UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES pNIVERSITY of CALlFOK«i«k AT LUS ANGELES UBBJiRY SCHOOL AND COLLEGE SPEAKER EDITED BY WILMOT BROOKINGS MITCHELL Pyv/essor of Rhetoric and Oratory Bowdoin College NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 143297 Copyright, 1901, BY HENRY HOLT & CO. Marcli. ig3j PRlXTi:i:» IN THE U. S. A. PREFACE This book is designed for the use of classes in Public Speaking in colleges and secondary schools. It seeks to give instruction in the essentials of Elocution, and to furnish declamations adapted to school and college boys and girls. In compiling these declamations I have sought those which furnish exercise in the various elements of expression and at tlie same time appeal to students, — those which present a vivid picture, tell an interesting tale, deal with a concrete situation, or advocate principles and policies fervently and eloquently. Many of these selections are new; they deal with live sub- jects; a large number of them have never before been printed as declamations. Nearly all of them, however, have been tested in prize-speaking contests and classroom work in Bowdoin College. To encourage the wide reading that is essential to intelli- gent and appreciative speaking, I have given in nearly all cases definite references to the whole speech, oration, poem, or story from which the selection is taken. I wish to acknowledge my indebtedness to many of the authors of these declamations for valuable suggestions, and to the publishers mentioned in the prefatory notes for generous permission to use copyrighted selections. W. B. M. BowDoiN College, Brunswick, Me. iii TABLE OF CONTENTS PACK Preface iii Breathing ix Exercises in Breathing xiii Pronunciation xvii Elements of Expression xxxiv Quality xxxiv Force xlvi Pitch li Time Ixiv Emphasis Ixxii Gesture Ixxxi Preparation for Readii;g and Speaking xcv Proper Names P"ound in the Selections and Words Often Mispronounced 345 Index of Authors 353 Index of Titles 355 SELECTIONS FOR SPEAKING Ray's Ride Charles King I New England Civilization William Pierce Frye 5 The Death of Charles the NiNTH.Maude Moore 7 The Traditions of Massachu- setts Henry Cabot Lodge 11 Great Britain and America Edwin Oliver Wolcott 15 Mr. Travers's First Hunt Richard Harding Davis 17 Our Duty to the Philippines William McKinley 20 The Storming of Mission Ridge. .Benjamin Franklin Taylor. . . 23 The Bible Newell Dwight Hillis 26 A Plea for Cuba John Mellen Thurston 28 The Heart of Old Hickory Will Allen Dromgoole 31 The Fight Off Santiago Henry Cabot Lodge 36 The Lark Charles Reade 38 Maine at Gettysburg Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain 39 Banty Tim .John Hay 43 VI TAtiir. Oh COS'll-.NTS )'Ar.B A«; viNsr l'.xr.\NsliiN Hinry I'. Johnson 45 TliK IUiai-Kack KolH.'rt (Irant 48 ■ What tiik 1i.ai; Mkans llt-nry CaUtt l^nl^c 51 AuAiNsr uiK Si'uii^ Svsii-.M IKnry van Dyke 53 Nkw Amkricamsm Ikiiry Waltcrson 55 The Man Wrniorr a Ciiintry. . . .IMwanl Kvcrt-tt Mali- 57 OXKORD t'oiN lY John I )avis Long 5<) From " KVANGKl.lNK " llriiry Waclsworth I^oiiglrllow Uz TiiK MoNROK Doi TKi.NK Joliii Mcllcn Tluirston 06 TiiK Dkaih rKNAi.iY \ictor Marie IIujjo 60 Amkkuan UAiTi.K-Ki.Aiis Carl Scliiir/ 71 Tiik 1>i.i.i.-Rin<;kr of '70 Anonymous 75 'I'liK Tkumpii ok Pf.ACK Kdwin llulilull Cli;ipin 75 CIreF-K Kkvohtion Henry Clay 78 The I'ath of Dity George I-'risbic Hour 80 The Maiden Martyr Anonymous S3 The State <>f Maini, William Pierce Fryc 80 Daniel Wekstfk George Frisbic Iloar 88 The War with Amfrua Lord Chatham Oi I>RlER-RosE Hjalmar Iljorth Royesen 92 Let Us Haye Teack Henry Waiicrson 96 The Mission of the Public School. William Dc Witt Hyde 98 The Secret of Lincoln's Power . .Henry WatterMjii loi The Fool's Prayer l". TIIK tlKAV Hiiirv Calx>t l^xlgo 246 Thk Soi'THKRN Nki;ro 1 Iciiry WiKnifon Gmdy 248 TiiK Chariot Race Lt-w Wallace 251 Kei'I.y to Mr. Corry Henry Graltaii 254 One NiciiK tiik Highest Klihu Huiritt 256 ('•RANT William McKinlcy 260 I'nter pen LiNPEN Emma Huntiiigton Nason. . . . 262 The Schools and Colleges ok Our Coin TRY Charles William Elint 263 Against Flogging in tiik Navy. . . Robert Field Stockton 265 Claidils and Cynthia Maurice Thompson 267 On Receiving the Master's De- gree FROM Hakvarh Booker Taliaferro Washington 271 The Soldier Boy John Uavis Long 273 The Unknown Si-eakek George Lippard 275 The City ok New York Frederic Rene Coudert 278 The First Settler's Story Will Carleton 280 The Piritan Spirit Richard Salter Storrs 286 The South and Her Proklems . . Henry Woodfen Grady 289 The Victor of Marengo Anonymous 292 The Protection of Americans in Armenia William Pierce Frye 294 Not Guilty Adapted 296 Spartacus to the Gladiators. . . .Elijah Kellogg 299 New England Character James Gillespie Blaine 302 Meagher's Defense Thomas F'rancis Meagher. . . . 304 A Citizen's Responsibility .William McKinley 306 Toussaint L'Ouverture. . Wendell Phillips 307 Pheidippides Robert Browning 309 The New South Henry Woodfen Grady 313 The Rescue of Lygia Henry k Sienkiewicz 316 Jim Bludso John Hay 322 America's Mission Albert Jeremiah Beveridge.. . . 324 The Vision of War. Robert Green Ingersoll 326 An Incident in the Life of Wen- dell Phillips Theodore Weld 328 The Other Fellow William Hawley Smith 331 To Young Men of New York in 1861 Edward Dickinson Baker. . . . 332 At the Tomb of Napoleon Robert Green Ingersoll 335 For Expansion Joseph C. Sibley 33O The Plumed Knight Robert Green Ingersoll 340 The Last of the Roman Trh;; NF.s.rx)rd Lytton 342 INTRODUCTION BREATHING The stuff of which speech is made is breath. The prin- ciples of right breathing, then, no public speaker can afford to disregard. Ability to control the breath means energy in the place of weariness, clear speaking in the place of stam- mering, and vigorous organs of speech in the place of inflamed throat, obstructed nostrils, and congested blood- vessels. Keep the viouth shut is a precaution that should be given first of all. INIouth-breathing is dangerous. It causes or hastens diseases of the ears, throat, nostrils, and lungs, and thereby injures the voice. Right breathing causes the nostrils to temper the air and, by means of the short, stiff hairs with which they are lined, to strain from it the dust and other impurities which hasten disease; it also prevents disease by keeping the nasal passages open, for, as Catlin says, " the nasal ducts, being vacated, like vacated roads that grow up to grass and weeds, become the seat of polypus and other diseases." * Observation will show that with men, as with horses, " wide, dilated, expanding nostrils are an evidence of capability for physical endurance.'" To avoid mouth-breathing, the causes should first of all be sought. It is often the result of enlarged tonsils, elon- gated uvula, protruding teeth, partial closure of the nostrils by injured septum and diseased membrane, and also of mere * Clinton Wagner: "Habitual Moutli-Breathing," p. 19. Edgar S. Werner, New York. ^ INTRODUCTION halnt. I'o ascertain (Ik- cause it is generally necessary to consult a physician.* /'/// ///«• Itrurr fhirl of Ihc lungs first. Air may be taken into the lunpfs in tliree ways. Kirst by collar-bone breathing. ^\'hen this tnetlioil is employed the abdomen is flattened, the iliaphragm is expamleil and ])ushed upward, the collar-bone and slK)ulders arc raised, and only the upper part of the lungs is filled with air. This nuthod of taking breath has almost nothing in its favor. It may indeed be used when feelings of fatigue arc to be expressed, or when the lower part of the lungs is disabliHl ; but if used extensively, it is disastrous. In the first ])lace the construction of the upper part of the thorax makes this kind of breathing wearisome. The upper ribs being short and attached to the sternum and spine are not so easily moved as the lower or floating ribs. Then, too, in order to expand the upper part of the chest it is necessary to lift a somcwliat heavy bony structure, including the upper ribs, the collar-bone, and the shoulder-blades. * Although in some cases tiie dentist and surgeon may need to take radical measures, in many others simple remedies will afford relief. In case of wrong habit a firm determination will overcome the trouble. Washing the nostrils with a weak solution of borax and water will often aid in keeping them open. The following is a simple remedy suggested by Leo Kofler : '• Lie flat on the back ; put some carliolated vaseline on a finger of the right hand, if the right nostril is blocked ; hold one finger of the left hand upon the left nostril so that no air can pass through it. Put the vaseline into the riglit nostril and sniff" it up powerfully. Repeat this and apply more vaseline till you succeed in getting air through the nostril. Then reverse the process to open the other nostril. It is also helpful to rub the bridge of the nose and its immediate surroundings with vaseline." ' Ti>e lireathing exercises, especially the humming exercise given on page xi, will be found excellent for keeping the nostrils open. For the pernicious habit of keeping the mouth open while sleep- ing, almost *he only effective remedy is forcible closure "by means of a linen or leatlier support fur the luwer jaw. adjusted to the top of the head." • ' Leo Kofler: ' The Art of I'reathing," p. 51. Kdgar .S. Werner, New York. 'Clinton Wagner ; "Habitual Mouth-Breathing," p. 35. Edgar S. Werner, New York. liKi.rniiNG XI I'urllieruiore, to use only tlir uppt;r aiul .smaller ])art of the conical - shaped chest necessitates frequent respiration. Hence by this method we secure the smallest supply of breath at the greatest expense of strength. Collar-bone breathing also necessitates an attempt to con- trol the breath in the throat, which was never intended for this purpose. Such imperfect control of the breathing organs, since it sometimes allows the breath to come in spurts or more air to escape than can be vocalized, often n^.akcs the voice trembling, jerky, or wheezy. It also causes a constrained position of the vocal organs that " prevents due play of the muscles of the vocal bands, alters their physical relation to the impact of the escaping currents of expired air, and thus enfeebles the natural tone of the voice, and renders it less sonorous and less susceptible of modula- tions. In consequence of this the sounds are proportion- ately weak, shrill, and monotonous." * Collar-bone breathing is not healthful. " It forces the upper chest-walls up against the root of the throat and has a tendency to congest the blood-vessels and tissues there. " f It thus brings on "clergymen's sore throat" and kindred ailments. The second method of taking breath is by costal or rib breathing. By this method the thorax is expanded by extending the lower or floating ribs sideways. This has many advantages over the first method. By causing a larger expansion of the chest it gives a greater supply of air, a better control of breath, and therefore purer and more resonant tones than the collar-bone breathing. But since it is not the best, it is to be recommended only when it is combined with the third method, diaphragmatic or ab- dominal breathing. * Cohen : "The Throat and the Voice," p. 140. P. Blakiston, Son & Co., Philadelpliia. f Smith : -'Reading and .Speaking," p. 4. D. C. Heath & Co., Boston. \n iliaplinipm breathing tlic liirgc muscle, the tliajtliragnl, contracts, i.e., flattens, ami jnislies clown the viscera, thus afforiling a larger space in the chest-box for the lungs to expand. This method should almost always be combined with ril) breathing; when the diaphragm flattens, the float- ing and lower ribs should expand sideways. By causing expansion both lateral and vertical this method of breathing jirovides large air-chambers and a generous supply of air. The importance of a large chest-expansion and a good supply of air is manifest when we remember that the chest serves a double purpose — as bellows to supply the air, and also as a resonance- chamber. " It is the greatest mistake to treat the chest as merely a bellows. The purity, as well as depth, resonance, and volume of the tone depends upon the skill which the vocal chords and articulating organs play upon this quiet air-chamber."* But for the chest to do this double duty as it should, there is necessary a complete con- trol of the breath. This is obtained only l)y using the diaphragm. In speech more effort is required to hold the breath back than to give it out. Except when the lungs are nearly emptied or when we are shouting, we are not conscious of any effort to drive the air out of the lungs; it seems to rush forth of itself. What we feel the need of is power to hold the breath, to be economical in its use, and not to allow more to escape than we can vocalize. But we should not, as we have seen, hold the breath back with the glottis or any part of the throat. Such a control means constricted muscles and throaty tones. The muscles of the throat should, when we are speaking, be entirely relaxed. This third method of breathing provides for just this perfect open- ness of the throat. The breath is controlled entirely by the lower intercostal muscles and the diaphragm. ♦Chamberlain and Clark : "Principles of Vocal Expression," p. 172. Scott, Foresman & Co., Chicago. BREATHING xili EXERCISES IN BREATHING CAUTIONS 1. Always in summer, and often in the colder seasons, throw open the windows for a few minutes before beginning the exercises. You can thus be assured that, at each deep breath, you are drawing in, not poisonous gases, but health- giving oxygen. 2. Do not at first overdo the exercises. If you are a person with weak lungs and heart, just the one who needs most to take breathing exercises, you should obey this direc- tion implicitly. Begin by practising not more than ten minutes at a time, possibly not more than five minutes, two or three times a day. Then increase gradually the length of the time occupied and the number of times the exercise is taken. If, at first, after trying some of the exercises, you are dizzy, do not be frightened. Simply stop for a time, walk around, slap the cheeks if you wish, and the dizziness will soon pass away. 3. It is not well to exercise directly after eating. 4. Be sure that the muscles about the throat are entirely relaxed. The breath should be controlled, I cannot repeat too often, by the diaphragm and abdominal muscles. There should certainly not be any constrictions at the waist. The clothing of women as well as of men should be sufficiently loose to allow the muscles of the chest and waist free play. " I am tempted to insert," says ]\Ir. Southwick in a similar connection, "the customary protest against the barbarous and silly custom of tight lacing, but so much has been written and spoken against this utterly indefensible method of self-destruction, that ignorance on such a vital point is inexcusable. Sensible parents and teachers know their duty: the law of the survival of the fittest will take care of the rest. ' ' * * Southwick : "Elocution and Actior " p. 23. Edgar S. Werner, New York. \'\ LMKODUCTION 5. Do n«>l try to |>u>li (.>ut the abiloiiun as far as possible. 6. Kinally it ^houl^.l l.o saiil tliat the exercises arc not wortli the time you spend in readin}? about them, unless yt u take thetn regularly. Vou cannot take enough exercise in a day to last a month. To be of real benefit the exercise must be regular, insistent, taken rain or shine, day in and day out. TO AH) IN ni.LINc; THE KNTIKK LUNGS 1. Take an erect position. Inhale slowly through the nostrils, filling the lower part of the lungs first, then the upper j)art. The abdomen will at first be pushed out, but when the upper part of the lungs is expanded, it will slightly recede. Set the upper chest firm. Hold the breath a few seconds — not more than five in beginning — by keeping the diaphragm fiat; then exhale slowly through the nostrils. 2. Inhale, and retain the breath, as in F.xercise i ; exhale through the mouth on the sound of " ha ", allowing all the air to escape at once. 3. Inhale, and retain the breatli, as in Kxercisc i; then, in order to fill all the air-cells, j)at lightly the upper j)art of the lungs. Kxhale slowly on the sound of " a ''. This and the following exercise should be practiced with care. Aever strike the lungs severely. 4. Inhale, and retain the breath, as in Exercise i. Bend fonvard, letting some one pat you lightly, very lightly, upon the back ; exhale, expelling all the air at once. (In speaking of exercises similar to this and the preceding, Leo Kofler says: " Frequently, many, perhaps thousands, of the little, fine air-cells of the lungs may become com- pletely closed or shrivelled in consequence of prolonged imperfect breathing. ... In such cases, this exercise will give complete relief." *) * ''The Art of Breathing," p. 90, Edgar S. Werner, N'evy SurK BREATHING xv 5. Stand erect with arms hanging at the sides of the body. Inhale through the nostrils, at the same time rising on the toes and lifting the arms sideways until the hands, the palms being downward, are level with the shoulders. Hold the breath a few seconds; then exhale slowly through the nostrils, gradually lowering the hands to the sides, and the heels to the floor. 6. Inhale, and retain the breath, as in Exercise i. Place the hands on the hips with thumbs behind; bend the body to the right three times, to the left three times, then exhale slowly through the nostrils. TO AID IN KXPANDIN'G THE UPPER CHEST 7. " Place the back of one hand just below the shoulders, with fingers of the other a little below the collar-bone. Let the chest collapse, or fall in. Stretch against both hands, expanding the body in a diagonal line, outward and upward, downward and backward." * 8. " Stand erect ; stretch both arms forward at right angles with the che.st, fingers extended. Take a full breath ener- getically through the nostrils; retain the air a little while, then draw the arms gently back, and expel the air all at once through the compressed lips. Then draw the arms violently forward, taking simultaneously a vigorous breath through the nostrils; hold it a short time, then throw the arms violently back, closing the fists, and expel the air forcibly through the compressed lips. Do this a few times in succession." f 9. Repeat Exercise 5. In the same way raise the hands in front with the palms downward and with the ends of the thumbs touching. Also raise the hands above the head, touching the ends of the thumbs. * Chamberlain and Clark : " Principles of Vocal Expression," p. 173. Scott, Foresman & Co , Chicago. + Leo Kofler: "The Art of Breathing," p. 93. Edgar S. Werner, New York. xvi JNTROnUCTION TO AIU IN STRKNGTHF.MM; AM) IN lIKTTlNc; CONTKOI. OF THE INIKKlOSTAL MUSCLES lo. Inhale througli tlic nostrils, fillinjj^ the lower part of the lungs first, enlarging the waist as if trying to burst a belt. Rit.un the breath for a few seconds; exhale slowly through a small opening in the Hjjs, contracting the siiies as much as possible. I I. riacc the hands at the sides on the lower or floating ribs with thumbs behind. Standing erect, inhale through the nostrils, expanding the trunk sideways against the hands. Pressing in slightly with the hands, exhale through a small opening of the lips. 12. Place the hands on the sides as near the armpits as possible. Inhale slowly through the nostrils, expanding the trunk sideways against the hands. TO AID I.\ LEARNING TO INHALE QUICKLY AND INAUDIBLY 13. Stand erect; inhale througli the nostrils quickly; exhale slowly through the nostrils. 14. Inhale quickly and inaudibly through the nostrils with mouth open; exhale slowly through a small opening of the lips. 15. Inhale quickly and inaudibly through the mouth; exhale gently through the nostrils. TO SECURE ECONOMICAL EXPIRATION OE BREATH 16. Stand upright; inhale slowly through the nostrils, fill- ing the lower part of the lungs first; exhale slowly and Steadily through the nostrils. 17. Inhale slowly through the nostrils; exhale slowly and steadily through the mouth, holding the breath back with the diaphragm. (In taking this exercise for the first time, you will find that the breath comes in spurts. This unevenness may be easily detected by exhaling through a pitch-pipe, or better by hold- PRONUNCIATION xvii ing a lighted candle in front of the mouth. Practice until you can exhale without causing the flame of the candle to flicker.) 1 8. Inhale slowly through the nostrils. Exhale, counting the numerals up to twenty-five, controlling the breath with the diaphragm. (Do not try to empty the lungs completely. In reading or speaking never allow the lungs to get entirely empty.) 19. Expanding the oral cavity by keeping the tongue down and lifting the uvula, as you do when yawning, inhale through a small opening of the lips. " Quietly closing the lips over the parted teeth, exhale gently and evenly through the nostrils on the sound of ' m ', i.e., delicately hum. Be sure that the sound does not quaver." * 20. Inhale through the nostrils. Exhale gently and evenly, through a round opening formed by the lips, on the sound of long " o ". Be sure that the sound is steady. 21. Inhale through the nostrils. Exhale gently and evenly through the mouth on the sound of " ii ". 22. Inhale through the nostrils. Having the muscles of the throat relaxed and controlling the breath by the dia- phragm, shout: " Hullo, John! Where are you going } " PRONUNCIATION " My tex' may be foun' in the fif and six' verses of the secon' chapter of Titus; and the subjec' of my dis'course is ' The Goverment of ar Homes.' " Such slovenly expression, exceedingly irritating to a listener, shows at once how essen- tial to the public speaker is good pronunciation. All people, educated or uneducated, like to listen to clean articulation, to words "delivered out from the lips, as beautiful coins newly issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, perfectly finished ". And everyone is wearied and chafed * Chamberlain and Clark : "Principles of Vocal Expression, p. 192. Scott, Foresman & Co., Chicago. wiii INTRODUCTION l\v indistinct and careless utterance. It rccjuires an excep- tionally good voice, clear and forcible thinkin;V Mackenzie veil says; " ( )ii tlif ]iri>|>ir ]'riKliu~tion of the vowels ilepeiuls ilistinctness of articulation; and tlic final, as it is the severest test, of a speaker's trainint,' is the per- fection of his reiiderini;^ those live Utters omo; ci)M>lituti('ii, coiistitootidii; duke, liookc, instituti-. institoDtc ; mule, imoilc; jjnxlucc, proiioiKc; sinew, sinoo; tunc, toonc. Never do wc licar " beauty " jironounceil "booty", or "few", " foo " : but so coninidiily is "duty" called " dooty ", and " new ", " noo ", thai wc can say there is a decided tendency in many j)arts of the country, especially in New I'.ngland, to injure the beauty of the ]-".nglisli lani^uagc by disregarding the riglit sound of long u. In describing this sound Webster says that " it is a diplithong with 00 for the terminal or main part, and for the initial a very brief and evanescent element nearly related to / (ill) or to e (eve); and in the greater number of cases there comes in as a connect- ing glide a more or less full sound of the consonant r. . . , In no case whatever should the y sound come in when it will not come in smoothly as a glide. "^ The^ element is omitted and the sound becomes almost that of 00 after c/i as in " chew ", s/i as in " shumac " or its equivalent j in " sure " (not, however, after j when it is not pronounced like s/i, as in "assume", for example), after r, and after / when pre- ceded by another consonant, as in flue, flew, glue, rude> brute, bruin, blue, frugal. 20. u, J, and re like er: animate, anermate; congratulate, congraterlate; executor, exekertor; manufacture, manerfac- ture; querulous, quererlous; regulate, regerlate; represent, repersent. COXSOXAXT SOUNDS In the pronunciation of consonants the most common mistakes are (i) omission of sounds, as " artic " for " arc- tic ", " Baptis " for " Baptist ", " beginnin " for "begin- ning", " catridge " for "cartridge", " histry " for "his- tory", " labratory " for "laboratory", " scritk " for " shriek ", " twelth " for " twelfth ", " wy " for " why "; (2) addition of sounds, as " acrosst " fur "across", * Webster's International Dictionary, p. Ixiv. P RON UN L.IA 7 ION xx v " acquiesk " for "acquiesce", " drawring " for "draw- ing ", " halleluliah ", for " halleluiah ", " heighth " for "height", " rendring " for "rending"; (3) substitution of one sound for another, as " cramberry " for " cranberry ", " decripid " for "decrepit", " enconium " for "enco- mium ", " Jacop " for " Jacob ", " Jubiter " for " Jupiter ", " nasturtiun " for "nasturtium", " princibal " for " prin- cipal ", "troth" for "trough"; (4) clumsy transition from one sound to another, as " athelete " for " athlete", " belind " for " blind ", " spelash " for " splash ", " Don- cher-know " for " Don't you know ", " the panting spirit's eye " for " the panting spirit sigh ". Serious as are the first three defects, the last is perhaps the worst. Often it is the result of carelessness; sometimes of an attempt to be very exact. One should practice correct pronunciation so that it will seem natural, not stilted, conscious, and artificial. The action of the organs should be " prompt, neat, and easy "; the contact of the organs should be firm but delicate, and the reaction quick, ARTICULATION EXERCISES In practicing articulation do not forget the breathing exercises already given. Ability to control the breath when one is nervous, as almost every person is likely to be before an audience, remedies not only stuttering but other forms of incorrect articulation. It is much easier to enunciate well when the lungs contain plenty of air than when they are nearly empty. After taking the breathing exercises, practice the following: 1. Pronounce distinctly and quickly the elementary sounds as given on page xv. 2. Repeat vigorously each of the following groups three times : * [a) ee, 00, ah. (c) ip, it, ik. [b) oi, ai, ou. [d) kiff, kiss, kish. * From J. \V. Churchill's "Vocal Culture," p. 3. xxvi JNTRODUCTION (f) wliicli, cliurcli, myth. (j) rare, rear, car, (y) ib, id, ig. (X-) form, from, /ar. {g) sim, sin, sing. (/) that, azure, vault. {/i) lil, lol, la. (w/) jeer, zeb's, wit. (I ) par, mar. ?tar. (w) yet, you, }a\vn. 3. Lcgouvc, quoting tlie worcLs of Regnier, gives what he considers an infallible means of correcting all defects of articulation, " Vou face ycmr frieml exactly, and, pronounc- ing your words distinctly but in an underbreath, you com- mission your articulation to convey them to your friend's eyes rather than to his ears, for he is as carefully watching how you speak as he is intently listening to what you say. Articulation, having here a double duty to perform, that of sound as well as its own peculiar function, is compelled as it were to dwell strongly on each syllable so as to land it safely within the intelligence of your hearer." Following Regiiier"s directions^ pronounce the following sentences: ( '/) Hiidgc, lodge, judge; charge, fi>rgc, gorge, purge. (Z^, nk, ri.) Talc, elk, silk, bulk; tank, brink, monk; dark, dirk, fork, work. [B/, dl, rl.) Tabic, rabble, crumble, paiklle, needle, fondle; snarl, earl, churl. (TV;.) Lathe, blithe, .^^mooth. wreathe, worth, truth, length, dearth, swarth. (^ /,///, /■///, srn.) Ilarni, term, lirm, storm; elm, whelm, film; spasm, prism, cynicism. (/>/, kn, pn, rn, sri, ///, 77/.) Madden, bidden, broaden, trodden; shaken, sicken, broken, shrunken; cheapen, deepen, sharpen; warn, yearn, fern, discern; lessen, chosen, poison, season; hearten, sweeten, lighten; raven, leaven, woven; toughen, roughen; strengthen, smoothen, earthen. (Z/, ?ri/>, sp.) Scalp, whelp, kelp, pulp; cramp, limp, romp, bump; grasp, wisp, cusp, wasp. (Cr, ih, ks, h, figs, ns, vips, ms, ns, rs, ss.) Ethics, comics, optics ; beads, odds, suds ; stocks, thinks, hunks; galls, bells, pulls; hangings, innings, doings, dunnings; pains, reins, downs; mumps, limps, romps; claims, teems, sums; pains, downs, runs; cars, hers, pours; mass, chess, fuss. {Cl,/l, //, ni, pi, rl, si, dsl.) Act, sect, strict, duct; draft, cleft, loft, tuft; malt, felt, volt; chant, scent, dint, front; swept, script, prompt; start, pert, sort; last, jest, just; guardst, midst, formedst, shouldst, troubledst. 5. Repeat quickly and distinctly the following syllables and sentences: LABIALS B as in babe, bob, robbed. Bii, be, bl, bO, bu; ab, eb, ib, Ob, ub. (a) Bob, the batter, imbibed bad brandy, (b) Both brown beauties bit the black bait. (c) Brawny black brutes bounded back, breaking the big bridge. PRONUNCIATION xxix {d) Blundering Brown, the big blusterer, bragged brazenly about his bad brother. F as in fife, from, faithful. Fa, fe, fl, fO, fu; af, ef, if, off, uf. {a) Fearful of the false, fight faithfully, Francis. (b) " Flags fluttered fretfully from foreign fortifications and fleets." (c) Foolish footmen, frowning frightfully, frequently fol- lowed Frank's friend. (d) Frugal Flavius, flushing feverishly, fiercely found fault with Flora's frivolity. IM as in maim, man, lamp. i\Ia, me, ml, mo, mu; am, em, im, om, um. (a) Many unmanageable monsters, married to magnani- mous men, make much mischief. (b) Mary's mamma, admiring Mammon and missing the man's money, murmured much and mourned many months. (c) Memorable miracles, madam, made momentous mes- merism or animal magnetism. (d) The enemy's mules mutilated many maimed militia- men. P as in pick, rip, pop. Pa, pe, pi, pO, pu; ap, ep, ip, op, iip. [a) Poor proud Peter proved his purpose praiseworthy. (b) The porter's parents, praying pardon, pleaded pitiably. {c) Ponto the puppy, puffing uninterruptedly, jumped up on top of the porch. [d) Paul, the popular papist, appointed Potipher to pro- tect the public parks. V as in vine, live revive. Va, ve, vl, vo, vti; ave, eve, ive, Ove, uve. {a) The voluble, vivacious villain vociferously vowed revenge. (b) Vivian's vernacular gives vividness to every verse, (c) Avoid the vivisection of viviparous vertebrates. {d) Victor's verses revived a love of adventure. \xv INTRODUCTION W as ill wave, luw, wliilo. \\'a, we, \vi, wo, wfi ; caw, few, how. (<;) When William went west where Wheeler was working, we wished we were where we could warn him. (^) The wlierry at the wharf was weighteil with wliale-oil, whey, and wheat. (c) Wily Will willfully whistled wildly. () Luckily life's loneliness left lively Lulu's loyalty. (r) Lolling, la/.y, lisping Lillo, lounging lubberly, laughed loudly at laboring Lael. (riilc in life tliat lie hail been a soldier, — a soldier of the Kmpire. He was known simply as " The Soldier '". ;uui it is probable there was not a man, and certain that there was not a child, in the Quarter who did not know the tall, erect oKl Scrji^eant with his white mustache, ami his face seamed with two saber-cuts. " Yes, they all knew him, and knew how, when he was not over thirteen, he hail received the cross which he always wore over his heart, sewed in the bnast of his coat, from tiie hand of the Kmperor himself. " See i>;it;e ioq. " So you bcj? for a story, my darling, my brown-eyed Leopold, And you, Alice, with face like morning, and curling locks of gold ; Then come, if you will, and listen — stand close beside my knee — To a tale of the Southern city, proud Charleston by the sea. " It was long ago, my children, ere ever the signal-gun That blazed above P'ort Sumter had wakened the North as one; Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire Had marked where the unchained millions marched on to their heart's desire." THE OROTUND The Orotund is the Pure tone enlarged. It is as free from huskiness, nasality, and impurity of every sort as is the Pure tone. It is, however, fuller and deeper. When it is pro- duced, the resonance-chambers are made as large as possible, the lungs being expanded and the vocal passage thrown wide open, and the reenforcing vibrations to a great extent come from the chest. Professor Monroe * shows the physiological differences between the two tones as follows: ♦Monroe: "Vocal and Physical Training," p. 36. Cowperthwait & Co., Philadelphia. QUALITY xxxix In Pure Tone. In Orotund. 1. The larynx rises. i. The larynx is depressed. 2. The soft palate partially 2. The soft palate is raised. falls. 3. The tongue is in its nat- 3. The back of the tongue is ural position. dropped. 4. The vocal passage is nar- 4. The vocal passage is wide. row. 5. The air-column is di- 5. The air-column is directed rected to the front part (in learning) vertically, of the mouth. This full, deep tone is expressive of deep feeling, of thoughts and emotions that are courageous, patriotic, reverent, solenvi, dignified, vast, lofty, gra7id, noble, sublime. Practice reading the following selections. By paraphras- ing the expression, and studying the details, and dwelling upon the thought, see the picture clearly, apprehend the thought firmly, and feel the emotion genuinely; for it is only by so doing that you can secure a tone that is truly ex- pressive, that is more than "sounding brass and tinkling cymbal ". In reading Byron's " Apostrophe ", for example, let the mind and imagination govern the voice. Imagine yourself standing upon the shore, looking out over the vast expanse of water, as -t heaves and rolls before you. " 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, unknell'd, uncoflin'd, and unknown." From Byron's " Apostrophe to tlie Ocean," xi INTRODL/CriON ' 'Ami DiKx: again, — Hear me, ye walls, tiiat cchoiil ti> the tnai! Of citlicr Brutus I Once again, I swear The eternal city shall be free; her sons Shall walk with ])rinces. " From MirrnuM's •• Kicn/i to the K(mi;iiis." X(i royal governor, indeed, sits in yon stately capitol, no hostile fleet for many a year has vexed the waters of our coasts, nor is any army but our own likely to tread our soil. Not such arc. our enemies to-day. They do not come proudly stepping to the drum-beat with bayonets na>hing in the morning sun. But wherever party spirit shall strain the ancient guarantees of freedom; or bigotry and ignorance shall lay their fatal hands upon education ; or the arrogance of caste shall strike at equal rights; or corruption shall poison the very springs of national life — there, minute- men of liberty, are your Lexington Green and Concord Bridge; and as you love your country and your kind, and would have your children rise up and call you blessed, spare not the enemy! Over the hills, out of the earth, down from the clouds, pour in resistless might. Fire from every rock and tree, from door and window, from hearthstone and chamber; hang upon his flank and rear from noon to sunset, and so, through a land blazing with holy indignation, hurl the hordes of ignorance and corruption and injustice back, back, in utter defeat and ruin." From G. \V. Clrtis's '• Minute Men of '76." " Sons of New England, look not down, it is full of deadly peril. Stand on the watch-towers of civilization, and cease- lessly crv' out to the people, ' Oh, look not down ! ' Sons of Xew England, in pulpit, at teacher's desk, in professors' chairs, in the halls of Congress, on the bench, in the count- ing-room, in the shop, by the loom, on the farm, wherever you may be, at home or abroad, in the name of your fathers' QUALITY xli &od, for the sake of the precious Republic, cry out to the people, ' Look up, look up! ' and looking up they will ever see they are bearing a Republic, founded in justice, liberty, and equal rights. Seeing and remembering, they will have God's help and our country shall be saved. " See page 7. " Mr. President, ours is the one great nation of this con- tinent; Mother of Republics, her lullaby has been sung over every cradle of liberty in the New World. Under the inspiration of her glorious example, the last throne has dis- appeared from the Western Hemisphere, and the Old World's dominion over American territory and American affairs will not outlast the morning of the twentieth century." See page 66. " Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits: who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with loving kindness and tender mercies; who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's. . . . "The Lord has prepared his throne in the heavens; and his kingdom ruleth over all. Bless the Lord, ye his angels, that excel in strength, that do his commandments, hearken- ing unto the voice of his w^ord. Bless ye the Lord, all ye his hosts; ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure. Bless the Lord, all his works in all places of his dominion: bless the Lord, O my soul." From Psalm cm. THE ASPIRATE QUALITY The Aspirate is a breathy, impure quality; in its produc- tion more breath being allowed to escape than is vocalized. It varies all the way from a soft whisper in which no breath is vocalized to a tone closely resembling the Pure. In these various forms it is expressive of many kinds of xlii INTRODUCTION "suppressed (eeling ", — <>f /ent/t'rrirss, hush, quid, exhaus- tion, weariness, serrecv, caution, fear, ;iml even 7'ehcmenl passion. To aid in applying; this tone coirec-tly, read the fdllowing selections, aiming not to repeat mere words but to convey real emotion. " Slowly, painfully, he dra<^i;ed himself onward — stej) by step down the hill, inch by inch across the ground — to the dt)or of the hospital ; and then, while dying eyes brightened, while tl\ing men held back their souls from the eternities to cheer him, gasped out: ' I did — but do — my duty, boys — and the dear — old — flag — never once — touched tlie ground.' " Sec page 222. " Vain — vain — give o'er! His eye Glazes apace. He does not feel you now — Stand back! I'll paint the death-dew on his brow! Gods! if he do not die But for one moment — one — till I eclipse Conception with the scorn of those calm lips! "Shivering! Hark! he mutters Brokenly now — that was a difficult breath — Another } Wilt thou never come, O Death .? Look! how his temple flutters! Is his heart still ^ Aha! lift up his head! He shudders — gasps — Jove help him! — so — he's dead. "• From Willis's " Parrhasius." " The bell! the bell again! shut out, Shut out its ringing knell ! ' A fever dream .i* ' Great God, my soul Doth know tlic sound full well! Have I not heard it pealing s1in;iii from liis hirtlirij^lit ; ;iiui fur what ? To lling your nfliccs to every slave! N'ipers, tliat creep where men disdain to climb, And, havinj; wduiuI tlu-ir loathsome track to the top Of this huge, mouldering monument of Rome, Hang hissing at the nobler man below. . . . '' But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my Lords! I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes. Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, I have within my heart's hot cells shut up. To leave you in your lazy dignities. But here I stand and scoff you! here T fling Hatred and full defiance in your face! Your Consul's merciful; — for this, all tlianks. He dares not touch a hair of Catiline! " From Croly's "Catiline's Defiance." " Envoys of Rome, the poor camp of Spartacus is too much honored by your presence. And does Rome stoop to parley with the escaped gladiator, with the rebel ruflian, for whom heretofore no slight has been too scornful ? You have come, with steel in your right hand, and with gold in your left. What heed we give the former, ask Cossinius; ask Claudius; ask Yarinius; ask the bones of your legions that fertilize the Lucanian plains. And for your gold — would ye know what we do with //laf, — go ask the laborer, the trodden poor, the helpless and the hopeless, on our route; ask all whom Roman tyranny had crushed, or Roman avarice plundered." See page 156. "I raised the dying youth tenderly in my arms. O, tlie magnanimity of Rome! Your haughty leaders, enraged at being cheated of their death-show, hissed their disappoint- ment, and shouted, ' Kill! ' " See page 157. QUALITY xlv "And the praetor drew back as if I were pollution, and sternly said, ' Let the carrion rot ! There are no noble men but Romans.' And so, fellow gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. " See page 301. THE FALSETTO AND THE NASAL Besides these four qualities two others should be men- tioned, principally that they may be avoided, — the Falsetto and the Nasal. The Falsetto is a shrill, artificial tone, of a pitch above the natural register. It is often called a head tone, since its resonance is in the upper part of the pharynx. The Nasal, an impure twanging quality, is caused by obstruction in the nostrils or by a wrong management of the soft palate. The legitimate use of these tones is rare. The Falsetto is sometimes used in impersonating old age or in expressing great excitement, and the Nasal is used in express- ing drollery and laziness, but in general the Falsetto is either ridiculous or tiresome, and the Nasal especially repulsive. In remedying the latter a speaker needs to train his ear that he may be able to tell a pure from a nasal tone. Here a teacher will be of great service to a speaker, both in telling him when his tone is nasal, and in speaking a pure tone for him to imitate. Secondly, in remedying this defect, a speaker should strengthen the muscles of the soft palate. This may be done and a " perception of the denasalizing action of the soft palate " gained by the following exercise: " Sound the consonants m b without separating the lips, as in pronouncing the word ' ember'. The change from m to b is nothing more than the covering of the nasal aperture by the soft palate; and the change from b to m, without separating the lips, as in the word ' submit ', is merely the uncovering of the nasal aperture." * *A. M. Bell: "The Faults of SpeecJv" p. 31. F.rlgar S, Werner, NcTV Vwk, xlvi INTRODUCTION lastly, a speaker .shouKl keep thu nostrils as hcalthly as possible. The Nasal tone is often the result of mouth- breathinj? and catarrh. The nostrils may be kept t)pen and healthy by the aiil of the breathing exercises, especially the humming exercise on page xi. forcp: Force, as far as it concerns a speaker, is the power or strength exerted in the production of speech. The intensity of the force employed depends upon the physical condition of the speaker, liis natural strength of voice, upon the thought or emotion expressed, and upon the size of the audience to which lie is speaking. A frequent result of the employment of force in speaking is loudness, — frequent but not necessary, for a person may speak with force and yet in a whisper or in a half-vocalized tone. How loud shall one speak .-* is a question of importance. Look out for the beginning. There is much of practical sense in the old rhyme: " Begin low. Speak slow; Take fire, Rise higher; When most impressive Be self-possessive." At first speak only so loud as is necessary to make all your audience hear. Never go below that; for a speech with a word or phrase dropped out of it every few minutes is as provoking as a clipped newspaper. Make sure that the man in the back part of the hall hears you; but in doing so do not bawl, shriek, or rant. Remember that correct breath- ing, distinct articulation, and the knack of throwing your voice out will make your speech more audible and more agreeable than will mere shouting. Never give the impression FORCE xlvii that you are doing your utmost all the time; even in your im- passioned moments show that you have reserve force; there is much power in repose. The degrees of force are manifold. For practical pur- poses, however, we may make four divisions — Subdued, Moderate, Declamatory, and Impassioned. These divisions vary with different speakers and with the same speaker under different conditions. What, for example, is Moderate for a mature and vigorous speaker may be Impassioned for a schoolboy, and a tone Declamatory in a study may be hardly more than Subdued in a large auditorium. Speaking, then, under these conditions, we may say that Subdued force is employed in the expression of tenderness, comfort, pity, sympathy, tranquillity, quietude, weariness, feeble- ness, secrecy, timidity, indifference. Moderate force is employed in the expression of didactic thought, unemotional discourse, gladness, joy, and nearly all the milder emotions. Declamatory force is used in the expression oi patriotism, grandeur, courage, determination. Impassioned force is used in the expression of the strongest, most vehement and violent emotions, — defiance, anger, abhorrence, horror. Exercises Speak the following sentences as if addressing a person at first five feet from you, then ten, twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, one hundred, one hundred and fifty, two hundred: {a) Where are you going .? (U) Ask John to send me his grandfather's coat. \c) What boat is that off the Point ? Is that the Columbia .-' ( ! Now, Infidel, I have thee on the hip. . . . A Daniel, still I say, a second Daniel. 1 thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word." Shakespere's "Merchant of Venice," Act IV, Scene I. Exercises in Pitch and Inflection I. Sing the scale, ascending and descending, at different rates of movement, — " slow ", " very slow ", " moderate ", " fast ", and " verj' fast ". II. Sing the first and eighth notes of the scale. Sing the first, third, fifth, and eighth notes; then the eighth, fifth, third, and first. III. Chant the following lines, first on the lowest note of the scale, then on the highest: " He has put down the mighty from their seat. And has exalted them of low degree! " " Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells; King John, your king and England's, doth approach. . . . Open your gates, and give the victors way." PITCH Ixiii IV. Say " yes ", giving it the inflection that expresses [a) firmness, [b) indifference, (c) contempt, {d) uncertainty, [e) astonishment. V. Say "And Brutus is an honorable man" in such a way as to express {a) surprise, [b) indignation, (c) sincerity, ((/) uncertainty, [e) sarcasm. VI. Did John find it in the attic .? What .? (What did you say ?) Did John find it in the attic ? What .? (Find what .?) The purse. What! (I'm surprised.) A purse filled with gold dollars. What! (Incredulity.) I believe James stole it and hid it there. What ? (Indignation. My brother James is honest.) They have convicted him of treason .? They have. (Simple assertion.) They have convicted him of treason .? They have. (Satisfaction. He deserved to be convicted. ) Will they convict him of treason .'' They have. (Contemptuously. ) They have convicted him of treason. They have ^ (Surprise. ) They have convicted him of treason. They have. (Pity. Poor fellow! He is innocent. ) They have convicted him of treason. They have. (Indignation. I will make those men atone for this injustice.) They have not convicted him of treason. They have. (You are mistaken.) They have convicted him of treason. They have. (Sarcasm.) VII. Read the following: " The President of the United States, discussing the plea that the South should be left to solve this problem, asks: Kiv ISrROnUCTKW ' All- tlicv ;il \vi>rk upon it ? W'liat solution ilo tlu-y olftT ? When will the black man cast a free ballot ? ' When will the black man cast a free ballot ? When ij^norance anywhere is ni>t ilominateil by the will of the intelligent; when tlu; laborer anywhere casts a vote unhindered by liis boss, — then and not till then will the balh)t of the negro be free." S(,-c jiai^e 240. " Suddenlv an oHicer gailojxcl up and spoke to the lieutenant of the nearest battery. " ' Where's the colonel ? ' " ' Killed.' " ' Where's your captain ? ' " ' Dead there under the gun.' ' ' Are you in command ? ' " ' I suppose so. ' " ' Well, hold this hill.' " ' How h^ng .'* ' " ' Forever.' And lie galloped off. " His voice was heard clear and ringing in a sudden hdl, and the old Sergeant, clutching his musket, shouted: " ' We will, forever.' " See page no. TIME " Awake! for morning in the Bowl of Night Has flung the Stone that put the Stars to Flight: And lo! the Hunter of the Fast has caught The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light." Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. " Enough! we're tired, my heart and I. We sit beside the headstone thus, And wish that name were carved for us. The moss reprints more tenderly The hard types of the mason's knife, TIME Ixv As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life With which we're tired, my heart and I." From Mrs. Browning's "My Heart and I." One who reads the preceding selections with ears open can readily perceive that an important element of vocal expres- sion is Time. Time, as an element of expression, manifests itself in three ways: by length of syllables, by pauses, and by rate of movement. The length of syllables is determined by the nature of the constituent vowels and consonants. Some of the elementary sounds can easily be prolonged, while others it is impossible to lengthen. To the first class {a as in ale, arm, all, or air, e as in eve or err, i as in isle, o as in old, oo as in ooze, u as in use, oi as in oil, ou as in our, I, m, n, r, v, w, y, z, th as in then, ng, and zJi) has been given the name contin- uant sounds; to the second (a as in ask, a, e, i, o, u, short, ^) ^) ^> y^ ^) j\ ^> pj ^f A ^^ ^s in thin, ch, sh, and wK) stopt sounds.* When syllables are made up entirely of con- tinuant sounds, as " marm ", " noon ", " now ", " lone ", "more", they maybe prolonged a great deal. Such are called Indefinite syllables. When syllables are made up entirely of stopt sounds, as " pat ", " tot ", " tag ", " dip ", "kick", we cannot prolong them without drawling; such are called Immutable. But when syllables are made up of both stopt and continuant sounds, as "gait", "mad", "ark", "wet", "rope", they are capable of slight pro- longation; such are called Mutable. These three kinds of syllables the skillful writer, whether of prose or poetry, consciously or unconsciously uses to his advantage. This the reader or speaker also must do if he is to express thought or emotion persuasively. He may, to be sure, do this unconsciously, especially if he have a musical ear and power to feel emotion genuinely, but his right use * See Fulton and Trueblood: 'Practical Elocution," p. 46. Ginn & Co., Boston. Ixvl JNTROnUCTHfS' of quantity will for that reason l)r none the less potent. To give to each syllable its aiij>roi)riatc (juantity adils niarvrl- ously t<.