionist. Edited by Charles W. Brown. Contains upwards of 500 choice Recitations with complete text. Cloth, $1.50. McBride's Latest Dialogues. By H. Elliott McBride. Con- tains the latest and best Dialogues, Parlor Games, Colloquies, etc. Cloth, 50 cents; paper, 25 cents. Familiar Recitations. Contains about 100 old and familiar pieces suitable for delivery at all times. Cloth, 50 cents; paper, 25 cents. Humorous Recitations. Contains about 100 very funny recita- tions of a Dutch, Irish, Yankee, French and Negro dialect. Cloth, 50 cents; paper, 25 cents. Choice Temperance Recitations. Contains about 100 well se- lected readings, suitable for Schools, Clubs, Lodges, Societies, etc. Cloth, 50 cents; paper, 25 cents. Holiday Entertainments. Contains 100 excellent entertainments for all holidays ; Christmas, Thanksgiving, Decoration, Fourth of July, etc. Cloth, 50 cents; paper, 25 cents. Sunday School Entertainments. Contains about 100 appropri- ate selections for Sunday School, Church, Parlor, Society and Lodge Entertainments. Cloth, 50 cents; paper, 25 cents. Patriotic Recitations. Contains about 100 selections suitable for Decoration Day, Fourth of July, Lincoln and Washington Birthdays, etc. Cloth, 50 cents; paper, 25 cents. Comic Recitations: Contains about all of the really funny, short recitations written, and suitable for delivery at Lodges, Clubs, and Public Entertainments. Cloth, 50 cents; paper 25 cents. The Century Book of Recitations. Comprises many choice readings and a brief text on Elocution and Reading. Price, cloth, 50 cents; paper 25 cents. The Century Book of Irish Wit and Humor. As the title implies, covers the entire field of choice Irish dialect; very popular. Cloth, 50 cents; paper, 25 cents. For sale by all Booksellers or seat postpaid with Catalog on receipt of price. CONTENTS PAGE. A True Hero 8 Ambition 87 An Alphabet Ill An American Exile 121 American Flag, The 4 Base Ball Match, The 27 Bob's Christmas Dinner 28 Barbara Fritchie 116 Counting the Shingles 30 Changed Cross 34 Coming 45 Children, The 49 Coals of Fire 74 City and Country Rat, The 86 Chicago 100 Constitution and the People, The 107 Courage 112 Death on the Stage 42 Dutchman's Mistake, The 96 Death of the Drunkard's Boy . . . . 113 Evacuation of Richmond......... 61 Foreclosure of the Mortgage .... 5 Fourth of July 39 Flower of Liberty 139 Fourth of July 114 Great Temptation, The 16 Grandmother's Sermon 41 Hunting a Mouse 14 Heroes of '76, The 32 How It Happened 47 History of Our Flag 63 How Willie was Saved 77 Higher Life, The 99 Independence Bell 51 Independence Day 119 Little Nellie's Visit from Santa Claus 18 Last Broadside, The...,...,,, .... 22 PAGE Lips that Touch Liquor Shall Never Touch Mine, The 24 Little Criss' Letter to Jesus . 54 Little Jim 97 Lincoln, by Park Goodwin 117 Love of Country 132 Measuring the Baby 43 Maniac's Wail, The 84 Master Pry den Goes to Church.. 94 Nobody's Child 56 New Minister, The 59 Nathan Hale, the Martyr Spy.. . 127 Nationality, A Fourth of July Address 131 Old Ship Zi on, The 20 Owl , The— A Boy's Composition . . 23 Old Woman's Railway Signal, The 91 One Day Nearer Home 106 Our Country's Greatness 101 Our Centennial Celebration 125 Our Whole Country 133 Penny Ye Meant to Gie, The 12 Papa's Letter 37 Poor House Nan 70 Solemn Book Agent, The 66 Self Sacrifice 75 Schneider's Tomatoes 89 Stage Driver's Story, The ........ 89 True Love 48 Teach Me to Live 57 Two Men in One 102 Then and Now (1776-1876) 124 Village Sewing Society, The 11 Value of Time, The 104 Word to Our Girls, A 53 Was the Man Killed 58 What the Old Man Said 68 Wrong Train, The 80 What the Cloud Brings 109 Washington's Name 3 Patriotic Recitations. WASHINGTON'S NAME. At the heart of our country the tyrant was leaping, To dye there the point of his dagger in gore, When Washington sprang from the watch he was keeping, And drove back the tyrant in shame from our shore: The cloud that hung o'er us then parted and roll'd Its wreaths far away, deeply tinctured with flame, And high on its fold Was a legend that told The brightness that circled our Washington's name. Long years have roll'd on, and the sun still has brighten'd Our mountains and fields with its ruddiest glow; And the bolt that he wielded so proudly has lighten'd With a flash as intense, in the face of the foe: On the land and the sea, the wide banner has roll'd O'er many a chief, on his passage to fame, And still on its fold Shine in letters of gold The glory and worth of our Washington's name. And so it shall be while Eternity tarries, And pauses to tread in the footsteps of Time; The bird of the tempest, whose quick pinion carries Our arrows of vengeance, shall hover sublime: Wherever that flag on the wind shall be roll'd, All hearts shall be kindled with anger and shame If e'er they are told They are careless and cold, In the £lory that circles our Washington's name. By James Q. Pebctval. PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. THE AMERICAN FLAG. When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there; She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land. II. Majestic monarch of the cloud! Who rear'st aloft thy legal form, To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, And see the lightning lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder drum of heaven- Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle-stroke, And bid its blending shine afar, Like rainbows on the cloud of war, The harbingers of victory! d III. Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph, high, When speaks the signal trumpet-tone, And the long line comes gleaming on; Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn To where the sky-born glories burn, And as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from the glance; And when the cannon-mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, And gory sabres rise and fall, Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall: Then shall thy meteor-glances glow, And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death, PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. IV. Flag of the seas! on ocean wave Thy stars shall shall glitter o'er th« brave: When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly on the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye. Hurrah for the awning! On the fly, It caught the youngster, and tossed him high. The bounce prodigious made baby scowl: He caught his breath, sir, and set up a howl. And blessed that awning that had no flaw, But a madder baby you never saw. THE FORECLOSURE OF THE MORTGAGE. Walk right in the settin'-room, Deacon, it's all in a muddle you see, But I hain't no heart to right it, so I've jest let everything be. Besides I'm a-goin'to morrow — I kalkilate to start with the dawn — And the house won't seem so home-like if it ? s all upset and forlorn. I sent off the children this morning; they both of them begged to stay, But I thought 'twould be easier, mebbe, if I was alone to-day. For this was the very day, Deacon, just twenty years ago. That Caleb an' me moved in ; so I couldn't f orgit, you know. He was so busy and happy! — we'd been married a month before — And Caleb would clear the table an* brush up the kitchen floor. He said I was tired an' he'd help me; but law! that was always his way — Always handy, and helpful, and kind, to the very last day. Don't you remember, Deacon, that winter I broke my arm ? Why Caleb skursly left me, not even to tend to the farm. 6 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. There night and morning I saw him, a-settin' so close to my bed. And I knew him in spite of the fever that made me so wild in my head. He never did nothin' to grieve me, until he left me be- hind — Y :s, I know there's no use in talkin', but somehow it eases my mind: And he sot so much store by ' you, Deacon, I needn't tell you now, But unless he had your judgment, he never would buy a cow. Well, our cow has gone, and the horse, too — poor Caleb was fond of Jack — And I cried like a fool this morning when I looked at the empty rack. I hope he'll be kindly treated; 'twould worry poor Caleb so If them Joneses should whip that creter — but I s'pose he ain't like to know I've been thinkin' it oyer lately, that when Mary sickened and died, - Her father's sperret was broken, for she was alius his pride. He wasn't never so cheery; he'd smile, — but the smile wa'n't bright, And he didn't care for the cattle, though once they'd been his delight. The neighbors all said he was ailin', and they tried to hint it to me; They talked of a church-yard cough; but oh! the blind are those who won't see. I never believed he was goin' till I saw him a-lyin' here dead. There, there! don't be anxious, Deacon; I haven't no team to shed. I've tried to keep things together — I've been slavin' early and late — But I couldn't pay the interest, nor git the farm work straight. So of course I've gone behindhand, and if the farm should sell For enough to pay the mortgage, I s'pose 'twill be doin' well. RECITATION? AND READINGS. 7 I've prayed ag'inst all hard f eelin's, and to walk as a Chris- tian ought, But it's hard to see Caleb's children turned out of the place he bought; And readin' that text in the Bible 'bout widows and or- phans, you know, I can't think the folks will prosper who are willin' to see us go. But there! I'm a-keepin' you, Deacon, and it's nigh your time for tea, " Won't I come over?" No, thank you; I feel better alone, you see. Besides, I couldn't eat nothin'; whenever I've tried it to- day, There's something here that chokes me. I'm narvous, I s'pose you'll say. " I've worked too hard?" No, I haven't. Why, its work that keeps me strong; If I sot here thinkin', I'm sartin my heart would break be- fore long. Not that I care about livin', I'd ruther be laid away In the place I've marked beside Caleb, to rest till the judgment day. But there's the children to think of — that makes my dooty clear. And I'll try to follow it, Deacon, though I'm tired of this earthly sphere Good-by, then. I shan't forgit you, nor all the kindness you've showed. 'Twill help to cheer me to-morrow as I go on my lonely road, For — What are you sayin', Deacon? I needn't — I needn't go? You've bought the mortgage and I can stay? Stop! say it over slow! Jest wait now — jest wait a minute — I'll take it in bime-by. That I can stay. Why Deacon, I don't — don't know what makes me cry? I haven't no word to thank you. Ef Caleb was only here, He'd sech a head for speakin' he'd make my f eelins' clear. There's a picter in our Bible of an angel from the skies, 8 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. And though lie hasn't no great coat and no spectacles on his eyes, He looks just like you, Deacon, with your smile so good and trew, And whenever I see that picter, 'twill make me think oi you. The children will be so happy! Why, Debby will 'most go wild; He fretted so much at leavin' her behind, poor child! And, law! I'm as glad as Debby, ef only for jest one thing — Now I can tend the posie, I planted, last spring On Caleb's grave; he loved the flowers, and it seems as ef he'll know They're a bloomin' all around him while he's sleepin' there below.— Mrs. K T. Gorbett. A TRUE HERO. It was in the gray of the early morning, in the season of Lent. Broad street, from Fort Hill to State street, was crowded with hastening worshippers, attendants on early church. Maidens, matrons, boys and men jostled and hur- ried on toward the churches; some with countenances sin* cerely sad, others with apparent attempts to appear in accord with the sombre season; while many thoughtless and careless ones joked and chatted, laughed and scuffled along in the hurrying multitude. Suddenly a passer-by noticed tiny wreaths and puffs of smoke starting from the shingles of the roof upon a large warehouse. The great structure stood upon the corner, silent, bolted, and tenantless; and all the windows, save a small round light in the upper story, were closely and securely covered with heavy shutters. Scarcely had the smoke been seen by one, when others of the crowd looked up in the same direction, and detected the unusual occurrence. Then others joined them, and still others followed, until a swelling multitude gazed upward to the roof over which the smoke soon hung like a fog; while from eaves and shutter of the upper story little jets of black smoke burst suddenly out into the clear morning air. Then came a flash, like the lightning's glare, through RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 9 the frame of the little gable window, and then another, brighter, ghastlier, and more prolonged. " Fire!" " Fire!" screamed the throng, as, moved by a single impulse, they pointed with excited gestures toward the window. Quicker than the time it takes to tell, the cry reached the corner, and Avas flashed on messenger wires to tower and steeple, engine and hose house, over the then half-sleeping city. Great bells with ponderous toDgues repeated the cry with logy strokes, little bells with sharp and spiteful clicks recited the news; while half -conscious firemen, watching through the long night, leaped upon engines and hose-carriages, and rattled into the street. Soon the roof of the burning warehouse was drenched with floods of water, poured upon it from the hose of many engines; while the surging multitude in Broad street had grown to thousands of excited spectators. The engines puffed and hooted, the engineers shouted, the hook-and- fadder boys clambered upon roof and cornice, shattered the shutters and burst in the doors, making way for the rescuers of merchandise and for the surging nozzles of available hose-pipe. But the wooden structure was a seething fur- nace throughout all its upper portion; while water and ventilation seemed only to increase its power and fury. "Comedown! Comedown! Off that roof ! Come out of that building!" shouted an excited man in the crowd, struggling w r ith all his power in the meshes of the solid mass of men, women and children in the street. " Come down! For God's sake come down! The rear store is filled with barrels of powder!" "Powder! Powder!" screamed the engineer through his trumpet. "Powder!" shouted the horsemen. "Powder!" called the brave boys on roof and cornice. "Powder!" an- swered the trumpet of the chief. "Powder!" "Powder!" "Powder!" echoed the men in the burning pile; and from ladder, casement, window, roof and cornice leaped terrified firemen with pale faces and terror-stricken limbs. "Push back the crowd!" shouted the engineer. "Run for your lives! Run! run! run!" roared the trumpets of the engineers. But, alas! the crowd was dense and spread so far through 10 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. cross streets and alleys, that away on the outskirts, through the shouts of men, the whistling of the engines, and the roar of the heaven-piercing flames, the orders could not be heard. The frantic beings in front, understanding theii danger, pressed wildly back. The firemen pushed their engines and their carriages against the breasts of the crowd; but the throng moved not. So densely packed was street and square, and so various and deafening the noises, that the army of excited spectators in the rear still pressed forward with irresistible force, unconscious of danger, and regarding any outcry as a mere ruse to disperse them for con- venience sake. The great mass swayed and heaved like waves of the sea; but beyond the terrible surging of those in front, whose heart-rending screams half drowned the whistles, there was no sign of retreat. As far as one could see, the streets were crowded with living human flesh and blood. "My God! my God!" said the engineer in despair. "What can be done? Lord have mercy on us all! What can be done?" "What can be done! I'll tell you what can be done," said one of Boston's firemen, whose hair was not yet sprinkled with gray. "Yes, bring out that powder! And I'm the man to do it. Better one man perish than perish all. Follow me with the water, and, if God lets me live long enough, I'll have it out." Perhaps as the hero rushed into the burning pile, into a darkness of smoke and a withering heat, he thought of the wife and children at home, of the cheeks he had kissed in the evening, of the cheerful good-by of the prattling ones, and the laugh as he gave the "last tag;" for, as he rushed from the hoseman who tied the handkerchief over his mouth, he muttered, " God care for my little ones when I am gone." Away up through smoke and flame and cloud to the heights of heaven's throne, ascended that prayer, " God care for my little ones when I am gone," and the mighty Father and the loving Son heard the fireman's pe- tition. Into the flame of the rear store rushed the hero, and, groping to the barrels, rolled them speedily into the alley, where surged the stream from the engines; rushing back and forth with power superhuman, in the deepest smoke. RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 11 when even the hoops which bound the powder-barrels had already parted with fire, and while deadly harpoons loaded to pierce the whales of the Arctic seas began to explode, and while iron darts flashed by him in all directions, pene- trating the walls and piercing the adjacent buildings. But as if his heroic soul was an armor-proof, or a charm impene- trable, neither harpoon nor bomb, crumbling timbers, nor showers of flaming brands, did him aught of injury, beyond the scorching of his hair and eyebrows, and the blistering of his hands and face. 'Twas a heroic deed. Did ever field of battle, wreck or martyrdom, show a braver? No act in all the list of song and story, no self-sacrifice in the history of the rise and fall of empires, was nobler than that, save one, and then the Son of God himself hung bleeding on the cross. — It. II. Conwell. i THE VILLAGE SEWING SOCIETY. "Mis' Jones is late agen to-day; Fd be ashamed now ef 'twas me. Don't tell it, but I've heerd folks say She only comes to git her tea." "Law me! she needn't want it here. The deacon's folks ain't much on eatin'; They haven't made a pie this year! Of course, 'twont do to be repeatin'; "But old Mis' Jenkins says it's true (Tou know she lives just 'cross the way, And sees most everything they do). She says she saw 'em t'other day— "Hush, here comes Hannah! How d'ye do? Why, what a pretty dress you've got! (Her old merino made up new ; jTknow it by that faded spot.") * Just look! there's Dr. Stebbins' wif e " — "A bran-new dress and bunnit! — well — They say she leads him such a life! But, there, I promised not to tell. 13 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. " What's that, Mis' Brown? < All friends? of course; And you can see with your own eyes, That that gray mare's the better horse, Though gosslpin' I do despise." " Poor Mary Allen's lost her beau " — "It serves her right, conceited thing! She's flirted awfully, I know. Say, have you heard she kept his ring?" "Listen! the clock is striking six. Thank goodness, then it's time for tea." "Now ain't that too much! Abby Mix Has folded up her work! Just see!" " Why canH she wait until she's told? Yes > thank you, deacon, here we come." (" I hope the biscuits won't be cold. No coffee? Wish I was to hum!") " Do tell, Mis' Ellis ! Did you make This cheese? the best I ever saw. Such jumbles, too, (no jelly cake); . I'm quite ashamed to take one more." '• Good,by; we've had a first-rate time, And first-rate tea, I must declare. Mis' Ellis things are always prime. ("Well, next week's meetin' won't be there /") "THE PENNY YE MEANT TO GI'E." There's a funny tale of a stingy man, Who was none to good, but might have been worso 5 Who went to his church on a Sunday night, And carried along his well-filled purse. When the sexton came with his begging-plate, The church was but dim with the candle's light, The stingy man fumbled all through his purse, And chose a coin by touch and not sight. RECITATTOXS AXD READINGS. 13 It's an odd thing now that guineas should he So like unto pennies in shape and size. " I'll give a penny," the stingy man said; " The poor must not gifts of pennies despise.' 5 The penny fell down with a clatter and ring! And back in his seat leaned the stingy man. " The world is so full of the poor," he thought, "I can't help them all — I give what I can." Ha, ha! how the sexton smiled, to be sure, To see the gold guinea fall in his plate! Ha, ha! how the stingy man's heart w T as wrung 9 Perceiving his blunder, but just too late! " No matter," he said: " in the Lord's account That guinea of gold is set down to me. They lend to him who give to the poor; It will not so bad an investment be." "No, na, mon," the chuckling sexton cried out; " The Lord is na cheated — he kens thee well, lie knew it was only by accident That out o' thy fingers the guinea fell! " He keeps an account, no doubt, for the puir; But in that account he'll set down to thee Na mair o' that golden guinea, my mon, Than the one bare penny ye meant to gi'e!" There's a comfort, too, in the little tale — A serious side as well as a joke; A comfort for all the generous poor, In the comical words the sexton spoke; A comfort to chink that the good Lord know? How generous we really desire to be; And will give us credit in his account Yqy all the pennies we long "to gie." 14 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. HUNTING A MOUSE, I was dozing comfortably in my easy-chair, and dreaii* ing of the good times which I hope are coming, when there fell upon my ears a most startling scream. It was the voice of my Maria Ann in agony. The voice came from the kitchen, and to the kitchen I rushed. The idolized form of my Maria was perched on a chair, and she was flourishing an iron spoon in all directions, and shouting "shoo," in a general manner, at everything in the room. To my anxious inquiries as to what was the matter, she screamed, "O Joshua! a mouse, shoo — wha — shoo — a great — ya, shoo — horrid mouse, and — she — ew — it ran right out of the cupboard — shoo — go way — O Lord — Joshua — shoo — kill it, oh, my — shoo." All that fuss, you see, about one little harmless mouse. Some women are so afraid of mice. Maria is. I got the poker and set myself to poke that mouse, and my wife jumped down and ran off into another room. I found the mouse in a corner under the sink. The first time I hit it I didn't poke it any on account of getting the poker all tangled up in a lot of dishes in the sink; and I did not hit it any more because the mouse would not stay still. It ran right toward me, and I naturally jumped, as anybody would; but I am not afraid of mice, and when the horrid thing ran up inside the leg of my pantaloons, I yelled to Maria be- cause I was afraid it would gnaw a hole in my garment. There is something real disagreeable about having a mouse inside the leg of one's pantaloons, especially if there is noth- ing between you and the mouse. Its toes are cold, and its nails are scratchy, and its fur tickles, and its tail feels crawly, and there is nothing pleasant about it, and you are all the time afraid it will try to gnaw out, and begin on you instead of on the cloth. That mouse was next to me. I could feel its every motion with startling and suggestive distinctness. For these reasons I yelled to Maria, and as the case seemed urgent to me I may have yelled with a certain degree of vigor; but I deny that I yelled fire, and if I catch the boy who thought that I did, I shall inflict punishment on his person. I did not lose my presence of mind for an instant. I caught the mouse just as it was clambering over my knee, and by pressing firmly on the outside of the cloth, I kept the animal a prisoner on the inside. I kept jumping around with all my might to confuse it, so that it would not think about biting, and I yelled so that the mice would not hear its squeaks and come to its assistance. A man can't handle many mice at once to advantage. Maria was white as a sheet when she came into the kitchen and asked what she should do — as though I could hold the mouse and plan a campaign at the same time. I told her to think of something, and she thought she would ttirow things at the intruder; but as there was no earthly chance for her to hit the mouse, while every shot took effect on me, I told her to stop, after she had tried two flat- irons and the coal-scuttle. She paused for breath; but I kept bobbing around. Somehow I felt no inclination to sit down anywhere. "O Joshua," she cried, "I wish you had not killed the cat." Now I submit that the wish was born of the weakness of woman's intellect. How on earth did she suppose a cat could get where that mouse was ? — rather have the mouse there alone, anyway, than to have a cat prowling around after it. I reminded Maria of the fact that she was a fool. Then she got the tea-kettle and wanted to scald the mouse. I objected to that process, ex- cept as a last resort. Then she got some cheese to coax the mouse down, but I did not dare to let go, for fear it would run up. Matters were getting desperate. I told her to think of something else, and I kept jumping. Just as I was ready to faint with exhaustion, I tripped over an iron, lost my hold, and the mouse fell to the floor, very dead. I had no idea a mouse could be squeezed to death so easy. That was not the end of the trouble, for before I had re covered my breath a fireman broke in one of the front win dows, and a whole company followed him through, and they dragged hose around, and mussed things all over the house, and then the foreman wanted to thrash me because the house was not on fire, and I had hardly got him pacified before a policeman came in and arrested me. Some one had run down and told him I was drunk and was killing Maria. It was all Maria and I could do, by combining our 16 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. eloquence, to prevent him from marching me off in dis- grace, but we finally got matters quieted and the house clear. Now when mice run out of the cupboard I go outdoors, and let Maria " shoo " them back again. I can kill a mouse, but the fun don't pay for the trouble. — Joshua Jenkins. THE GREAT TEMPTATION. His love was mine no more mother; I saw it in his eyes; I did not heed his tender words, I knew that thty were lies; I could not be deceived, mother; my love had made me wise, Tou wondered why my cheek was pale; I would not tell a lie; And yet how could I speak the truth which almost made me die ? So I lay on your heart and cried, mother, an exceeding bit- ter cry. A maiden's heart is lightly won — he won mine in a day; How could I know he wanted it to break and cast away ? He had such a noble face, mother, and yet he could betray. My world had never seemed so fair — he was the world to me; I feared no future day, because my only future he; I fled to him as to my rest, and loved him utterly. There are who pray; " From sudden death deliver us, good Lord." I dare not pray that awful prayer, lest God should take me at my word, And send me awful lingering, with pains of death deferr'd. I saw the rosy dawn, mother, cloud over gradually; I saw the shadows deepen, and the last sunbeam fly; And then I said, " It is enough; would God that I could die!" He came at last to blame himself for having long delay'd; I must not thiLk Lc loved xne less — " JSTo., surely, no," he said; RECITATION? AND READINGS. 