■.n»lr.i»T-^«-.-—- THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES /c>-eZZy^ '/ The Practical Elocutionist BLACKIE & SON LIMITED 50 Old Bailey, London 17 Stanhope Street, Glasgow BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LIMITED Warwick House, Fort Street, Bombay BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LIMITED U18 Bay Street, Toronto The Practical Elocutionist BY JOHN FORSYTH Sometime Authorized Master of Elocution to the University of Glasgow / BLACKIE & SON LIMITED LONDON AND GLASGOW Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow PEEFACK The aim of the present volume is to place before students of elocution and dramatic readers, in a handy and practical form, a brief but suggestive exposition of the art of delivery, and a series of selections of a varied and attractive kind. The book is divided into four parts. The first division is devoted to a short account of the general principles of elocution; the second consists of practical hints with illustrative examples; the third treats of the theory of gesture; while the last con- tains a graduated set of pieces for reading and recitation. The writer does not claim to reveal anything new as to the working or application of the general laws regulating correct and graceful delivery. He has only gathered together some of the most useful and important of these laws and set them down in a succinct and, it is hoped, clear form. In doing this, how- ever, he has been animated by a desire to stimulate the student to thoughtful and patient application, and to stir in him a spirit of enthusiasm for the subject of his study. There are so many " Selections of Eeadings " in the market that it is with some diffidence that the present volume is offered to the public. At the same time the excuse for its appearance (if, as may be thought, such an excuse is needed) may be found in the fact that it contains many selections that have never been included in any similar book. It is true that a number of old standard favourites has been retained. This is due to the desire on the part of the compiler to include, for the use of teachers, certain literary productions lending themselves specially as texts for teaching purposes. The bulk of the matter is fresh. A number of original adaptations from good authors, and many valuable copyright items have been inserted. 1128035 VI PREFACE. Attention may also be drawn to the readings suitable for musi- cal accompaniment, and to a condensed form of debate which may prove useful in dealing with the art of public speaking. The writer has purposely avoided, from first to last, the placing of accent marks or other arbitrary guides to delivery upon the words or phrases in the selections. He believes that more harm than good results from this old-fashioned practice, and that it is more consistent with common sense and good judgment to leave inflections, accents, and pauses to be taught viva voce. The writer desires to acknowledge his grateful appreciation of the kindness of the many authors and publishers who have permitted him the use of copyright matter of much value and interest. Finally, it may be added that the whole selection has been made with a single eye to healthiness of tone, and it is hoped that the volume may prove of use in the school-room and at the fireside, in the study and on the platform. CONTENTS. DIVISION I. The Prinoiplbs op Elocution, DIVISION 11. The Praottoe of Elocution, Exercises on the Inflections, .... The Better Land, . - > Mrs. Remans, An English Christmas-day, - Dickens, Labour, Carlyle, ExBROisES IN Modulation, The Death of Castlewood, - . Thackeray, Greorge the Third, . - - Thackeray, The Old Clock on the Stairs, - LongfeUow, The Dying Christian to his Soul, Pope, Exercises on Emphasis, Exercises on the Pause, The Theory of Gesture, DIVISION III. DIVISION rv. Selections for Reading and Recitation. The Sands of Dee, - At Last, .... "In the Evening Time it will be Light", Baby in Church, If I Could Keep Her So, - The Sea-Fight, - The Funny Young Gentleman, Germs of Greatness, - Little Orphant Annie, The Three Fishers, . CkarUs Kingsley, J. O. Whittier, - Samuel K. Cowan, Minnie M. Oo^u, Louise Chandler Moulton, Barry Cornwall, Dickens, Eliza Cook, James Whitcomb Riley, Charles Kingsley, Page ■ 13 22 24 27 26 32 86 38 41 44 45 45 47 61 59 60 60 61 63 64 d5 67 68 69 VUl CONTENTS. A Ballad of War, - Are the Children Home? - The Archery of William Tell, - Stood at Clear, .... Two's Company and Three's None, The Glove and the Lions, - Harmosan, .... The Burst Bubble, - If I Should Die To-night, - The Fail of D'Assas, Domestic Asides, ... Caught in the Quicksand, - My Neighbour's Baby, The Fool's Prayer, - The Oxford and Cambridge Boat-race, Measuring the Baby, Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel, Means of Acquiring Distinction, No, Thank You, Tom, A Leap for Life, The Message, - The Retort, The Rapids, The Pilot, The Two Armies, Maud Mtiller, - The Warriors of the Sea, Scene from " Rob Roy ", Barbara Frietchie, - The Watermill, The Charcoal Man, - Nottnian, Thurlow's Reply to the Duke of Grafton, The Lay of the Brave Cameron, Ora Pro Nobis,- . . - The Last Hymn, The Bishop and the Caterpillar, The Sisters, .... The Village Choir, - The B(jbolink, - . - - The Three Bells, The Relief of Lucknow Mendla Bute SmedUy, M. E. M. SangiUr, Baine, Alex. Anderson, - Anon,, Leigh Hunt, Dr. Trench, John B, Oough, - Roht. 0. V. Myers, Mrs. Hevxans, Thomai Hood, Victor Hugo, Anon., Atlantic Monthly, Arx>n., R. A. Browne, - Leigh Hunt, Sydney Smith, Anon,, Qeo. P. Morris, - Adelaide Anne Procter, Anon., John B. Oough, • Cochran, Oliver W, Holmes, J. 0. Whittier, ■ Clement Scott, Sir W. Scott, J. 0. Whittier, ■ Sarah Doudney,- J. T. Trowbridge, Alex. Anderson, - Thurlow, - John Stuart Blachie, A. Horspool, Marianne Furningham, Boys' Own Paper, J. 0. Whittier, - Anon., The Aldine, J. G. Whittier, ■ R. T. S. Lowell, - CONTENTS. IX Page Cnrran on Freedom, - • Curran, . . - . 121 Beautiful Child . W. A. H. Sif/ourney, - 122 Mabel Martin, - - /. 0. Whiltier, - 123 Jack's Little Sister, Kate, • Mary Forrester, - 125 A Railway Chase, - David Macrae, • 127 The Spinning-wheel Song, - John F. WaUer, - 129 An Irishman's Love for His Children , Anon., . . . . 130 Gemini and Virgo, • • C. S. Calverley, 132 The Level Crossing, - - Roht. Walker, - 135 Papa's Letter, - - Anon., . . . . 137 Where? .... • R. H. Stoddard, - 138 Excelsior, .... . Henry W. LongfeUoiv, 139 The Old Schoolmaster, - Let 0. Harris, • 140 The Women of Mumbles Head, Clement Scott, 142 Hamlet and the Queen, - Shakespeare, 144 Pitt's Reply to Walpole, - Pitt, 147 The Irishwoman's Letter, - Anon., . . . . 148 Editha's Burglar, Mrs. P. Hodgson Burnett. 149 Becalmed, Samuel K. Cowan, 153 The Last of the Proud Monarch, Carlyle, 154 Henry v.. Shakespeare, 155 The Newsboy's Debt, Harper's Magazine, - 157 The Soul's Awakening, C. Marston Haddock, • 159 Death of Marie-Antoinette, Carlyle, 160 Public Speech, ■ Br. H. W. Bellows, ■ 161 Marit and I, - - - Anon., ■ 162 The Fashionable Choir, • T. C. Harbough,- • 165 The Bivouac Fire, - Samuel K. Cowan, 166 The Tale He Told the Marines, Theyre Smith, 168 The School for Scandal, - - Richard B. Sheridan, - • 172 Charles Edward at Versailles, - Professor Aytoun, 177 The Building of St, Sophia, • Rev. Sabine Baring-Oould, • 179 Getting into Society, • - W. M. Thackeray, 183 The Deacon's Story, - - N. S. Emerson, • • 186 Scene from "Richelieu", • . Lord Lytton, . 190 My Uncle Roland's Tale, - • Lord Lytton, . 193 T^e Spanish Mother, - Sir F. H. Doyle,- . 197 How Uncle Podger Hung a Picture, Jerome K. Jerome, • 200 The Raven, . Edgar Allan Poe, . 203 Horatio Sparkins, - Dickens, - 206 The Masterpiece of Brother Felix, R. E. White, . 214 Romeo and Juliet, - Shakespeare, 217 (996) A2 X CONTENTS. Page Edinburgh After Flodden, Professor Aytoun, - 222 How the Flag was Saved, - J. B. O'Reilhj, - . 225 The Old Knight's Tale, - R. B. Brough, ■ - 229 The Old Lieutenant and His Son, Dr. Norman MacLeod - 233 Mrs. Corney Makes Tea, and Mr. Bumble Makes Love, - Dichens, • 236 Truth, John Ruskin, - 240 The Field of Waterloo, - Lord Byron, • 242 Scene from " The Hunchback ", J. S. Knouies, • - 243 King Robert of Sicily, H. W. Loiigfelloio, - - 250 How He Saved St. Michael's, - Mary A. P. Stansbury - 254 Old Scrooge, Dickens, - 256 The Battle of Flodden Field and Death of Marmion, .... Sir Walter Scott, - 259 The Lady of Provence, Mrs. Hemans, - 268 The Lifeboat, - . - - 0. R. Sims, . 270 Babies, • . - Jerome K. Jerome, . 274 Lasca, - - ' - Frank Desprez, • - 277 After-dinner Oratory, '■■. Rev. David Macrae, - - 279 Beautiful Snow, W. A. H. Sigourney, - - 281 Briary Villas, - - - - Anon., - 283 Scene from " The Rivals ", R. B. Sheridan, - - 285 The Cotter's Saturday Night, - Robt. Bums, - 287 Jud Brownin on Rubinstein's Piano playing, . - - . Moses Adams, - 289 The Murder of Montague Tigg, Dickens, ■ 293 Jenny M'Neale, WiUCarkton, • - 297 Christmas Greetings, 0. A. Baker, • 300 The Execution of Montrose, Professor Aytoun, - 802 Artemus Ward's Lecture, - A. Ward, ■ - 804 Scene from " The Lady of Lyons ", Bulwer Lytton, - - 306 Brutus and Cassius, - Shakespeare, - 308 Scene from " Henry VIIL", - Shakespeare, . 311 The Island of the Scots, - Professor Aytoun, - 318 Virginia — A Lay of Ancient Rome, Macaulay, - - 320 Pickett's Nell, .... Mather Dean Kimball, - 323 Zarafi, ..... Lamartine, - 325 The High Tide, Jean Ingdow, - 326 Mountain Mists, John Ruskin, - 330 The Sculptor's Last Hour, Thos. Buchanan R^ad, 332 The Sculptor's Funeral, Thos. Buchanan Read, 335 Scene from " The Merchant of Venic e ", Shakespeare, 839 CONTENTS. xi Page The Bloomsbury Christening, - Diekem. - 342 Clarence and Brakenbury, Shakespeare. • - 347 Cato on Immortality, Addison, - - 348 Selection from " The Starling ", - Dr Nornian MacLeod, - 349 " Home, Sweet Home ", - Detroit Free Press, - 354 The Bachelor, .... F. Anstey, - - 356 Little Lord Fauntleroy, • Mrs. F, Hodgson Burnett, - 362 The Armada, .... Lord Macaulay, • - 36S "On Ahead", .... Wm. Toynhee, - 370 Louia XI., .... W. R. Markwdl, - 372 Annie and Willie's Prayer, Sophia P. S710W, - - 376 The Midnight Mail, - Samud K. Cou-an, . 379 The Courtship of Allan Fairley o Earlawood, S. R. Crockett, . . 381 The Lady's Dream, - Twn Hood,- - 385 A Holiday Idyl, Fred. W. Broughton, - . 386 The Last Shot, John D. Reid, - - 393 The Wife, .... Washington. Irinng, • - 397 The Artless Prattle of Childhood, R. J. Burdettt, ■ 402 The Dukite Snake, - John B. O'Reilly, - 405 Karl, The Martyr, .... Fanny Brough, - - 410 Her Letter, Bret Harte, - 414 An Amateur Cook, - W.OrantStevenson,A.R.S. A ., 416 The Bells, .... E. A. Poe, ■ - 419 The Haunted Mere, .... Holme Lee, - - 420 Preparing to Receive Company, J. M. Barrie, - 421 Selections from "Robert Falconer", • Dr. Oeo. Mac Donald, . 424 The Midnight Charge, Clement Scott, - - 431 Debate on the Character of Juliua Ca resar, - - . . . - S34 THE PRACTICAL ELOCUTIONIST. DIVISION I. THE PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. Among the cultured races in ancient times the study of correct and graceful speech was deemed an essential element of a liberal education. In the training of the youthful Greek or Eoman, Elocu- tion was assigned a place of honour and importance, and many coveted rewards were in store for those who excelled in it. Oratory, indeed, for which Elocution forms a necessary foundation, was then considered one of the fine arts, and entitled to quite as dignified a recognition as painting and music and sculpture. No effort was spared in the encouragement of the study, and a high standard of excellence was maintained. It has often been urged, and with considerable show of reason, that in our own day the study of Elocution and public speaking does not get that regular and close attention in our educational system to which it has so good a claim. Elocution has met with mdifference, sometimes even with half- veiled contempt, at the hands of the directors of many of our schools and colleges. In view of the great value of the study this state of matters is not easily accounted for. One is tempted to call it the outcome of wilful ignorance. It is to the credit of an awakening intelligence in educational matters, however, that the subject is now obtaining a rank of greater import- ance every year, and that the immense benefits to be derived from a systematic course of training in correct and effective delivery are more and more clearly recognized. The hap - hazard manner in which clergymen, barristers, and others whose duties lead them to speak much in public usually acquire an inkling of the principles of Elocution is most hurtful in its effects. It seems to have been, and to a great extent evidently still is judged that knowledge — the accumulation of facts and doctrine and law — and some akill in com- 13 14, THE PRINCIPLES OF KLOCDTION. position, are enough to carry the minister and the la.vryer through his professional career with credit, and that he must trust to natural ability and the ordinary training of everyday experience to enable him to convey his knowledge or opinions, or plead his case, with persuasiveness, grace, and force. It is true that in the course of his preparation for his profession he sometimes turns a lukewarm attention to the subject, but his half-hearted attempt is often worse than useless. The imperfectly-taught or self-taught student of Elo- cution is apt to develop irritating mannerisms both in pronunciation and tone. The crudities of his style have had no adequate friction applied to them to clear them away. He goes to the pulpit, the bar, or the platform with a vitiated method that renders him wearisome or even obnoxious to his hearers. He has so little knowledge of the proper mode of husbanding his breath and producing his voice that it is not surprising he has so often to consult his physician regarding serious trouble in his throat. Elocution, however, is deserving of the most studious attention by others besides professional men. To the latter it ought to be a necessity, but to all it will be an advantage. Those who desire to strengthen and improve the voice and develop the organs of respi- ration, to overcome a rough or provincial accent, to cultivate their taste, to improve and brighten their conversational powers, to lay up treasures of literature in their memory, and to be able to read and recite in a manner at once pleasant to themselves and enjoyable and profitable to others, should devote themselves diligently to the study of Elocution. Of study Shakspere wisely and quaintly says : " study 1b like the heaven's glorious sun That will not be deep search'd with saucy looks". This truth is to be borne in mind by all who hope to make progress in the ai't. The study of Elocution "will not be deep search'd by saucy looks". It will not be sufficient merely to "cram" a few selections from popular authors, and then go around inflicting their recital on long-suflfering friends. To deserve aa well as to attain success, thoughtful application and an enthusiastic love of the subject for its own sake must go hand in hand. Constant practice in articulation and pronunciation must be joined to a careful tra inin g of the voice and a due regard for the mechanism of breathing. To the Btud;f of grammar and literature must be added the study of character. The emotions and passions must be pondered over and analyzed, and their appropriate symbols of expression determined upon. The imagination must be trained to ajiprehend, and the physical powers THE PRINCIPLKS OF ELOCUTION, IB to render with fidelity and truth the full force and message of what we have to say or the meaning and gpirit of the author whose work we seek to interpret. Our English word "Mocution" is derived from the Latin, and means literally " a speaking out ". In its technical sense it signifies a speaking out with such correctness of pronunciation, clearness of articulation, and intelligent modulation of the voice, as will convey to the hearers, in a graceful and artistic way, the full meaning of the spoken words. The aim of the student of Elocution, therefore, is to acquire the art of accurate and effective delivery. How best shall he set about it? His work has two main divisions. Firstly, he must make himself thoroughly vei-sed in what may be termed the mechanical part of the study — the production of the voice, the management of the breath, the articulation and pronunciation of words, and the regulation of accent. Secondly, he must study the principles which govern expression in delivery, which dictate or suggest the proper inflections, emphases, and pauses to be made, and the exact modu- lation of voice to be adopted. It is impossible in these introductory remarks to give more than a very brief outline of the principles of the art, but in any case an elaborate system of rules and exceptions, with all the formidable array of uninviting matter it engenders, tends rather to frighten than encourage the student. Judicious viva voce teaching is better than a library of Manuals. The individual tricks of manner and speech into which people fall in reading or conversing can best be remedied in the class-room. Even after the mechanics of Elocution have been learned, and the student is proceeding to more advanced work, the teacher's oversight is of great value. His oflfice indeed becomes more that of a friendly and experienced critic than of a law-giver. At the same time we think it well to bring before the student in as concise a form as possible a number of practical obser- vations on the more salient diflBculties to be met with and overcome. We desire above all to make him realize the importance of the study, to stimulate him to serious effort, and to awaken his ambition to excel. The production of the voice and the rnanagement of the breath primarily call for the most painstaking attention. Bad habits in breathing and voice-forming are acquired with unfortunate ease, and are most difficult to cure. A knowledge of the physiologj of the human voice is very helpful to the student of elocution, r we recommend him to consult a work dealing specially vp^ 16 THE PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. subject. He will not fail to be impressed with the beauty of the mechanism and will more intelligently appreciate the need for con- stant care and exercise to develop and improve the voice— to render it both musical and flexible. The vocal organs are muscular, and even poor voices, properly trained, may be strengthened, mellowed, and made capable of good work. It is the A B C of correct vocal production to keep the lungs at all times plentifully supplied with air. By this means alone will a smooth delivery be preserved, and any necessary change of tone or alteration of pitch be readily seized. Breathing should be carried on almost wholly through the nostrils, but it will sometimes be found of advantage to breathe through the mouth as well. In any case, care must be exercised not to allow the act of breathing to be heard or seen. Every chance presented by the ordinary pauses in speaking or reading should be taken to maintain the full stock of breath. It is quite a mistake to wait for any particular time to take in a supply, as for example, till the end of a sentence. The true secret of proper breathing is to cultivate a habit of replenishing the lungs at every available opportunity during the delivery whether for the moment a full store is required or not. The good habit once formed wiU be almost unconscious in its working. The voice has three different keys or pitches— the high, the low, and the middle— each of which has its separate functions and usefulness. The high pitch, appropriate to the expression of excitement and nervous emotion, ought never to be rashly resorted to. Occasions for its necessary use are comparatively rare, and great care must always be taken to avoid straining the voice when it is pitched high. Unless the high pitch is used with judgment and artistic moderation the effect is most unpleasant on the ear. The low pitch is of value in solemn and impassioned utterance. A golden rule in vocal training is to practise assiduously the low notes. Besides enriching the expressiveness of the voice, such practice will be of immense physical value to the whole vocal mechanism. The middle pitch is the one we commonly use while conversing, but it should also be that chosen for public speaking and reading,— to be altered only under stress of emotion or for other valid reason. It will be found by experience that the middle key is altogether the most satisfactory and durable one on which to work. In public speaking or reading it ought always to be a first endeavour to be well heard. In this connection it is important to note that distinctness and a level pitch are far more effective than mere loudness. Loudness and vocal pitch must not be confounded THE PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 17 One may speak loudly or softly on the same key. It is an everyday occurrence for speakers in a large hall to pitch their voices too high, or else to speak too loudly, or both. Clergymen are perhaps the greatest oflfenders in this respect, even in their own pulpit. How few there are who preach naturally and quietly with just the proper degree of loudness to be heard distinctly by everybody. A good plan to secure the proper pitch is to watch the demeanour of the remotest listeners and judge whether they are hearing with comfort. Tell your story to those in the back seat and almost unconsciously the voice itself will help you to adjust the true key to meet the case. In large buildings, or where the acoustics are defective, extra care has to be taken in articulation, and the syllables have to be dwelt upon with more than usual emphasis. Where there is an echo a subdued middle pitch will be found most eflfective. Loudness in such a place should never be attempted unless conjoined with great deliberation and crispness of utterance, otherwise a mere unintel- ligible jumble will be the result. False methods of vocal production are numerous, but perhaps none is more harmful than that in which all the breath and sound seem to be proceeding from the throat. It is imperative that the student should keep in view that the larynx is a most delicate instrument which requires to be played upon with skill. A clumsy performer will soon coaruen or even wear away outright its powers of melody. Articulation, or distinct utterance, next presents itself for con- sideration. This is a branch which is usually treated at some length by means of a long list of rules. These rules are, without doubt, most useful in themselves, but a too rigid adherence to them is apt to create a preciseness in style which is not to be com- mended. The student should endeavour to speak out his words in a clear and firm manner, giving each syllable its due value and proper sound. Mistakes of articulation are usually the result rathei of slovenhness, aifectation, or local accent, than of ignorance. The battle is more than half won if the student makes up his mind to be careful. While accuracy and clearness are being acquired, freedom and refinement must not be forgotten. The proper pro- nunciation of words may be learned (first) by listening to the speaking of cultured people, and {secoiid) by consulting a reliable dictionary. The student must be always on the alert in this con- nection, because pronunciation is a matter of use and fashion — the use and fashion that obtain from time to time among the educated and refined. One of the greatest obstacles in the path of the beginner is hit 18 THE PRINCIPLES OT ELOCUTION. local or provincial accent. Mere quality of voice, apart from inflection and pronunciation, has more to do with local accent than what is generally supposed. People in different parts of the country produce their voices in different ways. We have a faulty utterance from the throat here, or a disagreeable nasal quality of vocal sound there, and so on ; all of which are but the evidences of a deplorable lack everywhere of education in the management of the voice. A monotonous regularity in the use of certain inflections, mispronunciation of words, especially owing to a false articula- tion of the vowel sounds, and other peculiarities, all help to make up what is known as a local accent. The best means of rooting it out is to practise reading aloud in accordance with the principles of elocution, keeping specially in view the proper formation of the voice. In all exercises on articulation, deliberation is essential. To hurry over a passage is to waste time, not to practise. Flexibility and lightness of touch, with a capacity for quick yet clear and con-ect articulation cannot be acquired without persevering and patient effort. We come now to the second division of our subject, which concerns itself with the canons of taste and expression in delivery. The consideration of these canons leads us to place the study of the art in a very high rank indeed. To be able to vivify the language of our great writers with an illumining exposition of its spirit and its message, " to lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of the voice ", to deliver a noble theme with earnestness and convincing power, require the cultivation of qualities which concern the heart as well as the brain of the student. His imagination must be stirred, his powers of observation quickened, and his sympathy for his neigh- bour deepened. It is only when he has taken a firm grasp of the meaning of the text, and is actuated by genuine feeling, that his vocal inflections and modulations of tone, the emphases he employs, and the pauses he makes, wiU become appropriate and telling. The four elements just referred to, viz. — Inflection, Modulation, Ennphasis, and Pause, are so blended in tasteful delivery that it is difficult to treat of them separately. It is well, however, to en- deavour to indicate what is distinctive in the operation of each, aa well as to show their close relationship. The Inflections of the voice are of two classes — Rising and Falling. A third class is sometimes added, called the Circumflex Inflection, which is only a compound of the two simple inflections. Inflection is aptly enough described as a slide of the voice in speak- ing, and the direction of the slide — up or down, aa the case may be THB PRINCIPLES OF BLOOCTION. 19 —determines the class to which it belongs. To put the definition in other words, the voice is bent with an upward or downward course in such a way as to indicate various shades of meaning in the matter spoken, or to suggest a certain state of emotion or mental attitude on the part of the speaker. The rising inflection indicates in general that the logical sense is still incomplete, while the falling inflection conveys the opposite idea. In emotional phrases the rising inflection suggests a stretching forward into the future, and is used where prayer or pleading, hope or joy, questioning or doubt, are the pre- vailing notes. The falling inflection, on the other hand, is found, in similar phrases, to be the proper mode of expressing strong aflirmation or authority, and of rendering the notes of the deeper and harsher passions. The circumflex inflection is difficult to describe on paper with any degree of exactness. This compound elide of the voice is of great value in passages where irony and bantering are the dominant notes, or where any latent meaning — "between the lines", as we say colloquially — is intended to be conveyed. In Division II. of this volume will be found a number of special exercises on the inflections, which it is hoped will be found useful. Modulation is but a higher form of inflection. It is the act of arranging the vocal inflections in a passage so as to assign to each its relative weight and importance as a contributory to the general efi'ect. It further groups and arranges the emphases and pauses. It is modulation or tone which expresses the spirit or emotion of the whole passage. The truest and only really efiective modulation is that which is founded on a sympathetic and thoughtful study of the text. There are tones appropriate to all human emotions and sentiments, but to imitate these tones with sincerity and truth is no easy task. False or incorrect modulation jars like a discord in music. The tones natural to animated conversation are the best guide to the due rendering of all nari-ative and argumentative pas- sages. These tones should also be the foundation of all emotional or dramatic reading. Artificial and stilted styles of declamation, or a monotonous cadence or tune, should be anxiously avoided. Modu- lation properly employed makes spoken language a living power to persuade or rouse or touch the listener. It depicts the rush and development of emotion and passion, or reveals with subtle force changes of idea and sentiment. It enables us to produce a pleasing variety and picturesqueness in delivery when we render clearly but without obtrusion the imitative element which lurks in many words, when we show ir> fact, the frequent close connection between sound and sense. 