> the effectiveness of reading or speaking. A curt, snappish pronunciation of syllables naturally long may rob a sentence entirely of its j)athos, solemnity, and grandiur, and " a false l)ombastic swell of voice mvc-r sounds so ridicuK'Us as when the injuilieious or unskillful reader or speaker attempts to interfere with the conditions of speech, and to prolong, under a false excitement of utterance, those sounds which nature has irrevocably determined short." * Pronounce the words and read the selections that follow, aiming to give to each syllable its prof)er quantity; do not be over-abrupt, do not drawl. " Nowhere fairer, sweeter, rarer, Does the golden-locked fruit-bearer Through his painted woodlands stray Than where hillside oaks and beeches Overlook the long, blue reaches. Silver coves and pebbled beaches, And green isles of Casco Bay; Nowhere day, for delay. With a tenderer look beseeches, ' Let me witli my charmed earth stay.' " From W'mrriEK's '•The- Ranger." '■' Two Voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains; eacli a mighty Voice: In both from age to age thou didst rejoice. They were thy chosen music. Liberty ! There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee Thou fought'st against him; but hast vainly striven : Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven. Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft: ♦Murdoch unci Kubsell: •• Vocal Culture," p. 143. Ticknor & Fields Boiton. TIME Ixvii Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left — For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be That Mountain floods should thunder as before, And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee! " From Wordsworth's "England and Switzerland, 1802." Pause Time also manifests itself through Pauses, — between words, clauses, and sentences. Pauses are often indicated to the eye by punctuation-marks, and the pupil used to be told to pause long enough to count one at a comma, two at a semicolon, three at a colon, and four at a period. These minute rules implied that punctuation-marks tell exactly how often and how long a reader should pause. As a matter of fact they do not. The ear needs more help and more respite than does the eye. The reader often has to make a much longer pause at a comma or semicolon in one place than he does in another; he should also pause in many places where there are no punctuation-marks, and often pay to a mark no heed at all. " Behold the condemned Claudius\and Cynthia, whom he lately took for his wife." " The Oak~\one day, said to the Reed." Moreover, mechanical rules, directing a reader to pause before an " infinitive phrase, a relative clause, or a conjunction used disjunctively " are practically useless. The length and frequency of a reader's pauses depend upon the significance and difficulty of the thought and the intensity of the emotion. Movement The third manifestation of Time is Movement. This is to a great extent the result of Pause and Quantity; but while Pause and Quantity deal with the smaller elements of speech, •with the word, a small group of wo^'ds, ^lovenient deals with Jxviii INTRODUCTION larger groups, with the sentence, the paragraph, and tlie whole discourse. Movement concerns itself with rhythm ami with rate. The first has to do with the laws of versification, with the arrangement of accented and unaccented syllables so that the vocal sounds will flow smoothly and harmoniously. Rate has been well defined as " the application of Quantity and Pause to a collection of words. "* Whether the rate shall be fast or very fast, moderate, slow, or very slow, depends upon the thought and emotion to be expressed. Principles to Determine Pause and Movement. I. Words ivhich present single ideas should be grouped to- gether. " There was once a child\and he wandered about a great deal\and thought of a number of things." " Out of the North\the wild news came,\ Far flashing\on its wnngs of flame, \ Swift as the boreal light\which flies At midnight\through the startled skies. \ And there was tumult\in the air,\ The fife's shrill notc,\the drum's loud beat,\ And through the wide land\everywhere\ The answering tread of hurrying feet. "\ See page 163. " Through the whole afternoon\there had been a tremen- dous cannonading of the fort\from the gunboats and the land forces ;\the smooth\regular\engineer lines were broken, \and the fresh-sodded embankments\torn and roughened\by the unceasing rain of shot and shell. W About six o'clock\there came moving up the island, \over the burning sands and under the burning sky,\a stalwart, \ splendid-appearing set of men,'\who looked equal to any •Fulton and Trueblood; "Practical Elocution," p. 321. Ginn & Co., Boston. TIME Ixix daring, \and capable of any heroism, Wmen whom nothing could daunt\and few things subdue." See page 220. II. In phrasing, tftdeed in the correct use of all the elements of expression, a reader will be greatly aided by training the eye to keep well ahead of the voice. It makes all the difference in the world whether a reader lays hold of the thought before pronouncing the words or after. One results in mechanical repetition; the other, in intelligent expression. III. Ordinary, unimpassioned didactic discourse requires moderate movement. "There is a saying which is in all good men's mouths, namely, that they are stewards or ministers of whatever talents are entrusted to them. Only, is it not a strange thing that while we more or less accept the meaning of that saying, so long as it is considered metaphorical, we never accept its meaning in its own terms 'i You know the lesson is given us under the form of a story about money. Money was given to the servants to make use of: the unprofitable servant dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's money. Well, we, in our poetical and spiritual application of this, say that of course money doesn't mean money — it means wit, it means intellect, it means influence in high quarters, it means everything in the world except itself." From RusKiN's "The True Use of Wealth." IV. Phrases expressing the significant, suggestive, essential thoughts of a discourse, the key-thoughts as it were, generally require for their correct expression moderate or slow movement with comparatively long pauses either before or after them. " I would still, with the last impulse of that soul, with the last gasp of that voice, implore you to remember this truth : God has given America to be free." See page 277. " Once in Persia ruled a king Who upon his signet ring IXX JiS'TKODlCriON '(.iiavcil ii motto true anil wise, Whicli, when htkl before his eyes, Clave him ct)unsel at a glance Fit for any change or chance. SoKmn words, and these were they: ' /.'ri'fi this shall /i,iss mviiv. ' ■ In the meant iiiR', when there were leathered together an innumerahle multitiuli' ot lieojilr, in>onuicli tluit the\- trode one upon another, he began to say unto liis disciples lirst o( all, Jhware re of the leoven of thr Pharisees, ivhich is hypocrisv. " l-»'l-'' >;'i. i. v. jVezv, strange, odsn/rt', c/ose/y reasoned tJiouglits rc(/uire /or their expression moderate or sloiv movement with frei- thusiastic, energetic , boisterous, violent, furious, uncontrolled, require fast or very fast move'iient ivitJi short pauses. " It requires no space in history's crowded page to tell how Todd could stand up by a chair when eight months old, and crow and laugh and doddle his little chubby anns till he quite upset his balance, and pulling the chair down w.tn him, would laugh and crow louder than ever, and kick, and TIME Ixxi crawl, and sprawl, and jabber; and never lift a whimper of distress but when being rocked to sleep." From Riley's "Todd." " And all the earth is gay,' Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And W\\.\\ the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday; — Thou child of joy Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd boy! From Wordsworth's •' Ode on Imm(-rtality." " Now you sec the water foaming all around. See how fast you pass that point! Up with the helm! Now turn. Pull hard! quick! quick! quick! pull iov your lives; pull till the blood starts from your nostrils, and the veins stand like whipcords upon your brow. Set the mast in the socket! hoist the sail ! Ah! ah! it is too late! Shrieking, cursing, howling, blaspheming, over they go." ^^'e page i8o. \'II. Sen/inien/s that are gentle, pa/hc/ic, disnia/, dignified, stately, reverential, Tast, noble, exalted, sublime rci/uire slow or very slow movement with long pauses. '' I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help. " My help cometh from the f.ord, which made iie.iven and earth. " He will not suffer thy foot to be moved : he that kecpcth thee shall not slumber. " Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. " Withm an upper chamber lay the king, His white face, 'gainst the pillow scarce as white, Gleamed ghastly — lip and hand and brow Were chilling with the icy touch of him Who comes but once — who comes alike to all. Ixxii INTRODUCTION Abiiut the room the waxen tapers tall Lit up the shadows, while the black-robed priests Stood round the couch with ' Host and Crucifix,' The ceremonial of "the sacrament. " ^<^<' I'^^gc 7. " Dead! one of them shot by the sea in the eas*'. And one of them shot in the west by the sea. Dead! both my boys! When you sit at the feast And are wanting a great song for your Italy free. Let none look at mc/" See page 208. EMPHASIS " This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream: — There spread a cloud of dust along a plain; And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes. A craven hung along the battle's edge. And thought, ' Had I a sword of keener steel — That blue blade that the king's son bears, — but this Blunt thing — ! ' he snapt and flung it from his hand, And lowering crept away and left the field. Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead. And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand, And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down, And saved a great cause that heroic day." * A careful reader of the preceding lines at once sees that all the words are not on the same level. Some are in the background; some in the foreground. Every phrase has its * Reprinted, by special arrangement with, and permission of, the publishers, from "Poems by Edward Rowland Sill," copyright, 1887 by Hougliton. Mifflin & Co., Boston. EMPHASIS Ixxiii important word, and every clause and sentence its important word or phrase. The prominence given to these significant words and phrases by means of the elements of expression is Emphasis. Emphasis shows the logical relation between the parts of the sentence, the relative value of each, and suggests mean- ings not fully expressed. It shows that a reader has looked between the lines. By slight variations of emphasis a sen- tence may often be given as many different meanings as it has words. Notice, for example, the following sentence: 1. Did John give you books ? (I am surprised; I heard that he did, but I could hardly believe it.) 2. Did John give you books .? (I thought James or Peter gave them to you.) 3. Did John give you books .? (I thought you bought them of him; John doesn't very often give anything away.) 4. Did John give you books ? (He gave some to Mary and Eliza; I didn't know that he gave them to you.) 5. Did John give you books/' (I thought he gave you pictures.) 6. Did John g\v&you \ booksP (That is a strange present for you. He knew you don't like books and haven't any use for them. ) Means of Emphasis The means of emphasis have already been spoken of. We may emphasize a word (i) by speaking it louder or lower; (2) by pausing either before or after it, or by dwelling upon the sounds; (3) by making the pitch higher or lower; (4) by varying the quality of the voice. The first, emphasis by mere force, is the easiest to apply. It is often used in connection with the other forms, but by itself it is the least satisfactory. Overused it becomes a thump, thump, and is sure to rob expression of all delicacy of touch and suggestion of culture. The more artistic methods of emphasis are varying the pitch, the quaHty, and the time. None of thest Ixxiv INTKOnUCTIOX shoulii, liowcwr. l)C usid exclusively. A puitil -li.MiJ.l pnic- ticc upon all the liifferent forms. C^iily llius will he liaw them all at his commaml, aiui escape the fatal fault of always making a thought prominent in the same way ; by using the aspirate cpiality, for example, as do some ])ublic speakers, or the intermittent stress as do otiicrs. No very defmite rules for emphasis can be given. One cannot say that the subject or the predicate of a sentence is to he emphasized; for the emphasis may fall ujion a preposi- tion or an article. Neither can one say that in this case tlic emphasis should be applied by varying the pitch, in that the quality, in another the time. The following general princi- ples of emphasis have, however, been given in one form or another many times and liave been found of practical value. I. Pu/ special emphasis on only a feiv words. Since all em- phasis is relative, to try to emphasize all the words in a sen- tence is to emphasize none. II. Words or phrases expressing ideas that are neiv should be emphasized ; those expressing ideas ivhich are repeated, — un- less thev are repeated /or emphasis, — which have been implied, which may be taken for granted, or are easily in/erred /ram what has been said, should not be emphasized. New Ideas " This is the state that ffV/////r^;/> founded. Warren (\\td for her liberties and Webster defended her good name. Sumner bore stripes in behalf of her beliefs, and her sons gave their lives on every battlefield for the one flag she held more sacred than her own. She hz.?, /ought /or liberty. She has done justice between man and man. She has sought to protect the weak, to save the erring, to raise the tin/ortunatc. She has been the fruitful mother of ideas as of 7nen. . . . She has kept her shield unspotted and her honor pure. To us, her loving children, she is a great heritage and a great trust." Sec page 171. F.MPH^SIS IxxV Ideas Repeatkd ok Implied " A chill no coat, however stout, Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, A hard dull bitterness of cold, The coming of the storm foretold. " Whittier. ' ' Then soon he rose ; the prayer was strong ; 'Y\\^ psalm was warrio?- David's song." See page 164. " On the morning of Saturday, July second, the President was a contented and happv man — not in an ordinary degree, hw\. jov/ully, almost <5oi'/>///v, happy." See page 142. '' Gieat in life, he was siirpassittgly great in death. " See page 143. Ideas Repeated for Kmphasis ''On, on, you nol)le ICnglish, \\'hose blood is fet from fathers of war proof." " As the columns halted Napoleon shouted to him: " Beat a ?-etreat / " The boy did not stir. " Gamin, deal a retreat! ' ' See page 293. " Ho, sir, vou knew of this fair work — you are an accom- plice in this deception which has been practiced on us — vou have been a main cause of our doing injustice! " If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms — never — never — never." See page 92. " Yes, this old and absurd lex talionis — this law of blood for blood — I have combated man never a soldier \\\\ he was_;?/?r. Cromwell manufactured his own army — out of what.^ Englishmen, — the best blood in Europe. Out of the middle class of English- men, — the best blood of the island. And with it he cofiquered what ? Englislwien, — their equals. This man manufactured his army out of what ? Out of what you call the despicable race of negroes, debased, demoralized by two hundred years of slavery, one hundred thousarid of them imported into the island \;'\\\{\xv four years, unable to speak a dialect intelligible even to each other. Yet out of this mixed and, as you say, despicable mass he forged a thunderbolt, and hurled it at what ? At the proudest blood in Europe, the Spaniard, and sent him home conquered ; at the most warlike blood in Europe, the French, and put them under his feet ; at the f luckiest blood in Europe, the English, and they skulked homo, l\xx INTRODUCTION to Jamaica. Now, if t'ronnvcll was a gcncriil, at least this man was a soldier. ' ' Sie p;i^;o 307. " I watch the Tnoivrrs, as they go Througli the tall grass, a white-sleeved row. With even stroke their scythn^ they swing, In tune their merry whelstonci ring. Behind, the riwwhXn youngsters run And toss the thick sivathes in the sun. The cattle graze, while, warm and still. Slopes the broad pasture, basks the /////, And bright, where summer breezes break, The green wheat crinkles like a lake. The butterfly and humble bee Come to the pleasant ivoods with me; Quickly before me runs the quail, Her chickens skulk behind the rail; High up the lone wood-pigeon sits, And the woodpecker pecks and flits, Sweet woodland music sinks and swell = , The brooklet rings its tinkling bells, The swarming insects drone and hum. The. partridge beats his throbbing drum The squirrel leaps among the boughs. And chatters in his leafy house, The orioi^e flashes by; and, look! Into the mirror of the brook. Where the vain bluebird trims his coat. Two Wny feathers fall and float." Prom Trowbridge's " Midsumme-. ' " The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppcth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the ynightiest; it bec(;mes The throned monarch better than his crown: GESTURE Ixxxi His scepter shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread zxv^ fear of kings; But mercy is above the sceptered sway ; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. It is an attribute to God Himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That, in the course oi justice, none of us Should see salvatio7i. We do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, To mitigate the justice of thy plea; Which, if ihon /oil ozv, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there," Shakespere's " The Merchant of Venice." GESTURE A speaker influences his audience in two ways: by an appeal to the ear and by an appeal to the eye. In learning to appeal to the eye of their audience, students often ask the following questions. Hoiv shall I get tipon the platform? Take your time. A speaker often hurries so much that he shows his audience at the very start that he cannot control himself. " Don't scrape your feet " ; or keep your eyes fixed upon the floor as if trying to pick out the place to stand. Walk in a digni- fied manner to the middle of the stage. What is the proper way to bow? In the first place do not draw your feet up together as if about to " present arms ". Do not bow with one foot ahead of the other. Do not, if you are a young man, draw one foot backward ; that method is often correct for a young woman on the platform as in the ballroom, but for a man it is too artificial. In bowing, both the neck and the back should be bent. " Don't bow as iN^^ii INTRODUCTION tlK)Ugh your spine was a pokt r with tlir liingo mar the Kiwcr tcrinimis. ■■ . . . Don't bow as though ihc hinge was in your neck."'* The head sliouKl be bent forward lirst, then tlie torsi>: in recoverini,^ your position begin to straighten tlu: back lirst, then tlic neck. .'^h.dl I keep my eyes on the auilieiice wlien bowing .' \'es. To be sure, if you bow deeply, you will seem to roll your eyes upward; but ilo not bow ileeply. Make simply a respectful bow of recognition. IfoiV oughl a speaker or reader lo sUiiid -^ The answer to this question must be somewhat like an answer to the ([ues- tion. How shall I trim my boat.' In sailing into the teeth of a gale you trim \ eiur boat differently from what you do when you are sailing over smooth water. First positiojt. A good normal, fair-weather attitude is to stand erect, the hands hanging loosely at the sides, the fingers slightly bent, one foot a little in advance of the other and making with it an angle of about sixty degrees, the weight of the body being thrown upon the ball of the foot behind. In this position the ki.ee of the free leg shouUl not be stiffened. In trying to get an erect position do not thrust the chin out too far; do not throw the shoulders back too much or the hips forward. Such an attitude is sure to seem vulgar (jr artificial; and remember, here, as everywhere, the great art is to conceal art. Imagine some one is j)ulling you up by the scalplock; you will then get your head and body into the right position. As far as the j)osition of tiie hands is C()ncerned, to be sure we sometimes see public speakers with their hands behind them, with their thumbs in their trousers pockets, or witli one hand fumbling a watch-chain. Tliat is all very well so far as it looks free and easy and not disrespectful; but for a young man declaiming, such a position is rather dangerous; it makes liim seem over-confident. Do not ♦Smith: •' Reading and Speaking," ]>. 105. D. C. Heath & Co., Bos toil. GESTURE Ixxxiii clench the liands tightly. This comes, like the contracting of the brow, from a desire to haul one's self together. When speaking keep the muscles of the hands, arms, and face relaxed. Do not fumble with your ring. Do not keep hold of your coat. Do not keep shutting or opening your hands or pulling down your cuffs. Such movements distract the attention of the audience from what you are saying. The attention of an ordinary audience is very easily diverted. A man opening a window, or a harmless cat walking up the pulpit stairs, or a neck-tie working up over a speakers collar will worst even the most eloquent orators in the contest for attention. In speaking tlie following selections one could properly stand in the first position. " There was an air of desolation about the grim old State House, as, one by one, the last loitering feet came down the damp corridors. The Governor heard the steps and the rustle of a woman's skirt. He never felt quite alone in the empty State House until those steps had passed by." See page 31. " Adolfo Rodriguez was the only son of a Cuban farmer. When the revolution broke out young Rodriguez joined the insurgents, leaving his father and mother and sisters at the farm. He was taken by the Spanish, was tried by a military court for bearing arms against the government, and sen- tenced to be shot by a fusillade some morning before sunrise. ' ' See page 228. These are passages of plain, unemotional prose; but at times your speech is impassioned. You wish to defy your audience, as Regulus in his speech to the Carthaginians; to appeal to them, as Lodge in the last part of " The Traditions of Massachusetts " (page 11); to describe an exciting race, as in " Ben Hur " (page 251), or a perilous battle-charge, as in "The Storming of Missionary Ridge" (page 23) or the " Victor of Marengo " (page 292). Then the first posi- tion is too passive; change to one of the following positions. Ixxxiv INTROnUCTION S('(:on;xvi IXTROni'CTIOK' jxTSi^nator. Tin- actor i1i]hmu1s u|uin \u< ccstnnu-, tlic scoiuT)'. ami the acts of t)tlRT.s upon llie staj;c. The per- sonator must not do this. H he has a letter to reail, as in " Tlu- Speech of Serjeant Buzfuz ", or a note, as in Carle- ton's " First Settler's Story", he shows his weakness if he tlraws from his pocket a sheet of paper. A bouquet of roses in the hami of the reciter does not improve the rendering of " Zingarella, the Gypsy Flower (lirl ". and the playing of an organ at " Music, awake her; strike! ' may greatly injure the presentation of the statue scene in " The Winter's Tale ". All this is ineffective because it spoils the illusion; it bursts the bubble. It is mixing too much the real and the imaginative. As Fulton and Trueblood point out clearly, tlie reciter " must suggest the picture and allow the imagination of the audience to paint it ". He should not try to act the different parts. "The drawing of a dagger may be indicated, but there is no necessity of sheathing it. In the personation of Hamlet the reciter can indicate the drawing of a sword and the stabbing of Polonius, but he must not carry out the action to the extent that would be appropriate to the actor." * Secondly, you should discriminate between the dcscriber and the personator. In writing a story a person often takes one of two points of view : either he represents himself as one of the characters, as John Ridd in " Lorna Doone ", or he takes the omniscient point of view, as Scott in " Ivanhoe " ; that is, he stands outside and looks down upon his characters and sees each act his part, and seeing the end from the beginning, knows all about the acts of each and the motives which inspire them. Now if he changes his point of view without giving due notice to his reader, and suddenly steps upon the stage himself to play a part, the result is confusion. The same thing is true in reciting: either you are an actor in the scene or you are standing outside and describing the * Fulton and Trueblood : "Practical Elocution," p. 341. (,inn & Co. Boston. GESTURE Ixxxvii scene to others. You cannot play two parts at the same moment. To tell just when and how to change from one role to the other without causing confusion is sometimes difficult. In an oration this question does not often present itself. When you are speaking the Bunker Hill oration you are Webster; when you are speaking " The War in America " you are Chatham. The only time questions arise is when you have a speech within a speech. When Serjeant I^uzfuz, quoting the words of INIrs. Bardell, sa}-, " Mr. Bardell was no deceiver — ]\Ir. Bardell was once a single gentleman him- self — to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assist- ance, for comfort, for consolation", should one play the part of the bombastic Mr. Buzfuz or of Mrs. Bardell .•' In " The First Settler's Story ", in reading the note which ends, " Dear, if a burden I have been to you. And haven't helped you as I ought to do. Let old-timer memories my forgiveness plead; I've tried to do my best, — I have, indeed. Darling, piece out with love the strength I lack. And have kind words for me when I come back ",* should one take the voice and attitude of the First Settler or the young wife .•' In both cases the answer is, the per- sonality of the first must not be lost in the second. You are not Mrs. Bardell, but the pompous Buzfuz imitating Mrs. Bardell ; you are not the girl-wife, but the old frontiersman speaking the words of his young wife which have stung him to the quick. In description the problem is more difficult and at the same time more important. jNIany of the most irritating blunders in the use of gestures arise from taking the part of personator and describer at the same time. Is this not tliQ trouble in the following cases .' " King Robert, who was standing near the throne, Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone! * See page 283. Ixxxviii INIKODUC/ION Hut all apjiarclcil as in ilays of old. Willi criniiu'i! inaiitK' aiul witli vlotli ol L;i)l(i; And wlun his courtiers came, tlu-y louml hini there, Kncclinc; uimn the lloor, absorbed in silent prayer." " I know of a reader", says Professor Clark, " who knelt here." " All into the Valley of Death Rode the Six Hundred." '' A certain reader ", .says Professor Clark, " lu)lds his hands as if driving a horse. " * But shouUl one personate only when one has the quoted words of the character to utter ? That depends upon the intensity of the emotion aroused liy the description. In describing a hall, a court-room, or an arena, he surely does not personate; he points out size, shape, and arrangement, — he makes indicative gestures. But other scenes arouse in him more emotion; he pities or hates the characters; he desires this one to fail, that one to succeed. So interested is he in their acts that, as he looks upon them, he imitates their movements; i.e., he makes imitative or sympathetic gestures. Sometimes the emotion becomes so strong that the reciter no longer stands apart from the scene; he becomes an actor in it, although he may not be uttering the direct w'ords of the character. Then and only then, on those rare occasions when the emotion is very strong, can one properly personate in description. Hovo should I make gestures? First of all be consistent. In descriptive selections there is always a picture which the speaker tries to make j)lain to tlie audience. To do this he needs to see the picture clearly himself, to have a very definite mental vision. He should then lay out the scene to be described carefully and consistently. In speaking, for * Chaml)erlain & Clark : "'Principles of Vocal Expression," p. 462, Scott, Foresman & Co., Ciiicago. GESTURE Ixxxix example, " The Storming of Missionary Ridge " (page 23), which begins: " Imagine a chain of Federal forts built in between with walls of living men, the line flung northward out of sight and southward beyond Lookout", the reciter should by appropriate gestures show on which side are the Federal forts, and on which side the mountains; he should show where the center of the Federal line is pushed out, and where the ridge is up which the Union forces must charge. In referring to these from time to time, the reciter must be consistent. If he places the rebel line on the left in the beginning, it is going to be confusing if he suddenly changes its position to the right. Secondly, place ike imagined scene In sight of all. The principal scene should be placed so that the speaker will not have to turn away from the audience and yet so that the audi- ence may see the principal action. In this connection it may be said that seldom can a speaker afford to keep his eyes upon the imagined scene. He must never forget that he is speaking to an audience. Now and then he can seem to be- come so engrossed in an exciting description that he can keep his eyes almost entirely upon the picture. But gener- ally such a use of the eyes looks affected. In a large ma- jority of cases there is no better way of holding an audience than by looking at them. Time your gestures carefully. If gestures come before or after they are due, they give the impression of forming a separate scheme outside of the selection. To learn to time your gestures, practice with a simple sentence like the fol- lowing: "See that team passing along the street." You will notice here that you first look towards the street, then you begin to move your hand in that direction, and then you begin to speak the words. The eye anticipates the hand, the hand the voice. In emphatic gestures the final stroke should come upon the accented syllable of the word you wish to emphasize. Avoid aivkwardness. To keep your gestures from seeming xc INTRODUCTION Milt aiul awkwanl, \(>u lu'cil first of all to loci tin- iin])ulso to make tluni : aiijui'lieiul the thought so tiniily ami feci the emotion so keenly that you cannot help making; them. See that you move yt)ur arm freely. Do not throw your elbows out too far, neither let them hup; the sides. In makinj,' gestures /c/ Ihc forearm lead. Also remember that curved lines are gemrally more graceful than are straight. Here be careful not to overdo; an excess of arching movements seems artificial. Do not spoil the grace of the gesture by holding the hand stiff and dead; sec that it is alive to the finger-tip.«. (Generally it is \vell to open the hand, to straighten the lingers, at the same time that you make the stroke of the gesture. " Don't", says Professor Smith, " hold the hands as though you had bird-shot in each hollow, and feared that it would roll out." * Suit the gesture to the thought and emotion. Quick move- ments of the arm or hand express thought or emotion which is harsh, severe, violent, impetuous, abruj)t; slow move- ments express thought or emotion which is gentle, grand, gloomy, cautious, and deliberate. "Aliens! Good God! was Arthur, Duke of ^^'ellington, in the House of Lords, — and did he not start up and exclaim, 'Hold! I have seen the aliens do their duty/' " " Calm and unmoved as the marble walls arouncl him stood Regulus, the Roman. He stretched his arm over that surging crowd with a gesture as proudly imperious as though he stood at the head of his own gleaming cohorts." Upward movements of the arms are appropriately used in speaking of that which is above your point of view, or high in your estimation; in appealing to your superiors; in ex- pressing emotions that are noble or attractive, — righteous- ness, patriotism, victory, ])urity, loyalty, love. " 'Strip me', said he, 'of the dejected and suffering remnant of my army— take from me all that 1 have left — * Sniitli ■ ••Reading and Speaking, " j). 103. D. C. Ilealli iS; Co.j Boston. iJllsrURE xci leave me but a banner, give nie but the means to phnit il upon the viouniaiiis of West Augusta, and I will yet draw around me the men who shall lift up their bleeding country from the dust, and set her free! ' " See page 216. " Then dipping her pen in the sunlight, will write in the clear blue, above them all, the name of the soldier, the states- man, the martyr, Toussaint L'Ouverture. " See page 309. "To a place in heaven by the side of Washington and Jjucoln." See page 6. " They tried to bear him along; it was no use; still he shouted that rallying cry, 'For France, /or France, Jive la France, Vive P Evipereur! ' " See page iii. Downward movements of the arms are appropriately used in pointing out or emphasizing that which is below your point of view, or low in your estimation; that over which you have mastery; in expressing emotions that are disagree- able or base, — defeat, gloom, corruption, cowardice, hate, revenge, treachery, brutishness. "Down with these tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance! Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests! " See page 64. "Where all was want and crime and cruelty and fear, we see the faces of the free. " See page 327. " Until a torrent, terrible and strong, it sweeps to the abyss where all is ruin. " See page 158. " But still he lowered not his arm, until, at length, I held him, gashed a?id fainting, m my power." Seepage 157. Movements of the arms on a level with the chest are appropriately used in expressing colloquial discourse; in speaking of things on your plane; to and of your associates and equals. " Here by the peaceful river on whose shores they dwelt, amid the fields that they sowed and reaped, we come to tell their story. xcii INTRODUCTION " liehoU ihevi here to-day, sharing in these pious and jtcaccful rites. " " It has ravaged hoiv viauy of our homes ! it has wrung how many of the hearts before vie ! " Widening movements of the arms arc expressive of frank- ness, generality, bounteousness, hospitality, unreservedness, " We welcome you, soldiers of \'irginia, as others more eloquent than I have said, to New England. ll'e ivc/cotiie you to old J/assachusetts. Jl'e we/coHie you to Boston and to Faneuil Hall. ' ' See page 247. " And ye do well to call him chief, who for twelve long years has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad Empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. " See page 299. " Orchard's where I'd ruther be — Needn't fence it in fer me! fes' the ichole sky overhead, And the 7vhole airth underrteath. " See page 127. The correct position of the hand adds much to the ex- pressiveness of the arm movements. V The Hand Index points out, counts, analyzes, warns, accuses, threatens. " Sign that parchment or be ac- cursed forever! " "Look! There lie stands. " " But see! he has stepped on the railing. "' A The Hand Supine expresses openness, candor, affirmation, demand, welcome, appeal. "Here, take it — oh! take it from me See page 216. C^^T"^ — A " I turn to you, the brothers and the ^:^^ ^---7 sons of those men." See page 14. ^^^^—-^ " She took her children from her bosom and offered them," • See page 215. GESTURE \3 The Hand Prone represses, restricts, forbids, conceals, restrains, protects, blesses. " Howl on, I speak to thirty mil- lions here. " " Ha! bind him on his back! *' So — let him writhe! How long Will he live thus .? " ^^ The Hand Averse expresses repulsion, abhorrence, horror, dismay, scorn. " Now, begone! Prepare the Eternal City for our games. ' ' See page 158. " Avaunt and quit my sight," The Hand Clenched expresses force, determination, anger, revenge, malediction, defiance. " I care not how high his situation, how low his character, how contemptible his speech; whether a privy counselor or a parasite, my answer ivotild be a blow. " Gesticulating Exercises I. Swing clubs, vault, play tennis, fence; gymnasts as a rule make graceful gestures. n. Stand erect; extend the arms sideways so that the hands are on a level with the shoulders. Withdraw the energy from the hands so that they hang apparently lifeless. Then shake the arms vigorously. HI. Raising the arms in front, proceed as in Exercise H. IV. Letting the arms hang from the sides as if lifeless, by twisting the trunk shake them vigorously. V. Speaking the following sentences, make gestures that seem to you appropriate. (i) " Behold the condemned Claudius and Cynthia, whom he lately took for his wife." See page 268. (2) "And now, oh! now look at those bounding, flam' jng-eyed tigers, ' ' See page 269, Miv ISTRODUCTION (3) '■ Oil. on 111- wiiit, ^iiiic one inoinciit aiul in sij;ht tlic lu-xt, »>n up to the tlaininf^ cannon tlicnisrlvcs. " Sec p.igc 2()8. (4) " ()vcr the ckiid uiul wtjuiuictl, ovi-r hrcastworks and fallen foe, over cannon belchinj^ forth their lire of death, he led the way to victory. ' ' >^<^t; P-'i^e 293. (5) " Go to Ilayti, and :stand on those fifty tiiousand graves of the best soldiers France ever had,* and ask thcni what thev think of the negro's sword. ^','' SeWp?ki,'e 30^- (6) " At tile turn of the road a lian'd waves — she answers by holding high in her loving arms thtt. child. He is gone and forever. ' ' ^ee page 326. (7) " If, then, you ask, why I have come back, to let vou work your will on this poor. body which I esteem but as the rags that cover it, — enough reply for you, it is" because I am a Roman! As such, here in your very capital I defy you I " ' (8) " Go! bring your threatened tortures! " (9) " If you could touch those bronze lij)s with thq,fire of speech, what do you think they would say .^ They i^evcr said ' yield ' in their life. " ^ee page 13. (10) " The new South is enamoured of her new work. As she stands upright, full statured and equal, amocig the people of the earth, breathing the keen air and looking out upon the expanded horizon, she understands that her emancipation came because, in the inscrutable wisdom of God, her honest purpose was crossed and her brave armies were beaten. " See page 314. (11) "New England Civilization said to Slavery, 'thus far and no farther forever, ' and when in its insolence it over- stepped the bounds, seized it by the throat and throttled it to the death! " See page 5. PREPARATION FOR READING Al\D SPEAKING xcv PREPARATION FOR READING AND SPEAKING Thorough preparation for reading and speaking means primarily care for the body. To stand the stress and strain of our complex life, to achieve much of anything in business, scholarship, statesmanship, law, or medicine, a man must be first of all a healthy animal. He must have steady nerves, "lungs like bull's hide", a heart like clockwork, and a stomach that will grind its grist even when he is doing his hardest task. Especially true is this of the person who undertakes such exhaustive work as swaying large audiences, — of the lawyer, the preacher, the statesman, the orator. Leaders in these professions have as a rule been men of powerful physiques, of exuberant vitality, and of phenomenal endurance; such were Lincoln, Webster, Gladstone, Beecher, and Brooks. The young man, then, who wills to influence men and women in public speech, must live much in the open air, play baseball and tennis, row and swim, play golf and ride a bicycle, and work and sleep in rooms that have a good supply of sunshine and oxygen. Seldom in college does a man with shaky nerves or poor digestion win a prize in declamation or debate; much more often the winner is an athlete. In the world at large, other things equal, influence and following are won by the speaker physically strong. J?est. A person when he speaks should be well rested. Many a preacher has learned from an experience dearly bought that the exhaustive work of sermon-writing on Saturday evening is poor preparation for effective speaking on Sunday. After a sleep crowded with dreams of appearing before an audience sans neck-tic, collar, coat, or manuscript, a preacher is in no mental or physical condition to speak persuasively. Try to be in earnest as he may, his voice tells the tale of depleted nervous force. The preacher should have his sermon ready for delivery by Saturday noon,. xcvi IMKODUCJJO.\' Saturday afternoon ho sliouKl " loaf ", read Mr. Dooley, go sailing or fishing, do sonuthing that will recreate his mind and rest his nerves. AVhat is true of the j)reacher is also true of the lawyer, lecturer, and public speaker of every sort. School boys and girls should not rehearse their declamations tlic day on which they speak; neither should they engage in fatiguing work or play. College students who have learned their declamations thoroughly sometimes fail at the last moment because of being physically tired, A game of base- ball or too long a walk has so wearied them that their memories j)lay them false. "An English lecturer relates that at the beginning of his career he was forced to walk from one town to another in filling his engagements. He found that if he lectured on the evening following a long walk his memory invariably proved treacherous. It was only after repeated failures that he came to realize the con- nection between weariness and loss of memory." * Practice. A sprinter or oarsman would not think of entering a race without previous training. Every day he practices that he may get the right start and may not lose his wind at the critical moment. He can thus make a supreme exertion without injury. Public speaking is as exacting as a race. To speak effectively two or three hours a man must train. The reason, HuUah says, why the voices of many clergymen fail is not that they use their voices too much; they use them too little, but they do not use them regularly. They enter a two-mile race on Sunday without having run a lap on the six preceding days. To keep the vocal organs at their best and to gain control of the agents of expression, one should use the voice in reading, speaking, or singing an hour or so every day. * Koopman's " Mastery of Books," p. 84. American Book Co., Boston. " Sir Henry Holland lias recorded that, after an exhausting exploration of a mine in Germany, he found himself no longer able to speak German with his guide ; and not until he had taken rest and refreshment did he recover his memory of the language." — Ibid. FREPAR/1TI0N FOR READING AND SPEAKING xcvii Thorough preparation also means mental and spiritual training. The messenger must have a message. There must be behind the voice an intellect to think and a heart to feel. However clear the articulation, graceful and apt the gestures, pure and resonant the quality, the expression is ineffective unless vitalized by intellect and inspired by emotion. " People go to schools of oratory with nothing within themselves which is clamorous for expression; not even a very ' still small voice ' urging them to express some- thing. Many who desire, or think they do, to be readers, as there are many who desire, or think they do, to be artists, evidently believe that if they be trained in technique they can be readers or artists. ' ' But suppose some one is impelled to cultivate vocal power because of his desire to express what he has sympathetically and lovingly assimilated, of a work of genius: if he endeavor to give an honest expression, so far as in him lies, to what he feels, and avoid trying to express what he does not feel, and if he persevere in his endeavor, with always a coefTicient ideal back of his reading, he may — in time he certainly will — become a better reader than another could if he should set out, with malice prepense, to be an elocutionist, and, with that malicious purpose, were to employ a mere voice- trainer who should teach him to perpetrate all sorts of vocal extravagances, to make faces, and to gesticulate when reading what does not need any gesture. Such an one, after passing out of the hands of his trainer, is most likely to go forth and afflict the public with his performances, which will be wholly a pitiable exhibition of himself. ' ' Some of the best readers I have ever known have been of the former class, who honestly voiced what they had sympathetically assimilated, and did not strain after effect. But it seems when one sets out to read, with no interior capital, he or she, especially she, is apt to run into all kinds of extravagances which disgust people of culture and taste. x.viii INTRODUCTION TIk" Voice, in^tt•a^l of bi-iiiL,' tlu- organ of the soul, is the boiraycr of soullcssncss. " Williout the interior life that can respond to the in- definite life of a work of genius (indefinite, that is, to the intellect), a trained voice can do nt)thing of itself in the way of real interpretation." * How can a person aciiuire this j)ower to lay hold of the thought and respond to the emotion of a literary master- piece ? In general, by a thorough mental and spiritual training; toughening the mental fiber by wrestling with l)roblenis in Euclid, strengthening the memory and the power of expression by conning the Latin grammar and translating Ccesar's " Commentaries ", sharpening the powers of observation and discrimination by research with the test- tube, the scalpel, and the microscope, developing a love for the true and an appreciation of the noble and the masterful by " brooding for the thousandth time " over Homer, Dante, Shakespere, ami ^lilton. In particular cases, to get firm hold of the thought, the reader should know his lines thoroughly; he should be certain of the meaning of the words and the construction of the sentences — an absurdly simple suggestion, yet not so obvious that it is always observed. Boys and girls some- times speak '• Archoiis of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return ! " who haven't guessed the meaning of " tettix "; or "Unhand me, gentlemen. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him who let's me ! " who have given an entirely wrong meaning to "lets". They read "I prevented the dawning of the morning", entirely ignorant of the fact that " prevented " means not ♦Corson : "The Voice and Spiritual Education," p. ii6. The Mac- inilian Company, New York. PREPARATION FOR READING AND SPEAKING xcix "hindered" or "obstructed" but " anticipated ". They read " Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you ? " without having decided whether ' ' crowned ' ' refers to ** you " or " me ". Secondly, the reader or speaker should understand the significance of the allusions. In reading " Pheidippides ", he should know who Pan was and why ' ' fennel ' ' is spoken of; in speaking "A Tribute to General Sherman", he should know why Hotspur is referred to as restless, Fabius as patient, Caesar's Tenth Legion as dashing; or in speaking " American Battle Flags ", he should understand the signifi- cance of Villagos to the Hungarian, Vendee to the French soldier, and Culloden to the Scotch Highlander. Thirdly, the reader should read around the subject. He should know thoroughly the circumstances under which the poem was written, the oration delivered. He should be well acquainted with the story told or the scene described. " Sheridan's Ride .' " said a listener to a public reader in England, " Sheridan's ride to where ? " "Oh," replied the reader with some confusion, "Sheri- dan's ride to — to — to Bunker Hill, I think." It surely is not enough for pupils who would declaim intelligently to confine their reading to the short selections given in the Speakers. The boy who would speak under- standingly the declamation on page io6, for example, must do more than memorize this small portion of Webster's famous reply to Hayne; he should read carefully the entire speech, also Senator Lodge's lucid account of all the cir- cumstances under which this speech was delivered.