17 He kissed me with a Judas-kiss; I felt myself betray'd. I would be strong, I would live on, and in the end forget; But sometimes, in the night, I woke and found my pillow wet, And knew that all the years to come would be a long re- gret. Soon tidings came that turned my love to gall and wounded pride; He who had knelt, and sworn to love me only, none beside, Had pledged his perjured word again, and won another bride. I hated him, I hated her; I hugged my misery; I writhed against God, earth, and heaven; I cursed my sun- less sky. " They shall not build their bliss," I cried, u upon my agony." Then came a day, from weariness I slept till after dawn, And started at the clang of bells — it was the bridal morn; The whole world seemed to keep a feast, and I was so for- lorn. I watched the clock, I told each beat, and as the hours went by, I knew I must have cherished hope, for some hope seemed to die; They to be building up their bliss upon my misery. I would go gliding up the church, right to the altar-stair, And steal a spectre to the feast, and break upon the prayer, And throw him back his ring, in sight of all the people there. Small pity had he had for me, that I should spare his bride; Nay, I would laugh to see the girl grow pallid at his side. No mercy had been shown to me, I would show none, I cried. Then quick as thought, my cruel thought, I rush'd into the street, And pluck'dmy shawl about my face, and never turned to greet, v _ ^_ IS RECITATIONS AND READINGS. Bat passed like Vengeance, through the crowd, with evil- winged feet. The solemn, solemn church, it soothed and healed me una- ware; The holy light came flooding in, like balm on my despair: How could. I harbor evil thoughts when Jesus Christ was there ? And then I heard the organ peal — no gorgeous burst of sound, But a low, pleading, human voice, soul-thrilling, passion- bound, That seemed to say, "My child is dead; behold, the lost is found!" I looked upon her face, poor bride! so young, so true, so fair, And blushing, half with love and half to see the people stare : I sank my shafts, I hid my face, and clasped my hands in prayer. , I heard their vows, I heard his voice, I heard the priest who pray'd. I suffer' d still, but, Christ be praised! the thunder-storm was laid; God had said "Peace, be still," and lo! the stormy heart obey'd. Through tears I looked upon my love, in sadness, not in hate; It was not he that worked my woe — not he, but only Fate; Sorrowing, not sinful, bruised, not lost, I left the church's gate. — Alice Horton. LITTLE NELLIE'S VISIT FROM SANTA CLATJS. "Santa Claus is coming to-night, papa; Please let me sit up and see him, mamma; Loaded with presents, I'm sure he'll be, He'll have something nice for you and for me. RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 'Mama, do find something fresh and quite new, For dear old Santa Clans, when he comes through, I'll give it myself; I'll keep wide awake; I know he'll be glad my present to take. ""Now, all go to bed as quick as you please, I'll wait for him," said the bright little tease, " He surely will ring, no doubt about that, I'll bid him come in and then have a chat." Soon came a quick step on the piazza floor, Just then a loud ring was heard at the door, The little miss rose with dignified air, Quick ushered him in, and set him a chair. All covered o'er with little bells tinkling, Shaking and laughing, twisting and wriggling, A funny old man, Avith little eyes blinking, Looking at Nellie, what was he thinking ? Not a word did he say — tired of waiting, Nellie arose, her little heart quaking, Held out her present, courage most failing, "Oanta Claus, take this" — now she is smiling. His furry old hand, twisting and trembling, Took the sweet gift — " You dear little darling," Uttered quite softly, tenderly kissing, The bright little face, ne'er a bit shrinking. Lots of nice presents quickly bestowing, Thanking her kindly — he must be going, Shaking and laughing, his little bells jingling Down the steps, hastening off in a twinkling. Brave little lady! all are now saying, Santa Claus truly? bright eyes are asking; See her dear papa, secretly laughing •At her true faith in Santa Claus' coming. 20 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. Yes! she believes it, ever so truly, Dear precious darling! Rob her not surely, Of childhood's sweet faith, now in its glory, While she's relating her own simple story Christmas Morn. — Mrs. C. K Wilbur. THE OLD SHIP ZIOK Many years ago there was a vessel, just above Niagara Falls, set on fire and unloosened from its moorings, and in the night it came down from the rapids and over the falls. It Avas said to be a scene of overwhelming grandeur. But there are thousands of people in our midst who are on fire with evil habits, going down through the rapids in the awful night of temptation to the eternal plunge. O God ! help us to save them. I want to stir my own sympathies, and yours, in their behalf. Why, when these men resolve and try to reform, they get up in the night and kneel down and say, " God help me ! " They bite their nails to the quick, they grind their teeth, in determining to keep their purpose I saw a statue in Paris of Bacchus, the god of revelry. He was represented as sitting on a panther riding at full leap. Oh ! how suggestive. Those who go down in evil ways are not riding a docile, well-broken steed; but they are on a monster, wild and blood-thirsty, going at a death-rate. How are we to save these men ? I have seen the thing done in this way. One of these men says, " I will stop; I will reform." He goes to the church door on Sunday; the usher meets him and says, "John, are you here ? Why, you are the last man I expected to see come to church; sit down here by the door" — without reference to the dollar question. Well, how much better it would have been for that usher to have said: '* Good morning, brother; I am glad to see you; come right along, and I will give you one of the best seats near the pulpit." The young man that I speak of is discouraged, and he goes to the prayer-meeting. He looks in. A good man meets him at the door, and with solemn countenance and sad tones says, " Come in, my brother. Very glad to see \ou; the dying thief was saved, and I have no doubt you RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 21 may be." Not quite disposed to give up yet, while going through the street he slides up to some young man and thinks to get a word of encouragement. The young man gives him the tip end of the long fingers of the left hand, which is equal to striking a man in the face. Oh ! these men want help. What are we doing to help them? Not much. There is a vast deal of practical work to be done. It is easy enough to stand on the platform and make a speech ; but to go down where men are suffering and dy- ing, and help to lift them up, that is the question. Here is a man who has fallen into a ditch, and we come along with our best clothes on; we look down at him and we say: " Isn't it a pity ? I wish I could help that man out. Get a pry; I wish I had on my other clothes" — when, if we had the Grace of God in our hearts, we would stoop right down and take him out. No, we must not soil our patent- leathers; we must look after our respectability; we must do everything relating to the Kingdom of God in the most- elegant shape, or not do it at all. Practical hard work is what is needed. In a meeting where people were giving their experience, there were three pompous fellows who got up and gave their experience. " I am on board the old ship, Zion. 1 am sailing heavenward. I am going at the rate of seven- teen knots an hour, and I shall soon sail up the harbor of the blessed." He sat down. A more pompous man got up and said: " I too, am on the old ship, Zion. I am sailing heavenward, and going at thirty knots an hour, and I shall soon sail up the harbor of the blessed." A still more pompous man rose and said; " I, too, am on board the ship, Zion; it is a steamship of four hundred horse- power; and this steamship that I am on will soon sail up the harbor of the blessed," and he sat down. Whereupon an old Christian woman got up and said: " Well, breth- ren, I have been going to heaven now for seventy years, and I have been going afoot, and if some of these people that are going by steam don't look out, they will bust their bilers." Now, it is practical hard work that we must do. If we ire going to serve God, we must shrink back from no fatigue, from no hardship, from no peril. We must sret ~gi^ mm — — — ^^^^^»— 22 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. off our stilts as Christian ministers and Christian reform- ers, and walk side by side with men in the great and awful struggle of this life. There may be some, perhaps, in this audience who are engaged in this very struggle that I am speaking of . I want to say to you: Throw yourself into the arms of God; He is going to help you; you are just the kind of man the Lord will help.— Rev. T. De Witt Tal- mage. THE LAST BROADSIDE. [These verses were written to commemorate the heroism of the orew of the "Cumberland," who bravely fired a last broadside while the ship was sinking, in answer to the gallant hero, Lieutenant Mor- ris, who shouted : " Shall we give them a broadside as she goes ? "] Shall we give them a broadside, my boys, as she goes ? ' Shall we send yet another to tell, [n iron-tongued words, to Columbia's foes, How bravely her sons say Farewell ? Ay ! what though we sink 'neath the turbulent wave, 'Tis duty and kight at the helm ; And over the form should the fierce waters rave, No tide can the spirit o'erwhelm ! For swift o'er the billows of Charon's dark stream We'll pass to the immortal shore, Where the waters of life in brilliancy beam, And the pure float in peace evermore. :< Shall we give them a broadside once more, my brave men ? " "Ay ! Ay ! " Avas the full, earnest cry ; k< A broadside ! A broadside ! we'll give them again ! Then for God and the Right nobly die ! " H . Haste ! Haste ! " — for amid all that battling din Comes a gurgling sound fraught with fear, As swift flowing waters pour rushingly in ; Up ! up ! till her port-holes they near. RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 23 No blanching ! — no faltering ! — still fearless all seem ; Each man firm to duty doth bide ; A Hash ! and a " Broadside ! " a shout ! a careen ! And the Cumberland sinks 'neath the tide ! The " Star-Spangled Banner " still floating above ! As a beacon upon the dark wave ! Our Ensign ol Glory, proud streaming in love, O'er the tomb of the " Loyal and Brave ! " Bold hearts ! mighty spirits ! " tried gold " of our land i A halo of glory be your meed ! All honored the noble-souled Cumberland band ! So true in Columbia's need ! — Elizabeth T. P. Beach. THE OWL— A BOY'S COMPOSITION. Wen you come to see a owl cloce it has offle big eyes, and wen you come to feel it with your fingers, wich it bites, you fine it is mosely fethers, with only jus meat enuf to hole 'em to gether. Once they was a man thot he would like a owl for a pet, so he tole a bird man to send him the bes one in the shop, but wen it was brot he lookt at it and squeezed it, and it diddent sute. So the man he rote to the bird man and said He keep the owl you sent, tho it aint like I wanted, but wen it is wore out you mus make me a other, with littler eyes, for I spose these eyes is number twelves, but I want number sixes, and then if I pay you the same price you can aford to put in more owl. Owls has got to have big eyes cos tha has to be out a good deal at nite a doin bisnis with rats and mice, wich keeps late ours. They is said to be very wise, but my sis- ters young man he says any boddy could be wise if they woud set up nites to take notice. That feller comes to our house jest like he used to, only more, and wen I ast him w T y he come so much he said he was a man of sience, like me, and w*as a studyin arnitho- galy, wich w^as birds. I ast him wot birds he was a studyin, and he said anjils, and w^en he said that my sister she lookt out the winder and said wot a fine day it had U RECITATIONS AND' READINGS. turn out to be. But it was a rainin cats and dogs wen she said it. I never see such a goose in my life as that girl, but Uncle Ned, wick has been in ol parts of the worl, he says they is jes that way in Patty gony. In the pieter alphabets the O is some times a owl, and some times it is a ox, but if I made the picters Ide have it stan for a oggur to bore holes with. I tole that to cle gaffer Peters once wen he was to our house lookin at my new hook, and he said you is right, Johnny, and here is this II stans for harp, but hoo cares for a harp, wy dont they make it stan for a horgan ? He is such a ole fool. "THE LIPS THAT TOUCH LIQUOR SHALL NEVER TOUCH MINE ! " Alice Lee stood awaiting her lover one night, Her cheeks flushed and glowing, her eyes full of light; She had placed a sweet rose 'mid her bright golden hair, No flower of the forest e'er looked half so fair As she did that night, when she stood by the door Of the cot where she dwelt, by the side of the moor. Her lover had promised to take her a w T alk, And she'd built all her hopes on a long pleasant talk; But the daylight was waning", and also, I ween, Her temper was failing, might plainly be seen — For now she'd stand still, then a tune she would hum, And impatiently mutter, "I wish he wonld come! " You may say what you like, 'tis not pleasant to wait, And William has oft kept me waiting of late. I know where he stays: it is easy to tell, — He spends many an hour at the sign of 'The Bell.' I wish he would keep from such places away; His rakish companions do lead him astray." She heard a quick step, and her young heart beat fast, And she said — "I am glad he is coming at last." But 'twas only a neighbor who hastened to speak, As lie marked the quick flush on the young maiden's cheek, And his aged eyes twinkled with pleasure and glee Ad he merrily laughed — "So you're waiting I see! RECITATIONS AND READINGS. "Now don't think at all I'm intending to blame, For love is not surely a subject for shame; But I tell you to warn you, I fancy, my lass: That William is getting: too fond of the glass; And if truly you wish for the love that endures, Say the lips that touch liquor shall never touch yours!" He went on his way, but the truth he'd impressed Took root 5 and sank deep in the young maiden's breast, And strange things she scarce could account for before Now seemed perfectly plain as she pondered them o'er; She then said, with a look of deep sorrow and fright, — 11 1 really believe that the old man is right! " When next William comes, I will soon let him know He must give up the liquor or else he must go. 'Twill be a good chance, by the way, too, to prove If he's really sincere in his vows of true love: — He mu^t give np at once and forever the wine, For the lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine." She heard a quick step coming over the moor, And the same merry voice she'd so oft heard before; Then ere she could speak a warm arm held her fast, And her lover said gently, " I've come, love, at. last. I'm sorry I've kept you long waiting like this, But I know you'll forgive me; — now, give me a kiss!" But she shook the bright curls on her beautiful head, And drew herself up, while quite proudly she said — " Now, William, I'll prove if you are really true, For you say that you love me— I don't think you do! But, if really sincere, you must give up the wine, For the lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine!" He looked quite amazed. " Why, Alice, 'tis clear, You really are getting quite jealous my dear!" "In that you are right," she replied; u for I see You'll soon love the liquor far better than me! I'm jealous, I own, of t ho poisonous wine, And the lips that imbibe it shall never touch mine 4 !" m 36 KECITATIONS AND HEADINGS. He then turned quite angry, "Confound it!" he said u What nonsense you've got in your dear little head! But I'll see if I cannot remove it soon thence." She replied "'Tis not nonsense, but sound common sense: And I mean what I say, and this you will find, — I don't often change when I've made up my mind!" He stood all irresolute, angry, perplexed, She never before saw him look half so vexed. Still she said, "If he talks all his life I won't flinch!" ' And he talked but he never could budge her an inch; So he cried with a look of despair, and a groan, " O Alice, your heart is as hard as a stone!" But though her heart beat in his favor quite loud, She still firmly kept to the vow she had vowed; And at last, without even a tear or a sigh, -She said, "William, I'm going; so bid you good-bye!" "Nay, stop," he then said, "I'll chose one of the two; I'll give up the liquor, but cannot lose you!" Now William had ever great cause to rejoice From the hour he thus wisely made Alice his choice; And he blessed through the whole of a long, useful life, * The decision that gave him his dear little wife; And she, by her firmness won over that night A true friend to our cause and an ornament bright. Oh, that every fair girl in our drink-cursed land Would say, " I will ne'er give my heart or my hand Unto one whom I ever have reason to think Would taste one small drop of such poisonous drink," And reply, when she's wooed, " I'm a foe to the wine, And the lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine." — Harriet A. Glazchrook. RECITATION? AND READINGS. 27 THE BASE BALL MATCH. "John," said Mrs. Sanscript to her husband one evening last week, " I've been reading the paper." — " That's no- thing," grunted John: "I've seen people before who read newspapers." — "Yes; but there are several things in the paper I can't understand." — " Then don't read 'em." — " \V r hat do they mean by a strike, John ? What is a strike, anyhow ?" — "A strike is where they have struck;" and San- script knocked the ashes from his cigar. "I don't grasp your meaning exactly," said Mrs. Sanscript, with a puzzled look. " Now, these strikers have stopped all the railroad- trains in the country. Why did they do it?" — To prevent 'em from running." — "Yes, but why didn't they want trains to run?" — "Because they wanted more money for running them." — " Do they pay more for stopping trains than for running them?" — "No, you stupid woman!" — "Then why in the world did they stop 'em? why didn't they run more of 'em, or run 'em faster? Seems to me that would pay better." — Mary Ann, you will never surround the problem." — " Maybe not, John. Some things are gotten up purposely to bother women. Now here is a column headed ' Base-Ball.' What is base-ball, John ?" — " Don't you know what base-ball is ? Happy woman ! you have not lived in vain." — "Here it says that ' The Hart- ford's could not collar Cumming's curves.' What under the sun are Cumming's curves?" — "It's the way he de- livers the ball." — " Is the ball chained ?" — " No, you booby !" — " Then how does he deliver it ?" — " I mean, pitches it." — " Oh ! Now here it says Jones muffed a ball after a hard run. What was a ball doing after a hard run?" — "Hadn't you better confine your research to the obituary and marriage columns, Mary, with an occasional advertisement thrown in to vary the monotony ?" — " Yes, but, John, I want to know ! There's Mrs. Racket, over the way, who goes to all the base-ball games, and comes home to talk me blind about 'fly fouls,' 'base hits,' 'sky- scrapers,' and all those things. For heaven's sake, John, what is a sky-scraper?" — " Compose yourself, old woman. You are treading on dangerous ground; your feet are on slippery rocks* while ragingjbillows roll beneath." — "Mercy 28 RECITATIONS AND READING^ on me ! What do you mean?" — "I mean, my dear madam, that whenever a woman begins to pry about among three strikes, fair balls, base hits, daisy cutters, home runs, and kindred subjects, she's in danger of being lost." — " "Well, I confess I'm completely lost to know what this newspaper means when it says Addy stole a base, while the spectators applauded. Have Ave come to such a pass that society will applaud a theft? Why wasn't Addy arrested? Now here's Manning put out by Start, assisted by Carey, and I can't see that he did anything wrong, either. Jemima Christopher ! Here it says that Pike flew out. I don't believe a word of it. I never saw a man fly yet, and I won't believe it can be done till I see it with my own eyes. John, what makes these newspaper men lie so horribly ?" John was asleep ; and Mrs. Sanscript turned gloomily, not to say sceptically, to the letter-list for information. Newspapers were not made for women. BOB'S CHRISTMAS-DINNER. " And how did little Tim behave ? " asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content. "As good as gold," said Bob, " and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple; and it might be pleasant to them to remember, upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see." Bob's voice was tremulous when he told thorn this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty. His active little crutch was heard upon the floor; and back came Tiny Tim, before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool beside the fire; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs, — as if, poor fellow! they were capable of being made more shabby, — compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round, and put it on the hob to simmer. Master RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 2y apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family: indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said w4th great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet everyone had had enough; and the youngest Cratchits, in particular, w T ere steeped in sage and onion to the eye- brows. But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone, — too nervous to bear wit- nesses, — to take the pudding up, and bring it in. Suppose it should not be done enough ! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the backyard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose, — a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid. All sorts of horrors were supposed. 80 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit en- tered — flushed, but smiling proudly — with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half a quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top. Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly, too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said, that, now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it; but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing. At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass, — two tumblers and a custard-cup without a handle. These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed: — " A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us! " Which all the family re-echoed. " God bless us every one! " said Tiny Tim the last of all. — Dickens. COUNTING THE SHINGLES. There are men who dispute what they do not understand. Mr. Coville is such a man. When he heard a carpenter say that there were so many shingles on the roof of his RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 31 house, because the roof contained so;many square feet, Co- ville doubted the figures ; and, when the carpenter went away, he determined to test the matter by going up on the roof, and counting them. And he went up there. He squeezed through the scuttle, — Coville weighs two hundred and thirty, — and then sat down on the roof, and worked his way carefully and deliberately toward the gutter. When he got part way down, he heard a sound between him and the shingles, and became aware that there was an interfer- ence some way in his further locomotion. He tried to turn over, and craw r l back ; but the obstruction held him. Then he tried to move along a little, in hopes that the trouble would prove but temporary; but an increased sound con- vinced him that either a nail or a sliver had hold of his cloth, and that, if he would save any of it, he must use caution. His folks were in the house, but he could not make them hear; and, besides, he didn't want to attract the attention of the neighbors. So he sat there until after dark, and thought. It would have been an excellent oppor- tunity to have counted the shingles ; but he neglected to use it. His mind appeared to run into other channels. He sat there an hour after dark, seeing no one he could notify of his position. Then he saw two boys approach the gate, from the house, and, reaching there, stop. It was light enough for him to see that one of the two was his son; and, although he objected to having the other boy know of his misfortune, yet he had grown tired of holding on to the roof, and concluded he could bribe the strange boy into silence. With this arrangement mapped out, he took out his knife, and threw it so that it would strike near to the boys, and attract their attention. It struck nearer than he antici- pated; in fact, it struck so close as to hit the strange boy on the head, and nearly brain him. As soon as he recovered his equilibrium, he turned on Coville's boy, who, he was confident, had attempted to kill him, and introduced some astonishment and bruises into his face. Then he threw him down, and kicked him in the side, and banged him on the head, and drew him over into the gutter, and pounded his legs; and then hauled him back to the walk again, and knocked his head against the gate. And, all the while, the elder Coville sat on the roof, and screamed for the police, 38 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. but couldn't get away. And then Mrs. Coville dashed out with a broom, and contributed a few novel features to the affair at the gate; and one of the boarders dashed out with a double-barrel gun, and, hearing the cries from the roof, looked up there, and, espying a figure which was undoubted- ly a burglar, drove a handful of shot into its legs. With a howl of agony, Coville made a plunge to dodge the mis- siles, freed himself from the nail, lost his hold to the roof, and went sailing down the shingles with awful velocityj both legs spread out, his hair on end, and his hands making desperate but fruitless efforts to save himself. He tried to swear, but was so frightened that he lost his power of speech ; and when he passed over the edge of the roof, with twenty feet of tin gutter hitched to him, the boardei gave him the contents of the other barrel, and then drove into the house to load up again. The unfortunate Coville struck into a cherry-tree, and thence bounded to the ground, where he was recognized, picked up by the assembled neigh- bors, and carried into the house. A new doctor is making good day wages picking the shot out of his legs. The boarder has gone into the country to spend the summer ; and the junior Coville, having sequestered a piece of brick in his handkerchief, is lying low for that other boy. He says, that, before the calm of another Sabbath rests on New England, there will be another boy in Danbury who can't wear a cap. — Danbury News. THE HEROES OF "76. We are fortunate that we behold this day. The heavens bend benignly over us; the earth blossoms with renewed life; and our hearts beat joyfully together with one emo- tion of filial gratitude and patriotic exultation. Citizens of a great, free and prosperous country, we come hither to honor the men, our fathers, who, upon this spot and upon this day, a hundred years ago, struct the first blow in the contest which made that country independent. Here, be- neath the hills they trod, by the peaceful river on whose shores they dwelt, amidst the fields that .they sowed and reaped, proudly recalling their virtue and their valor, we RECITATIONS AND HEADINGS. 