20 THK PRIKCIPLES OF ELOCUTIOH. From Modulation it is uot a far cry to Emphasis. By Emphasis is meant the placing of weight or stress, by means of a fuller sound or marked tone of voice, upon certain words to show their relative importance to the context. The proper use of emphaais is dictated entirely by the meaning of the passage. The same sentence, or com- bination of words, may be emphasized in quite a number of ways according to the particular meaning sought to be conveyed. It is outwith the province of rigid rules to deal with due emphasis. Taste and intelligence must be brought to bear upon every separate set of words and phrases. Emphasis, in its widest application, is a means of dramatizing a sentence or a paragraph, but accurate judg- ment and artistic care will be necessary to prevent too lavish a use of it. The Pause is but another form of emphasis, and a most effective one when properly employed. Ordinary grammatical punctuation suggests certain pauses in delivery, but is no safe guide. Pauses are sometimes divided into grammatical and rhetorical, sometimes into those which mark emphasis and those which indicate distinctions of the sense. But indeed it is difficult to draw any clear line. As a form of Emphasis many remarkable effects may be obtained from its use. A pause immediately before a word serves as a pointer, drawing instant attention, and helping to reveal that word's import- ance and value. On the other hand, when the pause is made im- mediately after a word, the mind has time to dwell on the full significance it bears or the suggestions it stirs. As with individual words so with phrases, and here lies material for nice discrimination. Phrases may be grouped and arranged by means of the pause (aided, of course, by tone and emphasis) in such a way as to render most graphically the full force of a sentence. Each phrase has a different value and entitled to a different degree of recognition, and the artistic ai-rangement of the phrases distinguishes the finished speaker or reader. Grammatical analysis teaches us the construction of sen- tences ; rhetorical analysis teaches us something more. By rhetorical analysis, if we may be allowed the phrase, is meant that analysis which makes clear to ua the spirit and aim of the writer. Having 80 analyzed a passage we are in a position to apply the proper tones, emphases, and pauses to its delivery, and so to punctuate or phrase it, as to make that spirit and aim live for others as well as ourselves. We become the true interpreter of the author. Without such pre- vious analysis our delivery will be either meaningless and dead or hopelessly misleading. These remarks apply to the reading of both prose and verse, but the latter has some special features worthy of THE PRINCIPLES OF BLOCUTIOK. 21 mention. Verse is extremely difficult to read well, owing chiefly to the constant danger of misplacing the pauses, and the easy blunder of inharmonious phrasing. It is essential to maintain at once the melody or rhythm and the sense. There is, in poetical composition, a natural pause at the end and also a pause about the middle of each line. To some extent these pauses must always be regarded, but there are several common errors to guard against. We have especially to keep free of any artificial monotony or tunefulness. Sometimes the rhythm catches the reader and chains him to a sing- song delivery that is most irritating. Care must be taken to bring home to our hearers the sentiments of the poem, while we preserve its melody. But if the melody and the sense are anywhere so dis- tinctly at variance that one must be sacrificed, then of course the rhythm must go. Yet, even in such a case, by a careful balancing or poising of the whole passage and a delicate phrasing of the words, the grace and poetical beauty of it may be suitably maintained and the sense at the same time clearly conveyed. Afl a concluding word to these few pages on the principles of Elocution we would strongly urge the student to attend to three simple injunctions which, if carried out, will invest his work with individuality and interest — Be thoughtful : be natural ; be in earne«t DIVISION II. THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. I.— GENERAL HINTS, (a) Speak out firmly: take plenty of time. 1. In an old abbey town, a long while ago — so long that the story must be a true one, because our great-grandfathers implicitly be- lieved it— there officiated as sexton and grave-digger, one Gabriel Grub, an ill-conditioned, cross-grained, s^irly and lonely man, who consorted with nobody but himself, and an old wicker bottle. A little before twilight, one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shouldered his spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself towards the old churchyard ; for he had got a grave to finish by next morning. As he went his way, up the ancient street, he saw the cheerful light of the blazing fires gleam, through the old casements, and heard the cheerful shouts of those who were assembled around them. All this was gall and wormwood to the heart of Gabriel Grub; and when groups of children bounded out ni the houses, tripped across the road, and were met, before they could knock at the opposite door, by half a dozen curly -headed Uttle rascals who crowded up- stairs to spend the evening in their Christmas games, Gabriel smiled grimly, and clutched the handle of his spade with a firmer grasp, as he thought of measles, scarlet-fever, and a good many other sources of consolation besides. 2. At midnight, in his guarded tent, the Turk waa dreaming of the hour when Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, should tremble at his power: in dreams, through camp and court he bore the trophies of a conqueror; in dreams, his song of triumph heard;— then, wore that monarch's signet ring ; then, pressed that monarch's throne— a king 1— as wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, as Eden's garden bird! At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, true as the steel of their tried blades,— heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian's thousands stood, there had the glad earth drunk their blood on old Plata^a's day : and now these breathed that haunted air— the sons of sires who conquered there— with arm to strike and soul to dare, as quick, a.s far as they I 22 THB PRACTICE OF BLOCDTIOK. 23 (b) Articulate clearly: pronounce correctly: pay careful heed to the vowel sounds and the definite article: do not drop or slur over terminal consonants. Note. — The definite article is pronounced with a long "e" before a vowel or silent " h" and also when it is tued emphatically: hut the " « " is short before a consonant. 1. Here it comes sparkling, and there it lies darkling; now smoking and frothing its tiunult and wrath in ; rising and leaping, sinking and creeping, swelling and sweeping, showering and spring- ing, flying and flinging, writhing and singing, eddying and whisking, spouting and frisking, turning and twisting around and around with endless rebound; smiting and fighting, a sight to delight in, con- founding, astounding, dizzying, and deafening the ear with its sound ! Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting, delaying and straying and playing and spraying, advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing — and so never ending, but always descending, sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending, all at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar; — and this way, the water comes down at Lodore 1 2. No object is more pleasing to the eye than the sight of a man whom you have obliged ; nor any music so agreeable to the ear as the voice of one that owns you for his benefactor. 3. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight. And all the air a solemn stillness holds ; Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds, Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower. The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest hei ancient solitary reign. 4. The horse was standing near the hotel, eating the oats which the ostler had fetched ; the traveller rested himself under the awning, which the apple-tree afi"orded; near him was the orchard, whose trees were weighed by the fruit of the abundant harvest; the upper- most branches appeared to be the most prolific, and the whole scene was clothed with the grandeur of the setting sun. 6. The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honourable gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny; but content myself with wishing, that I may be one of those whose follies may cease with 24 THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. their youth, and not of those who continue ignorant in spite of age and experience. Whether youth can be attributed to any man as a reproach, I will not, sir, assume the province of determining ; but surely, age may justly become contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have passed away without improvement, and vice appear to prevail when the passions have subsided. The wretch who, after having seen the consequences of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and in whom age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object either of abhorrence or contempt ; and deserves not that his grey head should secure him from insults. Much more, sir, is he to be abhorred, who, as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and become more wicked with less temptation ; who prosti- tutes himself for money which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his country. II.— EXERCISES ON THE INFLECTIONS. The rising inflection should be employed in the following cases : — (a) While the meaning of a sentence or clause of a sentence remains incomplete in itself: While the leading thought in a paragraph or stanza is logically connected from sentence to sentence with cumulative effect. 1. When round the lonely cottage Roars loud the tempest's din, And the good logs of Algidus Roar louder yet within ; When the oldest cask is opened, And the largest lamp is lit ; When the chestnuts glow in the embers, And the kid turns on the spit ; When young and old in circle Around the firebrands close, When the girls are weaving baskets And the men are shaping bows ; When the goodman mends his armour, And trims his helmet's plume ; When the goodwife's shuttle merrily Goes flashing through the loom ; THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. 25 With weeping and with laughter, Still is the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave days of old. 2. In the name of every generous and honourable feeling — for tne «jake not merely of those on whose behalf I specially appeal, but for your own sakes, and as you value your own dignity and ch.aracter, and prize the future independence of your country, come forward and by one simultaneous exclamation, signify your assent to a measure which will not only have the effect of rescuing the peasantry from ruin, but of rescuing your own character from ignominy and dia grace. Do it in the name of justice, — do it in the name of humanity —do it in the name of Ireland ; and I trust I do not take his namf in vain when I say, do it in the name of God. 3. If a cool, determined courage, that no apparently hopeless struggle could lessen or subdue — if a dauntless resolution, that shone the brightest in the midst of the greatest difficulties and dangers — if a heart ever open to the tenderest afifections of our nature and the purest pleasures of social intercourse — if an almost childlike sim- plicity of character, that while incapable of craft or dissimulation in itself, yet seemed to have an intuitive power of seeing and defeating the insidious designs and treacheries of others — if characteristics such as these constitute their possessor a hero, then, I say, foremost in the rank of heroes shines the deathless name of "Washington. 4. To acquire a thorough knowledge of our own hearts and characters ; to restrain every irregular inclination ; to subdue every rebellious passion ; to purify the motives of our conduct ; to form ourselves to that temperance which no pleasure can seduce ; to that meekness which no provocation can ruffle ; to that patience which no affliction can overwhelm ; and to that integrity which no interest can shake; this is the task which, in our sojourn here, we are required to accomplish. (b) When the sentence or clause is interrogative and can be answered by "yes" or "no", or when it is negative in con- struction. 1. Do the perfections of the Almighty lie dormant? Can wealth, or honour, or pleasure satisfy the soul? Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? Can the soldier when he girdeth on his armour boast like him that putteth it off? Can the merchant predict that the speculation on which he haa 26 THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION, entered will be infallibly crowned with success? Can even the husbandman, who has the promise of God that seedtime and harvest shall not fail, look forward with assured confidence to the expected increase of his fields? 2. No deeper wrinkles yet ? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds? Was this the face That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men ? Was this the face That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? Is this the face which faced so many follies, An d was at last outfaced by Bolingbroke ? 3. Has our Maker furnished us with desires which have no cor- respondent objects, and raised expectations in our breasts with no other view than to disappoint them? Are we to be for ever in search of happiness without arriving at it, either in this world or in the next? Are we formed with a passionate longing for immortality, and yet destined to perish after this short period of existence? Are we prompted to the noblest actions, and supported through life under the severest hardships and most trying temptations, by hopes of a reward which is visionary and chimerical, by the expectation of praises which we are never to realize and enjoy ? 4. Think you a little din can daunt mine ears ? Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Have I not heard the sea puffed up with winds Rage like an angry bear? Have I not heard great ordnance in the field? And Heaven's artillery thunder in the sky? Have I not in a pitched battle heard Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets clang? And do you tell me of a woman's tongue. That makes not half so great a blow on the ear As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire. 5. The peace we seek is not peace through the medium of war; not peace to be hunted through the labyinnth of intricate and endless negotiations; not peace to arise out of universal discord, fomented from principle in all parts of the empire; not peace to depend on the juridical determination of perplexing qupstions, nor the precise marking of the shadowy boundaj-ies of a complex govern- ment. THB PRACTICB 07 ELOCUTION. S7 6. THE BETTER LAND. Mrs. Hemans. Child. I hear thee speak of a Better Land. Thou callest its children a happy band. Mother, oh, where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more 't Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fireflies glance through the myrtle boughs? — Mother. Not there, not there, my child. Child. Is it where the feathery palm-trees risa, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fi-agrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things? Mother. Not there, not there, my child. Child. Is it far away in some region old, "Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold; Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand, Is it there, sweet mother, that Better Land? Mother. Not there, not there, my child. Mother. Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy, Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy. Dreams cannot picture a world so fair. Sorrow and death may not enter there ; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb — It is there, it is there, my child, (c) When the emotional feeling expressed in a sentence « bright, happy, or hopeful. 1. I come ; I come ; — ye have called me long : I come o'er the mountains with light and song ; Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earthj By the winds which tell of the violet's birth. By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I paas. 28 THE PRACTICE OF BLOOUTION. From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain. They are sweeping on to the silvery main,— They are flashing down from the mountain brows — They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs,— They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves ;— An d the earth resounds with the joy of waves 1 g. Thy bright image, Glassed in my soul, took all the hues of glory, And lured me on to those inspiring toils By which man masters men. For thee I grew A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages. For thee I sought to borrow from each Grace And every Muse, such attributes as lend Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee, And Passion taught me Poesy — of thee ; And on the painter's canvas grew the life Of Beauty. Art became the shadow Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes. Men called me vain — some mad — I heeded not-; But still toil'd on, hoped on, for it was sweet, If not to win, to feel more worthy thee 1 3. Nay, speak not ; my heart has broken its silence, and you shall hear the rest. For you I have endured all the weary bondage of this house ; yes, to see you, hear you, breathe the same air, be ever at hand, that if others slighted, from one at least you might receive the luxury of respect ; for this— for this I have lingered, suff'ered, and forborne. We are orphans both— friendless both ; you are all the world to me; turn not away; my very soul speaks in these words — / love you I 4. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; it droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath; it is twice bless'd; it bleaaeth him that gives, and him that takes : 'tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes the thronM monarch better than his crown : his sceptre shows the force of temporal power, the attribute to awe and majesty, wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; but Mercy is above this sceptred sway— it is enthroned in the hearts of kings— it is an attribute to God himself ; and earthly power doth then show likest God's, when mercy seasons justice : therefore, Jew, though justice be thy plea, consider this,— that, in the course of justice, none of us should see salvation : wc do pray for mercy : and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy. THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. 29 AN ENGLISH CHEISTMAS-DAY. Dickens. 5. On Christmas morning grandpapa and grandmamma, with as many of the children as the pew will hold, go to church in great state : leaving Aunt George at home dusting decanters and filling castors, and Uncle George carrying bottles into the dining-parlour, and calling for cork-screws, and getting into everybody's way. When the church-party return to lunch, grandpapa produces a small sprig of mistletoe from his pocket, and tempts the boys to kiss their little cousins under it — a proceeding which affords both the boys and the old gentleman unlimited satisfaction, but which rather outrages grandmamma's ideas of decorum, until grandpapa says tliat when he was just thirteen years and three months old, he kissed grandmamma under a mistletoe too, on which the children clap their hands, and laugh very heartily, as do Aunt George and Uncle George ; and grandmamma looks pleased, and says, with a benevo- lent smile, that grandpapa was an impudent young dog, on which the children laugh very heartily again, and grandpapa more heartily than any of them. As to the dinner, it's perfectly delightful — nothing goes wrong, and eveiybody is in the very best of spirits, and disposed to please and be pleased. Grandpapa relates a circumstantial account of the purchase of the turkey, with a slight digression relative to the pur- chase of previous turkeys, on former Christmas-days, which grand- mamma corroborates in the minutest particular. Uncle George tells stories, and carves poultry, and takes wine, and jokes with the chil- dren at the side-table, and exhilarates everybody with his good humour and hospitality ; and when, at last, a stout servant staggers in with a gigantic pudding, with a sprig of holly in the top, there is such a laughing, and shouting, and clapping of little chubby hands, and kicking up of fat dumpy legs, as can only be equalled by the applause with which the astonishing feat of pouring lighted brandy into mince-pies is received by the younger visitors. Then the dessert ! — and the wine ! — and the fun I Such beautiful speeches, and such songs ! Even grandpapa not only sings his annual song with un- precedented vigour, but on being honoured with an unanimous encore, according to annual custom, actually comes out with a new one which nobody but grandmamma ever heard before. And thus the evening passes, in a strain of rational goodwill and cheerfulness, doing more to awaken the sympathies of every member of the party 30 THE PRACTICE OF ELOCaTlOK in behalf of his neighbour, and to perpetuate their good feeling during the ensuing year, than half the treatises that have ever been written, by half the philosophers that have ever lived. (d) When surprise or wonder is expressed, or doubt or contingency suggested. 1. A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed, Who met his looks of anger aad surprise With the divine compassion of his eyes ; Then said, "Who art thou? and vrhy com'st thou here?" 2. If every ducat in six thousand ducats Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, I would not draw them: I would have my bond. 3. Oh ! when the heart is full— when bitter thoughts Come crowding thickly up for utterance. And the poor words of common courtesy Are such a very mockery — how much The bursting heart may pour itself in Prayer ; 4. It is doubtful yet, If Oesar vrill come forth to-day or no. It may be these apparent prodigies, The unaccustomed terror of this night, And the persuasion of his augurers. May hold him from the capitol to-day. 5. It is enacted in the laws of Venice,— If it be proved against an alien, that, by direct or indirect attempts, he seek the life of any citizen, the party 'gainst the which he doth contrive, shall seize one half his goods ; the other half comes to the privy coflFer of the State ; and the offender's life lies in the mercy of the Duke only, 'gainst all other voice. (e) When prayer or entreaty is expressed, or exclamations or ejaculations made. 1. And now, in conclusion, I pray from the bottom of my heart, that He who is the Author of all mercies to mankind, whose divine providence, I am persuaded, guides and even superintends the transactions of this world, and whose guardian spirit haa ever watched over this prosperous island, direct and fortify your judg- menta! THE PRACTICE OF ELOCTJTIOK. SI £. All good people, You that thus far have come to pity me, Hear what I say. You few that loved me And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying ; Go with me, like good angels, to my end ; And as the long divorce of steel falls on me.. Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice And lift my soul to Heaven. 3, Oh, I beseech thee, If my obedience and blameless life. If my humility and meek submission In all things hitherto, can move in thee One feeling of compassion ; if thou art Indeed my father, and canst trace in me One look of her who bore me, or one tone That doth remind thee of her, let it plead In my behalf, who am a feeble girl — Too feeble to resist ; and do not force me To wed that man. 4 Ay? and this man dares to talk of conscience! CJonscience, forsooth! It is enough to make one's blood boil to think on't! That he who had publicly, and in the open light of day, thrown off every coverlet of shame — that he should, without sense, or memory, or feeling, before the eyes of the whole empire, with the traces of his degradation stiU fresh upon him, presume to call upon the name of the great and eternal God, and in aU the blasphemy of sacrilegious cant, dedicate himself, with an invocation to Heaven, to the ever- lasting oppression of my country I This it is that sets me, and every true patriot, on fire! This it is which raises, excites, inflames, exasperates! This it is which applies a torch to our passions! This it is which blows our indignation into flames 1 The failing inflection should be employed in the following cases: — (a) When a thought is completely expressed (whether by way of a sentence or a clause of a sentence) as in definitions and statements of fact. 1. Industry is the demand of nature, of reason, and of God. 2. Age in a virtuous person carries with it an authority which makea it preferable to aU the pleasures of youth. 32 THE PRACTICE Of EI.OCUTIOK. 3. By uniting different ranks in the same elegant pleasures, the fine arts promote benevolence; by cherishing love of order, they enforce submission to government; and by inspiring delicacy of feeling, they make regular government a double blessing. 4. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In aU my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman- Let's dry our eyes ; and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of— say I taught thee ; Say WoLsey— tha. once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour- Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 5. In the first place, true hono\ir, though it be a different principle from religion, is that which produces the same effects. The lines of action, though drawn from different parts, terminate in the same points. Religion embraces virtue, as it is enjoined by the laws of God; honoui- as it is graceful and ornamental to human nature. The religious man fears, the man of honour scorns, to do an ill action. The latter considers vice as something that is beneath him, the othei as something that is offensive to the Divine Being. The one aa what is unbecoming, the other as what is forbidden. 6. Ask of the learn'd the way : the learn'd are blind ; This bids to serve, and that to shun mankind : Some place the bliss in action, some in ease, Those call it Pleasure, and Contentment these ; Some, sunk to beasts, find pleasure end in pain : Some, swell'd to gods, confess e'en Virtue vain ; Or indolent, to each extreme they fall, To trust in everything, or doubt of alL 7. LABOUR. Thomas Carlyle. There is a perennial nobleness, and even sacredness, in work Were a man ever so benighted, or forgetful of his high calling, there is always hope in him who actually and earnestly works; in idleness alone is there perpetual despair. Consider how, even in the meanest sorts of labour, the whole soul of a man is composed into real (996) THB PRACTICE OF BLOCUTION, 33 harmony. He bends himself with free valour against his task ; and doubt, desire, sorrow, remorse, indignation, despair itself, shrink murmuring far oflF into their caves. The glow of labour in him is a purifying fire, wherein all poison is burnt up ; and of smoke itself there is made a bright and blessed flame. Blessed is he who has found his work ; let him ask no other blessedness ; he has a life purpose. Labour is life. From the heart of the worker rises the celestial force, breathed into him by Almighty God, awakening him to all nobleness, to all knowledge. Hast thou valued patience, courage, openness to light, or readiness to own thy mistakes? In wrestling with the dim brute powers of Fact, thou wilt continually learn. For every noble work, the possibilities are diflfused through immensity — undiscoverable, except to Faith. Man, son of heaven ! is there not in thine inmost heart a spirit of active method, giving thee no rest till thou unfold it? Complain not. Look up, wearied brother. See thy fellow- workmen surviving through eternity — the sacred band of immortals 1 (b) When a sentence, although interrogative, cannot be an- swered by a simple "yes" or "no"; and when earnest affirma- tion or conviction is intended to be conveyed, although the sentence may be negative in construction. 1. What! my young master? Why, what make you herel Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love you ? And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? Why would you be so fond to overcome The haughty pride of the humorous Duke ? 2. Me you call great : mine is the firmer seat, The truer lance j but there is many a youth Now crescent, who will come to all I am, And overcome it ; and in me there dwells No greatness, save it be some far-off touch Of greatness, to know well I am not great. There is the man. (c) When there is expression of command or authority, and when the various stronger passions such as anger, hatred, and the like are represented. 1. " Halt !" The dust brown ranks stood fast " Firei " Out blazed the rifle blast. 2. An hour passed on — the Turk awoke; That bright dream was his last. (986) B 34 THB PRACTICE OF ELOCUTIOM. He woke — to hear his sentries shriek, « To arms 1 they come 1 the Greek 1 the Greek ! " He woke — to die, 'midst flame, and smoke, And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke, And death-shots falling thick and fast, Like forest pines before the blast : Or lightnings from the mountain cloud ; And heard with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band, "Strike— tiU the last armed foe expires; Strike— for your altars and your fires ; Strike— for the green graves of your sires ; Heaven — and your native land!" 3. I grieve to see the company thou keepest — The man whom thou hast ever at thy side, I hate him from the bottom of my soul. The very sight of him makes my blood thrill. To most men I feel kindliness— but him Do I detest ; and with a feeling strong- Strong as my love for you— strong as my wishes To have you with me—does a secret shudder Creep over me when I behold this man. He is — I cannot be deceived — a villain. I would not, could not, live together with him. He feels no love for any living soul ;— And when I am so happy in thine arms. He's sure to come, and my heart shrinks and withei^ This hatred overmasters me so wholly That, if he does but join us, straightway it seems As if I ceased to love thee. Where he is I could not pray. This eats into my heart. 