* Such careful study of the words, constructions, allusions, and circumstances of an oration or poem will enable the reader or speaker to distinguish between the principal and * See Lodge's '• D;ii)iel Webster." C INTRODUCTION the subordinate, ;\nil tlms to make liis expression more in- telligent. For in no way tloes a person reveal his ignorance or knowledge of a piece of literature more completely than by reading it aloud. Again, an effective speaker or reader must be in earnest; he must be able to lay hold of the emotion. " Tt) tliii OIK- stand.ird make your ju^t appeal, Here lies tlic golden secret : Learn to feel." How is he to learn to feel ? It is not enough for him to say, " I will be in earnest ". An attempt to put on emotion from the outside is liable to result in bombast and in dis- gusting contortions of face and limbs. Genuine emotion must come from within. It means real interest in the subject discussed, the scene described. This interest may be aroused first by a thorough knowledge of the events spoken of. the characters depicted. In real life our passing pity for the man who asks our aid is changed into per- manent, genuine interest and sympathy, by our knowing more about him, his struggles, his home life, his desires to be and to do something. In the same ma»ner genuine interest may be aroused in fictitious and historical characters and events, A boy cannot expect to declaim with real earnestness " The Last of the Roman Tribunes " * before he has read the whole of Lord Lytton's " Rienzi ". Not long ago I commended to a student looking for a declamation to speak in a prize contest, Curtis's " Eulogy on Sumner ".f At first he thought it a bit tame. But after he had read more about Sumner, of his conflicts, his ideals and achieve- ments, he began to see how great an oration this really i:^. No longer was it tame; those magnificent periods thrilled with life. He understood the significance of such sentences as these: " How the stately and gracious and all-accom- plished man seemed the very personification of that new * See page 342, | See page 136, PREPARATION FOR READING AND SPEAKING ci union for which he had so manfully striven, and whose coming his dying eyes beheld — the union of ever wider liberty and juster law, — the America of comprehensive in- telligence and moral power! For that he stands; up to that his imperishable memory, like the words of his living lips, forever lifts us — lifts us to his own great faith in America and man." And because he saw their real meaning and importance, he spoke them with an unfeigned earnestness. Moreover, to lay hold of this emotion it is often well to paraphrase. The ordinary paraphrase ranks low as a literary product; when repeated aloud it seems flabby, common, or artificial; but it may often be useful. As a matter of fact boys and girls read and recite selections, especially lines of poetry, with no more idea of the meaning of some of the phrases or realization of their significance than had the man in one of George Eliot's novels of the meaning of those sen- tences which he found so much comfort in repeating: *' Sihon, King of the Amorites, for His mercy endureth for- ever. And Og, King of Bashan, for His mercy endureth forever." A full paraphrase quickly stops such parroting. Furthermore, the reader in learning to feel true emotion should use his imagination. By dwelling upon the thought and seeing the picture vividly, or by appealing to his own experience, a reader may be able to respond to the emotion genuinely and thus overcome an indifference fatal to effective expression. It is only by holding the truth before the mind and looking at it from all sides that we can feel its true sig- nificance and be dominated by its power. And after all the heart of the whole matter is this: a man cannot express more than he is. A man of small soul cannot express great emotion. " Eloquence is a virtue almost as much as an art." He then who would express exalted emotions should cherish firm convictions and high ideals; he should " cultivate above all things love and truth " and " avoid like poison the fleeting and the false ". RAY'S RIDE (Abridged) By Charles King, Army Officer, Professor of Military Science and Tac- tics, Descriptive Writer, Novelist. Born at Albany, N. V., 1844. Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from " Marion's Faith," copyright, 1886, by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. Darkness has settled down in the shadowy Wyoming Valley. By the light of a tiny fire under the bank some twenty forms can be seen stretched upon the sand ; they are wounded soldiers. A little distance away are nine others, shrouded in blankets; they are the dead. Crouching among the timber, vigilant but weary, dispersed in a big, irregular circle around the beleaguered bivouac, some sixty soldiers are still on the active list. All around them, vigilant and vengeful, lurk the Cheyennes. Every now and then the bark as of a coyote is heard, — a yelping, querulous cry, — and it is answered far across the valley or down the stream. There is no moon; the darkness is intense, though the starlight is clear, and the air so still that the galloping hoofs of the Cheyenne ponies far out on the prairie sound close at hand. " That's what makes it hard," says Ray, who is bending over the prostrate form of Captain Wayne. "If it were storming or blowing, or something to deaden the hoof-beats, I could make it easier; but it's the only chance."' The only chance of what ? When the sun went down upon Wayne's timber citadel, and the final account of stock was taken for the day, it \\as found that with one fourth of the command, men and horses, 2 CH.-IRl.rS k'lS'(] killed and wouiuicd tlu-rc wore kft n^t more than three hun(lred cartriilges, all told, to enable sonic sixty men to hold out until relief could come ap^ainst an enemy encircling them on every side, and who had t)nly to send over to the neighboring reservation — fi)rty miles away — and get all the cartridges they wanted. They cou/i/ cut through, of course, and race up the vallev to f.nd the — th, but they would have to leave the wountied and the dismounted behind — to death by torture; so that ended the matter. (Jnly one thing remained. In some way, by some means, word must be carried to the regi- ment. I.ieut. Ray had been around the rifle-pits taking observa- tions. Presently he returned, leading Dandy, his sagacious horse, up near the fire — the one sheltered light that was permitted. Captain \\'ayne looked up startled. " Ray, I can't let you go! " " There's no helping it. Some one mus/ go, and whom can you send .' " Wayne was silent. Ray had spoken truth. Tliere was no one whom he could order to risk death in breaking his way out since the scout had said 'twas useless. There were brave men there who would gladly try it had they any skill in such matters, but that was lacking. " If any man in the command could 'make it,' that man was Ray." He was cool, daring, keen; he was their best and lightest rider, and no one so well knew the country or better knew the Cheyennes. Ray flung aside his scouting-hat, knotted the silk hand- kerchief he took fiom his throat, so as to confine the dark hair that came tumbling almost into his eyes, buckled the holster-belt tightly round his waist, looked doubtfully an instant at his spurs, but decided to keep them on. Three minutes more and the watchers at the edge of the timber have seen him, leading Dandy by the bridle, slowly, RAY'S RIDE 3 Stealthily, creeping out into the darkness; a moment the forms of man and horse are outlined against the stars; then are swallowed up in the night. Hunter and the sergeants with him grasp their carbines and lie prone upon the turf, watching, waiting. In the bivouac is the stillness of death. Ten soldiers, carbine in hand, mounted on their unsaddled steeds, are waiting in the darkness at the upper rifle-pits for Hunter's signal. If he shout, every man is to yell and break for the front. Otherwise, all is to remain quiet. Back at the watch-fire under the bank Wayne is squatting, watch in one hand, pistol in the other. Near by lie the wounded, still as their comrades just beyond — the dead. All around among the trees and in the sand-pits up- and down-stream, fourscore men are listening to the beating of their own hearts. In the distance, too, are the gleams of Indian fires, but they are far beyond the positions occupied by the besieging warriors. Darkness shrouds them. Far aloft the stars are twinkling through the cool and breezeless air. With wind, or storm, or tempest, the gallant fellow whom all hearts are following would have something to favor, something to aid ; but in this almost cruel stillness nothing under God can help him — nothing but darkness and his own brave spirit. His footfall is soft as a kitten's as he creeps out upon the prairie; Dandy stepping after him, wondering but obedient. For over a hundred yards he goes, until both up- and down- stream he can almost see the faint fires of the Indians in the timber. The thing is to get as far through them as possible before being seen or heard, then mount and away. After another two minutes' creeping he peers over the western bank. Now the fires up-stream can be seen in the timber, and dim, shadowy forms pass and repass. Then close at hand come voices and hoof-beats. Dandy pricks up his ears and wants to neigh, but Ray grips his nostrils like a vice, and Dandy desists. At rapid lope, within twenty yards, a party of half 4 lh.-iru:s king a dozen warriors go houmling past on their way clown the valley, and no sooner have they crossed the gully than he rises and rapidly pushes on up the dry sandy bed. Thank heaven! there are no stones. A minute more and he is crawling again, for the hoof-bcats no longer drown the faint sound of Dandy's movements. A few seconds more and right in front of him, not a stone's throw away, he hears the deep tones of Indian voices in conversation. Whoever they jnay be they are in the " cooley " and watching the prairie. Thev can see nothing of him, nor he of them. Pass them in the ten-foot-widc ravine he cannot. Turning stealthily he brings Dandy around, leads back down the ravine some thirty yards, then turns to his horse, pats him gently one minute, springs lightly, noiselessly, to his back, and at cautious walk comes up on the prairie. He bends down on Dandy's neck, intent with eye and ear. He feels that he has got well out east of the Indian picket unchallenged, when suddenly voices and hoofs come bounding uj) the valley from below. He must cross their front, reach the ravine before them, and strike the prairie beyond. "(Jo, Dandy! " he mutters with gentle pressure of leg; and the sorrel bounds lightly away, circling southwestward under the guiding rein. Another minute and he is at the arroya and cautiously descending, then scrambling up the west bank ; and then from the darkness comes a savage challenge, a sputter of pony hoofs. Ray bends low and gives Dandy one vigor- ous prod with the spur, and with muttered prayer ami clinched teeth and fists he leaps into the wildest race for his life. Bang! bang! go two shots close behind him. Crack i goes his pistol at a dusky form closing in on his right. Then come yells, shots, the uproar of hoofs, the distant cheer and charge at camp, a breathless dash for and close along under the bluffs where his form is best concealed, a whirl to the left into the first ravine that shows itself, and, despite shots and shouts and nimble ponies and vengeful foes, the Sandford NEIV HNGMND CiyiLlZATlON 5 colors arc riding far to the front, and ail the racers of the reservations cannot overhaul them. NEW ENGLAND CIVILIZATION By William Pierce Frye, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Maine, 1871-81; Senator, 1881 — . Bom in Lewiston, Maine, 1831. From an address delivered at a meeting of the New England Society of Philadelphia, Dec. 22, 1881. Centuries ago, on the rock-bound coast of Massachusetts Bay, one night there was a wedding. The sky was the roof that covered the high contracting parties, and the stars, painted by the finger of God, were the fresco-work; the music was that of the singing night-bird and the surge of the gray old ocean; the bidden guests were the Puritan fathers and the Puritan mothers; the unbidden guests were the dusky savages; the bride and the bridegroom were the meet- ing-house and the schoolhouse, and from that marriage there was born a child. They christened it New England Civilization. New England Civilization, inspired by the Bible and the schoolbook, what a power it has been in this Republic! New England Civilization, the only power that dared cry a halt to advancing barbarism ; that said to slavery, " thus far and no farther forever," and when in its insolence it overstepped the bounds, seized it by the throat and throttled it to the death! New England Civilization, the inspiration of every great enterprise, of every marvelous in- vention, of every grand forward and upward move of man and mind in this country! New England Civilization, that planted on every hill a church, and in every valley a school- house with its open door! New England Civilization, that living spirit which opened up to every boy in the land such splendid opportunities, such glittering possibilities; that raised a ladder, its base on the earth, its top in heaven, and encouraged the barefooted boy of the West to mount, by the round of the canal-boat, by the round of the academy, by 6 Hllll.-IM rilRCl: IKYl- (he rouiul of tljc C(.>lk'gc', bv the round of the teaLlier's desk, by the round of the war for equal rights, l)y the round of the House i>f Representatives, by the round of the Senate, by tljc round of the Presidency, by tlie round of a perfect hfc, a patient sickness and heroic death, to a place in heaven by the side of Washington and Lincoln. Religion and educa- tion, love of Ciod and regard for man, — this is the secret of New England's strength in the nation. But, Mr. President, have we finished the fight ? May we lay the armor off and hang the sword on its peg ? " Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty." For a century we were sluggards, seemed to sleep, and barbarism grew stronger and stronger until we awoke, then it slunk back. Dead .' No, only waiting for its opportunity. There is an old story of a giant who had lived for fifty years a cruel, wicked life, then repented, and, to do works meet for repentance, built him a little hut by the side of a broad, bridgeless river, and carried ever}' passing traveler across the stream on his shoulders. One dark, tempestuous night a child knocked at his door, and asked to be carried over. The giant took him on his broad shoulders, nothing but a feather's weight to him, marched boldly out into the darkness and the stream; but as he maiched on the burden grew heavy and heavier, until at last it seemed to him that he and his burden must sink forever beneath the terrible waves. Of a sudden he looked up and found that he was bearing the Christ Child, immediately he received Christ's strength, and bore him safely to the other shore. From that day he has been known as Saint Christopher, the Christ-bearer. Now we took this blessed Republic upon our strong shoulders, agreeing to carry it in honor and safety, through peace and war, through prosperity and adversity, through brightness and darkness, through calm and tempest. To us it was a mere feather's weight, and we boldly bore it along; but it grew heavy and heavier, until right in the darkness and tempest of terrible civil war it seemed to us that we and the Republic must sink THE DE/iTH OF CHARLES THE NINTH 7 forever beneath the waves. Then, and for the first time, in the Proclamation of Emancipation by the immortal Lincoln, we looked up, found that we were carrying, not slavery, but justice, freedom, equal rights, all of them children of Christ; and immediately we received his strength, and have been nobly bearing our burden on towards safety. The haven has not yet been reached. By demands of business, by for- getfulness of history, by appeals for conciliation, by necessi- ties of party, by weariness of strife, by longings for rest, by every temptation, we are enticed once more to look down. Sons of New England, look not down; it is full of deadly peril. Stand on the watchtowers of civilization, and cease- lessly cry out to the people, " Oh, look not down! " Sons of New England, in pulpit, at teacher's desk, in professor's chair, in the Halls of Congress, on the bench, in the count- ing-room, in the shop, by the loom, on the farm, wherever you may be, at home or abroad, in the name of your fathers' God, for the sake of the precious Republic, cry out to the people, " Look up, look up! " and looking up, they will ever see that they are bearing a Republic, founded in justice, liberty, and equal rights. Seeing and remembering, they will have God's help, and our country shall be saved. THE DEATH OF CHARLES THE NINTH By Maude Moore, Poet, Story-writer. Burn in Warren, Maine, 1849. From "Songs of Sunshine and Shadow," published by The Lothrop Publishing Company, Boston. It was a festal day in Paris. Since early morning had the streets been filled with hurrying multitudes; but as the sun went down, and all the thousand lamps of the great city were lighted, the festivities were laid aside, for a messenger had come from the Palace bringing word that the young king was dying. Slowly the gathered throng dispersed, till, instead of the vast multitudes that so lately thronged the streets, the city was silent and deserted. Within an upper chamber lay the king. His white face, 'gainst the pillow scarce as white. M.4UDF. MOOR/: (ilcanuil gha.stly — lip ami hand aiul l)ro\v Were (.hilling with the icy touch of him Who comes but once — who comes alike to all. About the room the waxen tapers tall Lit up the shailow.^^, while the black-robed priests Stood rouml the cmich with " Host and C'rncifi.v," The ceremonial of the sacrament. But the king sees them not; his soul is back With the i)ast years — lie wliisi)ers! lla! he dreams! He sees the streets of Paris all aglow With gleaming fire of the torch and lamp; lie stands beside his window — from below Thro' all the streets he hears the ceaseless tramp Of armed men — the crash of arms — the cry Of gathering forces; on the midnight air He hears the wild, wild accents of despair In groans and curses, as the throng go by; And 'bove them all, o'er every sight and sound He hears the bell of St. Germain slow toll The signal for the massacre; — the ground Beneath his feet is red with blood: the roll Of musketry is drowned in dying groans! Within the chamber still the dark-robed priests Move noiselessly; from out his fever dream The king awakes, his sunken, gleaming eyes Fast dark'ning with the gathering gloom of death; In vain the trembling priests essay to calm His troubled soul — " I murdered them! " he shrieks; " I saw them butchered; now their vengeful souls Are come to mock me! Hear the tower bell! ' No bell ' ? ye mock me! Hear it peal! Aye, hear it ! Marking slow The shrieking of the murdered ones In all the streets below ! I see them — their uplifted hands, THE DEATH OF CHARLES THE NINTH Their pleading eyes — oh, there! See! see their life-blood flowing down Around me everywhere ! ' ' " Nay, nay, my son ! this crucifix Put to thy lips in prayer! " " What! pray ? I pray ? I press my lips Upon that holy thing ? I pray ? 'twere blasphemy! no prayer Peace to this heart can bring! The bell! the bell again! shut out, Shut out its ringing knell! ' A fever dream ' ? Great God, my soul Doth know the sound full well ! Have I not heard it pealing slow Above me night and day! Has it not hung about my neck Whene'er I've tried to pray! Have I not heard it ? hear the peal ! Louder and louder yet ! I shall go mad! Shut out the sound! O God, could I forget! And hark! it brings another sound, — Hush ! sure, you heard it then. The shrieking of the helpless throng, The groans of dying men — The curses! hear them!" From his couch They raised the dying king, And sought with soothing, prayerful words A calmer frame to bring. " My son " — the aged father spoke — " But idle dreams are these: You hear no bell^ — there is no sound But wind among the trees. See, here I hold the crucifix : XO MAUDE MOORE Now lay aside thy cure. And gaze thou o\\ tiic holy cross, The while I kiict'l in prayer." The king sank buek with ashen lips, The holy father bent. And to tlie heavenly throne above Ilis supplication sent: " Have mercy, Lord I " the white-haired priest In reverent accents prayed ; " Have mercy on the sons of men. For thou thyself hast said — " Quick started from his royal couch The dying king. " Be still! " He shouted to the kneeling priest, " Stay, hold thy peace! Be still! Did He not say * Be merciful ' .'' ' ' Did I show mercy when By mine own word the very streets Flowed down with lives of men ? Did I show mercy when that wail Of anguish rent the air .? Did I show mercy e'en to one In all that black despair ^ 1 saw them murdered — did I raise My hand to stay the fire ? Did I show mercy when they prayed, To babe, or gray-haired sire .'' Mercy .' ye mock me! " From his hand The holy symbol fell, And from his white lips fell the cry: ' The bell, the tower bell ! Shut out the sound! " THl: TRADiriONS OF MASSACHUSETTS His voice grew faint, His eye with death grew dim ; Slowly the icy shadows crept O'er hand, and brow, and limb; The holy fathers gathered round In silence where he lay; About the room the tapers tall Grew dim with dawning day; And ere the sun had lit the east, A soul had passed away. THE TRADITIONS OF MASSACHUSETTS By Henry Cabot Lodge, Lawyer, Editor, Author; Member of Con- grass from Massachusetts, 1886-93; Senator, 1893 — . Born in Boston, Mass., 1S50. From a speech before the Republican State Convention of Massachusetts, ^[arch 27, 1896. See daily papers of Boston, March 28, iSg6. Look at these two questions for a moment, the Venezuelan and the Cuban, one involving aggressions on our rights — on rights which we believe with great unanimity concern deeply the peace and safety of the United States — while the other involves a case of humanity, as I consider it. I have formed the opinions which I have expressed on these questions by a very careful study of all the facts and circumstances for considerably more than a year. But I did not rest there; I have looked also to see what the traditions and the history of Massachusetts had to say to me where questions involving the rights of my country, and others as I believed involving the interests of humanity right here at our threshold, were at stake. The first public man I ever saw, when I was a mere child in my father's house, was Charles Sumner. The first voice I ever heard speak on public affairs was his, and he was pleading the rights of humanity. Even a child cou,ld under- stand that. He bore stripes for what he believed, and you 13 HHKNY c.-tnoT lonci: coiilil ui.t turn liitn {\. re.uly, uiuluunttil, to f.uc a worlil in .irnis, unyielding and unafraiil, I ihankiil Ck)d I was of the race! There is no drop of blood in nie, Mr. President, that is not of F.nglish origin, and I have no ancestor on either sitic since 1650 who was not born on the soil of New England ; but my heart beats faster w hen I recall the glorious deetls of Clive, and Lawrence, and Napier, and Wellington — of Drake and Hawkins wlio fought the Spaniard and swept the Spanish Main, and of the incomjiarable Nelson; and my pulse quickens when I realize that the splendor of their achievements is part of our glorious lirri- tage, and that the language of Burke and of Chatham is our mother tongue ! Mr. President, we will protect our country and our country's interests with our lives, but we wage no wars of conquest or of hate. Tliis Republic stands facing the dawn, secure in its liberties, conscious of its high destiny. Wher- ever in all the world the hand of the oppressed or the down- trodden is reached out to us, we meet it in friendly clasp. In the Old World, where unspeakable crimes even now darken the skies; in the Orient, where old dynasties have been crumbling for a thousand years and still hang together strong in accumulation of infamies; in South America, where as yet the forms of free institutions hold only the spirit of cruelty and oppression; everywhere upon the earth it is our mission to ameliorate, to civilize, to Christianize, to loosen the bonds of captivity, and to point the souls of men to nobler heights. Whatever of advancement and of progress the centuries shall bring us, must largely come through the spread of the religion of Christ and the dominance of the English-speaking peoples; and wherever you find both, you find communities where freedom exists and law is obeyed. Blood is thicker than water, and until some just quarrel divides us — which Heaven forbid! — may these two great nations of the same speech and lineage and traditions stand as brothers shoulder MR. TRACERS' S FIRST HUNT 17 to shoulder, in the interest of humanity, by their union compelHng peace and awaiting the coming of the day when " Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more." MR. TRAVERS'S FIRST HUNT By Richard Harding Davis, Journalist, Author. Born in Philadel- phia, Penn., 1864. Taken, by permission of tlie publishers, from " Van Bibber and Others," by Richa d Harding Davis. Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers, New York. Young Travers, who had been engaged to a girl down on Long Island for the last six months, only met her father and brother a few weeks before the day set for the wedding. . , . Old Mr, Paddock, the father of the girl to whom Travers was engaged, had often said that when a young man asked him for his daughter's hand he should ask him in return, not if 'he had lived straight, but if he could ride straight. And on his answering this question in the aiifirmative depended his gaining her parent's consent. Travers had met Miss Paddock and her mother in Europe while the men of the family were at home. He was invited to their place in the fall when the hunting season opened, and spent the evening very pleasantly and satisfactorily with his Jiancee in a corner of the drawing-room. But as soon as the women had gone, young Paddock joined him and said: "You ride, of course .''"' Travers had never ridden; but he had been prompted how to answer by Miss Paddock, and so he said there was nothing he liked better. As he expressed it, he would rather ride than sleep. " That's good," said Paddock. " I'll give you a mount on Satan to-morrow morning at the meet. He's a bit nasty at the start of the season; and ever since he killed \\'allis, the second groom, last year, none of us care much to ride him. But you can manage him, no doubt. He'll ju^-t carry your weight," iS RlCH.fKP HAKDING DAl'lS Mr. Travcrs ilrcamcd that night of taking largo, i1cs])it;Uc leaps into space on a ^iKl horse that snortcil forth flames, and that rose at solid stone walls as though they were hay- ricks. He was temj^ted to say he was ill in the morning, luil reflecting tliat he should have to do it sooner or later, and that if lie did break his neck it would be in a good cause, he thought he had better do Iiis best. fic came down looking very miserable indeed. .Satan had been taken to the place where they were to meet, and Travers on his arrival there had a sense of sickening fear when he saw him dragging three grooms off their feet. Travers decided that lie would stay with his feet on solid ground just as long as he could, and when the hounds were thrown off and the rest started at a gallop he waited, under the pretense of adjusting his gaiters, until they were all well away. Then he clenched his teeth, crammed his hat down over his ears, and scrambled up on to the saddle. Ilis feet fell by accident into the stirrups, and the licxt instant he was off after the others, with an indistinct feeling that he was on a locomotive that was jumping the ties. Satan was in among and had passed tiie other horses in less than five minutes, and was so close on the hounds that the whippers-in gave a cry of warning. But Travers could as soon have pulled a boat back from going over the Niagara Falls as Satan, and it was only because the hounds were well ahead that saved them from having Satan ride them down. Travers had taken hold of the saddle with his left hand to keep himself down, and .sawed and swayed on the reins with his right. He shut his eyes whenever Satan jumped, and never knew how he liappened to stick on ; but he did stick on, and was so far ahead that no one could see in the misty morning just how badly he rode. As it was, for daring and speed he led the field, and not even young Paddock was near him from the start. There was a broad stream in front of him and a liill just MR. TRAyERS'S FIRST HUNT 19 on the other side. No one had ever tried to take this at a jump. It was considered more of a swim than anything else, and the hunters always crossed it by a bridge towards the left. Travers saw the bridge and tried to jerk Satan's head in that direction ; but Satan kept right on as straight as an express train over the prairie. Fences and trees and furrows passed by and under Travers like a panorama run by electricity, and he only breathed by accident. They went on at the stream and the hill beyond as though they were riding at a stretch of turf, and, though the whole field sent up a shout of warning and dismay, Travers could only gasp and shut his eyes. He remembered the fate of the second groom and shivered. Then the horse rose like a rocket, lifting Travers so high in the air that he thought Satan would never come down again; but he did come down, with his feet bunched, on the opposite side of the stream. The next instant he was up and over the hill, and had stopped panting in the very centre of the pack that were snarling and snapping around the fox. And then Travers showed that he was a thoroughbred, even though he could not ride, for he hastily fumbled for his cigar-case, and when the rest of the field came pounding up over the bridge and around the hill, they saw him seated nonchalantly on his saddle, pufiTing critically at a cigar and giving Satan patronizing pats on the head. "My dear girl," said old IMr. Paddock to his daughter as they rode back, " if you love that young man of yours and want to keep him, make him promise to give up riding. A more reckless and brilliant horseman I have never seen. He took that double leap at the gate and that stream like a centaur. But he will break his neck sooner or later, and he ought to be stopped." Young Paddock was so delighted with his piusptctive brother-in-law's great riding that that night in the .^nioking- room he made him a present of Satan befcMC all the men. " No," said Travers gloomily, " I can't take him. Your ao Hui.i.iM .\tjd more; anotluT ring of fin- iiml iron, ami llun the crest, and then the enemy. To dream of such a journey would be madness; to litvise it. a thing incredible; to ilo it, a deed impossible. But Cirant was guilty of them all, and was ecpial to thr work. The bugle swung idly at the bugler's side. The warbling life anil rumbling drum were unheard. There was to le louder talk. Six guns at intervals of two seconds, the signal to advance. Strong ami steady a voice rang out: " Numbir one, fire! Number two, fire! Number three, fire I " It seemed to me the tolling of the clock of destiny. And when at " Number six, fire! " the roar throbbed out with a flasli, you should have seen the dead-line that had been lying behind the works all day, all night, all day again, come to resurrection in the twinkling of an eye, leap like a blade from its scabbard, and sweep with a two-mile stroke toward the Ridge. From divisions to brigades, from brigades to regiments, the order ran. A minute, and the skirmishers deploy. A minute, and the first great drops begin to patter along the line. A minute, and the musketry is in full play, like the crackling whips of a hemlock fire. Men go down here and there before your eyes. But I may tell you they did not storm that mountain as you would think. They dash out a little way, and then slacken; they creep up, hand over hand, loading and firing, and wavering and halting, from the first line of works toward the second ; they burst into a charge with a cheer and go over it. Sheets of flame baptize them; plunging shot tear away comrades on left and right. It is no longer shoulder to shoulder; it is God for us all. Ten — fifteen — twenty minutes go by like a reluctant century. The batteries roll like a drum. The hill sways up like a wall before them at an angle of forty-five degrees; but our brave mountaineers are clambering steadily on — up — upward still! And what do tkese men follow ? Your heart gives a great bound when you think what it is, — the regimental flag, — and, glancing THE STORMING OF MISSION RIDGE 25 along the front, count fifteen of those colors that were borne at Pea Ridge, waved at Shiloh, glorified at Stone River, riddled at Chickamauga. Three times the flag of the 27th Illinois goes down. And you know why.. Three dead color sergeants lie just there; but the flag is immortal — thank God ! — and up it comes again, and the men in a row of inverted V's move on. I give a look at the sun behind me; it is not more than a hand-breadth from the edge of the mountain. Oh, for the voice that could bid that sun stand still! I turn to the battle again. Those three flags have taken flight. They are upward bound! The race of thfe flags is growing every moment more terrible. The iron sledge beats on. Hearts, loyal and brave, are on the anvil all the way from base to summit of Mission Ridge, but those dreadful hammers never intermit. Things are growing desperate up aloft; the enemy tumble rocks upon the rising line; they light the fuses and roll shells down the steep; they load the guns with handfuls of cartridges in their haste; and, as if there were powder in the word, they shout " Chickamauga! " down upon the mountaineers. But all would not do, and just as the sun, weary of the scene, was sinking out of sight, with magnificent bursts all along the line, exactly as you have seen the crested seas leap up at the breakwater, the advance surged over the crest, and in a minute those flags fluttered along the fringe where fifty guns were kenneled. The scene on that narrow plateau can never be painted. As the b'luecoats surged over its edge, c!ieer on cheer rang like bells through the valley of the Chickamauga. Men flung themselves exhausted upon the ground. They laughed and wept, shook hands, embraced, turned round, and did all four over again. It was wild as a carnival. The general was received with a shout. "Soldiers," he said, "you ought to be court-martialed, every man of you. I ordered you to take the rifle-pits, and you scaled the mountain! " NEHll.L bli ii.jnr tm.i.is THE BIBLE By Newell Dwiout IIili.is, rriachcr, Autlior; Pastor of Central Cliiirch. Cliic:i^;i>, 1804-99; of I'lymouth Church, Urooklyii, 1899— . lk>rii ill Ma(;nolia, la., 1858. From a sermon delivered in Chicago, April 11, iHy;. See CliicaKo Inter-Oie,tn, April I J, 1897. By permission of the author. Tlic Bible is a handbook for right living. In all literature it is the one book that unveils the great scheme and schedule along which each man may lay out the lines of his life. It is a book that blazes forth against brutalism, but flames with light for him who seeks knowledge and integrity. Not once has it flattered the oppressor's hand, nor gilded witli hope the future of him who loved selfishness and sin. No youth who riots through life, draining away the nerve forces that make for happiness, can, when the hour of weakness and disaster takes him, complain that he was not warned. And there is no hero who has stood for patriotism and liberty, and won immortal renown, who can fail to recognize his indebtedness to this book that taught him self-sacrifice and sweetness and law. This is the one book also that has stood for the home and commanded parents to rise up early and sit up late to teach their children the laws of industry and thrift and obedience. And having been the book for workingmen, the book for slaves, the book for the oppressed and the defeated, the book of hope, the book that in a midnight hour has lifted a star into the sky, this book finally became for man the book of mercy and redeeming love. Having rolled the thunder of its penalties along the horizon of time, at last it sent forth a voice to every wrongdoer urging him to forsake his iniquity and to love integrity. It unveiled the divine form of Jesus Christ, who exhibited God as a God of love. . . . Never before has the Bible been so vigorously assailed. Every instrument that wit and learning can devise or invent has been turned against this book. For full thirty years the THE BIBLE 27 Bible has been in such a fire of criticism as no other book has even known. The result is that in Germany, England, Scotland, and among the educated classes in America the Bible has a standing and influence that it never before possessed. No other book has been so refurbished as this book. As the old canvas in Milan, when cleansed of grime and the smoke of centuries, revealed the faces of angels and seraphs, so criticism is cleansing from the Bible the grime of the Middle Ages. . . . For the higher criticism has helped the Bible, not hurt it. A few timid teachers have tried to protect Christianity, thinking it was a young and tender thing that would perish unless each year the counsel or assembly wrapped a red flannel around the truth to keep the truth from taking cold. But men cannot defend the truth, though the truth can defend men. History tells us of a fire that ran over the hills of Greece. While the flames burned through the vineyards each peasant wrung his hands and wep bitterly. Afterward when the people went into their blacKcned fields they found that the flames that had destroyed their vines had melted the silver, hitherto unsuspected, and made it flow from the fissures in the rocks. Thus the fires of criticism kindled upon the Bible have left us richer than they found us. If they have burned up the old traditions, they have given us new truths. Never before has the Bible been so truly a God-inspired book. Never before have scientists and scholars felt the full fascination of its glorious pages. Young men need this book once bedewed by the sweet mother's tears. Young women and maidens need this book that lent the revered father his manhood and strength. Poverty needs this book, childhood needs this book, liberty and learning need this sacred volume. When its truths fail eloquence will lose its dignity, the library will lose its glory, civilization will lose its power. Not until the last wrong has been righted, the last wound healed, the last tear wiped away, will this book have accomplished its mission. For it is the book of hope, 2S JOHX Mi:i.U:.\' TNL'KSTON the book «•( loiiifoit, tin- lnHik i>( cdiuliu t ;iiul cliaiiKtrr, the book of time, the hook of rttriiitv, ami, tlu icfoif, it is the book of CjoiI. A PLEA FOR CUBA h\ John Mei.I.kn TlllRsruN. Lawyer; Senator from NVhraska, i8i»5 — . liorn at Montpelier, \'t.. 1847. From a speech made in the Senate, March 24. iS.y"?. See CongrfssicHfil KetrorJ, March .-4. iS^S. .Mr. President, I am here by cumniand of silent Li[)s to speak once and for all upon the Cuban situation. 1 trust that no one has expected anything sensational from me. God forbid that the bitterness of a personal loss should induce me to color in the slightest degree the statement that I feel it my duty to make. I shall endeavor to be honest, conservative, and just. 1 have no purpose to stir the public passion to any action not necessary and imperative to meet the duties and necessities of American responsibility, Christian humanity, and national honor. I would shirk this task if I could, but I dare not. I cannot satisfy my con- science except by speaking, and speaking now. . . . Under the inhuman policy of W'eyler not less than 400,000 self - supporting, simple, peaceable, defenseless country people were driven from their homes in the agricultural por- tions of the Spani.sh provinces to the cities, and imprisoned upon the barren waste outside the residence portions of these cities and within the lines of intrenchment established a little wav beyond. Their humble homes were burned, their fields laid waste, their implements of husbandry destroyed, their live stock and food supplies for the most part confiscated. Most of these people were old men, women, and children. They were thus placed in hopeless imprisonment, witliout shelter or food. There was no work for them in tlie cities to which they were driven. 'l"he\- were left there with noth- ing to depend upon except the scanty charity of the inhabit- A PLEA l-OR CUBA 29 ants of tlie cities and witli slow starvation their inevitable fate. . . . The pictures in the American newspapers of the starving reconcentrados are true. They can all be duplicated by the thousands. I never before saw, and please God I may never again see, so deplorable a sight as the reconcentrados in the suburbs of INIatanzas. I can never forget to my dying day the hopeless anguisli in their despairing eyes. Huddled about their little bark huts, they raised no voice of appeal to us for alms as we went among them. . . . Men, women, and children stand silent, famishing with hunger. Their only appeal comes from their sad eyes, through which one looks as through an open window into their agonizing souls. The Government of Spain has not appropriated and will not appropriate one dollar to save these people. They arc now being attended and nursed and administered to by the charity of the United States. Think of the spectacle! We are feeding these citizens of Spain ; we arc nursing their sick ; we are saving such as can be saved, and yet there are those who still say it is right for us to send food, but we must keep hands off. I say that the time has come when muskets ought to go with the food. . . . I shall refer to these horrible things no further. They are there. God pity me; I have seen them; they will remain in my mind forever — and this is almost the twentieth century. Christ died nineteen hundred years ago, and Spain is a Christian nation. She has set up more crosses in more lands, beneath more skies, and under them has butchered more people than all the other nations of the earth combined. Europe may tolerate her existence as long as the people of the Old World wish. God grant that before another Christmas morning the last vestige of Spanish tyranny and oppression will have vanished from the Western Hemi- sphere. , . . The time for action has, then, come. No greater reason 3© JOHN Mllir.N THURSTON for it can exist to-morrow tiian exists to-ilay. I'.vcry hour's delay onlv adils anotlier eliapter to the awful story of misery and death. Only one power ean intervene — the United States of America. Ours is the one great nation of the New World, the mother of American republics, ."^lie holds a position of trust and responsibility toward the peoples and the affairs of the whole Western Hemisphere. It was her glorious example which inspired the patriots of Cuba to raise the flag of liberty in her eternal hills. We cannot refuse to accept this responsibility which the (iod of the univer.^c lius placcal upon us as the one great power in the New World. We must act! What sliall our action be.' . . . Mr. President, there is only one action possible, if any is taken; that is, intervention for the independence of the island. But we cannot intervene and save Cuba without the exercise of force, and force means war; war means blood. The lowly Nazarene on the shores of Galilee preached the divine doctrine of love, " Peace on earth, good will toward men." Not peace on earth at the expense of liberty and humanitv. Not good will toward men who despoil, enslave, degrade, and starve to death their fellow men. I believe in the doctrine of Christ. I believe in the doctrine of peace; but, Mr. President, men must have liberty before there can come abiding peace. Intervention means force. Force means war. War means blood. But it will be God's force. When has a battle for humanity and liberty ever been won except by force } What barricade of wrong, injustice, and oppression has ever been carried except by force ? Force compelled the signature ot unwilling royalty to the great ^Nlagna Charta; force put life into the Declaration of Independence and made effective the Fmancipation Procla- mation ; force beat wuth naked hands upon the iron gateway of the Bastile and made reprisal in one awful hour for cen- turies of kingly crime; force waved tlic flag of revolution THE HEART OF OLD HICKORY 3I over Bunker Hill and marked the snows of Valley Forge with blood-stained feet; force held the broken line at Shiloh, climbed the flame-swept hill at Chattanooga, and stormed the clouds on Lookout heights; force marched with Sherman to the sea, rode with Sheridan in the valley of the Shenan- doah, and gave Grant victory at Appomattox; force saved the Union, kept the stars in the flag, made "niggers " men. The time for God's force has come again. Let the impas- sioned lips of American patriots once more take up the song: In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigured you and me, As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, For God is marching on. Others may hesitate, others may procrastinate, others may plead for further diplomatic negotiation, which means delay; but for me, I am ready to act now, and for my action I am ready to answer to my conscience, my country, and my God. THE HEART OF OLD HICKORY (Adapted) By Will Allen Dromgoole, Teacher. Author. Born in Murfrees- boro, Tenn., i860. Taken, by permission of the publishers, from " Heart of Old Hickory and Other Stories," copyright, 1895, by Dana Estes & Company, Boston. There was an air of desolation about the grim old State House, as, one by one, the last loitering feet came down the damp corridors. The Governor heard the steps and the rustle of a woman's skirt. He never felt quite alone in the empty State House until those steps had passed by. This evening, however, they stopped, and the librarian entered the executive office. " I only stopped to say a word for the little hunchback's mother," she said. "She is not a bad woman, and her provocation was great." 3-' ///// .-iiirK nii Till the wniil.s ImiL,' altir llir lil>iaii:in liail gone; ami sijjhini;. lie aj^ain took up the Irnii; rull of ])a])(.'r lyinj; upon his desk. " luasuiucli as she was sorely w ron.t,'eil, bcalLii, tor- turcil-— ■' ( >h, that was an oUl story; yet it read well, too, that oKl. oKI petition with that old, old plea — charily. It was a hard thing, — to hold WW in his hand and refuse it. Those old threailbarc stories liatl well-nigh wrought his political ruin. The paj)crs liail sneeringly nicknamed him " Tenderheart. " ami compared him, with a sneer, to that old sterling hero, Amlrew Jackson, whose statue loomed like a bronze giant in the gathering twilight. "Papers! Papers! Wanter paper, mister.'"" A thin little face peered in at the door, a face so old, so strangely unchildlikc, he wondered if it were not the face of a man fastened upon the misshapen body of a child. " Yes, I want a Banner." The bo}- hail bounded forward at the wx-lcome " Yes, " but stopped at the remainder of the sentence, while an expression of regret and disgust crossed his little old-young face. l)on"t sell that sort, mister; none o' our club don't. Its — low-lived. " "What.' You don't sell \\\q. Evening lianiur. llie only independent journal in the city } " " That's about the size on't, " he said as he edged him- .self, a veritable bundle of tatters, a trifle nearer the open grate. " And so you refuse to sell the Banner. Why is that .' " " 'Taint no good," was the reply. " None o' us likes it. Yer see, cully, it sez mean things, lies, you know, about a friend o' mine," " And so the Banner abuses your friend .' And what does it say of him .' " " Aw, sher! it called him a mugwump, an' it said ez ther' wa'n"t no backbone to him, an' ez he wuz only fitten to set THE HEART OF OLD HICKORY ■ 33 the pris'ncrs loose, an' to play the iicklle. An' it said a lot about a feller named Ole Poplar — '' "What! " "Poplar? Pen't it poplar? Xaw, cedar; — ash, hick'rv — that's it! llick'ry. (Jle Hick'ry. It said a lot about him; an' it made the bovs orful mad, an' they Avon 't sell the nasty paper." " Who is your friend ? " " Aw, he aint n/y friend perzactly. He's Skinny "s though, an' all the boys Stan's up for Skinny." " And who is Skinny ? " " Say, cully, wher' was you raised ? Don't you know- Skinny ? " The Executive shook his head. " Is he a newsboy ? " " Htzvus — He wuz a newsboy^ — till yistiddy. We buried uv him yistiddy. " " And this man whom the Banner abuses was Skinny's friend." " Yes. This here wuz Skinny's route. I took it yistiddy. Yer see Skinny didn't have no mammy an' no folks, an' no meat outer his bones, — that's why we all named him Skinny. He wuz jest b-o-n-e-s. An' ther' wuz nobody ter tek keer uv him when he wuz sick, an' he jest up an' died." " Tell me about this friend of Skinny's." " The Gov'ner ? " " Was it the Governor ? " "Say, is ther' anybody else can pardon out convic's ? Say, cully, does you know the Gov'ner ? " "Yes; but go on with your story. Tell me all about Skinny and — his friend." " Me an' him wuz on the pris'n route, till — yistiddy. Least I wuz ther' till yistiddy. Skinny tuk this route last year. He begged it fur me when he — come ter quit, because 1 ben't ez strong ez — Solermun, you know. Wa'n't he the strong un ? Solermun or iMerthusler, 1 furgit which. liut 'twuz when we wuz ter the pris'n route 1 larnt about 34 //■//./ .11 lis nKO.Mc.()Oi.r. Skinn} 's fritiul. tlie (Inv'mr, you know. I'ir>t tlicr' wii/. ole J;\ck Nasbv up an' jjot j)arcli/.i(l, an' wa'n't no 'n)unt tcr noboiiy, let 'lone tin- State, lie sulfcrcil awful toi», an' so'cl his wife. An' one ilay Skinny saii.1 he wuz f^foin' ter write a pcrtition an" i,Mt all the 'fishuls ter sii^n it, an' .t,Mt the (Jov'ner ter parJ'n ole Nasby out. 'I'hey all sijj^neil it^ — one o' tlie convic's writ it, but they all tol' Skinny cz 'twuz no use, 'cause hewouKln't ilo it. An' one day, don't ycr think when ole Na>by wuz layin' on the hospittul bunk with his dead side kivered over with a pris'n blankit, an' hi.s wife a-cryin' bccase the ward'n war 'blceged ter lock her out, the Gov'ner hisse'f walked in. He wuz sorter lame his se'f yer know, got it in the war. An' what ycr reckin he done .'' Cried/ What yer think o' that, cully.'' Cried; an' then he called the man's wife back, an' pintcd ter the half-dead convic', an' told her ter ' fetch him liome. ' Ditl! An' the nex' day if the ^''o« got a chile .^ ' An' his eyes filt up in a minute, an' sez he, ' One, at Mount Olivet.' That's the graveyard, yer know. Then, he called his sec't'ry man. An' the man sez, * Is it wise .-' ' An' then the Gov'ner stood up gran' like, an' sez lie, ' Hit's right; and that's enough.' Say, cully, whatcher think o' that .'' An' whatcher lookin' at out the winder .' THB HE^RT OF OLD HICKORY 35 " Say, cully, does the firelight hurt yer eyes, makes 'em water ? They looks like the picture o' Skinny's man. Oh, but hit's a good picture. It's a man, layin' in bed. Sick or somethin', I reckin'. An' his face has got a kind o' glory look. An' in one corner is a big, big patch o' light. An' plumb square in the middle uv it is an angul : a gal angul, I reckin, becase it's orful pretty. An' she has a book, a gold un; an' she's writin' down names in it. An' the man in the bed is watchin' uv her, an' tellin' uv her what ter do; for down ter the bottom ther's some gal'-writin'. Skinny figgered it out an' it said, ' Wri/e me as une who loves his felloiv men. ' Aint that scrumptious .? ' " Say! yorter knowed Skinny. He wuz the nicest boy yevver did see. He knowed ever'-thing, he did. He wuz a plumb good un. I wish you could see Skinny's picture anyhow. He set a sight o' store by it. Skinny did. When he wuz a-dyin' he turned ter me, an' sez he, ' Skip, hang the Gov'ncr so's I can see him.' An' when I done it, he sez, sorter smilin', sez he, 'Skip.'' Sez I, 'Skinny.' Sez he — so soft yer Jes/ could a-heerd it; sez he, ' Write me ez one who loves his fellow men.' An' that wuz the las' word he ever said on this earth. " There was a sound of heavy footsteps coming down the gray stone corridor — a creak, groan, and bang. " What's that .'' " asked the newsboy, starting up. " That is the porter, closing up for the night." The tatters stood as near upright as tatters may. Not a paper sold; he remembered it too late. " Say! yer wouldn't want a Jlera/dP " " Yes," said the Executive, " a Herald will do." " Say! I can't change a dollar." The Executive smiled. "Nevermind the change," said he, " and be sure you bring me to-morrow's Herald." " Say! who be you anyhow } " " I am the Governor of Tennessee, Skippy. " 3'> HFSRY CABOT lODCli 1 here \v;is a low jsoft \vlii>tli;, ;i hurried >lian\liling, ami the ponderous door closed behind him. The Ciovernor arose and began lo jmi away lii> j)apers. Inasmuch as she was sorely wronged ' — his eye fell upon a line of the woman-inurtlerer's long petition. W as this a case for clemency ? The crisp paper rattled strangely as he unrolled it, ami lixeil his own name, together with the great seal of the State. The critics might lash to-morrow; but io-night — he lifteil his face to the starless sky and said: " Write me as one who loves his fellow men." THE FIGHT OFF SANTIAGO Rv Hknrv (,'ahoT Lodgk, Lawyer. Kditor, Author; Member of Con- gress from Massachusetts. 