33 come to tell their story, to try ourselves by their lofty standard to know if we are their worthy children; and, standing reverently where they stood and fought and died, to swear before God and each other, in the words of him upon whom in our day the spirit of the Revolutionary fathers visibly descended, that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the e.trth. This ancient town, with its neighbors who share its glory, has never failed fitly to commemorate this great day of its history. Fifty years ago, while some soldiers of the Concord fight were yet living; twenty-five years ago, while still a few venerable survivors lingered — with prayer and eloquence and song, you renewed the pious vow. But the last living link with the Revolution has long been broken. Great events and a mightier struggle have absorbed our own generation. Yet. we who stand here to-day have a sympathy with the men at the old North Bridge, which those who preceded us here at earlier celebrations could not know. With them war was a name and a tradition. So swift and vast had been the change, and the development of the country, that the Revolutionary clash of arms was already vague and unreal, and Concord and Lexington seemed to them almost as remote and historic as Arbelaand Sempach. When they assembled to celebrate this day, they saw a little group of tottering forms, eyes from which the light was fading, arms nerveless and withered, thin white hairs that fluttered in the wind; they saw a few venerable relics of a vanished age, whose pride was that, before living memory, they had been minute-men of American Inde- pendence. But with us how changed! War is no longer a tradition, half romantic and obscure. It has ravaged how many of our homes! It has wrung how many of the hearts before me! North and South, we know the pang. Our common liberty is consecrated by a common sorrow. We do not count around us a few feeble veterans of the contest; but we are girt with a cloud of witnesses. We are surrounded everywhere by multitudes in the vigor of their prime. Behold them here to-day, sharing in those pious and peaceful rites, the honored citizens, legislators, magistrates — yes, the Chief Magistrate of the Republic — 34 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. whose glory it is that they were minute-men of American liberty and union. These men of to-day interpret to us with resistless eloquence the men and the times we com- memorate. Now, if never before, we understand the Rev- olution. Now we know the secret of those old hearts and homes. No royal Governor, indeed, sits in yon stately capital; no hostile fleet for many a year has vexed the waters of our coasts; nor is any army but our own ever likely to tread our soil. Not such are our enemies to-day. They do not come proudly stepping to the drum-beat, with bayonets flashing in the morning sun. But wherever party 6pirit shall strain the ancient guaranties of freedom; or bigotry and ignorance shall lay their fatal hands upon education, or the arrogance of caste shall strike at equal rights, o? corruption shall poison the very springs of national life, there, minute-men of liberty, are your Lexington Green and Concord Bridge; and as you love your country and your kind, and would have your children rise up and call you blessed, spare not the enemy! Over the hills, out of the earth, down from the clouds, pour in resistless might. Fire from every rock and tree, from door and window, from hearthstone and chamber; hang upon his flank and rear from morn to sunset, and so, through a land blazing with holy indignation, hurl the hordes of ignorance and corruption and injustice, back, back, in utter defeat and ruin. — George William Curtis. THE CHANGED CROSS. It was a time of sadness; and my heart, Although it knew and loved the better part, Felt wearied with the conflict and the strife, And all the needful discipline of life. And while I thought on these as given to me — My trial tests of faith and love to be — It seemed as if I never could be sure That faithfal to the end I should endure. RECITATIONS AND READINGS. tt And thus no longer trusting to His might, Who says " we walk by faith, and not by sight," Doubting, and almost yielding to despair, The thought arose. My cross I cannot bear. Far heavier its weight must surely be Than those of others which I daily see; Oh! if I might another burden choose, Methinks I should not fear my crown to lose. A solemn silence reigned on all around — E'en nature's uttered not a sound; The evening shadows seemed of peace to tell, And sleep upon my wearied spirit fell. A moment's pause, and then a heavenly light Beamed full upon my wondering, raptured sight; Angels on silvery wings seemed everywhere, And angels' music thrilled the balmy air. The One more fair than all the rest to see — One to whom all the others bowed the knee — Came gently to me as I trembling lay, And, "Follow me," he said; "I am the Way." Then speaking thus, he led me far above; And there, beneath a canopy of love, Crosses of divers shape and size were seen, Larger and smaller than my own had been. And one there was most beauteous to behold — - A little one, with jewels set in gold. "Ah! this," methought, " I can with comfort wear, For it will be an easy one to bear." And so the little cross I quickly took, But all at once my frame beneath it shook; The sparkling jewels — fair were they to see, But far too heavy was their weight for me. " This may not be," I cried, and looked again, To see if any here could ease my pain; But one by one I passed them slowly by, Till on a lovely one I cast my eye. 36 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. Fair flowers around its sculptured form intwined, And grace and beauty seemed in it combined; Wondering, I gazed, and still I wondered more To think so many should have passed it o'er. But, oh! that form so beautiful to see, Soon made its hidden sorrows known to me. Thorns lay beneath those flowers and colors fair; Sorrowing I said, " This cross I may not bear." And so it was with each and all around — Not one to suit my need could there be found; Weeping I laid each heavy burden down, As my guide gently said. " No cross, no crown." At length to him I raised my saddened heart; He knew its sorrows, bade its doubts depart. " Be not afraid," he said, "but trust in me: My perfect love shall now be shown to thee." And then, with lightening eyes and willling feet, Again I turned, my earthly cross to meet; With forward footsteps, turning not aside, For fear some hidden evil might betide. And there, in the prepared, appointed way — Listening to hear, and ready to obey — A cross I quickly found of plainest form, With only words of love inscribed thereon. With thankfulness I raised it from the rest, And joyfully acknowledged it the best, The only one of all the many there That I could feel was good for me to bear. And, while I thus my chosen one confessed, I saw a heavenly brightness on it rest; And as I bent, my burden to sustain, I recognized my own old cross again. But oh! how different it seemed to be, Now I had learned its preeiousncss to see! RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 37 No longer could I unbelieving say, "Perhaps another is a better way." Ah, no! henceforth my own desire shall be, That He who knows me best should choose for me; And so, whate'er his love sees good to send, I'll trust it's best, because he knows the end. PAPA'S LETTER. I was sitting in my study, Writing letters, when I heard — " Please dear mamma, Mary told me That you mustn't be disturbed. But I'se tired of the kitty, Want some ozzer fing to do. Writing letters is 'ou, mamma? Tant I write a letter too ?" " Not now, darling, mamma's busy^ Run and play with kitty now," "No, no, mamma; me wite letter, Ten you will show me how " I would paint my darling v 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 it's waves of golden light. Then I said, " Now, little letter, Go away and bear good ii«ws," RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 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 witing lots of letters; I'se a letter, Mary, see." No one heard the little prattler, As once more he climbed the stair, Jleached his little cap and tippet, Standing on the table there. No one heard the front door open, No one saw the golden hair, As it floated o'er his shoulders On 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 this letter's going to papa; Papa lives with God, 'ou know; Mamma sent me for a letter; Does 'ou fink at I tan do ? " 3ut the clerk in wonder answered, "Not to-day, my little man;" "Den I'll find anozzer office, 'Cause I must go if I tan." Fain the clerk would have detained him, But the pleading face was gone, And the little feet were hast'ning, By the busy crowd swept on. Suddenly the crowd was parted, People fled to left and right, As a pair of maddened horses At that moment dashed in sight. N"o one saw the baby figure, No one saw the golden hair, RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 39 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. Rev'rently 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! THE FOURTH OF JULY. Mr. Watkins is a gentle old man, living on Ninth Ave- iiue. He believes in the Fourth of July, in long-winded orations, and especially in having fire-works in the evening. He has no children; but the neighbors have them by the square acre, and it was generally understood in that neigh- borhood that Mr. Watkins was going to give the children a treat Saturday night. He laid in a "pile" of rockets, Roman candles, fire-w T heels, and so on, and rigged up a post, and had everything ready against the coming of night. When darkness fell and the glorious day of liberty was skulking away into obscurity, Mr. Watkin's yard was filled with expectant neighbors and their children. They sat on the stoop, on the fence, and were three deep on the grass. The hour came, and Mr. Watkins prepared to unloose the fire-fiend. If he had ever seen any fire-works touched off, he had forgotten how they did it; but his ignorance didn't weigh on his shoulders like a grindstone. He took out a sky-rocket: a boy showed him how to set it up and where to ignite it, and away she went, striking plump against the house opposite. The owner of the house, who had been on a steamboat excursion and had his watch stolen, leaned ovei 40 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. - his gate, and said that he could, and had a good mind to, knock Mr. Watkins into eighteen fragments; but the boys hissed him into the house. The next rocket was more of a success. It went straight up; and the stick came down on a baby's head, and pro- duced a grand jubilee chorus. They took the baby home, and the next rocket was balanced with care. It started to rise, fell to one side, and went into a house where a red- headed young man sat squeezing the hand of a cross-eyed girl. It bobbed around a while, and then leaped out of the window; and the red-headed young man nearly twisted ofl a letter-box in trying to sound a fire-alarm. Then Mr. Watkins selected a mild -eyed boy to go on with the remnant of the display. The rest of the rockets went knocking around the neighborhood roofs and chim- neys, and the fiery serpents chased everybody over the fence. Mr. Watkins ran out to say that they must be care- ful, when a Roman candle commenced shooting at him. His hat was knocked off, his hair singed; and as he cried: " Good land ! " and jumped through the gate, a fire-ball hit him in the back, and took a foot of cloth out of his Sunday coat. More boys offered their services; and despite the protestations of the good old man, they decided on having a grand " Whoop de grease," as a wind-up. Two of them touched off the rockets, while the rest danced around the road with the Roman candles; and Mr. Watkins cried, "Good land! " again, and said he'd give ten dollars to see a policeman. He stuck his head out of a bay-window, and a rocket grazed his nose. Women ran, men shouted, and children whooped; and six bunches of fire-crackers on the stoop went off like the roar of musketry at Gettysburg. The last rocket hit the corner of the house, and glanced, and struck a fat man in the back who leaned against it, and said that he was mortally wounded, but that before he ex- pired he was going to drink enough human gore to make a second Lake Erie. — Detroit Free Press. RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 41 GRANDMOTHER'S SERMON. The supper is over, the hearth is swept, And in the wood fire's glow The children cluster to .hear a tale Of that time, so long ago, When grandmamma's hajr was golden brown, And the warm blood came and went O'er the face that could scarce have been sweeter then Than now in its rich content. The face is wrinkled and careworn now, And the golden hair is gray; But the light that shone in the young girl's eyes Never has gone away. And her needles catch the fire's light As in and out they go, With the clicking music that grandma loves, Shaping the stocking toe. And the waiting children love it too, For they know the stocking song Brings many a tale to grandma's mind, Which they shall hear ere long. But it brings no story of olden time To grandma's heart to-night; Only a refrain quaint and short, Is sung by the needles bright. " Life is a stocking," grandma says, "And yours is just begun; But I am knitting the toe of mine, And my work is almost done. With merry hearts we begin to knit, And the ribbing is almost play; Some are gray-colored and some are white, And some are ashen gray. 42 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. But most are made of many a~ime, With many a stitch set wrong, And many a row to be sadly ripped Ere the whole is fair and strong. There are long, plain faces, without a break, That in youth is hard to bear, And many a weary tear is dropped As we fashion the heel with care. But the saddest, happiest time is that We court, and yet would shun, When our Heavenly Father breaks the thread And says our work is done. The children come to say good-night, With tears in their bright young eyes, While in grandma's lap, with broken thread, The finished stocking lies. — Ellen A. Jewett. DEATH ON THE STAGE. [At the Holliday Street Theatre in Baltimore, an actor was taken ill during the progress of the play. He complained, but was told to keep on with his part. Tne audience noticed his unsteady move- ments, but laughed and jeered at him, thinking he was intoxicated; he staggered to the front and tried to explain. He finished his part, which ended in a fall, and was lifted back while the play went on. He died in less than an hour.] Death on the stage — no painted mimic — came A dread reality, his prey to claim; And the poor victim fainting, midst the sneers Of mocking voices, his last summons hears. " Oh! am I dying? Feel my hand, 'tis chill." "No; only nervous. Go, your part fulfill." O, but to rest a moment! Staggering on, Striving to keep up till his part is done. Strangely the gasUght seems to fade and swim, The haze of Jo^lh :s on his eyeballs dim — The gathered faca? Iloat before his eyes — 3 for one word A comfort ere he dies! Hj RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 43 No voice of hope or sympathy he hears, And laugh and taunt come maddening to his ears; He feels a heavy grasp on heart and brain, And strives to speak — the effort is in vain. lie reels— he falls— there, lift him from the way! Send for a doctor — Go on with the play. Heartless! O, no; such terms must not be used; Living or dying men must be amused, Or they will think, and thought will call to sight Awakened conscience with its stores of might. To-morrow night be in the circle found, With eyes as careless as the gaslight round; Keep all your sympathies for acted pain; And let the actual plead to you in vain; Make life a pageant, gilded, varnished, bright — Man but a puppet, winking at the light, The sad remembrance with the actor's clay, Bury together. — Keep on with the play. A tragic scene uprises at the last, A scene of grandeur and proportions vast, There, it will be your part again to meet The dying actor at the Judgment Seat. — There, Time with all its wasted wealth shall rise, And life's deceptions vanish from your eyes. Silent the warnings that you would not heed, And love rejected, cease your cause to plead. Think for a moment of that coming day ; Pause, ere you answer — " Go on loith the play 7" — Priscilla J. OweM MEASURING THE BABY. We measured the riotous baby Against the cottage wall — A lily grew at the threshold, And the boy was just as tall ! A royal tiger lily, With spots of purple and gold, 44 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. And a heart like a jeweled chalice, The fragrant dew to hold. Without the blue-birds whistled High up in the old roof-trees, And to and fro at the window The red rose rocked her bees ; And the wee pink fists of the baby Were never a moment still, Snatched at shine and shadow That danced on the lattice sill. His eyes were as wide as blue-bells — His mouth like a flower unblown- — Two little bare feet, like pretty white mice, Peeped out from his snowy gown ; And we thought with a thrill of rapture, That hath yet a touch of pain, When June rolls around with her roses We'll measure the boy again. Ah, me ! In a darkened chamber, With the sunshine shut away, Through tears that fell like a bitter rain, We measured the boy to-day; And the little bare feet, that were dimpled And sweet as a budding rose, Lay side by side together, In the hush of long repose ! Up from the dainty pillow, White as the risen dawn, The fair little face lay smiling, With the light of heaven thereon ; And the dear little hands, like rose leaves Dropped from the rose, lay still- Never to snatch at the sunshine That crept on the shrouded sill ! RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 45 We measured the sleeping baby, With ribbons white as snow, For the shining rosewood casket That waited him below ; And out of the darkened chamber We went with a childless moan — To the height of the sinless angels Our little one has grown J COMING. u At even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning." It may be in the evening, When the work of the day is done, And you have time to sit in the twilight And watch the sinking sun, While the long bright day dies slowly Over the sea, And the hour grows quiet and holy With thoughts of me ; While you hear the village children Passing along the street, Among those thronging footsteps May come the sound of my feet; Therefore I tell you: Watch By the light of the evening star, When the room is growing dusky As the clouds afar; Let the door be on the latch In your home, For it may be through the gloaming I will come. It may be when the midnight Is heavy upon the land, And the black waves lying dumbly Along the sand; When the moonless night draws close, And the lights are out in the house, When the fire burns low and red, 46 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. And the watch is ticking loudly Beside the bed; Though you sleep tired out on your couch Still your heart must wake and watch In the dark room, For it may be at midnight I will come. It may be at the cock-crow, When the night is dying slowly In the sky, And the sea looks calm and holy, Waiting for the dawn Of the golden sun, Which draweth nigh; When the mists are on the valleys shading The rivers chill And my morning star is fading, fading Over the hill, Behold! I say unto you: Watch! Let the door be on the latch In your home. In the chill before the dawning, Between the night and morning, I may come. It may be in the morning When the sun is bright and strong, And the dew is glittering sharply Over the little lawn; When the waves are laughing loudly Along the shore; And the birds are singing sweetly About the door; With a long day's work before you, You rise up with the snn, And the neighbors come in to talk a little Of all that must be done; But remember that I may be the next To come in at the door, To call you from your busy work For evermore i RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 4? As you work your heart must watch, For the door is on the latch In your room. And it may be in the morning I will come. HOW IT HAPPENED. How slid it happen? you want to know? Well, old boy, I can hardly tell. Off we went o'er the frozen snow; Merrily jingled each silvery bell. I was awkward and she was shy. Jove! what a ride we had that night! Trees and houses a-flying by, Her cheeks a-glow and her eyes a-light, What did I say? I said 'twas cold; Tucked the robes round her dainty feet, While her hair, in the starlight, shone like gold And tier laughter echoed so clear and sweet. And then we drove around the mill, Across the river, above the glen, Where the brooklet's voice was hushed and stil* And I said — that it looked like frost again. And somehow I held her hands in mine — Only to keep them warm, you know — While brighter the starlight seemed to shine. And diamonds sparkled upon the snow; And — well, old boy, so it happened then I Avon my love while the night grew old* What do you say? Did it freeze again? Maybe; but we didn't feel the cold. THE DRESSED TURKEY. One of the parish sent one morn — A farmer kind and able — A nice fat turky, raised on corn, To grace the pastor's table. 48 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. The farmer's lad went with the fowl, And thus addressed the pastor: "Blame 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 Avill 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; And to his young pro tem he said: " Dear sir, my honored master Presents this turkey, and his best Respects to you, his pastor." " Good! " said the boy; " your master is A gentleman and scholar! My thanks to him, and for yourself, Here is a 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 tne turkey to the cook, And came back in a minute, Then took the youngster's hand and left A half a dollar in it» TRUE LOVE. One day, when I was in Brooklyn, I saw a young man going along the street without any arms. A friend who was with me pointed him out and told me his story. When the war broke out he felt it his duty to enlist and go to the front. He was engaged to be married, and while in the army letters often passed between him and his in- tended wife. After the battle of the Wilderness the young - RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 49 lady looked anxiously for the accustomed letter. For a little while no letter was received. At last one came in a strange hand. She opened it with trembling fingers, and read these words: " We have fought a terrible battle. I have been wounded so awfully that I never shall be able to support you. A friend writes this for me. I love you more tenderly than ever, but I release you from your promise. I will not ask ycu to join your life with this maimed life of mine." The next train that left, the young lady was on it. She went to the hospital. She found out the number of his cot, and she went down the aisle, be- tween the long rows of wounded men. At last she saw the number, and hurrying to his side, she threw her arms around his neck and said: " I'll not desert you. I'll take care of you." He did not resist her love. They were married, and there is no happier couple than this. Christ says, " I'll take care of you. I'll take you to this bosom of mine." That young man could have spurned her love; he could, but he didn't. Surely you can be saved if you will accept the Savior's love. If God loves us, my friends, he loves us unto the end. " For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that ichosoever be- lieves in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." — D. Z. Moody. THE CHILDREN. When the lessons and tasks are all ended, And the school for the day is dismissed, And the little ones gather around me To bid me " good-night " and be kissed. O the little white arms that encircle My neck in a tender embrace! O the smiles that are halos of heaven, Shedding sunshine and love on my face! And when they are gone, I sit dreaming Of my childhood, too lovely to last; Of love that my heart will remember When it wakes to the pulse of the past, 50 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. Ere the world and its wickedness made me A partner of sorrow and sin — When the glory of God was about me, And the glory of gladness within. O my heart grows weak as a woman's, And the fountain of feeling will flow, When I think of the paths steep and stony, Where the feet of the dear ones must go; Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them, Of the tempests of fate blowing wild — there's nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart of a child. They are idols of hearts and of household, They are angels of God in disguise — His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, His glory still beams in their eyes — Of those truants from earth and from heavt*!*. They have made me more manly and mild, And I know now how Jesus could liken The kingdom of God to a child. Seek not a life for the dear ones All radiant, as others have done, But that life may have just as much shadow To temper the glare of the sun. 1 would pray God to guard them from evil, But my prayer would bound back to myself; Ah! a seraph may pray for a sinner, But a sinner must pray for himself. The twig is so easily bended, I have banished the rule and the rod; I have taught them the goodness of knowledge, They have taught me the goodness of God. My heart is a dungeon of darkness, Where I shut them from breaking a rule; My frown is sufficient correction, My love is the law of the school. I shall leave the old house in the autumn, To traverse its treshold no more; RECITATIONS AND HEADINGS. 51 Ah! how shall I sigh for the dear ones That meet me each morn at the door. I shall miss the "good-nights" and the kisses, And the gush of their innocent glee, The group on the green, and the flowers That are brought every morning to me. I shall miss them at morn and at eve, Their song in the school and the street; I shall miss the low hum of their voices, And the tramp of their delicate feet. When the lessons and tasks are all ended, And Death says the school is dismissed, May the little ones gather around me, And bid me " good-night " and be kissed. — Dickens. INDEPENDENCE BELL. [When it was certain that the Declaration of Independence would be adopted by Congress, it was resolved to annouce the event by ringing the old State-House bell, which bore the inscription : "Proclaim liberty to the land, to all the inhabitants thereof!" The old bellman, accordingly, placed his little son at the door of the hall, to await the instruction of the door-keeper when to ring ; and, wnen tlw word was given, the little patriot-scion rushed out, and, flinging up his hands, shouted aloud, " Bing! Ring I RING I "] There was tumult in the city, In the quaint old Quakers' town, And the streets were rife with people, Pacing restless up and down ; — People gathering at corners, Where they whispered each to each. And the sweat stood on their temples, With the earnestness of speech. As the bleak Atlantic currents Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, So they beat against the State House, So they surged against the door ; And the mingling of their voices Made a harmony profound, Till the quiet street of Chestnut Was all turbulent with sound. 