4, Vice is the cruel enemy which renders man destructive to man ; which racks the body with pain and the mind with remorse ; which produces strife, faction, revenge, oppression, and sedition; which embroils society, kindles the flames of war, and erects mquisitions j which takes away peace from life, and hope from death; which brought forth death at first, and has ever since clothed it with all its terrors; which arms nature and the God of nature against us; and against which it has been the business of all ages to find out provisions and securities, by various institutions, laws, and forms of government. THB PRACTICK OF ELOCtTTION. 35 6. No man more highly esteems and honours the British troops than I do ; I know their virtues and their valour; I know that they can achieve an}'thing but impossibilities; and I know that the con- quest of British America t» an impossibility. You cannot, my lords, you cannot conquer America. "What is your present situation there? We do not know the worst ; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing and suffered much. You may swell every expense, accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every German despot : your attempts will be for ever vain and impotent — doubly so, indeed, from this mercenaiy aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incalculable resentment, the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I would never lay down my arms ; — never, never, never 1 The circumflex or compound inflection is used in the fol- lowing cases:— (a) When the diction is ironical or bantering in its nature the important words are so inflected as to suggest the in- tended latent meaning. (b) When there is an expression of indignation, derision, or blame. 1. Indeed! Ohl Hear him, my lord ; he's wondrous condescending : Mark the humility of Shepherd Nerval 1 2. Hath a dog money 1 is it possible a cur can lend three thousand ducats? 3. Ye gods I it doth amaze me, a man of such feeble temper should so get the start of the majestic world, and bear the palm alone. Why man he doth bestride the narrow world, like a Colossus ; and we petty men, walk under his huge legs, and peep about to find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates ; the fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in our selves that we are underlings. Brutus and Ctesar!— What should be in that Caesar? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together; yours is as fair a name ; sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them, Brutua will start a spirit as soon as Csesar. 4. AH this ? ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break ; go show your slaves how choleric you are, and make your bondmen tremble. S6 THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch under your testy humour 1 By the gods ! you shall digest the venom of your spleen, though it do split you ; for from this day forth I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, when you are waspish. You say you are a better soldier; let it appear so; make your vaunting true, and it shall please me well. For mine own part I shall be glad to learn of fioble men. III.— EXERCISES IN MODULATION. (a) Parenthetic clauses should be read in a different tone fronn the remainder of the sentence, and with either slower or quicker movement, according to their relative importance to the context. 1. The desire of knowledge (like the thirst of riches) increases ever with the acquisition of it. 2. If there is a power above u.i (and that there is all nature cries aloud through all her works), he must delight in virtue; and that which he delights in must be happy. 3. It often happens that those are the best people whose char- acters are injured by slanderers (and who so great or good that slander does not assail) as we usually find that to be the sweetest fruit, which the birds have been pecking at. 4. The late Mr. BardeU (after enjoying for many years the esteem and confidence of his sovereign as one of the guardians of his royal revenues) glided almost imperceptibly from the world, to seek else- where for that repose and peace which a custom-house can never afford. At this touching allusion to the decease of Mr. BardeU (who had been knocked on the head with a quart-pot in a jmblic- house cellar) the learned Serjeant's voice faltered, and he proceeded with some emotion 5. Thou happy, happy elf ! (But stop — first let me kiss away that tear) Thou tiny image of myself ! (My love, he's poking peas into his ear I) Thou merry, laughing sprite I With spirits feather-hght. Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin, (Good heavens ! the child is swallowing a pin I) Thou little tricksy Puck I THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. 37 With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air, (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire ! (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire !) Thou imp of mirth and joy ! In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents (Drat the boy 1 There goes my ink !) Thou cherub — but of earth ; Fit playfellow for fays by moonlight pale, In harmless sport and mirth, (That dog will bite him if he pulls its t-ail !) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey From everj' blossom in the world that blows, Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny, (Another tumble — that's his precious nose !) (b) When the force of a passage increases as it goes on, the voice should indicate the gradation by a corresponding increase in pitch, intensity, and rate of utterance. 1. One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near ; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung. So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! She is won ! we are gone over bank, bush, and scaur, The/U have fleet steeds that follow ! — Quoth young Lochinvar. 2. With never a thought or a moment more, Bareheaded she slipped from the cottage-door. Ran out where the horses were left to feed, Unhitched and mounted the captain's steed, And down the hiUy and rock-strewn way She urged the fiery horse of grey. Around her slender and cloakless form Pattered and moaned the ceaseless storm ; Secure and tight, a gloveless hand Grasped the reins with stern command ; And full and black her long hair streamed, Whenever the ragged lightning gleamed, And on she rushed for the Colonel's weal. Brave, liouess-hearted Jennie M'Neale. 38 THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. 3. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more { Or close the wall up with our English dead ; In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility ; But when the blast of war blows in our eare. Then imitate the action of the tiger ; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair Nature with hard-favoured rage : Then, lend the eye a terrible aspect ; Let it pry through the portage of the head. Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it, As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base. Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean — Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height ; Now on ! you noblest English, Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war- proof ; Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument ; I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's a-foot ; Follow your spirit ; and upon this charge. Cry, Heaven for Harry 1 England I and St. George ! (c) When dialogue and narrative are comprised in one selec- tion, the tone of voice should clearly indicate the distinction between them. THE DEATH OF CASTLEWOOD. Thackeray. It was midnight, but the night was bright enough for the un- happy purpose they came about. All six entered the fatal square, the chairmen keeping the gate, lest any person should disturb the duel. After not more than a couple of minutes, a cry caused Esmond to look round. He ran up to the place, where he saw his dear master was down. My Lord Mohun was standing over him. " Are you much hurt, Frank?" he asked in a hollow voice. " I believe I'm a dead man," my lord said from the ground. " No I no 1 not so," says the other. " I call Heaven to witness^ THE FRACTICB OF ELOCUTIOH. 39 Frank Esmond, that I would have asked your pardon had you but given me a chance. I swear no one was to blame but me, and that my lady — " " Hush I " says my poor lord viscount, lifting himself up, " don't let her name be heard in the quarrel. It was a dispute about the cards ! — Harry, my boy, I loved thee, and thou must watch over my little Frank, and carry this little heart to my wife." They brought him to a surgeon in Long Acre, the house was wakened up, and the victim carried in. Lord Castlewood was laid on a bed, very pale and ghastly, with that fixed fatal look in his eyes which betokens death. Faintly beckoning all away from him he cried, " Only Harry Esmond," and his hand fell powerless on the coverlet. " Thou art all but a priest, Harry I" he gasped, with a faint smile and pressure of his cold hand, "let me make thee a death -bed confession." With sacred Death waiting, as it were, at the bedfoot, as an awful witness of his words, the poor dying soul gasped out his last wishes, his contrition for his faults, and his charity towards the world he was leaving. The ecclesiastic we had sent for arrived, hearing which, my lord asked, squeezing Esmond's hand, to be left alone with him. At the end of an hour the priest came out of the room looking hard at Esmond, and holding a paper. " He is on the brink of God's awful judgment," the priest whis- pered. " He has made his breast clean to me." " God knows," sobbed out Esmond, seemingly unconscious of the words, " my dearest lord has only done me kindness all his life." The priest put the paper into Esmond's hand. He looked at it. It swam before his eyes. " 'Tis a confession," he said. " Tis as you please," said the priest. There was a fire in the room. Esmond went to the fire and threw the paper into it. '"Tis only a confession, Mr. Atterbury. Let us go to him." They went into the next chamber; the dawn had broke, and showed the poor lord's pale face and wild appealing eyes, which wore the awful fatal look of coming dissolution. He turned his sick eyes towards Esmond. " My lord viscount," says the priest, " Mr. Esmond hath burned the paper." " My dearest master," Esmond cried. 40 THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTIOTf. My lord viscount sprung up in his bed and flung his arms round Esmond. " God— bl— bless " was all he said. The blood rushed from his mouth. He was no more. " Benedicti Benedicentes," whispers the priest. And Esmond groaned " Amen." (d) Endeavour to modulate the voice so as to present a sympathetic and artistic picture to the imagination of the listener. This can only be accomplished by thoughtful study of the text, assiduous practice in the use of proper symbols of vocal expression, and a sincere and convincing style in delivery. 1. Oh, but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge -a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner. Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret and self-contained and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stifi'ened his gait, made his eyes red, his thin lips blue, and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. 2. Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell. Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave : And the sea yawn'd round her like a hell; And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave. Like one who grapples with his enemy. And strives to strangle him before he dies. And first one universal shriek there rush'd Louder than the loud ocean — like a crash Of echoing thunder— and then all was huah'd Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows ; but at intervals there gush'd, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek — the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony. 3. But a change came upon the view almost imperceptibly. The scene was altered to a small bed-room, where the fairest and youngest child lay dying; the roses had fled from his cheek, and the light from his eye; and even as the sexton looked upon him with an interest he had never felt or known before, he died. His young brothers and sisters crowded round his little bed, and seized his tiny THI PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. 41 hand, so cold and heavy ; but they shrunk back from its touch, and looked with awe on his infant face ; for cakn and tranquil as it was, and sleeping in rest and peace as the beautiful child seemed to be, they saw that he was dead, and they knew that he was an Ax^el looking down upon, and blessing them, from a bright and happy Heaven. 4. There was a sound of revelry by night : and Belgium's capital had gathered then her Beauty and her Chivalry; and bright the lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; a thousand hearts beat happily ; and when music arose with its voluptuous swell, soft eyes looked love to eyes that spake again, and all went merry as a marriage- bell. — But hush! — harkl A deep sound strikes like a rising knell 1 Did ye not hear it? "No: 'Tis but the wind, or the car rattling o'er the stony street. On with the dance ! — let joy be uncon fined ! No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet to chase the glowing hours with flying feet." — But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, as if the clouds its echo would repeat; and nearer, clearer, deadlier than before 1 Arm I arm 1 it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar 1 6. GEORGE THE THIRD. Thackeray. From November, 1810, George the Third ceased to reign. All the world knows the history of his malady : all history presents no sadder figure than that of the old man, blind and deprived of reason, wandering through the rooms of his palace, addressing imaginary parliaments, reviewing fancied troops, holding ghostly courts. He was not only sightless, he became utterly deaf. All light, all reason, all sound of human voices, all the pleasures of this world of God, were taken from him I Some sUght lucid moments he had, in one of which the Queen, desiring to see him, entered the room, and found him singing a hymn, and accompanying himself at the harpsi- chord. When he had finished, he knelt down, and prayed aloud, for her— and then for his family — and then for the nation — con- eluding with a prayer for himself, that it might please God to avert this heavy calamity from him ; but, if not, to give him resignation to submit. He then burst into tears, and his reason again fled ! What preacher needs moralize on this story ? What words, save the simplest, are requisite to tell if? It is too terrible for tears. The thought of such a misery smites me down in submission before ( 996 ) B 2 42 THIS PRACTICK OF ELOCUTIOH. the Ruler of kings and men — the Monarch Supreme over empirea and republics, the Inscrutable Dispenser of life, death, happiness, victory. "O brothers!" I said to those who heard me first in America — " brothers 1 speaking the same dear mother tongue — comrades I enemies no more, let us take a mournful hand together as we stand by this royal corpse, and call a truce to battle I Low he lies to whom the proudest used to kneel once, and who was cast lower than the poorest; dead, whom millions prayed for in vain. Driven oflF his throne; buflfeted by rude hands; with his children in revolt; the darling of his old age killed before him untimely, — our Lear hangs over her breathless lips, and cries, 'Cordelia 1 C!ordelia ! stay a little !' ' Vex not his ghost — oh 1 let him pass ! — he hates him That would, upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer 1 ' Hash, Strife and Quarrel, over the solemn grave i Sound, trumpets, a mournful march! Fall, dark curtain, upon his pageant, his pride, his grief, his awful tragedy I " 6. Roll on ! thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; man marks the earth with ruin — his control stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain the wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain a shadow of man's ravage — save his own ; when for a moment, like a drop of rain, he sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown I Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form glasses itself in tempest : in all time — calm or convulsed : in breeze, or gale, or storm ; icing the pole, or in the torrid clime dark-heaving — bound- less, endless, and sublime ; the image of Eternity, the throne of the Invisible; Even from out thy slime, the monsters of the deep are made : each zone obeys thee : thou goest forth, dread, fathomless — alone ! 7. I am thy father's spirit : Doom'd for a certain time to walk the night, And for the day confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their sphereii, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, THE PRACTICE OF ELOCTTTIoy. 43 And each particular hair to stand an-end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. 8. Give thy thoughts no tongue Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar. The friends thoa hast and their adoption tried. Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; But do not duU thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel : but being in, Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice, Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment f This above all, to thine own self be true. And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not, then, be false to any man. 9. Descend, ye Nine, descend and sing ; The breathing instruments inspire, Wake into voice each silent string. And sweep the sounding lyre. In a sadly pleasing strain Let the warbling lute complain ; Let the loud trumpet sound Till the roofs all around The shrill echoes rebound : While in more lengthen'd notes and slow, The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow. Hark I the numbers soft and clear. Gently steal upon the ear, Now louder and yet louder rise, And fill, with spreading sounds, the skies : Exulting in triumph now sweU the bold notes, In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats ' Till by degrees, remote and small. The strains decay, And melt away In a dying, dying fall 44 THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. 10. THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. Longfellow. Somewhat back from the village street stands the old-fashioned tountry-seat ; across its antique portico tall poplar-trees their shadows throw, and from its station in the hall an ancient time- piece says to all, — "Forever — never! never — forever!" Half-way up the stairs it stands, and points and beckons with its hands from its case of massive oak; like a monk, who, under his cloak, crosses himself, and sighs, alas! with sorrowful voice to all who pass, — " For ever— never ! never — for ever ! " By day its voice is low and light; but in the silent dead of night, distinct as a passing footstep's fall, it echoes along the vacant hall, along the ceiling, along the floor, and seems to say, at each chamber-door, — "For ever — never ! never — for ever ! " Through days of sorrow and of mirth, through days of death and days of birth, through every swift vicissitude of changeful time, unchanged it has stood ; and as if, like God, it all things saw, it calmly repeats those words of awe, — "For ever — never! never — for ever!" In that mansion used to be free- hearted Hospitality ; his great fires up the chimney roared ; the stranger feasted at his board ; but, like the skeleton at the feast, that warning timepiece never ceassd, — " For ever — never I never — for ever!" There groups of merry children played, there youths and maidens dreaming strayed. O precious hours ! O golden prime, and affluence of love and time ! Even as a miser counts his gold, those hours the ancient timepiece told, — " For ever — never I never— for ever ! " From that chamber, clothed in white, the bride came forth on her wedding night; there, in that silent room below, the dead lay in his shroud of snow ; and in the hush that followed the prayer, was heard the old clock on the stair, — " For ever — never 1 never — for ever !" All are scattered now and fled, some are married, some are dead, and when I ask, with throbs of pain, " Ah, when shall they all meet again?" as in the days long since gone by, the ancient timepiece makes reply, — "For ever — never I never— for ever!" Never here, for ever there, where all parting, pain, and care, and death and time, shall disappear, — for ever there, but never here! The horologe of Eternity sayeth tbis incessantly,— " For ever — never' never — forever!" THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. 45 11. THE DYING CHEISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. Pope. Vital spark of heavenly flame, quit, oh, quit this mortal frame ! —trembling, hoping, — lingering, flying; oh, the pain, the bliss of dying ! Cease, fond nature ! cease thy strife, and let me languish into life ! Hark, they whisper ! Angels say, " Sister spirit, come away ! " What is this absorbs me quite, steals my senses, shuts my sight, drowns my spirit, draws my breath ? TeU me, my soul — can this be death ] The world recedes ! — it disappears !— heaven opens on my eyes ! — my ears with sounds seraphic ring ! Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly ! O Grave I where is thy victory ? Death I where is thy sting? IV.— EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. (a) Words opposed to, or contrasted with each other, and those which mark a new idea, should receive emphasis. (b) Never lay emphasis on unimportant words, and especially do not give prominence to the minor parts of speech, such as prepositions and conjunctions. 1. Heaven is the region of gentleness and friendship ; heU of fierce- ness and animosity. 2. Many men mistake the love for the practice of virtue, and are not such good men as the friends of goodness. 3. As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, 1 rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honour him ; but as he was ambi- tious, I slew him. 4. Custom is the plague of wise men and the idol of fools. Our safety — our lives depend on your fidelity. A friend cannot be known in prosperity, and an enemy cannot be hidden in adversity. 5. Laziness grows on people; it begins in cobwebs, and ends in iron chains. The more business a man has, the more he is able to accomplish ; for he learns to economize his time. 6. Not love, quoth he, but vanity sets love a task like that. 7. To our faith we should add virtue ; and to virtue knowledge ; and to knowledge temperance ; and to temperance patience ; and to patience godliness; and to godliness brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness charity. 46 THE PRACTICB OF KLOCUTION. 8. And I beheld, and I heard the voice of many angels round about the throne, and the beasts and the elders ; and the number of them was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thou- sands ; saying with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb that was elain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing. 9. It would have made a brave man's heart Grow sad and sick that day To watch the keen malignant eyea Bent down on that array. But when he came, though pale and wan. He looked so great and high, So noble was his manly front, So calm his steadfast eye. The rabble rout forebore to shout, And each man held his breath, For well they knew the hero's soul Was face to face with death. But onwards, always onwards, In silence and in gloom. The dreary pageant laboured, Till it reached the house of doom. Then, as the Graeme looked upwards, He saw the ugly smile Of him who sold his king for gold — The master-fiend — Argyle. Had I been there with sword in hand. And fifty Camerons by, That day through high Dunedin's streets Had peaJed the slogan cry, Not all their troops of trampling horse Nor might of mailed men ; Not all the rebels in the south Had borne us backwards then. Once more his foot on Highland heatb Had trod as free as air. Or I, and all who bore my name. Been laid around him there? 10. Time is the solemn inheritance to which every man is born heir, who has a life-rent of this world — a little section cut out of eternity and given us to do our work in; an eternity before, an THJS PRACTICE OF ELOCTJTION. 47 eternity behind ; and the small stream between, floating swiftly from the one into the vast bosom of the other. The man who has felt with all his soul the significance of time will not be long in learning any lesson that this world has to teach him. Have you ever felt it? Have you ever realized how your own little streamlet is gliding away, and bearing you along with it towards that awful other world of which all things here are but the thin shadow, down into that eternity towards which the confused wreck of all earthly things are bound ? Let us realize that ; until that sensation of time, and the infinite meaning which is wrapped up in it, has taken possession of our souls, there is no chance of our ever feeling strongly that it is worse than madness to sleep that time away. Every day in this world has its work ; and every day as it rises out of eternity keeps putting to each of us the question afresh. What will you do before to-day has sunk into eternity and nothingness again? Every period of human life has its own lesson, and you cannot learn that le~8on in the next period. The boy has one set of lessons to learn, and the young man another, and the grown-up man another. Life is like the transition from class to class in a school The schoolboy who has not learnt arithmetic in the earlier classes cannot secure it when he comes to mechanics in the higher; each section has its own suflftcient work. He may be a good philosopher or a good historian, but a bad arithmetician he remains for life ; for he cannot lay the foundation at the moment when he must be building the super- structure. The regiment which has not perfected itself in its manoeuvres on the parade-ground cannot learn them before the guns of the enemy. And just in the same way, the young person who has slept his youth away, and become idle, and selfish, and hard, cannot make up for that afterwards. He may do something, lie may be religious — yes ; but he cannot be what he might have been. There is a part of his heart which will remain uncultivated to the end. v.— EXERCISES ON THE PAUSE. (a) In reading verse be careful to sustain its melody as much as possible by a proper regard for the pauses the rhythm demands, but at the same time do not sacrifice sense to rhythm. 1. We watch'd her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low ; As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. 48 THE PRACTICE OF BLOCUTIOK. So silently we seem'd to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powere To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied — We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. For when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyeKds closed- -she had Another morn than ours. 2. The shades of night were falling fast , As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, "Excelsior!" His brow was sad ; his eye beneath. Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, "Excelsior I" In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright , Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan, "Excelsior!" 3. The pall was settled : He who slept beneath, Was straightened for the grave, and, as the folds Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed The matchless symmetry of Absalom. His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls Were floating round the tassels as they swayed To the admitted air, as glossy now As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing The snowy fingers of Judea's girls. His helm was at his feet ; his banner, soiled With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid Reversed beside him ; and the jewel'd hilt Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow. THE PRACTICB OF ZLOCtTTION. 