1886-93; Senator. 1893 — . Horn in Uoston, Mass., 1850. 'I'aken, by permission of the publishers, from Lodge's " 'J'lie War with .Spain." Cop>Tight, 1899, by Harper & Brothers, New York. The details [of the fight <-Ai Santiago], tlie number of shots, the ranges, the part taken by each ship, the positions of the fleet — all alike have begun to fade from recollection even now, and will grow still dimmer as the years recede, liut out of the mist of events and the gathering darkness of passing time the great fact and the great deed stand forth for the American people and their children's children, as white and shining as the Santiago channel glaring under the search-lights through the Cuban night. They remember, and will always remember, that hot summer morning, and the an.xiety, only half whispered, which overspread the land. They see, and will always see, the American ships rolling lazily on the long seas, and the sailors just going to Sunday insi)ection. Then comes the long thin trail of smoke drawing ncarL-r the harbr>r's mouth. The ships see it, and we can hear the cheers ring out, for the enemy is coming, and the American sailor rejoices mightily to know that the battle is set. There is no need THH FIGHT OFF SANTIAGO 37 of signals, no need of orders. The patient, long-watching admiral has given direction for every chance that may befall. Every ship is in place; and they close in upon the advancing enemy, fiercely pouring shells from broadside and turret. 'I'here is the Gloucester firing her little shots at the great cruisers, and then driving down to grapple with the torpedo- boats. There are the Spanish ships, already mortally hurt, running along the shore, shattered and breaking under the lire of the Indiana, the Iowa, and the Texas; there is the Brooklyn racing by outside to head the fugitives, and the Oregon dealing death-strokes as she rushes forward, forging to the front, and leaving her mark everywhere she goes. It is a captain's fight, and they all fight as if they were one man with one ship. On they go, driving through the water, firing steadily and ever getting closer, and presently the Spanish cruisers, helpless, burning, twisted wrecks of iron, are piled along the shore, and we see the young ofi^icers and men of the victorious ships periling their lives to save their beaten enemies. We see Wainwright on the Gloucester^ as eager in rescue as he was swift in fight to avenge the Maine. We hear Philip cry out: "Don't cheer. The poor devils are dying," We watch Evans as he hands back the sword to the wounded Eulate, and then writes in his report: " I cannot express my admiration for my magnificent crew. So long as the enemy showed his flag, they fought like American seamen ; but when the flag came down, they were as gentle and tender as American women." They all stand out to us, these gallant figures, from the silent admiral to the cheering seamen, with an intense human interest, fearless in fight, brave and merciful in the hour of victory. 143297 38 Ln.-i/iu](>n. 18S4. From llie novel " Ni-vcr Too I.atc to Mciul," publislieil in iS(.o liy 'I'ickiior and Fields, Itoston. |Itw,»s in Australia on a briplit Sunday morniiii;. On a i:;rass-pl()t near a little house that was whitewashed and thatdiod as if l)uiit in l\njjlan HHNKr I'. JOHNSON Such a policy excites cupidity; it provokes avarice; it breeds oppression; it iullicts injustice; it levies taxes; it incurs expenses; it stirs up strife; it sheds human blood; it is a step in the direction of dismemberment; and the inevit- able goal to which the nation tends which follows it is that of national disintegration and decay. Let the nations of the OKI World go on pursuing this policy to their heart's content, if they desire to do so. Let them, I beg you, have a full monopoly of the evils which follow in its train. Let them saddle their people with enormous drbts that tlicy may c(]uij) great navies and raise great armies to precipitate them into conllicts in which they spend millions of treasure and shed oceans of human blood. Let the mother country, less fortunately situated than ourselves — obliged by the narrow confines of her island home to draw upon her colonies for subsistence and to draw upon them also largely for her commerce and her wealth — boast, if she pleases, that the sun never goes down upon Briti^-h soil. We can point her to the fact that neither does the sun go down upon the wretchedness and misery which her remorseless policy has produced. We can point her to the revolts in India, to the difficulty of maintaining her supremacy in South Africa, to the enormous expense of keeping up her lines of communication, to the wars and rumors of wars which bring anxiety to the faces and sadness to the hearts of her people. We can point her — and we can do it with pardonable pride — to the flower of her colonies, which for seven long years she sought by the expenditure of money and blood to retain, breaking away from her grasp and in a little over a century, by pursuing directly the opposite policy to that which she has pursued in this respect, not only rivaling but outstripping her in progress and in material development and in ever}'thing that makes a nation great and respected in the eyes of mankind. No, Mr. Chairman, while these nations are teaching avarice, let us preach contentment. While they arc exciting AGAINST EXPANSION 47 by threats of war, let us soothe b}' promises of perpetual peace. While they are inflicting suffering and misery, let us dispense happiness and prosperity. Peace hath her victories No less renown' d than war. Let it be our happy lot to achieve those bloodless triumphs which, while they will exalt and enrich us as a people, will not derogate in the least from the happiness and welfare of any other nation under the light of the shining sun. Let us heed the advice and example of George Washington, that great and wise patriot whose birth is this instant being com- memorated throughout the entire land, and avoid all entangling alliances with the other countries of the earth. Let us turn our attention to the development of our own resources and to the upbuilding and upholding of that which is already ours. We have here, Mr. Chairman, as I said before, 70,000,000 people, intelligent, thrifty, ingenious, and patriotic. We have an empire for our home. Our soil is teeming with natural riches, which await the deft hand of labor, seconded by the power of capital, to take them from their hiding- places and convert them into articles of ornament and use. We have fields to plant and to sow. We have crops to harvest and to garner. We have mines to open and work. We have mills and factories to operate. We are yet in the very infancy of our resources, in the very morning of our development. Our great navigable rivers, our railroads whose steel bands form the fretwork of our continent, are lying ready to convey to all classes of our population, in every portion of our domain, these products of the field, the mine, and the factory; and the great ocean vessels, with their dark hulls, are lying at our seaboard ports, ready to transport these things to the various nations of the globe and to receive back from them in trade those things which are necessary for our comfort and our happiness. ROBFRT CRMNT Ml. riiairman, if in tliis rnuTgcnty wc will only adliere t<^ that which is right, if we will only be true to our teach- ings and our traditions, within twentv-fivc years to come events will amply vindicate our choice. We can then look back upon a jirogress more marvelous even than that which has marked our career in the past, and which has exciteil the admiration of the whole world. We can then lay our patriotic and jK-aceful achievements side bv side with the achievements of any nation which has in the meantime pursued a policy contrary to our own wiiii emotions of pride and e.vultation at the result. We will then thank (lod with grateful hearts that in the hour of temptation we had the moral courage to say " no," and the resolution to turn away from the enticement of those who would lure us from the plain path of duty and lead us in a new ilcparture along the lines of a mistaken policy whose final destination no power short of the Supreme Ruler of the universe can foretell. THE BOAT-RACE Bv Robert Grant, Lawyer, Judge, Author. Roni in Boston, Mass.. 1852. Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from " Jack Hall," copyriglit, 1887, by Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. The course of the boat-race was to be two miles in all; straight away for a mile to a flagged buoy and back again to another flagged buoy abreast of the boat-house. The three boats have turned the first buoy and are now only half a mile from home. "Steady now," murmurs Jack, between his teeth. He knows from Tom's e.xertions that his rival is spurting and putting all his vitality into his pace. A terrible moment of sustained effort follows, at the end of which Tom lashes the air with a misplaced stroke, the water splashes, and our hero's shell surging forward, comes on a level with its fore- runner, battles with it for twenty yards of struggling agony r/y/; BOAT-RACE 49 on the part of the doomed champion, and leaps to the front at last. Jack is ahead, and only a quarter of a mile left! Tom is beaten. And now for the Doctor. Where is he .? No need to ask that question, friend Jack, if you lift your eyes. Tom is beaten, not only by you but by the Doctor also; and though your most dreaded enemy is still in your rear, the nose of his boat is almost on a line with your stern, and he is quickening at every stroke. What a babel of cheers and exclamations bursts forth from the waving, transported crowd along the bank ! They begin to know who is who now, and can tell beyond the shadow of a doubt that the crimson and black and the blue and white are having a noble struggle for the lead. " Jack Hall is ahead ! Hall! Hall! No, he isn't! Hit her up Doctor! Hurrah for Doctor! Hurrah for Hall! Hurrah for the Doctor! Tom, where are you .? Bonsall! Bonsall! H-A-L-L! H-A-L-L! " The tumult is maddening. Can it be possible that Jack Hall, who, on the whole, before the race, was rated lowest of the three, is going to break the school record and beat the invincible Doctor in one and the same breath .? It looks like it, if he can hold his own for two hundred yards more. It looks like it, decidedly, and there is plenty of clear water still between the winning goal and the foremost shell ; and see, the Doctor is spurting with a vengeance — look! — look! — and is he not gaining, too ? The Doctor has crept up, no doubt about that. The nose of his shell is now well beyond Jack's outrigger, and he is speeding like the wind. Jack is feeling terribly tired, his throat that he thought parched at the start burns as if it were on fire, and his eyes seem ready to start out of his head. His crimson handkerchief has fallen over his eyes, but he gives himself a shake and it falls to his neck, leaving his brow refreshingly free. He has vanquished Tom anyway. So much to be thankful for. Tom is a length behind, struggling still, like the man he is, but hopelessly vanquished 50 ROnrRT CR.-INT all the same. jack turns liis licad, rcincinliering tA/r rascals out " do iu>t p;o ilcc'|> tniniL;li. W'c must sec ami say ami fed that the wljole Si)oiIs System from top to bottom, is a flagrant immorality and a fertile mother of vices. The Ring does not form itself out of the air; it is bred in the system. A lioss is simply a boil, an evidence of bad blood in the body j>olitic. Let it out and he will subside. ."^ons of the Revolution kindh' their imlii^nation by con- templating tlie arrogance of the Tea-Tax ami the Stamp-Act which tyranny attempted to impose on freemen. 1 will tell vou of two more arrogant inicpiities nearer home. 'Ihe people of the largest State in the Union not long ago made a law that their civil service should be taken out of the domain of spoils and controlled by merit and efliciency. A committee appointed last year to investigate the working of the law, reported that it had been systematically disregarded, evaded, and violated, by the very Governor elected and commissioners appointed to carry it into execution, so that the number of olTices distributed as spoils had steadily increased, and the proportion of appointments for ascertained merits and fitness had decreased twenty-five per cent in a year and a half. That is the first instance. And the second is like unto it. The people of the largest city in the Union, regardless of party, joined hands last fall in a successful effort to drive out a corrupt and oppressive organization which had long fattened on the spoils of municipal ofilice. They elected a chief magistrate pledged to administer the affairs of the city on a business basis, with a single eye to the welfare of the city, and without regard to partisan influ- ence. To this chief magistrate now appears a man from the rural districts, like Banquo's ghost, but without a crown and with plenty of " speculation in his eyes," demanding that his counsel shall be taken, and his followers rewarded, and his faction " placated," in the distribution of the offices of this great city of which he is not even a citizen. I say that is as impudent an iniquity as George III. and his ministers ever proposed towards their colonies. NBIV AMERICANISM 55 But who is responsible for it ? I will tell you. The cor- porations from whom the Boss gets his gains in payment for his protection. The office-seekers, high or low, who go to the Boss for a place for them.selves or for others. And the citizens who, by voting or not voting, have year after year filled our legislative chambers with men who were willing to do the Bosses' bidding, for a consideration. It should be the desire and object of every patriotic American to remove these places as rapidly and as com- pletely as possible from all chance of occupation or use by the Spoils System. Burn the nests, and the rats will evac- uate. Clean the sewers, and the malaria will abate. Let it be understood that our chief elective officers are no longer to be sent into the fields to feed place-hunters, and it will no longer be difficult to get the most conscientious men to serve. Let the people once thoroughly repudiate and disown the " Spoils System," and then the spoilsman and the boss, the ring and the hall, " Shall fold their tents like the Arabs And as silently steal away." NEW AMERICANISM By Henry Watterson, Journalist, Author; Member of Congress from Kentucky, 1876-77; Editor of Louisville Courier- yoitrna/, 1S68 — . Born in Washington, D. C, 1840. From an address at the annual meeting of the New England Society in New York City, December 22, 1894. See New York Tril'une, Dec. 23, 1894. Eight years ago, to-night, there stood where I am standing now a young Georgian, who, not without reason, recognized the "significance" of his presence here and, in words whose eloquence I cannot hope to recall, ap- pealed from the New South to New England for a united country. He is gone now. But, short as his life was, its heaven- born mission was fulfilled; the dream of his childhood was realized; for he had been appointed by God to carry a 56 f n:\RY n.iJTi^KsON nic.s>agc ot peace on <.arili, good will to men, ami, this done, he vanished from the sight of mortal eyes, even as the dove from the ark. (irady told us, and told us truly, of that typical American who. in l>r. 'I'aimagc's mind's eye, was coming, hut who, in Abraliam Lincoln's actuality, had already come. In .some recent studies into the career o[ that man, I have encoun- tered many startling contirmalions of this judgment; and from that ruggcil trunk, drawing its sustenance from gnarled roots, interlockeil with Cavalier sprays and Puritan branches deep beneath the soil, >hall spring, is springing, a shapely tree — svmmetric in all its jjarts — under whose sheltering boughs this nation shall have the new birth of freedom Lincoln promised it, and mankind the refuge which was sought by the forefathers when they fled from oppression. Thank God, the axe, the gibbet, and the stake have had their day. They have gone, let us hope, to keep company with the lost arts. It has been demonstrated that great wrongs may be redresseil and great reforms be achieved without the shedding of one drop of human blood ; that vengeance does not purify, but brutalizes; and that toler- ance, which in private transactions is reckoned a virtue, becomes in public affairs a dogma of the most far-seeing statesmanship. So I appeal from the men in silken hose who danced to music made by slaves — and called it freedom — from the men in bell-crowned hats, who led Hester Prynne to her shame — and called it religion — to that Americanism which reaches forth its arms to smite wrong with reason and truth, secure in the power of both. I appeal from the patriarchs of New England to the poets of New England; from Endicott to Lowell; from Winthrop to Longfellow; from Norton to Holmes; and I appeal in the name and by the rights of that common citizenship — of that common origin — back both of the Puritan and the Cavalier — to which all of us owe our being. Let the dead past, consecrated by the blood of its THI: MAN lyiTHOUT A COUNTRY 57 martyrs, not by its savage hatreds — darkened alike by king- craft and priestcraft — let the dead past bury its dead. Let the present and the future ring with the song of the singers. Blessed be the lessons they teach, the laws they make. Blessed be the eye to see, the light to reveal. Blessed be Tolerance, sitting ever on the right hand of God to guide the way with loving word, as blessed be all that brings us nearer the goal of true religion, true Republicanism, anil true patriotism, distrust of watchwords and labels, shams and heroes, belief in our country and ourselves. It was not Cotton Mather, but John Greenleaf Whittier, who cried : " Dear God and FaUier of us all, Forgive our faith in cruel lies. Forgive the blindness that denies. Cast down our idols — overturn Our l)loody altars — make us see Thyself in Thy humanity ! " THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY By Edward Everett Hale, Clergyman, Author, Poet. Born in Boston, Mass., 1822. From " Tlie Man Without a Country," published by Roberts Brothers, Boston. By permission of the author. [Philip Nolan, "the man without a country," was at one time an ambitious yoiuig officer in the United States Army. But because of intimacy with Aaron Burr, he was banished from his country and com- pelled to live upon a government vessel, where he was never allowed even to hear the name of his country.] ]\Iy own acquaintance with Philip Nolan began six or eight years after the War, on my first voyage after I was appointed a midshipman. We had him to dine in our mess once a week, and the caution was given that on that day nothing was to be said about home. I first came to understand anything about "the man without a country" one day when we overhauled a dirty little schooner which had slaves on board. An officer was 58 EOn.-tRn lil'liKlil I H.tl.l: sent to take (.harge oi her, ativl. after a few minutes, he sent back his boat to ask tliat some one might be sent liiin who eouKl talk Portuguese. Ihit none of the officers chtl ; antl just as the captain was semUng forward to ask if any of tlie people could, Nolan stejipeil t)Ut and said he should be glad to interpret, if the captain wished, as he understood the language. The captain tlianked him, fittetl out another boat with him, and in this boat it was my luck to go. There were not a great many of the negroes; most of them were out of the hold and swarming all round the dirty deck, with a central throng surrounding Vaughan. "Tell them they are free, Nolan," said Vaughan; "and tell them that I will take them all to Cape Palmas. " Cape Palmas was practically as far from the homes, of most of them as New Orleans or Rio Janeiro was; that is, they would be eternally separated from home there. And their interpreters, as we could understand, instantly said, "Ah. non Palmas." The drops stood on poor Nolan's white forehead, as he hushed the men down, and said: " He says, ' Not Palmas. ' He says, ' Take us home, take us to our own country, take us to our own house, take us to our , own pickaninnies and our own women. ' He says he has an old father and mother who will die if they do not see him. And this one says, " choked out Nolan, "that he has not heard a word from his home in six months. Even the negroes stopped howling, as they saw Nolan's agony, and Vaughan 's almost equal agony of sympathy. As quick as he could get words, Vaughan said : " Tell them, yes, yes, yes; tell them they shall go to the mountains of the I^Ioon, if they will." And after some fashion Nolan said so. And they all fell to kissing him again. But he could not stand it long; and getting Vaughan to say he might go back, he beckoned me down into the boat. As we lay back in the stern-sheets and the men gave way, he said to me: " Youngster, let that show you what it is to OXFORD COUNTY 59 be without a family, without a home, and witliout a country. And if you are ever tempted to say a word or to do a thing that shall put a bar between you and your family, your home, and your country, pray God in his mercy to take you that instant home to his own heaven. Stick by your family, boy; forget you have a self, while you do everything for tliem. Think of your home, boy; write and send, and talk al)out it. Let it be nearer and nearer to your thought, the farther you have to travel from it; and rush back to it when you are free, as that poor black slave is doing now. And for your country, boy," and the words rattled in his throat, "and for that flag," and he pointed to the ship, "never dream a dream but of serving her as she bids you, though the service carry you through a thousand terrors. No matter what happens to you, no matter who flatters 3'ou or who abuses you, never look at another flag, never let a night pass but you pray God to bless that flag. Remember, boy, that behind all these men you have to do with, — behind officers, and government, and people even, — there is the Country Herself, your Country, and that you belong to Her as you belong to your own mother; and stand by Her, boy, as you would stand by your mother. OXFORD COUNTY By John Davis Long, Lawj-er, Autlior; Governor of Massachusetts, 1882-88; Secretary of the Navy, 1897—. Born in Buckfield, Oxford County, Maine, 1838. Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from a speech on Oxford County in " After Dinner and Other Speeches," published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, copyright, 1895, by John D. Long. Oxford County to me, sir, is a volume of poems, a para- dise of nature. Her crests of blue against the summer sky, and in winter white with glistening snow, her pure waters, her cool woods, her picturesque roads winding over hill and down dale, her exquisite intermingling of forest and farm. ''- JOHS' n.^yis i.o.wc arc siuli ;\ natural park nf lovc-liiu'ss ami magnificence as no metropolitan wealth or art can ivtr imitate. Kor one, I owe it a deeper ticln. I'.nlarging and educat- ing as were its physical influences, I pay my tribute still more gratefully to the living influences of its people. In American life and struggle, I belicvO there is no such educa- tion as that of a country boy's contact in school and at all times with the social democracy of a country such as Oxford County typifles, — absturtl\' ]5asd the l)hieksmith. Nut far withilraw 11 iroin the>c 1)\- tlie eider-])ress and the beehives, Michael the fiddler was j)hiced, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white Hair, as it waved in the Avind ; and the jolly face of the fiddler Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, 7'ous les Bourgeois de Chalics, and Le Carillon dc Duiikeri/ue, And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. ISIerrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows; Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them. Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter! Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the Blacksmith ! So passed the morning away. And lol with summons sonorous Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat. Thronged ere long was the cfmrch with men. Without in the churchvard FROM " ByANClU.INB'' 63 Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor Fxhoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement, — Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar. Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commis- sion. "You are convened this day, " he said, " by his IMajesty's orders. Clement and kind he has been; but how you have answered his kindness. Let your own hearts reply! To my natural make and my temper Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch ; Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves from this province 13e transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people! Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Majesty's pleasure! " As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer. ^'4 hi:kky n .-msiroKT/i lAiw./i-i./oif Smlilcnly gailic-rs ;i storm, .iiul tin' lU-ailly sliii^ of tin.' hail- stones Moats down tlu- i.irnicr's corn in tlic fu'Id and shatters liis windows. Hiding the sun, and strcwinj? the ground with tliatcli from tlie house-roofs, HclK>wing lly the herds, and seek to break their enelosures; So on the hearts of the j)eoj)le descended the words of the speaker. Silent they stood a moment in speechless wonder, and then rose Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger. And, by one impulse moved, they madly ruslucl to the iloorway. \'ain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce impreca- tions Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads of the others Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of liasil the black- smith, As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wiUlly he shouted, — '■ Down with these tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance! Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests ! ' ' More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. FROM '■ EyANGEUNE'' 65 Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence All tliat clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his people; Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured and mournful Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. " What is this ye do, my children ? what madness has seized you ? Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you. Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another! Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations ? Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgive- ness ? This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred ? Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you! See! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy com- passion ! Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer, 'O Father, forgive them ! ' Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O Father, forgive them! Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of the people Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak. While they repeated his prayer, and said, " O Father, forgive them ! ' ' 06 /c)//,V Mr.l.li:N THiRSTON THE A\ONROE DOCTKINH Hy John Min in 'I'm Ksms, L.twyrr; Senator fmiii N> hr.i^k.i, iS(j5— . Hi)rii ;il Monlpclicr, Vl., 1S47. I roni a ^pcccl^ delivered in the United Statex Senate, January 28, iSyf); (lie Senate li.ivin); under consideration a concurrent resolution relative to the assertion and eiiforie- nicnt of the Monroe doctrine. See Congressional Necorii, Jan. 28, i8>/'j. Mr. rrcsidcnt. it is gravely argued tliat our country has outgrown the necessity for any further enforcement of the Monroe doctrine. It is urged that the I'nited States has waxed strong and powerful ; that we no longer need fear any foreign interference in our affairs: that all our boundary lines have been definitely settled; and that we cannot lie affected cr disturbed by .South American controversies. It is, there- fore, insisted that we can now afford to let the other Ameri- can Republics look out for themselves, and that we should stand supinely by while foreign powers overawj and outrage our weak and defenseless neighbors. !Mr. President, ours is the one great nation of this con- tinent; INIother of Republics, her lullaby has been sung over every cradle of liberty in the New World. Under the inspiration of her glorious example, the last throne has dis- appeared from the Western Hemisphere and the Old World's dominion over American territory and American affairs will not outlast the morning of the twentieth century. . . . I am not unmindful of the seriousness and gravity of the present situation.. We are calling a halt upon that settled policy of aggression and dominion which has characterized the extension of the British Empire from the hour in which her first adventurous prow turned to unknown seas. The history of the English people is an almost unbroken series of military achievements. Great Britain has cleared lier pathway into every corner of the earth with the naked sword; she has acquired and held her vast possessions by force of arms; slie has mastered and subjugated the jieople of every zone; her navies are upon every sea, her armies in every THE MONROE DOCTRINE 67 clime. She has not a son who did not suckle inherited valor from his mother's breast. No nation can afford lightly to challenge her purposes or arouse her stubborn pride. But docs this furnish any reason why Americans should abandon any settled policy of the United States, or retire from any position which the honor of this Republic and the welfare of America require that we should assume .' Mr. President, our people have been represented as eager for war, and the Senator from Colorado seems to believe that it is necessary to cool their j^rdor by disparagement of the Monroe doctrine and eulogium of British grandeur. Ours is a mighty nation, but its people are slow to wrath. They believe in the divine doctrine taught by the lowly Nazarene on the shores of Galilee. The fear of God, the love of peace is in their hearts and in their homes. Nothing that can be said, nothing that can be done, will move or incite them to any act of injustice or to any premature preparations for war. But there is no other land in which the honor of the nation is so dear; there is no other land in which the love of country, of liberty, and of justice is so strong; there is no other land whose citizens would sacrifice so much to main- tain its institutions or defend its soil. . . . Mr. President, I share with the Senator from Colorado in the heritage of English blood. I glory with him in the mighty achievements of the English-speaking race; but I have not forgotten that England, as a nation, compelled my ancestors in 1637 to cross the stormy ocean and take up habitation upon the rocky and inhospitable shores of the New England wilderness, in order that they might enjoy freedom of conscience and the worship of God according to their own beliefs. I have not forgotten that the persecution of Great Britain followed them across the sea; I have not forgotten that she heaped indignities and injustice upon the colonists until they could no longer be borne; I have not forgotten that my grandsires carried muskets, and gave their American blood, that British dominion over American 68 JOHN Ml-.l.l.llN THURSTON colonics shouKl l)c fonvi i- at an end. I have nut forgottL-n tliat our sailors and niarini-s were forcrd to iliivc England's navy from the main to make the tleck of an American shi]i American soil. . . . Standing upon the floor of the American Senate and knowing whereof I speak, I say to the people of (ireat IJritain that the grave issues wliieli have been settled by brave men upon American battleliekis can never be reopeneci. Sir, there is no division of sentiment in the L'nited States. Let but a single drumbeat be heard ui)on our coast, announcing the approach of a foreign foe, and there will spring to arms in Nortli and South the grandest army the world has ever known, animated by a deathless loyalty to their country's flag and marching on to the mingled and inspiring strains of our two national airs, Dixie and Yankee Doodle. Mr, President, the press of Great Britain has already seized upon the utterances of the Senator from Colorado as an indication that the people of this country are ready to abandon whatever place we now hold of duty and res]jf)r.si- bility toward the republics and the affairs of the New World. But when the pending resolution comes on for final passage, I predict that it will be adopted by such a decisive vote as will advise all Christendom of the stand wliich the people of this country are prepared to make for the maintenance and enforcement of the Monroe doctrine. Sir, believing that the honor of my country is involved, that the hour calls for the highest expression of loyalty and patriotism, calmly confident of the verdict of posterity, reverently calling God to witness the sincerity of my purpose, I shall vote for the resolution reported by the Committee on Foreign Affairs. I shall vote for it not as an affront to any other nation, but to uphold the dignity of my own. 1 shall vote for it in this time of profound tranquillity, convinced that peace with honor can be preserved. But, sir, 1 would vote for it just as surely were we already standing in the THE DEATH PENALTY 69 awful shadow of declared war. f would vtjte for it were the navies of all Europe thundering at our harbors. I would vote for it were the shells of British battle-ships bursting above the dome of the nation's Capitol. I would vote for it and would maintain it at all hazards and at any cost, with the last dollar, with the last man; yea, though it might {)resage the coming of a mighty conflict whose conclusion should leave me without a son, as the last great contest left me without a sire. THE DEATH PENALTY By Victor Marie Hugo, Poet, Author. Bom at Besangon, France, 1802; died at Paris, 1885. Gentlemen of the Jury, if there is a culprit here, it is not my son, — it is myself, — it is I! — I, who for these twenty-five years have opposed capital punishment, — have contended for the inviolability of human life, — have com- mitted this crime for which my son is now arraigned. Here I denounce myself, Mr, Advocate General! I have com- mitted it under all aggravated circumstances; deliberately, repeatedly, tenaciously. Yes, this old and absurd lex ialionis — this law of blood for blood — I have combated all my life — all my life. Gentlemen of the Jury! And, while I have breath, I will continue to combat it, by all my efforts as a writer, by all my words and all my votes as a legislator! I declare it before the crucifix; before that victim of the penalty of death, who sees and hears us; before that gibbet, to which, two thousand years ago, for the eternal instruction of the generations, the human law nailed the Divine! In all that my son has written on the subject of capital punishment and for writing and publishing which he is now on trial, — in all that he has written, he has merely pro- claimed the sentiments with which, from his infancy, I have inspired him. Gentlemen Jurors, the right to criticise a law, and to criticise it severely — especially a penal law — is 7© in: I OR M.-iKi/: nrco placed bcsiilc tlio duty «>t anu'lioration, like tlic lurch l)C'siilc the work under the artisan's hand. The rij^ht of the jour- nalist is as sacreil, as necessary, as imprescriptible, as the right of tlie legishitor. What are tlie tircumstanets ? A man, a convict, a sen- tenced wretch, is drai^geii, on a cirtain mornini^, to one of our public squares. There he finds the scalfojd! lie ^hudders, he struggles, he refuses to die. lie is youni; yet — only twenty-nine. Ah I I know wliat you will say, — " He is a murderer! " But hear nie. Two olUccrs seize him. His hands, his feet, are tied. He throws off the two ofiicers. A frightful struggle ensues. His feet, bound as tliey are, become entangled in the ladder. He uses the scaffold against the scaffold! The struggle is prolonged. Horror seizes on the crowd. The oiricers, — sweat and shame on their brows, — pale, panting, terrified, despairing, — despair- ing with I know not what horrible despair, — shrinking under that public reprobation which ought to have visited the penalty, and spared the passive instrument, the executioner, — the officers strive savagely. The victim clings to the scaffold, and shrieks for pardon. His clothes are torn, — his shoulders bloody, — still he resists. At length, after three- quarters of an hour of this monstrous effort, of this spectacle without a name, of this agony, — agony for all, be it under- stood, — agony for the assembled spectators as well as for the condemned man, — after this age of anguish, Gentlemen of the Jury, they take back the poor wretch to his prison. The People breathe again. The People, naturally merci- ful, hope that the man will be spared. But no, — the guillo- tine, though vanquished, remains standing. There it frowns all day, in the midst of a sickened population. And at night, the officers, reinforced, drag forth the wretch again, so bound that he is but an inert weight, — they drag liim forth, haggard, bloody, weeping, jjleading, howling for life, — calling upon God, calling upon his father and mother, — for like a very child had this man become in the prospect of AMERICAN BATTLE-FLAGS 7^ death, — they drag him forth to execution. He is hoisted on the scaffold, and his head falls! — And then through every conscience runs a shudder. Never had legal murder appeared with an aspect so indecent, S3 abominable. All feel jointly implicated in the deed. It is at this very moment that from a young man's breast escapes a cry, wrung from his very heart, — a cry of pity and of anguish, — a cry of horror, — a cry of humanity. And this cry you would punish! And in the face of the appalling facts which I have narrated, you would say to the guillotine, " Thou art right!" and to Pity, saintly Pity, "Thou art wrong!" (ientlemen of the Jury, it cannot be! Gentlemen, I have finished. AMERICAN BATTLE-FLAGS By Carl Schukz, Statesman, Journalist, Lecturer, Major-General, Senator from Missouri, 1869-75; Secretary of the Interior, 1877-81. Born near Cologne, Prussia, 1829. Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from a "Eulogy on Charles Sumner,"' delivered in Boston, Mass., April 29, 1874, published by Lee and Shepard, Boston. From Europe j\Ir. Sumner returned late in the fall of 1872, much strengthened, but far from being well. At the opening of the session he reintroduced two measures, which, as he thought, should complete the record of his political life. One was his civil-rights bill, which had failed in the last Congress; and the other, a resolution providing that the names of the battles won over fellow-citizens in the War of the Rebellion should be removed from the regimental colors of the army, and from the army register. It was in substance only a repetition of a resolution which he had introduced ten years before, in, 1862, during the war, when the first names of victories were put on American battle-flags. This resolution called forth a new storm against him. It was denounced as an insult to the heroic soldiers of the Union, and a degradation of their victories 7-' CARL SCHi'RZ aiul wcll-tMriuil laurels. It was ci)ndemnccl as an un])a(riotic act. Charles Sumner insult the soldiers who had s[)illcil their blood in a war for human rights! Charles Sumner degraile victories, and depreciate laurels, won for the cau.se of uni- versal freedom I — how strange an imputation! Let the dead man have a hearing. This was his thought: No civilized nation, from the republics of antiquity down to our days, ever thouglit it wise or patriotic to preserve in conspicuous and durable form the mementos of victories won over fellow citizens in civil war. \\'hy not .' Because every citizen should feel himself with all others as the child of a common country, and not as a defeated foe. All civilized governments of our days have instinctively followed the same dictate of wisdom and patriotism. The Irishman, when fighting for old England at Waterloo, was not to behold on the red cro.ss floating above him the name of the Boyne. The Scotch Highlander, when standing in the trenches of Sebastopol, was not by the colors of his regiment to be reminded of CuUoden. No French soldier at Austerlitz or Solferino had to read upon the tricolor any reminiscence of the Vendee. No Hungarian at Sadowa was taunted by any Austrian banner with the surrender of Villagos. No German regiment from Saxony or Hanover charging under the iron hail of Gravelot was made to remember, by words written on a Prussian standard, that the black eagle had conquered them at Koniggratz and Langensalza. Should the son of South Carolina, when at some future day defending the Republic against some foreign foe, be reminded, by an inscription on the colors floating over him, that under this flag the gun was fired that killed his father at Gettysburg .' Should this great and enlightened Republic, proud of standing in the front of human progress, be less wise, less large-hearted, than the ancients were two thousand years ago, and the kingly governments of Europe are to-day ? Let the battle-flags of the brave volunteers, which they THE BELL-RINGER OF 'j6 73 brought home from the war with the glorious record of their victories, be preserved intact as a proud ornament of our State Houses and armories, but let the colors of the army, under which the sons of all the States are to meet and mingle in common patriotism, speak of nothing but union, — not a union of conquerors and conquered, but a union which is the mother of all, equally tender to all, knowing of nothing but equality, peace, and love among her children. Do you want conspicuous mementos of your victories ? They are written upon the dusky brow of every freeman who was once a slave; they are written on the gate-posts of a restored Union; and the most glorious of all will be written on the faces of a contented people, reunited in common national pride. THE BELL-RINGER OF '76 Anonymous. Plain red-brick walls, the windows partly framed in stone, the hall-door ornamented with pillars, — such is the State House of Philadelphia in the year of our Lord 1776. Why do those clusters of citizens with anxious faces gather around the State-House walls .'' There in yonder wooden steeple, which crowns the State House, stands an old man in humble attire, with white hair and sunburnt face. His eye gleams as it is fixed upon the ponderous outline of the bell suspended in the steeple there. He tries to read the inscription, but cannot. By his side, gazing at his face in wonder, stands a fair-haired boy, with laughing eyes of summer blue. "Come here, my boy. You can read; spell me these words and I'll bless ye, my good child." And the child raised himself on tiptoe, and pressing his tiny hands against the bell read these memorable words — " Proclaim Liberty to all the Land and all the Inhabitants thereof." 74 ANONYMOUS The old iiiiin pomlcrs (ur a luonu'iit i)n those strange words, then gathering the boy in his arms, speaks — " Look here, my child, wilt do the olil man a kindness ? Then haste ye down stairs and wait in the hall by the big door, until a man shall give you a message for ine. When he gives you the word, then run out yonder in tlie street antl shout it up to me. " It needed no second command. The boy sprang from the bell-keeper's arms and threaded his way down the dark stairs. Leaning over the railing of the steeple, the oKl man looked anxiously for the fair-haired boy. Minutes passed, yet still he came not. " Ah! he has forgotten me! these old limbs will have to totter down the State-House stairs, and climb up again — " Yet even as he spoke, a merry laugh broke on his ear. There among the crowd on the pavement stood the boy, clapping his tiny hands, while the breeze blew the flaxen hair all about his face. Then swelling his little chest, he raised himself and shouted a single word, '"Ritti^/" Do you see that old man's eye catch fire .•• Do you see that arm suddenly bared to the shoulder .' Do you see that withered hand grasping the iron tongue of the bell ^ The old man is young again; his veins are filled with new life. Backward and forward, with sturdy strokes, he swings the tongue. The bell speaks out! The crowds in the street hear it, and burst forth in one long shout! The city hears it and starts up from desk and work-bench, as if an earthquake had spoken. Yes, as the old man swung that iron tongue, the bell spoke to all the world. That sound crossed the Atlantic — pierced the dungeons of Europe — the workshops of England — the vassal-fields of France. That echo spoke to the slave — bade him look up from his toil, and know himself a man. That echo startled the kings upon their crumbling thrones. That echo was the knell of all crafts born of the darkness of ages, and baptized in seas of blood. For under that very bell pealing out THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE 75 noonday, in that old hall, fifty-six traders, farmers, and mechanics had assembled to strike off the shackles of the world. And that bell that now voices the Declaration of Independence speaks out to the world — God has given tlie American continent to the free, the toiling 7nillic7is of the human race, as the last altar of the rights of man on the globe, the home of the oppressed, forevermore I THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE By Edwin Hubbell Chapin, Preacher, Lecturer, Essayist. Born at Union Village, N. Y., 1814; died in New York City, 1880. Selected, by permission of the publishers, from Chapin's " Living Words," pub- lished, in 1869, by the Universalist Publishing Co., Boston, Mass. Stand, in imagination, of a summer's morning, upon a field of battle. Earth and sky melt together in light and harmony; the air is rich with fragrance, and sweet with the song of birds. But suddenly breaks in the sound of fiercer music, and the measured tramp of thousands. ]'^ager squadrons shake the earth with thunder, and files of bristling steel kindle in the sun; and, opposed to each other, line to line, face to face, are now arrayed men whom God has made in the same likeness, and whose nature he has touched to the same issues. The same heart beats in all. In the momentary hush, like a swift mist sweep before them images of home; voices of children prattle in their ears; memories of affection stir among their silent prayers. They cherish the same sanctities, too. They have read from the same Book. It is to them the same charter of life and salvation; they have been taught to observe its beautiful lessons of love; their hearts have been touched alike with the meek example of Jesus. But a moment, and all these affinities are broken, trampled under foot, swept away by the shock and the shouting. Confusion rends the air; the simmering bomb plows up the earth; the iron hail cuts the quivering flesh; the steel bites to the bone; the cannon-shot crashes through 7(> /:/)// 7.V ihniBr.i.i. cH.