52 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. "Will they do it?" "Dare they do it?" "Who is speaking ?" "What's the news ?" "What of Adams?" "What of Sherman?" " Oh, God grant they won't refuse ! " "Make some way there! " "Let me nearer! w " I am stifling ! " " Stifle, then ! When a nation's life's at hazard, We've no time to think of men! " So they beat against the portal, Man and woman, maid and child; And the July sun in heaven On the scene look'd dow r n and smiled; The same sun that saw the Spartan Shed his patriot blood in vain, Now beheld the soul of freedom All unconquer'd rise again. See! See! The dense crowd quivers Through all its lengthy line, As the boy beside the portal Looks forth to give the sign! With his small hands upward lifted, Breezes dallying with his hair, Hark! with deep, clear intonation, Breaks his young voice on the air. Hush'd the people's swelling murmur, List the boy's strong, joyous cry! "Ring /" he shouts, "Ring! Grandpa, Ring! Oh, Ring for Liberty! " And straightway, at the signal, The old bellman lifts his hand, And sends the good news, making Iron music through the land. How they shouted! What rejoicing! How the old bell shook the air, Till the clang of freedom ruffled The calm, gliding Delaware! RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 5? How the bonfires and the torches Illumed the night's repose, And from the flames, like Phoenix, Fair Liberty arose! That old bell now is silent, And hush'd its iron tongue, But the spirit it awakened Still lives, — forever young. And while we greet the sunlight, On the fourth of each July, We'll ne'er forget the bellman, Who, twixt the earth and sky, Rung out Our Independence: Whichj please God, shall never die ! A WORD TO OUR GIRLS. Girls, whatever else you may do, do not many a drunk- ard. No matter how deeply in love you may f ancy yourselves to be, do not marry a man who drinks intoxicating liquor. It is better to be an old maid, and miss the desired Mrs. from your tombstone. It is better to go on through life single and alone, to keep a cat, and make aprons for the heathen children than to be a drunkard's wife. Young men addicted to taking a glass now and then will doubtless laugh at you if you call their habit a vice, or hint that it is in any wise dangerous. They assure you in a lordly way, that they know what they are about! They wonder what you take them for! Haven't they control enough over themselves to take a social glass, now and then, and stop there ? Why you talk as though they were common drunkards! And so they are liable to become. There is no safety in , playing with poison. He who touches pitch must be de- filed. The first glass makes room for the second. The ap- petite for strong drink grows with what it is fed upon. The man who drinks a glass of brandy, or whisky to-day, will want another to-morrow. If he is not strong enough 54 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. to abstain from the first glass, how is he to put away the second ? Young woman, beware of him! Shun him as you would one infected with the plague! Oh, young girls, fair and pure, and loving, think of what lies before you! Think of the moral contamination, the miserable degradation which hang around the drunkard, and forswear the young man who drinks! Smile no more upon this deadly sin of wine-drinking! Scorn it! Never give its practice your sanction in ever so remote a degree. Oh, that the women of our nation would turn their faces, as one woman, eternally from the man who drinks! Oh, that the mothers would close the doors of their houses against the wine-drinking young man as against the leper, and let society understand that no embryo drunkard will be received as honored and respected into its ranks. Call us radical, or fanatical if you will — it matters not; we are bound to stick to the belief, born with us, that no man is safe who takes the first glass of liquor! For if he takes the first glass he may want the second, but if he never takes the first he can not take the second! And again we say to you, young girls, beware! No mat- ter how handsome, or fascinating, or wealthy a man may be — if he drinks, turn away from him, and save yourself from becoming that most miserable of all women — a drunk- ard's wife! — Kate, Thorn. LITTLE CRISS' LETTER TO JESUS, A postman stood with puzzled brow, And in his hand turned o'er and o'er A letter, with address so strange As he had never seen before. The writing cramped, the letter small, And by a boy's rough hand engraven. The words ran thus: " To Jesus Christ," And underneath inscribed, " In heaven," RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 55 The postman paused; full well he knew No mail on earth this note could take' And yet 'twas writ in childish faith, And posted for the dear Lord's sake. "With careful hands he broke the seal, And rev'rently the letter read; 'Twas short and very simple, too, For this was all the writer said: " My Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, I've lately lost my father dear; Mother is very, very poor, And life to her is sad and drear. Yet thou has promised in thy word That none can ever ask in vain For what they need of earthly store, If only asked in Jesus' name. " So I am writing in his name, To ask thou wilt kindly send Some money down; what thou canst spa^ And what is right for us to spend. I want so much to go to school; While father lived I always went, But he had little, Lord, to leave, And what is left is almost spent. " I do not know how long 'twill be Ere this can reach the golden gate; But I will try and patient be, And for the answer gladly wait." The tidings reached the far-off land, Although the letter did not go, And straight the King an agent sent To help the little boy below. Oft to his mother he would say, " I knew the Lord would answer make When he had read my letter through, Which I had sent for Jesus' sake." 11 50 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. Ah! happy boy, could you but teach My heart to trust my Father's love, And to believe where might's denied 'Tis only done my faith to prove." " NOBODY'S CHILD." Alone in the dreary, pitiless street, With my torn old dress and bare cold feet, All day I have wandered to and fro, Hungry and shivering, and nowhere to go; The night's coming on in darkness and di\3ad, And the chill sleet beating upon my bare head. Oh! why does the wind blow on me so wild? Is it because I am nobody's child? 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? Ob! what shall I do when the night comes down, In its terrible blackness all over the town? Shall lay me down 'neath the angry sky, On the cold, hard pavement, alone to die, When the beautiful children their prayers have said, And their mammas have tucked them up snugly in bed? For no dear mamma on me ever smiled — Why is it, I wonder, I'm nobody's child! No father, no mother, no sister, not one In all the world loves, e'en the little dogs run When I wander too near; 'tis wondrous to see How everything shrinks from a beggar like me! Perhaps 'tis a dream; but sometirr^s >vhen I lie Gazing far up in the deep, blue sky, Watching for hours some large, bright star, I fancy the beautiful gates are ajar. RECITATION AND READINGS. And a host of white-robed nameless things, Come fluttering o'er me on 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 spirit are all aflame. They tell me of such unbounded love, And bid me come up to their home above; And then with such pitiful, sad surprise, They look at me with their sweet, tender eyes, And it seems to me, out of the dreary night, I am going up to that world of light; And away from the hunger and storm so wild, I am sure I shall then be somebody's child. TEACH ME TO LIVE. Teach me to live ! 'tis easier far to die; Gently and silently to pass away, On earth's long night to close the heavy eye, And waken in the realms of glorious day. Teach me that harder lesson, how to live, To serve Thee in the dar Jcest paths of life; Arm me for conflict now/ fresh vigor give, And make me more than conqueror in the strife. Teach me to live! my daily cross to bear, Nor murmur though I bend beneath its load. Only be with me; let me feel Thee near; Thy smile sheds gladness on the darkest road. Teach me to live, and find my life in Thee; Looking from earth and earthly things away: Let me not falter, but untiringly Press on, and gain new strength and power each day. Teach me to live! with kindly words for all; Wearing no cold, repulsive brow of gloom; Waiting with cheerful patience, till Thy call Summon my spirit to her heavenly home. 58 ^ RECITATIONS AND READINGS. WAS THE MAN KILLED? A few evenings since a Mr. Slocura was reading an ac- count of a dreaful accident which happened at the factory in the town of L., and which the village editor had de- scribed in a great many words. "I declare, wife, that was an awful accident over to the mill," said Mr. Slocum. " What's it about, Mr. Slocum?" " I'll read the 'count wife, and then you'll know all about it." Mr S. began to read:— " Horrible and Fatal Accident. — It becomes our melan- choly and painful duty to record the particulars of an ac- cident that occurred at the lower mill, in this village, yes- terday afternoon, by which a human being, in the prime of life, was hurried to that bourne from which, as the immortal Shakespeare says 'no traveller returns.'" "Du tell! " exclaimed Mrs. S. " Mr. David Jones, a workman who has but few superiors this side of the city, was superintending one of the large drums," "I wonder if it was a brass drum, such as has Eplur- ibus Unam, printed on't ?" " When he became entangled. His arm was drawn around the drum, and finally his whole body was drawn over the shaft at a fearful rate. When his situation was discovered, he had revolved with immense velocity about fifteen min- is, his head and arms striking a large beam a distinct low at each revolution." " Poor creature how it must have hurt him!" "When the machinery had been stopped, it was found that Mr. Jones's arms and legs were macerated into jelly." "Well, didn't it kill him?" asked Mrs. Slocum with in- creasing interest. " Portions of the dura mater, cerebrum, and cerebellum, in confused masses, were scattered about the floor: in short, the gates of eternity had opened upon him." Here Mr. Slocum paused to wipe of his spectacles, and RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 59 his wife seized the opportunity to press the question, — " Was the man killed ?" " I don't know, haven't come to that place yet; you'll know when I've finished the piece." " And Mr. Slocum continued reading. — "It was evident when the shapeless form was taken down, that it was no longer tenanted by the immortal spirit, that the vital spark was extinct." " Was the man killed ? that's what I want to come at/' said Mrs. Slocum. " Do have a little patience," said Mr. S., eying his better half over his spectacles. " I presume we shall come upon it right away," And he went on reading — "This fatal casualty has cast a gloom over our village, and we trust that it will prove a warning to all persons who are called upon to regulate the powerful machinery of our mills." " Now," said Mrs. Slocum, perceiving that the narrative was ended, " now I should like to know whether the man was killed or not?" Mr. Slocum looked puzzled. He scratched his head, scrutinized the article he had been perusiug, and took a graceful survey of the paper. "I declare wife," said he, "it's curious, but really th« paper don't say ! " THE NEW MINISTER. When the servant girl went to work for the family on Congress street, the lady of the house sat down and told her that agents, book-peddlers, hat-rack men, picture sell- ers, ash-buyers, rag-men, and all that class of people, must be met at the front door and coldly repulsed; and Sarah said she'd repulse them if she had to break every broom- stick in Detroit. ^ And $hg except for company. The d ker day, as the girl of the house was wiping off 1 < ' ' .'f 60 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. the spoons, the bell rang. She hastened to the door, ex- pecting to see a lady, but her eyes encountered a slim man, dressed in black and wearing a white necktie. He was the new minister, and was going round to get acquainted with the members of his flock, but Sarah wasn't expected to know this. " Ah— um— is— Mrs. — ah!" " Git!" exclaimed Sarah, pointing to the gate. " Beg pardon, but I would like to see — see — " "Meander!" she shouted, looking around for a weapon; "we don't want any flour-sifters here!" " You're mistaken," he replied, smiling blandly; "I called to — " " Don't want anything to keep moths away — fly!" she exclaimed, getting red in the face. " Is the lady in?" he inquired, trying to look over Sarah's head. "Yes, the lady is in, and I'm in, and you are out!" she snapped; "and now I don't want to stand here talking to a fly-trap agent any longer! Come, lift your boots!" " I'm not an agent," he said, trying to smile. " I'm the new — " " Yes, I know you — you are the new man with the patent flat-iron; but we don't want any, and you'd better go be- fore I call the dog." " Will you give the lady my card, and say that I called?" " No, I won't; we are bored to death with cards and hand bills and circulars. Come, I can't stand here all day." " Didn't you know that I was a minister?" he asked as he backed off. "No, nor I don't know it now; you look like the man who sold the woman next door a dollar chromo for eighteen shillings." " But here is my card." " I don't care for cards, I tell you! If you leave that gate open I will have to fling a flower-pot at you." " I will call again," he said, as he went through the gate. "It won't do any good," she shouted after him; "we don't want no prepared food for infants — no piano music — RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 61 no stuffed birds! I know the policeman on this beat, and if you come around here again he'll soon find out whether you are a confidence man or a vagrant." And she took unusual care to lock the door. EVACUATION OF RICHMOND. [When Lee found that his position at Petersburg was no longer tenable, he immediately sent a telegram to Davis in Richmond, con- taining the following words: " My lines are broken in three places, Richmond must be evacuated this evening." This occurred on Sun- day, April 2d, and the dispatch reached Mr. Davis while he sat in church, where it was handed to him amid the feaiful silence and ap- prehension of the congregation. The Confederate President hur- ried from the church, and a rumor was immediately circulated that the city was to be abandoned. The following description is from Pollard's History of the war.] Men, women, and children rushed from the churches, passing from lip to lip news of the impending fall of Rich- mond. And yet it was difficult to believe it. To look up to the calm, beautiful sky of that spring day, unassailed by one single noise of battle; to watch the streets unvexed by artillery or troops, stretching away into the quiet, hazy at- mosphere, and believe that the capital of the Confederacy, so peaceful, so apparently secure, was in a few hours to be the prey of the enemy, and to be wrapped in the infernal horrors of a conflagration! It w r as late in the afternoon when the signs of evacuation became apparent to the incredulous. Wagons on the streets were being hastily loaded at the departments w^ith boxes, trunks, etc., and driven to the Danville depot. Those who had determined to leave with the fugitive government looked on with amazement; then, convinced of the fact, rushed to follow the government's example. Vehicles sud- denly rose to a premium value that was astounding; and ten, fifteen, and even a hundred dollars, in gold or Federal currency, was offered for a conveyance. Suddenly, as if by magic, the streets became filled with men, walking as though for a wager, and behind them ex- cited negroes w r ith trunks, bundles, and luggage of every description. All over the city it was the same — w r agons, 1 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. trunks, bandboxes, and their owners, a mass of hurrying fugitives, tilling the streets. The banks were all open, and depositors were as busy as bees removing their specie de- posits; and the directors were equally active in getting off their bullion. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of paper- money were destroyed, b.oth State and Confederate. Night came; and with it came confusion worse con- founded. There was no sleep for human eyes in Richmond that night. The City Council had met in the evening, and resolved to destroy all the liquor in the city r , to avoid the disorder consequent on the temptation to drink at such a time. About the hour of midnight the work commenced, under the direction of committees of citizens in all the wards. Hundreds of barrels of liquor were rolled into the street, sftid the heads knocked in. The gutters ran with a liquor-freshet, and the fumes filled and impregnated the air. Fine cases of bottled liquors were tossed into the street from third-story windows, and wrecked into a thou- sand pieces. As the work progressed, some straggling soldiers, re- treating through the city, managed to get hold of a quan- tity of the liquor. From that moment, law and order ceased to exist. Many of the stores were pillaged; and the sidewalks were encumbered with broken glass, where the thieves had smashed the windows in their reckless haste to lay hands on the plunder within. The air was rilled with wild cries of distress, or the yells of roving pillagers. But a more terrible element was to appear upon the scene. An order had been issued from General E well's headquarters, to fire the four principal tobacco warehouses of the city — namely, the public warehouse, situated at the head of the basin, near the Petersburg railroad depot Shockoe warehouse, situated near the centre of the city, side by side with the Gallego flour-mills; Mayo's ware- house; and Debre'll's warehouse, on Cary street, a square be low Libby prison. Late in the night, Mayor Mayo had dispatched, by a committee of citizens, a remonstrance against this reckless military order, which plainly put in jeopardy the whole business portion of Richmond. It was not heeded. Nothing was left for the citizens but to submit to the destruction of RECITATIONS AXD READINGS. 63 their property. The warehouses were fired. The rams on the James River were blown up. The Richmond, Virginia, and another one were all blown to the four winds of heaven. The Patrick Henry, a receiving-ship, was scuttled. Such shipping, very little in amount, as was lying at the Rich- mond wharves, was also fired, save the flag-of-truce steamer Allison. The bridges leading out of the city were also fired, and were soon wrapped in flames. Morning broke upon a scene such as those who witnessed it can never forget. The roar of an immense conflagration sounded in their ears; tongues of flame leaped from street to street; and in this baleful glare were to be seen, as of demons, the figures of busy plunderers, moving, pushing, rioting, through the black smoke, and into the open street, bearing away every conceivable sort of plunder. The scene at the commissary depot, at the head of the dock, beggared description. Hundreds of government wagons were loaded with bacon, flour, and whiskey, and driven off in hot haste to join the retreating army. Thronging about the depot where hundreds of men, wo- men, and children, black and white, provided with capacious bags, baskets, tubs, buckets, tin pans, and aprons; cursing, pushing, and crowding; awaiting the throwing open of the doors, and the order for each to help himself. About sun- rise, the doors were opened to the populace; and a rush that almost seemed to carry the building off its foundation was made, and hundreds of thousands of pounds of bacon, flour, etc., were soon swept away by a clamorous crowd.— bollard. HISTORY CF OUR FLAG. The history of our glorious old flag is of exceeding in- terest, and brings back to us a throng of sacred and thrill- ing associations. The banner of St. Andrew was blue, charged with a white altier or cross, in the form of the letter X, and was used in Scotland as early as the eleventh century. The banner of St. George was white, charged witn the red cross, and was used in England as early as the first part of the fourteenth century. By a royal proclamation, dated April 12, 1700, these two crosses were ^^^^^^^ 64 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. — joined together upon the same banner, forming the ancient national flag of England. It was not until Ireland, in 1801, was made a part of Great Britain, that the present national flag of England, so well known as the Union Jack, was completed. But it was the ancient flag of England that constituted the basis of our American banner. Various other flags had' indeed been raised at other times by our colonial ancestors. But they were not particularly associated with, or, at least, were not incorporated into and made a part of the destined "Stars and Stripes." It was after Washington had taken command of the first army of the Revolution, at Cambridge, that he unfolded before them the new flag of thirteen stripes of alternate red and white, having upon one of its corners the red and white crosses of St. George and St. Andrew, on a field of blue. And this was the standard which was borne into the city of Boston when it was evacuated by the British troops and was entered by the American army. Uniting, as it did, the flags of England and America, it showed that the colonists were not yet prepared to sever the tie that bound them to the mother-country. By that union of flags, they claimed to be a vital and substantial part of the empire of Great Britain, and demanded the rights and privileges which such a relation implied. Yet it was by these thirteen stripes that they made known the union also of the thirteen colonies, the stripes of white de- claring the purity and innocence of their cause, and the stripes of red giving forth defiance to cruelty and opposi- tion. On the 14th day of June, 1777, it was resolved by Con- gress, "That the flag of the thirteen United States be thir- teen stripes, alternate red and white, and the Union be thirteen white stars in the blue field." This resolution was made public September 3, 1777, and the flag that was first made and used in pursuance of it was that which led the Americans to victory at Saratoga. Here the thirteen stars were arranged in a circle, as we sometimes see them now, in order better to express the union of the States. In 1794, there having been two more new States added te th« Union, it was voted that the alternate stripes, as RECITATIONS AND READINGS. C>~ Well as the circling stars, be fifteen in number, and the Hag, as thus altered and enlarged, was the one w^hich was borne through all the contests of the war of 1812. But it was thought that the flag would at length become too large if a new stripe should be added with every freshly-admitted State. It was therefore enacted, in 1818, that a permanent return should be made to the original number of thirteen stripes, and that the number of stars should henceforth correspond to the growing number of States. Thus the flag would symbolize the Union as it might be at any given period of its history, and also as it was at the very hour of its birth. It was at the same time suggested that these stars, instead of being arranged in a circle, should be formed into a single star — a suggestion which we occasionally see adopted. In fine, no particular order seems now to be observed with respect to the arrangement of the constellate , T t is enough if only the whole num- ber be there upon that azure field — the blue to be em- blematical of perseverance, vigilance and justice, each star to signify the glory of the State it may represent, and the whole to be eloquent forever of ? Union that must be " one and inseparable," What precious associations cluster around our flag! Not alone have our fathers set up this banner in the name of God over the well-won battle-fields of the Revolution, and over the cities and towns which they rescued from despotic rule; but think where also their descendants have carried it, and raised it in conquest or protection ! Through w T hat clouds of dust and smoke has it passed — what storms of shot and shell — what scenes of fire and blood ! Not only at Saratoga, at Monmouth and at Yorktown, but at Lundy's Lane and New Orleans, at Buena Vista and Chapultepec. It is the same glorious old flag which, in- scribed with the dying words of Lawrence, "Don't give up the ship," was hoisted on Lake Erie by Commodore Perry just on the eve of his great naval victory — the same old flag which our great chieftain bore in triumph to the proud city of the Aztecs, and planted upon the heights of her national palace. Brave hands raised it above the eternal regions of ice in the Arctic seas, and have set it up on the summits of the lofty mountains of the distant West. 66 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. Where has it not gone, the pride of its friends and the terror of its foes! What countries and what seas has it not visited? Where has not the American citizen been able to stand beneath its guardian folds and defy the the world? With what joy and exultation seamen and tourists have gazed upon its stars and stripes, read in itth« history of their nation's glory, received from it the full sense of security, and drawn from it the inspirations of patriotism! By it, how many have sworn fealty to their country! What bursts of magnificent eloquence it has called forth from Webster and from Everett! What lyric strains of poetry from Drake and Holmes! How many heroes its folds have covered in death! How many have lived for it, and how many have died for it! How many, living and dying, have said, in their enthusiastic devotion to its honor, like that young wounded sufferer in the streets of Baltimore, "Oh, the flag? the Stars and Stripes!" and, w r herever that flag has gone, it has been the herald of a better day — it has been the pledge of freedom, of justice, of order, of civilization, and of Christianity. Tyrants only have hated it, and the enemies of mankind alone have trampled it to the earth. All who sigh for the triumph of truth and righteousness love and salute it. — Rev, A. JP, Putnam. THE SOLEMN BOOK-AGENT. He was tall, solemn, and dignified. One would have thought him a Roman senator on his way to make a speech on finance. But he wasn't, singularly enough, he wasn't. He was a book-agent. He wore a linen duster; and his brow was furrowed with many care-lines, as if he had been obliged to tumble out of bed every other night of his life to dose a sick child. He called into a tailor-shop on Ran- dolph Street, removed his hat, took his "Lives of Eminent Philosophers" from its cambric bag, and approached the tailor with, — " I'd like to have you look at this rare work." " I haf no time," replied the tailor. RECITATION!? AXD READINGS. 67 " It is a work which every thinking man should delight to peruse," continued the age;at. " Zo ? " said the tailor. " Yes. It is a work on which a great deal of deep thought has been expended; and it is pronounced by such men as Wendell Phillips to be a work without a rival in modern literature." " Makes anybody laugh when he zees it?" asked the tailor. "No, my friend: this is a deep, profound work, as I have already said. It deals with such characters as Theocritus, Socrates, and Plato, and Ralph Waldo Emerson. If you desire a work on which the most eminent author of our day has spent years of study and research, you can find nothing to compare with this." " Does it shpeak about how to glean cloze ? " anxiously asked the man of the goose. "My friend, this is no receipt-book, but an eminent work on philosophy, as I have told you. Years were consumed in preparing this volume for the press; and none but the clearest mind could have grasped the subjects herein dis- cussed. If you desire food for deep meditation, you have it here." " Does dis pook say sumding about der Prussian war ?" asked the tailor as he threaded his needle. " My friend, this is not an every daybook, but a work on philosophy, — a work which will soon be in the hands of every profound thinker in the country. What is the art of philosophy? This book tells you. Who were, and who are, our philosophers? Turn to these pages for a reply. As I said before, I don't see how you can do without it." "And he don't haf any dings about some fun, eh?" in- quired the tailor, as the book was held to him. "My friend, must I again inform you that this is not an ephemeral work, not a collection of nauseous trash, but a rare, deep work on philosophy? Here, see the name of the author. That name alone should be proof enough to your mind, that the work cannot be surpassed for profundity of thought. Why, sir, Gerritt Smith testifies to the greatness of this volume ! " "I not knows Mr. Schmidt: I make no cloze mit him," returned the tailor in a doubting voice. _____ — 08 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. " Then you will let me leave your place without having secured your name to this volume ? I cannot believe it. Behold, what research! Turn these leaves, and see these gems* of richest thought! Ah! if we had only such minds, and could wield such a pen! But we can read, and, in a measure, we can be like him. Every family should have this noble work. Let me put your name down: the book is only twelve dollars." "Zwelve dollars for der pook! Zwelve dollars, und he has noddings about der war, and no fun in him, or say noddings how to get glean cloze! What you take me for, mister ? Go right away mit dat pook, or I call der bolice, and haf you locked up pooty quick! ; ' — Detroit Free Press. WHAT THE OLD MAN SAID. "Well, yes, sir, yes, sir, thankee! So-so, for my time o' life: I'm pretty gray, and bent with pains That cut my nerves like a knife: The winters bear hard upon me; The summers scorch me sore; I'm sort o' weary of all the world: And I'm only turned threescore. " My old father is ninety, And as hearty as a buck: You won't find many men of his age So full of vigor and pluck. He felled the first tree cut in the place, And laid the first log down; And living an honest, temperate life, He's the head man of the town. " But you see, when I was twenty, or so, I wanted to go to the city; And I got with a wild set over there, That were neither wise nor witty. RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 69 And so I laid the foundation, sir, Of what you see to-day, — Old, little a-past the prime of life, And a general wasting-away. 11 'Taint a natural fever, this, sir; It's one no doctor can cure. I was made to bear strong burdens, Ox-like and slow, but sure; And I only lived for my pleasures, Though I had been Christian bred. I lived for self, sir, and here's the end, — Crawling about half-dead. "Well, well! 