4U 4. I have lived my life, and that which I have done May He within Himself make pure ! but thou, If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer, Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. (b) Assist the development of the force and meaning of a passage by pausing immediately after (or just before, as may be found most effective) emphatic words or phrases. Do not pause too long or too frequently. To be, or not to be,— that is the question : — Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? — To die, — to sleep, — No more ; and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wi-sh'd. To die, — to sleep ; — To sleep ! perchance to dream : — ay, there's the rub ; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil. Must give us pause : there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life ; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay. The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th' unworthy takes. When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life. But that the dread of something after death, — • The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will, 60 THE PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to otliera that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awrf j, Aad lose the name of action. DIVISION III. THE THEORY OF GESTURE. ** Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trip- pingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand ; but use all gently ; for in the very ton-ent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smooth- ness. O, it oflfends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig- pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise : I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant ; it out-herods Herod : pray you avoid it. " Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor : suit the actiQnJiiL^e_wqrd,_thfijy(jrd_jto_ the action ; with this special observance that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature : for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy oflF, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play, — and heard others praise, and that highly, — not to speak it profanely, that neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Chi-istian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably." Hamlet's address to the players, which is above quoted in full, ought to be closeJy studied in all its bearings by those who wish to excel either in public speaking, dramatic reading or acting. The student should not ordy have every line of it by heart, but he should endeavour to let the spirit of it pervade every bit of work he does. 51 62 THE THEORY OF GESTURE. The great value of its precepts is shown by the fact that the most experienced reader or actor as well as the beginner will profit by keeping them always in view, and by intelligently following them. In a word, all who enter on the study of the dramatic exposition of thought, emotion or passion are strongly urged to adopt Hamlef s address as their artistic creed. Hamlet begins by a caution to "speak the speech trippingly on the tongue", which is but a direction to articulate clearly, to pronounce correctly, and to render the whole passage with natural- ness and freedom. We have already dealt with the ways and means likely to assist the student in learning correct and graceful delivery. It now remains for us to consider briefly the theory of gesture. Under the terra "gesture" we seek to include all actions and movements of the body, limbs and countenance which serve to express or suggest ideas, feelijigs or passions. The aid of gesture in delivery should not be summoned till the student has attained some proficiency in the art of elocution proper. Assuming that he has learned to speak correctly and gracefully, and is desirous of carrying his studies further, so that he may perform satisfactory platform work, he will find two branches to which to devote his attention. Firstly, he will have to learn what constitutes graceful attitude or deportment : to study the gesture of repose, as it might be termed, — meaning the attitude not only graceful in itself but best suited to the full and free use of the vocal organs, the head, the limbs, and in short the whole body. This form of gesture is to some extent a negation of gesture, popularly so called. It teaches the mechanics of platform balance or poise. Secondly, he will have to study the general laws of dramatic action, comprehending (first) all gesticulation which expresses or illustrates a thought or a passion, which points an argument, or gives weight to an opinion ; and (second) facial expression, with all its subtleties and powei-s of mental revelation. It will thus be seen that as in elocution there are two main divisions, relating the one more particularly to the mechanical or physical parts of the study and the other to the mental or imagina- tive, so in gesture there are the two branches of (first) deportment and (second) dramatic action, the former concerning itself with the merely physical and the other chiefly with the psychological factors in efi"ect. In the first place, then, the reciter should take up such an atti- tude and so deport himself upon the platform as to have his whole physical resources well under control, ready for any call he may THE THEORY 01" GESTTRE. 63 have to make upon them. He must stand erect, with his chest expanded and his shoulders thrown ba^k — but all this without stiffness. His head should be held well up, but not tilted back. It should never be allowed to droop over the chest, unless for some very good reason. No fault is more common among amateui s than a tendency to hang the head and speak towards the floor. Even those who are aware of the force of the injunction to keep the head up, disregard it continually, owing, no doubt, to the lack of a systematic struggle to overcome the wrong tendency. When the head is held level and erect— not thrown back — the neck is left free, and good vocal production is secured. The larj-nx, in other words, has freedom to perform its work properly. With the head down, the voice is poor in quality and the facial expression is lost. The throwing back of the shoulders and the expansion of the chest are meantj to ensure proper facility in breathing, as well as to give dignity and what is technically called "presence" to the general bearing. The balance of the body is best maintained by resting the weight of it chiefly on one foot, so that the position may be easily altered. Jerky motions ought to be carefully avoided. They betray nervousness or want of preparation. For a similar reason all meaningless restless action, such as twitching of hands, shifting of posture, or moving about upon the platform should be guarded against. A quiet and modest bearing when coming upon the plat- form is to be earnestly recommended. Step easily forward without obtrusively signifying the fact that you are about to recite to the audience. Convey rather the idea that you are there to speak to them or tell them a story for its own sake, not for the sake of letting them know how effectively you can do it. A bow of the head, neither too formal nor too familiar, and in which the body to a slight degree participates, should be made in taking up your position. Then survey the audience with polite attentiveness for a moment before beginning. Avoid hurry. Stand firmly, allowing the arms to hang loosely by the sides. The beginner is often puzzled what to do with his hands and arms. He feels that it is necessary to keep them employed somehow, and does not realize that a graceful attitude may be maintained without moving them at all. The hands and arms are of value in gesticulation, but are not of such paramount importance as is popularly supposed. They form only part of the machinery of gesture. Graceful deportment demands that gesticulation should be formed in curves, not by points and angles. Angular gesture is awkward and ungainly. So, too, is the waving of the arm with monotonous 64 THE THEORY Or GESTURE. frequency. "Do not saw the air too much with your hand; but use all gently." The attitude of the body, the expression of the countenance, and the particular movement or gesture made should all be in harmony with one another, else the effect will be weakened, perhaps altogether lost or entirely misunderstood. In general the speaker should make his remarks or tell his story with his face fronting the audience. He shoidd never turn his back upon it. In presenting two or three characters, however, as in dialogue, it is useful to speak in a line a little to right or left in order to make a distinction. Care must be taken, however, not to move too much in either of these directions. A very awkward appearance is created if the body is turned sideways to the audience. Besides, in such a case, at least half of the people are prevented from seeing the facial expression properly. It will be observed that the public speaker is more limited in the use of gesture than the reciter or actor. At the same time gesture is of much service to him. His hands may be made especially expressive. His countenance must be touched with the spirit of what he says. His bearing should be that which would be natural to him in animated conversation, with the necessary adjunct of weight and force appropriate to the platform. In an impassioned speech he may emphasize his words with well-chosen and well-timed dramatic action — "using all gently" — but in ordinary argument or anecdote his gesticulation will be more colloquial than dramatic. Keeping in mind the general principles which teach grace in deportment, the best gesture for the public speaker is that which '5ome8 most naturally to him. The dramatic reader and the actor, on the other hand, while bound to pay attention to correct attitude and poise, have a greater license in gesticulation than the orator. There is infinite ifcope for individual talent in the interpretation of human thought or passion, and in the delineation of character by means of the symbolism of gait, gesture and facial expression; but this second and higher branch of the study is not capable of being reduced to rules. Hints may be given and general directions in method indicated. The student must begin by making himself thoroughly familiar with the meaning of his text, and the kind of character he is about to embody or suggest. After making up his mind definitely as to the meaning of the passage, or conceiving the character, he must think what symbols will best bring that meaning or conception home to his hearers. In the delineation of character it is the little points that tell — simple personal touches judiciously applied and consistent with the broad or general conception. The THE THEORY OF GESTURE. 66 tones, gait, gesture and facial expression should appeal to the audience as one intelligible embodiment— a complete and artistic whole. When we say that it is the little points that tell we do not mean to infer that gesture should be over-minute. There is danger in overloading a character sketch with a superabundance of action or too much facial expression. The dramatic reader, too, as dis- tinguished from the actor, has to be careful not to do more than suggest a character sketch in the course of his recital. The actor is clothed for his part and is in surroundings that suit its full embodiment. It becomes a nice question for the reciter how much he may fully embody and how much he may merely suggest. If he is doing a character piece which contains no separate narrative portion, he may have great freedom, but when narrative and character drawing are mingled in one selection there is great need for care and discrimination. The quality of reserve or restraint ia invaluable both in the reciter and the actor. Violence and unregu- lated energy whether of gesture or of vocal modulation are contrary to art and displeasing to the cultured audience. "In the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness." The gesticulation must not be "inexplicable dumb show ", nor the vocal modulation mere " noise ". Every gesture must have a meaning or a purpose. It should never be weak nor undecided. Judgment must be employed to iteer clear of the Charybdis of tameness as well as the Scylla of rant. " Let your own discretion be your tutor." Do not model your gesticulation upon the style of another, however clever your proposed pattern may be. It is the easiest of things to fall into queer mannerisms from blind attempts to copy another's methods. If you admire some one's work, rather inquire into the spirit or emotion or idea which prompted the various tones and gestures in it. Get hold of the motive power in fact, and let the tone or gesture come from your own physical resources as your own dis- cretion dictates. To copy another is usually to adopt all his faults without his cleverness : to give a surface imitation devoid of the elements which, in the original, attract and charm. The same movements may appear in one man pleasing and appropriate, in another stiff or affected or unnatural. "Suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature." Nature, we see, is the foundation on which appropriate feature must be built. But to be natural requires the exercise of 66 THE THEORY OF GESTUKB. considerable art. It is none too easy to "suit the action to the word, the word to the action" in a natural way. Gesture is a language we must learn from observation and fix on our memory by imitation. We must endeavour to trace the connection between a movement or expression and the mental or emotional state of the person who made or exhibited it. By adding reflection to our observation and imitation we will discover the essential element in the gesture, the part which gave it real life and force and meaning. Then if we require to reproduce such an idea or passion we have a knowledge of the symbols to be used. The particular movement may be different in direction or even made by a different part of the body, but the motive principle will be behind it, to give it point. A common tendency in descriptive gesture is to make it too literal. This is all very well in burlesque and is regularly employed for comic effect, but in all serious pieces literal gesture should be very sparingly used. The least false step and we are "o'er the modesty of nature ". As a nation we are not given much to gesticulation, in ordinary circumstances, and this fact should be a guide to the reciter, and a warning to him to be rather reserved and restrained in the use of gesture. Audiences are always critical, often quite unconsciously so, and if they feel that the dramatic action is being overdone or that it is out of place their enjoyment of the whole rendering is greatly lessened. At the same time it is to be observed that warmth and animation in gesture follow naturally from earnestness, and are the quite appropriate outcome of emotion or passion. In conversation or unimpassioned discourse the word and action are simultaneous ; in the expression of passion or highly-strung emotion the action precedes the word. In studying the language of gesture and how to use it most effectively, we repeat that the only true way is to go to nature. Observe the means unconsciously adopted by those with whom you come in contact to express their feelings. Wherever people con- gregate, watch how they move and speak and look. It is wonderful how much may be learnt from careful and steady observation. The training will be of value to the mind in many ways. For the special object of the dramatic student it will make him fresher and more convincing in his work. It will enable him "to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature". What has been said regarding the theory of bodily gesture applies also to facial expression. No rules can be Uid down as to the working of the countenance under emotion. Rather again we THE THEORT OF GESTURE. 67 are compelled to enjoin " how not to do it ". It is in the matter of facial expression that constant demand is made for the exercise of discrimination and taste. Mannerisms in play of feature are painfully abundant. Some reciters get into the habit of working the eyebrows up and down, in season and out of season. Others develop tricks of mouth-twisting and so on. In these matters the criticism of a teacher or of a judicious friend is of immense service. The reciter does not see himself as others see him, and the sooner he is told of oddities the better, in order that he may begin eradicating them at once. The only positive maxim we can safely lay down with regard to facial expression is this. Endeavour to make the features express a full sympathy and correspondence w ith the subject-matter spoken. To have a chance of fulfilling such an endeavour you must first have felt the force, breathed the spirit, and grasped the meaning of the text. The power of the eye in helping a reciter to picture a scene i? remarkable, although very simple in its manifestation. The reciter should, as it were, gaze upon the scene he is describing, and if hi? look corresponds with the feeling of the words of the description and expresses a present interest in such scene, the audience will see the same with the reciter's eyes. But if the reciter lets his eyes wander aimlessly about among the audience the efiect will be quite broken up. He must picture the scene or incident in his own mental vision, and imagine he is looking upon it and even breathing its atmosphere at the moment of representation or deliveiy. While in all dramatic action, we "show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure", we must remember that it is our province only to suggest these ideas and others in an artistic form. We must use symbols, not the things themselves. We must choose only what is demanded by art, and leave the rest alone. It has been urged against the study of gesture that it tends to the formation of an afi'ected, or, as it is termed, a stagey style of delivery. This is a f&ilacy. It is just an analogous complaint to the one sometimes so thoughtlessly made against the study of elocution proper, viz. : that it causes a bombastic or unnatural mode of speaking or reading. The truth is that the faults of affectation or of an inflated or highly- coloured style are due to a half-educated taste in the matter of correct delivery or appropriate gesticulation. It is not study but the want of study that is to blame. It is the old story of a little knowledge being a dangerous thing. The art of dramatic reading is not to be acquired in the happy-go-lucky fashion which seem? 68 THE THEORY OF GESTURE. popular among many would-be students. A scientific training must be gone through and much hard work done before really good results can be obtained. The culture of the mind must be supple- mented by the culture of the emotions, and the study of words by the study of character. Be sincere and true in every efi"ort you make. Do not strain after effect nor work for the mere sake of applause. Take a high aim in your study. Do not pander to the mob, but try to secure the approval of the educated and refined. " Let the censure of the judicious, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others." DIVISION IV. SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. THE SANDS OF DEE. Rev. Charles Kinqslet. " O Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee ;" The western wind was wild and dank with foam. And all alone went she. The western tide crept up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand. And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see. The rolling mist came down and hid the land: And never home came she. " Oh 1 ia it weed, or fish, or floating haii' — A tress of golden hair, A drowned maiden's hair Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair Among the stakes on Dee." They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea : But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee. 69 60 8KLECT10MS FOR READING AND RfiClTATIOK. AT LAST. J. G. Whittier. When on my day of life the night is falling, And in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, I hear far voices out of darkness calling My feet to paths unknown ; Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant, Leave not its tenant when its walls decay ; Love divine, O Helper ever present, Be Thou my strength and stay 1 Be near me when all else is from me drifting : Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine, And kindly faces to my own uplifting The love which answers mine. 1 have but Thee, O Father ! Let Thy Spirit Be with me then to comfort and uphold ; No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit, Nor street of shining gold ; Suffice it if — my good and ill unreckoned, And both forgiven through Thy abounding grace — I find inyself by hands familiar beckoned Unto my fitting place : Some humble door among Thy many mansions, Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease. And flows forever through heaven's green expansions The river of Thy peace. There, from the music round about me stealing, I fain would learn the new and holy song, And find, at last, beneath Thy trees of healing. The life for which I long. IN THE EVENING TIME IT WILL BE LIGHT.* Samuel K. Cowan. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath, Or darken on an unforgiven wrong ; And Peace, like lilies, shall bestrew thy path, And sweet Content shall sing thy alumber-song. SELECTIONS FOR BEADING AND RECITATION. 61 Be slow to anger — to forgive be strong, And evil deeds with goodly deeds requite ; Then shall God's love thy cloudless days prolong, And "in the evening time it will be light". Time rings its hours with changing chime and knell — Save for our tears Life's smiles were incomplete ; Joy's greeting follows after Grief's farewell ; And, save Love parted, Love would never meet. Tho' Duty's path be thorns about thy feet. Do what thou haat to do with all thy might ; Then, with God's blessing, shall thy days be sweet, And "in the evening time it will be light". Make firm thy faith, and let thy trust in Him Grow stronger still, as worldly ties decline I And, round thy soul, as earth is waxing dim, Look up to heaven, and all to Him resign. Then, robed in peace and clothed with love divine. More sweet than morn, and than the noon more bright, Angels in Death's void sepulchre shall shine, And " in the evening time it will be light". fVoni "Roses DING AND RECITATION. 97 Three boats went out from Lancashire, but one came back to tell The story of that hurricane, the tale of ocean's hell 1 All safely reached the Mexico, their trysting-place to keep ; For one there was the rescue, the others in the deep Fell in the arms of victory ! dropped to their lonely grave, Their passing-bell the tempest, their requiem the wave ! They clung to life like sailors, they fell to death like men, — Where, in our roll of heroes, when in our story, when, Have Englishmen been braver, or fought more loyally With death that comes by duty to the Warriors of the Sea? One boat came back to Lytham, its noble duty done; But at St. Anne's and Southport the prize of death was won ! Won by those gallant fellows, who went men's lives to save, And died there crowned with glory, enthroned upon the wave ! Within a rope's throw of the wreck the English sailors fell, A blessing on their faithful lips, when ocean rang theii" knell. Weep not for them, dear women ! cease wringing of your hands ! Go out to meet your heroes across the Southport sands ! Grim death for them is stingless! the grave has victory! Cross oars and bear them nobly home, brave WaiTiors of the Sea 1 When in dark nights of winter, fierce storms of wind and rain Howl round the cozy homestead, and lash the window-pane — When over hill and tree-top we hear the tempests roar, And hurricanes go sweeping on from valley to the shore — When nature seems to stand at bay, and silent terror comes. And those we love on earth the best are gathered in oiir homes — Think of the sailors round the coast, who, braving sleet or snow, Leave sweethearts, wives, and little ones, when duty bids them go I Think of our sea-girt island I a harbour, where alone No Englishman to save a life has failed to risk his own ! Then when the storm howls loudest, pray of your charity That God will bless the Life-boat, and the Warriors of the Sea I (By special permission of the Author.) SCENE FEOM ROB ROY. Three Characters : Francis, Rashleigh, uTid Rob Rot. Scene — The College Gardens, Glasgow. Francis. You are well met, sir. Rash. I am glad to hear it {Aside) I expected, but Jobson is prepared. (986) D 88 SELECTIONS FOR BEADING AND RECITATION. Fra^u^. I was about to take a long and doubtful journey in quest °' S. You know little of him you sought, then. J^^^^^^^^ by friends, and stiU more easily by my foes-m which am I to class Mr Francis Osbaldistone 1 Francis. In that of your foes, sir-your mortal foes, unless you instantly do justice to my father, by accounting for his property. _ Zh\J. to whom am I, a member of your father's commercia establishment, to be compelled to give an account o my P--ed^^^^^^ Surely, not to a young gentleman whose exquisite taste for hteiature would render such discussions disgustmg and unmteUigible. FraL. Your sneer, sir, is no answer; you must accompany me '^rf BeTso; yet_no-were I inclined to do as you would have J you luld soon feel which of us had most reason to dread the presence of a magistrate-but I have no wish to accelerate your fate. Go young man ; amuse yourself in your world of poetical imagina- S;, and leave ihe business of life to those who understand, and can ''^r!t^': This tone of calm insolence shall not avail you, sir-the name we both bear never yet submitted to insult. Rash Right, right! you remind me that it waB dishonoured m .y ; rso;iyo'u i^m J me also by whom. /Mn^you I h^e for Jtten that blow-never to be washed out, but by blood? tor h ™ou1 times you have crossed my path, and ^ways to n, preiudice-for the persevering foUy with which you seek to traverse prejuaice J ^ ^^-^^ neither know, nor are capable schemes, the importance oi wuii.u j- i r „„ „^,+ ih^vf^ shall of estimating-you oweone a long account; and, fear not. there shall come an early day of reckoning. FrZcls. Why not the present] Do your schemes or your safety "Za'^u may trample on the hannless worm, but pause ere you rouse the slumbering venom of the folded snake. Francis. I will not be trifled with. T?PrPive Rush I had other views respecting you! but enough! Receive now the chastisement of your boyish insolence. They draw, a.ul at the moment their swords cross Rob Roy rushes forward and heats up their guard. Rob. Hold! stand oflf! 1^-^t:ZLf my Wberl the fl.t man that .trike. HI olive htot the brisket' (.To Fra,.U) Think you .. e.tabhsb SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 99 your father's credit by cutting your kinsman's throat? Or do yoa, sir (to Rashleigh), imagine men will trust their lives, their fortunes, and a great political interest with one that brawls about like a drunken gillie? Nay, nay, never look grim, or gash at me, man I If you're angry, turn the buckle of your belt behind you. Roih. You presume, sir, on my present situation, or you would hardly dare to interfere where my honour is concerned. Rob, Presume/ And what for should it be presuming? Ye may be the richer man, Mr. Osbaldistone, as is most likely, and ye may be the more learned man, which I dispute not ; but you are neither a better nor a braver man than myself; and it will be news to me, indeed, when I hear you are half so good. And dare, too — dare I Hout, tout I much daring there is about it. Rash, (aside) What devil brought him here to mar a plan so well devised ; I must lure him to the toils. Rob. What say you ? Rash. My kinsman will acknowledge he forced this on me. I'm glad we were interrupted before I chastised his insolence too severely. The quarrel was none of my seeking. Rob. Well, then, walk with me — I have news for you. Francis. Pardon me, sir ; I will not lose sight of him, till he has done justice to my father. Rob. Would you bring two on your head instead of one? Francis. Twenty — rather than again neglect my duty. Rash. You hear him, MacGregor I Is it my fault that he rushes on his fate? The warrants are out. Rob. Warrants ! Curses on all such instruments I they have beer the plague of poor old Scotland for this hundred years — but, come on't what will, I'll never consent to his being hurt that stands up for the father that begot him. Rash. Indeed I Rob. My conscience will not let me. Rash. Tour conscience, MacGregor I Rob. Yes, my conscience, sir; I have such a thing about me ; that, at least, is one advantage which you cannot boast of. Rash. You forget how long you and I have known each other. Rob. If you know what I am, you know likewise that usage made me what I am ; and, whatever you may think, I would not change with the proudest of the oppressors that have driven me to take the heather bush for shelter. What j/ow are, and what excuse you have for being what you are, lies between your own heart and the long day. 100 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. Rash, {aside) Can MacGregor suspect^ Has MacVittie betrayed ""Ift. Leave him, I say 1 you are in more danger from a magistrate than he is ; and were your cause as straight as an a-ow he d find a way to warp it. {Francis perdsts in not leamng Bashleigh, but « 7Zheld by Rob Roy). Take your way, Eashleigh-make one pair o" legs wofth two pair of hands. You have done tha before now rLl Cousin, you may thank this gentleman if I leave any par of m^ debt to you unpaid ; b.t I quit you now m the hope that we shall soon meet again, without the possibility of interruption. Ror{as Frani struggles to follow) As I live by bread, you are as mad L he. Would you follow the wolf to his denj {p^.h.s Am back) Come, come, be cool-'tis to me you must look for that you seek Keep aloof from Kashleigh, and that pettifogging justice- c erk, Jobson; above all, from MacVittie. Make the best of your way Aberfoyle, and, by the word of a MacGregor, I will not see you wronged! Remember the Clachan of Aberfoyle {shakes hu hand with great cordiality). BAEBAEA FEIETCHIE. John G. Whittier. Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hiUs of Marylan.i. Bound 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 ; Ou 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 flags 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 her fourscore years and ten; SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 101 Bravest of all in Frederick Town, She took up the flag the men hauled dowo : In her attic window the stafl' she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet. Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. Under his sloucficd 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 grey he^d. But spare your country's flag ! " she said. A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came ; The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word. " Who touches a hair of yon grey head, Dies like a dog ! March on ! " he said. All 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 Frietchie's work is o'er, And the rebel rides on his raids no mors.. Honour to her ! — and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Flag of Freedom and Union wave I Peace, and order, and beauty, draw Round thy symbol of light and law : And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick Tuwu! 102 SELECTIONS TOR READING AND RECITATIOH THE WATEEMILL. Sarah Doudnbt. Listen to the wateraiUl, through the Uvelong day, How the clicking of its wheel wears the hours away I Languidly the autumn winds stir the forest leaves; From the field the reapers sing, binding up their sheaves; And a proverb haunts my mind as a spell is caat : " The mill cannot grind with the water that is past ". Autumn winds revive no more leaves that once are shed, And the sickle cannot reap corn once gathered ; And the rippling stream flows on, tranquil, deep, and still, Never gliding back again to the watermill. Truly speaks the proverb old, with a meaning vast— " The mill cannot grind with the water that is past ". Take the lesson to thyself, true and loving heart; Golden youth is fleeting by, summer hours depart ; Learn to make the most of life, lose no happy day, Time will never brmg thee back chances swept away ! Leave no tender word unsaid, love while love shall last; " The mill cannot grind with the water that is past ". Work while yet the daylight shines, man of strength and willl Never does the streamlet glide useless by the mill ; Wait not till to-morrow's sun beams upon thy way. All that thou canst call thine own lies in thy " to-day " ; Power, and intellect, and health may not always last ; " The mill cannot grind with the water that is past ". O, the wasted hours of life that have drifted by I o'the good we might have done lost without a sigh! Fiove that we might once have sjived by a single word ; Thoughts conceived but never penned, perishing unheard 1 Take the proverb to thine heart, take and hold it fast, « The mill cannot grind with the water that is past ". O love thy God and fellow man, thyself consider last ; For come it will, when thou must scan dark errors of the past; And when the light of life is o'er, and earth recedes from view, And Heaven in all its glory shines on the pure, the good, the true Ah, then thou'lt see more clearly still the proverb deep and vast, "The mill cannot grind with the water that is i)ast". {By special permission of Misa DowJ/ney.) SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 103 THE CHAECOAL MAN. J. T. Trowbridge. Though rudely blows the wintry blast, and sifting snows fall white md fast, Mark Haley drives along the street, perched high upon his waggon-seat : his sombre face the storm defies, and thus, from morn till eve, he cries, — "Charco'l charco'l" while Echo, faint and far, replies, — "Hark, 01 hark, O!" " Charco' ! " — " Hark, O!" — Such cheery sounds attend him on his daily rounds. The dust begrimes his ancient hat; his coat is darker far than that : 'tis odd to see his sooty form all speckled with the feathery storm ; yet, in his honest bosom, lies nor spot nor speck, — though still he cries, — " Charco' 1 charco' 1 " and many a roguish lad replies, "'Ark, ho! 'ark, ho!" "Charco'l" — "'Ark, ho!" — Such various sounds announce Mark Haley's morning rounds. Thus, all the cold and wintry day, he labours much for little pay; yet feels no less of happiness than many a richer man, I guess ; when, through the shades of eve, he spies the light of his own home, and cries, — "Charco'l charco'l" and Martha, from the door, replies, "Mark, hoi" "Mark, ho !"—" Charco' 1 "—" Mark, hoi"— Such joy abounds when he has closed his daily rounds. The hearth is warm, the fire is bright; and, while his hand, washed clean and white, holds Martha's tender hand once more, his glowing face bends fondly o'er the crib wherein his darling lies; and, in a coaxing tone, he cries, — "Charco'l charco'l" and baby, with a laugh, replies, — "Ah, gol ah, go!" "Charco'l" — "Ah, go!" —while at the sounds the mother's heart with gladness bounds. Then honoured be the Charcoal man 1 Though dusky as an African, 'tis not for you, that chance to be a little better clad than he, his honest manhood to despise, although, from morn till eve, he cries, — " Charco' 1 charco' 1 " while mocking Echo still replies, — "Hark, O! hark, 01" " Charco' !" — " Hark, O!"— Long may the sounds proclaim Mark Haley's daily rounds I NOTTMAN. Alexander Anderson. That was Nottman waving at me. But the steam fell down, so you could not see ; He is out to-d,ny with the fast express, And running a mile in a minute, I guesa 104 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. Danger? none in the least, for the way- Is good, though the curves are sharp, as you say, But, bless you, when trains are a little behind They thunder around them— a match for the wind Nottman himself is a demon to drive, But cool and steady, and ever alive To whatever danger is looming in front When a train has run hard to gain time for a shunt. But he once got a fear, though, that shook him with pait? Like sleepers beneath the weight of a train. I remember the story well, for you see His stoker, Jack Martin, told it to me. « Nottman had sent down the wife for a change To the old folks living at Riverly Grange : A quiet, sleepy sort of a town, Save when the engines went up or down. " For close behind it the railway ran In a mile of a straight if a single span ; Three bridges were over the straight, and between Two the distant signal was seen. " She had with her her boy— a nice little chit, Full of romp, and mischief, and childish wit; And every time that we thundered by Both were out on the watch for Nottman and I. " Well, one day," said Jack, " on our journey down, Coming round on the straight at the back of the town, I saw right ahead, in front of our track. In the haze on the rail something dim-like and black. « I looked over at Nottman, but ere I could speak He shut oflf the steam, and with one wild shriek A whistle took to the air with a bound ; But the object in front never stirred at the sound. ** In a moment he flung himself down on his knee, Leant over the side of the engine to see. Took one look, then sprang up, crying, breathless and pale. ' Brake, Jack ; it is someone aaleep on the raill' SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION, 106 " The rear brakes were whistled on in a trice, While I screwed on the tender-brake firm as a vice; But still we tore on with this terrible thought Sending fear to our hearts — Can we stop her or not? " I took one look again, then sung out to my mate, ' We can never draw up, we have seen it too late I ' When sudden and swift, li&e the change in a dream, Nottinan drew back the lever and flung on the steam. " The great wheels staggered and span with the strain, While the spray from the steam fell around us like rain ; But we slackened our pace, till we saw with a wild Throb at heart, right before us— a child ! ' It was lying asleep on the rail, with no fear Of the terrible death that was looming so near. The sweat on us both broke as cold as the dew Of death, as we questioned, — 'What can we do?' " It was done — swift as acts that take place in a dream, Nottman rushed to the front and knelt down on a beam, Put one foot in the couplings ; the other he kept Right in front of the wheel for the child that still slept. " ' Saved ! ' I burst forth, my heart leaping with pride ; For one touch of his foot sent the child to the side. But Nottman looked up, his lips white as with foam ; ' My God, Jack,' he cried, ' it's my own little Tom 1 ' " He shrunk, would have slipped, but one grasp of my hand Held him firm till the engine was brought to a stand; Then I heard from behind a shriek take to the air, And I knew that the voice of a mother was there. " The boy was all right, had got off with a scratch ; He had crept through the fence in his frolic to watch For his father; but, wearied with mischief and play, Had fallen aaleep on the rail where he lay. ' For days after that, on our journey down, Ere he came to the straight at the back of the town, A.8 if the signal was up, with its gleam of red, Nottman always shut off the steam." (From "Songs of the Rail ", by tpecial permitnon oftlie Author.) (996) D2 106 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. THURLOW'S REPLY TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON. My lords, I am amazed, yes, my lords, I am amazed at his gi-ace's speech The noble duke cannot look before him, behind him, or on either side of him, without seeing some noble peer who owes his seat in this house to his successful exertions in the profession to which I belong. Does he not feel that it is as honourable to owe it to these, as to being the accident of an accident? To all these noble lords the lancniage of the noble duke is as applicable and as msultmg as it is to myself. But I do not fear to meet it single and alone. No one venerates the peerage more than I do ; but, my lords, I must say that the peerage solicited me, not I the peerage. Nay, more, I can and will say, that as a peer of parliament, as speaker of this right honour- able house, as keeper of the great seal, as guardian of his majesty s conscience, as lord high chancellor of England, nay, even m that char- acter alone in which the noble duke would think it an aflront to be considered but which character none can deny me, as a man, I am at this moment as respectable, I beg leave to add, as much respected, AS the proudest peer I now look down upon. THE LAY OF THE BRAVE CAMERON. John Stuart Blackib. At Quatre Bras, when the fight ran high, Stout Cameron stood with wakeful eye, Eager to leap, like a mettlesome hound, Into the fray with a plunge and a bound. But Wellington, lord of the cool command, Held the reins with a steady hand. Saying, " Cameron, wait, you'll soon have enough. Giving the Frenchmen a taste of your stuff, When the Cameron men are wanted". Now hotter and hotter the battle grew With tramp, and rattle, and wild halloo. And the Frenchmen poured like a fiery flood Right on the ditch where Cameron stood ; Then Wellington flashed from his steadfast stance On his captain brave a lightning glance. Saying, " Cameron, now have at them, boy; Take caie of the road to Charleroi, Where the Cameron men are wanted". 8ELECTI0KS FOR READIHO AND RECITATION. 107 Brave Cameron shot, like a shaft from a bow, Into the midst of the plunging foe, And with him the lads whom he loved, like a torrent Sweeping the rocks in its foaming current; And he fell the first in the fervid fray, Where a deathful shot had shore its way; But his men pushed on where the work was rough. Giving the Frenchmen a taste of their stuff, Where the Cameron men are wanted. Brave Cameron then, from the battle's roar His foster-brother stoutly bore, His foster-brother, with service true, Back to the village of Waterloo ; And they laid him on the soft green sod. And he breathed his spirit there to God, But not till he heard the loud hurrah Of victory bellowed from Quatre Bras, Where the Cameron men were wanted. By the road to Ghent they buried him theit, This noble chief of the Cameron men ; And not an eye was tearless seen That day beside the alley green : Wellington wept, the iron man, And from every eye in the Cameron clan The big round drop in bitterness fell, As with the pipes he loved so well His funeral wail they chanted. And now he sleeps (for they bore him home When the war was done across the foam) Beneath the shadow of Nevis Ben, With his sires, the pride of the Cameron men. Three thousand Highlandmen stood around As they laid him to rest in his native ground The Cameron brave, whose eye never quailed, Whose heart never sank, and whose hand never faile<1 When a Cameron man was wanted. {Bi/ special permittlon ofthr AvXhor.i ^08 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATlCfi. ORA PRO NOBIS. A. HORSPOOL. Out of the daik and dreary street; Out of the cold anJ driving sleet ; Into the church the folk had gone, Leaving the orphan child alone. Tattered, and so forlorn was she, They cross'd themselves as they pass'd, to see So frail a chUd in that gi-ievoua plight, On such a relentless and stormy night 1 Ora pro nobis. Banned by hoot of churlish owl, Into the lone churchyard she stole ; Over the grave where her mother lay, Clasping her hands she knelt to pray : " Mother ! if thou in Heaven can'st hear Thine orphan breathing her mournful prayer , Oh, take thy child to thyself again 1" The worshippers answered in sweet refrain : Ora pro nobis. Into the cold and driving sleet ; Into the dark and dreary street ; Out of the church the people came. Starting, aghast ! as the sombre flame Fell on the frail and slender form Which knelt, unmoved by the moaning stcrm; For while they prayed, the angels had come. And taken the soul of the orphan home. Ora pro nobis. (By .f^ial pe^-misdon of Afessrs. Orsborn & Co., 61 Berners Street, I^iuUm, W from whom musical accompamment may be had- ) THE LAST HYMN. Marianne Fa rn in oh am. The Sabbath day was ending in a village by the sea, The uttered benediction touched the people tenderly ; And they rose to face the sunset, in the glowing hghted west. And then hastened to their dwellings for God's ble.se-, Which is the cleverer, you or II" Thus amusement with learning judiciously blending, His Lordship made of his speech an ending, And a murmur went round, "How condescendiv.g'*" But one bright httle boy didn't care a jot If his Lordship were condescending or not ; For, with scarce a pause For the sounds of applause, He raised his head. And abruptly said : " How many legs liag a caterpillar got?" 112 SELECTIOXS FOB READING AND RECITATIOH NoM the Bishop was a learned man — Bishops always were since the race began — But his knowledge in that particular line Was less than yours, and no greater than mtne ; And, except that he knew the creature could crawl He knew nothing about its legs at all — Whether the number were gi'eat or small, One hundred, or five, or sixty, or six — So he felt in a pretty consid'rable fix 1 But, resolving his ignorance to hide, In measured tones he thus replied : " The caterpillar, my dear little boy, Is an emblem of life and a vision of joy ! It bursts from its shell on a bright green leaf. It knows no care, and it feels no grief." Then he turned to the Kector and whispered low, " Mr. Rector, how many ? You surely know." But the Rector gravely shook his head, He hadn't the faintest idea, he said. So the Bishop turned to the class again, And in tones paternal took up the strain ; " The caterpillar, dear children, see, On its bright green leaf from care lives free, And it eats and eats, and it grows and grows, (Just ask the Schoolmaster if he knows)." But the Schoolmaster said that that kind of knowledga Was not the sort he had learned at college. "And when it has eaten enough, then soon It spins for itself a soft cocoon, And then it becomes a chrysalis — I wonder which child can spell me this. 'Tis rather a difficult word to spell — (Just ask the Schoolmistress if she can tell)." But the Schoolmistress said, as she shook her grey curls. " She considered such things were not pi'opcr for girls.'' The word was spelled, and spelled quite right, Those nice little boys were so awfully bright! And the Bishop began to get into a fright. His face gi-ew red — it was formerly white — A?\d the hair on his head stood nearly upriglit; SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION, 113 So he said to the Beadle, " Go down in the etreel^ And stop all the people you chance to meet, I don't care who, Any one will do ; The little boys playing with marbles and topa. Or respectable people who deal at the shops; The crossing sweeper, the organ-grinder, Or the fortune-teller if you can find her. Ask any or all, Short or tall. Great or small, it matters not — How many legs has a caterpillar got?" The Beadle bowed and was off like a shot. "The caterpillar is doomed to sleep For mouths — a slumber long and deep, Brown and dead It looks, 'tis said. It never even requires to be fed ; And except that sometimes it waggles its head, Your utmost efforts would surely fail To distinguish the creature's head from its tail! " But one morning in spring, When birds loudly sing. And the earth is gay with blossoming; When the violets blue Are wet with dew. And the sky weai-s the sweetest cerulean liue ' " When on all is seen The brightest sheen — When the daisies are white, and the grass is green ; Then the chrysalis breaks, The insect awakes, — To the realms of air its way it takes ; It did not die. It soars on high, A bright and a beauteous butterfly!" Here he paused and wiped a tear from his eye; The Beadle was quietly standing by. And perceiving the lecture had reached its close, Whispered, softly and sadly, "Nobody knows!" 14 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. The Bishop saw his last hope was vain, But to make the best of it he was fain : So he added, " Dear children, we ever should be Prepared to learn from all we see, And the beautiful thoughts of home and joy Fill the heart, I know, of each girl and boy Oh, ponder on these, and you will not care To know the exact allotted share Of legs the creature possessed at its birth, When it crawled a meari worm on this lowly earth. Yet, if you know it, you now may tell, Your answers so far have pleased me well." Then he looked around with benignant eye, Nor long did he wait for the reply, For the bright little boy, witli a countenance gay, Said, "Six, for I counted 'em yesterday 1" Moral. " To all who have children under their care," Of two things, nay, three things, I pray you beware - Don't let them go in for examination, Unless you have given them due prepai'ation, Or the questions, asked with the kindest intention, May be rather a strain on their powers of invention. Don't pretend you know everything under the sun, Though your school-days are ended, and theirs but begun. But honestly say, when the case is so, "This thing, my dear children, I do not know"; For they really must learn, either slower or speedier, That you're not a walking Encyclopedia ! (By special permission of the Proprielort. ) THE SISTERS. J. G. Whittier. Annie and Rhoda, sisters twain, Woke in the night to the sound of rain, The rush of wind, the ramp and roar Of great waves climbing a rocky shore. Annie rose up in her bed-gown white. And looked out into the storm and night, "Ilush, and hearken !" she cried in fear, "Hearest thou nothing, sister dear?" SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION ilo " I hear the sea, and the plash of rain, And roar of the north-east hurricane Get thee back to the bed so warm, No good comes of watching a storm. What is it to thee, I fain would know, That waves are roaring and wild winds blow ^ No lover of thine's afloat to miss The harbour lights on a night like this." " But I heard a voice cry out my name, Up from the sea on the wind it came I Twice and thrice have I heard it call, And the voice is the voice of Estwick Hall!'' On her pillow the sister tossed her head, " Hall of the Heron is safe," she said. " In the tautest schooner that ever swam, He rides at anchor in Anisquam. And, if in peril from swamping sea Or lee-shore rocks, would he call on thee?" But the girl heard only the wind and tide, And, wringing her small white hands, she criwi "O, Sister Rhoda, there's something wrong; I hear it again, so loud and long. ' Annie ! Annie ! ' I hear it call, And the voice is the voice of Estwick Hall !" Up sprang the elder, with eyes aflame, "Thou liest! He never would call thy name; If he did, I would pray the wind and sea To keep him for ever from thee and me !" Then out of the sea blew a dreadful blast ; Like the cry of a dying man it passed. The young girl hushed on her lips a groan, But through her tears a strange light shone— The solemn joy of her heart's release To own and cherish its love in peace. " Dearest," she whispered, under breath, " Life was a lie, but true is death. The love I hid from myself away Shall crown me now in the light of day My ears shall never to wooer list, Never by lover my Lips be kissed. il6 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. Sacred to thee am I henceforth, Thou in heaven, and I on earth ! " She came and stood by her sister's bed : "Hall of the Heron is dead !" she said, " The wind and the waves their woik have don; We shall see him no more beneath the sun. Little will reck that heart of thine, It loved him not with a love like mine. I for his sake, were he but here. Could hem and broider thy bridal gear, Though hands should tremble and eyes be wet,. And stitch for stitch in my heart be set. But now my soul with his soul I wed ; Thine the living, and mine the dead." THE VILLAGE CHOIR. Anon. Half a bar, half a bar. Half a bar onward ! Into an awful ditch Choir and precentor hitch, Into a mess of pitch They led the Old Hundred. Trebles to right of them, Tenors to left of them. Basses in front of them Bellowed and thundered. Oh ! that precentor's look. When the sopranos took Their own time and hook From the Old Hundred. Screeched all the trebles here, Boggled the tenors there, liaising the parson's hair, While his mind wandered; Theirs not to reason why This psalm was pitched too hif/h ; Theirs but to gasp and cry Out the Old Hundred. SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 117 Trebles to right of them, Tenors to left of them, Basses in front of them Bellowed and thundered. Stormed they with shout and yeli. Not wise they sang nor well, Drowning the aeiton's bell, While all the church wondered. Dire the precentor's glare, Flashed his pitchfork in air. Sounding fresh keys to bear Out the Old Hundred. Swiftly he turned his back. Reached he his hat from rack. Then from the screaming pack Himself he sundered. Tenors to right of him, Trebles to left of him, Discords behind him Bellowed and thundered. Oh ! the wild howls they wrought ; Right to the end they fought ! Some tune they sang, but not. Not the Old Hundred. THE BOBOLINK. Thb Aldine. Once on a golden afternoon. With radiant faces and hearts in tune, Two fond lovers, in dreamy mood. Threaded a rural soUtude. Wholly happy, they only knew That the earth was bright, and the sky was blue That light and beauty and joy and song Charmed the way as they passed along. The air was fragrant with woodland scents The squirrel frisked on the roadside fence ; And hovering near them, "Chee, chee, chink?" Queried the curious bobolink. 118 SELECTIONS FOR READING JLND RECITATION. Pausing and peering with sidelong head, As saucily questioning all they said ; While the oxeye danced on its slender stem. And all glad nature rejoiced with them. Over the odorous fields were strewn Wilting winrows of grass new mown, And rosy billows of clover bloom Surged in the sunshine and breathed perfume. Swinging low on a slender limb The sparrow warbled his wedding hymn. And balancing on a blackberry briar, The bobolink sung with his heart on fire — " Chink ; if you wish to kiss her, do ; Do it ! do it 1 you coward, you ; Kiss her; kiss her. Who will seel Only we three — we three, we three." Tender garlands of drooping vines, Through dim vistas of sweet-breathed pines. Past wide meadow fields, lately mowed, Wandered the indolent country-road. The lovers followed it, listening still. And, loitering slowly as lovers will, Entered a grey-roofed bridge that lay Dusk and cool in the pleasant way. Fluttering brightly from brink to brink Followed the garrulous bobolink, Rallying loudly, with mirthful din. The pair who lingered unseen within. And when from the friendly bridge at last Into the road beyond they passed, Again beside her the tempter went, Keeping the thread of his argument — " Kiss her, kiss her— chink-a-chee-chee ; I'll not mention it; don't mind me; I'll be sentinel — I can see All around from the tall birch tree." But ah ! they noted nor deemed it strange. In his rollicking chorus a trifling change: (' Do itl— do itl" with might and main Warbled the tell-tale—" Do it again I" SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 119 THE THEEE BELLS. J. G. Whittier, Beneath the low-hung night cloud that raked her splintering mast The good ship settled slowly, the cruel leak gained fast. Over the awful ocean her signal guns pealed out. Dear God 1 was that thy answer from the horror round about? A voice came down the wild wind, " Ho ! ship ahoy !" its cry, " Our stout Three Bells of Glasgow shall stand till daylight by 1 " Hour after hour crept slowly, yet on the heaving swells Tossed up and down the shiplights, the lights of the Three Bells 1 And ship to ship made signals, man answered back to man, While oft, to cheer and hearten, the Three Bells nearer ran ; And the captain from her tafFrail sent down his hopeful cry, " Take heart 1 Hold on I" he shouted, " The Three Bells shall stand byl" All night across the waters the tossing lights shone clear ; All night from reeling taflfrail the Three Bells sent her cheer. And when the dreary watches of storm and darkness passed, Just as the wreck lurched under, all souls were saved at last. Sail on, Three Bells, forever, in grateful memory sail 1 Ring on. Three Bells of rescue, above the wave and gale ! As thine in night and tempest, I hear the Master's cry. And, tossing through the darkness, the lights of God draw nigh 1 THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. R T. S. Lowell. Oh I that last day in Lucknow fort I We knew that it was the last ; That the enemy's mines had crept surely in, And the end was coming fast. To yield to that foe meant worse than death ; And the men, and we all worked on : It was one day more, of smoke and riar, And then it would all be done. There was one of us, a corporal's wife, A fair young gentle thing, 120 8ELECTI0NS FOR READING AND KECIXATION. Wastfd with fever in the siege, And her mind was wandering. She lay on the ground in her Scottish plaid. And 1 took her head on my knee. " When my father comes hame frae the pkugh," she said, " Oh 1 please then waken me." She slept like a child on her father's floor In the flecking of woodbine shade, When the house-dog sprawls by the open door, And the mother's wheel is stayed. It was smoke, and roar, and powder stench, And hopeless waiting for death ; Bat the soldier's wife, like a full tired child, Seemed scarce to draw her breath. 1 sank to sleep, and I had my dream. Of an English village-lane. And wall, and garden — a sudden scream Brought me back to the roar again. Tlien Jessie Brown stood listening, And then a broad gladness broke All over her face, and she took my hand And drew me near and spoke : •'Tlii' Highlanders; oh, dinna ye hear The slogan far awa — The MacGregors? Ah I I ken it weel ; It's the grandest o' them a'; God bless thae bonnie Highlanders 1 We're saved 1 we're saved !" she cried ; And fell on her knees, and thanks to God Poured forth, like a full flood tide. Along the battery line her cry Had fallen among the men, And they started, for they were there to die ; Was life so near them then? They listened for life : but the rattling fire Far ofi" and tho far- oft' roar Were all ; and the colonel shook his head. And they turned to their guns once mora. SELECTION'S FOR READING AND RECITATION. 