-iriN scrrioil ranks; ami uiuKt a cloiul oi smoke that liuU's both earth auil licavt-ii the iKs|Kratc struj^glc goes on. Tlie day wanes, and the strife ceases. Un tlie one siile there is a victory, on the other a defeat. The triumphant city is lighted witli jubilee, the streets roll out tluir tidis of acclamatit>n, ami the organ heaves from its groaning breast the peal of thanksgiving. But under that tumultuous joy there are bleeding bosoms and inconsolable tears; and, whether in triumphant or defeated lands, a shudder of orphanage auti widowhood — a chill of woe and ileatli — runs far and wide through the worltl. The meek moon breaks the dissipating veil of the conilict, and rolls its calm splendor above the dead. And see now how much woe man has mingled with inevitable evils of tlie universe! See now the lierceness of his passion, the folly of his wickedness, wit- nessed by the torn standards, the broken wheels, the pools of clotted blood, the charred earth, the festering heaps of slain. Nature did not make these horrors, and when those fattening bones shall have moldered in the soil she will spread out luxuriant harvests to hide those horrors forever. Fancy yourselves standing on the banks of the Delaware more than a century and a half ago. The winds have stripped the leaves from the primeval forest, save where the pines lift their dark drapery to the sky. The river travels silently on its way. All around lies the solitude of nature, unbroken by wheels of traffic or triumphs of civilization. Apart from the roar and conflict of nations, — apart from the hurrying tides of interest and passion, — this lone spot in the wilderness, beside the calm river, is a spot for peace and love, — a spot where the children of humanity may come, bury their war-weapons, and embrace. Lo ! it is that spot. From the recesses of the forest there glides a file of red and naked men, wild in their strength, and uncurbed in all the native impulses of humanity. As they cluster beneath the arching elm, or brood in dusky lines along the woody back- ground, their eyes glisten with the fires of their fierce nature. THH TRIUMPH OF PEACE 77 and here and there a hand grasps more closely its weapon; yet in the grave silence and studied repose the old men bend forward their scarred faces, and the young incline their ears to hear. He who stands up to speak to them is a white man, unarmed, and almost companionless, yet in his mien there is neither hesitation nor fear, and his face, where mild- ness sweetly blends with dignity, banishes the suspicion of deceit. Consider him well; for in the true record of his life his name is enrolled higher than those of heroes. Unbend- ing before kings, he reverences the rudest savage as a man. Guided by the " inner light," the law of conscience and of truth, the Indian's rights are sacred as the white man's, and he asks no force to aid him but the force of love. And as he utters those simple words of peace and justice, those savage bosoms grow warm with the Christian law, those glittering eyes melt with charity. The child of the red man clasps the hand of the white stranger, the belt of wampum is made a beautiful symbol, and the words of solemn promise go forth, — the winds lift them higher than any shout of vic- tory, the woods repeat them far inland, and the Delaware bears them rolling by, — " We will live with William Penn and his children as long as the sun and the moon shall endure." It was an honest compact. It was a bloodless conquest. It was the triumph of peace and right. The historian records it with a glow. The philanthropist quotes it, and takes courage. The Christian remembers it, and clings with new faith to the religion that accomplished it. 78 HLS'KY CLAY CREI:K RFN'OI.UTION By Henry Clay, Lawyer. Statfsman; MemhtT ofCi>nj;ress from Ken- tucky, iSil 25; Secretary of State, 1825-21); Senator from Keutiuky, 1831-42, 1S40-52. Horn in Hanover County, \'a., 1777; died in \Vasliini>ton, D. C, 1S52. From .1 speech in the House of Representatives, January 10, 1824 ; the House liavinR under consideration the resolution lliat provision ought to be made by law (or defraying the expense incident to the appointment of a commissioner to (Ireece. See " Life and Speeches of Henry Clay," Vol. 1, piiblislied in 1S44 by Van Amringe & liixby. New York, N. V. No united nation tliat resolves to be free can be con- quered. A*nd has it come to this } Arc \vc so humbled, so low, so debased, that we dare not express our sympathy for suffering Greece; that we dare not articulate our detestation of the brutal excesses of which she has been the bleeding victim, lest we might offend some one or more of their imperial and royal majesties .^ If gentlemen are afraid to act rashly on such a subject, suppose that we unite in an humble petition, addressed to their majesties, beseeching them, that of their gracious condescension they would allow us to express our feelings and our sympathies. How shall it run .-' " We, the representatives of the /rce people of the United States of America, humbly approach the thrones of your imperial and royal majesties, and supplicate that, of your imperial and royal clemency — " I cannot go through the disgusting recital; my lips have not yet learned to pro- nounce the sycophantic language of a degraded slave! Are we so mean, so base, so despicable, that we may not attempt to express our horror, utter our indignation, at the most brutal and atrocious war that ever stained earth or shocked high heaven .' At the ferocious deeds of a savage and in- furiated soldiery, stimulated and urged on by the clergy of a fanatical and inimical religion, and rioting in all the excesses of blood and butchery, at the mere details of which the heart sickens and recoils .' But, sir, it is not for Greece alone that I desire to see this CRHHk' REyOLUTlON 79 measure adopted. It will give to her but little support, and that purely of a moral kind. It is principally for America, for the credit and character of our common country, for our osvn unsullied name, that I hope to see it pass. What appearance on the page of history would a record like this exhibit .■• "In the month of January, in the year of our Lord and Savior 1S24, while all European Christendom beheld, with cold and unfeeling indifference, the unexampled wrongs and inexpressible misery of Christian Greece, a proposition was made in the Congress of the United States, almost the sole, the last, the greatest depository of human hope and human freedom, the representatives of a gallant nation, con- taining a million of freemen ready to fly to arms, while the people of that nation were spontaneously expressing its deep- toned feeling, and the whole continent, by one simultaneous: emotion, was rising, and solemnly and anxiously supplicat- ing and invoking high Heaven to spare and succor Greece, and to invigorate her arms in her glorious cause, whilst temples and senate houses were alike resounding with one burst of generous and holy sympathy; in the year of our Lord and Savior — -that Savior of Greece and of us — a proposition was offered in the American Congress to send a messenger to Greece, to inquire into her state and condition, with a kind expression of our good wishes and our sympathies — and it was rejected! " Go home, if you can; go home, if you dare, to your constituents, and tell them that you voted it down; meet, if you can, the appalling countenances of those who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank from the declaration of your own sentiments; that you cannot tell how, but that some unknown dread, some indescribable apprehension, some indefinable danger, drove you from your purpose; that the specters of cimeters, and crowns, and crescents, gleamed before you and alarmed you; and that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by national independence, and by humanity. I cannot bring mvself to believe that such will be the feclins: 8o cf-OKc.i: rKiSHif: hoar of a majority of tlic Loiuiniitcc. luii, for myself, tliough every friend of the cause should desert it, and 1 be left to stand alone with tlie gentleman from Massachusetts, I will give to his resolution the poor sanction of my unqualified approbation. THE PATH OF DUTY By George Frishie Hoar, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Massa- chusetts, 1S6S-76; Senator, 1877 — . Born in Concord, Mass., 1826. Krom an open letter published iu the daily papers of Boston, January, lo, ic,c)o. " What he wants us to do I can define in no other words than these: lie wants us to skulk from our duty." 1 wish to put against this statement my emphatic denial. What I wanted the American people to do in the beginning, what I have wanted them to do all along, what I want them to do now is to do in the Philippines exactly what we have done, are doing, and expect to do in Cuba. . . . We have liberated both from Spain, and we have had no thought^ — at least I have had no thought — of giving either back to Spain. I should as soon give back a redeemed soul to Satan as give back the people of the Philippine Islands to the cruelty and tyranny of Spain. . . . Having delivered them from Spain, we were bound in all honor to protect their newly acquired liberty against the ambition or greed of any other nation on earth. And we were equally bound to protect them against our own. We were bound to stand by them, a defender and protector, until their new governments were established in freedom and in honor; until they had made treaties with the powers of the earth and were as secure in their national independence as Switzerland is secure, as Denmark is secure, as Belgium is secure, as San Domingo or Venezuela is secure. Now, if this be a policy of skulking from duty, I fail to see it. . . . We based our policy in regard to Cuba, did we not, on the ground that it was the policy of righteousness and THE PATH OF DUTY 8i liberty ? We did not tempt the cupidity of any millionaire or even the honest desire for employment of any workman, by the argument that if we reduced the people of Cuba to our dominion we could make money out of her and she could not help herself. In those days we were appealing to the great, noble heart of America, and not to the breeches- pocket. . . . If we were bound in honor and in righteousness; bound by the history of our own past; bound by the principles and pledges of our people, to abstain from depriving Cuba of the liberty we had given her because it was right, we are, in my judgment, all the more bound to abstain from depriving the people of the Philippine Islands of their liberties because it is right. . . . I would send Gen. Wood or Gen. Miles or Admiral Dewey to Luzon. I would have him gather about him a cabinet of the best men among the Filipinos who have the confidence of the people and desire nothing but their welfare. In all provinces and municipalities where civil government is now established possessing the confidence of the people, I would consult with their rulers and representatives. I would lend the aid of the army of the United States only to keep order. I would permit the people to make laws and to administer laws, subject to some supervision or inspection, till the disturbed times are over and peace has settled down again upon that country, insuring the security of the people against avarice, ambition, or peculation. So soon as it seems that government can maintain itself peacefully and in order, I would by degrees withdraw the authority of the United States, making a treaty with them that we would protect them against the cupidity of any other nation and would lend our aid for a reasonable time to maintain order and law. I would not hesitate, if it were needful, although I have not the slightest belief that it would be needful, to vote to make them a loan of a moderate sum to replenish their wasted treasury. S:? GEORCr. IRISBIII HO.IR Now jf this be skulking, if this be ignolilc. if this be unworthy of an American citizen or a Massachusetts Senator, tlien I must ))lead guilty to Mr. Quigg's charge. But these are tlie tilings I would liave done, and this is tlie thing I would do now. If this counsel had liccn followed, not a man would have died on either sitle; not a drop of blood would liave been spilt; not a recruit would liavc been needed by army or navy since the day when .Manila caj)itulatcd to Otis. . . . I do not know what other men may think, or what other men mav say. But there is not a drop of blood in my veins, there is not a feeling in my heart that does not respect a weak people struggling with a strong one. . . . When Patrick Henry was making his great speech in the State-house at Williamsburg for the same cause for wliich the Filipinos are now dying, he was interrupted by somebody with a shout of "treason." He finished his sentence, and replied, as every Kssex schoolboy knows: " If this be treason, make the most of it." I am unworthy to loose the latchet of the shoes of Patrick Henry. But I claim to love human liberty as well as he did, and I believe the love of human liberty will never be held to be treason by Massa- chusetts. There were five of my name and blood who stood in arms at Concord bridge in the morning of the Revolution, on the 19th of April, 1775. My grandfather stood with John Adams and Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin when they presented to the Continental Congress that great paper, the bringing in of which was the foremost action of human history, which declares that the just powers of government rest upon the consent of the people, and that when a j)eop]e desires it, the laws of nature and the laws of God entitle them to take a separate and equal station among the nations of the earth. . . . I have no right to feel any peculiar pride in the action of any ancestor of my own in those great days which tried THF. MAIDEN MARTYR 83 men's souls, and when all true Americans thought in that way, although I should be disgraced, and ought to hide my head from the gaze of men, if I were to depart from those principles. But I have a right to feel a just pride in, and to boast of something much higher than any personal kindred, I am a son of INIassachusetts. For more than three-score years and ten I have sat at her dear feet. I have seen the light from her beautiful eyes. I have heard high counsel from her lips. She has taught me to love liberty, to stand by the weak against the strong, when the rights of the weak are in peril; she has led me to believe that if I do this, however humbly, however imperfectly, and whatever other men may say, I shall have her approbation, and shall be deemed not unworthy of her love. Other men will do as they please. But as for me, God helping me, I can do no otherwise. THE MAIDEN MARTYR Anonymous. A troop of soldiers waited at the door; A crowd of people gathered in the street. Aloof a little from them bared sabers gleamed And flashed into their faces. Then the door Was opened, and two women meekly stepped Out of the prison. One was weak and old, A woman full of tears and full of woes; The other was a maiden in her morn ; And they were one in name and one in faith, Mother and daughter in the bond of Christ That bound them closer than the ties of blood. The troop moved on; and down the sunny street The people followed, ever falling back As in their faces flashed the naked blades. But in the midst the women simply went As if they two were walking side by side 34 ANONYMOUS Up to (loJ's house o\\ sonic still Salibath morn; Only thcv wire not dad for Sabbath tlay, But as they went about their daily tasks; They went to prison and they went to death, Upon their Master's service. On the shore The trot^pers halted; all the shining sands Lay bare and glistening; for the tide had Drawn back to its farthest margin's weedy mark, And each succeeding wave, with flash and curve, Drew nearer by a hand-breadth. " It will be A long day's work," nuirniurcd those murderous men As they slacked rein. The leader of the troops Dismounted, and the people passing near Then heard the pardon proffered with the oath Renouncing and abjuring part with all The persecuted, convenanted folk, But both refused the oath: " Because," they said, " Unless with Christ's dear servants we have part, We have no part with him." On this they took The elder iNIargaret, and led her out Over the sliding sands, the weedy sludge, The pebbly shoals, far out, and fastened her Upon the farthest stake, already reached By every rising wave, and left her there; And as the waves crept about her feet she prayed " That He would firm uphold her in their midst. Who holds them in the lioUow of His hand." The tide flowed in. And up and down the shore There paced the Prophet and the Laird of Lag, Grim Grierson — with Windram and with Grahame, And the rude soldiers, jesting with coarse oaths, As in the midst the maiden meekly stood. Waiting her doom delayed, said, " She would Turn before the tide, seek refuge in their arms THE MAIDEN MARTYR 85 From the chill waves." But ever to her lips There came the wondrous words of life and peace; *' If God be for us, who can be against ? " " Who shall divide us from the love of Christ ? " " Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature." And still the tide was flowing in; They turned young Margaret's face toward the sea, Where something white was floating — something White as the sea-mew that sits upon the wave; But as she looked it sank; then showed again; Then disappeared. And round the shore And stake the tide stood ankle-deep. Then Grierson, With cursing, vowed that he would wait No more, and to the stake the soldier led her Down, and tied her hands, and round her Slender waist too roughly cast the rope; for Windram came and eased it while he whispered In her ear, " Come, take the test and you are free." And one cried, " Margaret, say but God save The King! " " God save the King of His great grace," She answered, but the oath she would not take. And still the tide flowed in. And drove the people back and silenced them. The tide flowed in, and rising to her knees, She sang the Psalm, " To Thee I lift my soul; " The tide flowed in, and rising to her waist, " To Thee, my God, I lift my soul," she sang. The tide flowed in, and rising to her throat, She sang no more, but lifted up her face, And there was glory over all the sea, A flood of glory, and the lifted face Swam in it till it bowed beneath the flood, And Scotland's maiden martyr went to God. •5 li tiii.iM rit.Kci: iKvr. THI£ STATIC OF MAINE \\y Wll.l.iAM IMkkck Kkyk, Lawyer; Mt-mbcr of Con^jrcss from Maine, 1S71-S1; Senator, iSSi— . Horn in Lewiston, Maine, 1831. From an address delivered at the annual banquet ot tlic New Kngland Society in HriK)klyn, December n, iS36. See Sixtli Annual Report of the Society. I love the State of Maine better than any s])ot in the wide, wide worKl. The farther 1 travel, the more I see, the better I love her. This may seem strange to some liixuriouslv fed and clotlu-d ami iioubed son of the Empire State. Jkit let me refer to what some would eall the disadvantages of my native State, and illustrate the magnificent law of compen- sation. "Your soil is hard and unproductive." Yes, no poet with any practical knowledge of it would talk about " tick- ling it with a hoe to make it laugh with the harvest." No tickling process will do there, but it responds gratefully to hard work ; and you, sir, and I know that success attained by adequate achievement is that alone which is worth any- thing. Did you know that Maine last year raised more wheat than all tiie rest of New J'".nglaiul put together? Iler liay croj) was worth fifteen million dollars, and we have an agricultural county in the extreme northeast j)art of the Republic called Aroostook which has quadrupled in popula- tion and wealth since i860. " But the surface of your State is rugged, hilly, moun- tainous." Yes, it is; but remember that every single mountain has a fertile valley, and that five thousand rivers seek the sea through those valleys, with currents so swift and strong that to-day they can carry every s{)indle in the United States of America. " But these rivers and lakes are ice-bound one-third of the year." Ye.s, but sixty-five hundred men cut the ice into crystal block.s, load it on five hundred I\Iaine vessels, and send it to every port in the United States. " But your coast is dangerous, tempestuous, rock- THE STATE OF MAINE 87 bound." Our coast is rock-bound, I admit. But seven thousand men cut and hammer and chisel that rough granite into things of beauty to adorn every city in the Republic; load them on five hundred more Maine vessels, and every year bring us back one million seven hundred thousand dollars in cash. " But you have immense forests in Maine." Yes, we have. We have one forest in the center of which you might plant the whole Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and then the entire population would be compelled to hire guides to find their way over the border. But they are forests of pine, and spruce, and hemlock, and ten thousand men every year cut the trees, haul the logs, drive them to sawmills, manu- facture them into lumber, load them on vessels, and bring home annually seven million dollars. But after all the best product of the State of Maine is its men and women. The fathers scattered the seed of patience, of endurance, of honesty, of faith in God, and of hope in a glorious immortality, and a hundred years of Indian wars, in which one in every twenty of our people was slain; a ceaseless strife with the Earth and the Sea for the necessaries of life, strengthened that seed. Neither despotism, nor slavery, nor great wealth, nor extreme poverty, nor ease, nor luxury choked its growth. This Republic of ours has reaped from it a magnificent harvest and grown strong. Were you to ride to a small country town in Maine, to the summit of a beautiful hill, where are an old Puritan meeting- house and an old Puritan schoolhouse, you could see there a cradle in which one mother had rocked one United States senator, one Cabinet officer, five members of the National House of Representatives, four governors of States, two ministers plenipotentiary, one major-general in the United States Army, and one captain in the United States Navy. She was, indeed, one of our Puritan mothers. Were you to sound the bugle of recall to-night, what a magnificent procession of the great, the powerful, the learned. 88 CHOKCh' IKISHIH HOAR the successful, wouKl t.ikc up their line of iiuirch hack to the old State. Manyj^reat western cities would mourn for their sons and refuse to be comforted because they were not. And all the States and Territories of the preat North would look with (.lismay upon the wonderful exodus which was taking place. Yes, our climate is cohl ; our snows are deep antl long continued, it is true. Hut our homes are warm, our lircsides bright, our winter evenings long, our books plenty ; and the result is thoughtful, earnest, active, home-loving men and women. DANIEL WEBSTER By George Frisbie Hoar. Lawyer; Member of Congress from Massa- chusetts, 1868-76; Senator, 1877 — . Born in Concord, NLiss., 1826. From a speech in the Senate December 20, 1894, on the receiving of tlie statues of Webster and Stark. .See Congressional Record, Dec. 20, 1894. Until the 7th of March, 1850, Daniel Webster was the oracle of New England. His portrait was upon the farmers' walls. He seemed to dwell at every fireside, not so much a guest as at home, in an almost bodily presence, mingling with every discussion where the power, the glory, or the authority of the country was in question. . . . No language can fitly describe the condition of mind with which the report of Mr. Webster's speech of the 7th of March, 1850, was heard. Nothing could have resisted the dominion of Daniel Webster over New England until he pro- voked an encounter with the inexorable conscience of the Puritan. The shock of amazement, of consternation, and of grief which went through the North has had no parallel save that which attended the assassination of Lincoln, Is it you, Daniel Webster, that are giving us this counsel ? Do you tell us that when the fugitive slave girl lays her sup- pliant hands on the horns of the altar, that it is our duty to send her back to be scourged, to be outraged, to be denied DylNIEL IVBBSTER 89 the right to read her Bible, to be the mother of a progeny for whom, for countless generations, these things shall be the common and relentless doom ? Is it you, the orator of Plymouth Rock, of Bunker Hill, defender of the Constitu- tion, from whose volcanic lips came those words of molten lava, " Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and in- separable " ? Has the intellect that wrought out the massive logic of the reply to Hayne descended to this pitiful argu- ment ? Do we — Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves ? Is it slavery and union, now and forever, one and in- separable ? Do you, who erected in imperishable granite the eternal monument of Nathan Dane, among the massive columns of your great argument, tell us now that natural conditions are to determine the question of slavery, and that an ordinance of freedom is an affront to the South, and that we must reenact the law of God ? Do you, who came to the side of Andrew Jackson in 1832, counsel that the lawful authority of this nation shall yield to threats of revolution and secession ? Is it from you that we hear no higher law ? It would have been fortunate for Mr. Webster's happiness and for his fame if he had died before 1850. But what would have been his fame and what would have been his happiness if his life could have been spared till 1865 ? He would have seen the transcendent issue on which the fate of the country hung made up as he had framed it in 1830. Union and liberty, the law of man and the law of God, the Constitution and natural justice, the august voice of patriot- ism and the august voices of the men who settled the country and of the men who framed the Constitution are all speaking on the same side. He would have lived to see the time for concession all gone by; the flag falling from Sumter's walls caugnx as it fell by the splendid youth of 1861 ; the armed h :- jU pressing upon the Capitol beaten back, everything 90 CEORCl: IRISiili: HO.IK which he had lovcii, cvcivthinj; whicli lu' hail workcil for in the prime of his years and in the strength of his manhood, rallying upon one siilc — patriotism, national authority, law, conscience, duty, all speaking together and all sj)eaking through his lips and rtiK'ating his maxims. He would have seen his great arguments in the reply to llayne, in the debates with Calhoun, inspiring, guiding, commanding, strengthening. The judge in the court is citing them. The orator in the Senate is repeating them. The soldier by the camp-fire is meditating them. The Union cannon is shotted with them. They are flashing from the muzzle of the rifle. They are gleaming in the stroke of the saber. They are heard in the roar of the artillery. They shine on the advancing banner. They mingle with the shout of victory. They conquer in the surrender of Appomatto.x. They abiile forever and "forever in the returning reason of an estranged section and the returning loyalty of a united people. Oh, if he could but have lived — if he could but have lived, how the hearts of his countrymen would have come back to him! The bitterest enemy, the most austere judge, must grant to Daniel Webster a place with the great intellects of the world. He was among the greatest. Of all the men who have rendered great services to America and to the cause of constitutional liberty, there are but two or three names worthy to be placed by the side of his. Of all the lovers of his countr}', no man ever loved her with a greater love. In all the attributes of a mighty and splendid manhood he never had a superior on earth. ^Master of English speech, master of the loftiest emotion& that stirred the hearts of his country- men, comprehending better than any other man save ]\Iarshall the principles of her Constitution, he is the one foremost figure in our history between the day when Wash- ington died and the day when Lincoln took the oath of oflice. THE H^AR IVITH AMERICA 9 1 THE WAR WITH AMERICA By William Pitt, £ar/ of Chatham, Statesman. Born in Boconnoc, Cornwall, England, 1708; died in Hayes, Somerset, 1778. From a speech made in the House of Lords, November 18, 1777, on " An Address to the Throne Concerning Affairs in America." Tliis was the great orator's last speech. See " British Orations," Vol. I, published in 1884 by G. P. Putnam's Sons New York, N. Y. I will not join in congratulation on misfortune and dis- grace. I cannot concur in a blind and servile address, which approves and endeavors to sanctify the monstrous measures which have heaped disgrace and misfortune upon us. This, my Lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment! It is not a time for adulation. The smoothness of flattery cannot now avail — cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the Throne in the language of truth. We must dispel the illusion and the darkness which envelop it, and display, in its full danger and true colors, the ruin that is brought to our doors. Can the minister of the day now presume to expect a con- tinuance of support in this ruinous infatuation ? Can Parlia- ment be so dead to its dignity and its duty as to be thus deluded into the loss of the one and the violation of the other } To give an unlimited credit and support for the steady perseverance in measures not proposed for our parlia- mentary advice, but dictated and forced upon us- — in measures, I say, my Lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire to ruin and contempt! " But yesterday, and England might have stood against the world : now none so poor to do her reverence," The desperate state of our arms abroad is in part known. No man thinks more highly of them than I do. I love and honor the English troops. I know their virtues and their valor. I know they can achieve anything except impossibilities; and I know that the conquest of English America is an wipossibilily. You cannot, I venture to say it, you cannot conquer America. Your 9- HI. U.M.IK H/OKTH liOYnSEN arnnt'S in tlic la>t war effected evcrythiiij; that could be effected; aiul wliat was it ? It cost a nunuroiis army, under the coinniand of a most able general [Lord Andierst], now a noble Lord in this House, a long and laborious campaign, to expel five thousand Krenchmen from French America. My l.orils. t(^« cannot conquer America. What is \«iiir present situatitin there ? We do not know the worst; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing and suffered much. .\s to conquest, therefore, my Lords, I repeat, it is impossible, ^'ou may swell every expense and every effort still more extravagantly; ])ile and accumulate every assistance you can buy or borrow; traflic and barter with ever}- little pitiful (lerman prince that sells and sends his subjects to the shambles of a foreign prince; your efforts are forever vain and impotent — doubly so from this mercenary aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds of your enemies, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their posses- sions 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 never would lay down my arms — never — never — never ! BRIER-ROSE By HjALMAR HjORTH BoYESEN. Novelist, Professor. Born in Norway, 1848; died in New York. 1895. From " Idyls of Norway and Other Poems," copyright, 1882, by Charles Scribnei's Sons, New York. Said Brier-Rose's mother to the naughty Brier-Rose: " What will become of you, my child, there is nobody knows. Xou will not scrub the kettles, and you will not touch the broom ; ^'ou never sit a minute still at spinning-wheel or loom." Thus grumbled in the morning, and grumbled late at eve, The good wife, as she bustled with pot, and tray, and sieve; BRIF.R-ROSE 93 But Brier-Rose, she laughed and she cocked her dainty head : " Why, I shall marry, mother dear," full merrily she said. " ]'ou marry, saucy Brier-Rose! The man, he is not found To marry such a worthless maid, these seven leagues around." But Brier-Rose, she laughed, and she trilled a merry lay: " Perhaps he'll come, my mother dear, from seven/^^« leagues away! " The goodwife, with a " humph! " and a sigh, forsook the battling. But threw her pots and pails about with much vindictive rattling. " Alas! what sin did I commit in youthful days and wild, That I am punished in my age with such a wayward child ? " Up stole the girl on tiptoe, so that none her step could hear, And, laughing, pressed an airy kiss behind the goodwife's ear. And she, as e'er relenting, sighed: "Oh, Heaven only knows Whatever will become of you, my naughty Brier-Rose." Whene'er a thrifty matron this idle maid espied, She shook her head in warning, and scarce her wrath could hide ; For girls were made for housewives, for spinning-wheel and loom. And not to drink the sunshine and- wild flower's perfume. . . Thus flew the years light-winged over Brier-Rose's head, Till she was twenty summers old, and yet remained unwed. And all the parish wondered : " If anybody knows. Whatever will become of that naughty Brier-Rose ? " And while they wondered came the Sjjring a-dancing o'er the hills; 94 HJAl.MAR HJORTH BOYESEN Her breath was wanner than of yore, and all tlie mountain rills Witli their tinklini:, ami their rij)])ling, and their rushing filled the air, With the misty sounds of watiT forth-welling everywhere. It was a merry siglit to see the lumber as it whirletl Adown the tawny eddies, that hissed, and sectlied, and swirled ; Now shooting through the rapids, and, with a reeling swing, Into the foam-crests diving like an animated thing. But in the narrows of tlie rocks, where o'er a steep incline The waters ])lunged, and wreathed in foam the dark boughs of the pine, The lads kept watch with shout and song, and sent each straggling beam A-spinning down the rapids, lest it should lock the stream. . . And yet — methinks I hear it now — wild voices in the night, A rush of feet, a dog's harsh bark, a torch's flaring light. And wandering gusts of dampness, and round us far and nigh, A throbbing boom of water like a pulse-beat in the sky. The dawn just pierced the pallid east with spears of gold and red, As we, with boat-hooks in our hands, toward the narrows sped. And terror smote us: for we heard tiie mighty tree-tops sway, And thunder, as of chariots, and hissing showers of spray. "Now, lads," the sheriff shouted, "you are strong, like Norway's rock; A hundred crowns I give to him who breaks the lumber-lock! For if another hour go by, the angry waters' spoil Our homes will be, and fields, and our weary years of toil." BRIER- ROSE 95 We looked each at the other; each hoped his neighbor would Brave death and danger for his home, as valiant Norsemen should. But at our feet the brawling tide expanded like a lake, And whirling beams came shooting on, and made the firm rock quake. "Two hundred crowns!" the sheriff cried, and breathless stood the crowd. " Two hundred crowns, my bonny lads! " in anxious tones and loud. But not a man came forward, and no one spoke or stirred, And nothing save the thunder of the cataract washeard. But as with trembling hands, and with fainting hearts we stood. We spied a little curly head emerging from the wood. We heard a little snatch of a merry little song. And saw the dainty Brier-Rose come dancing through the throng. An angry murmur rose from the people round about. " Fling her into the river! " we heard the matrons shout; "Chase her away, the silly thing; for God Himself scarce knows Why ever He created that worthless Brier-Rose," Sweet Brier-Rose, she heard their cries; a little pensive smile Across her fair face flitted that might a stone beguile; And then she gave her pretty head a roguish little cock : "Hand me a boat-hook, lads," she said; "I think I'll break the lock. " Derisive shouts of laughter broke from throats of young and old; " Ho! good-for-nothing Brier-Rose, your tongue was ever bold." 9<5 nrS'KY //■.•// /7:7v\S(W An.l. mockingly. ;i iMiat-lmok into her li:iinl was lluiig, Wlii'ii, lol into the rivcr"s midst, with darini; kaps, she We saw her diinlv tliroiij^h a mist of ckuso and liliiuling spray : From beam to hiam slic skipped, Hkc a \vater-si)riU' at l)hiy. And now ami tlien faint ij^leams we cau,tj;lit of cohir lhroUi,di the mist, A crimson waist, a j^oKlen head, a little, (.l.iinty wrist. In terror i)resse(.l the people to the niarj^Mn of the hill, A hundred breaths were bated, a hundred hearts stood still. For, hark I fri^mi out the rapids came a strange and creaking sound, And then a crash of tluuuier, which shook the very ground. 'File waters hurled the lumber mass down o'er the rocky steep. We lieard a muffled rumbling and a rolling in the deep; We saw a tiny form whicli the torrents swiftly bore And flung into the wild abyss, where it was ^etn no more. Ah, little naug;hty Brier-Rose, thou couldst not weave or sj)in ; Yet thou couldst do a nobler deed than all thy mocking kin ; F'or thou hadst courage e'en to die, and by thy death to save A thousand farms and lives from the fury of the wave. " LET US HAVE PEACE " Hy Henry Watterson, Journalist, Author; Member of Congress fnjm Kentucky, 1876-77. Born Washington, 1). C, 1840. From a speech before the .Society of the Army of Tennessee, Oct. o, 1891. 'Fhe war is over, and it is well over. God reigns, and the Government at Washington still lives. I am glad of that. I can conceive nothing worse for ourselves, nothing wor.se for our children, than what might have been if the war had ended otherwise, leaving two exhausted combatants, to "LET US HAVE PEACEr 97 become the prey of foreign intervention and diplomacy, setting the clock of civilization back a century, and splitting the noblest of the continents into five or six weak and wamng Republics, like those of South America, to repeat in the New World the mistakes of the Old. The war is over, truly; and, let me repeat, it is well over. If anything were wanting to proclaim its termination from every house-top and door-post in the land, that little brush we had last spring with Signor Macaroni furnished it. As to the touch of an electric bell, the whole people rallied to the brave w^ords of the Secretary of State, and, for the moment, sections and parties sunk out of sight and thought in one overmastering sentiment of racehood, manhood, and nationality. . . . I came, primarily, to bow my head and to pay my measure of homage to the statue that was unveiled to-day. The career and the name which that statue commemorates belong to me no less than to you. When I followed him to the grave — proud to appear in the obsequies, though as the obscurest of those who bore an official part therein — I felt that I was helping to bury not only a great man, but a true friend. From that day to this the story of the life and death of General Grant has more and more impressed and touched me. . . . He was the embodiment of simplicity, integrity, and courage; every inch a general, a soldier, and a man; but in the circumstances of his last illness, a figure of heroic pro- portions for the contemplation of the ages. I recall nothing in history so sublime as the spectacle of that brave spirit, broken in fortune and in health, with the dread hand of the dark angel clutched about his throat, struggling with every breath to hold the clumsy, unfamiliar weapon with wliich he sought to wrest from the jaws of death something for the oupport of wife and children when he was gone! If he had done nothing else, that would have made his exit from the world an epic! 9'*^ liiiii.^M nr. iriTT hydf A little \vhiU> after I came to my home from the lust scene of all, I fouiul that a woman's ham! hail collected the insignia 1 had worn in the magnificent, melancholy pageant — the orders assigning me to duty and the funeral scarfs and badges — and had grouped and framed them; uiii)idden, silentlv, tentlerly; and when I reflected that the hands that did this were those of a loving Southern woman, whose father had fallen on the Confederate side in the battle, I said: " Tlie war indeed is over; let us have peace! " Gentlemen; soldiers; comrades; the silken folds that twine about us here, for all their soft and careless grace, are yet as strong as hooks of steel! They hold together a united people and a great nation ; for, realizing the truth at last — with no wounds to be healed and no stings of defeat to remember — the South says to the North, as simply and as truly as was said three thousand years ago in the far-away meadow upon the shores of the mystic sea: "Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God." THE MISSION OF THE PUBLIC SCHOOL By William De Witt Hyde, Clergyman, Author, Educator; President of Bowdoin College, 1885 — . Born at Winchendon, Mass., 1859. Taken from an article in The Educational Review for October, 1896. What is it that, as taxpayers, as parents, as members of school boards, as teachers, we are trying to do for the children and youth committed to our charge.' . . . Do we support the public school for the sake of training intelligent voters .' ^^'hy, half the scholars in these public schools, unless there shall be a constitutional amendment enlarging the basis of suffrage, will never vote at all. And then do we pretend that Latin and French, and physics and chemistry, and the twenty or thirty branches taught in the high school are necessary to fit a boy to cast an intelligent vote .'' We have long since left this motive far behind in the liberality of our provision for public instruction. The THE MISSION OF THE PUBLIC SCHOOL 99 political motive is not large enough to explain our devotion to our public schools. Do we then support the public schools in order that the children may be trained to earn their own living, and thus not become burdens upon the charity of the State ? We fre- quently hear that motive assigned. But we all know- perfectly well that not half the subjects taught in our public schools have any direct bearing on the ability of the boys and girls to earn a livelihood. We have gone far beyond the industrial ideal of public education. Let me try once more. Do we support the public schools because we wish that these children, who are to be our neighbors and fellow citizens, shall be intelligent, self- respecting, public-spirited neighbors and citizens; that they shall be good husbands and thrifty wives; that they shall be wise fathers and mothers; that they shall be interested in what is noble and pure; enthusiastic in support of what is generous and just; that their homes shall ring with healthful laughter and happy song; that their work shall be wrought in integrity and their recreation shall be healthful and uplift- ing .f" Is anything less than this the ideal we really cherish ? Will anything lower or narrower justify the splendid efforts we are making for public education ? . . . Without our knowing it, the social ideal of an intelligent, full, free, happy, human life for every boy and girl born or brought into our midst has gained possession of our minds and hearts. . . . This world in which we live is established through wisdom; founded on truth; governed by law; clothed in beauty; crowned with beneficence. The business of the school is to open the mind to understand that perfect wisdom; to appre- ciate that wondrous truth; to respect that universal law; to admire that radiant beauty; to praise that infinite benefi- cence. Humanity, of which we are members, has brought forth great men and glorious deeds; it has formed languages and too nil ll.-IM /'/;• U III llVni: rcarinl civiIiz;itions; it li;is cxprL-ssr*.! its iiU;ils and .ispiratioii'^ on canvas and in stone; it has utttTcd its jovs and sorrows, its hopes and (oars, in nui>ic anil jioctry. I'lie j)rovincc of the school is to interpret to the scholar these glorious deeds of noble men ; to open to him the languages and civilizations of the past; to make him share the pure ideals and lofty aims of artist and architect; to introduce him to the larger world of letters and the higher realms of song. Nothing lower than this interj)retation of nature and humanity to man can be accepted as the end of education. To make one at home in the world, and friends with all which it contains, is the object of the school. . . . The jiublic school is the institution which says that the poor boy, though he may eat coarser food, and wear a shabbier coat, and dwell in a smaller house, and work earlier and later and harder than his rich companion, still shall have his eyes trained to behold the same glory in the heavens and the same beauty in the earth; shall have his mind developed to appreciate the same sweetness in music and the same loveliness in art; shall have his heart opened to enjoy the same literary treasures and the same philosophic truths; shall have his soul stirred by the same social influences and the same spiritual ideals as the children of his wealthier neighbors. The socialism of wealth, the equalization of material con- ditions, is at present an idle dream, a contradictory concep- tion, toward which society can take, no doubt, a few faltering steps, but which no mechanical invention or con- stitutional device can hope to realize in our day. The socialism of the intellect, the offering to all of the true riches of an enlightened mind and a heart tluit is trained to love the true, the beautiful, and the good — this is a possi- bility for the children of every workingman ; and the public school is the channel through which this common fund of intellectual and s{)iritual wealth is freely tlistributed alike to rich and poor. THE SECRET OE LINCOLN'S POWER loi Here native and foreign born should meet to learn the common language and to cherish the common history and traditions of our country; here the son of the rich man should learn to respect the dignity of manual labor, and the daughter of the poor man should learn how to adorn and beautify her future humble home. Here all classes and conditions of men should meet together and form those bonds of fellowship, ties of sympathy, and community of interest and identity of aim which will render them superior to all the divisive forces of sectarian religion, or partisan politics, or industrial antagonisms; and make them all con- tented adherents, strong supporters, firm defenders of that social order which must rest upon the intelligence, the sympathy, the fellowship, the unity of its constituent mem- bers. THE SECRET OF LINCOLN'S PO>X'ER r>v Henry Watterson, Journalist, Author; Member of Congress from Kentucky, 1876-77; Editor of Louisville Conrier-J oitrtial, 1868 — . 15um in Washington, D. C, 1840. 1 roll! an address delivered at Cliicago, III., Feb. 12, 1895. What was Lincoln's mysterious power, and whence .'' His was the genius of common sense; of common sense in action ; of common sen.se in thought ; of common sense enriched by experience and unhindered by fear. Inspired, he was truly, as Shakespeare was inspired; as Mozart was inspired; as Burns was inspired; each, like him, sprung directly from the people. I look into the crystal globe that, slowly turning, reveals the story of his life, and I see a little heart-broken boy, weeping by the outstretched form of a dead mother, then bravely, nobly trudging a hundred miles to obtain her Christian burial. I see this motherless lad growing to man- hood amid scenes that seem to lead to nothing but abase- ment; no teachers; no books; no chart, except his own lo.' HFKRY n.-trri-Rsos untutorcil mind; no conip;iss, except his own undisciplined will; no light, save light from Ikavcn; yet, like tiie caravel of Columbus, struggling on and on through the trough of the sea, always toward the tiestintil land. 1 see the full- grown man, stalwart anil brave, an athlete in activity of movement and strength of limb, yet vexed by weird dreams and visions; of life, oi K)ve, i>f religion, st)metimes verging on despair. I see the mind, grown as robust as the body, throw off these phantoms of the imagination and give itself to the practical uses of this work-a-day world ; the rearing of children; the earning of bread; the cumulous duties of the husband, the father, and the citizen, I see the party leader, self-confident in conscious rectitude; original, be- cause it was not his nature to follow; potent, because he was fearless, pursuing his convictions with earnest zeal, and urging them upon his fellows with the resources of an oratory which was hardly more impressive than it was many-sided. 1 see him, the preferred among his fellows, ascend to the eminence ordained for him, and him alone among the states- men of the time, amid the derision of opponents and the distrust of supporters, yet unawed and unmoved, because thoroughly equipped to meet the emergency. The same being, from first to last; the little boy weeping over a deatl mother; the great chief sobbing amid the cruel horrors of war; flinching not from duty, nor changing his lifelong ways of dealing with the stern realities which pressed upon him and hurried him forward. And, last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, I see him l)ing dead there in the capitol of the nation, to which he had rendered " the last, full measure of his devotion," the flag of his country wrapped about him, and the world in mourning at his feet. Surely, he was one of God's elect; not in any sense a creat- ure of circumstance, or accident, or chance. The inspired are few. Whence their emanation, where and how they got their power, by what rule they lived, moved and had their being, we know not. There is no explication THE FOOL'S PRAYER 103 to their lives. They rose from shadow and they went in mist. We see them, feel them, but we know them not. They came, God 'sword upon their lips; they did their office, God's mantle about them; and they vanished, God's holy light between the world and them; leaving behind a memory, half mortal and half myth. From first to last they were the creations of some special Providence. Tried by this standard, where shall we find an illustration more impressive than Abraham Lincoln, whose career might be chanted by a Greek chorus as at once the prelude and the epilogue of the most imperial theme of modern times .''... Where did Shakespeare get his genius .? Where did Mozart get his music ? Whose hand smote the lyre of the Scottish plowman, and stayed the life of the German priest .? God, God, and God alone; and as surely as these were raised up by God, inspired by God, was Abraham Lincoln; and a thousand years hence, no story, no tragedy, no epic poem will be filled with greater wonder, or be follow^ed by mankind with deeper feeling, than that which tells of his life and death. THE FOOL'S PRAYER By Edward Rowland Sill, Poet, Professor, Editor. Born in Wind- sor, Conn., 1841; died in Cleveland, Ohio, 1887. Reprinted, by special arrangement with and permission of tlie publishers, from " Poems by Edward Rowland Sill," copyright, 1887, by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston. The royal feast was done; the King Sought some new sport to banish care. And to his jester cried : "Sir Fool, Kneel now, and make for us a prayer! " The jester doffed his cap and bells And stood the mocking court before; They could not see the bitter smile Behind the painted grin he wore. I04 r.nU .-IRD KOHl.ASD Sll.l. Ill- bowiil his lu;ul, and btnt lii.s knee I'jion tin- nionarch's silken stool; His pleading voice arose: " () Lonl, IJc merciful ti> ine, a fool ! " Xo ])ity, Lord, could change the lieart From reil with wrong to white as wool; The rod must heal the sin: but, Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool. " "I'is not by guilt tlie onward sweep Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay; 'Tis by our follies that so long We hold the earth from heaven away. " These clumsy feet, still in the mire, Go crushing blossoms without end; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend. " l"he ill-timed truth wc might have kept — Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung ? The word we had not sense to say — Who knows how grandly it had rung .