'twon't do to think on't. I try to forget my pain, My poisoned blood, and my shattered nerves, My wreck of body and brain. Only, I saw you drinking, just now, — Drinking that devil's drain: There's where I liked to have stepped into hell, And gone by the fastest train. "You don't like my blunt speech, mebby: Well, 'tisn't the nicest cut; Only, when a man's looked over the brink, He knows what he's talking about. And if, with his eyes wide open, He's walked straight into the flame, And nothing less than the mercy of God Has turned his glory to shame. "Then, when he says there's a drunkard's hell, You better believe it's true. I've fought with the devil hand to hand, And tested him through and through. We know, who've bartered body and soul, What body and soul are worth; And there's nothing like to a drunkard's woe In all God's beautiful earth. RECITATIONS AND READINGS. " Wife, children ! Haven't I had them ? Yes! No man has had sweeter than I: But children and wife are dead and dust — Why, what could they do but die ? Don't ask me to tell you of them, because It blots out God's mercy even; And it don't seem sure, though I've left my cups. That my sin can be forgiven. " I tell you it's hard for a shattered hulk To drift into harbor safe: And I feel sometimes, with my threescore years Like a hopeless, homeless waif. But there's one thing certain: I've overcome; And I'll fight while I draw a breath, When I see a fine young fellow like you Go down to the gates of death. "You'll laugh, perhaps, at an old man's zeal: I laughed in a young man's glee; But God forbid, if you reach threescore, You should be a wreck like me! " — Alice Robbing POOR HOUSE NAN. Did you say you wished to see me, sir? step in; 'tis a cheer- less place, But you're heartily welcomed all the same; to be poor is no disgrace! Have I been here long? Oh, yes, sir! 'tis thirty winters gone Since poor Jim took to crooked ways and left me all alone! Jim was my son, and a likelier lad you'd never wish to see, 'Till evil counsels won his heart and led him away from me. 'Tis the old, sad, pitiful story, sir, of the devil's winding stair, And men go down — and down — and down — to blackness and despair; Tossing about like wrecks at sea, with helm and anchor lost* RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 71 On and on, through the surging waves, nor caring to count the cost; I doubt sometimes if the Savior sees, He seems so far away, How the souls He loved and died for, are drifting — drift- ing astray! Indeed, 'tis little wonder, sir, if woman shrinks aud cries, When the life-blood on Rum's altar spilled is calling to the skies! Small wonder if her own heart feels each sacrificial blow, For isn't each life a part of hers ? each pain her hurt and woe? Read all the records of crime and shame — 'tis bitterly, sadly true; Where manliness and honor die, there some woman's heart dies, too. £ often think, when I hear folks talk so prettily and so fine, Of "Alcohol as needful food;" of the "moderate use of wine;" How " the world couldn't do without it, there was clearly no other way, But for a man to drink, or let it alone, as his own stroug will might say, That " to use it, but not abuse it, was the proper thing to do;" How I wish they'd let old Poor House Nan preach her little sermon, too! I would give them scenes in a woman's life that would make their pulses stir, For I was a drunkard's child and wife — aye, a drunkard's mother, sir! I would tell of childish terrors, of childish tears and pain: Of cruel blows from a father's hand when rum had crazed his brain; He always said he could drink his fill, or let it alone, as well; Perhaps he might, he was killed one night in a brawl — in a grog-shop hell! 7*2 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. I would tell of years of loveless toil the drunkard's child had passed, With just one gleam of sunshine, too beautiful to last. When I married Tom I thought for sure I had nothing more to fear; That life would come all right at last; the world seemed full of cheer. But he took to moderate drinking. He allowed 'twas a harmless thing, So the arrow sped, and my bird of Hope came down with a broken wing! Tom was only a moderate drinker; ah, sir, do you bear in mind How the plodding tortoise in the race left the leaping hare behind? 'Twas because he held right on and on, steady and true, if slow, And that's the way, I'm thinking, that the moderate drink- ers go! Step over step — day after day — with sleepless, tireless pace, While the toper sometimes looks behind and tarries in the race! &h, heavily in the well worn path poor Tom walked day by day, For my heart strings clung about his feet and tangled up the way; The days were dark, and friends were gone, and life dragged on full slow, And children came, like reapers, and to a harvest of want and woe! Two of them died, and I was glad when they lay before me dead; I had grown so weary of their cries — their pitiful cries for bread. There came a time when my heart was stone; I would neither hope nor pray; Poor Tom lay out in the Potter's field, and my boy had gone astray; RECITATIONS AND READINGS. My boy who'd been my idol, while, like hounds atkirst for blood, Between my breaking heart and him the liquor seller stood, And lured him on with pleasant words, his pleasures and his wine: Ah, God, have pity on other hearts, as bruised and hurt za mine. There were whispers of evil-doing, of dishonors, and GC shame, That I cannot bear to think of now, and would not dare tie name! There was hiding away from the light of day, there was creeping about at night, A hurried word of parting — then a criminal's stealthy flight! His lips were white with remorse and fright when he gave me a good-bye kiss; And I've never seen my poor, lost boy from that black day to this. Ah, none but a mother can tell you, sir, how a mother's heart will ache, With the sorrow that comes of a sinning child, with grief for a lost one's sake, AVhen she knows the feet she trained to walk have gone so far astray, And the lips grown bold with curses that she taught to sing and pray; A child may fear — a wife may weep, but of all sad things, none other Seems half so sorrowful to me as being a drunkard's mother. They tell me that down in the vilest dens of the city's crime and murk, Tbere are men with the hearts of angels, doing the angel'a work; Wiat they win back the lost and the straying, that they i*.elp fho wpfilv to stand 74 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. By the wonderful power of loving words— and the help of God's right hand! And often and often, the dear Lord knows, I've knelt and prayed to Him, That somewhere, somehow, 'twould happen, that they'd find and save my Jim! You'll say 'tis a poor old woman's whim; but when I prayed last night, Right over your eastern window there shone a wonderful light! (Leastways it looked that way to me) and out of the light there fell The softest voice I had ever heard; it rung like a silver bell; And these were the words: " The prodigal turns, so tired by want and sin, He seeks his father's open door — he weeps — and enters in." Why, sir, you're crying as hard as I; what — is it really done ? Have the loving voice and the Helping Hand brought back my wandering son ? Did you kiss me and call me "Mother" — and hold me to your breast, Or is it one of the taunting dreams that come to mock my rest ? No — no! thank God, 'tis a dream come true! 1 can die, for He's saved my boy! And the poor old heart that had lived on grief was broken at last by joy! Lucy 31. JSlinn. "COALS OF FIRE." The coffin was a plain one — no flowers on its top, no lin- ing of rose-white satin for the pale brow, no smooth rib- bons about the coarse shroud. The brown hair was laid decently back, but there was no crimped cap, with its neat tie beneath the chin. " I want to see my mother," sobbed a poor child, as the city undertaker screwed down the top. "You can't; get out of the way, boy! Why don't some- RECITATIONS AND HEADINGS. 7o body take the brat away? "Only let me see her one min- ute," cried the hapless orphan, clutching the side of the charity box. And as he gazed into that rough face tears streamed down the cheek on which no childish bloom ever lingered. Oh, it was pitiful to hear him cry, only once ! let me see my mother only once! " Brutally the hard-hearted mon- ster 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 expanded, his lips sprang apart; a fire glittered through his tears as he raised his puny arm, and with a most unchildish accent screamed, " When I am a man I'll kill you for that! " A coffin and a heap of earth was between the mother and the poor forsaken child; a monument stronger than granite built in his boy-heart to the memory ot a heartless deed. * * * * * * * The court house was crowded to suffocation. " Does any one appear as this man's counsel?" asked the judge. There was silence when he finished, until, with lips tightly pressed together, a look of strange recognition blended with haughty reserve upon his handsome features, a young man, a stranger, stepped forward to plead for the erring and the friendless. 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." "I want no thanks," replied the stranger, with icy coldness. " I — I believe you are unknown to me." "Man, I will refresh your memory. Twenty years ago you struck a broken- hearted boy away from his poor mother's coffin; I was that poor, miserable boy." " 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 deed has rankled in my breast for twenty years. Go, and remember the tears of a friendless child." " SELF-SACRIFICE. I believe in moral suasion for the drunkard; I believe in appealing to the conscience of the moderate drinker, and asking him to be a hero. What is heroism but self-sacri- fice? All heroes are workers for others, * * * Ask the world's great men in what their greatness consists. One will tell you: "I make marble breathe;" another: "I make ?6 RECITATIONS AND READING. canvas speak;" another: "I sing- a song* that ages will re- peat;" another: "I conquer a world." Are these men heroes? Perhaps. Are they great men? Perhaps; but listen! Across the hills of Galilee is heard a voice of Him who spake as never man spake. Reverently we ask: "Prophet of Nazareth, what is Thy greatness?" Hear the reply: "I come to seek and to save that which was lost." "By what means?*' "By giving Myself a sacrifice for them." Competitors for heroism, fix your eye there, and take your rank according to the most magnifi- cent standard of heroism that ever the world knew. Aye, and there are heroes in common life. In one of our sleeping-cars at nig-ht there was an old bachelor, who was annoyed by the con- tinued crying of a child, and the ineffectual attempts of the father to quiet it. Pulling aside the curtain, and putting out his head, he said: 'Where is the mother of the child? Why doesn't she stop this nuisance?" The father said, very quietly: "The mother is in the bag- gage-car in her coffin; I am traveling home with the baby. This is the second night I have been with the child, and the little child is wearying for its mother. I am sorry if its plaint- ive cries disturb any one in this car." "Bless my soul!" said the old bachelor; "wait a minute." The old man got up and dressed himself, and compelled the father to lie down and sleep while he took the baby himself. That old bachelor, stilling the cry of the babe all night, was a hero, and the man who, for the sake of others, gives up a law- ful gratification in his own house or in the social circle is as great a hero as though he stood upon the battlefield. It re- quires some self-denial to be a teetotaler. It costs some men more moral courage to invite honored guests to the table and keep the wine away than it would be to march right up to the cannon's mouth on the field of battle. The other day I had an attack of neuralgia in the face; it was as if fingers of fire were feeling for every nerve, and it was so agonizing at times that I just grasped the side of my face with clenched hands and cried out. A gentleman I to mo : "Would you take a tablespoonful of brandy if you knew it would relieve you of that pain?" I was not long in saying "No." You may call that extra fanaticism, but I would not take a spoonful of brandy to save my life. You may say that is suicide. I have another Judge besides you, and I shall stand in His presence. I am ready to give an account on that question. If I were to take a glass of brandy to ease me of pain it would injure my influence for good; and a man who willingly does that which will injure his influence for good among his fellow-men, I hold, com- mits a sin. I am willing to work with, all who labor in any way for the promotion of this cause of temperance, but I advocate law for the tempter, and for the tempted love and sympathy. I have been a prohibitionist all my life, but I am none the less a moral suasionist. I rejoice that we are falling into our rightful position. At one time many of our temperance advocates were unlearned and un- educated men. Now we have men of superior education to fight our medical battles for us. AYe have bishops and clergymen to do the theological part for us. The great object is to destroy the fort, and I do not care how it is done, whether by a musket-shot or by a hundred-pounder. Let us strike hands and work together — not work for an order, for a society, for a body of men to put in office in rotation, but for the great cause, willing to sacrifice our- selves if necessary. I believe it is God's will to abolish everything that tends to immorality, vice, evil, and the violation of law. Then let us remember the responsibility standing between God's will and the work He wills to have done. Oh! it is a grand thing to co-operate with Him and with the angels in preventing sin. — John B. Gough. HOW WILLIE WAS SAVED. You see that tree over yonder, with branches long an wide, Underneath which, from the sunlight, the cattle seek to hide ; Air the railroad close beside it, with that long train o' cars Crawlin' along like a serpent over the iron bars ? 7S RECITATIONS AND READINGS. Weil, a year ago last summer, one mornin' in July, I was hayin' in the medder, an' spreadin' the grass to dry ; Willie, our youngest, was playin' under that self -same tree, A-buildin' sticks into houses, as busy as busy could be. I left him playin' as usual, an' labored to an' fro A-spreadin' the grass before me as fast as I could go ; But sudden I heard a whistle, such as an engine makes When there is somethin' the trouble, an' warns the use o' brakes. I instantly thought o' Willie, an' looked along the track ; An' there with his hair a-streamin', an' hangin' down his back, An' his little arms a-swingin', an' shoutin' at every breath, He stood a-facin' the engine in the very jaws of death. Had that picture been on paper, 'twere well enough to see, But seeing that picture in earnest with me didn't agree; For w^hen I looked upon it my eyes seemed all a blur, An' I felt like a man in the stocks who couldn't hardly stir. But while I stood there tremblin' an' paralyzed with fear, Thinkin' more thoughts in a second than I could write in a year, I saw the cab window open, an' a man, athletic an' tall, Shot out with somethin' the quickness of a well-sent can- non-ball. Over the boiler he clambered, an' round the smokin' stack, Until he reached the cow-catcher that runs close to the track ; But the moment that he grasped it he stood as firm as steel, With the courage of a martyr who dies upon the wheel. So, just as that durned engine, greedy for prey as a shark, Went sweepin' after its victim like bullets after a mark, That engineer leaned forward, and reached his hand ahead; But whiz went the engine by me, an' down went my heart like lead. RECITATIONS AND READING 7.) I never warn't much at prayin' — never warn't much at a swear; But if ever I felt like prayin' 'twas while I was standin' there. "God save Willie!" I shouted; "Save Willie!" I shouted again, Then jumped the fence like a squirrel, an' bounded after the train. It came to a standstill at last, an' from it went up a cheer, An' quickly comin' to meet me, I saw the engineer; In his arms he held up Willie, as chipper an' as gay As the moment that I left him under the tree at play. I was so overcome with joy, it was hard for me to speak; I couldn't hardly thank him, my tongue it was so weak; But after I'd stopped a little, I walked up straight and square, And hugged that feller closer than any grizzly bear. So after the scene was over I invited him to call At our cottage in the holler, an' see us each an' all. So he called on us one evenin'; but, when he entered the door, I saw he was young and handsome, — what I hadn't seen before. An' Mary Jane, our daughter, noticed it quick as I, For she kinder played the 'possum, an' watched him on the sly; An' I saw when she looked at him, an' he looked down at her, They were shootin' private glances of a deadly character. So at som'at in the evenin', when talk was gettin' slack, An' I'd asked a heap o' questions that wasn't answered back, I sorter rose up slowly, an' to Nancy slyly said, I guessed we wasn't wanted, an had better go to bed. Well, it ended in a weddin', as you might well suppose. For one mornin' Jane came to me, as blusGin'as a rose^ SO RECITATIOKS AOT5 READINGS. An' asked if I was "willin' that" — but quick came to # pause; So I, surmisin' the question, quickly answered that I wai So, instead of losin' Willie, we lost our Mary Jane; But it better be through wedlock than under the wheels d a train : For he was a smart young feller, straight as an arroit an' tall; But Jane was fully his ekal, although her figure w^aa small. To-day I saw some swaddlin' clothes that Willie used t( wear, All washed an ironed for something an' hangin' on t chair; But when I asked about 'em, my wife looked up so queeT> That I quickly changed the subject, an' didn't interfere. But I've told you how our Willie was saved from undn. the train, An' how in the end it cost us the loss o' Mary Jane; An' now, to finish the story — at ween just you and I — If I'm not grandfather yet, I may be by an' by. — David HilL THE WRONG TRAIN. He had been to town-meeting, had once voyaged a huiv d red miles on a steamboat, and had a brother who had made the overland trip to California. She had been to quiltings, funerals, and a circus or two ; and she knew a woman who thought nothing of setting out on a railroad journey where she had to wait fifteen minutes at a junction and change cars at a depot. So I found them, — a cosy-looking old couple, sitting up very straight in their seat, and trying to act like old rail road travelers. A shadow of anxiety suddenly crossed he* face : she became uneasy, and directly she asked: "Philetus, I act'lly b'lieve we've went and took the wrong train ! " " It can't be, nohow," he replied, seeming a little startlecU RECITATIi D READING 81 "Didn't I ask the conductor, and he said we was right?" " yaas, he did ; but look out the window, and make sur:^ lie might have been lyin' to us." The old man looked out the window at the flitting fences, the galloping telegraph-poles, and the unfamiliar fields, as if expecting to catch sight of some landmark, and forgetting for a moment that he was a thousand miles from home. " I guess we're, all right, Mary," he said, as he drew in hi* head. " Ask somebody — ask that man there," she whispered. "This is the train for Chicago, hain't it?" inquired thf old man of the passenger in the next seat behind. "This is the train," replied the man. "There ! didn't I say so !" clucked the old gent. "It may be — it may be !" she replied, dubiously ; "but if we are carried wrong, it won't be. my fault. I say that we are wrong, and when we've been led into some pirate's cave, and butchered for our money, ye'll wish ye had heeded my words ! " He looked, out of the window again, opened his mouth as if to make some inquiry of a boy sitting on the fence, and then leaned back on his seat and sighed heavily. She shut her teeth together, as if saying that she could stand it if he could, and the train sped along for several miles. He finally said: "Looks like rain over thar in the west. I hope the boys have got them oats in." " That makes me think of the umbreller ! " diving her hands among the parcels at their feet. She hunted around two or three minutes, growing red in the face, and then straitened up and hoarsely whis- pered: " It's gone !" " W— what ? " he gasped. " That umbreller ! " " Xo ! ." " Gone, hide and hair ! " so she went on, " that sky-blue umbreller, which I've had ever since Martha died !" He searched around, but it was not to be found. " Waal, that's queer," he mused, as he straightened up. "Queer ! not a bit. I've talked to ye and talked to ye, 89 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. but it does no good. Ye come from a heedless fam'ly ; and ye'd forget to put on your boots, 'f I didn't tell ye to." " None of the Harrisons was ever in the poor-house ! " he replied in a cutting tone. "Philetus ! Philetus H. Harrison ! " she continued, lay- ing her hand on his arm, "don't you dare twit me of that again ! I've lived with ye nigh on to forty years, and waited on ye when ye had biles and the toothache and the colic, and when ye fell and broke your leg ; but don't push me up to the w r all ! " He looked out of the window, feeling that she had the advantage of him, and she wiped her eyes, settled her glasses on her nose, and used up the next fifteen minutes in thinking of the past. Feeling thirsty, she reached down among the bundles, searched around, and her face was as pale as death as she straightened back and w r hispered, — " And that's gone, too ! " " What now ? " he asked. " It's been stole ! " she exclaimed, looking around the car, as if expecting to see some one with the bottle to his lips. "Fust the umbreller — then the bottle ! " she gasj)ed. " I couldn't have left it, could I ? " " Don't ask. me ! That bottle has been in our family twenty years, ever since mother died; and now its gone ! Land only knows what I'll do for a camfire bottle when we git home, if w r e ever do ! " "I'll buy one." " Yes, I know ye are always ready to buy ; and if it wasn't for me to restrain ye, the money'd fly like feathers in the wind." " Waal, I didn't have to mortgage my farm," he replied, giving her a knowing look. " Twitting agin ? It isn't enough that you've lost a good umbreller and a camfire bottle ; but you must twit me o' this and that." Her nose grew red, and tears came to her eyes ; but, as he was looking out of the window, she said nothing further. Ten or fifteen minutes passed ; and, growing restless, he called out to a man across the aisle: " What's the sile around here ? " " Philetus ! Philetus II. Harrison ! stop your noise ! " she whispered, poking him with her elbow. RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 83 " I just asked a question," he replied, resuming his old position. " What'd your brother Joab tell ye, the last thing afore we left hum?" she asked. "Didn't he say somebody'd swindle ye on the string game, the confidence game, or some other game ? Didn't he warn ye agin rascals ? " "I hain't seen no rascals." " Of course ye haven't, 'cause yer blind ! I know that that man is a villun ; and if they don't arrest him for murder afore we leave this train, I'll miss my guess. I can read human-natur' like a book." There was another period of silence, broken by her say- ing: " I wish I knew that this was the train for Chicago." " 'Course it is." " How do you know ? " " 'Cause it is." " Waal, I know it hain't ; but if you are contented to rush along to your destruction, I shan't say a word. Only when yer throat is being cut, don't call out that I didn't warn ye! " The peanut boy came along, and the old man reached down for his wallet. "Philetus, ye sha'n't squander that money after peanuts!" she exclaimed, using the one hand to catch his arm, and the other to wave the boy on. " Didn't I earn it ? " " Yaas, you sold two cows to get money to go on this visit ; but it's half gone now, and the land only knows how we'll get home ! " The boy passed on, and the flag of truce was hung out for another brief time. She recommenced hostilities by re- marking : " I wish I hadn't cum." He looked up, and then out of the window. " I know what ye want to say," she hissed ; "but it's a blessed good thing for you that I did come ! If ye'd come alone, ye'd have been murdered and gashed and scalped, and sunk into the river afore now ! " " Pooh ! " "Yes, pooh, 'f ye want to, but I know ! " He leaned back ; she settled herself anew ; and by and by— — — 84 RECITATIONS AND HEADINGS. He nodded — She nodded — And, in sleep, their gray heads touched ; and his arm found its way along the back of the seat, and his hand rested on her shoulder. — M. Quad. THE MANIAC'S WAIL. I am a wreck, they say; and oft I see Men gazing in my face all pityingly. " A wreck ? " What can that be ? I've stood apace Upon the sea shore, when on ocean's face A frown has rested, and its angry breath Hath breathed of desolation and of death; I've seen the vessels, 'mid the tempest's roar, Tossed like to infants' toys upon the shore, Each crushed, from riven mast to shattered deck, And men have cried, "A wreck! a wreck! a wreck! I've trod the forest, when across my path Lay prostrate victims of the tempest's wrath ; And I have heard men sorrow when appeared Some giant of the forest long revered Amidst the fallen; and I've heard them say, Such a wreck ne'er was for many a day. I've seen a costly vase of untold worth Lying in countless fragments on the earth, And such laments o'er it were made that day, You would have thought it had been mortal clay. Over the dying couch I too have bent, And heard the wailings of a life misspent, When the wrecked soul sank 'neath despair and hate* ('hitching for mercy's rope, alas, too late! I am the fated bark! — the smitten tree! — The shattered vase! Mine the soul's bankruptcy! Face of seraphic beauty! doomed to be A light from heav'n, or gleam from hell to me; Thou break'st in on my solitude e'en now, But not with glory's halo round thy brow; Circled with scorching flames! I gasp, I pray, God! take the horror from my sight away! n liECITATIOXS AXD READINGS. In youth I loved. In manhood's strength and pride I wooed and won my idol for rny bride. Oar home was Eden — Eden, for a snare Was found therein — a serpent lurked there! And thus within our home the accursed thing Larked, waiting to put forth its adder's sting. tire long a whisper came, that on her life i'iie blight had fallen — my own darling wife! With wrath I vowed 'twas false; I cursed the tongue That dared against her breathe one word of wrong. Yet, with love's heed aroused, my guard I set Upon her actions. Oh, could I forget How changed to blackness hopes of rainbow hue, How soon I proved the words of doom too true! The record is all darkness, all a blank! I know not how it was, she slowly sank. Intemperance! down into thy dark abyss, My household soon her comely form did miss; joy her presence o'er my hearth now shed; Nay, soon, drink-cursed, she from my bosom fled! Wildly I sought her; found her; and, heart-riv'n, Vowed all should be forgot and all forgiv'n, If she would but return. And back she came, Only to fall again; and in her shame She went in halls of infamy to dwell. Oil, heavens! to me the thought is worse than hell! Mad grew I then; and, lest the world should see, With curious eye, a strong man's mis'ry, I sought a safe retreat, and entered where Alone my heart could struggle with despair, i wept until the tears refused to come, And like a statue stood I, smitten dumb. My icy heart each melting pow'r defied, And thus to earth and all therein I died. They brought me here — here, amid wrecks of mind; What meeter resting place could ruin find ? I am not fettered, yet wish not to fly From the poor maniac's discordant cry. I see no sky, nor hear sweet warbler's sing; ^ ° j°y to me d° changing season's bring; For I am dead! For me death's mourning wear; _______ 86 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. She dug my grave, and drink entombed me here! JjC 3|C JfC %i ' tfg They bid me upward look — " Up! heav'n is there! " And shall I upward look in my despair ? Let those look up who hope, but ne'er to me Shall hope be given — I care not to be free; She is not dead, But in my heart she lives no more; Nor shall hope shed One ray of light on this dark shore* I did with fond idolatry adore, But love for me apples of Sodom bore! Sometimes the Drink-fiend comes my woe to mock, And when my mind has stemmed the first rude shock Within the past I live again; I glow With hate; like Samson grapple with my foe! Till foam upon my parted lips is found, And the bare walls with frantic shouts resound. Yea! in my quenchless fury I have prayed To Gi-od, to fiend, both, to grant me their aid, That trampled 'neath my feet earth's foe might lie; Then have I shouted the rallying cry, That tells the story of my murdered life — Demon of hell! Drink fiend! Give back my wife ! ! — Harriet A, Glazebrook. THE CITY AND COUNTRY RAT. U A big brown rat that lives in town Wrote to a country brother, And said, ' Come dear, and stay with me; I would not ask another. I wish to show you my grand home My carpets, velvets, silks; I do not feed on scraps, like you, But live on cakes and milk. I shall expect you Monday next To see my splendid house; RECITATIONS AND READINGS. I'm sure you'll hate a country life, Fit only for a mouse.' When Monday comes, with well-licked coat, Rat hurries off to town, And, creeping slowly through a hole, He meets his friend in brown. The feast begins: they nibble game, They drink from silver platter. ' What do you think of this gay life ? * Asks brown amid the clatter. c It is first rate,' says country rat; i I think I'll join you here. There's no compare — Dear me! what's that? 3 He cries, with sudden fear. For at the door sounds bow, wow, wow! And next a handle turns. You should see- how they scamper now; Each heart with terror burns. Over goes dish, and glass, and fork; Over rolls grape and bone. To see the fright of country rat Would move a heart of stone. Though safely hidden, now he turns, Preparing to depart, 'Stop,' cried his friend, ' don't go for this; Think of our food — take heart.' 