127 Then Jessie said : " That slogan's dune ; But can ye no hear them, noo ? — The Campbells are coming ! It's no a dream ? Our succours hae broken through ! " We heard the roar and the rattle afar, But the pipes we could not hear ; So the men plied their work of hopeless war, And knew that the end was near. It was not long ere it must be heard — A shrilling, ceaseless sound ; It was no noise of the strife afar, Or the sappers under ground. It was the pipes of the Highlanders, And now they play'd " Auld Langsyne " ; It came to our men like the voice of God, And they shouted along the line. And they wept and shook one another's hands, And the women sobb'd in a crowd; And everyone knelt down where we stood, And we all thanked God aloud. That happy day when we welcomed them Our men put Jessie first ; And the general took her hand, and cheers From the men, like a volley, burst. And the pipers' ribbons and tartan stream'd. Marching round and round our line ; And our joyful cheers were broken with tears. For the pipes played "Auld Langsyne". CUEEAN ON FEEEDOM. I put it to your oaths : — do you think that a blessing of that kind — that a victory obtained by justice over bigotry and oppression — should have a stigma cast upon it, by an ignominious sentence upon men bold and honest enough to propose that measure? — to propose the redeeming of religion from the abuses of the Church, the re- claiming of three millions of men from bondage, and giving liberty to all who had a right to demand it? — giving, I say, in the so much censured words of this paper, giving " Universal Emancipation" ! I 122 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. speak in the spirit of the British law, which makes liberty commen- surate with, and inseparable from British soil; which proclaims, even to the stranger and sojourner, the moment he sets his foot upon British earth, that the ground on which he treads is holy, and consecrated by the genius of Universal Emancipation. No matter in what language his doom may have been pronounced ; no matter what complexion, incompatible with freedom, an Indian or an African sun may have burnt upon him ; no matter in what disas- trous battle his liberty may have been cloven down; no matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar of slavery ;— the first moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and the god sink together in the dust; his soul walks abroad in her own majesty; his body swells beyond the measure of the chains that burst from around him; and he stands— re- deemed, regenerated, and disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of "Universal Emancipation ". BEAUTIFUL CHILD. W. A. H. SiGOURNET. Beautiful child by thy mother's knee. In the mystic future what wilt thou he'i A demon of sin, or an angel sublime — A poisonous Upas, or innocent thyme — A spiiit of evil flashing doivn With the lurid light of a fiery crown — Or gliding up with a shining track, Like the morning star that ne'er looks back. Daintiest dreamer that ever smiled, Which wilt thou be, ray beautiful child? Beautiful child in my garden bowers, Friend of the butterflies, birds and flowere, Pure as the sparkling crystalline stream, Jewels of truth in thy fairy eyes beam. Was there ever a whiter soul than thine Worshipped by love in a mortal shrine? My heart thou hast gladdened for two sweet years With rainbows of hope through mists of tears- Mists beyond which thy sunny smile, With its halo of glory, beams the while. SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 123 Beautiful child, to thy look is given A gleam serene — not of earth, but of heaven ; With thy tell-tale eyes and prattling tongue, Would thou could'st ever thus be young, Like the liquid strain of the mocking-bird, From stair to hall thy voice is heard ; How oft in the garden nooks thou'rt found, With flowers thy curly head around, Ajid kneeling beside me with figure so quaint, Oh ! who would not dote on my infant saint I Beautiful child, what thy fate shall be. Perchance is wisely hidden from me ; A fallen star thou ma^st leave my side, And of sorrow and shame become the bride — Shivering, quivering, through the cold street, With a curse behind and before thy feet. Ashamed to live, and afraid to die ; No home, no friend, and a pitiless sky. Merciful Father — my brain grows wild — Oh 1 keep from evil my beautiful child I Beautiful child, may'st thou soar above, A warbling cherub of joy and love; A drop on eternity's mighty sea, A blossom on life's immortal tree — Bloating, flowering evermore, In the blessed light of the golden shore. And as I gaze on thy sinless bloom And thy radiant face, they dispel my gloom ; I feel He will keep thee undefiled. And his love protect my beautiful child, MA.BEL MARTIN. J. G. Whittieb. It was the pleasant harvest time, when cellar-bins are closely stowed, and garrets bend beneath their load, and the old swallow- haunted bams, brown gabled, long, and full of seams through which the moted sunlight streams, are filled with summer's ripened stores ; its odorous grass and barley sheaves, from their low scafi"olds to their eaves. On Esek Harden's oaken floor — with many an autumn threshing worn — lay the heaped ears of unhusked corn ; and thither 124 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. came young men and maids, beneath a moon that, large and low, lit that sweet eve of long ago. They took their places ; some by chance, and others by a merry voice or sweet smile guided to their choice. But still the sweetest voice was mute that I'iver valley ever heard from lip of maid or throat of bird; for Mabel Martin sat apart and let the hay-moon's shadow fall upon the loveliest face of aU. She sat apart, aa one forbid, who knew that none would condescend to own the witch-wife's child a friend. Few questioned of the sorrowing child, or, when they saw the mother die, dreamed of the daughter's agony; sore tried and pained, the poor girl kept her faith, and trusted that her way, so dark, would somewhere meet the day. So in the shadow Mabel sits, untouched by mirth she sees and hears, her smile is sadder than her tears; but cruel eyes have found her out, and cruel lips repeat her name, and taunt hei with her mother's shame. She answered not with railing words, but drew her apron o'er her face, and, sobbing, glided from the place, and only pausing at the door, her sad eyes met the troubled gaze of one who, in her better days, had been her warm and steady friend, ere yet her mother's doom had made even Esek Harden half afraid. He felt that mute appeal of tears, and, starting, with an angry frown hushed all the wicked murmurs down — " Good neigh- bours mine," he sternly said, " this passes harmless mirth or jest ; I brook no insult to my guest. She is indeed her mother's child ; but God's sweet pity ministers unto no whiter soul than hers. Let Goody Martin rest in peace; I never knew her harm a fly, and witch or not, God knows, not I. I know who swore her life away ; and as God lives, I'd not condemn an Indian dog on word of them." The broadest lands on all the town, the skill to guide, the power to awe, were Harden's ; and his word was law. None dared withstand him to his face, but one sly maiden spoke aside : " The little witch is evil-eyed ! Her mother only killed a cow, or witched a churn or dairy pan; biit she forsooth must charm a man!" Poor Mabel, in her lonely home, sat by the window's narrow pane, while in the moonlight's silver rain she strove to drown her sense of wrong, and, in her old and simple way, to teach her bitter heart to pray. Poor child ! the prayer begun in faith, grew to a low despairing cry of utter misery, " Let me die ! O, take me from the scornful eyes, and hide me where the cruel speech, and mocking finger may not reach ! I dare not breathe my mother's name; a daughter's right I dare not crave to weep above her unblest grave ! Let me not live until my heart, with few to pity and with none to love me, liardens into stone. U Godl have mercy on Thy child, whose faith in Thee SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 126 grows weak and small, and take me ere I lose it all." A shadow on the moonlight fell, and murmuring wind and wave became a voice whose burden was her name. Had then God heard her? Had He sent His angel down? In flesh and blood before her Esek Harden stood ! He laid his hand upon her arm, " Dear Mabel, this no more shall be ; who scoffs at you, must scoff at me ; you know rough Esek Harden well ; and if he seems no suitor gay, and if his hair is touched with grey, the maiden grown shall never find a stauncher heart than he." JACK'S LITTLE SISTER, KATE. Mary Forrester, She was a child with a bright fair face. And eyes so big and blue ; A sweet ripe mouth, like a summer flower, And a heart so kind and true — I brought her home one lonely day, When my heart was full of pain ; When the joys of hope were lying dead, And the dreams of love were slain. She filled my home with a golden light; She filled my life with song — And the days grew bright with new sweet joy. As they swiftly flew along — " Who is she ? " the gossips would often ask, As she played at my garden gate — And I'd always answer with tearful voice, " Jack's little sister, Kate ". Jack was my sweetheart — as brave and bold, As a sailor needs must be ! And he often talked of his big strong ship. And the bonny sparkling sea, As we idly roamed on the yellow sand, When the sun was in the West, He would tell me tales of the far-off lands, And of friends he loved the best. And when he spoke of that tiny child, His voice grew soft and low — The dying gift from a mother's hand. Three little years ago. 126 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATIOM. All ! my bonnie sweetheart, you spoke so well, As the summer eve waxed late, That I grew to love with a great strong love, " Jack's little sister, Kate ". One morning there came to our quiet town, A sailor, with tearful eyes ; He looked at the sea, and then at me, And then at the stormy skies — He touched my cheek with his rough, brown han(i. He smoothed my crumpled gown ; And then — he told me a ship was wrecked. And that every soul went down 1 I know no more — I cannot tell The words the sailor said ; But I know that every sound I heard, Told me that Jack was dead ! I knelt me down in my sorrow deep, Down by my garden gate, And I prayed a prayer for that lonely child — " Jack's little sister, Kate ! " So I brought her home— my little girl, With the eyes so big and blue, With the sweet ripe mouth, like a summer flower-. And the heart so kind and true ! — I brought her home to my dreary house, By the weeping, sobbing deep ; Where above the heart that loved us well. The waves for ever sweep ! She cried for her brother, big and stronp^. For she could not understand How he'd gone for ever from out our live^, For ever from off the land — " He will come again ! " she would often cry, And down by the sea would wait ; While the passing sailors would smile and say "Jack's little sister, Kate!" One morning, my darling had wandered far. So far from our cottage door. And I sought her down in the little town. And I sought her on the shore, SBLKCTI0N8 FOR READING AND RECITATION 127 Where a group of men, with faces white, Were kneeling upon the ground — "What is it?" I asked, and some one said, " A little child found drowned 1 " My heart stood still with an awful fearl And I uttered a feeble cry ; But they heeded not, those white-faced mea, The woman standing by. " Poor little girl I " I heard them say, " Do you know her?" " Who is she, mate?'' And some one answered in husky tones, " Jack's little sister, Kate ! " Oh, God ! Thy hand was very strong, As it struck me down that day ! Down by the sea, the fair bright sea, Where my bonnie sweetheart lay. They carried her home, while bitter sobs To their pallid lips would rise, As they gently wrung her dripping frock, And closed her sweet blue eyes. They brought her shells from the sea she loved^ To deck her bosom fair, And I placed in her tiny dimpled hand A lock of Jack's dark hair. We buried her close to the lapping waves, One day when the spring was late. And wrote on the stone above her head, "Jack's little sister, Kate !" A RAILWAY CHASR David Macrae. The runaway engine and train had got the start of them by nearly two miles. If the express was true to her time, there was no hope. In five or six minutes there would be a collision. But if the express was in the least behind, there was stiU a desperate chance. Away, then, and away ! On they went with thundering crank and grinding steel. The tender quivered and rocked; the ground, Ut by the glare of the engine lamps, swept like lightning under them. There was a terrible voice in the quick, clanking wheels — " Life or death ! — life or death ! 128 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. -4ife or death!" Away and away, like a fiery meteor through the driving storm and darkness! The telegraph polts flew past like frighted spirits. " There !— there she is !— thank God ! " burst from the lips of both men, as they caught sight at last of two red lights shining far ahead upon the line. They dashed with a shattering roar between the rocks at Elmslie's farm, burst forth again, and away on the wild and terrible pursuit. They were gaining rapidly on the train ahead. There was hope. They dashed with another roar under the beetling bridge beyond the junction, and still away and away. " Life or death !— life or death ! — life or death I" clanked the wheels. Just as the long train was thundering along the iron bridge near Blackford, they dashed alongside. The Parliamentary ti-ain was bowling along the parallel rails at the velocity of nearly thirty miles an hour; and as Sinclair and Blacklock passed carriage after carriage, they could see, in the dusky light of the lamps within, the dim rows of passengers, many of them asleep, and all unconscious that they were on the wrong line, bowling, quick and fast, into the jaws of death. On they thundered till they came abreast of the engine. Campbell was there, but apparently stupefied with drink, sitting on the seat under the storm-board, with head hanging down nearly to his knees. Blacklock shouted and yelled at the pitch of his voice, Sinclair blew the whistle, but Campbell could not be roused. " Let's dash ahead and signal the Express to stop," cried Sinclair excitedly. He pulled out his watch and stooped to see the time. Eight minutes to eleven ! The Express was two minutes behind her time already. There was not a moment to lose. "God ha' mercy!" gasped Blacklock, clutching Sinclair's arm con- vulsively; "here she comes!" He was right. Far ahead along the line, two points of light, like the eyes of a basilisk, had glided into view, and were fast dilating and growing brighter and fiercer as the iron monster from the South came on through the darkness at the rate of a mile a minute. Already the thunder of its approach was distinctly perceptible. Scarcely a mile separated the two trains— in thirty seconds they would be together ! " Signal !— signal the Express!" shrieked Blacklock. But Camp- bell's engine I how was it to be checked ? Blacklock looked at the narrow space that separated the two engines. A few feet— only a few feet! — and a Inuulred human lives at stake! " I'll jump ' " he cried. In a moment, before Sinclair could hold SELECTIOKS FOR READING AMD RECITATION. 129 oirn back, he had crouched, aud made the desperate spring. He alighted upon the footboard of the other tender. He staggered for a moment; but, recovering his balance, sprang forward to the engine, shut oflf the steam, and put on the brake. It was all the brave fellow could do. Now for life — for lifel He seized the drunken man. He dragged him to the side of the engine, to leap off, when in an instant the Express, with its flying plume and its glaring irids, magnifying into two great orbs of flame, flashed through the darkness, and like a thunderbolt shot full upon them ! The earth shook with the terrific shock. The engines were smashed, the furnace fires flared up, the huge carriages of both trains came on like successive explosions, leaping madly over one another, while a thousand shrieks rang wildly up into the shuddering air of night. {By tptcial permission of the Author.) THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. John F. Waller. Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning; Close by the window young Aileen is spinning ; Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sitting, Is crooning, and moaning, and drowsily knitting, — " Aileen, achora, I hear some one tapping." " 'Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping." " Aileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." " 'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind dying." Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; Sprightly and lightly, aud airily ringing, ThriUs the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. "What's that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?" "'Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under." " What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on. And singing all wrong that ould song of 'The Coolun'?"— There's a form at the casement — the form of her true-love — And he whispers, with face bent, " I'm waiting for you, love ; Get up on the stool ! through the lattice step lightly ! We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining brightly." Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the reel, spins the wheel, while the foot's stirring •, Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. (996) E 130 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. The maid shakes her head, on her Up lays her fingers, Steals up from her seat— longs to go, and yet lingers ; A frightened glance turns to her drowsy Grandmother, Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round ; Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound; Noiseless and light to the lattice above her The maid steps— then leaps to the arms of her lover ! Slower— and slower— and slower the wheel swings; I^wer— and lower— and lower the reel rings ; Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing and moving^ Through the grove the young lovers by moonhght are roving. AN lEISHMAN'S LOVE FOE HIS CHILDEEN. Ajjon. Some years ago, on our passage to New York, we had on board a number of emigrants, among whom was an Irishman with his wife and three children, the eldest, a girl, about seven years of age. They were very poor, but the beauty and intelligence of the children quite won the heart of a lady passenger, and, now and af^ain, she would have them brought into the cabin and their hunger appeased. ,, vr j Gleesome, bright-eyed little creatures, they were all Me and happiness, and in blissful ignorance of the poverty by which they were surrounded. ^ One day they were in the cabin, when this lady said to me, 1 wonder if those poor people would part with one of these darlings. I should much like to adopt one." "I don't know," I said; "suppose we make the inquiry." The father was sent for. " My good friend," said the lady, " you Are very poor, are you not?" His answer was peculiarly Irish. " Is it poor, mi lady? If there's a poorer man than misilf^troublin' the world, Hiven pity both of uz, for we'd be about aqual!" " Then," said I, "you must find it no easy matter to support your children." "Is it to support thim, sir? I never supported thim; they get supported somehow or other ; they've never been hungry yit. Whm they are, if 11 be toime enough to complain." " Well, then," I continued, " would it not be a relief to you to part with one of them? 9KLECTION8 FOR READING AND RECITATION. 131 He started, turned pale, and with a wild glare in his eye passion- ately said, " A relaif ! what d'ye mean, sir? Wud it be a relaif, d'ye think, to have mi hand chopped from mi body, or my heart torn out of mi breast 1 " " Oh, you don't understand us," said my lady friend. " Suppose you were enabled to place one of your children in ease and comfort, would you interfere with its well-doing?" The tact of women! She had touched the chord of paternal affection. The poor fellow was silent and all bewildered. At last he said, " God bliss ye, mi lady ; Hiven knows I'd be right glad to better the child — it isn't in regard to misilf ; but hadn't I better go an' Bjiake to Mary — she's the mother of thim — an' 'twould be onraisonable to be givin' away her children behind her back." " Very well," I said, "off you go to Mary, and hear what she says." In about an hour he came back, his eyes red and swollen. " WeU," said I, " what success ? " " 'Twas no aisy matter, sir, but it's for the child's good, and Hiven give us strength to bear it ! " " Well, and which are we to have?" "Well, sir, I've been spakin' to Mary, an' she thinks aa Nora there is the ouldest — she's siven past — she wouldn't miss the mother so much ; an' if ye'U jist let her take a partin' kiss, she'd give her to ye wid a blessing." So he took away his three children, to look at one of them for the last time. When he returned he was leading the second eldest, a little girl about five. "How is this? have you changed your mind?" " Well, no ; I haven't exactly changed mi moind, sir, but I've changed the child. Ye see, sir, I've been spakin' to Maiy, an' when it came to the ind, sir, she couldn't part wid Nora at all, at all ! But here's little Biddy— an' if she'U do as well?" "Yes, yes; we'll take Biddy." " Hiven be her guardian ! God be kind to thim that's kind to you ! " Then he went away, and all that night little Biddy remained with us. But early next morning he reappeared, and this time he had his youngest child — a mere baby — in his arms. ' " What's the matter now?" I said. " Well, sir, ye see, I've been spakin' to Mary, an' when I begude to think of Biddy's eyes — look at them, sir; they're the image of her mother's — I coul'ki't let her go. But here's little Paudeeu; he 132 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. w^on't be much bother to any one, for if he takes after his mother, he'll have the brightest ey* s a^' the softest heart in creation ; an' if he takes after his father, ht, il have a purty hard fist an' a broad pair of shoulders to push his way in the world. Take him, sir, an' gi' me back, Biddy." He left the baby and took away his pet Biddy. I wasn't at all surprised when, in a few minutes afterwai'ds, he rushed into the cabin and caught up little Paudeen in his arms. " Look at him, sir ! look at him ! It's the youngest — only two years ould. You wouldn't have the heart to keep him from uz. The long and the short of it is, sir, I've been spakin' to Mary— sAe couldn't part wid Nora an' / couldn't part wid Biddy, but naither of uz could live half a day without little Paudeen ! No, sir, no ! we can bear the bitterness of poverty, but we can't part wid our children —unless it be the will of Iliven to take them from uz." GEMINI AND VIRGO. C. S. Calverlet. Some vast amount of years ago, Ere all my youth had vanished from me, A boy it was my lot to know, "Whom his familiar friends called Tommy. I love to gaze upon a child ; A young bud bursting into blossom ; Artless, as Eve yet uubeguiled, And agile as a young opossum ; And such was he — a calm-browed lad, Yet mad, at moments, as a hatter : (Why hatters as a race are mad I never knew, nor does it matter). He was what nurses call a " limb " — One of these small misguided creatures, Who, though their intellects are dim. Are one too many for their teachers : And, if you asked of him to say What twice ten was, or three times seven, He'd glance (in quite a placid way) From heaven to earth, from earth to heaven ; SELECTIONS FOR READING AND KECITATION. 133 Ajid smile, and look politely round, To catch a casual suggestion ; But make no effort to propound Any solution of the question. And not so much esteemed wa^ he Of the Authorities ; and therefore He fraternized by chance with me. Needing a somebody to care for, And three fair summers did we twain Live (as they say) and love together; And bore by turns the wholesome cane Till our young skins became as leather : And carved our names on every desk, And tore our clothes and inked our collars 5 And looked unique and picturesque But not, it may be, model scholars. We did much as we chose to do ; "We'd never heard of Mrs. Grundy ; All the theology we knew "Was that we mightn't play on Sunday ; And all the general truths, that cakes "Were to be bought at four a penny. And that excruciating aches Resulted if we ate too many. And seeing ignorance is bliss, And wisdom consequently folly, The obvious result is this — That our two lives were very jolly. At last the separation came : Real love, at that time, was the fashion ; And by a horrid chance, the same Young thing was to us both, a passion. Old Poser snorted like a horse : His feet were large, his hands were pimply. His manner, when excited, coarse : — But Miss P. was an angel simply. She was a blushing, gushing thing ; All — more than all — my fancy painted; Ouce — when she helped me to a wing Of goose, I thought I should have fainted. 134 SELKCTIONS KOR HEADING AND RECITATIOW. The people said tliat she was blue ; But I was green, and loved her dearly. She was approaching thirty-two ; And I was then eleven, nearly. I did not love as others do ; (None ever did that I've heard tell of ;) My passion was a byword through The town she was, of course, the belle of. Ch sweet — as to the toU-worn man The far-off sound of rippling river ; As to cadets in Hindostan The fleeting remnant of their liver — To me was Anna ; dear as gold That fills the miser's sunless coffers ; As to the spinster, growing old. The thought — the dream — that she had offers. I'd sent her httle gifts of fruit ; I'd written lines to her as Venus ; I'd sworn unflinchingly to shoot The man who dared to come between ua : And it was you, my Thomas, you, The friend in whom my soul confided. Who dared to gaze on her — to do, I may say, much the same as I did. Once I saw him squeeze her hand, There was no doubt about the matter ; I said he must resign or stand My vengeance — and he chose the latter. We met, we "planted" blows on blows; We fought as long as we were able : My rival had a bottle nose, And both my speaking eyes were sablOj When the school-bell cut short our strife. Miss P. gave both of us a plaister; And in a week became the wife Of Horace Nibbs, the writing master. I loved her then — I'd love her still, Only one must not love another's; But thou and I, my Tommy, will. When we a^ain meet, meet as brotheii SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 135 it may be that in age one seeks Peace only : that the blood is brisker In boy's veins, than in theirs whose cheeks Are partially obscured by whisker; Or that the growing ages steal The memories of past wrong-s from us. But this is certain — that I feel Most friendly unto thee, O Thomas ! And wheresoe'er we meet again, On this or that side the equator, If I've not turned teetotal then, And have wherewith to pay the waiter, To thee I'll drain the modest cup. Ignite with thee the mild Havana, And we will waft, while liquoring up, Forgiveness to the heartless Anna. {By special permission of Mrs, Calverlea .) THE LEVEL CROSSING. Robert Walker. Joe Smith? Yes, mates, I knew him well. As rough as rough could be ; yet, spite of all that parsons say, There's worse on earth than he ! There wasn't much of the saint in him. Only he never lied. And few who've lived a better life A nobler death have died. His death ? Ay, lads, I mind it well. And how the sun did shine On the level crossing that April monu Athwart the railway line 1 The gates were shut and fastened, That no one might pass throTigh ; A distant rumbling plainly told The Scotch express was due. On the hillside I was working. While Joe sat on the grass, 136 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATIOH. Waiting alongside the rails below, Until the train should pass. The morn was cool, and bright, and atill, The lark sang shrill and clear; I always think of Joe, poor lad, Whene'er that song I hear. He sat by the railway smoking, Thinking of — who can say? Mayhap of last night's fun, mayhap Of some one far away 1 Still sang the lark, when suddenly There came a cry from Joe ; I turned ; oh, heaVn ! how faint I felt At what I saw below I The gates, I said, were bolted fast ; But clamb'ring through the fence, On to the line, had strayed a child. HeaVn help its innocence ! There came the engine tearing on, With its exulting scream, Ruthless it seemed and fiercely sped, Like a monster in a dream. Bight on the track the infant stood, A primrose in its hand. And on the coming death it smiled, Too young to understand. One moment more had been too late : Joe bounded to his feet, And on with some fierce word he dashed As any racehorse fleet, I, on the hillside, saw him rush Straight to the jaws of death. And up the hillside seemed to come The engine's fiery breath. His strong hand seized and threw the child Right there, beside the brook ; A few sharp stings from the nettlea Was all the harm it took ! SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 13? But Joe, poor lad, 'twas worse for him — The engine left him lying Beside the rails, a ghastly heap — Torn, bleeding, stunned, and dyina: ! We raised him up. I held him, His head on my arm was laid. He spake but once again, brave lad, And this was all he said : " The chick's pulled through, I hope," and then Lay closer to my breast. I need not tell you more, my mates, You all must know the rest. A rough-shaped cross marks where he lies, There on the lone hillside, And Tom, the Methody, said 'twas right,- 'Cos Joe for man had died. And wild flowers ofttimes you will see Ijaid lightly on the grave. Put there by her, now woman grown, Whom Joe Smith died to save. {By special permission of the Author.) PAPA'S LETTEK Anon. 1 was sitting in my study, writing letters ; when I heard, " Please, dear mama, — Mary told me mama mustn't be 'isturbed. But I'se tired of the kitty, want some ozzer fiug to do : Witing letters, is 'ou, mama? tan't I wite a letter tool" * Not now, darling, mama's busy ; run and play with kitty, now. '* No, no, mama j me wite letter ; tan, if 'ou will show me how." I would paint my darling's portrait as his sweet eyes searched n:;y 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 yo'.,, darling boy, instead." So I parted back the tresses from his forehe^ higb ^^^ white, And a stamp in sport I pasted, 'mid it-s waves of golden light. ■(996) E2 136 SKLBCTIONS FOR BEADING AND RECITATION. Then I said, " Now, Httle letter, go away and bear good news." And I smiled aa down the staircase clattered loud the little shoes. Leaving me, the darling hurried down to Mary in his glee; "Mama's witing lots of letters; I'se a letter, Mary — see!" . . . No one heard the front-door open ; no one saw the golden hair, As it floated o'er his shoulders in the crisp October air. Down the street the prattler hastened, till he reached the office-door ; " I'se a letter, Mr. Postman ; is there room for any more ? 