■' " Our faults no tenderness should ask, The chastening stripes must cleanse them all; But for our blunders — oh, in shame Before the eyes of heaven we fall. " Earth bears no balsam for mistakes; Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool That did liis will; but Thou, O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool ! " The room was hushed; in silence rose The King, and sought his gardens cool. And walked apart, and murmured low, " Be merciful to me, a fool! " THB M.-JN IVUO lyiL-IRS THE BUTTON THE MAN WHO WEARS THE BUTTON By John Mellen Thurston, Lawyer; Senator from Nebraska, 1895 — . Born at Moiitpelier, Vt., 1847. F'rom an address at a banquet of tlie Michigan Club of Detroit, February 21, 1890. Sometimes in passing along the street I meet a man who, in the left lapel of his coat, wears a little, plain, modest, unassuming bronze button. The coat is often old and rusty; the face above it seamed and furrowed by the toil and suffer- ing of adverse years; perhaps beside it hangs an empty sleeve, and below it stumps a wooden peg. But when I meet the man who wears that button I doff my hat and stand uncovered in his presence — yea! to me the very dust his weary foot has pressed is holy ground, for I know that man, in the dark hour of the nation's peril, bared his breast to the hell of battle to keep the flag of our country in the Union sky. Maybe at Donaldson he reached the inner trench; at Shiloh held the broken line; at Chattanooga climbed the flame-swept hill, or stormed the clouds on Lookout Heights. He was not born or bred to soldier life. His country's summons called him from the plow, the forge, the bench, the loom, the mine, the store, the office, the college, the sanctuary. He did not fight for greed of gold, to find adventure, or to win renown. He loved the peace of quiet ways, and yet he broke the clasp of clinging arms, turned from the witching glance of tender eyes, left good-by kisses upon tiny lips to look death in the face on desperate fields. And when the war was over he quietly took up the broken threads of love and life as best he could, a better citizen for having been so good a soldier. What mighty men have worn this same bronze button! Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Logan, and an hundred more, whose names are written on the title-page of deathless fame. Their glorious victories are known of men ; the historv of tlu-ir country givrs tluin voice; llic white light of jmblicity illuminates them for every eye. But tlure are thousaiuls who, in humbler way, no less deserve applause. How many knightliest acts of chivalry were never seen beyomi the line or heard of above the roar of battle. (lOil l)less tlie men who wore the button! They pinned the stars of Union in the azure of our Hag with bayonets, and made atonement for a nation's sin in blood. They took, the negro from the auction-block and at the altar of emancipa- tion crowned him — citizen. They supplemented " Yankee Doodle" with "Glory Hallelujah," antl Yorktown with Appomatox. Their powder woke the morn of univeisal freedom and made the name " American " first in all the earth. To us their memory is an inspiration and to the future it is hope. LIBERTY AND UNION By Daniel Wf.hstek, Lawyer, Statesman; Member of Congress from New Hampshire, 1813-17; from Massachusetts, 1823-27; Senator from Massachusetts, 1827-41, 1845-50; Secretary of State, 1841-43. Born in Salisbury, N. 11., 1782; died in Marshfield, Mass., 1852. From " The Second Speech on Foot's Resolution," dehvered in tlie Senate, January 26, 1830. See " The W'orks of Daniel Webster," Vol. Ill, published by Little, Brown & Co., Boston, Mass. I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that Union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That Union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has LIBERTY AND UNION 107 teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings; and although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. I have not allovyed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this govern- ment, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union may be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it should be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my day at least, that curtain may not rise! God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind ! When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as "What is all this worth ? " Nor those other words of delusion and folly, "Liberty first, and Union afterward;" but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its 108 THOMAS NLLSOS P.-iCli ample folds as llicy lluat over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the wliolc heavens, tliat ^itlier sentiment dear to every true American licart — Liberty and Union, now and forever, one ami inseparable! THE SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE (Abridged.) Hy Thomas Nelson Pack, Lawyer, Poet, Story writer, liorn in Oak- Liii.l. Va.. 1853. Taken, by permission of the pubiisliurs, from " KIsket and Other Stories," copyriglit, 1891, by Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. It was his greatest pride in hfe that he had been a soldier — a soldier of the empire. He was known simply as " The Soldier," and it is probable there was not a man, and certain that there was not a child in the Quarter who did not know the tall, erect old Sergeant with his white mustache, and his face seamed with two saber cuts. Yes, they all knew him, and knew how, when he was not over thirteen, he had received the cross which he always wore over his heart, sewed in the breast of his coat, from the hand of the emperor himself. He was " the Sergeant," a soldier of the empire, and there was not a dog in the Quarter which did not feel and look proud when it could trot on the inside of the sidewalk by him. Pierre, his son, was not popular in the Quarter. He was nineteen years old when war was declared with Prussia. All Paris was in an uproar. Of all the residents of the Quarter, none took a deeper interest than the soldier of the empire. The war began in earnest. The troops were sent to the front, the crowds shouting " On to Berlin." Nearly all the young men had enlisted and gone. Pierre, however, still remained behind. Suddenly the levy came. Pierre was conscripted. That night the Sergeant enlisted in the same company. The day they were mustered in, the captain of the com- THE SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE 109 pany sent for him and bade him have the first sergeant's chevrons sewed on his sleeve. The army l»y still and no battles were fought. Thus it was for several weeks, but at last one evening, it was apparent that some change was at hand, and the army stirred. It was high time. The Prussians were almost on them, and had them in a trap. At length they marched. The Sergeant saw once more the field of glory and heard again the shout of victory; he beheld the tricolor floating over the capitol of the enemies of France. Perhaps it would be planted there by Pierre— Ha! France would ring with Pierre's name; the Quarter should go wild with delight. Just then the skirmishers ahead began to fire, and in a few moments it was answered by a sullen note from the villages beyond the plain, and the battle had begun. The fire was terrific. Suddenly an officer galloped up, and spoke to the lieuten- ant of the nearest battery. Where's the colonel } " Killed." " Where's your captain .? " " Dead there under the gun." " Are you in command .-* " " I suppose so." "Well, hold this hill." " How long } " Forever." And he galloped off. His voice was heard clear and ringing in a sudden lull, and the old Sergeant, clutching his musket, shouted: " We will, forever. " There was a momentary lull. Suddenly the cry was : " Here they are." In an instant a dark line of men appeared coming up the slope. The Lieutenant of the company, looking along the line, called the Sergeant, and ordered him to go back down no THOMAS NFI.SON P. -IGF the lull ami tell tin- ("iciunil to send tlicin a support instantly or they coulil not hold the hill much longer. He delivcreil his message. , " Cio back and tell him he must hold it," was the reply. " Upon it depenils the fate ot France. Hold it for France!" he called after him. The words were heard perfectly clear even above the din of battle whicli was steadily increasing all along the line, and they stirred the old soldier like a trumpet. He pushed back up the hill with a run. In his ears rang the words — ''/'or France ! " They came like an echo from the past ; it was the same cry he had heard at Waterloo. "For France/" — the words were consecrated ; the emperor himself had used them. Was it not glorious to die for France! With these thoughts was mingled the thought of Pierre — Pierre also would die for France. The smoke hid everything. Just then it shifted a little. As it did so, he saw a man in the uniform of his regiment steal out of the dim line, and start towards him at a run. His cap was pulled over his eyes, and he saw him deliberately fling away his gun. He was skulking. All the blood boiled up in the old soldier's veins. Desert — not fight for France! Why did not Pierre shoot him ! Just then the coward passed close to him and the old man seized him with a grip of iron. The deserter, surprised, turned his face; it was pallid with terror and shame; but no more so than his captor's. ' ' Pierre ! " he gasped. ' ' Good God ! where are you going ? ' ' ■' I am sick," faltered the other. " Come back," said the father sternly, " I cannot," was the terrified answer. " It is for France, Pierre," pleaded the old soldier pitifully. There was a pause. "Then, dastard!" hissed the father, flinging his son from him with indescribable scorn. Pierre, free once more, was slinking off with averted face, when a new idea seized the other, and his face £'reu' grim at THE SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE m s/one. Cocking his musket, he took careful and deliberate aim at his son's retreating figure and brought his finger slowly down upon the trigger. But, before he could fire, a shell exploded directly in tlio line of his aim, and when the smoke blew off Pierre had disappeared. The coward had in the very act of flight met the death he dreaded. The counte- nance of the living man was more pallid than that of the dead. No word escaped him, except that refrain, " For France, for France! " I'he fierce onslaught of the Prussians had broken the line somewhere beyond the batteries, and the Frencn were being borne back. All order was lost. It was a rout. The soldiers of his own regiment began to rush by the spot where the old Sergeant stood above his son's body. They attempted to hurry him along, but raising his voice so that he was heard even above the tumult of the rout, he shouted, " Are ye all cowards } Rally for France — for France!" They tried to bear him along; it was no use; still he shouted that rallying cry, ''For France, /or France! Vive la France/ Vive FEmperetir /" and steadied by the war-cry, accustomed to obey an ofticer, the men around him fell instinctively into something like order, and for an instant the rout was arrested. The fight was renewed over Pierre's dead body, but the Prussians were too .strong for them, they were soon surrounded. There was no thought of quarter; none was asked, none was given. Cries, cheers, shouts, blows were mingled together, and clear above all rang the old soldier's war-cry, "/or France, /or France I J^ive la France/ Vive V Emper eur / " It was the refrain from an older and bloodier field. He thought he was at Waterloo. Mad with excitement, the men took up the cry and fought like tigers, but the issue could not be doubtful. Man after man fell with the cry ''For France ! " on his lips, and his comrades, standing astride his body, fought till they too fell. Almost the last one was the old Sergeant. It was best, for France was lost. 11-' HFKKY ir.-4Rn HH/CHHR Thiit niglit a group ai Prussian ollkxrs going over the field with lanterns looking after their wountled, stopped near the spot where the old Sergeant had made his la>^t stanil for France. "It was just here," saiil oiu-, " tliat they nuidc that splendid rally. A second, looking at the body of an old I'Vinth Sergeant, said simply : " There died a brave soldier. " Another, stooping to examine tlie broken cross of the Legion on the dead man's breast, said reverently: He was a soldier of the empire." OUR NATIONAL FLAG By Henrv Ward Beecher, Clergyman, Editor, Author; Pustor <>1 Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, N. V., 1847- 87. Burn in l.itchficli!, Conn., 1813; (lied in Brooklyn. 1887. From a sem\on delivered to two companies of the " Brooklyn Kourteentli," many ol them n\embers of the Plymouth Church. Taken, by permission of the publishers, fron\ ■■ Patriotic Addresses" by H. W. Beecher, published by Fords, Howard & Hulbert, New York. A thoughtful mind, when it sees a nation's flag, sees not the fiag only, but the nation itself. And whatever may be its symbol, its insignia, he reads chiefly in the flag the government, the principles, the truths, the history, that belong to the nation that sets it forth. When the Frencli tricolor rolls out to the wind, we see France. \\'hen the new-found Italian flag is unfurled, we see resurrected Italy. When the other three-colored Hungarian flag shall be lifted to the wind, we shall see in it the long buried, but never dead, principles of Hungarian liberty. When the united crosses of St. Andrew and St. George, on a fiery ground, set forth the banner of old England, we see not the cloth merely : there rises up before the mind the idea of that great monarchy. This nation has a banner, too. Not another fiag on the OUR NATIONAL FLAG 113 globe has such an errand, or goes fortli ujjon the sea carrying everywhere, the world around, such hope to the captive, and such glorious tidings. The stars upon it were to the pining nations like the bright morning stars of God, and the stripes upon it were beams of morning light. As at early dawn the stars shine forth even while it grows light, and then as the sun advances that light breaks into banks and streaming lines of color, the glowing red and intense white striving together, and ribbing the horizon with bars effulgent, so, on the American flag, stars and beams of many-colored light shine out together. And wherever this flag comes, and men behold it, they see in its sacred emblazonry no rampant lion, and no fierce eagle; no embattled castles, or insignia of imperial authority; they see the symbols of light. It is the banner of Dawn. It means lAberty; and the galley-slave, the poor, oppressed conscript, the trodden-down creature of foreign despotism, sees in the American flag that very promise and prediction of God,- — " The people which sat in the darkness saw a great light; and to them which sat in the region and shadow of death light is sprung up." If one, then, asks me the meaning of our flag, I say to him, it means just what Concord and Lexington meant, what Bunker Hill meant; it means the whole glorious Revolu- tionary War, which was, in short, the rising up of a valiant young people against an old tyranny, toestablish the most momentous doctrine that the world had ever known, or has since known — the right of men to their own selves and to their liberties. Our flag means, then, all that our fathers meant in the Revolutionary War; it means all that the Declaration of Independence meant; it means all that the Constitution of our people, organizing for justice, for liberty, and for happi- ness, meant. Our flag carries American ideas, American history, and American feelings. Beginning with the Colonies, and coming down to our time, in its sacred heraldry, in its glorious insignia, it has gathered and stored 114 CH.-IKIFS r. IITTII-IU-ID chiefly lliis suprcnu- iiloa: Divine right o{ libtrty in man. l-'vcrv color mcaiis libirty; every fonn of star and beam or stripe of liglit means Hberty ; not hiwlessness, not license; but organized, institutional liberty — liberty through law, and laws for liberty! OUR PLEDGE TO PUERTO RICO Ry Charles K. Litti.kmki.d, Lawyer; AUorney-CJencral of State of ^L'liIlc, 1889-93; Member of Congress from Maine. 1899 — . Horn in Lebanon. Me., 1S51. From a speech delivered in the House of Representatives, February 23, 1900; the House having under consideration the bill to regulate the trade of Puerto Rico. See Congressional Record, Feb. 23, 1900. In 1898 the army of the United States, in a war declared in the interest of humanity, and upon the proposition that the old flag w'ould carry with it liberty and freedom and equal opportunity and all the blessings of a Christian civil- ization, went where } It went to the island of Puerto Rico, and Major-General Miles held the standard. In the procla- mation with which General Miles signalized his advent upon Puerto Rican soil, he said: " We come bearing the banner of freedom, inspired by a noble purpose, to seek the enemies of our country and yours, and to destroy or capture all who are in armed resistance. Wc bring you the fostering arm of a nation of free people, whose greatest power is in its justice and humanity to all those living within its /old. ^^'e have not come to make war upon the peo])le of a country that for centuries has been oppressed, but, on the contrary, U) bring you protection, not only to yourselves but to your ])roj)erty, to promote your prosperity, and to bestow upon you the immunities and blessings of the liberal institutions of our government. " Relying upon this proclamation these people did what .' They prostrated themselves before him; they covered him with wreaths and garlands of flowers; they kissed the flag that was carried there under that promise, and the delegate? OUR PLEDGE TO PUERTO RICO 115 from Puerto Rico stand here, asking the Republican party to make good the promise made by General Miles for the Republic, when they eagerly delivered "The Ever-Faithful Isle" into his all-conquering hands. Miles, the magnificent representative of our institutions, the typical American citizen, who won his way, by sheer force of merit, ability, and valor, from the position of a common soldier, step by step, to the position of leader of the Armies of the Republic. I never will vote to violate the promise he made or to repudiate the pledge. The Republic cannot afford, in this or any other campaign, to violate that sacred promise. It is written in the blood of our heroes that fought at El Caney, San Juan, and Santiago. It was made in the presence of all Christendom, and it is sealed by the God of battles. The Republic cannot violate that promise made to this weak and helpless people, without sullying its honor and tarnishing its fame. . . . Why, gentlemen here say that we are about to inaugurate a policy of colonial government. I want to ask the gentlemen in this House if they desire to signalize their entry upon a colonial government, in their very first act, by a breach of good faith. Do you remember the history of proud Spain } What is it .'' What is it that has characterized Spain ever since the sixteenth century, ever since Pizzarro rode ruthless and roughshod over Mexico, and the Duke of Alva filled the Netherlands with carnage, blood, butcheries, and indescribalbe horrors, in his infamous attempt to crush out the very beginning of civil and religious liberty ^ What is it that has characterized her and made her contemptible before every honorable nation upon the earth } It is her duplicity and her breaches of good faith. Puerto Rico kneels to-day, weak, helpless, starving, with her hands held toward us in supplication. She pleads for the fulfillment of this promise. Her prayers may fall upon deaf ears, that will not hear in this House, but there is one tribunal to which I fullv believe they may confidently appeal ii(> Hrs'R) ir.-ii WASHINGTON, Onitor, Educator; rrincipul of Tuskcgcc Normal ami Industrial Institute. Horn a slave noar Hale's Ford, Va., in 1857 or 1858. Friim an address delivered at the opening of (lie Cotton States and Interiutional Kxposition, at Atlanta, Ga., Sept. 18, i8>^5. A ship lost at si-a for ni.iny days siuKlcnly siglitcd a friciully vessel. I'Vom tlio mast of the- unfortunate vessel was seen a signal: "Water, water; we die of thirst!" The answer from the friendly vessel at once came back: "Cast down vour bucket where you are." A second time the signal, " Water, water; send us water! " ran up from the distressed vessel, and was answered: "Cast down your bucket where vou are." . . . The captain of the distressed vessel, at last heeding the injunction, cast down his bucket, and it came up full of fresh, sparkling water from the mouth of the Amazon River. To those of my race who depend on better- ing their condition in a foreign land, or who underestimate the importance of cultivating friendly relations with the Southern white man, who is their next-door neighbor, I would say: " Cast down your bucket where you are " — cast it down in making friends in every manly way of the people of all races by whom we are surrounded. Cast it dow^n in agriculture, in mechanics, in commerce, in domestic service, and in the professions. . , . Our greatest danger is, that in the great leap from slavery to freedom we may overlook the fact that the masses of us are to live by the productions of our hands, and fail to keep in mind that we shall prosper in proportion as we learn to dignify and glorify common labor and put brains and skill into the common occupations of life; shall prosper in pro- portion as we learn to draw the line between the superficial and the substantial, the ornamental gewgaws of life and the useful. No race can prosper till it learns that there is as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem. It is THE SOLUTION OF THE SOUTHERN PROBLEM 123 at the bottom of life we must begin, and not at the .top. Nor should we permit our grievances to overshadow our opportunities. To those of the white race who look to the incoming of those of foreign birth and strange tongue and habits for the prosperity of the South, were I permitted I would repeat what I say to my own race, " Cast down your bucket where you are." Cast it down among the eight million negroes whose habits you know, whose fidelity and love you have tested in days when to have proved treacherous meant the ruin of your firesides. Cast down your bucket among these people who have, without strikes and labor wars, tilled your fields, cleared your forests, builded your railroads and cities, and brought forth treasures from the bowels of the earth, and helped make possible this magnificent representation of the progress of the South. Casting down your bucket among my people, helping and encouraging them to education of head, hand, and heart, you will find that they will buy your surplus land, make blossom the waste places in your fields, and run your factories. While doing this, you can be sure in the future, as in the past, that you and your families will be surrounded by the most patient, faithful, law-abiding, and unresentful people that the world has seen. As we have proved our loyalty to you in the past, in nursing your children, watching by the sick-bed of your mothers and fathers, and often following them with tear-dimmed eyes to their graves, so in the future, in our humble way, we shall stand by you with a devotion that no foreigner can approach, ready to lay down our lives, if need be, in defense of yours, interlacing our industrial, commercial, civil, and religious life with yours in a way that shall make the interests one. . . . And here, bending, as it were, over the altar that represents the results of the struggles of your race and mine, both starting practically empty-handed three decades ago, I pledge that in your effort to work out the great and intricate I-M JOHN D.-iriS LONG jirol,)lcm which (i«ul h;is hiiil at the doors of the South you shall have at all times the jiatieiit, sympathetic help of my race; only let this be constantly m mind: that, while from representations in these buildings of the product of field, of lorest, of mine, of factory, of letters and art, much good will cjme, yet far above and beyond material benefits will be that liigher good which, let us pray God, will come in a blotting out of sectional differences and racial animosities and sus- picions, in a determination to administer absolute justice, in a willing obedience among all classes to the mandates of law. This, this, coupled with our material prosperity, will bring into our beloved South a new heaven and a new earth. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE SPANISH WAR By John Davis Long, Lawyer, Author; Governor of Massachusetts, 1880-82; Member of Congress from Massachusetts, 1882-88; Secretary of the Navy, 1897 — . Born in Buckfield, Maine. From a speech made at a dinner of the Republican Club of Massachusetts, October 26, 1898. See Boston Herald ^tiA Journal, Oct. 27, 18 j8. I cannot stand in this generous presence and not be keenly alive to the fact that it emphasizes, not the kindness of personal friendship, not even the spirit of partisan zeal, but the warm, enthusiastic pride of the American citizen in the administration of the American government ; pride in his country, and pride especially, I am sure, from your welcome to-night to me, in the glory of the American navy. Were there ever such pages as that navy has written, not in water, but in letters of light on the firmament of history } Why should I speak for it, when the navy speaks for itself .' Is it not enough to say that it has maintained the glorious standard to which it rose in the War of the American Revolu- tion, and in the War of 181 2, and in the War for the Union 'i Its achievements during the last six months have been one blaze of unprecedented triumph. Not only the triumph of battle, but the finer triumph of the highest professional skill, of scientific achievement, and of that preparation and fore- THE SIGNIFIC/INCII OF THE SPANISH IV A R 125 sight which makes the public service eflicient, accurate, and successful. It has added new names to the already glitter- ing constellation of heroic stars. The marvelous victories at Manila and Santiago, where Dewey and Sampson only led a list which runs without a break in its merit from the admiral to the humblest sailor and marine, have made the naval power of the United States master of the sea. Of its professional spirit I cannot speak too highly. That spirit animated the officer on the deck, the commandant at the yard, the chief in the bureau, and no less the grades, every one of them, below these. Line and staff, superior and subordinate, have all worked with matchless fidelity and ability, and in harmonious co-operation, and deserve equal honor. When Hobson tendered his life on the forlorn hope of the IMerrimac, the decks of the ships at Santiago were crowded with heroes, whose names arc written in water, but who were eager to give their own lives to win the same high meed of praise and to do the same noble service for their country. The glory of the navy, and the glory of the war which it shares with the army, is not, however, in battle alone; or, rather, it is not in the brutal elements of battle. It is rather in the fine instinct, the heroic courage, the splendid devo- tion, the intense patriotism which nerve men to endure what otherwise were the unpardonable horrors of armed conflict, for the sake of the great ends and causes for which battles are fought. The war through which we have just passed was not waged for the exultation of victory. It was for the un- loosing of the yoke of bondage, the elevation of an oppressed people, the diviner civilization of the coming century. Its finer touches were more in the generous humanity it aroused than in the splendid courage it evoked. Not a trace of personal animosity toward the foe was visible from beginning to end. Few words will last longer than those which Captain Evans uttered when he said of his i:j6 johs n.-fris long tm-n ilurini:: tli<-^ battle of Santiaj^o that " So long as the oiicmv flew its flag tlicv fought hke American seamen, luit wlien the Hag was hauKd liown they were as gentle and tender as American women." It was a revelation to the Spanish prisoners wlien they fount! themselves received with (."hristian kindness in an encampment rather tlian a jirison at Portsnioutli ; their wounds bound up and every want provided for. The lesson has not been lost t)n the civilization of the time when Cervera, returning to his seat in the Spanish Senate, proclaims the humanity of America, and suggests to Spain that she benefit by our exampie, waken from her bondage to old limitations, and follow the lead of American enterprise and American institutions. . . . I stood a few days ago on the portico of the executive mansion. I recalled that in my youth 1 there met President Lincoln as he came out of the White House door. We were alone. Had I then lost, as I have since lost, the awe which a young man feels on meeting a great one, I should have presumed to speak to him; and, perhaps, one of the saddest faces on which I ever looked might have been touched, in the passing greeting, with that kindly smile and lighting of the eyes which sometimes transformed it into beauty. The burden of the great war was then upon his gaunt frame. He had emancipated the slave, but the war was not over. The freedom of a race, the issue of equal rights for all men, high or low, black or white, was still trembling in the balance. A few days ago I stood with President McKinley on the same portico. We were not alone. Every foot of space, the railings, the grounds, were filled with a crowd of eager, interested people, men and women and children, waiting the march of the loth regular cavalry, colored troops, who soon came passing in review. They were dismounted and march- ing in column. They were the heroes of the recent war. They had saved the brave Roosevelt and his Rough Riders. KNEE -DEEP IN JUNE 1 27 They had stormed and swept the hill of San Juan. They had ranked themselves with the bravest of the brave. Their uniforms showed service, but it was the uniform of the United States soldier. They swept by with easy, swing- ing step. With heads erect and flashing eyes and kindling faces, bearing in their dusky hands the torn colors of their regiment, they passed in review, and the President of the United States bared his head in token of respect. There and then I saw the consummation of Lincoln's work. ^layhap he, too, looked down from the portico of a mansion eternal in the heavens. The issue which trembled in his great hand is settled; the slave is free; there are equal rights for all; the servile distinction of color is gone. The black man is the American soldier and the American citizen. There is no avenue of business life in which he does not walk; no profession of which he is not a member; no school of learning or of athletics in which he does not rank; and, on the platform, one of his race is to-day the best orator in America. KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE By James Whitcomb Riley, Poet, Story-writer. Born at Greenfield, Indiana, 1853. Taken from " Afterwhiles," by James Whitcomb Riley, copyright, 1887. Used by permission of the publishers, The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis, Ind , U.S.A. Tell you what I like the best — 'Long about knee-deep in June, 'Bout the time strawberries melts On the vine, — some afternoon Like to jes' git out and rest. And not work at nothin' else! Orchard's where I'd ruther be — Needn't fence it in fer me! Jes' the whole sky overhead, And the whole airth underneath — liS J.^MIS llfUrcOMIi Kll.r.Y Sortt.)' so s :i iii.iii km lirc;itlic Like he ort, ami kindu' has Elbow-room to kccrlcssly Sprawl out Icii'thways on the grass Where the slnulders thick and soft As the kivvers on the bed .Mother fixes in the loft Alius, when they's com])any! Jcs' a-sorto' lazin' there — S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer Through the wavin' leaves above, Like a feller 'at's in love And don't know it, ner don't keer! Ever'thing you hear and see Got some sort o' interest — Maybe find a bluebird's nest Tucked up there conveenently Eer the boy 'at's apt to be Up some other apple-tree 1 Watch the swallers skootin' past 'Bout as peert as you could ast; Er the Bob-white raise and whiz Where some other's whistle is. Ketch a shadder down below, And look up to find the crow — Er a hawk, — away up there, 'Pearantlyy>-o0^ in the air! — Hear the old hen squawk, and squat Over ever' chick she's got, Suddent-like! — And she knows where That-air hawk is, well as you! — You jes' bet yer life she do! — Eyes a-glitterin' like glass, Waitin' till he makes a pass! KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE i-9 Pee-wees' singin', to express My opinion, 's second class, Yit you'll hear 'em more er less; Sapsucks gittin' down to biz, Weedin' out the lonesomeness; Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass, In them base-ball clothes o' his, Sportin' 'round the orchard jes' Like he owned the premises ! Sun out in the fields kin sizz, But flat on yer back, I guess, In the shade's where glory is! That's jes' what I'd like to do Stiddy fer a year er two ! Plague! ef they ain't somepin' in Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in' My convictions! — 'long about Here in June especially! — • Under some old apple-tree, Jes' a-restin' through and through, I could git along without Nothin' else at all to do Only jes' a-wishin' you Was a-gittin' there like me, And June was eternity! Lay out there and try to see Jes' how lazy you kin be! — Tumble round and souse yer head In the clover-bloom, er pull Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes, And peek through it at the skies, Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead, Maybe, smilin' back at you In betwixt the beautiful Clouds o' gold and white and blue! — ijo JOHN Mri.U'N THCRSTON Month a iiinn kin r.iillv hnc — ]inu', you kn(-)\v, I'm talkin' of! March aint never notliin' luw ! Aprile's altogether too Brash fer me! and May — I jes' 'Homiiiate its promises, — Little hints o' sunshine and Green around tlie timber-land — A few blossoms, and a few Chip-birds, and a sprout er two — Drap asleep, and it turns in 'Fore daylijjht and snores ag'in! — But when /«;7t' comes— Clear my th'oat With wiltl honey! — Rench my hair In the dew! ant! hold my coat! Whoop out loud! and th'ow my hat! — June wants me, and I'm to spare! Spread them shadders anywhere, I'll git down and waller there. And obleeged to you at that ! LINCOLN: A MAN CALLED OF GOD By John Mellen Thurston, Lawyer; Senator from Nebraska, 1895 — . Born at Montpelier, Vt., 1847. Extract from an address before the Chicago Lincoln Association, February 12, 1891. God's providence has raised up a leader in ever}' time of a people's exceeding need. INIoses, reared in the family of Pharaoh, initiated in the sublime mysteries of the priestcraft of Egypt, partaking of the power and splendor of royal family and favor, himself a ruler and almost a king, was so moved by the degraded and helpless condition of his enslaved brethren tliat for their sake he undertook what to human understanding seemed the im- possible problem of deliverance. . . . LINCOLN: A MAN CALLED OF GOD 131 A peasant girl, a shepherdess, dreaming on the hills of France, feels her simple heart burn with the story of her country's wrongs. Its army beaten, shattered and dispersed ; its fields laid waste; its homes pillaged and burned; its people outraged and murdered; its prince fleeing for life before a triumphant and remorseless foe. Hope for France was dead. Heroes, there were none to save. What could a woman do .' Into the soul of this timid, unlettered mountain maid there swept a flood of glorious resolve. Some power, unknown to man, drew back the curtain from the glass of fate and bade her look therein. As in a vision, she sees a new French army, courageous, hopeful, victorious, invinci- ble. A girl, sword in hand, rides at its head; before it the invaders flee. She sees France restored, her fields in bloom, her cottages in peace, her people happy, her prince crowned. The rail-splitter of Illinois became President of the United States in the darkest hour of the nation's peril. Inexperi- enced and untrained in governmental affairs, he formulated national politics, overruled statesmen, directed armies, removed generals, and, when it became necessary to save the Republic, set at naught the written Constitution. He amazed the politicians and offended the leaders of his party; but the people loved him by instinct, and followed him blindly. The child leads the blind man through dangerous places, not by reason of controlling strength and intelligence, but by certainty of vision. Abraham Lincoln led the nation along its obscure pathway, for his vision was above the clouds, and he stood in the clear sunshine of God's indi- cated will. So stands the mountain while the murky shadows thicken at its base, beset by the tempest, lashed by the storm, dark- ness and desolation on every side; no gleam of hope in the lightning's lurid lances, nor voice of safety in the crashing thunder-bolts; but high above the topmost mist, vexed by no wave of angry sound, kissed by the sun of day, wooed >32 JOH?^ MFI. I.F.N THURSTON l>y tlic stars of night, the eternal suniinit lifts its snowy crest, crowned with the infinite serenity of peace. *' And God said — let there be light, and there was light." Light on the ocean, light on the land. " And God said — k-t there be light, and there was light." Light from the cross of calvary, light from the souls of men. " And God said — let there be light, and tlu-re was light." Light from tlie emancipation proclamation, light on the honor of the nation, light on the Constitution of the United States, light on the black faces of patient bondmen, light on every standard of freedom throughout the world. From the hour in which the cause of the Union became the cause of liberty, from the hour in which the flag of the Republic became the flag of humanity, from the hour in which the stars and stripes no longer floated over a slave; yea, from the sacred hour of the nation's new birth, that dear old banner never faded from the sky, and the brave boys who bore it never wavered in their onward march to victory. . . . After a quarter of a century of peace and prosperity, all children of our common country kneel at the altar of a reunited faith. The blue and gray lie in eternal slumber side by side. Heroes all, they fell face to face, brother against brother, to expiate a nation's sin. The lonely fire- sides and the unknown graves, the memory of the loved, the yearning for the lost, the desolated altars and the broken hopes, are past recall. The wings of our weak protest beat in vain against the iron doors of fate. But through the mingled tears that fall alike upon the honored dead of both, the North and South turn hopeful eyes to that new future of prosperity and power, possible only in the shelter of the dear old flag. To the conquerors and the conquered, to the white man and the black, to the master and the slave, Abraham Lincoln was God's providence. THE TRUE IV A R SPIRIT 133 THE TRUE WAR SPIRIT By George Frisbie Hoar, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Massa- chusetts, 1868-76; Senator, 1877 — . Born in Concord, Mass., 1826. From a speech delivered in the United States Senate, April 14, 1898. Mr. President, I regret, speaking for myself, that any Senator feels it to be his duty to indulge in harsh criticism of the President of the United States, Do gentlemen, -when they criticise this brave American soldier's love of peace — and every brave American soldier from the beginning of our history has been a lover of peace — reflect what war is and who it is that suffers by it ? The persons who suffer by modern wars are not the men who provoke them or the men who are guilty of the causes to which they owe their origin. Every modern war is an additional burden on the poor man, the laboring man, the plain man, while the glory is reaped by a few officers and the profits by a few stock jobbers and contractors. It is not even the guilty Spaniard who is primarily to suffer by the terrible punishment which we are expected to inflict upon Spain. It is not the Weylers or even the Sagastas or the Blancos. It is the poor peasant whose first-born is to be drafted into the military service, never to return or to return a wreck. It is the widow whose stay is to be taken from her, who is to get no share of the glory, but only the full of the suffering. This war, if it be to come upon us, is to add a new and terrible burden, even if it be confined within the limits to which we hope it may be confined, to the already overburdened and suffering peasantry of Europe. The results of a great war are due to the policy of the king and the noble and the tyrant, not the policy of the people. Every child upon the continent of Europe to-day was born with a mortgage of three hundred and fifty dollars about his little neck and an armed soldier riding upon his back. So while I agree, as will be seen before 1 finish, that war may i.u GHOKcr /Rismr /vo-z/e be iKccssary. aiul it may hi' necessary now, yet I cannot myself agree with my honorable friend, the Senator from Mississippi, wlicn he said so lightly that he thougiit it was a good plan to have a war once in a while, that it prevented the dry rot of prolonged peace. A nation is made up of human homes, and the glory of a nation and the value of its possessions are in its liumble h<-)mes, I ilo not agree witli the Senator who thinks that a home is made better by the loss of its boys or the crippling for life of its head. I do not like what follows war. 1 do not like the i)iling up in this country of thousands ujjon thousands of millions more of our public debt. I have not read history like the Senator from Mississippi in a way to lead mc to think that war is ever a purifying process. The seasons which follow great wars, either in this countrj' or elsewhere, are times of debts and jobs and disordered currency and popular discon- tent. The periods that have followed the great wars are the worst periods in history. If we enter upon this war, we are to subject our ships to many disasters like that of the Maitte and our soldiers to pestilence and yellow fever. The destruction in the soldier who survives of the capacity for the rest of his life for the works of peace is a not insignificant result even of the best and most necessary war, to say nothing of the increase of the debt and of the pension list. . . . Mr. President, I expect to vote for tlie House resolutions, imless I should have an opportunity to vote for the resolu- tion of the honorable .Senator from Colorado. That leads to war. There is no doubt about it. It will lead to the most honorable single war in all history, unless we except wars entered upon by brave people in the assertion of their own liberty. It leads to war. It is a war in which there does not enter the slightest thought or desire of foreign conquest or of national gain or advantage. I have not heard throughout this whole discussion in Senate or House an expression of a desire to subjugate and THE TRUE IVAR-SPIRIT 135 occupy Cuba for the purposes of our own country. There is nothing- of that kind suggested. It is disclaimed by the President, disclaimed by the committee, disclaimed by everybody, so far as I am aware. It is entered into for the single and sole reason that three or four hundred thousand human beings, within ninety miles of our shores, have been subjected to the policy intended, or at any rate having the effect, deliberately to starve them to death — men, women, and children, old men, mothers, and infants. If there have been any hasty or unwise utterances of im- patience in such a cause as that, and I think there have been, they have been honest, brave, humane utterances. But when I enter upon this war, I want to enter upon it with a united American people — President and Senate and House, and Navy and Army, and Democrat and Republican, all joining hands and all marching one way, I want to enter upon it with the sanction of international law, with the sympathy of all humane and liberty-loving nations, with the approval of our own consciences, and with a certainty of the applauding judgment of history. I confess I do not like to think of the genius of America angry, snarling, shouting, screaming, kicking, clawing with her nails. I like rather to think of her in her august and serene beauty, inspired by a sentiment even toward her enemies not of hate, but of love, perhaps a little pale in the cheek and a dangerous light in her eye, but with a smile on her lips, as sure, determined, unerring, invincible as was the Archangel Michael when he struck down and trampled upon the Demon of Darkness. GHORGi: llll.l.l.-tM CURTIS CHARLF.S SUMNER Hv ("iKORr.F. Wii.i.iANt Ci'Rris. Autlior. Or.itnr, Lecturer, Editor. Horn ill rnividencp, K. 1., 1X^4; ilictl at Stuteii Island, N. Y., i8q2. From a eulouy on Ch.irles Sumner delivered before the Legislature of M,i!!sacliusetts in Music II.ill, Hoston, Junecj, 1874. Taken, by permission of the publishers, from "Orations and Addresses of George William Curtis." Copyright 1894, by llarjieriS: Brothers, New York. The anti-slavcry contest had closed many a door ami many a heart against Charles Sumner. It had exposed him to the sneer, the hate, the ridicule, of opposition; it iiad threatened his life and assailed his person. But the great issue was clearly drawn; his whole being was stirred to its depths; he was in the bloom of youth, the pride of strength; history anil reason, the human heart and the human con- science, were his immortal allies; and around him w^ere the vast, increasing hosts of liberty; the men whose counsels he approved; the friends of his heart; the multitude that thought him only too eager for unquestionable riglit ; the. prayer of free men and women, sustaining, inspiring, blessing him. But here was another scene, a far fiercer trial. His old companions in the Free-soil days, the great abolition leaders, most of his warmest personal friends, the great body of the party whom his words had inspired, looked at him with sorrowful surprise. Ah! no one who did not know that proud and tender heart, trusting, simple, almost credulous as that of a boy, could know how sore the trial was. He stood, among his oldest friends, virtually alone; with inexpressible pain they parted, each to his own duty. "Are you willing, ' I said to him one day, when he had passionately implored me to agree with him — and I should have been unworthy his friendship had I been silent — "is Charles Sumner willing at this time, and in the circumstances of to-day, to intrust the colored race in this country with all their rights, their liberty newly won and yet flexile antl ;iascent, to a party, however fair it professes, which com- CHARLHS SUMNER 137 prises all who have hated and despised the negro ? The slave of yesterday in Alabama, in Carolina, in Mississippi, will his heart leap with joy or droop dismayed when he knows that Charles Sumner has given his great name as a club to smite the party that gave him and his children their liberty ? " The tears started to his eyes, that good gray head bowed down, but he answered, sadly, " I must do my duty. " And he did it. He saw the proud, triumphant party that he had led so often — men and women whom his heart loved, the trusted friends of a life, the sympathy and confi- dence and admiration upon which, on his great days and after his resounding words, he had been joyfully accustomed to lean — he saw all these depart, and he turned to go alone and do his duty. Living how Sumner served us and dying, at this moment how he serves us still. In a time when politics seem peculiarly mean and selfish and corrupt, when there is a general vague apprehension that the very moral foundations of the national character are loosened, when good men are painfully anxious to know whether the heart of the people is hardened, Charles Sumner dies; and the universality and sincerity of sorrow, such as the death of no man left living among us could awaken, show how true, how sound, how generous, is still the heart of the American people. This is the dying service of Charles Sumner, a revelation which inspires every American to bind his shining example as a frontlet between the eyes, and never again to despair of the higher and more glorious destiny of his country. And of that destiny what a foreshowing was he! In that beautiful home at the sunny and leafy corner of the national city, where he lived among books and pictures and noble friendships and lofty thoughts . . . how the stately and gracious and all-accomplished man seemed the very personifi- cation of that new union for which he had so manfully striven, and whose coming his dying eyes beheld — -the union of ever wider liberty and juster law, the America of compre- i;>s joH\ toii-\'si:nd /roh HKincn hensive intelligence anil of nuirai power! For that lie stands; up to that his imperishable memory, like the words of his living lips, forever lifts us — lifts us to his own great faith in America and in man. Suddenly from his strong hand — mv father, my father, the chariot of Israel, and the horsemen thereof! — the banner falls. Be it ours to grasp it. ami carrv it still forward, still higher! ( )ur work, is not his work, but it can be well done only in his si)irit. And as, in the heroic legend of your Western valley, the men of lladley, faltering in the fierce shock of Indian battle, suddenly saw at their head the lofty form of an unknown captain, with white hair streaming on the wind, by his triumphant mien strengthening their hearts and leading them to victory, so, men and women of Massachusetts, of America, if in that national conflict already begun, as vast and vital as the struggle of his life, the contest which is beyond that of any partv or policy or measure — the contest for conscience, in- telligence, and morality as the supreme power in our j)olitics and the sole salvation of America — you should falter or fail, suddenly your hearts shall see once more the towering form, shall hear again the inspiring voice, shall be exalted with the moral energy and faith of Charles Sumner, and the victories of his immortal example shall transcend the triumphs of his life. THE VAGABONDS By John Townsend Trowbridge, Editor, Author, Poet. Born in Ogden, X. Y., 1827; living in Arlington, Mass. We are two travelers, Roger and I. Roger's my dog. — Come here, you scamp. Jump for the gentleman, — mind your eye! Over the table, — look out for the lamp! — The rogue is growing a little old; Five years we've tramped through wind and weather. And slept out doors when nights were cold. And ate and drank — and starved — together. THE yAGABONDS 139 We've learned what comfort is, I tell you ! A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow, The paw he holds up there has been frozen). Plenty of catgut for my fiddle (This out-door business is bad for strings). Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griodle, And Roger and I set up for kings ! No, thank you, Sir, — I never drink; Roger and I are exceedingly moral, — Aren't we, Roger? — see him wink! — Well, something hot, then, we won't quanel. He's thirsty, too — see him nod his head ? What a pity. Sir, that dogs can't talk — He understands every word that's said, — And he knows good milk from water and chalk. The truth is. Sir, now I reflect, I've been so sadly given to grog, I wonder I've not lost the respect (Here's to you. Sir!) even of my dog. But he sticks by, through thick and thin; And this old coat with its empty pockets, And rags that smell of tobacco and gin. He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. There isn't another creature living Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving. To such a miserable thankless master! No, Sir! — see him wag his tail and grin! By George! it makes my old eyes water! That is, there's something in this gin That chokes a fellow. But no matter 1 t »o /()//.V /•(1//ne. With unfaltering front he faced death. \N'ith unfailing tenderness he took leave of life. Above tlie ilemoniac hiss of the assassin's bullet he heard the voice ^)f (iod. With simi)le resignation he bowed to the tlivine decree. As the end drew near, his early craving for the sea returned. The stately mansion of power had been to him tlie wearisome hospital of pain, and he begged to be taken from its prison-walls, from its oppressive, stifling air, from its homelessness and its hopelessness. Gently, silently, the love of a great people bore the pale sufferer to the longed- for healing of the sea, to live or to die, as God should will, within sight of its heaving billows, within sound of its mani- fold voices. With wan, fevered face tenderly lifted to the cooling breeze he looked out wistfully upon the ocean's changing wonders — on its far sails whitening in the morning light; on its restless waves rolling shoreward to break and die beneath the noonday sun; on the red clouds of evening arching low to the horizon; on the serene and shining path- way of the stars. Let us think that his dying eyes read a mystic meaning which only the rapt and parting soul may know. Let us believe that in the silence of the receding world he heard the great waves breaking on a farther shore, and felt already upon his wasted brow the breath of the eternal morning. CUBA 145 CUBA By William Pierce Frye, Lawyer ; Member of Congress from Maine, 1871-81; Senator, 1881-. Born in Levviston, Maine, 1831. From a speech delivered in the Senate, February 28, 1896; the Senate having under consideration a resolution relative to the war in Cuba. See Congressional Record, February 2S, 1896. INIr. President, in the Committee on Foreign Relations, I voted for the pending resolution, but it is no fetich of mine. I am prepared to vote for that or for any other resolution, however drastic and however far-reaching, which can justly and without violating international obligations be passed by Congress. I have but one desire, and that is to see Cuba an independent republic, and whatever I can do justly and honorably to that end I am prepared now to do. Mr. President, 1 am weary and heartsick to see this splendid Republic of ours, its foundation-stones the equal rights of man, doing day after day and month after month police duty for the most wicked despotism there is to-day on this earth. When I read two or three days ago that a vessel carryinir arms, ammunition, supplies, and a few men to aid the Cuban insurgents, had been successfully seized by the United States of America, I recognized the fact of the supremacy of law; but I was mortified and humiliated beyond expression, and I should have been delighted if I could have read in the very next item that Almighty God, without destroying innocent human life, had sent a commo- tion of nature, a grand tidal wave, and had sent skyward the seizing vessel, and had sent the succoring ship Cubaward ; I should have rejoiced beyond measure. Sir, I never can forget what I felt when I read in the press years and years ago that a poor black man escaping from slavery had been seized by a United States marshal, aided by a regiment of United States soldiers, in the streets of Boston, right in front of the Cradle of Liberty, and had been manacled and sent back into slavery. I recognized that the i4<» ai.iKij:s Hi:\Ky /'.-irk/ilkst law had been vimlicatcil ; Imt tliorc was not a humane or a Christian man or wt^nian in the entire North who wouKl not liavc thanked C'lOil, who wouKl not have rejoiced without limit, if He, in His divine jirovidence, hat! ri,c;lit at that time ]>araly/,cd the stronj:; arm of the law and the jionr slave had gone free. Sir, I say I am tiretl and wearied with doing j)olice duty for the despotism of Spain, and I look upon these resolu- tions anil the action of Congress now as the first stcji in call- ing a halt. Mr. President, my creed in these regards has no thirty- nine articles. It is a very brief one. These insurgents in this beautiful, but ill-fated and cruelly misgoverned, island have my profoundest sympathies. I cannot forget that where we had one just cause to rebel against the mother country these men have scores as just for their rebellion; and I shall do or say or vote anything, consistent with the honor and the integrity of the Republic, which shall, in my opinion, promote the success of the Cuban patriots who are to-day so bravely struggling to wrest liberty from the iron grasp of a cruel and relentless despotism. PIETY AND CIVIC VIRTUE By Charles Hf.nrv PARKHrRST, Preacher, Author; Pastor of the Madison .Square Presbyterian Cliurcli, New York City, 1880 — . Born at Framingham, Mass., 1842. The fault with the mass of civic virtue is that there is not enough Christian live coal in it to make it safe to be counted on for solid effects. What a wicked man will do on election day you can tell. What a good man will do you cannot tell. Most likely he will not do anything. It is a singular fact that goodness cannot be so confidently trusted as depravity can to do what is expected of it. It is not so reliable. It takes a larger consideration to prevent a bad PIETY AND ayiC VIRTUE 147 man from casting his ballot for rum than it does to prevent a. good man from going and voting against it. Average decency is not so much in earnest as average profligacy. Elections in city and State are very likely to turn on the weather. Singularly enough a watery day is apt to mean a rum government. Respectability looks at the barometer before it steps out of doors. Decency is afraid of taking cold. Piety does not like to get its feet wet. Wickedness is amphibious and thrives in any element or in no element. There are a good many lessons which the powers of darkness are competent to teach the children of light, and that is one of them. Vice is a good deal spryer than virtue, has more staying power, can work longer with- out getting out of breath, and has less need of half-holidays. I know because of this people say, you can't do anything. You can. One man can chase a thousand; we have the Almighty's word for it. I have done it. I am not bragging of it; but I have done it. And any man can do it be he Catholic, Republican, or Democrat, if he have the truth on his side, dares to stand up and tell it, is distinguished by consecrated hang-to-itiveness, and when he has been knocked down once preserves his serenity, gets up, and goes at it again. One man can chase a thousand. Let our earnest, fiery citizens once get but an inkling of what citizenship means, in its truest and innermost sense, and there is no wall of misrule too solidly constructed for it to over- throw; no "machine" of demagogism too elaborately wrought for it to smash. There is nothing that can stand in the way of virtue on fire. A fact you can misstate, a principle you can put under a false guise, but a man you cannot down; that is to say, if he is a man who has grit, grace, and sleeps well o' nights. There is no play about this work; there is no fun in it. It means annoyances; it means enmities. It is no more possible to stand up in the presence of the community and speak the truth in cold monosyllables now than it was in mS CHARLES HF.NRY P.-IRKHl'RST Jcnisaloiii two (housaiul years ago. Iluinan nature has not altcrcil any in that time. Tliere is not so nuich wickedness now, perhaps, as there was then, but wliat there is is just as wicked ami just as malignant. If a man butts his head against a wall, he may be able to do a little something towards weakening the wall, but it will be certain to give him the headache. Action and reaction are bound to be equal. Nothing less than the steady pull of a long and devout purpose will be sufficient under those circumstances to keep the man a-going. ]\Ien now are precisely what they were when they thrust Jeremiah into a hole and took off the head of John the liaptist. But that makes not a whit of difference. Every blow tells. Wickedness is cowardly and Pentecostal virtue is not. That makes a huge difference. The matter of numbers does not come into the account. History is not administered on the basis of arithmetic. The declaration of Solomon that the battle is not to the strong has been justi- fied by every age of moral, political, and military history. No cause can be called a weak cause that has vitality enough about it to make devotees out of its advocates. Philip Second could do nothing with poor little Plolland because the Protestant's idea put recruits on their feet faster than Philip's mercenaries could shoot or roast the veterans. If any one anywhere is anxious to accomplish something in the way of ameliorating the condition of his town or city, and asks me what he shall do, I answer in ten words: Get the facts; state them; stand up to them. ON THE OTHER TRAIN : A CLOCK'S STORY I49 ON THE OTHER TRAIN: A CLOCK'S STORY Anonymous. " There, Simmons, you blockhead! Why didn't you trot that old woman aboard her train ? She'll have to wait here now until the 1.05 a.m." " You didn't tell me." " Yes, I did tell you. 'Twas only your confounded stupid carelessness." "She—" ''She/ You fool! What else could you expect of her! Probably she hasn't any wit; besides, she isn't bound on a very jolly journey — got a pass up the road to the poorhouse. I'll go and tell her, and if you forget her to-night, see if I don't make mince-meat of you!" and our worthy ticket agent shook his fist menacingly at his subordinate. " You've missed your train, marm, " he remarked, coming forward to a queer-looking bundle in the corner. A trembling hand raised the faded black veil, and revealed the sweetest old face I ever saw. " Never mind," said a quivering voice. " 'Tis only three o'clock now; you'll have to wait until the night train, which doesn't go up until 1.05." " Very well, sir; I can wait." " Wouldn't you like to go to some hotel ? Simmons will show you the way." " No, thank you, sir. One place is as good as another to me. Besides, I haven't any money." "Very well," said the agent, turning away indifferently. " Simmons wall tell you when it's time." All the afternoon she sat there so quiet that I thought she must be asleep, but when I looked more closely I could see every once in a while a great tear rolling down her cheek, which she would wipe away hastily with her colored hand- kerchief. The station was crowded, and all was bustle and hurry ISO ^SONYMOU.^ until tin- g.50 train p:iMnp cast came clue; then every passen- ger left except the okl lady. It is very rare inileed that any one takes the night express, and almost always after ten o'clock the station becomes silent and empty. The ticket agent put on his great-coat, and, bidding Simmons keep his wits about him for once in his life, departed for home. But he had no sooner gone than that functionary stretched himself out upon the table, as usual, and began to snore vociferously. Then it was that I witnessed such a sight as I never had before and never expect to witness again. The fire had gone down — it was a cold night, and the wind howled dismally outside. The lamf)s grew dim and flared, casting weird shadows upon tlie wall. By and by I heard a smothered sob from the corner, then another. I looked in that direction. She had risen from her seat, and oh, the look of agony on that poor pinched face! "I can't believe it! My babies! my babies! how often have I held them in my arms and kissed them; and how often they used to say back to me, ' Ise love you, mamma,' and now, O God! they've turned against me! Where am I going.' To the poorhouse! No! no! no! I cannot! I will not! Oh, the disgrace! " And sinking upon her knees, she sobbed out in prayer: " O God, spare me this and take me home! O God, spare me this disgrace ; spare me ! ' ' The wind rose higher and swept through ttie crevices, icy cold. How it moaned and seemed to sob like something human that is hurt! I began to shake, but the kneeling figure never stirred. The thin shawl had dropped from her shoulders unheeded. Simmons turned over and drew his blanket more closely about him. Oh, how cold! Only one lamp remained, burning dimly; the other two had gone out for want of oil. I could liardly see, it was so dark. ON THE OTHER TRAIN: A CLOCK'S STORY 151 At last she became quieter and ceased to moan. Then I grew drowsy, and kind of lost run of things after I had struck twelve, when some one entered the station with a bright light. I started up. It was the brightest light I ever saw, and seemed to fill the room full of glory. I could see 'twas a man. He walked to the kneeling figure and touched her upon the shoulder. She started up and turned her face wildly round. I heard him say: " 'Tis train-time, ma'am. Come! " A look of joy came over her face. " I am ready," she whispered. " Then give me your pass, ma'am." She reached him a worn old book, which he took, and from it read aloud : " Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." " That's the pass over our road, ma'am. Are you ready .'' ' ' The light died away, and darkness fell in its place. My hand touched the stroke of one. Simmons awoke with a start and snatched his lantern. The whistle sounded " down breaks ' ' ; the train was due. He ran to the corner and shook the old woman. " Wake up, marm; 'tis train-time." But she never heeded. He gave one look at the white set face, and, dropping his lantern, fled. The up train halted, the conductor shouted " All aboard, " but no one made a move that way. The next morning, when the ticket agent came, he found her frozen to death. They whispered among themselves, and the coroner made out the verdict " apoplexy," and it was in some way hushed up. They laid her out in the station, and advertised for her friends, but no one came. So, after the second day, they buried her. The last look on the sweet old face, lit up with a gniile If 2 THOM.^S BR^ICKl-TT RlU-.n so hcavi'uly. 1 ki'i'p with \\\v yit ; and wlun I think i.f the occurrence of that night, I know she went out t)n tlie other train, which never stopped at the poorhouse. OPPORTUNITY TO LABOR By Thomas Prackhtt Rkkp, L.iwyer, Statesman; MemlxT of Congress from Maine, 1877-00- Speaker of the 51st, 54th, and 55th Con- gresses. Born in Portland, Me., 1839; resides in New York, N. Y. From .in address delivered at Old Orchard, Me., August 25, iSg6. See Portland Daily Press, Aug. 27, 1896. ^^'hat seemed the great primeval curse tliat in the sweat of his face should man eat bread has been found, in the Mider view of the great cycles of the Almighty, to be the foundation of all sound hope, all sure progress, and all permanent power. Man no longer shuns labor as his deadliest foe, but welcomes it as his dearest friend. Nations no longer dream of riches as the spoils of war, but as the fruits of human energy directed by wise laws and encouraged by peace and good will. Battlements and forts and castles, armies and navies, are day by day less and less the enginery of slaughter, and more and more the guarantee of peace with honor. What the world longs for now is not the pageantry and devastation of war for the aggrandizement of the few, but the full utilization of all human energy for the benefit of all mankind. Give us but the opportunity to labor, and the whole world of human life will burst into tree and flower. To the seventy-five millions of people who make up this great Republic, the opportunity to labor means more than to all the world besides. It means the development of resources great beyond the comprehension of any mortal, and the diffusion among all of the riches to which the glories of " The Arabian Nights " are but the glitter of the pawnshop, and to which the sheen of all the jewels of this earth are but the gleam of the glowworm in the pallor of the dawn. THE BENEDICTION 153 To develop our great resources, it is the one prime neces- sity that all our people should be at work, that all the brain and muscle should be in harmonious action, united in tlieir endeavors to utilize the great forces of nature and to make wealth out of senseless matter and out of all the life which begins with the cradle and ends with the grave, and out of all the powers which ebb and flow in the tides of the ocean, in the rush of the rivers, and out of the great energies which are locked up in the bosom of the earth. THE BENEDICTION By Francois Coppee, Poet, Dramatist. Born in Paris, France, 184 It was in eighteen hundred — yes — and nine. That we took Saragossa. What a day Of untold horrors! I was sergeant then. The city carried, we laid siege to the houses, All shut up close, and with a treacherous look. Raining down shots upon us from the windows. " 'Tis the priests' doing! " was the word passed round; So that — although since daybreak under arms. Our eyes with powder smarting, and our mouths Bitter with kissing cartridge-ends — piff ! piff ! Rattled the musketry with ready aim, If shovel hat and long black coat were seen Flying in the distance. Up a narrow street My company worked on. I kept an eye On every house-top, right and left, and saw From many a roof flames suddenly burst forth. Coloring the sky, as from the chimney-tops Among the forges. Low our fellows stooped. Entering the low-pitched dens. When they came out, With bayonets dripping red, their bloody fingers Signed crosses on the wall; for we were bound. In such a dangerous defile, not to leave Foes lurking in our rear. There was no drum-beat. 154 /R.txi^'ots corrr.F. No ordered march. Our ofliccrs looked j^ravo; The rank and file uneasy, jogging elbows As do recruits when Ihnching. All at once, Rounding a corner, we are iiailed in French With cries for help. -\t double-quick we join Our hanl-pressed comrades. They were grenadiers, A gallant company, but beaten back Inglorious from the raised and tlag-paved square I'>onting a convent. Twenty stalwart monks Defended it, black demons with shaved crowns. The cross in white embroidered on tlieir frocks, Barefoot, their sleeves tucked up, their only weapons Enormous crucifixes, so well brandished Our men went down before them. By platoons Firing we swept the place; in fact, we slaughtered This terrible group of heroes, no more soui Being in us than in executioners. The foul deed done — deliberately done — And the thick smoke rolling away, we noted, Under the huddled masses of the dead, Rivulets of blood run trickling down the steps; While in the background solemnly the church Loomed up, its doors wide open. We went in. It was a desert. Lighted tapers starred The inner gloom with points of gold. The incense Gave out its perfume. At the upper end, Turned to the altar, as though unconcerned In the fierce battle that had raged, a priest, White-haired and tall of stature, to a close W^as bringing tranquilly the mass. So stamped Upon my memory is that thrilling scene, 'I'hat, as I speak, it comes before me now — The convent, built in old time by the Moors; The huge, brown corpses of the monks; the sun THE BENEDICTION I5S Making the red blood on the pavement steam ; And there, framed in by the low porch, the priest; And there the altar, brilliant as a shrine; And here ourselves, all halting, hesitating, Almost afraid. I, certes, in those days Was a confirmed blasphemer. 'Tis on record That once, by way of sacrilegious joke, A chapel being sacked, I lit my pipe At a wax candle burning on the altar. This time, however, I was awed — so blanched Was that old man! " Shoot him! " our captain cried. Not a soul budged. The priest beyond all doubt Heard; but, as though he heard not, turning round. He faced us with the elevated Host, Having that period of the service reached When on the faithful benediction falls. His lifted arms seemed as the spread of wings; And as he raised the pyx, and in the air With it described the cross, each man of us Fell back, aware the priest no more was trembling Than if before him the devout were ranged. But when, intoned with clear and mellow voice. The words came to us — Vos lenedicat / Dens Omnipotens ! The captain's order Rang out again and sharply, " Shoot him down. Or I shall swear! " Then one of ours, a dastard. Leveled his gun and fired. Upstanding still. The priest changed color, though with steadfast look Set upwards, and indomitably stern. Pater et Filius / Came the words. What frenzy. What maddening thirst for blood, sent from our ranks Another sliot. I know not; Imt 'twas ilonc. The monk, with one huiul on th-j altar's ledge, HcKl iiinisi'lf up; and strenuous to complete His benediction, in the other raiseil The consecrated Host. For the third time Tracing in the air the symbol of forgiveness,' With eyes closed, and in tones exceeding low, But in the general hush distinctly heard, £/ Sanc/Ui Spiriius ! He said; and ending His service, fell down dead. SPARTACUS TO THE ROMAN ENVOYS By Epes Sargent, Editor, Author, Poet. Born in Gloucester, Mass., 1813; died in Boston, Mass., 1880. Envoys of Rome, the poor camp of Spartacus is too much honored by your presence. And does Rome stop to parley with the escaped gladiator, with the rebel ruffian, for whom heretofore no slight has been too scornful .' You have come, with steel in your right hand, and with gold in your left. What heed we give the former, ask Cossinius; ask Claudius; ask Varinius; ask the bones of your legions that fertilize the Lucanian plains. And for your gold — would ye know what we do with that, — go ask the laborer, the trodden poor, the helpless and the hopeless, on our route; ask all whom Roman tyranny had crushed, or Roman avarice plundered. Ye have seen me before; but ye did not then shun my glance as now. Ye have seen me in the arena, when I was Rome's pet ruffian, daily smeared with blood of men or beasts. One day — shall I forget it ever ? — -ye were present; — I had fought long and well. Exhausted as I was, your munerator, your lord of the games, bethought him, it were an equal match to set against me a new man, younger and lighter than I, but fresh and valiant. \\'ith Thracian sword and buckler, forth he came, a beautiful defiance on SPARTACUS TO THE ROMAN ENI/OYS 157 his brow! Bloody and brief the fight. " lie lias it! " cried the people: '' habeif habel ! " But still he lowered not his arm, until, at length, I held him, gashed and fainting, in my power. I looked around upon the Podium, where sat your senators and men of state, to catch the signal of release or mercy. But not a thumb was reversed. To crown your sport, the vanquished man must die! Obedient brute that I was, I was about to slay him, when a few hurried w'ords — rather a welcome to death than a plea for life— told me he was a Thra( ian. I stood transfixed. The arena vanished. I was in Thrace, upon my native hills! The sword dropped from my hands. I raised the dying youth tenderly in my arms. O, the magnanimity of Rome! Your haughty leaders, enraged at being cheated of their death-show, hissed their disappointment, and shouted, "Kill!" I heeded them as I would heed the howl of wolves. Kill him? — They might have better asked the mother to kill the babe, smiling in her face. Ah! he was already wounded unto death; and, amid the angry yells of the spectators, he died. That night I was scourged for disobedience. I shall not forget it. Should memory fail, there are scars here to quicken it. Well ; do not grow impatient, Some hours after, finding myself, with seventy fellow gladiators, alone in the amphi- theater, the laboring thought broke forth in words. I said — I know not what. I only knew that, when I ceased, my comrades looked each other in the face — and then burst forth the simultaneous cry — " Lead on! Lead on, O Sparta- cus! " Forth we rushed, — seized what rude weapons chance threw in our way, and to the mountains speeded. There, day by day, our little band increased. Disdainful Rome sent after us a handful of her troops, w'ith a scourge for the slave Spartacus. Their weapons soon were ours. She sent an army; and down from Old Vesuvius we poured, and slew three thousand. Now it was Spartacus the dreadful rebel ! A larger army, headed by the Praetor, was sent, and routed; then another still. And always I remembered that 15S THFOnORf: r.-tRKi:R fierce cry, riving my heart, and calling nic to " kill! " In three pitchcil battles have I not obeyed it ? Ami now affrighted Rome sends lier two consuls, and puts forth all her strength bv land and sea, as if a Pyrrhus or a Hannibal were on her borders ! Envoys of Rome! To Lcntulus and Gellius bear this message: "Their graves are measured!" Look on that narrow stream, a silver thread, high on the mountain's side! Slenderly it winds, but soon is swelled by others meeting it, until a torrent, terrible and strong, it sweeps to the abyss, where all is ruin! So Spartacus comes on! So sw-ells ///j force, — small and despised at first, but now resistless! On, on to Rome we come! The gladiators come! Let Opulence tremble in all his palaces! Let Oppression shudder to think the oppressed may have their turn! Let Cruelty turn pale at thought of redder hands than his! O! we shall not forget Rome's many lessons. She shall not find her training was all wasted upon indocile pupils. Now, begone! Prepare the Eternal Citv for our games! AGAINST THE FUGITIVE-SLAVE LAW By Theodore Parker. Preacher, Reformer, Lecturer, Author. Born at Lexington, Mass., iSio; died at Florence, Italy, i860. From a sermon preached in Boston, Mass , November 28, 1850. See Parker's " Speeches, Addresses, and Occasional Sermons,"' published in 1852 by Wm. Crosby and H. P. Nichols, Boston, Mass. Come with me, my friends, a moment more, pass over this Golgotha of human historj', treading reverent as you go, for our feet are on our mothers' graves, and our shoes defile our fathers' hallowed bones. Let us not talk of them; go farther on, look and pass by. Come with me into the inferno of the nations, with such poor guidance as my lamp can lend. Let us disquiet and bring up the awful .shadows of empires buried long ago, and learn a lesson from the tomb- " Come, old Assyria, with the Ninevitish dove upon AGAINST THE FUGITiyE-SLAl^E LAW 159 thy emerald crown! what laid thee low ? " "I fell by my cwn injustice. Thereby Nineveh and Babylon came with me also to the ground." — " O, queenly Persia, flame of the nations, wherefore art thou so fallen, who troddest the people under thee, bridgedst the Hellespont with ships, and pouredst thy temple-wasting millions on the world .'' " " Because I trod the people under me, and bridged the Hellespont with ships, and poured my temple-wasting millions on the western world, I fell by my own misdeeds. — " Thou muse-like Grecian queen, fairest of all thy classic sisterhood of states, enchanting yet the world with thy sweet witchery, speaking in art and most seductive song, why liest thou there, with beauteous yet dishonored brow, reposing on thy broken harp }" "I scorned the law of God; banished and poisoned wisest, justest men; I loved the loveliness of thought, and treasured that in more than Parian speech. But the beauty of justice, the loveliness of love, I trod them down to earth ! Lo, therefore have I become as those barbarian states — as one of them!" — ^" O, manly and majestic Rome, thy sevenfold muraj crown all broken at thy feet, why art thou here .? It w-as not injustice brought thee low; for thy great book of law is prefaced with these words — justice is the unchanged, everlasting will to give each man his right! It was not the saint's ideal; it was the hypocrite's pretense. I made iniquity my law. I trod the nations under me. Their wealth gilded my palaces — where thou maye.st see the fox and hear the owl — it fed my courtiers and my courtesans. Wicked men were my cabinet counselors, the flatterer breathed his poison in my ear. Millions of bondsmen wet the soil with tears and blood. Do you not hear it crying yet to God ? Lo, here have I my recompense, tormented with such downfall as you see! Go back and tell the new-born child who sittcth on the Alleghanies, laying his either hand upon a tributary sea, a crown of thirty stars upon his youthful brow — tell him that there are rights which States must keep, or they shall suffer i6o POOkl'R r.-1t.i-4hF.RRO H.-ISUISCTON wrongs I Tell him there is a God who keeps the black man and the white, and hurls to earth the loftiest realm that breaks his just, iternal law! Warn the young empire, that he come not ilown dim and dishonored to my shameful tomb! Tell him that justice is the unchanging, everlasting will to give each man his right. I knew it, broke it, and am lost. ]?id him know it, kecj) it, and be safe." A MESSAGE FROM THE SOUTH By Booker Taliaferro Washington, Educator, Principal of Tuskegee Normal and Intlustrial Institute. Born a slave near Hale's Ford, Va., in 1857 or 185S. From an address delivered at the unveiling o( the Shaw Monument, Boston, Mass., May 31, 1897. See Harvard Graduates'' Magazine, Sept. 18^7. If that heart could throb and if those lips could speak, what would be the sentiment and words that Robert Gould Shaw would have us feel and .speak at this hour .' He would not have us dwell long on the mistakes, the injustice, the criticisms of the days •• Of storm and cloud, of doubt and fears That 'cross the eternal sky must lower. Before the glorious noon appears." lie would have us bind up witli his own undying fame and memory, and retain by the side of his monument, the name of John A. Andrew, who, with clear vision and strong arm, helped make the existence of the Fifty-fourth Regiment jjossible; and that of George L. Stearns, who, with hidden generosity and a great, sweet heart, helped'to turn the darkest iiour into day, and in doing so freely gave service, fortune, and life itself to the cause which this day commemorates. Xor would he have us forget those brother officers, living and dead, who, by their baptism in blood and fire, in defense of Union and freedom, gave us an example of the highest and purest patriotism. . . . But an occasion like this is too great, too sacred for mere individual eulogy. The individual is the in.strument, national A MESSAGE FROM THE SOUTH i6i virtue the end. That which was three hundred years being woven into the warp and woof of our democratic institutions could not be effaced by a single battle, magnificent as was that battle; that which for tliree centuries had bound master and slave, yea, North and South, to a body of death, could not be blotted out by four years of war, could not be atoned for by shot and sword nor by blood and tears. Not many days ago, in the heart of the South, in a large gathering of the people of my race, there were heard from many lips praises and thanksgiving to God for His goodness in setting them free from physical slavery. In the midst of that assembly a Southern white man arose, with gray hair and trembling hands, the former owner of many slaves, and from his quivering lips there came the words: " IMy friends, you forget in your rejoicing that in setting you free God was also good to me and my race in setting us free. " But there is a higher and deeper sense in which both races must be free than that represented by the bill of sale. The black man who cannot let love and sympathy go out to the white man is but half free. The white man who would close the shop or factory against a black man seeking an opportunity to earn an honest living is but half free. The white man who retards his own development by opposing a black man is but half free. The full measure of the fruit of Fort Wagner and all tliat this monument stands for will not be realized until every man covered by a black skin shall, by patience and natural effort, grow to that height in industry, property, intelligence, and moral responsibility where no man in all our land will be tempted to degrade himself by withholding from his black brother any opportunity which he himself would possess. Until that time comes this monument will stantl f; ir cllurt, not victory complete. What these heroic souls of (lie Fifty- fourth Regiment began we must complete. It must be com- pleted not in malice, not narrowness; nor artificial progress, nor in efforts at; mere temporary political gain, nor in abuse 1 62 liOOKliR r.-H.I.-t/'HKRO H.ISHI\(]TON of aii>itlicr sfctiun or r;icc. Standing as I do to-day in the home of (Harrison and Philhps and Sumner, my heart goes out t(.> tliose wlio \vi>re the gray as well as to those clothed in blue, to those who returnetl defeated, to destitute homes, to face blasted hopes and a shattered political and intlustrial system. To them there can be no prouder reward for defeat than by a supreme effort to jilace the negro on that footing where he will add material, intellectual, and civil strength to every department of State. . . . Wliat lesson has this occasion for the future ? What of hope, what of encouragement, what of caution ? " Watch- man, tell us of the night, wliat the signs of j)romise are." If through me, an humble representative, nearly ten million of my people might be permitted to send a message to ^Massachusetts, to the survivors of the Fifty-fourtli Regiment, to the committee whose untiring energy has made tliis me- morial possible, to the family who gave their only boy that we might have life more abundantly, that message would be, Tell them that the sacrifice was not in vain, that up from the depths of ignorance and poverty we are coming, and if we come through oppression out of the struggle we are gaining strength. By the way of the school, the well-cultivated field, the skilled hand, the Christian home, we are coming up; that we propose to invite all who will to step up and occupy this position with us. Tell them that we are learning that standing-ground for a race, as for an individual, must be laid in intelligence, in- dustry, thrift, and property, not as an end, but as a means to the highest privileges; that we are learning that neither the conqueror's bullet nor fiat of law could make an ignorant voter an intelligent voter, could make a dependent man an independent man, could give one citizen respect for another, a bank account, nor a foot of land, nor an enlight- ened fireside. Tell them that, grateful as we are to artist and patriotism for placing the figures of Shaw and his com- rades in physical form of beauty and magnificence, after all, THE REyOLUTlONARY RISING 163 the real monument, the greater monument, is being slowly but safely builded among the lowly in the South, in the struggles and sacrifices of a race to justify all that has been done and suffered for it. One of the wishes that lay nearest Colonel Shaw's heart was that his black troops might be permitted to fight by the side of white soldiers. Have we not lived to see that wish realized, and will it not be more so in the future ? Not at Wagner, not with rifle and bayonet, but on the field of peace, in the battle of industry, in the struggle for good government, in the lifting up of the lowest to the fullest opportunities. In this we shall fight by the side of white men North and South. And if this be true, as under God's guidance it will, that old flag, that emblem of progress and security which brave Sergeant Carney never permitted to fall upon the ground, will still be borne aloft by southern soldier and northern soldier, and in a more potent and higher sense we shall all realize that " The slave's chain and the master's alike are broken. The one curse of the races held both in tether. They are rising, all are rising. The black and the white together." THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING By Thomas Buchanan Read, Artist, Poet. Born in Chester County, Penn., 1822; died in New York City, 1872. Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from " The Poetical Works of Thomas Duchanan Read; copyright i863, by J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia. Out of the North the wild news came. Far flashing on its wings of flame, Swift as the boreal light which flies At midnight through the startled skies. And there was tumujt in the air. The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat. And through the wide land everywhere The answering tread of hurrying feet; l64 THOM.4S BUCH.4S.tK KH.-ID U'hile the first oath of I'rccdom's pun Came on the blast from Lexington; And Concord roused, no longer tame, Forgot lur old baptismal name, Made bare her ]>atriot arm of power, And swelled the discord of the hour. Within its shade of elm and oak The church of Berkley Manor stoijd ; There Sunday found the rural folk, And some esteemed of gentle blood. In vain their feet with loit'^ring tread Passed mid the graves where rank is naught; All could not read the lesson taught In that republic of tlie dead. How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk, The vale with peace and sunshine full, Where all the happy people walk, Decked in their homespun flax and wool, Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom; And every maid, with simple art. Wears on her breast, like her own heart, A bud whose depths are all perfume; \\'hile every garment's gentle stir Is breathing rose and lavender. The pastor came; his snowy locks Hallowed his brow of thought and care; And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks, He led into the house of prayer. Then soon he rose; the prayer was strong; The psalm was warrior David's song; The text, a few short words of might : *' The Lord of hosts shall arm the right! " He spoke of wrongs too long endured. Of sacred rights to be secured; THE RnyOLUriONARY RISING 165 Then from his patriot tongue of flame The startling words for Freedom came. The stirring sentences he spake Compelled the heart to glow or quake, And, rising on his theme's broad wing, And grasping in his nervous hand The imaginary battle-brand, In face of death he dared to fling Defiance to a tyrant-king. Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed In eloquence of attitude, Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher; Then swept his kindling glance of fire From startled pew to breathless choir; When suddenly his mantle wide His hands impatient flung aside. And, lo! he met their wondering eyes Complete in all a warrior's guise. A moment there was awful pause — When Berkley cried, "Cease, traitor! cease; God's temple is the house of peace! " The other shouted, " Nay, not so. When God is with our righteous cause; His holiest places then are ours, His temples are our forts and towers That frown upon the tyrant foe; In this, the dawn of Freedom's day, There is a time to fight and pray! " And now before the open door — The warrior priest had ordered so — The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er, Its long reverberating blow, i66 CH.4UNcr.Y Mirci/rii. n/ri-ir So loml aiul cUiir, it seemed the oar Of dusty Dciith must wake and licar. And there the startling; drum and fife Fireil tlie living witli fiercer life; Wliile overheat!, with wilil increase, Forgetting its ancient toll u( ])eace, The great bell swung as ne'er before. It seemed as it woukl never cease: An(.l every word its artlor lUing I'rom off its jubilant iron tongue Was " War! war! war! " " Who dares" — this was tlic patriot's cry, As striding from the desk he came — " Come out with me, in Freedom's name, For her to live, for her to die ? " A hundred hands flung up reply, A hundred voices answered, " I! " COLUMBIAN ORATION By Chauncey Mitchell Depew, Lawyer, Railroad President; United States Senator from New York, 1899 — . IJoni in I'eekskill, N. Y., 1834. From an oration delivered at the opening of the World's Fair, Chicago, October 21 1892. See " Life and Later Speeches of Chauncey M. Depew,"' published in 1804, by the Cassell Publishing Co., New York, N. ^■. This day belongs not to America but to the world. 'J'he results of the day it commemorates are the heritage of the peoples of every race and clime, ^^'e celebrate the emanc'- pation of man. The preparation was the work of almost countless centuries; the realization was the revelation of one. The cross on Calvary was hope; the cross raised on San Salvador was opportunity. But for the first Columbus would never have sailed; but for the second, there could have been no place for the planting, the nurture, the expan- sion of civil and religious liberty. Force was the factor in COLUMBIAN ORATION 167 the government of the world when Christ was born, and force was the sole source and exercise of authority both for Church and State when Columbus sailed from Palos, The reign of physical force is one of perpetual struggle for the mastery. Power which rests upon the sword neither shares nor limits its authority. The king destroyed the lords, and the monarchy succeeded feudalism. Neither of these institutions considered or consulted the people. They had no part but to suffer or die, in this mighty strife of masters for the mastery. The dungeon was ready for the philosopher who proclaimed the truths of the solar system or the navigator who would prove the sphericity of the earth. Reason had no seat in spiritual or temporal realms. Punish- ment was the incentive to patriotism and piety was held possible by torture. For all that humanity to-day cherishes as its best heritage and choicest gifts, there was neither thought nor hope. Fifty years before Columbus sailed from Palos, Gutenberg and Faust had forged the hammer which was to break the bonds of superstition and open the prison-doors to the mind. They had invented the printing-press and movable types. The first service of the press, like all its succeeding efforts, was for the people. The first-born of the marvelous creation of these primitive printers of Mayence was the printed Bible. The priceless contributions of Greece and Rome to the intellectual training and development of the modern world came afterward through the same wondrous machine. The force, however, which made possible America, and its reflex influence upon Europe, was the open Bible by the family fireside. And yet neither the enlightenment of the new learning nor the dynamic power of the spiritual awakening could break through the crust of caste which had been forming for centuries. Church and State had so firmly and dexterously interwoven the bars of privilege and authority that liberty was impossible from within. Its piercing light and fervent heat must jjcnetrate from without, Tiie time 168 CHAHNCF.Y MITCHIU.I Dl-rilli' hail come for the eiuaiuipation of tlu- iniiul and soul of huinaiiity. The factors wantini; for its fuIlUliiR'nt were tlie new world and its discoverer. God always has in training some commanding genius for the control of great crises in the affairs of nations anil peoples. The number of these leaders are less than tlie centuries, but their livrs are the history of human jirogress. Though C\vsar and Cliarlelnagne, and llildebrand and Luther, and William the Conqueror and Oliver Cromwell, and all the epoch makers prepared Europe for the event, ami contributed to the result, the lights which illumine our firmament to-day are Columbus the discoverer, Washington the founder, and Lincoln the savior. Neither realism nor romance furnishes a more striking and picturesque figure than that of Christopher Columbus. The mystery about his origin heightens the charm of his story. That he came from among the toilers of his time is in harmony witli the struggles of our period. The perils of the sea in his youth upon the rich argosies of Genoa, or in the service of the licensed rovers who made them their prey, had developed a skillful navigator and intrepid mariner. To secure the means to test the truth of his speculations this poor and unknown dreamer must win the support of kings and overcome the hostility of the Church. He never doubted his ability to do both. His unshakable faith that Christopher Columbus was commissioned from Heaven, both by his name and by divine command to carry " Christ across the sea" to new continents and pagan peoples, lifted him so far above the discouragements of an empty purse and a con- temptuous court that he was proof against the rebuffs of fortune or of friends. To conquer the prejudices of the clergy, to win the approval and financial support oi the State, to venture upon that unknown ocean which, according to the beliefs of the age, was peopled with demons and savage beasts of frightful shape, and from which there was no possibility of return, required the zeal of Peter the COLUMBIAN ORATION 1 69 Hermit, the chivalric courage of the Cid, and the imagina- tion of Dante. If interest in the affairs of this world is vouchsafed to those who have gone before, the spirit of Columbus hovers over us to-day. Only by celestial intelligence can it grasp the full significance of this spectacle and ceremonial. From the first century to the fifteenth counts but little in the history of progress, but into the period between the fifteenth and the twentieth is crowded the romance and reality of human development. Life has been prolonged and its enjoyments intensified. The powers of the air and water, the resistless forces of the elements, which in the time of the discoverer were visible terrors of the wrath of God, have been subdued to the service of man. Art and luxuries which could be possessed and enjoyed only by the rich and noble, the works of genius which were read and understood only by the learned few, domestic comforts and surroundings beyond the reach of lord or bishop, now adorn and illumi- nate the homes of our citizens. Serfs are sovereigns and the people are kings. The trophies and splendors of their reign are commonwealths, rich in every attribute of States, and united in a Republic whose power and prosperity and liberty and enlightenment are the wonder and admiration of the world. All hail, Columbus, discoverer, dreamer, hero, and apos- tle! We here, of every race and country, recognize the horizon which bounded his vision and the infinite scope of his genius. The voice of gratitude and praise for all the blessings which have been showered upon mankind by adventure is limited to no language, but is uttered in every tongue. Neither marble nor brass can fitly form his statue. Continents are his monument, and unnumbered millions, past, present, and to come, who enjoy in their liberties and their happiness the fruits of his faith, will reverently guard and preserve, from century to century, his name and fame. 170 Hi:NKy C.-fliOT lODGF. MASSACHUSETTS \\y Hf.NRY CaHoT Lodcjk, L;uvycr, IMitor, Aullior; McmliL-r of Con- gress from M.iss.icliiisetts, 18S6-93; Senator, 1S93 — . IJorii in liostoi), M.iss., 1S50. Taken, by permission of tlie .luthor, from the closing speech in deb.ite witli Hon. John K. Kussell. in Boston, Mass., October 23, 18)1. See "Speeches of Henry Cabot Lodge," copyright iSwj, by H. C. Lodge, published by Houghton, .Mifflin & <."o., Hoston. To all who ilwill within her coiilincs, llic ok! State [.Ma.>^.^acluiscttsJ is very, very dear. Slic has a right to our lovc and pride. "Behold her and judge for yourselves." Here she is, a queen among commonwealths, enthroned amidst her hills and streams, with the ocean at her feet. Trade is in her marts and prayer within her temples. Her cities stir with busy life. Her wealth grows, beyond the dreams of avarice. Her rivers turn the wheels of industry, and the smoke of countless chimneys tells the story of the inventor's genius and the w'orkman's skill. But the material side is the least of it. We rejoice mightily in her prosperity, but our love and pride are touched by nobler themes. We love the old State. The sand-hills of the Cape, with the gulls wheeling over the waste of waters; the gray ledges and green pastures of Esse.x, with the seas surging forever on her rocks; the broad and fruitful valleys of the Connecticut; the dark hills and murmuring streams of Berkshire, have to us a tender charm no other land can give. They breathe to us the soft message that tells of home and country. Still it is something more than the look of hill and dale, something deeper than habit which stirs our hearts when we think of Massachusetts. Behind the outward form of things lies that which passeth show. It is in the history of Massachusetts, in the lives of her great men, in the sacrifices, in the deeds, and in the character of her people that we find the true secret of our love and pride. We may not explain it even to our- selves, but it is there in the good old name, and flushes into life at the sight of the white flag. Massachusetts! Utter MASS.