'I'd rather lead a quite life In my little nest of hay Than share your f easts t in constant fear; My dear town rat, good-day. ? " AMBITION. I have been accused of ambition in presenting this meas- ure, — inordinate ambition! If I had thought of myself only, I should have never brought it forward. I know well 88 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. the perils to which I expose myself, — the risk of alienating faithful and valued friends, with but little prospect of making new ones, if any new ones could compensate for the loss of those we have long tried and loved; and the honest misconception, both of friends and foes. Ambition! If I had listened to its soft and seducing whispers, if I had yielded myself to the dictates of a cold, calculating, and prudential policy, I would have stood still; I might Lave silently gazed on the raging storm, enjoyed its loudest thunders, and left those who are charged with the care of the vessel of state to conduct it as they could. I have been heretofore often unjustly accused of ambition. Low, grovelling souls, who are utterly incapable of elevating themselves to the higher and nobler duties of pure patriot- ism, beings who, forever keeping their own selfish aims in view, decide all public measures by their presumed influ- ence on their aggrandizement, judge me by the venal rule which they prescribe to themselves. I have given to the winds those false accusations, as I consign that which now impeaches my motives. I have no desire for office, not even for the highest. The most exalted is but a prison, in w T hich the incumbent daily receives his cold, heartless visit- ants, marks his weary hours, and is cut off from the prac- tical enjoyment of all the blessings of genuine freedom. I am no candidate for any office in the gift of the people of these States, united or separated: I never wish, never ex- pect to be. Pass this bill, tranquilize the country, restore confidence and affection in the Union, and I am willing to go home to Ashland, and renounce public service forever. I should there find, in its groves, under its shades, on its lawns, amid my flocks and herds, in the bosom of my fam- ily, sincerity and truth, attachment and fidelity, and grati- tude, which I have not always found in the walks ^of public life. Yes, I have ambition; but it is the ambition of being the humble instrument, in the hands of Providence, to recon- cile a divided people, once more to revive concord and har- mony in a distracted land, — the pleasing ambition of con- templating the glorious spectacle of a free, united^ pros- perous, and fraternal people. — Henry Clayi RECITATIONS AXD READINGS. 89 SCHNEIDER'S TOMATOES. Schneider is very fond of tomatoes. Schneider has a friend in the country who raises " garden sass and sich." Schneider had an invitation to visit his friend last week, and regale himself on his favorite vegetable. His friend Pfeiffer being busy negotiating with a city produce dealer on his arrival, Schneider thought he would take a stroll in the garden and see some of his favorites in their pristine beauty. We will let him tell the rest of his story in his own language. "Veil, I valks shust a liddle vhile roundt, when I sees some of dose dermarters vot vos so red und nice as I nefer did see any more, und I dinks I vill put mineself outside about a gouple-a-tozen, shust to geef me a liddle abbedite vor dinner. So I bulls off von ov der reddest und pest lookin' of dose dermarters, und dakes a pooty goot bite out of dot, and vas chewing it oup pooty quick, ven — by chimi- ny! — I dort I had a peese ov red-hot goals in mine mout 5 or vas chewing oup dwo or dree bapers of needles; und I velt so pad, already, dot mine eyes vas vool of tears, und I mate vor an "olt oken bucket" vot I seen hanging in der veil, as I vas goomin' along. " Shust den mine vriend Pfeiffer game oup und ask me vot mate me veel so pad, und if any of mine vamily vas dead. I dold him dot I vas der only von ov der vamily dot vas pooty sick; und den I ask him vot kind of der- marters dose vas vot I hat shust been bicking; urt mine cracious, how dot landsman laughft, und said dot dose vas red peppers dot he vas raising vor bepper-saueec You pet my life I vas mat. I radder you give me feefty tollars as to eat some more of dose bepper-sauce dermarters." — C. F. Adams. THE STAGE-DRIVER'S STORY. It was the stage-driver's story, as he stood with his back to the wheelers, Quietly flecking his whip and turning his quid of tobacco; While on the dusty road, and blent with the rays of the moonlight 00 RECITATIOXS AND READINGS. We saw the long curl of his lash and the juice of tobacco descending. "Danger ! Sir, I believe you — indeed, I may say on that subject, You your existence might put to the hazard and turn of 2 wager. 1 have seen danger ? Ob, no! not me, sir, indeed, I assure you: Twas only the man with the dog that is sitting alone in yon wagon. It was the Geiger Grade, a mile and a half from the summit; Black as your hat was the night, and never a star in the heavens. Thundering down the grade, the gravel and stones were sent flying Over the precipice side — a thousand feet plump to the bot- tom. Half-way down the grade I felt, sir, a thrilling and creaking, Then a lurch to one side, as we hung on the bank of the canon; Then, looking up the road, I saw, in the distance behind me, The off Lind wheel of the coach just loosed from its axle, and following. One glance alone I gave, than gathered together my rib- bons, Shouted, and flung them, outspread, on the straining necks of my cattle; Screamed at the top of my voice, and lashed the air in my frenzy, While down the Geiger Grade, on three wheels, the vehicle thundered. Speed was our only chance, when again came the ominous rattle: Crack, and another wheel slipped away, and was lost in the darkness; Two only now were left ; yet such was our fearful momentum, Upright, erect, and sustained on two wheels, the vehicle Thunderer!, RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 01 As some huge bowlder, unloosed from its rocky shelf on the mountain, Drives before it the hare and the timorous squirrel, far- leaping, So down the Geiger Grade rushed the pioneer coach, and before it Leaped the wild horses, and shrieked in advance of the danger impending. But to be brief in my tale. Again, ere we came to the level, Slipped from its axle a wheel; so that, to be plain in my statement, A matter of twelve hundred yards or more, as the distance may be, We traveled upon one wheel, until ^re drove up to the station. Then, sir, we sank in a heap; but picking myself from the ruins, I heard a noise up the grade; and looking, I saw in the dis- tance The three wheels following still, like moons on the horizon whirling, Till, circling, they gracefully sank on the road at the side of the station. This is my story, sir; a trifle, indeed, I assure you; Much more, perchance, might be said; but I hold him, of all men, most lightly Who swerves from the truth in this tale — No, thank you — well, since you are pressing, Perhaps I don't care if I do: you may give me the same, Jim — no sugar." — Bret Harte. THE OLD WOMAN'S RAILWAY SIGNAL. The most effective working-force in the world in which we live is the law of kindness; for it is the only moral force that operates w T ith the same effect upon mankind, brute- kind, and bird-kind. From time immemorial, music has Wonderfully affected all beings, reasoning or unreasoning, 92 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. that have ears to hear. The prettiest idea and simile of ancient literature relate to Orpheus playing his lyre to animals listening in intoxicated silence to its strains. Well, kindness is the music of good-will to men and beasts; and both listen to it with their hearts, instead of their ears: and the hearts of both are affected by it in the same way, if T>ot to the same degree. Volumes might be written, filled with beautiful illustrations of its effect upon both. The music of kindness has not only power to charm, but even to tram* form, both the savage breast of man and beast; and on this harp the smallest lingers in the world may^play heaven's sweetest tunes on earth. Some time ago we read of an incident in America that will serve as a good illustration of this beautiful law. It was substantially to this effect: a poor, coarse-featured old woman lived on the line of the Baltimore and Ohio Rail- way, where it passed through a wild, unpeopled district in Western Virginia. She was a widow, with only one daughter living with her in a log-hut, near a deep, precipit- ous gorge crossed by the railway bridge. Here she con- trived to support herself by raising and selling poultry and eggs, adding berries in their season, and other little articles for the market. She had to make a long, weary walk of many miles to a town where she could sell her basket of produce. The railway passed by her house to this town; but the ride would cost too much of the profit on her small sales; so she trudged on generally to the market on foot. The conductor, or guard, came finally to notice her travel- ing by the side of the line, or on the footpath between the rails; and being a good-natured, benevolent man, he would often give her a ride to and fro without charge. The en- gine-man and brakemen also were good to the old woman, and felt that they were not wronging the interests of the railway company by giving her these free rides. And soon an accident occurred that proved they were quite right in this view of the matter. In the wild month of March the rain descended, and the mountains sent down their rolling, roaring torrents of melted snow and ice into the gorge, near the old woman's house. The flood arose with the darkness of the night, until she heard the crash of the railway bridge^ as it was swept from its abutments,, and RECITATIONS AXD READINGS. 95 dashed its broken timbers against the craggy sides of the precipice on either side. It was nearly midnight. The rain fell in a flood, and the darkness was deep and howling. In another half-hour the train would be due. There was no telegraph on the line, an kintly as nefer vas, pecause be say I vas sooch an honest Deutscher, undtidn't dry und sbeat der gof ermants. I dells you vot it vos, I tidn't veel any more petter as a hundert ber cent, ven dot man valks oudt of mine schtore, und der nexd dime I makes free mit strangers I vinds first deir peesnis oudt. — C. F. Adams. LITTLE JIM. The cottage was a thatched one The outside old and mean, Yet everything within that cot Was wondrous neat and clean. The night was dark and stormy, The wind was howling wild, A patient mother watched beside ■ The death-bed of her child — A little worn-out creature, His once bright eyes grown dim. It was a collier's wife and child; They called him " Little Jim." And oh, to see the briny tears Fast hurrying down her cheek, As she offered up a prayer in thought- She was afraid to speak — Lest she might waken one she loved Far better than her life; For she had all a mother's heart, Had that poor collier's wife. 08 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. With hands uplifted — see, she kneels Beside the sufferer's bed, And prays that He will spare her boy, And take herself instead. She gets her answer from the child, Soft fall these words from him: " Mother, the angels do so smile, And beckon Little Jim. I have no pain, dear mother, now, But, oh, I am so dry. Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, And, mother, don't you cry. With gentle, trembling hands, she held A tea-cup to his lips; He smiled to thank her as he took Three little tiny sips. " Tell father when he comes from work, I said good-night to him; And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor little Jim. She saw that he was dying, That the child she loved so dear Had uttered the last words that she Might ever hope to hear! The cottage door is opened; The collier's step is heard; The father and the mother meet, Yet neither speak a word. He felt that all was over, He knew his child was dead; He took the candle in his hand, And walked towards the bed. His quivering lips gave token Of the grief he'd fain conceal. RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 99 And, see, his wife has joined him; The stricken couple kneel. With hearts bowed down with sadness They humbly ask of Him. In heaven once more to meet again Their own poor "Little Jim." THE HIGHER LIFE. If the thought were present with us, That our eyes will see the Lord, How we'd guard them from all evil, How we'd guide them by His word. If we held it truly sacred, That our ears will hear His voice, How we'd train them to distinguish The least hinting of His choice. If the truth we never doubted, That our lips would speak His name, In a heavenly recognition, When the welcome plaudit came. How we'd tune them to all sweetness, Gentle words and kindly tone, And we'd soon unlearn the harshness That has caused the world to mourn. If this right hand may be taken By angelic ones who wait Ever at the shining portals, Can it work the deeds of hate ? If these feet would press the verdure Of the flowery pasture there, Can I follow earthly byways, And though false still deem them fair ? If my mind perchance may ripen, In the fuller life above^ L.ofC. fOO RECITATIONS AND HEADINGS. 'Neath the guiding of a teacher, Whose eternal name is love; Till it comprehends the wonders Of creation's faultless plan, Till it learns the yearning pity That our Savior had for man, Can I weaken it by folly, Or let evil thoughts find place, In this mind which is immortal, And should mirror back his face P Oh, if we are only faithful Unto death — that gate of life — Shall we e'er regret it, think you, That we have endured the strife ? May our Lord vouchsafe to keep us Pure in heart, and lip, and eye, Till we reach the golden city, In the glorious bye-and-bye. — Mrs. MacB. Beaton. CHICAGO. Men said at vespers: "All is well!" In one wild night the city fell; Fell shrines of prayer and marts of gain Before the fiery hurricane. On threescore spires had sunset shone, Where ghastly sunrise looked on none. Men clasped each other's hands, and said, "The City of the West is dead!" Brave hearts who fought, in slow retreat, The fiends of fire from street to street, Turned powerless to the blinding glare, The dumb defiance of despair. A sudden impulse thrilled each wire That signals round that sea of fire; Swift words of cheer, warm heart-throbs came; In tears of pity died the flame, KECTTATIOXS AXD READINGS. 101 From East, from West, from South and North, The messages of hope shot forth, And underneath the severing wave The world, full-handed, reached to save. Fair seemed the old, but fairer still The new, the dreary void shall fill With dearer homes than those o'erthrown, For love shall lay each corner-stone. Rise, stricken city! From thee throw The ashen sackcloths of thy woe; And build, as to Amphion's strain, To songs of cheer, thy walls again! How shriveled in thy hot distress The primal sin of selfishness! How instant rose, to take thy part, The angel in the human heart! Ah! not in vain the flames that tossed Above thy dreadful holocaust; The Christ again has preached through thee The Gospel of humanity! Then lift once more thy towers on high, And fret with spires the western sky, To tell that God is yet with us, And love is still miraculous! — W/iittier. ONE DAY NEARER HOME. I'm one day nearer my home to-night, Nearer than ever before; One day nearer the fields of light, Away on the " other shore." I'm one day nearer to wearing my crown, Nearer than ever before; Nearer to laying my burdens down, Safe on the " evergreen shore." Pin one day nearer the " pearly gates," Which the angels left ajar; In the golden city a harp awaits My coming from afar. :0* RECITATIONS AND READINGS. I'm one day nearer my "Father's house," Where the shining angels be; I'm one day nearer the great white throne, And the beautiful crystal sea. I'm one day nearer the shining host On the fadeless, golden shore; They crossed the mystic stream of death, And will come to us no more. Yet I listen — I wait for a " phantom barge," * To bear me to their side; I watch for the " boatman's " noiseless oar To sweep the silvery tide. The " boatman " pale will come for me, And grasp my wasted hand; Together we'll cross the unknown sea, This side of the golden strand. And when we reach the " other shore," I shall meet the angel band, Who shall wait to deck my youthful brow With flowers of the "fadeless land." — T. M. Hancock. TWO MEN IN ONE. I've just; come from the brewery, wife; we've had a time, you bet. The boys are getting noisy, but there's nothing happened yet. Old Jake '11 hold 'em level as long as thero's a show To gobble up their money, and then they'll have to go. What! drunk; I reckon not; ain't you a little off? Of course I've drank a little beer, but then (hie) don't be so rough. Take off my hat? You bet, old girl, and now don't you forget, If I'm a little snoozy, sis, I've got some manners yet. Take a chair? Of course I will. You're sweeter than an owL RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 1 102 But mind your conversation; you know I'm on the howl. I didn't come to have a fuss; just paste that in your hat, And don't rile up my feelings, sis, or anything like that. Hungry, did you say? Well, Lord, who wouldn't be? I haven't eat a mouthful since we went to Kate's for tea. Perhaps you think I'm made of wood, and don't need any hash. If you do you're left; just set that down and venture all your cash. Retire? Yes, that's just like you; but I guess I'll have to go, I've found there's no let up when you begin to crow. I thought that married life w r as pleasant, and all that sort of stuff, But when you get your back up it's always hot enough. Sign the pledge, you say? Well, that's just what I thought. You're always pitching into me with your wishy washy stuff. That's too thin for me, old gal; you go your length on that; Too old to sign the temperance pledge. I'm not that kind of a cat. PART SECOND. I've just come from the hall, dear wife; we've had a real good meeting. I couldn't hardly wait to give you a real old fashioned greeting. I've signed the pledge, dear wife, I have, and here's my ribbon, see. I mean to stick to what I say, and hope you'll pray for me. Well, such a time I never seen. The hall was crowded full. When the speaker called for signers the folks began to pull. Our preacher laid his hand on me and said, now don't you think You'd better sign the temperance pledge, and leave off all strong drink! I really felt like getting mad; but then I thought I'd try To smother all my feelings, and pass the matter b}\ 104 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. Just then he looked me in the face I thought I'd almost sink, And said that Jesus loved me, and could save me from strong drink. He asked me if I was married, and if we had a son ; And then I thought of you, dear wife, and our little John. My feelings almost smothered me. Once tears began to fall; While the choir sang that good old hymn, " We'll crown him Lord of all." Sit closer up toward me wife; I want to tell yon all. I don't remember what I said, but he led me through the hall. And when I trembling signed the pledge, and then pinned on the blue, I asked the Lord to save me, and keep my promise too. Oh, glory hallelujah! How the light flowed in my soul. I felt redeemed and purchased from the terrors of the bowl. I'm saved, dear wife, I am, and here's my pledge you see. I mean to stick to what I say, and hope you'll pray for me. — M. L. Wilson. THE VALUE OF TIME. A railroad train was rushing along at almost lightning speed. A curve was just ahead, beyond which was a sta- tion, at which the cars usually passed each other. The conductor was late, so late that the period during which the down train was to wait tiad nearly elapsed; but he hoped yet to pass the curve safely. Suddenly a locomotive dashed into sight right ahead. In an instant there was a collision. A shriek, a shock, and fifty souls were in eter- nity; and all because an engineer had been behind time. A great battle was going on. Column after column had been precipitated for eight mortal hours on the enemy posted along the ridge of a hill. The summer sun was sinking to the west; re-enforcements for the obstinate de- fenders were already in sight; it was necessary to carry the RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 105 the position with one final charge, or everything would be lost. A powerful corps had been summoned from across the country, and if it came up in season all would yet be well. The great conqueror, confident in its arrival, formed his reserve iuto an attacking column, and ordered them to charge the enemy. The whole world knows the re- sult. Grouchy failed to appear ; the imperial guard was beaten back ; Waterloo was lost, Napoleon died a prisoner at St. Helena, because one of his marshals was be- hind time. A leading firm in commercial circles had long struggled against bankruptcy. As it had enormous assets in Califor- nia, it expected remittances by a certain day; and, if the sums promised arrived, its credit, its honor, and its future prosperity would be preserved. But week after week elapsed without bringing the gold. At last • came the fatal day on which the firm had bills maturing to enormous amounts. The steamer was telegraphed at daybreak; but it was found, on inquiry, that she brought no funds, and the house failed. The next arrival brought nearly half a million to the insolv- ents, but it was too late; they were ruined because their agent, in remitting, had been behind time. A condemned man was led out for execution. He had taken human life, but under circumstances of the greatest provocation, and public sympathy was active in his behalf. Thousands had signed petitions for a reprieve; a favorable answer had been expected the night before; and, though it had not come, even the sheriff felt confident that it would yet arrive in season. Thus the morning passed without the appearance of the messenger. The last moment was up. The prisoner took his place on the drop, the cap was drawn over his eyes, the bolt was drawn, and a lifeless body swung revolving in the wind. Just at that moment a horseman came in sight, gallop- ing down hill, his steed covered with foam. He carried a packet in his right hand, which he waved rapidly to the crowd. He was the express rider with the reprieve. But he had come too late, A comparatively innocent man had 106 KECITATIONS AND READINGS. died an ignominous death, because a watch had been five minutes too slow, making its bearer arrive behind time. It is continuously so in life. The best-laid plans, the most important affairs, the fortunes of individuals, the weal of nations, honor, happiness, life itself, are daily sacrificed because somebody is "behind time." There are men who always fail in whatever they undertake, simply because they are "behind time." There are others who put off reformation year by year, till death seizes them, and they perish unrepentant, because forever "behind time." Five minutes in a crisis is worth years. It is but a little period, yet it has often saved a fortune or redeemed a people. If there is one virtue that should be cultivated more than another by him who would succeed in life, U is punctuality; if there is one error that should be avoided, it is being behind time. — Freeman Hunt. OUR COUNTRY'S GREATNESS. Look at it Senators of the South. Just think of the great future which these thirty-eight American States have before them. Precious and glorious as is their history in the past, it dwarfs and pales before the great hope that opens before them. Think of imperial New York with the commerce which brings the wealth of all nations to her gates. Think of mighty Pennsylvania, with her mines and her factories. Think of Massachusetts, home of tho scho- lar and the workman. Think of the great Northwest, with its million farms, its million homes, in each of which lib- erty dwells a perpetual guest. Think of that great coast, where, on the shores of a more pacific sea, men of our own blood aud kindred are in the near future to build States and institutions, compared with which anything the East has seen is poor and mean. The streets of a wealthier New York, the halls of a more learned Harvard, the homes of a more cultured Boston, the workshops of a busier Philadel- phia, shall grow up on the shore pf that vast ocean, across which the American people gaze at tho monuments ©f %h% tides* ©ivilization of the past* RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 107 Where will you be men of the South ? "What shall be the place of your States in this glorious race ? Do you wish to be left behind, sucking your thumbs, nursing your wrath, stirring the dregs of an eifete and rotten past, cherishing the memory of ancient wrong and crime, studying the Am- erican Constitution to see how much of slavery there is left in it ? Will you bring up your young men to share in the imperial glory, and beauty, and hope, which the future has for these great American States, or bring them up half ruffian and half assassin ? Do not understand that I charge they are that now. But I say that the policy you are tol- erating will bring them to that. Virginia, and Georgia, and Alabama, and Texas, are for more richly endowed with opportunity than any States of the North. The States of the South have their great history of the times of their settlement, of the days of the Revolution, of the adminis- tration of the Government in the early days of the Consti- tution. They have their rich lands, and their mighty streams, their lofty mountains, their vast and fertile fields, their willing laborers, their brave and restless people. Why will they not embrace and welcome the one thing needed to place them far in advance of the other American States; and that is the great doctrine of justice and of the Consti- tution, which shall secure to every man, white or black, dwelling upon their soil, his manhood, his honor, his free- dom, his equal suffrage as an American citizen. — George F. Soar, THE CONSTITUTION AND THE PEOPLE. This country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit it. Whenever they shall grow weary of the existing government, they can exercise their constitutional right of amending, or their revolutionary right to dismem- ber or overthrow it. I cannot be ignorant of the fact that many worthy and patriotic citizens are desirous of having the national Constitution amended. While I make no rec- ommendation of amendment, I fully recognize the full au- thority of the people over the whole subject, to be exercised in either of the modes prescribed in the instrument itself \ 108 ( flECITATIONS AND READINGS. and I should, under existing circumstances, favor, rather than oppose, a fair opportunity's being afforded the people to act upon it. I will venture to acid, that to me the con- vention mode seems preferable, in that it allows amend- ments to originate with the people themselves, instead of only permitting them to take or reject propositions origi- nated by others not especially chosen for the purpose, and which might not be precisely such as they would wish either to accept or refuse. I understand that a proposed amend- ment to the Constitution has passed Congress, to the effect that the Federal Government shall never interfere with the domestic institutions of States, including that of persons held to service. To avoid misconstruction of what I have said, I depart from my purpose not-to speak of particular amendments, so far as to say, that, holding such a provision to be now implied constitutional law, I have no objection to its being made express and irrevocable. The chief magis- trate derives all his authority from the people, and they have conferred none upon him to fix the terms for the sepa- ration of the States. The people themselves, also, can do this if they choose; but the executive, as such, has nothing to do with it. His duty is to administer the present gov- ernment as it came into his hands, and to transmit it, unim- paired by him, to his successor. Why should there not be a patient confidence in the ultimate justice of the people ? Is there any better or any equal hope in the world ? In our differences, is either party without faith of being in the right ? It the Almighty Ruler of nations, with His eternal truth and justice, be on your side of the North, or on yours of the South, that truth and that justice will surely prevail by the judgment of this great tribunal — the American people. By the frame of the government under which we live, this same people have wisely given their public servants but little power for mischief, and have with equal wisdom provided for the return of that little to their own hands at • very short intervals. While the people retain their virtue and vigilance, no administration, by any extreme wicked- ness or folly, can very seriously injure the government in the short «pace of four years. My countrymen, one and all, think calmly and well upon this whole subject. Nothing RECITATIONS AND HEADINGS. 