'Cause dis letter's goin' to papa, papa lives with God, 'ou know, Mauia 'tamped me — I'm a letter; does 'ou link 'at I tan go?" But the Clerk in wonder answered, " Not to-day, my little man." *' Den I'll find anozzer office, 'cause I must g5, if I tan." Fain the Clerk would have detained him, but the pleading face was gone. And the little feet were hastening — by the busy crowd swept on. Suddenly the crowd was parted, people fled to left and right. As a pair of maddened horses at that moment dashed in sight I No one saw the baby figure — no one saw the golden hair, Till a shriek of childish terror rang out on the autumn air ! 'Twas too late ! — a moment only stood the beauteous vision there ; Then . . . the little face lay lifeless, covered o'er with golden hair ! Reverently they raised my darling, brushed away the curls of gold; Saw the stamp, upon the forehead growing now so icy cold. Not a mark the face disfigured, showing where a hoof had trod ; But the little life was ended — "Papa's letter" was with God. WHERE? R. H. Stoddard. She went away, at the break of day, And a child in her arms she bore. I asked the roads which way she went, I hunted for her till day was spent, But she returned no more. " Have you seen a woman and a child to-day ?" I say to the people I meet on the way. But no one seems to see ; They pass me by, without reply, Too busv to answer me. EELKCTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 13S !5ullen and slow, I go To the river, and, watching the flow Of its waves that seaward roll, T aay to the river, "What sings in theel' It answers me, " Only a baby's soul." I fly to the poplars — why [ know not I for all I see, Ghostly and ominous, troubles me. The long limbs tremble, and every leaf (They are numberless) is a tongue of grief. And every sound a sigh. Tell me, before we part, Poplai-s that peak and pine. If you have aught that is mine. " Naught that is thine ; Only a woman's heart." They passed away, at the break of day, They are not on land or sea. They have flown afar, where the angels are, And both have forgotten me I EXCELSIOR Henry W. Longfellow. The sha^ies of night were falling f;iat, As, through an Alpine village, pas.«ed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, "Excelsior!'^ His brow was sad ; his eye beneath Flashed like a falchion from its sheath ; And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, "Excelsior!'* In happy homes he saw the light Of household tiros gleam warm and bright; Above, the spectral glaciers shone ; And from hia lips escaped a groan, " Excelsior i "^ 140 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATIOM. " Try not the pass," the old man said ; " Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; The roaring torrent is deep and wide I" And loud that clarion voice replied, "Excelsior!" " Oh, stay," the maiden said, " and rest Thy weary head upon this breast 1 " A tear stood in his bright blue eye ; But still he answered with a sigh, "Excelsior I'' " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! Beware the awful avalanche ! " This was the peasant's last good-night A voice replied, far up the height, " Excelsior I " At break of day, as, heavenward, The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air, « Excelsior I " A traveller, by the faithful hound. Half -buried in the snow was found; Still grasping in his hand of ice. The banner with the strange device, "Excelsior I" There in the twilight cold and grey, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay ; And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star, "Excelsior I" THE OLD SCHOOLMASTER Lee O. Harris. He sat at his desk at the close of day, for he felt the weight of his many years.— His fonn was bent and his hair was grey, and his eyes were dim with the falling tears. The school was out and his task was done, and the house seemed now so strangely still, As the red beam of the setting aun stole silently over the window-silL SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 141 Stole silentlj' into the twilight gloom, and the deepening shadows fell athwart The vacant seats and the vacant room, and the vacant place in the old man's heart — For his school had been all in all to him, who had no wife, child, land, nor gold ; But his frame was weak, and his eyes were dim, and the fiat was issued at last — "Too old*. He bowed his head on his trembling hands a moment, as one might bend to pray; "Too oldl" they say, and the school demands a wiser and younger head to-day. " Too old ! too old I " these men forget it was I who guided their tender years; Their hearts were hard, and they pitied not my trembling lips and my falling tears. "Too old ! too old 1" it was all they said; I looked in their faces one by one. But they turned away, and my heart was lead: "Dear Lord, it is hard, but Thy will be done." The night stole on and a blacker gloom was over the vacant benches cast; The master sat in the silent room, but his mind was back in the days long past. And he smiled as his kindly glances fell on the well beloved faces there — John, Rob, and Will, and laughing Nell, and blue-eyed Bess, with golden hair, And Tom, and Charley, and Ben, and Paul, who stood at the head of the spelling class — All in their places — and yet they all were lying under the graveyard grass. Thus all night long, till the morning came, and the darkness folded her robe of gloom, And the sun looked in with his eye of flame, on the vacant seats of the silent room. And the wind stole over the window-siU, and swept through the aisles in a merry rout ; But the face of the master was white and still — his work was finished, his school was out 142 ttELECTIONS FOB READIKG AND RECITATION. THE WOMEN OF MUMBLES HEAD. Clement Scott. Bring, novelists, your note-book ; bring, dramatists, your pen ; And I'll tell you a simple story of what women do for men. It's only a tale of a lifeboat, the dying and the dead, Of a terrible storm and shipwreck, that happened off MumWes Head, ^iaybe you have travelled in Wales, sir, and know it north and south ; Maybe you are friends with the "natives" that dwell at Oystermouth. It happens, no doubt, that from Bristol you've crossed iu a casual way. And have sailed your yacht in the summer, in the blue of Swansea Bay. Well, it isn't like that in the winter, when the lighthouse stands alone, In the teeth of Atlantic breakers, that foam on its face of stone; It wasn't like that when the hurricane blew, and the storm bell toUed, or when There was news of a wreck, and the lifeboat launch'd, and a desperate cry for men. When in the world did the coxswain shirk ? A brave old salt was he ; Proud to the bone of as four strong lads as ever had tasted the sea, Welshmen all to the lungs and loins, who, about the coast 'twas said, Had saved some hundred lives a-piece — at a shilling or so a head ! So the father launched the lifeboat, in the teeth of the tempest's roar, .And he stood like a man at the rudder, with an eye on his boys at the oar. Out to the wreck went the father ; out to the wreck went the sons ; Leaving the weeping of women, and the booming of signal guns, Leaving the mother who loved them, and the girls that the saUors love, Going to death for duty, and trusting to God above ! Do you murmur a prayer, my biothers, when cosy and safe in bed. For men like these, v/ho aie ready to die for a wreck off Mumbles Headi It didn't go well with the lifeboat; 'twas a tenible storm that blew, And it snapped the rope iu a second that was flung to the drowning crew ; 8RLECTI0NS FOR READING AKD RECITATION. 143 A.nd then the anchor parted — twas a tussel to keep afloat »* But the father stuck to the rudder, and the boys to the b.^ave old boat. Then at last on the poor doom'd lifeboat a wave broke mountains high! "God help us now !" said the father. " It's over, lads! Good-bye!'" Half of the crew swam shoreward, half to the sheltered eaves, But father and sons were fighting death in the foam of the angrj waves. Up at a lighthouse window two women beheld the storm, And saw in the boiling breakers a figure — a fighting form : It might be a gray-haired father, then the women held their breath, It might be a fair-haired brother, who was having a round with death ; It might be a lover, a husband, whose kisses were on the lips Of the women whose love is the life of men, going down to the sea in ships. They had seen the launch of the lifeboat, they had seen the worst and more ; Then, kissing each other, these women went down, from the light- house, straight to the shore. There by the rocks on the breakers these sisters, hand in hand, Beheld once more that desperate man who struggled to reach the land. 'Twas only aid he wanted to help him across the wave, But what are a couple of women with only a man to save? What are a couple of women? well, more than three craven men Who stood by the shore with chattering teeth, refusing to stir— and then Off went the women's shawls, sir; in a second they're torn and rent. Then knotting them into a rope of love, straight into the sea they went. "Come back!" cried the lighthouse keeper; "for God's sake, girls, come back ! " Afi they caught the waves on their foreheads, resisting the fierce attack. " Come back ! " moaned the gray-haired mother, as she stood by the angry sea ; " If the waves take you, my darlings, there's nobody left to me." 144 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. "Come back!" said the three strong soldiers, who still stood faint and pale ; ''You will drown if you face the breakers ; you will fall if you brave the gale 1 " "Come back," said the girls, "we will not! go, tell it to all the town ; We'll lose our lives, God willing, before tliat man shall drown!" " Give one more knot to the shawls, Bess ; give one strong clutch of y^ur hand ; Just follow me brave to the shingle, and we'll drag him safe to land. Wait for the next wave, darling; only a minute more, And I'll have him safe in my arms, dear, and we'll drag him safe to shore." Up to the arms in the water, fighting it breast to breast, They caught and saved a brother alive ! God bless us I you know the rest — Well, many a heart beat stronger, and many a tear was shed, And many a glass was tossed right off to " The Women of Mumbles Headl" (By special permission of the A uthor. ) HAMLET AND THE QUEEN. TWO CHARACTERS. HAMI.ET, Prince of Denmark. Gertrude, the Queen, bis Mother. Scene — The Queen's Chamber. Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter? Qu. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. Ham. Mother, you have ray father much offended. Qu. Come, come ! you answer with an idle tongue. Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. Qu. Why, how now, Hamlet 1 Ham. What's the matter now? Qu. Have you forgot me? Ha7n. No, by the rood, not so I you are the Queen ! your husband's brother's wife ; and— would it were not so 1— you are my mother. Qu. Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak. Ha7n. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not budge ; you go not till I set you up a glass where you may see the inmo.«t part of you ! SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION, 14S Qu. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? Bam. Leave wringing of your hands : Peace ! sit you down, and let me wring your heart; for so I shall, if it be made of penetrable stuff; if wicked custom have not brazed it so, that it is proof and bulwark against sense. Qu. What have I done that thou dar'st wag thy tongue in noise so rude against me? Ham. Such an act that hlurs the grace and blush of modesty ; calls Virtue Hypocrite : takes off the rose from the fair forehead of an innocent love, and sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows as false as dicers' oaths; Oh. such a deed as from the body of contraction plucks the very soul ; and sweet Religion makes a rhapsody of wards I Ah me ! that act 1 Qu. Ah me, what act, that roars so loud, and thunders in the index? Ham. Look here upon this picture ; — and on this. The counter- feit presentment of two brothers. See, what a grace was seated on this brow 1 — Hyperion's curls; ihe front of Jove himself; an eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; a station like the herald Mercury, new-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; a combination, and a form, indeed, where every god did seem to set his seal, to give the world assurance of a man. This was your husband. — Look you now, what follows : — Here is your husband, — like a mildev/d ear, blasting his whoiesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this /air ^om?i- tain leave to feed, and batten on this Moorl Ha! have you eyes? you cannot call it Love ; for, at your age, the heyday in the blood is tame I it's humble ! and waits upon the judgment ! And what judgment would step from this to this? O shame I where is thy blush ? Qu. O Hamlet, speak no more ! thou tum'st mine eyes into my very soul ; and there I see such black and grainid spots, as will not leave their tiiict. Hain. Nay, but to live stewed in corruption, honeying and making love over the nasty sty, — Qu. O, sj)eak to me no more ! These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears ; no more, sweet Hamlet 1 Ham. A murderer and a villain; a slave., that is not twentieth part the tithe of your precedent lord: a Vice oi kings; a cutpurse of the empire and the rule, that from a shelf the precious diadem stole., and put it in his pocket— Qu. No more ! Ham. A king of shreds and patches ! — {Enter Ghost 146 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. Save me, and liover o'er me with your wings, you heavenly guards' — What would your gracious figure? Qu. Alas he's mad. Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, that, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by the important acting of your dread command ? O, say I Oht. Do not forgtft : this visitation is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But, look ! amazement on thy mother sits ; O, step between her and her fighting soul ; conceit in weakest bodies strongest works ; — speak to her, Hamlet. Ham. How is it with you, lady? Qu. Alaa, how is't with you, that you do bend your eye on vacancy, and with the incorporal air do hold discourse? O, gentle son! upon the heat and flame of thy distemper, sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ? Ham. On him ! on him ! Look you, hovr pale he glares ! His form and cause conjoined, preaching to gtones, would make them capable. — Do not look upon me : lest, with this piteous action, you convert my stem effects: then what I have to do will want true colour; tears, perchance for blood. Qu. To whom do you speak this? Ham. Do you see nothing there? Qu. Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see. Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? Qu. No, nothing but ourselves. Ham. Why, look you there ! look how it steals away ! My father, in his habit, as he lived ! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! {Exit Ohoft. Qu. This is the very coinage of your brain : this bodiless creation ecstasy is very cunning in. Ham. Ecstasy ! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, and makes as healthful music : It is not madness that I have uttered ; bring me to the test, and I the matter will re-word ; which nia/ be had. DEATH OF MARIE-ANTOINETTE. Carltle. Is there a man's heart that thinks without pity of those long months and years of slow, wasting ignominy ; of thy birth, soft cradled in imperial Schonbrunu, the winds of heaven not to visit thy face too roughly, thy foot to light on softness, thy eye on splendour; and then of thy death, or hundred deaths, to which the guiUotine and Fouquier Tinville's judgment-bar were but the merci- ful end' Look there, O man born of woman! The bloom of that fair face is wasted, the hair is grey with care; the brightness of those eyes is quenched, their lids hang drooping; the face is stony pale, aB of one living in death. Mean weeds, which her own hand has mended, attire the queen of the world. The death hurdle where thou sittest pale, motionless, which only curses environ, luis to stop. a people, drunk with vengeance, will drink it again in full draught, looking at thee there. Far hb the eye reaches, a multitudmous sea of mania? heads, the air deaf with their triumph-yell. The Uvmg-dead SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 161 must shudder with yet one other pang; her startled blood yet again sufluses with the hue of agony that pale face, which she hides with her hands. There is no heart to say, God pity thee ! O thiuk not of these ! think of Him whom thou worshippest, the Crucified — who also treading the wine-press alone, fronted sorrow still deeper, and triumphed over it and made it holy, and buOt of it a " sanctuary of sorrow" for thee and all the wretched. Thy path of thorns ia nigh ended ; one long last look at the Tuileries, where thy step was once so light — where thy children shall not dwell. The head is on the block ; the axe rushes — dumb lies the world ; that wild-yelling world, with all its madness, ia behind thee. PUBLIC SPEECH. Dr. H. W. Bellows. Bacon says, " Reading makes a full man, writing an exact man, speaking a ready man", and if there is anyone who says that extem- pore utterance is the careless, unthinking utterance of a mind not filled with reading, and not exact by writing, he discounts the argu- ment. He who would speak well from the moment, from the utter- ance of the lip, unaided either by the memory or by the manuscript, must be a man who has acquired the art of putting his thoughts by skilled writing into that process and exact shape which shall ulti- mately become so much the habit of his mind, so much, I may say, the spontaneous gift of his lips, that when he comes to speak, even in the most hasty manner, he will have something of the exactness, elegance, and finish of the written word. The pen is the great educator. There is nothing in the world so magical in its power to discriminate, to shape into form, to define, and ultimately to give forth what is in one's heart to say, as the pen. Therefore, be diligent in its use, but do not carry your manuscripts either to the bar, the pulpit, or the forum if you wish to move your fellow-creatures. And first, of speech considered only as an element of delivery by the voice, I have noticed that professional men who are not trained to the platform, or who have not had experience in addressing crowds, have very little conception of the carrying power of human tones, and, therefore, some who have a great deal to say do not know how to get their voices out of their throats, do not know how to load the air and saturate the atmosphere so that it comes to every ear. Voice should be propelled from the lungs and carried by the power of the muscles of the throat through the deepest recesses (996) F 162 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. of the hearer's ear, for who can listen with any pleasure to a speaker, no matter what he has to say or how rich his illustrations may be, except he can listen with an unstrained ear and forget he ia listening, and so drink in the delights of eloquence and the moving powers of thought without effort on his part, aU the effort being concentrated in the powers of the throat, in the lungs, in the skiU of the orator] And I would say of the propelling power of pubHc speakers that it is the most exquisite, most difficult, and most effective of all arts, the emitting of human tones, the articulating of syllables, with such an elegant precision that they drop like new coins from the mint; droo from the lips each perfect, and yet without effort. For if you hear the cUck of the machinery and suspect your speaker is making great effort to be heard and to make each syUable articulate, then the pleasure disappears, you have the feeling of artifice and no longer the fuU power. Art has become artifice, but art is only art when it conceals and hides this artifice. There is much truth in the oft-repeated statement that art destroys natv^re, but it is because the art is false. True art can muster no principles out of nature that nature has lost, and those who think nature has not left something for art to do have misapprehended the design of the Creator, who chose not to make a finished world, but rather to allow His creatures to supply the art-needs, thus carrying out His plans in their own education and development. Art is not a perversion, but a developing and perf ectincr of nature, and when thus perfected, it gives you something better thin nature. When nature is thus enriched by art; when passion and power and feeling and thought have been culled and trimmed and aimed ; when the arrow is selected and feathered and guided as no log of wood thrown by a giant's hand could go, then art has learned to throw the shafts of speech in a way that nature never tau-ht, except, perhaps, in those desperate ways when life is at stake and" when, with a concentration of pa.ssionate power, the dumbest become eloquent, and the weakest mighty in speech. MAEIT AND L Anon. Marit at the brookside sitting, rosy, dimpled, merry-eyed, Saw her lovely visage trembling in the mirror of the tide, While between her pretty teeth a golden coil of hair she held; Like a shining snake it quivered in the tide, and shrunk and swelled SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 163 Ajid she dipped her dainty fingers deftly in the chilly brook; Scarce she minded how her image with the ripples curved and shook j Stooping with a tiny shudder, dashed the water in her face ; O'er her brow and cheeks the dew-drops glistening rolled and feD apace. Breathless sat I, safely hidden in the tree-top dense and green ; For a maid is ne'er so sweet as when she thinks herself unseen ; And I saw her with a scarlet ribbon tie her braid of hair, And it seemed to me that moment I had ne'er seen aught so fair. Now, if you will never breathe it, I will tell you something queer — Only step a little nearer; let me whisper in your ear ; If you think it was the first time that in this sequestered dell I beheld the little Marit — well, 'tis scarcely fair to telL There within my leafy bower sat I, happy as a king, And two anxious wrens were flitting round about me twittering, WhUe I gazed at Marit's image framed in heaven's eternal blue, While the clouds were drifting past it, and the birds across it flew. But anon the smile that hovered in the water stole away, Though the sunshine through the birch leaves flung of light its shim- mering spray, And a breath came floating upward as if some one gently sighed, And at just the self-same moment sighed the image in the tide. Then I heard a mournful whisper : " O thou poor, thou pretty face ! Without gold what will avail thee, bloom of beauty, youth, and grace? For a maid who has no dower — " and her curly head she shook : It was little Marit speaking to her image in the brook. More I heard not, for the whisper in a shivering sigh expired. And the image in the water looked so sad and sweet and tired. Full of love and fidl of pity, down I stooped her plaint to hear : I could almost touch the ringlets curling archly round her ear. Nearer, still a little nearer, forth I crept along the bough. Tremblingly her lips were moving, and a cloud rose on her brow. " Precious darling," thought I, " grieve not that thou hast no lover found—" Crash the branch went, and, bewildered, down I tumbled on the ground. 164 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. Up then sprang the little Marit with a cry of wild alarm, And she gazed as if she dreaded I had come to do her harm. Swift she darted through the bushes, and with stupid wonder mut« Stood I staring blankly after ere I started in pursuit. And a merry chase I gave her through the underbush and copse ; Over faUen trunks and boulders on she fled with skips and hops, Glancing sharply o'er her shoulder when she heard my footsteps sound, Dashing on with reckless terror like a deer before the hound. Hot with zeal I broke my pathway where the clustered boughs were dense, For I wanted to assure her I intended no offence ; And at last, exhausted, fell she on the gi-een-sward quivering, Sobbing, panting, pleading, weeping, like a wild, unreasoning thing. "Marit," said I, stooping down, -I hardly see why you should cry: There is scarce in all the parish such a harmless lad as I ; And you know I always liked you"-here my voice was soft and «No,'iIdeed," she sobbed, in answer-" no, indeed, I do not know." But methought that in her voice there was a touch of petulance ; Through the glistening tears I caught a little shy and furtive glance. Growing bolder then, I clasped her dainty hand full tenderly, Though it made a mock exertion, struggling faintly to be free. "Little Marit," said I, gently, " tell me what has grieved you so, For I heard you sighing sorely at the brook a while ago." "0 " she said, her sobs subduing, with an air demure and meek- ^^ «0', it was that naughty kitten; he had scratched me on the cheek. "Nothing worse?" I answered, gayly, while I strove her glance to catch. ^ ,1^ 1 -ii. > «Let me look; my kiss is healing. May I cure the kittens scratch]" And I kissed the burning blushes on her cheeks in heedless glee, Though the marks of Pussy's scratches were invisible to me. "O thou poor, thou pretty darling!" cried I, frantic with delight, While she gazed upon me smiling, yet with eyes that tears maxie bright, . J v ij " Let thy beauty be thy dower, and be mine to have and hold ; ^^ For a face as sweet as thou hast needs, in sooth, no frame of gold. SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 165 THE FASHIONABLE CHOIR, T. C. Harbough. 'iVas a stylish congregation, that of Theophrastus Brown, and its organ was the finest and the biggest in the town, and the chorus — all the papers favourably commented on it, for 'twas said each female member wore a forty-dollar bonnet. Now in the " amen corner " of the church sat Brother Eyer, who persisted every Sabbath-day in singing with the choir ; he was poor, but genteel-looking, and his hair as snow was white, and his old face beamed with sweetness when he sang with all his might. His voice was cracked and broken, age had touched his M'cal chords, and nearly every Sunday he would mispronounce the woids of the hymns: and 'twas no wonder; he was old and nearly blind, and the choir rattling onward always left him far behind. The chorus stormed and blustered. Brother Eyer sang too slow, and then he used the tunes in vogue a hundred years ago ; at last the storm-cloud burst, and the church was told, in fine, that the brother must stop singing, or the choir would resign. Then the pastor called together in the lecture-room one day seven influential members who subscribe more than they pray, and having asked God's guidance in a printed prayer or two, they put their heads together to determine what to do. They debated, thought, suggested, tiU at last "dear Brother York", who last year made a million on a sudden rise in pork, rose and moved that a committee wait at once on Brother Eyer, and proceed to rate him lively " for disturbin' of the choir". Said he: " In that 'ere organ I've invested quite a pile, and we'll sell it if we cannot worship in the latest style. Our Philadelphy tenor tells me 'tis the hardest thing fer to make God understand him when the brother tries to sing. We've got the biggest organ, the best dressed choir in town, we pay the steepest sal'ry to our pastor. Brother Brown ; but if we must humour ignor- ance because it's blind and old — if the choir's to be pestered, I will seek another fold." Of course the motion carried, and one day a coach-and-four, with the latest style of driver, rattled up to flyer's door ; and the sleek, well-dressed committee. Brothers Sharkey, York, and Lamb, as they crossed the humble portal took good care to miss the jamb. They found the choir's great trouble sitting in his old arm-chair, and the summer's golden sunbeams lay upon his thin white hair; he was singing "Rock of Ages" in a voice both cracked and low, but the augels understood him, 'twas all he cared to know. 166 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. Said York : " We're here, dear brother, with the vestry's approba- tion, to discuss a little matter that affects the congregation." "And the choir, too," said Sharkey, giving Brother York a nudge. "And the choir, too !" he echoed, with the graveness of a judge. " It was the understanding when we bargained for the chorus, that it was to relieve us, that is, do the singing for us; if we rupture the agi-ee- ment, it is very plain, dear brother, it will leave our congregation and be gobbled by another. We don't want any singing except that what we've bought! The latest tunes are all the rage; the old ones stand for naught; and so we have decided— are you listening. Brother Eyer?— that you'll have to stop your singin', for it flurry- tates the choir." The old man slowly raised his head, a sign that he did hear, and on his cheek the trio caught the glitter of a tear ; his feeble hands pushed back the locks, white as the silky snow, as he answered the committee in a voice both sweet and low. " I've sung the Psalms of David for nearly eighty years ; they've been my staff and comfort, and calmed life's many tears. I'm sorry I disturb the choir, perhaps I'm doing wrong; but when my heart is filled with praise, I can't keep back a song. I wonder if beyond the tide that's breaking at my feet, in the far-off heavenly temple, where the Master I shall greet— yes, I wonder, when I try to sing the songs of God up higher, if the angel band will chide me for disturbing heaven's choir." A silence filled the little room; the old man bowed his head; the carriage rattled on again, but Brother Eyer was dead 1 Yes, dead ! his hand had raised the veil the future hangs before us, and the Master dear had called him to the everlasting chorus. THE BIVOUAC FIRE. Samuel K. Cowan. Round the bivouac fire, at midnight, lay the weary soldier-band ; bloody were their spears with slaughter, gory was each hero's hand, for the gha,stly strife was ended : From sach soul a whisper came— "God of battles, we have triumphed ; hallowed be Thy holy name!" It was beautiful, at midnight, when the bloody war was done, when the battle clashed no longer, and no longer blazed the sun, calmly, in the balmy starlight, to repose out-wearied limbs; not a sound to stir the stillness, save the sound of holy hymns : " Thou hast given us the glory : Thou hast bade our troubles cease : Thou art great aa God of battles : Thou art best aa God of peace I" SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 167 Pensive, by the gleaming firelight, mute one lonely Soldier stood; in his hand he grasj^ed a paper, scrawled in letters large and crude — in his gory hands he grasped it ; and the tender childlike tear, from his manful bosom welling, bathed the blood upon his spear ! Tlien the gory paper oped he, scrawled in letters crude and wild — "Little news from England, comrades ; 'tis a letter from my child." "O my father! what hath kept you? You are nigh three years away ; it was snowtime when you left us— this is morn of new year's day. ' Good-bye, baby, until summer, or till Christmas-time,' you said: O my father! what hath kept you? summer, Christmas, twice have fled. Mother says your war is holy — that you bear a noble name — that you fight for God and honour, and oo shield our home from shame ; yet I often hear her praying : ' Make all war, O God, to cease : Thou art great as God of battles : Thou art best as God of peace '. Night and morn I pray for father ; in the sunny morning hours I am often in the garden ; I have sown your name in flowers — like your coat, in flowers of scarlet, all in tulips soldier-red. Come, before the flowers are faded^ — come, before your name is dead ! Little brother died at Christmas^mother told me not to tell — but I think it better, father, for you said, ' The dead are well '. He was buried side o' Mary : mother since has never smiled. Till we meet, good-bye, dear father . . . from your loving little CHILD." Silent wore the night to morning — silent, at their soul's desire, lay the soldiers, lost in dreaming, round the dying bivouac fire : home were they again in^England ! miles were they from war's alarms ! . . . Hark I the sudden bugle sounding ! hark ! the cry, " To arms ! to arms!" Out from ambush, out from thicket, charged the foemen through the plain ; " Up, my warriors ! arm, my heroes ! strike for God and home again ! — for our homes, our babes, our country !" and the rudd)'^ morning light flared on brandished falchions, bloody still with gore of yesternight. Purple grew the plain with slaughter, steed and rider side by side ; and the crimson day of carnage ir a crimson sunset died : shuddering on the field of battle glimpsed the starlight overhead ; and the moon- light, ghostlike, glimmered on the dying and the dead. Faint and few around the firelight were the laid out-wearied limbs — faint and few the hero- voices that uprose in holy hymns; few the warriors left to whisper, "Thou hast cast our foes to shame: God of battles, we have triumphed ; hallowed be Thy mighty name !" On the purple plain of slaugliter, who is this that smiles in rest, with a shred of gory paper lying on his mangled bi'east? nought re- 168 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. malinng save a fragment, scrawled in letters crude and wild— "Till we raeet, good-bye, dear father, from your loving little child ! " Eaise bin. softly, lift him gently; staunch his life-blood ebbmg slow; he is breathing! he is whispering? What is this he mutters low? "Saved' my child- my home-my country! Father, give my pangs release: Thou art great as God of battles: Thou art best aa God of peace." . . ^ , . ,, , (By special permission of tM Avxlwr.) THE TALE HE TOLD THE MAEINES. Thetre Smith. Some time ago I was staying with Sir George P ' ^TT House P shire. Great numbers of people were there— all kmds of amusements going on. Driving, riding, fishing, shooting-every- thing, in fact. Sir George's daughter, Fanny, was often my com- panion in these expeditions, and I was considerably struck with her She could ride like Nimrod, she could drive like Jehu, she could row like Charon, she could dance like Teipischore, she could run like Diana, she walked like Juno, and she looked like Venus. You should have heard that girl whistle, and laugh-you should have heard her laugh. She was truly a delightful companion. We rode together, drove together, fished together, walked together danced together, sang together; I called her Fanny, and she called me Tom All this could have but one termination, you know. 1 fell in love with her, and determined to take the first opportunity of proposing. So one day, when we were out together fishing on the lake I went down on my knees amongst the gudgeons, seized her hand, pressed it to my waistcoat, and in burning accents entreated her to become my wife. „ " Don't be a fool ! Now drop it, do I and put me a fresh worm on. " Oh, Fanny ! don't talk about worms when marriage is m ques- tion. Only say — " . , . " I tell you what it is now-if you don't drop it I'll pitch yon out of the boat." , , , Gentlemen, I did not drop it; and I give you my word of honour, with a sudden shove, she sent me flying into the water ; then seizing the sculls, with a stroke or two she put several yards between us, and burst into a fit of laughter. I swam up and climbed into the boat " Jeukyns!" said I to myself, "Revenge! revenge! I dis- guised my feelings. I laughed-hideous mockery of mirth-1 laughed Pulled to the bank, went to the house, and changed my SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION, 169 clothes. When I appeared at the dinner-table, I perceived that every one had been informed of my ducking — universal laughter greeted me. During dinner Fanny repeatedly whispered to her neighbour, and glanced at me. Smothered laughter invariably followed. " Jenkyns ! " said I, " Revenge ! " The opportunity soon offered. There was to be a balloon ascent from the lawn, and Fanny had tormented her father into letting her ascend with the aeronaut. I instantly took my plans ; bribed the aeronaut to plead illness at the moment when the machine should have risen ; learned from him the management of the balloon ; and calmly awaited the result. The day came. The weather was fine. The balloon was inflated. Fanny was in the car. Everything was ready, when the aeronaut suddenly fainted. He was carried into the house, and Sir George accom- panied him to see that he was properly attended to. Fanny was in despair. "Am I to lose my air expedition 1 Someone understands the management of this thing, surely? Nobody! Tom! you under- stand it, don't you?" "Perfectly!" " Come along, then ! Be quick ; before papa comes back." The company in general endeavoured to dissuade her from hei project, but of course in vain. After a decent show of hesitation, I climbed into the car. The balloon was cast off, and rapidly sailed heavenward. There was scarcely a breath of wind, and we rose almost straight up. We rose above the house, and she laughed, and said : "How jolly!" We were higher than the highest trees, and she smiled, and said it was very kind of me to come with her. We were so high that the people below looked mere specks, and she hoped that I thoroughly understood the management of the balloon. Now was ray time. "I understand the going up part," I answered; "to come down is not so easy," and whistled. " What do you mean?" "Why, when you want to go up faster, you throw some sand overboard." " Don't be foolish, Tom." " Foolish ! Oh dear, no ! but whether I go along the ground, or up in the air, I like to go the pace, and so do you, Fanny, I know," and over went another sand-bag. " Why, you're mad, surely." (996) F2 170 SELECTIONS FOR READING AKD RECITATION. " Only with love, my dear ; only Avith love for you. Oh, Fanuy, I adore you ! Say you will be my wife." " I gave you an answer the other day. One which I should Lave thought you would have remembered," she added, laughing a little, notwithstanding her terror. " I remember it perfectly, but I intend to have a different reply to that. You see those five sand-bags; I shall ask you five times to become my wife. Every time you refuse I shall throw over a sand- bag — so, lady fair, reconsider your decision, and consent to become Mrs. Jenkyns." " I won't ! I never will ! and, let me tell you, that you are acting in a very ungentlemanly way to press me thus." " You acted in a very unladylike way the other day, did 3'ou not, when you knocked me out of the boat? However, it's no good arguing about it — will you promise to give me your hand 1 " " Never ! I'll go to Ursa Major first, though I've got a big enougl bear here, in all conscience." She looked so pretty that I was almost inclined to let her off (I was only trying to frighten her, of course — I knew how high we could go safely well enough, and how valuable the life of Jenkyns was to his country) ; but resolution is one of the strong points of my character, and when I've begun a thing I like to carry it through, so I threw over another sand- bag, and whistled the "Dead Mai'ch in Saul". " Come, Mr. Jenkyns — come, Tom, let us descend now, and I'll promise to say nothing whatever about all this." I continued the execution of the "Dead March". " But if you do not begin the descent at once, I'll teU papa the moment I set foot on the ground." I laughed, seized another bag, and, looking steadily at her, said : " Will you promise to give me your hand?" " I've answered you already." Over went the sand, and the solemn notes of the " Dead March " resounded through the car. " I thought you were a gentleman, but I find I was mistaken ; why, a chimney-sweeper would not treat a lady in such a way. Do you know that you are risking your own life as weU as mine by your madness?" I explained that I adored her so much that to die in her companj would be perfect bliss, so that I begged she would not consider my feelings at all. She dashed her beautiful hair from her face, and standing perfectly erect, looking like the Goddess of Anger or Boadicea — if you can fancy that personage in a balloon — she said • SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 171 " I command you to begin the descent this instant!" The Dead March, whistled in a manner essentially gay and lively, was the only response. After a few minutes' silence, I took up another bag, and said : " We are getting rather high ; if you do not decide soon we shall have Mercury coming to tell us that we are trespassing — will you promise me your hand?" She sat in sulky silence at the bottom of the car. I threw ever the sand. Then she tried another plan. Throwing herself upon her knees, and bursting into tears, she said : " Oh, forgive me for what I did the other day ! It was very wrong, and I am very sorry. Take me home, and I will be a sister to you." "Not a wife?" "I can't! I can't 1" Over w^ent the fourth bag, and I began to think she would beat me after all ; for I did not like the idea of going much higher. I would not give in just yet, however. I whistled for a few moments, to give her time for reflection, and then said : " Fanny, they say that marriages are made in Heaven — if you dc not care, ours will be solemnized there." I took up the fifth bag. " Ck^me, Fanny, my wife in life, or my companion in death I which is it to be?" and I patted the sand-bag in a cheerful manner. She held her face in her hands, but did not answer. I nursed the bag in my arms, as if it had been a baby." "Come, Fanny, give me your promise !" I could hear her sobs. I'm the most soft-hearted creature breath- ing, and would not pain any living thing, and, I confess, she had beaten me. I forgave her the ducking ; I forgave her for rejecting me. I was on the point of flinging the bag back into the car, and saying ; " Dearest Fanny ; forgive me for frightening you. Marry whomsoever you will. Give your lovely hand to the lowest groom in your stables — endow with your priceless beauty the chief of the Panki-wanki Indians. Whatever happens, Jenkyns is your slave — your dog — your footstool. His duty, henceforth, is to go whither- soever you shall order — to do whatever you shall command." I was just on the point of saying this, I repeat, when Fanny suddenly looked up, and said, with a queerish expression upon her face : " You need not throw that last bag over. I promise to give you my hand." " With all your heart?" I asked quickly. " With all my heart," she answered, with the same strange look 172 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. I tossed the bag into the bottom of the car, and opened the valve. The balloon descended. Gentlemen, will you believe it? When we reached the ground, and the balloon had been given over to its recovered master— when I had helped Fanny tenderly to the earth, and turned towards her to receive anew the promise of her aflfection and her hand— will you believe it?— she gave me a box on the ear that upset me against the cai', and running to her father, who at that moment came up, she related to him and the assembled company what she called my dis- graceful conduct in the balloon, and ended by informing me that ail of her hand that I was likely to get was bestowed on my ear, which she assured me had been given with all her heart. THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. two charactees. Sir Peter Teazle. Lady Teazlr Sir Peter's House. Enter Sir Peter. Sir P. When an old bachelor mai-ries a young wife, what is he to expect? 'Tis now six months since Lady Teazle made me the happiest of men, and I have been the most miserable dog ever since. We tiffed a little going to church, and came to a quarrel before the beUs had done ringing. I was more than once nearly choked with gaU during the honeymoon, and had lost all comfort of life before my friends had done wishing me joy. Yet I chose with caution ; a girl bred whoUy in the country, who never knew luxury beyond one silk gown, nor dissipation above the annual gala of a race-ball. Yet now she plays her part in all the extravagant fopperies of the fashion and the town with as ready a grace as if she had never seen a bush or a grassy plot out of Grosvenor Square! I am sneered at by all my acquaintance, and paragraphed in the newspapers. She dissi- pates my fortune, and contradicts all my humours; yet, tne worst of it is, I doubt I love her, or I should never bear all tbis. Wow- ever, I'll never be weak enough to own it. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it ! Bkter Lady Teazle. Lady T. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, aa you please- but I ought to have my own way in everything; and what's' more, I will, too. What ! though I was educated in the SELECTIONS FOR READIWO AlO) RECITATIOW. 173 country, I know very weii that women of fashion in London are aecouutable to nobody after they are married. Sir P. Very well, ma'am, very well ! so a husband is to have no influence, no authority? Ladi/ T. Authority! No, to be sure: if you wanted authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me : I am sure you were old enough. Sir P. Old enough ! ay, there it is. Well, well, Lady Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be ruined by your extravagance. Lady T. My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than a woman of fashion ought to be. Sir P. No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. 'Slife ! to spend as much to furnish your dressing-room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon into a greenhouse, and give &fite champetre at Christmas. Lady T Lud, Sir Peter, am I to blame, because flowers are dear in cold weather? You should find fault with the climate, and not with me. For my part, I'm sure, I wish it were spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet ! Sir P. Oons ! madam, if you had been bom to this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus; but you forget what your situation was when I married you. Lady T. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or I should never have married you. Sir P. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat an humbler style : the daughter of a plain country 'squire. Recollect, Lady Teazle, when I first saw you sitting at your tambour, in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your side; your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted, of your own working. Lady T. Oh, yes ! I remember it very well, and a curious life I led. My daily occupation to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt-book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog. Sir P. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so, indeed. Lady T. And then, you know, my evening amusements! To draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make up ; to play Pope Juan with the curate ; to read a novel to my aunt ; oi- to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase. Sir P. I am glad you have got so good a memory. Yes, madam. 174 SELECTIONS FOE READING AND KECITATION. these were the recreations I took you from ; but now you must have your coach, vis-a-vis, and three powdered footmen before your chair; and, in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens, No recollection, I suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the butler, on a dock'd coach-horse. Lady T. No; I swear I never did that: I deny the butler and the coach-horse. Sir P. This, madam, was your situation ; and what have I done for you? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank ; in short, I have made you my wife. Lady T. Well, then, and there is but one thing you can make me to add to the obligation, and that is — Sir P. My widow, I suppose ? Lady T. Hem ! hem 1 Sir P. I thank you, madam ; but don't flatter yourself ; for though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, I promise you : however, I am equally obliged to you for the hint. Lady T. Then why will you endeavour to make yourself so dis- agreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense 1 Sir P. 'Slif e I madam, I say, had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married mel Lady T. Lud, Sir Peter 1 would you have me out of the fashion? Sir P. The fashion, indeed 1 What had you to do with the fashion before you married mel I^dy T. For my part I should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste. Sir P. Ay, there again ; taste, zounds, madam, you had no taste when you married me. Lady T. That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter ; and after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. Lud I Sir Peter, I hope you haven't been quarrelling with Maria'. It is not using me well to be ill-humoured when I am not by. Sir P. Ah ! Lady Teazle, you might have the power to make me good-humoured at all times. Lady T. I am sure I wish I had; for I want you to be in a charming sweet temper at this moment. Do be good-humoured now, and let me have two hundred pounds, will you? Sir P. Two hundred pounds 1 What, a'n't I to be in a good- humour without payijig for it? But speak to me thus, and i'faith ! there's nothing I could refuse. You shall have it; {gives notes) but seal me a bond for the repayment. SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 175 Lady T. Oh ! no : there, my note of hand will do as well. Sir P. And you shall no longer reproach me with not giving you an independent settlement. I mean shortly to surprise you : but shall we always live thus ? eh ! Lady T. If you please. I'm sure I don't care how soon we leave off quarrelling, provided you'll own you were tired first. 8ir P. Well, then, let our future conte.st be, who shall be most obliging. Lady T. I assure you. Sir Peter, good-nature becomes you ; you look now as you did before we were married, when you used to walk with me under the elms, and tell me stories of what a gallant you were in your youth, and chuck me under the chin, you would ; and ask me if I thought I could love an old fellow, who would deny me nothing — didn't you? Sir P. Yes, yes ; and you were as kind and attentive — Lady T. Ay, so I was : and would always take your part, when my acquaintances used to abuse you, and turn you into ridicule. Sir P. Indeed. Lady T. Ay, and when my cousin Sophy has called you a stiff, peevish, old bachelor, and laughed at me for thinking of marrying one who might be my father, I have always defended you, and .said, I didn't think you so ugly by any means. Sir P. Thank you. Lady T. And I dared say you'd make a very good sort of hus- band. Sir P. And you prophesied right ; and we shall now be the hap- piest couple — Lady T. And never differ again ? Sir P. No never ; though at the same time, indeed, my dear Lady Teazle, you must watch your temper very seriously ; for in all our little quarrels, my dear, if you recollect, my love, you always begin first. Lady T. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter: indeed, you always give the provocation. Sir P. Now see, my angel ! take care : contradicting isn't the way to keep friends. Lady T. Then don't you begin it, my love. Sir P. There, now; you — you are going on. You don't perceive, my life, that you are just doing the very thing which you know always makes me angry. Lady T. Nay, you know, if yon will be angry without any rea.son, my deal' — 176 SELECTIONS FOR RKAUINO AND RBCIT>TION Sir P. There ! now yon want to quarrel again. Ladi/ T. No, I am sure I don't : but you will be so peevish— Sir F. There now, who begins first? Lady T. Why, you, to be sure. I said nothing : but there's no bearing your temper, 8ir F. No, no, madam ; the fault's in your own temper. Lady T, Ay, you are just what my cousin Sophy said you would be. Sir P. Your cousin Sophy is a forward, impertinent gipsy. Lady T. You are a great bear, I'm sure, to abuse my relations. Sir P. Now, may all the plagues of marriage be doubled on me, if ever I try to be friends with you any more. Lady T. So much the better. Sir P. No, no, madam ; 'tis evident you never cared a pin for me, and I was a madman to marry you : a pert, rural coquette, that had refused half the honest squires in the neighbourhood. Lady T. And I am sure I was a fool to marry you: an old, dangling bachelor, who was single at fifty, only because he never could meet with any one that would have him. Sir P. Ay, ay, madam ; but you were pleased enough to listen to me : you never had such an ofi'er before. Lady T. No 1 didn't I refuse Sir Tivy Terrier, who, everybody said, would have been a better match ! for his estate is just as gooti as yours, and he has broken his neck since we have been married. Sir P. I have done with you, madam. You are an unfeeling, ungrateful — but there's an end of everything. I believe you capable of everything that is bad. Yes, madam, I now believe the reports relative to you and Charles, madam. Yes, madam, you and Charles are — not without grounds — Lady T. Take care. Sir Peter ; you had better not insinuate any such thing. I'll not be suspected without cause, I promise you. Sir P. Very well, madam ; very well. A separate maintenance as soon a.8 you please. Yes, madam, or a divorce. I'll make an example of myself for the benefit of all old bachelors. Lady T. Agreed, agreed I And now, my dear Sir Peter, we are of a mind once more, we may be the happiest couple and never differ again, you know. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, you are going to be in a passion, I see, and I shall only interrupt you — so, bye, bye! \Exit. Sir P. Plagues and tortures! Can't I make her angry either? Oh I I am the most miserable fellow ! but I'll not bear her pre- suming to keep her temper: no; she may break my heart, but she sha'n't keep her temper. SELECTIONS FOR READIKQ AND REGIT ATI OX. 17T CHARLES EDWARD AT VERSAILLES, ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE BATTLE OF CULLODEN. Professor Aytoun. Take away that star and garter — hide them from my aching sight ! Neither king nor prince shall tempt me from my lonely room this night. Let the shadows gather round me while I sit in silence here, Broken-hearted, as an orphan watching by his father's bier. Let me hold my still communion far from every earthly sound — Day of penance — day of passion — ever, as the year comes round : Fatal day ! wherein the latest die was cast for me and mine — Cruel day ! that quelled the fortunes of the hapless Stuart line ! Phantom-like, as in a mirror, rise the grisly scenes of Death — There, before me, in its wildness, stretches bare CuUoden's heath ! There the broken clans are scattered, gaunt as wolves, and famine- eyed. Hunger gnawing at their vitals, hope abandoned, all but pride. There thev stand, the battered columns, underneath the murky sky. In the hush of desperation, not to conquer, but to die. Hark, the bagpipe's fitful wailing ; not the pibroch loud and shrill, That, with hope of bloody banquet, lured the ravens from the hill,— But a dirge both low and solemn, fit for ears of dying men, Jslarshalled for their latest battle, never more to fight again. Madness — madness! why this shrinking? were we less inured to war When our reapers swept the harvest from the field of red Dunbar? Bring my horse, and blow the trumpet 1 Call the riders of Fitz- James : Let Lord Lewis head the column ! valiant chiefs of mighty names — Trusty Keppoch ! stout Glengarry ! gallant Gordon I wise Lochiel ! Bid the clansmen hold together, fast and fell, and fii-m as steel. Elcho! never look so gloomy — what avails a saddened brow? Heart, man 1 heart ! — we need it sorely, never half so much as now. Had we but a thoiisand troopers, had we but a thousand more ! Noble Perth, I hear them coming ! — Hark ! the English cannons roar. Ah ! how awful sounds that volley, bellowing through the mist and rain ! Was not that the Highland slogan? let me hear that shout again ! Oh, for prophet eyes to witness how the desperate battle goes! Cumberland! I would not fear thee, could my Camerons see their foes. 178 SELECTIONS FOR READING AND RECITATION Sound, I say, the charge at venture — 'tis not naked steel we fear ; Better perish in the melee than be shot like diiven deer ! Hold ! the mist begins to scatter ! there in front 'tis rent asunder, And the cloudy bastion crumbles underneath the deafening thunder. Chief and vassal, lord and yeoman, there they lie in heaps together, Smitten by the deadly volley, rolled in blood upon the heather; And the Hanoverian horsemen, fiercely riding to and fro. Deal their murderous strokes at random — Woe is me ! where am I now? Will that baleful vision never vanish from my aching sight? Must those scenes and sounds of terror haunt me still by day and night? Yes, the earth hath no oblivion for the noblest chance it gave, None, save in its latest refuge — seek it only in the grave ! Love may die, and hatred slumber, and their memoi-y will decay. As the watered garden recks not of the drought of yesterday ! But the dream of power once broken, what shall give repose again? What shall chain the serpent-furies coiled around the maddening brain? What kind draught can Nature offer strong enough to lull tlieJT sting? Better to l)e born a peasant than to live an exiled King! Oh ! my heart is sick and heavy — Southern gales are not for me : Though the glens are white in Scotland, place me there and set me free ! Grive me back my trusty comrades— give me back my Highland maid — Nowhere beats the heart so kindly as beneath the tartan plaid ! Flora ! when thou wert beside me, in the wilds of far Kiutsiil — When the cavern gave us shelter from the blinding sleot and hail — When we lurk'd within the thicket, and, beneath the waning moon. Saw the sentry's bayonet glimmer, heai'd him chant his listless tune — When the howling storm o'ertook us, drifting down the island's lee, And our crazy bark was whirling like a nut-shell on the sea — Wlien the nights were dark and dreary, and amidst the fern we lay, Faint and foodless, sore with ti-avel, waiting for the streaks of day; When thou wert an angel to me, watching my exhausted sleep — Never didst thou hear me murmur — couldst thou see how now i weep! — Bitter tears and sobs of anguish, unavailing tliough they be — Oh! tlie brave — the brave and noble — that have died in vain for me! bELBCl'lONS FOR READING AND RECITATION. 17» THE BUILDING OF ST. SOPHIA. Eev. Sabine Barinq-Gould. JiiRtinian, Emperor and Augustus, bent On the imperial city's due embellishment, Whilst musing, sudden started up and cried ; " There is no worthy minster edified Under the Ruler of