109 valuable can "be lost by taking time. If there be an object to hurrv any of you, in hot haste, to a step which you would never take deliberately, that object will be frustrated by taking time ; but no good object can be frustrated by it. Such of you as are now dissatisfied still have the old Constitution unimpaired, and, on the sensitive point, the laws of your own framing under it; while the new admin- istration will have no immediate power, if it would, to change either. If it were admitted that you who are dis- satisfied hold the right side in the dispute, there is still no single reason for precipitate action. Intelligence, patriot- ism, Christianity, and a firm reliance on Him who has never yet forsaken this favored land, are still competent to adjust, in the best way, ail our present difficulties. In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The government will not assail you. You can have no conflict without being your- selves the aggressors. You can have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the government; while I shall have the most solemn one to "preserve, protect, and defend it. ? ' I am loth to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break, our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field and patriot-grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature. — Abraham Lincolrts Inaugural Address, 1861. WHAT THE CLOUD BEINGS. I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, from the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves, when laid in their noon-day dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken the sweet birds every one, when rocked to rest on their mother's breast, as she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of lashing hail, and whiten the green plains under; and then again I dissolve it in rain, and laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on 110 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. * the mountains below and their great pines groan aghast; and all the night 'tis my pillow white, while I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of my skicy bowers, Lightning, my pilot, sits; in a cavern under is fettered the Thunder; it struggles and howls by fits: over earth and ocean, with gentle^motion, this pilot is guiding me, lured by the love of the genii that move in the depths of the purple sea: over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, over the lakes and the plains, wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, the Spirit he loves remains— and I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, while he is dissolving in rains. The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor-eyes, and his burning plumes outspread, leaps on the back of my sailing rack, when the morning star shines dead — as on the jag of a mountain crag, which an earth- quake rocks and swings, an eagle alit one moment may sit Li the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, its ardors of rest and of love, and the crimson pall of eve may fall from the depth of heaven above; with wings folded I rest, en mine airy nest, as still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden with white fire laden, whom mortals call the Moon, glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, by the midnight breezes strewn; and wherever the beat of her unseen feet, which only the angels hear, may have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, the stars peep behind her and peer; and I laugh to see them whirl and flee, like a swarm of golden bees, when I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, till the calm rivess, lakes and seas, like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, are each paved with the moon and these. I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, and the moon's with a girdle of pearl; the volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, when the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, over a torrent sea, sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof — the mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march with hurricane, fire and snow, when the powers of the air are chained to my chair, is the million-colored bow; the sphere-fire above its soft colors wove* while the moist earth was laughing below, I ara RECITATIONS AND READINGS. Ill the daughter of earth and water, and the nursling of the sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain, when, with never a strain, the pavillion of heaven is bare, and the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph; and out of the caverns of rain, like a child from the womb, like p ghost from the tomb, I rise and unbuild it again. — Shelley. AN ALPHABET. DEDICATED TO SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHEBSI Art thou weary, near despairing, Bow'd at times with care and grief Conscious of thy weakness; sharing Darksome doubts; while no relief, Even from the source of blessing, Finds its way thy heart to cheer ? Go on, straight to Jesus pressing, Helpless soul, thy strength is near! In the work that lies before thee Jesus takes the greatest part: Keep on with the " good old story," Labor on with willing heart! Mindful of the night approaching Now, while it is called to-day, On, — combat with doubts approaching, Push along thy heavenward way! Quench, with water from the fountain, They shall fall when faith appears; Use thy talents for the Savior, Visit oft the Throne of Grace; Watch and see that thy behavior Xcels in the Christian Race! Yearn for souls — on Christ depending, Zeal for him means life unending. 113 RECITATIONS AND READINGS. COURAGE. [At a large dinner party, where there were present distinguished foreign and American Statesmen, Mr. Colfax, then Vice-President of the United States, declined to take wine, whereupon a Senator, who had already taken too much, exclaimed, sneeringly, across llie table, " Colfax dare not drink!" "You are right," he answered, " I daro not! " A braver reply could not have been uttered.] " I dare not! \* Were those cowardly words That startled that brilliant, distinguished throng, As they fell from the lips of one single man, Who dared to do right and feared to do wrong ? " I dare not! " Did he know the power Of one fatal glass to bring sorrow and tears— To rouse a thirst that had slumbered long, When the pledge had been kept, aye, even for years ? " I dare not! " I might learn the terrible truth, That my act had tempted another to-day; We all have some influence, for good or for ill, To guide them aright, or to lead them astray, " I dare not! " When I hear the wail of. distress Sweeping o'er my loved land like the wild, surging wave, When the terrible doom of thousands I see A drunkard's home — a drunkard's grave. " I dare not! " O that this brave reply Might roll through the land in thunder tone, strong — A noble example teaching others to say, In temptation's dark hour, I dare not do wrong! Tis he is the coward, who proves false to his vows, To his manhood, his honor, for a laugh or a sneer; Tis he is the hero who stands firm, though alone, For the truth and the right without flinching or fear! Then dare to do right, though the whole world deride! When tempted may this motto be your shield of might, The world ever honors true courage in man, Then ne'er be afaid or ashamed to do right. RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 113 DEATH OF THE DRUNKARD'S BOY. I think I'm dying, mamma, But you need not lie awake, You've watched so long and constantly, You're wearied for my sake. I'll not be lonely, mamma, So please lay down and rest; I shall not need my pillow turned, And the pain has left my breast. Yes, I know that I am dying, And I'm almost glad to go; But it seems so sad to leave you When you are weeping so. No, I'll not be lonely, mamma— The room is filled with light, There are faces at the window, Sweet faces, calm and white. That is not the wind, dear mamma, Sweeping through the broken pane; And that tapping on the window Surely is not drops of rain. 'Tis the angels! 'tis the angels! They are close beside me now; I feel their tender kisses Upon my cheek and brow. Listen! listen! They are saying 9 " Little Freddie, there is room Up among the angel children — Poor sick Freddie, come, oh, come! n If papa could only hear them, And could see their faces bright, He perhaps would leave the rum shop, And would hasten home to-night. I shall never hear, at daybreak, His unsteady step again; IM RECITATIONS AND READINGS. His harsh words and cruel beatings Never more will cause me pain. I have thought, sometimes, dear mamma, If the angels could but se<% They would wake in papa's bosom Tender love for you and me. Perhaps, w r hen morning brings him, And he finds you here alone, He will say no harsh words, mamma, But will speak in tender tone. If he weeps, then tell him, kindly, That I wished, with dying breath, He would drink no more, nor gamble, And would meet me after death. If you think 'twould make him angry, Then leave it all unsaid, &nd say I wished he'd often come To the grave of little Fred. When you're standing there together, Angels may be hovering o'er, Who will whisper something to him That will make him love you more. Perhaps I'll know in Heaven When you're weeping sadly here; Maybe my spirit then can come Your grieving heart to cheer. If so, I'll stay so close to you All through the long, dark night, . You will feel that I am near you Until breaks the morning light. I thank you, poor, tired mamma, For your patient care and love, And I'll tell the Savior of it When I meet Him up above. But I need your care no longer, So please lie down and sleep. Good-by, papa — good-by, mamma — Let me kiss you — do not weep. — 0. S. Ellis* PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 115 FOURTH OF JULY. George W. Bethune. Maine, from her farthest border, gives the first exulting' shout, And from New Hampshire's granite heights, the echoing peal ring's out; The mountain farms of staunch Vermont prolong the thunder- ing call, And Massachusetts answers, "Bunker Hill" — a watchword for us all. Rhode Island shakes her sea-wet locks, acclaiming with the free, And staid Connecticut breaks forth in joyous harmony. The giant joy of proud New York, loud as an earthquake's roar, Is heard from Hudson's crowded banks to Erie's crowded shore. Still on the booming volley rolls o'er plains and flowery glades To where the Mississippi's flood the turbid gulf invades: There, borne from many a mighty stream upon her mightier tide, Come down the swelling, long huzzas from all that valley wide. And wood-crowned Alleghany's call, from all her summits high, Reverberates among the rocks that pierce the sunset sky; While on the shores and through the swales round the vast inland seas, Thestars and stripes, midst freemen's songs, are flashing to the breeze. The woodsman, from the mother, takes his boy upon his knee, And tells him how their fathers fought and bled for liberty. The lonely hunter sits him down the forest spring beside, To think upon his country's worth, and feel his country's pride, — While many a foreign accent, which our God can uuderstand, Is blessing Him for home and bread in this free, fertile land. Yes, when upon the eastern coast we sink to happy rest, The Day of Independence rolls still onward to the west, Till dies on the Pacific shore the shout of jubilee, That woke the morning with its voice along the Atlantic Sea. O God, look down upon the land which thou has loved so well, And grant that in unbroken truth her children still may dwell; Nor, while the grass grows on the hill and streams flow through the vale, May they forget their fathers' faith, or in their covenant fail: Keep, God. the fairest, noblest land that lies beneath the sun, — "Qur country, our whole country, and our country ever one.' , 116 PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. BARBARA FRIETCHIE. Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand, Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree fruited deep, Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, On that pleasant morn of the early fall, When Lee marched over the mountain-wall- Over the mountains, winding' down, Horse and foot into Frederick town. Forty flag's with their silver stars. Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind; the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with four score years and ten; Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down; In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet. Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. , Under his slouched hat, left and right, He glanced — the old flag met his sight: "Halt!" — the dust-brown ranks stood fast; "Fire!" — out blazed the rifle-blast; It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash. Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf; She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will: "Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flagT' she 6aid. PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 117 A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came; The noble nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word: "Who touches a hair of your gray head Dies like a dog"! March on!" he said. Ail day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet; All day long that free flag tossed Over the heads of the rebel host. Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well; And through the hill-gaps, sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night. Barbara Frietehie's work is o'er, And the rebel rides on his raids no more. Honor to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, one Stonewall's bier. Over Barbara Frietehie's grave, Flag of freedom and union, wave! Peace, and order, and beauty, draw Round thy symbols of light and law; And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town. Whittier. PARK GODWIN ON THE DEATH OF LINCOLN. The great captain of our cause — Abraham Lincoln — smitten by the basest hand ever upraised against human innocence, is gone, gone, gone! He who had borne the heaviest of the brunt in our four long years of war, whose pulse beat livelier, whose eyes danced brighter than any other, when "The storm drew off, Its scattered thunders groaning around the hills,' 118 PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. in the supreme hour of his joy and glory was struck down. One who, great in himself, as well as by position, has suddenly departed. There is something startling, ghastly, awful, in the manner of his going off. But the chief poignancy of our dis- tress is not for the greatness fallen, but for the goodness lost. Presidents have died before: during this bloody war we have lost many eminent generals — Lyon, Baker, Kearney, Sedgwick, Reno and others; we have lost lately our finest scholar, pub- licist, orator. Our hearts still bleed for the companions, friends, brothers who "sleep the sleep that knows no waking," but no loss has been comparable to his, who was our supremest leader, — our safest counsellor — our wisest friend — our dear father. Would you know what Lincoln was, look at this vast metropolis, covered with the habiliments of woe! Never in human history has there been so universal, so spontaneous, so profound an expression of a nation's bereavement. Yet we sorrow not as those who are without hope. Our chief is gone, but our cause remains; dearer to our hearts, because he is now become the martyr; consecrated by his sacrifice; more widely accepted by all parties; and fragrant and lovely forevermore in the memories of all the good and the great, of all lands, and for all time. The rebellion, which began in the blackest treachery, to be ended in the foulest assassination; this rebellion, accursed in its motive, which was to rivet the shackles of slavery on a whole race for all the future; accursed in its means, which have been "red ruin and the breaking up of laws," the overthrow of the mildest and blessedest govern- ments, and the profuse shedding of brother's blood by brother's hands; accursed in its accompaniments of violence, cruelty and barbarism, and is now doubly accursed in its final act of cold- blooded murder. Cold-blooded, but impotent, and defeated in its own purpose! The frenzied hand which slew the head of the government, in the mad hope of paralyzing its functions, only drew the hearts of the people together more closely to strengthen and sustain its power. All the North once more, without party or division, clenches hands around the common altar; all the North swears a more earnest fidelity to freedom; all the North again pre- sents its breasts as the living shield and bulwark of the nation's unity and life. Oh! foolish and wicked dream, oh! insanity of fanaticism, oh! blindness of black hate — to think that this majestic temple of human liberty, which is built upon the clustered columns of free and independent states, and whose base is as broad as the continent — could be shaken to pieces, by striking off the ornaments of its capital. No! this nation lives, not in one man nor a hundred men, however able, how- ever endeared to us; but in the affections, the virtues, the energies, and the will of the whole American people, PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 119 INDEPENDENCE DAY.— Rev. L. Parmely. AN ADDRESS TO AMERICAN YOUTH. "The Fourth of July, 1776, will be the most remarkable epoch in the his- tory of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeed- ing generations as the great anniversary festival." John Adams, in a letter to his wife, July 7th, 1776. Independence Day! The booming" cannon and rattling fire- arms! It is not the wrath of battle; but only echo-thunders, rolling back upon us from the great war-tempest of '76. Nor are these sounds now mingled with the cries of the wounded and groans of the dying — mournfully terrific swelling* up from the field of blood. The report of guns and voice of artillery that fall on our ears to-day are all mellowed down into notes of enchanting music, and sweetly chime in with the glorious, triumphal anthem of our national jubilee. Upon the youth of America is conferred the noblest birth- right in the whole world. The stars under which you were born beam with brightest promise and kindle loftiest hope. The principles declared and defended by our forefathers, "amid the confused noise of warriors, and garments rolled in blood," — the great principle, "that all men were created equal" is the broad and only foundation of true greatness. The war- guns of '76 exploded that long venerated theory, that royalty must flow alone through the veins of crowned lineage, and that princes could spring from the loins of kings. While in this land it is not possible for you to inherit a single drop of royal blood, yet in each of your bosoms is implanted the germ of a self -born sovereign. Before you all; without any miserable and silly distinction of ancestry or estate, is placed the brightest diadem of moral dignity, intellectual greatness, and civil honor. This country is, morally, a "free soiV empire. Here the young man — it matters not whether his nursery was in the gilded palace or in the "low thatched cottage" — has be- fore him the same privileges and inducements, and as wide and free an avenue to glory; and his grey hairs may possess the fresh dew of his country's be.nediction, aud his name be enrolled among earth's true nobility. Bnt while full and equal encouragement is before you all, without respect of rank or circumstance, still the prize is only for such as are willing to gird themselves unto the race; and the diligent hand alone reaps the harvest-honor. In our land something more is requisite to constitute one a prince than being born under a palace roof. Honorable parentage or the tinsel of wealth, are not sufficient to place the royal crown upon a brainless head. It is only by fixed purpose, intense ap- plication and invincible perseverance, that you can reach the heights of fame, and hang out your name to shine forever in the bright galaxy of national glory. Here we have no heirs 120 PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. apparent to the crown — the great men of America are self -made. You bring* into the world no other nobility than that with which the God of nature has endowed you — sovereignty of mind — the sceptre of genius; and in this freest, broadest field of action, you must become the architect of your own fortune — the master-builder of your own destiny. And now, in the morning* glory of your waking energies, what a full chorus of inducements is inviting you forth to toil with the sure promise of a rich reward. Oh, how many young men in the old world, would this day leap for joy, to gain, even "with a great price," such privileges as belong to your birthright. With the halls of science, the council chamber of state, and the high places of empire all opening before you, let your motto be, "I will, try" the watch ward that never lost a battle in the moral world — the true key-note to the great anthem of self -coronation. And while true greatness is gained only by mighty effort and persevering toil, this very effort develops the intellectual pow- ers — mind waxes stronger in the fight, and strengthens in every new struggle, establishing a firm independence of character, and bringing out the bold features ef individuality; like the oak, whose roots struggle down under the dark earth, and the crevices of the everlasting rocks, gaining a foundation of power, upon which it lifts up its head in towering majesty, de- fying the wrath of the wildest tempest. In countries where rank is obtained on the easy terms of ancestry; and a man be- comes a king simply because his father before him was one, nobility relaxes into indolence of spirit and imbecility of intel- lect! and royalty, with all its imposing honors, degenerates into mental dwarfishness, and the king's/ester is often, really, a greater man than the crowned head. The great men of America are intrinsically great — independent of their civil honors, they possess the power of intellectual giants. And above all, let us remember that religion was the early harbinger, and continues the guardian angel of the American's birthright. The note of religious freedom struck on the rock of Plymouth, and was the grand prelude to the swelling an- them of civil liberty. None surely can doubt ihat the voice of the Almighty moved on the dark waters of the revolutionary struggle, and that His hand was in that sublime destiny which brought out on the blackest night of oppression the brightest star of empire! And now, the war-storm over, and the battle-thunder ceased, the precious blood of our forefathers that was poured out as a free shower upon the earth — those peerless drops are gathered over us in in a bright bow of prom- ise, spanning a continent, and resting on two oceans, attract- ing a world to " the land of the free and the home of the brave." But the fear of God is the great keystone in this bow of national hope —take away this, and the sunlit arch will vanish into the blackness of a second moral deluge. PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 121 AN AMERICAN EXILE. In Norfolk Bay, long- years ago, where waved The nation's flag* from mizzen gaff Of frigate, sloop, and other war-like craft, A group of naval officers, assembled On the flag ship's quarter-deck, discussed With earnestness the act by which the State Of South Carolina annulled The tariff laws of Congress. The President's prompt act, Despatching Scott to Charleston, ordering The execution of the laws by force, Had thrilled the nerves of those who bore Their country's arms. The naval service boasted many men Who traced through veins as chivalrous as their sire's The blood of Sumter, Pickens, Hayne, And other revolutionary patriots; And, conscious of a lineage illustrious From those who gave the grand Republic birth, Their minds were often filled with politics Of State; and thus the acts of courts And legislatures oft became their theme In time of peace as much as warlike deeds Of Neptune. One of these, in this debate A handsome, sun-bronzed officer of most Commanding mien, became conspicuous In warm approval of his State's rash act And censure strong of President And Congress. While his flashing eye betrayed The fierce emotions of his soul, his voice Rang fearful maledictions: "Curse the country Whose flag from yonder mizzen floats; the men Be cursed, who in the name of government Ignore the rights my native State has held supreme." Then drawing forth his rapier As if in frenzied rage: "My sword's my own, My heart is loyal to my native State; And here I swear, this blade shall ne'er be drawn But in defense of rights this tyrant thing Called government, usurps, and those its threats Would terrify. Its flag be trailed in dust; The fate of Carthage be its cursed doom; The memory of its present acts, with those Who give them shape, go down in blood and shame;" Such direful imprecations shocked the ears Ql those who heard; and ere the speechless group 122 PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. Recovered from their blank amaze, a young' Lieutenant felled the speaker senseless to The deck; then, quick before the officer Commanding', preferred the charge of treason. Court-martial trials are speedy in results; The sentence, novel in its terms, was heard With unfeigned haughtiness and scorn by him Whom it deprived of country: "The prisoner, hence, for life, shall be consigned To vessels cruising in a foreign sea; No tongue to him shall speak his country's name, Nor talk to him of aught save daily wants; And ever to his sight that country's flag Shall be a token that its power lives To carry out this sentence." ******** In far off seas, away from kindred hearts And native home, the years passed slowly on; But pride and stubborn will did not desert This strange misguided man; his fate he seemed To cherish for the cause he still believed Would triumph in the end. Yet to and fro his narrow bounds he paced, Alone amid a frigate's crew, of whom Not one could speak to him a friendly word, Nor tell him of that wondrous growth and fame The land he cursed attained among The nations of the earth. No cheering word His yearning heart in time could e'er expect From stricken mother, weeping wife, and babes By him made worse than orphans, who might blush To call him father. Still, above, around, In sportive play, the flag he madly cursed, as star By star was added to its field of blue, In gorgeous folds waved kindly o'er his head, As if forgiving his ingratitude. And now, as other years rolled sadly by, And he was passed from ship to ship, as each In turn went home, the lines of grief and frosts Of age bore silent evidence of slow decay. In time his face was marked with pensive cast, A harbinger of sad, repentant thought. A sailor, unperceived took note of him, And oft observed him watch the waving- flag With strange emotion. And once his lips Were seen to move: "Thou ever-present curse, Reminding me of what I am, of what I've lost.. Thou Nemesis of nature's wrongs 1 —^^—■11 ' PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 123 For that I've sinned against my birth, my soul's Remorse affirms. How long e'er nature's laws, More kind than human heart, will free my eyes From thee, thou vengeful witness of my shame? I'd tear thee from thy staff, — but when I think Of all the tears thou'st witnessed in these eyes, At first my curses, then my prayers to God, Of secret thoughts conceived witnin thy sight, Thou seein'st so much a friend, I would not blot From out thy field a single star — and yet — and yet — O soul, when will thy mad resentment cease?" Full thirty years had passed since sound Of friendly voice had filled his ear, and now He paced another deck than one designed For heavy armament, — a merchant craft, Commissioned while the nation's ships of war Were called for duty home to try the cause For which this poor, deluded exile gave His manhood and his life. Near set of sun The cry of "sail" was heard, and then, Against his will, they hurried him below. The startling call to quarters reached his ear; And e'er the roll of drum and boatswain's whistle died away There came a distant "boom" that roused a hope He yearned to realize. A moment more, A deaf'ning sound, that shook the very keel Awoke his heart with joy. He knew and hailed The truth. The land, — Ms land was now at war. The foe — his name, it mattered not to him — Had struck the challenge blow and filled his soul With fire. O love of Country! Thou art lasting as The faith of childhood. Thou art stronger than The love of life, — the fear of death! This exiled penitent, this prodigal Without a home would prove himself a man ! He cried for help to free him from his bonds; "Ahoy there! Men on deck! For love of God Let me not perish in this cell. Unbar the door, Take off these chains, and arm me for the fight! Oh give me air and light beneath the flag; My blood will wash away my curse!" But all Was vain. A tearing shot that ploughed through side And prison bulkhead walls, made clear 124 PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. A passage wide enough through which He sought his wild desire. But e'er he reached the deck, the foe had lashed His ship beside, and countless fierce wild men Were leaping* down among the feeble crew, Who battled hard, but vain, against such odds. He saw the flag the enemy displayed, A flag unknown, unseen by him before, Though strangely like the one he cursed, — now loved So much, — would die in its defense. He wrenched a cutlass from a dying hand, And hewed his way among the privateers. Where'er he struck, the way was cleared of men Like wheat before the blade. His strange demean And antique garb amazed the foe, until It seemed he'd drive the boarders to their ship. At last, his wounds o'ercame his madd'ning strength, And sinking to his knee, was soon disarmed, But spared the murd'rous stroke by one who knew His name and story from a child. His glazing eye turned wistful toward that flag, Now drooping low, as if to mourn for him: — "My country! thou art now avenged! my life, — My wasted life, — I give to thee — to thee." I. H. Brown. THEN AXD NOW 7 . 1776-1876.— F. W. Fish. Looking back a hundred years, And comparing the now and then, It seems to me that in spite of fears The country has earnest m^n. As willing to draw the sword for right, As ready to wield the pen. It seems to me that in faithful hearts The currents yet ebb and flow, With a constant motion that still imparts As steady and clear a glow Of zeal for freedom's glorious arts As a hundred years ago. It seems to me that in field and forge, By river and by rill, In fertile plain and mountain gorge, In city and hamlet, still They live as they did in the days of King George, Of Concord and Bunker Hill. PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 125 I do not know that the hands are weak, Or the brain unused to plan; That the tongue delays the truth to speak, Or the foot to march in the van; But I know full well that we need not seek In vain for a Minute Man. There are men to-day who would stand alone On the bridge Horatius kept; There are men who would fight at Marathon, Who would battle with Stark at Bennington When flashing from sabre and flint-lock gun The fires of freedom leapt. It is better to look back with pride and boast, It is well to look ahead; The past to all is a dream at most, The future is life instead; And standing unmoved at your duty's post Is truthfully praising the dead. OUR CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION. Extract of a speech delivered by the Hon. Orestes Cleveland, at the closing of the preliminary session of the Centennial Commission. Fellow Commissioners: — When we were welcomed in Inde- pendence Hall, and again in visiting old Carpenters' Hall, I was impressed with the grand and glorious memories cluster- ing round about Philadelphia, all pointing with solemn sig- nificance to the occasion we are preparing to celebrate. May we all have light and strength to appreciate that occasion as it approaches. No such family gathering has ever been known in the world's history, and we shall have passed away and been forgotten when the next one recurs. May we be permitted to rise up to the grandeur and importance of the work before us, so that the results and lessons of our labor may bless aud and last until our descendants shall celebrate in a similar man- ner the next centennial. The vast and varied and marvelous results of inventive indus- try from all the world shall gather here; and it is fitting — for here, upon this continent, in this new country, under the fos- tering care of the wise and beneficent provisions of our patent laws, the inventive genius of the age finds her most congenial homp. From the international exhibition of 1876 the education of skilled labor, in this country, at least, is to take a new de- parture, and we hope the effect will be felt also, in some measure, by every civilized nation. Here will be spread out before us the manufactures of Great Britain, the source of all her power. From France will come articles of taste and utility, exquisite in design and perfect in 126 PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. execution. From Russia, iron and leather no nation has yet learned to produce. From Berlin and Munich, artistic produc- tions in iron and bronze. From Switzerland, her unequalled wood-carvings and delicate watch work. From Bohemia shall come the perfection of glass-blowing, and musical instruments, from the Black Forest. From the people of poor old Spain, to whose daring and pub- lic spirit nearly four centuries back we owe the possibilities of this hour, shall come the evidence of a foretime greatness, now unhappily faded away for the want of education amongst the mass of her people. From Nineveh and Pompeii the evidences of a buried past. The progress of the applied arts will be shown from ail Europe. From China, her curious workman- ship, the result of accumulated ingenuity reaching back bey ond the time when history began. Matchless wood- work from Ja- pan, and from far India her treasures rare and wonderful* Turkey and Persia shall bring their gorgeous fabrics to diver- sify and stimulate our taste. The Queen of the East, passing the Suez Canal, shall cross the great deep and bow her tur- baned head to this young giant of the West, and he shall point her people to the source of his vast powers — the education of all the people. One of our noted orators laid before us the other night such evidence as he could gather of the lost arts of the Ancients, and he demands to know what we have to compensate us for the loss. I claim that we have produced some things, even in this new country, worthy of that orator's notice. Instead of tear- ing open the bosom of mother earth with the root of a tree, that we may feed upon the bounties of nature, as the ancients did, the green covering rolls away with the perfection and grace of art itself from the polished moulding-board of the Pittsburgh steel plow. Machinery casts abroad the seed, and a reaping machine gathers the harvest. Whitney's cotton gin prepares the fiber; LyaH's positive motion loom takes the place of the old wheel; and a sewing machine fits the fabric for the use of man. What had the ancients, I demand to know, that could compensate them for the want of these American inven- tions? I do not speak of the American telegraph or steam power, that we have done more than all other nations put to- gether in reaching its possibilities. The Magi of the East never dreamed, in the wildest frenzy of their beautiful imaginations, of the wonders of these! Next year it will become the duty of the general government to make the International Exhibition known to other countries, to the end that all civilized people may meet with us in 1876 in friendly competition in the progress of the arts of peace. Be it our duty now to arouse our own people to a sense of its great value. I know that we go out with our hearts full — let our minds be determined and our hands ready for the labor. PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 127 NATHAN HALE, THE MARTYR SPY. After the disastrous defeat of the Americans on Long Island, Washington desired information respecting the British position and movements. Capt. Nathan Hale, but twenty-one years old, volunteered to procure the information. He was taken, and hanged as a spy the day after his capture, Sept. 22, 1776. His patriotic devotion and brutal treatment received at the hands of his captors have suggested the following: 'Twas in the year that gave the Nation birth — A time when men esteemed the common good As greater weal than private gain. A battle fierce And obstinate had laid a thousand patriots low, And filled the people's hearts with gloom. Pursued like hunted deer, The crippled army fled; and, yet, amid Disaster and defeat, the Nation's chosen chief Resolved his losses to retrieve. But not With armies disciplined and trained by years Of martial service could he, this Fabian chief, Now hope to check the hosts of Howe's victorious legions— These had he not. In stratagem the shrewder general Ofttimes o'ercomes his strong antagonist. To Washington, a knowledge of the plans, Position, strength of England's force, Must compensate for lack of numbers. He casts about for one who'd take his life In hand. Lo! he stands before the chief. In face, A boy — in form, a man on whom the eye could rest In search of God's perfected handiwork; In culture, grace, and speech, reflecting all A mother's love could lavish on an only son. The chieftain's keen, discerning eye Appraised the youth at his full worth, and saw In him those blending qualities that make The hero and the sage. He fain would save For nobler deeds a man whose presence marked A spirit born to lead. * 'Young man," he said with kindly air, "Your country and commander feel grateful that Such talents are offered in this darkening hour. Have you, in reaching this resolve, considered well Your fitness, courage, strength — the act, the risk, You undertake? Have you, in that fine balance which Detects an atom on either beam, weighed well Your chances of escape 'gainst certain fate Should capture follow in the British camp?" 128 PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. In tones of fitting modesty that well Became his years, the patriot answered thus: "My country's honor, safety, life, it ever was My highest purpose to defend: that country's foes Exultant sweep through ruined land and home And field. A thousand stricken hearts bewail The loss of those who late our standards bore; Appeal to us through weeping eyes whose tears We can not brush away with words. The ranks Of those now cold in death are not replaced By living men. The hour demands a duty rare — Perhaps a sacrifice. If God and training in The schools have given me capacities This duty to perform, the danger of the enterprise Should not deter me from the act Whose issue makes our country free. In times Like these a Nation's life sometimes upon A single life depends. If mine be deemed A fitting sacrifice, God grant a quick Deliverance." 4 'Enough: go then, at once." the great Commander said. "May Heaven's guardian angels give You safe return. Adieu." Disguised with care, the hopeful captain crossed The sound, and moved through British camp Without discovery by troops or refugees. The enemy's full strength, in men, in stores, Munitions, guns — all military accoutrements — Were noted with exact precision; while, With graphic sketch, each trench and parapet, Casemated battery, magazine, and every point Strategic was drawn with artist's skill. The task complete, the spy with heart Elate now sought an exit through the lines. Well might he feel a soldier's pride. An hour hence A waiting boat would bear him to his friends. His plans he"d lay before his honored chief; His single hand might turn the tide of war, His country yet be free. "Halt!" A British musket leveled at His head dimmed all the visions of his soul. A dash — an aimless shot; the spy bore down Upon the picket with a blow that else Had freed him from his clutch, but for a score Of troops stationed near. In vain the struggle fierce And desperate — in vain demands to be released. A tory relative, for safety quartered in PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 129 The British camp, would prove his truckling loyalty With kinsman's blood. A word — a look — A motion of the head, and he who'd dared So much in freedom's name was free no more. O Judas, self -condemned! thou art But the type of many a trait'rous friend, Who ere and since thy time betrayed to death A noble heart. Henceforth be doubly doomed — A base example to earth's weaker souls. Before Lord Howe the captive youth Was led. "Base dog!" the haughty general said; "Ignoble son of loyal sires! you've played the spy Quite well I ween. The cunning skill wherewith You wrought these plans and charts might well adorn An honest man; but in a rebel's hands they're vile And mischievous. If aught may palliate A traitor's act, attempted in his sovereign's camp, I bid you speak ere I pronounce your sentence." With tone and mien that hushed The buzzing noise of idle lackeys in the hall, The patriot thus replied: "You know my name — My rank; — my treacherous kinsman made My purpose plain. I've nothing further of myself To tell beyond the charge of traitor to deny. The brand of spy I do accept without reproach; But never since I've known the base ingratitude Of king to loyal subjects of his realm Has British rule been aught to me than barbarous Despotism which God and man abhor, and none But dastards fear to overthrow. "For tyrant loyalty your lordship represents I never breathed a loyal breath; and he Who calls me traitor seeks a pretext for a crime His trembling soul might well condemn." "I'll hear no more such prating cant," Said Howe; "Your crime's enough to hang a doze_n men. Before tomorrow's sun shall rise you'll swing ? Tw r ixt earth and heaven, that your countrymen May know a British camp is dangerous ground For prowling spies. Away." In loathsome cell, deprived Of holy sacrament, and e'en the word of Him Who cheered the thief upou the cross — refused The means wherewith he would indite his last Farewell to her who gave him life, 130 PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. And to another whose young heart The morrow's work would shade in gloom — He passed the night in charge of one whom Satan had Commissioned hell's sharpest torments to inflict. ******* Securely bound upon a cart, amid A speechless crowd, he stands beneath a strong" Projecting limb, to which a rope with noose attached Portends a tragic scene. He casts his eyes Upon the surging multitude. Clearly now His tones ring out as victors shout in triumph; "Men, I do not die in vain. My humble death upon this tree will light anew The Torch of Liberty. A hundred hands to one Before will strike for country, home, and God, And fill our ranks with men of faith in His Eternal plan to make this people free. A million prayers go up this day to free The land from blighting curse of tyrant's rule. Oppression's wrongs have reached Jehovah's throne: The God of vengeance smites the foe! This land — This glorious land — is free— is free! "My friends, farewell! In dying thus I feel but one regret; it is the one poor life I have to give in freedom's cause." I. H. Brown. THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY. What flower is this that greets the morn, Its hues from heaven so ri?hly 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! In savage Nature's far 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! Behold its streaming rays unite One mingling flood of braided light, — PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS, 131 The red that fires the Southern rose, With spotless white from Dorthern 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! 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! 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! 0„ W. Holmes. NATIONALITY. If you would contemplate nationality as an active virtue, look around you. Is not our own history one witness and one record of what it can do? This day,* and all which it stands for, — did it not give us these? This glory of the fields of that war, this eloquence of that revolution, this one wide sheet of flame which wrapped tyrant and tyranny, and swept all that escaped from it away, forever and forever, the courage to fight, to retreat, to rally, to advance, to guard the young flag by the young arm and the young heart's blood, to hold up and hold on till the magnificent consummation crowned the work, — were not all these imparted as inspired by this imperial sentiment? Has it not here begun the master- work of man. — the creation of a national life? Did it not call out that prodigious develop- ment of wisdom, the wisdom of constructiveness, which illus- trated the years after the war, and the framing and adopting of the Constitution? Has it not, in the general, contributed to the administering of that government wisely and well since? Look at it! It has kindled us to no aims of conquest; it has in- volved us in no entangling alliances; it has kept our neutrality dignified and just; the victories of peace have been our prized victories, but the larger and truer grandeur of the nations, for 132 PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. which they are created, and for which they must one day, be- fore some tribunal, give account, — what a measure of these it has enabled us already to fulfil! It has lifted us to the throne, and has set on our brow the Dame of the great republic; it has taught us to demand nothing wrong, and to submit to nothing wrong; it has made our diplomacy sagacious, wary, and accom- plished; it has opened the iron gate of the mountain, and planted our ensign on the great tranquil sea; it has made the desert to blossom as the rose; it has quickened to life the giant brood of useful arts; it has whitened lake and ocean with the sails of a daring, new, and lawful trade; it has extended to exiles, flying as clouds, the asylum of our better liberty; it has scattered the seeds of liberty, under law and under order, broad- cast; it has seen and helped American feeling to swell into a fuller flood; from many a field and many a deck, though it seeks not war and fears not war, it has borne the radiant flag all un- stained; it has opened our age of lettered glory; it has opened and honored the age of the industry of the people. Rufus Choate. * Fourth of July. LOVE OF COUNTRY. In these days of rapid national growth, when the citizen of today is supplanted by the youth and franchised emigrant to- morrow; when a million voters cast their ballots with no higher motive than compliance with a custom or the dictates of party henchmen; when one-fourth of our population have no stronger ties of residence than avarice, whose strength varies with the financial fluctuations of the business world; when year by year our shores receive the restless spirits of other lands who acknowledge no higher authority than their own caprice; when so many of our youth are growing into manhood ignorant of everything save the means of licensed indulgences and fri- volity our liberty affords; when as partakers of the grandest political inheritance ever transmitted from one generation to another, we are all about to forget the fearful responsibilities thruat upon us in our acceptance of the blessings of liberty we enjoy, it is time to halt. "Let us gather the fragments that nothing be lost, To tell the next ages what liberty cost." Let us teach the coming citizen that next to the love of God, implanted at the mother's knee, and cultivated by daily acts of piety and benevolence, is the love of country, its flag, the martyrs who fell in its defense, and last but greatest of all, an abiding faith in its institutions and an undying devotion to its peace, happiness and perpetuity. Let the examples of patriots, in deeds of heroism and self-sacrifice, be our theme of medita- tion and discussion. Let our literature gleam with the noble \ PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS. 135 efforts, the grand achievements of those who gave their all that we, their dependents, might taste the sweets of freedom un- disturbed. Let us realize that this grandest heritage of earth's martyrs came to us, not alone through the business tact and prudent foresight of our sires, but by years of toil and suffering, of cold and hunger, of want and privation, and by the generous sacri- fice of precious blood; and, that, though it be vouchsafed to us through blessings of a noble ancestry, its possession implies no permanence to an unworthy race. It is ours not alone to enjoy, but to foster and protect: ours to guard from schism, vice and crime; ours to purify, exalt, enno- ble; ours to prepare a dwelling place for the purest, fairest, best of earth's humanity. I. H. Brown. OUR WHOLE COUNTRY. Who would sever freedom's shrine? Who .would draw the invidious line? Though by birth one spot be mine, Dear is all the rest: Dear to me the South's fair land, Dear the central mountain band, Dear New England's rocky strand, Dear the prairied West. By our altars, pure and free; By our laws' deep-rooted tree; By the past's dread memory; By our Washing-ton; By our common parent tongue; By our hopes, bright, buoyant, young; By the tie of country 6trong, — We will still be one. Fathers! have ye bled in vain? Ages! must ye droop again? Maker! shall we rashly stain Blessings sent by thee? No! receive our solemn vow, While before thy shrine we bow, Ever to maintain, as now, Union— Libe rty ! The Henneberry 6ompany, (Successors to Alhambra Book Co. and F. J. Drake & Co.) PUBLISHERS, 409-429 Dearborn St., +r +r +r Chicago. Upon receipt of the price, any book advertised in the following* pages will be sent by mail, postage paid, to any Postoffice in the United States, Canada, or the Universal Postal Union. No Books Exchanged. No Books sent C. O. D. Not Responsible for Money or Books sent by Mail, unless Registered. Parcels will be registered on receipt of Ten Cents in addi- tion to the amount of the order. 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Price, in cloth $1 00 McClure's American Horse, Cattle and Sheep Doctor. By Robt. McClure, M. D., V. S. As a stock doctor book, treat- ing the diseases of the three most profitable as well as most common of farm animals, save the hog, this book never had a peer. It is the most valuable work ever prepared for the farmer, and if we may judge its popularity by its sale, it is the most successful book for the farmer and small stock raiser ever written*, The illustrations are excellent. Bound in silk cloth. Price , $1.50 Complete Buffet Manual, or How to Mix Fancy Drinks. The need of an up-to-date book, treating on this subject has been a long felt want. We earnestly believe that this want is now supplied with this book, and we trust the reader, if he becomes the practitioner, will enjoy the beverages after fol- lowing the directions, as much as the author did in prepar- ing this handy little volume. Paper covers 25 cts. Cloth, with gold design 50 cts. The American Star Speaker. Edited by Chas. W. Brown. This is one of the handsomest and best arranged compilations of readings and recitations published. It comprises upwards of three hundred standard selections by all the best known writers suitable for all occasions, and includes humorous, didactic, serious, pathetic, heroic and the dialects adapted for school, home and churches, clubs, literary societies and lodges. Handsomely illustrated and bound in silk cloth. Price $1.50 Hypnotism, A complete system. Illustrated with six full page engravings photographed from life. By L. W DeLaurence. This is the most popular treatise on Inductive Hypnotism, Mesmerism, Suggestive Therapeutics, and Magnetic Healing, including Telepathy, Mind Reading and Spiritualism pub- lished. The mysteries of these wonderful and fascinating sciences fully explained. ■ Paper covers, printed in two colors , 50cts. Red silk cloth, designed, stamped in gold and inks $1.00 6 Medical Hypnosis. For advanced students and practitioners. 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Red silk cloth with gold design 75 cts. A Compendium of Domestic Medicine and Health Ad- viser, By Henry McMurtrie, M. D. This work is unsur- passed as a family medical adviser and traveler's companion. It is of convenient pocket size and contains full illustrations of all the essential parts of the human body and a compre- hensive treatise on all ordinary diseases. The practice of medicine should be conducted on those general principles which from experience and careful observation, the author has been able to condense in this very handy and yet com- plete book. These great principles are few and short, but full enough to be easily understood : they are applicable to everv disease to which the human body is subject. It is the judicious use of them which constitutes the great merit of the enlightened physician. The book is fully illustrated and contains 256 large bright pages. Handsomely bound. Silk cloth with gold design 75 cts. y following the principles and instruction laid down in this foook, enforced by numerous timely illustrations of known- lustorical personages. Even a casual reading of this book will enable us to know our own character better and give us convincing proof of the sincerity or insincerity of friends — or professing ones. If a careful study is then made you will be astonished at the accuracy with which you can read the life- history of any one through the graven lines on the palms. Over 50 illustrations. Paper covers 25 cts. Handsomely bound in cloth $1.00 Modern Black smithing, Rational Horseshoeing: and Wagon Making. By J. G. Holmstrom. This valuable work is written by a man of thirty years of practical experience. Elementary rules are employed, thus avoiding the more tech- nical terms, reudering this treatise practical and more inval- uable to all who have use for it. 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