^CHUSE TTS 1 7 1 but the word and what memories throng upon her children! Here came the stern, God-fearing men to find a home and found a State. Here, ahiiost where we stand, on the edge of the wilderness, was placed the first public school. Yonder, across the river, where the track of the savage still lingered and the howl of the wolf was still heard, was planted tlie first college. Here, through years of peril and privation, with much error and failure, but ever striving and marching onward, the Puritans built their State. It was this old town that first resisted England and bared its breast to receive the hostile spears. In the fields of Middlesex the first blood was shed in the American Revolution. On the slopes of Bunker Hill the British troops first recoiled under American fire. Massachusetts was the first great Commonwealth to resist the advance of slavery, and in the mighty war for the Union she had again the sad honor to lay the first blood-offering on the altar of the nation. This is the State that Winthrop founded. Warren died for her liberties, and Webster defended her good name. Sumner bore stripes in behalf of her beliefs, and her sons gave their lives on every battlefield for the one flag she held more sacred than her own. She has fought for liberty. She has done justice between man and man. She has sought to protect the weak, to save the erring, to raise the unfortunate. She has been the fruitful mother of ideas as of men. Her thought has followed the sun and been felt throughout the length of the land. May we not say, as Charles Fox said of Switzerland, " Every man should desire once in his life to make a pilgrimage to Massachusetts, the land of liberty and peace" .? She has kept her shield unspotted and her honor pure. To us, her loving children, she is a great heritage and a great trust. 17* "■//-/ (..■IKl.inON THE DEATH-BRIDGE OE THE TAY Hy Will (AKiKioN. I.fCluifi. Journalist, Author, I'oct. Hi>r:i in Hudson, Mich., 1S45; living in UnKjklyTi, N. V. From " Farm Festivals," by Will C.nrlcton. Copyright, 1881, 1898, by Iliiri)er »t Krothers, New \'ork. The ni^ht ami tlic storm fell together upon the old town of Dinulee, And, trembling, the mighty lirth-river held out its cokl hajul toward the sea. Like the dull-booming bolts of a cannon, tlie wind swept the streets and the shores; It wrenched at the roofs and the chimneys, it crashed 'gainst the windows and doors; Like a mob that is drunken and frenzied, it surged through the streets up and down. And screamed the sharp, shrill cry of " ^lurder! " o'er river and hill-top and town. It leaned its great breast 'gainst the belfries, it perched uj)on minaret and dome — Then sprang on the shivering firth-river, and tortured its waves into foam. 'Twas a night when the landsman seeks shelter, and cares not to venture abroad ; When the sailor clings close to the rigging, and prays for the mercy of God. Along the shore-line creeps the city, in crouching and sinuous shape, With firesides so soon to be darkened, and doors to be shaded with crape! To the south, like a spider-thread waving, there curves, for a two-mile away. This world's latest man-devised wonder, — the far-famous bridge of the Tay. THE DE^TH-BRIDGE OF THE TAY 173 It stretches and g'eams into distance; it creeps the ijroad stream o'er and o'er, Till it rests its strong, delicate fingers in the palm of the opposite shore. But look! through the mists of the southward, tiiere flash to the eye, clear and plain, Like a meteor that's bound to destruction, the lights of a swift-coming train! 'jMid the lights that so gayly are gleaming yon city of Dundee within, Is one that is waiting a wanderer, who long o'er the ocean has been. His age-burdened parents are watching from the window that looks on the firth, For the train that will come with their darling, — their truest- loved treasure on earth. " He'll be comin' the nicht, " says the father, " for sure the handwritin's his ain; The letter says, ' Ha' the lamp lichted — I'll come on the seven-o'clock train. For years in the mines I've been toiling, in this wonderfu' West, o'er the sea; My work has brought kingly wages; there's j)lenty for you an' for me. Your last days shall e'en be your best days; the high- stepping youngster you knew, Who cost so much care in his raising, now'll care for himself and for you. Gang not to the station to meet me; ye never need run for me more; But when ye shall hear the gate clickit, ye maun rise up an' open the door. We will hae the first glow of our greeting when nae one o' strancrers l)c nigh. 174 "v// c.fR/rroN \\\' will sniik- (Mit tlio joy o' our imt-tin<:: on the s]>ot where we wept our i^ood-bye. Ve maun put me ii plate on the table, an' set in the auld place a chair; An' if but the good T.ord be willing, doubt never a bit I'll be tliere. So sit ye an' wait for my eoming (ye will na' watch for me in vain), An' see me glide over the river, along o' the roar of the train. Ve mav sit at the southernmost window, for I will come hame from that way; I will fly where I swam, when a youngster, across the broad Firth o' the Tay. ' So they sit at the southernmost window, the parents, with hand clasped in hand. And gaze o'er the tempest-vexed waters, across to the storm-shaken land. They see the bold acrobat-monster creep out on tlie treacher- ous line; Its cinder-breath glitters like star-dust, its lamp-eyes they glimmer and shine. It braces itself 'gainst the tempest — it fights for each inch with the foe — With torrents of air all around it — with torrents of water below. ^ut look! look! the monster is stumbling, while trembles the fragile bridge- wall — They struggle like athletes entwining — then both like a thunderbolt fall ! Dow^n, down through the dark the train plunges, with speed unaccustomed and dire; It glows with its last dying beauty— it gleams like a hail- storm of fire! No wonder the mother faints death-like, and clings like a clod to the floor; THE DEATH-BRIDGE OF THE TAY 175 No wonder the man writhes in frenzy, and dashes his way through the door! He fights his way out through the tempest; he is beaten and i)affied and tossed ; He cries, " The train's gang off the Tay brig! lend help here to look for the lost! " Oh, little to him do they listen, the crowds to the river that flee; The news, like the shock of an earthquake, has thrilled through the town of Dundee. Like travelers belated, they're rushing to where the bare station-walls frown; Suspense twists the blade of their anguish, like maniacs they run up and down. Out, out, creep two brave, sturdy fellows, o'er danger-strewn buttress and piers; They can climb 'gainst that blast, for they carry the blood of old Scotch mountaineers. But they leave it along as they clamber; they mark all their hand-path with red; Till they come where the torrent leaps bridgeless, — a grave dancing over its dead. A moment they gaze down in horror; then creep from the death-laden tide. With the news, " There's nae help for our loved ones, save God's mercy for them who have died! " How sweetly the sunlight can sparkle o'er graves where our best hopes have lain! How brightly its gold beams can glisten on faces that whiten with pain ! Oh, never more gay were the wavelets, and careless in inno- cent glee, And never more sweet did the sunrise shine over the town of Dundee. i7hall up with the helm, and steer to the shore; we will set tlie ina>t in the socket, hoist the sail, ami speed to the land. Then on, boys; don't be alarmed; there is no danger," " Young men, ahoy, there! " " What is it ? ■' " The rapids are below you! " lla. ha! Wc shall laui^li and (pialf; all things delight us. What care we for the future ? No man ever saw it. Sulhcient for the day is the evil thereof, \\'e w^ill enjoy life while we may; will catch pleasure as it flies. This is enjoy- ment; time enough to steer out of danger when we are sail- ing swiftly with the current." " Young men, ahoy! " " What is it .? " "Beware! beware! The rapids are below you. " Now you see the water foaming all around. See how fast you pass that point! Up with the helm! Now turn. Pull hard! quick! quick! quick! pull for your lives; pull till the blood starts from your nostrils, and the veins stand like whip-cords upon your brow. Set the mast in the socket! Hoist the sail! Ah! ah! it is too late! Shrieking, cursing, howling, blaspheming, over they go. Thousands go over the rapids every year, through the power of habit, crying all the while, " \\'hen I find out that it is injuring me, I will give it up." We see sometimes, on our city streets, placards posted, "Lost! Lost! Lost!" And 1 stop sometimes to think of the cherished treasure that is gone, the heartache at its loss, the longing for its return. (Jn those same streets w^e hear sometimes, in the calm of the evening's deepening twilight, the ringing of the crier's bell, and his shrill voice, shouting, "Child lost! Child lost!" Yes! a child lost, away from the comfort and brightness of home, gone from the father's smile and the mother's fond embrace, strayed O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! l8l out into the night, ah^nc, amid its dreary, coming blackness. But the, lost treasure is merely material; and the child is still in the pathway of loving humanity, still within the enfolding arms of an all-loving God. But the drunkards! Lost! lost! lost! fathers, brothers, husbands, sons, lost to friends, to families, to loved ones, to society; lost to the world, to the church; and lost, for- ever lost, from the circle of the redeemed that shall gather around God's throne — over the rapids, and lost. O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! By Walt Whitman, Poet. Born at West Hills, Long Island, N. Y., 1819; died at Camden, N. J., 1892. This poem, as is well known, refers to Abraham Lincoln. By permission of pub- lisher, David McKay, Philadelphia. O captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done. The ship has weathered every rock, the prize we sought is won. The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red. Where on the deck my captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills. For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding. For you the call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning,- Hear captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream there on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead. iSj gf.orgi- iiri\-iRn My captain docs not answer, liis lips \\w pile and still, My father docs not feci my arm, he lias no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor'd safe ami snuml, its voyage closeil and done, l"ri>ni Icarfid trip the victor ship comes in with object won; I'.xult () shores, ami ring O hells! Hut 1 with mournful tread, Walk, the ileck my captain lies, Fallen cold and deacl. THE RIDER OF THE BLACK HORSE By Georc.E Ln'PARU, Author. Born near Velhjw Springs, Penn., 1822; died in Pliil;i(lel]-)hi;i, 1S54. It was the 7th of October, 1777. Horatio Gates stood before his tent, gazing steadfastly npon the two armies now arrayed in order of battle. It was a clear, bracing day, mellow with the richness of autumn. I'he sky was cloud- less; the foliage of the wood scarce tinged with purple and gold; the buckwheat in yonder fields frostened into snowy ripeness. But the tread of legions shook the ground; from every bush shot the glimmer of the rifle barrel; on every hillside blazed the sharpened bayonet. Gates was sad and thoughtful, as he watched the evolutions of the two armies. But all at once, a smoke arose, a thunder shook the ground, and a chorus of shouts and groans yelled along the darkened air. The play of death had begun. The two flags, this of the stars, that of the red cross, tossed amid the smoke of battle, while the sky was clouded w'ith leaden folds, and the earth throbbed with the pulsations of a mighty heart. Suddenly, Gates and his offlcers were startled. Along the height on which they stood came a rider on a black horse, rushing towards the distant battle. There was something in the appearance of this horse and his rider that struck them with surprise. Look! he draws his sword, the sharp blade quivers through the air — he points to the distant battle, and THE RIDER OF THE BLACK HORSE 183 lo! he is gone; gone through those clouds, while his shout echoes over the plains. Wherever the fight is thickest, there through intervals of cannon-smoke you may see riding madly forward that strange soldier, mounted on his steed black as death. Look at him, as with face red with British blood he waves his sword and shouts to his legions. Now you may see him fighting in that cannon's glare, and the next moment he is away off yonder, leading the forlorn hope up that steep cliff. Is it not a magnificent sight, to see that strange soldier and that noble black horse dashing, like a meteor, down the long columns of battle 1 Let us look for a moment into those dense war-clouds. Over this thick hedge bursts a band of American militiamen, their rude farmer-coats stained with blood, while scattering their arms by the way, they flee before that company of red- coat hirelings, who come rushing forward, their solid front of bayonets gleaming in the battle light. At this moment of their flight, a horse comes crashing over the plains. The unknov/n rider reins his steed back on his haunches, right in the path of a broad-shouldered militiaman. " Now, cowards! advance another step and Lll strike you to the heart!" shouts the unknown, extending a pistol in either hand. "What! are you Americans, men, and fly before British soldiers .^ Back again, and face them once more, or I myself will ride you down." This appeal was not without its effect. The militiaman turns; his comrades, as if by one impulse, follow his exam- ple. In one line, but thirty men in all, they confront thirty sharp bayonets. The British advance. " Now upon the rebels, charge ! ' ' shouts the red-coat officer. They spring forward at the same bound. Look ! their bayonets almost touch the muzzles of their rifles. At this moment the voice of the unknown rider was heard: "Now let them have it! Fire! " A sound is heard, a smoke is seen, twenty Britons are down, some writhing in death, some crawling along the soil, and some speechless as stone, I'bc remaining ten start 184 CEORcn urr.-iRD back. " Club your rillos ami charge thcin home! " shouts the unknown. 'I'luit bhick horse springs forward, followed by the militiamen. Tlun a confused conflict, a crv for quarter, and a visii)n of twenty farmers grouped anniiul the rider of the black horse, greeting him with cheers. Thus it was all the day long. Wherever that black horse and his rider went, there followed victory. At last, towards the setting of the sun, the crisis of the conflict came. That fortress yonder, on IJemus' Ileighrs, must be won, or the American cause is lost! That cliff is too steep — that death is too certain. The oflicers cannot persuade the men to advance. Tlie Americans have lost the field. Even Morgan, that iron man among iron men, leans on his rifle and despairs of the field. But look yonder! In this moment when all is dismay and horror, here crashing on, comes the black horse and his rider. That rider bends upon his steed, his frenzied face covered with sweat and dust and blood; he lays his hand upon that bold rifleman's shoulder and as though living fire had been poured into his veins, he seizes his rifle and starts toward the rock. And now look! now hold your breath, as that black steed crashes up that steep cliff. That steed quivers! he totters! befalls! No! No! Still on, still up the cliff, still on towards the fortress. The rider turns his face and shouts, " Come on, men of Quebec! come on! " That call is needless. Already the bold rifle- men are on the rock. Now British cannon pour your fires, and lay your dead in tens and twenties on the rock. Now, red-coat hirelings, shout your battle-cry if you can! For look ! there, in the gate of the fortress, as the smoke clears away, stands the black horse and his rider. That steed falls dead, pierced by an hundred balls; but his rider, as the British cry for quarter, lifts up his voice and shouts afar to Horatio Gates waiting yonder in his tent, "Saratoga is won! " As that cry goes up to heaven, he falls with his leg shattered by a cannon-ball. Who was the rider of the black horse } Do you not guess AGAINST IMPERIALISM 1S5 his name ? Then bend down and gaze on that shattered limb; and you will see that it bears the mark of a former wound. The wound was received in the storming of Quebec. The rider of the black horse was Benedict Arnold. AGAINST IMPERIALISM By George Fkisbie Hoak, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Massa- chusetts, 1868-76; Senator, 1877 — . Born in Concord, Mass., 1826. From a speech delivered in the Senate, April 17, igoo. See daily papers of Boston, April 18, 1900; also Congressionnl Record, April 17, 1900. It is claimed that these appeals for imperialism have the sympathy of the American people. It is said that the states- man who will lay his ear to the ground will hear their voice, I do not believe it. The voice of the American people does not come from the ground. It comes from the sky. It comes from the free air. It comes from the mountains, where liberty dwells. Let the statesman who is fit to deal with the question of liberty or to utter the voice of a free people lift his ear to the sky — not lay it to the ground. Mr. President, it was once my good fortune to witness an impressive spectacle in this chamber, when the senators answered to their names in rendering solemn judgment in a great State trial. By a special provision each senator was permitted, when he cast his vote, to state his reason in a single sentence. I have sometimes fancied that the question before us now might be decided not alone by the votes of us who sit here to-day, but of the great men who have been our predecessors in this chamber and in the Continental Congress from the beginning of the Republic. Would that that roll might be called. The solemn assembly sits silent while the chair puts the question whose answer is so fraught with the hopes of liberty and the destiny of the Republic. The roll is called. George Washington: "No. Why should we quit our own, to stand on foreign ground .' " l86 GHORCi: IRlSBJi: HO.-tR AloxaiuliT ILimilton: "No. The DrLlaration of Inde- pendence is tlie fundamental constitutii)n of every State." Thomas Jefferson: "No. Cjovernments are instituted amoni:; men ilerivinj; tlieir just powers from llie consent of the j^overned. l*"very people ouglit to have that sei)arate and eipial station amonjj^ the nations of the work! to which the hiws of nature and of nature's God entitle them." ]iihn .\dams: " No. I stood by the side of Jefferson when he brought in the Declaration ; I was its champion on the floor of Congress. After our long estrangement, I come back to his side again. " Thomas Corwin: " No, I said in the days of the Mexi- can war: ' If 1 were a Mexican, as I am an American, 1 would welcome you with bloody hands to hospitable graves ' ; and Ohio to-day honors and loves me for that utterance beyond all her other sons." Daniel Webster: " No. Under our constitution there can be no dependencies. ... A nation cannot be happy but under a government of its own choice. When I depart from these sentiments I depart from myself." Abraham Lincoln: "No. I said in Independence Hall at Philadelphia, just before I entered upon my great office, that I rested upon the truth Thomas Jefferson lias just uttered, and that I was ready to be assassinated, if need be, in order to maintain it. And I was assassinated in order to maintain it. " Mr. President, I know how feeble is a single voice amid this din and tempest, this delirium of empire. It may be that the battle for this day is lost. But I have an assured faith in the future. I have an assured faith in justice and the love of liberty of the American people. The stars in their courses fight for freedom. The ruler of the heavens is on that side. If the battle to-day go against it, I appeal to another day, not distant and sure to come. I appeal from the clapping of hands and the stamping of feet and the OUR. RICH HERITAGE 1 87 brawliiif^ and the shouting to the quiet chamber wliere the fathers gathered in Philadelphia. I appeal from the spirit of trade to the spirit of liberty. I appeal from the empire to the Republic. I appeal from the millionaire, and the boss, and the wire-puller, and the manager to the statesman of the older time, in whose eyes a guinea never glistened, who lived and died poor, and who left to his children and to his countrymen a good name far better than riches. I appeal from the present, bloated with material prosperity, drunk with the lust of empire, to another and a better age. I appeal from the present to the future and to the past. OUR RICH HERITAGE By John Mellen Thurston, Lawyer; Senator from Nebraska, 1895 — . Born at Montpelicr, Vt., 1847. What is the heritage that has come down to us from the turbulent days of Lincoln's administration ? On the his- torical field of Gettysburg Lincoln said, " A government of the people, by the people, for the people." A government of the people so broad that it offers land, liberty, and labor to the downtrodden and oppressed of every clime; so strong that the sheathed swords of its citizen soldiers need never again be drawn to protect it from foes without or dissensions within; so just, that the blind goddess of its temples holds in equal poise the scales that measure out the rights and privileges and powers of all; so liberal, that in its sky the spires of every faith may find a place, and by its altars individual conscience fears not Church nor vState; so wise in crafts of statesmanship, in policies of government and enacted laws, that all its industries and arts, ennobled by invention, stimulated by intelligence and zeal, flourish and prosper beyond compare; so well beloved, that the bright bayonet of its honor is in every American hand, and the certain bulwark of its safety in every American l88 /(V/.V A/AV././A' THrh'srox heart. Its cities grow and thrive; its fertile fields increase; its inhind couuncrcc (luickens all tlic lantl through arteries of steel ; its white sails spread to catch the favoring breeze of every sea; its whirling spindles and its tireless wlieels make merry music by every stream; its silver forests and its golden hills are inexhaustible treasuries uf national wealth; the schoolhouse is the })ride of every village, and hapi)y motherlu)od the crown of every home. This government is iy the people. In it the unit of political power is individual citizenship. Under its consti- tution every citizen must be given equal voice in the form- ulation of laws, and in the selection of those who are to administer and enforce them; every avenue of preferment must be fairly open to all. There are some who profess to believe that the rights and privileges of citizenship should be denied to the foreign- born. But in the hour when the Republic asked for brawny arms to bear its muskets, and willing feet to march beneath its flag, how many a volunteer made answer in his mother tongue, first learned on vineclad liills or by the Zuyder Zee ? How many a dying patriot, with his latest breath, blessed Erin's wave-kissed shore .'' Every man who loved our country well enough to fight for it; every man who is willing to abandon for it his childhood home; every man who longs for the blessings of liberty, and is ready to support our con- stitution and obey our laws, is fitted to participate in a government by the people. This is a government "Jor the people." So framed and carried on that the stimulus of its possible reward rouses humanity to its best endeavors. Its history is replete with the name of those who, from the lowest con- dition, have risen to the highest station. On its great highway the barefoot boy may distance the golden chariot of ancestral wealth. HERVE RIEL 1S9 HERVE RIEL By Robert Browning, Poet. Born in Camberwell, England, 18 12; died in Venice, Italy, 1889. On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, Did the English fight the P'rench ; — woe to France! And, the thirty-first of ]\Iay, helter-skelter through the blue, Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue. Came crowding ship on ship to St. IMalo on the Ranee, With the English fleet in view. 'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase, First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfre- ville; Close on him fled, great and small, Twenty-two good ships in all; And they signaled to the place, " Help the winners of a race! Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick, — or, quicker still, Here's the English can and will! " Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on board. " Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass .-* " laughed they; " Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored. Shall the Formidable here, w^th her twelve and eighty guns. Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way. Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons. J 9© RORl:RT RROIVNING And with How at full bcsidr ? Now 'tis slackest i-bb of tide. Reach the mooring ? Rather say, While rock stands or water runs, Not a ship will leave the bay! " Tlien was called a ct)uncil straiglit; Brief and bitter the debate: " Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow All that's left us of the ileit, linked together stern and bow, For a prize to Plymouth Sound ? Better run the ships aground! " (Ended Damfreville his speech.) " Not a minute more to wait! Let the captains all and each Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach ! France must undergo her fate." " Give the word I " ]kit no such word Was ever spoke or heard ; For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these, A. captain ? A lieutenant ? A mate, — first, second, third ? No such man of mark, and meet With his betters to compete! But a simple Breton sailor pressed by I'ourville for the fleet,— A poor coasting pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese. And " What mockery or malice have we here ? " cries Herve Riel; " Are you mad, you Malouins } Are you cowards, fools, or rogues ? Talk to me of rocks ancj shoals, me who took the sound- ings, tell On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell "Fwixt the offing here and Greve, where the river disem- bogues ? Are you bought by English gold ? Is it love the lying's for ? Morn and eve, night and day, Have I piloted your bay. Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. Burn the fleet, and ruin France ? 'I'hat were worse than fifty Hogues! Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me, there's a way! Only let me lead the line, Have the biggest ship to steer. Get this Formidable clear, Make the others follow mine. And I lead them most and least by a passage I know well, Right to Solidor, past Greve, And there lay them safe and sound; And if one ship misbehave, — Keel so much as grate the ground, — Why, I've nothing but my life; here's my head!" cries Herve Riel. Not a minute more to wait. " Steer us in, then, small and great! Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron! " cried its chief. Captains, give the sailor place! He is Admiral, in brief. Still the north-wind, by God's grace. See the noble fellow's face As the big ship, with a bound, Clears the entry like a hound, Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound ! See, safe through shoal and rock, How they follow in a flock. 192 ROHFRT /W()//'.\7.V(; N\it .1 sliij) that misbehaves, imt a ked tliat grates the ground, Not a spar that comes to grief! Tlie peril, see, is past, All are harboreil io the last; And just as llerve Kiel halloos " Anchor! " — sure as fate, I'p the I'.nglish come, too late. So the storm subsides to calm; They sec the green trees wave On the heights o'crlooking Greve: Hearts that bled are stanched witli balm. *' Just our rapture to enhance, Let the English rake the bay. Gnash their teeth and glare askance As they cannonade away! Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Ranee! " How hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance! Outbursts all with one acccord, " This is Paradise for Hell! Let France, let France's king Thank the man that did the thing! " What a shout, and all one word, " Herve Kiel!" As he stepped in front once more, Not a symptom of surprise In the frank blue Breton eyes, Just the same man as before. Then said Damfreville, " j\Iy friend, I must speak out at the end, Though I find the speaking hard: Praise is deeper than the lips; You have saved the king his ships. You must name your own reward. Faith, our sun was near eclipse! Demand whate'er you will, HERVE RIEL 193 France remains your debtor still. Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfreville. " Then a beam of fun outbroke On the bearded mouth that spoke, As the honest heart laughed through Those frank eyes of Breton blue: " Since I needs must say my say. Since on board the duty's done, And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run ? — Since 'tis ask and haye I may, — Since the others go ashore, — Come! A good whole holiday! Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore! " That he asked, and that he got, — nothing more. Name and deed alike are lost; Not a pillar nor a post In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell* Not a head in white and black On a single fishing smack In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. Go to Paris; rank on rank Search the heroes flung pell-mell On the Louvre, face and flank; You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve Riel. So, for better and for worse, Herve Riel, accept my verse! In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore. 194 THOMAS im.lCKF.IT Rf-HD TO TUl- GRAND ARMY OF THl- Ri:iniRLIC By Thomas Hkackkti' Rii:n, Lawyer. Statesman; Member of Coiij^ress from Maine. 1877-00- Speaker of the 51st, 54tli. and 55th ("ongresscj. Horn in I'ortlaiul, Me., 1839; resides in New York City. An addrc&i) delivered .11 Grand .Ximy Reunion, Old Orch.ird, M.iine, AukusI 7, 18S4. Comrados of the (iraiul Army of tlie Republic: — As a tribute to your worth and to your services, this vast and splendid audience, the largest on which my eye over rested, surpasses any speeches we can possibly make. Free from all taint of ulterior purpose, spontaneous, natural as the tidal march of tlie ocean on the shore, it is a great throb of the popular heart beating in recognition of you and of your deeds. And why should not this throng of human beings pour from every hill and valley.'' They come to do honor to those noble qualities which have made human history in the past and human progress in the future possible. I'hey are honoring their own better natures, their own higher attributes. War is a terrible misfortune, but some of the rarest virtues of humanity are evolved out of that crucible, white with the blinding heat of passion. All men rise to honor self-sacrifice, that noble quality wliich lifts us beyond our little personality and makes us part of the warp and woof of that race which has made the whole world blossom like the rose. All men rise to honor courage; not that brute fearlessness, born of ignorance and of the flesh, but that nobler courage, born of the soul, which faces not only death, but the long and terrible marches, the fever of wounds, the depression of defeat, and all the frightful experiences of that weary road which led to the glorious citadel of liberty, ;ui, like the sound in the throat of tlie living. Came back lier voice, that, rising, lluttereil, tlirough wild incoherence, Into a terrible shriek that stoppeil my heart while she answered : — ' Sold me ? sold me ? sold And you proniiseil to give me my freedom ! — Promised me, for the sake of our little boy in Saint Louis! What will you say to our boy. when he cries for nie there in Saint Louis ? What will you say to our (iod ? — Ah, you have been joking! I see it! No! God! God! He shall hear it, — and all of the angels in heaven, — Even the devils in hell! — and none will believe when they hear it! Sold me! ' — Fell her voice with a thrilling wail, and in silence Down she sank on the deck, and covered lier face with her fingers. ' ' In his story a moment the pilot paused, while we listened To the salute of a boat, that, rounding the point of an island, Flamed toward us with fires that seemed to burn from the waters, — Stately and vast and swift, and borne on the heart of the current. Then, with the mighty voice of a giant challenged to battle. Rose the responsive whistle, and all the echoes of island. Swamp-land, glade, and brake replied with a myriad clamor. Like wild birds that are suddenly startled from slumber at midnight; Then were at peace once more, and we heard the harsh cries of the peacocks Perched on a tree by a cabin door, where the white-headed settler's THF. PILOT'S STORY 203 White-headed children stood to look at the boat as it passed them, Passed them so near that we heard their happy talk and their laughter. Softly the sunset had faded, and now on the eastern horizon Hung like a tear in the sky, the beautiful star of the evening. Still with his back to us standing, the pilot went on with his story : — " Instantly, all the people, with looks of reproach and com- passion, Flocked round the prostrate woman. The children cried, and their mothers Hugged them tight to their breasts; but the gambler said to the captain, — ' Put me off there at the town that lies round the bend of the river. Here, you ! rise at once, and be ready now to go with me. ' Roughly he seized the woman's arm and strove to uplift her. She— she seemed not to heed him, but rose like one that is dreaming, Slid from his grasp, and fleetly mounted the steps of the gangway. Up to the hurricane-deck, in silence, without lamentation. Straight to the stern of the boat, where the wheel was, she ran, and the people Followed her fast till she turned and stood at bay for a moment, Looking them in the face, and in the face of the gambler. Not one to save her, — not one of all the compassionate people ! Not one to save her, of all the pitying angels in heaven! Not one bolt of God to strike him dead there before her! Wildly she waved him back, we waiting in silence and horror. Over the swarthy face of the gambler a pallor of passion 204 n ii.u.iM nr..i\' uoin.iis Piisscil, like u j;lc;\m of lij^htnini; over tlic west in the night- time. White, sl»c stooil. and mute, till he i)ut forth his liand to secure lur ; Tlien she turneil antl leaped, — in mid-air fluttered a moment, — Down, there, whirling, fell, like a broken-winged bird from a tree-top, Down on the cruel wlieel, that caught lier, antl hurled her, and crushed her. And in the foaming water plunged her, and hid her forever." Still with liis back to us all the pilot stood, but wc heard him Swallowing hard, as he pulled the bell-rope to stop her. Then, turning, — " 'I'his is the place where it happened," brokenly whispered the pilot. " Somehow, I never like to go by here alone in the night- time. " Darkly the Mississippi flowed by the town that lay in the starlight, Cheerful with lamps. Below we could hear them reversing the engines. And the great boat glided up to the shore like a giant exhausted. Heavily sighed her pipes. Broad over the swamps to the eastward Shone the full moon, and turned our far-trembling wake into silver. All was serene and calm, but the odorous breath of the willow^ s Smote like the subtle breath of an infinite sorrow upon us. AN APPFAL TO THE PEOPLE 205 AN APPEAL TO THE PEOPLE By John Bright, Statesman. Born at Greenbank, England, 181 1; died in London, 1889. Selections from two speeches on Reform : the first delivered at Birmingham, Eng- land, August 27, 1S66; the second at London, England, December 4, 1866. See " Speeches by John Bright," published by Macmillan & Company, London and New York. By permission of the publishers. Our opponents have charged us with being the promoters of a dangerous excitement. They have the effrontery to say that I am the friend of public disorder. I am one of the people. Surely, if there be one thing in a free country more clear than another, it is, that any one of the people may speak openly to the people. If I speak to the people of their rights, and indicate to them the way to secure them, — if I speak of their danger to the monopolists of power, — am I not a wise counsellor, both to the people and to their rulers } Suppose I stood at the foot of Vesuvius, or ^tna, and, seeing a hamlet or a homestead planted on its slope, I said to the dwellers in that hamlet, or in that homestead, " You see that vapor which ascends from the summit of the moun- tain. That vapor may become a dense, black smoke, that will obscure the sky. You see the trickling of lava from the crevices in the side of the mountain. That trickling of lava may become a river of fire. You hear that muttering in the bowels of the mountain. That muttering may become a bellowing thunder, the voice of a violent convulsion, that may shake half a continent. You know that at your feet is the grave of great cities, for which there is no resurrection, as histories tell us that dynasties and aristocracies have passed away, and their names have been known no more forever. If I say this to the dwellers upon the slope of the moun- tain, and if there comes hereafter a catastrophe which makes the world to shudder, am I responsible for that catastrophe ? 2o6 HOK.ICi: /'OA'/VA' 1 dill Hot biiilil tlif HiuiiDtuin, or fill it witli explosive materials. I merely warneil the men tliat were in danji^er. So, now, it is not I who am stimulating men to the violent pursuit ol their acknowledged constitutional rights. The class which has hitherto ruled in this country has failed miserably. It revels in jiower and wealth, wliiL^t at its feet, a terrible peril for its future, lies the multitude which it has neglected. If a class has failed, let us try the nation. That is our faith, that is our puri)Osc, that is our cry. Let us try the nation. This it is which has called together these countless numbers of the people to demand a change; and from these gatherings, sublime in their vastness and their resolution, I think I see, as it were, above the hill-tops of time, the glimmerings of the dawn of a better and a nobler day for the country and for the people that 1 love so well. A TRIBUTE TO GENERAL SHERMAN Hy Horace Porter, Brigadier-Gi-neral, Lecturer, Author; United States Ambassador to France, 1897 — . Born in Huntington, Penn., 1837- From a speech at a banquet of tlie New F^iiRland Society in the City of New York, Dec. 22, i8gi. See New York Tritune, Dec. 23, 1891. In speaking of the sons of New England sires, I know- that one name is uppermost in all minds here to-night — the name of one who added new luster to the fame of his distin- guished ancestors. The members of your society, like the nation at large, found themselves within the shadow of a profound grief, and oppressed by a sense of sadness akin to the sorrow of a personal bereavement, as they stood with uncovered heads beside the bier of William T. Sherman; when the echo of his guns gave place to the tolling of cathedral-bells; when the flag of his country, which had never been lowered in his presence, dropped to half-mast, as if conscious that his .strong arm was no longer there to hold it to the peak; when he j^assed from the living here to join the other livings, commonly called the dead. >Ve shall never A TRIBUTE TO GENERAL SHERMAN 207 meet the great soldier again until he stands forth to answer to his name at roll-call on the morning of the last great reveille. At the reunions of this Society he was always a thrice-welcome guest. The same blood coursed in his veins as that which flows in yours. All hearts warmed to him with the glow of an abiding affection. He was a many- sided man. He possessed all the characteristics of the successful soldier; bold in conception, vigorous in execu- tion, and unshrinking under grave responsibilities. He was singularly self-reliant, demonstrating by all his acts that "much danger makes. great hearts most resolute." He combined in his temperament the restlessness of a Hotspur with the patience of a Fabius. Under the mag- netism of his presence his troops rushed to victory with all the dash of Coesar's Tenth Legion. Opposing ranks went down before the iierceness of his onsets, never to rise again. He paused not till he saw the folds of his banners wave above the strongholds he had wrested from the foe. While mankind will always appreciate the practical work- ings of the mind of the great strategist, they will also see in his marvelous career much which savors of romance as well as reality, appeals to the imagination and excites the fancy. They will ])icture him as a legendary knight moving at the head of conquering columns, whose marches were measured not by single miles, but by thousands; as a general who could make a Christmas gift to his President of a great sea- board city; as a chieftain whose field of military operations covered nearly half a continent; who had penetrated ever- glades and bayous; the inspiration of whose commands forged weaklings into giants; whose orders all spoke with the true bluntness of the soldier; who fought from valley's depth to mountain height, and marched from inland rivers to the sea. No one can rob him of his laurels; no man can lessen the measure of his fame. His friends will never cease to sing paeans in his honor, and even the wrath of his enemies may be counted in his {)raise. 2o8 F.u/..-iiiF.rn n.iRRnr urou-ning MOTHER AND POET \\y El.iZAHKiii H\RKi;rr Hkownim;, Poet. IJuni in IUiiIkhii, England, 1S09; died in Florence, Italy, 1861. (Turin- After news from (;;vta, 1861.) Dead! One of tlicin shot by the sea in the east, And one of them shot in the west by the sea, Dead I both my boys! When you sit at the feast, And are wanting a great song for Italy free, Let none kiok at mcj Yet I was a poetess only last year, And good at my art, for a woman, men said; But this woman, this, who is agonized here. The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head Forever, instead. What art can a woman be good at ? Oh, vain! What art is she good at, but hurting her breast With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at the pain ? Ah, boys, how you hurt! you were strong as you pressed. And I proud, by that test. What art's for a woman .'' To hold on her knees Both darlings; to feel all their arms round her throat Cling, strangle a little; to sew by degrees And broider the long clothes and neat little coat; To dream and to doat ! To teach them ... It stings there! I made them, indeed. Speak plain the word country. I taught them, no doubt, That a country's a thing men should die for at need. I prated of liberty, rights, and about The tyrant cast out. MOTHER AND POET 209 And when their eyes flashed . . . O my beautiful eyes, I exulted; nay, let them go forth at the wheels Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise When one sits quite alone! Then one weeps, then one kneels! — God, how the house feels! At first happy news came, — in gay letters, moiled With my kisses, — of camp-life and glory, and how They both loved me; and, soon coming home to be spoiled. In return would fan off every fly from my brow With their green laurel-bough. Then was triumph at Turin. Ancona was free! And some one came out of the cheers in the street, With a face pale as stone, to say something to me: My Guido was dead ! I fell down at his feet, While they cheered in the street. I bore it; friends soothed me; my grief looked sublime As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained To be leaned on and walked with, recalling the time When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained To the height he had gained. And letters still came, shorter, sadder, more strong, W>it now but in one hand: I was not to faint, — One loved me for two, — would be with me ere long: And, " Viva V Ilalia ! he died for, — our saint, — Who forbids our complaint." ]\Iy Nannie would add; he was safe, and aware Of a presence that turned off the balls, — was impressed It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear, And how 'twas impossible, quite dispossessed, To live on for the rest. 2IO rii/.-im-rn n.fRKinr nKOUKiNC Chi whitli, without pause, up tlir ti.kj;i:i|)li-liiu' Swept smoothly the next news from (iaeta: — " S/w/. Tell his mother." Ah, ah, "his," "their" niotlier, not " mine; " Xo voice savs, " Mv motlicr " again to me. What! Vou think (iuiih"> forpt)t ? Arc souls straif^ht so liappy that, ili/./y with Heaven, They drop earth's affections, conceive not of woe ? I think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven Through that Love and Sorrow which reconciled so The Above and lielow. Oh Christ of the seven wounds , who look'dst tlirough the dark To the face of Thy Mother! consider, I jiray, How we common mothers stand desolate, mark Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away, And no last word to say. Both boys dead .' but that's out of nature. We all Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one. 'Twere imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall; And, when Italy's made, for what end is it done If we have not a son ^. Ah, ah, ah! when Gaeta's taken, what then .-' When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport Of the fire-balls of death, crashing souls out of men .' When the guns of Cavalli, with final retort, Have cut the game short .^ When Venice and Rome kce]) their new jubilee, When your flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and red, When^OM have a country from mountain to sea, And King Victor lias Italy's crown on his head, (And I have my dead) — ^ FORLII-ATHERS' DAY 2 What then ? Do not mock me. Ah, ring your bells low. And burn your lights faintly! My country is there, Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow; My Italy's there, with my brave civic pair, To disfranchise despair! Fi^rgive me. Some women bear children in strength, And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn; ]5ut the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length Into wail such as this; and we sit on, forlorn, When the man-child is born. Dead! One of them shot by the sea in the west, And one of them shot in the east by the sea. Both, both my boys! If, in keeping the feast, You want a great song for your Italy free. Let none look at me/ FOREFATHERS' DAY By John Davis Long, Lawyer, Author; Ciovcnior of Massachusetts, 1882-88; Secretary of the Navy, 1897 — . Born in Buckfield, Maine. 1838. From a speech at a banquet of the New England Society in tlie City of New York, Dec. 22, i?84. Reprinted, by permission of the author, from " After Dinner and Other Speeches," published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston. Copyright 1895, by John D. Long. Never since Moses led the children of Israel toward the promised land has there been such an epic as the voyage of the Mayflower and the landing at Plymouth. . . . Ah, how narrowly and mistakenly we limit those men and women of the Mayflotver when we shrivel them with the winter blast of a December day, harden them into the solemnity of ascetics, or think of them as refugees from personal ann()\-.uic(s. While they were, as some one has said, " neither I'urit.ins nor persecutors," they were, as is too rarely said, something far more — they were poets, they were idealists. They were 212 JOH\' nil -IS lONC glad children of the light, seeking (or " more light." Ther were warm with youth and advinturc, yet transcendentalists mounting a new heaven. ReatI the com])act drawn in the cabin of the Jfay^o7ver, — reail in it the statement of the object of their coming, and say where has the genius of bard or prophet struck such a strain as those words e.\j)ressive of their jiurpose: " I'or the glory of (lOil and advancement of the Christian faith and honour of our King and countrie ! " Here is no wretched care for personal interests, no craven thought of flight or escape from petty persecutions, no whining .solicitude for individual fortune, but the high soul of men who "plant a colony" and found an emjjire for nothing less than the glory of God, the advancement of their faith, the honor of their country. . . . Do you think any ingobler spirit than the poet's wrought this vision, or would have kept them there when the first winter struck down half their number, and, standing on the hill, they watched the sails of the returning Mayfloivcr fade out in the light of an April. day .' . . . You think they shrank from the savage and heard his whoop in their dreams. That is because you are timid, and live in cities. To them the Indian's first word was " Welcome, Englishmen." With now and then a rare and wholesome correction, he lived in peace w-ith them for generations; and tradition has it that two children of the forest begged to be buried at the feet of Bradford, and now lie with him on Burial Hill. Fear! Standish, panting for the elbow-room of perfect freedom, and separating himself from the rest, even as they had all separated themselves from their English homes, dwelt ajiart across the channel in the grandeur of his .solitary Duxbury realm. You think there was no softness or merriment in their lives; but you forget that John Alden looked in the eyes of Priscilla JNIuIlens and walked with her in the " lovers' lanes " of the "forest primeval." You forget to catch the laugh with which Mary Chilton, ancestress of Copley and Lyntl- hur.st, waded from the boat to the shore — first woman of FOREFATHERS' DAY 213 them all to put her dainty foot on American soil. You forget the romance of Alice Southworth's coming later over from England to wed the young widower Bradford, who had loved her when a girl among the English hawthorns. . . . These Pilgrims were men who were greater than the restrictions of English life; who were broader than the huckstering and traffic of their Holland tarrying-place; and who, therefore, fled from both, gasping for larger breath. They were no narrow Puritans, who vexed themselves over questions of method or form or discipline in the Church. They broke altogether from the Church itself, were separa- tists, and set up their own establishment for themselves and for the New World, — themselves an evangel of religious and civil liberty. . . . Sympathy for the hardships of the Pilgrim fathers! They would laugh at you. They never dreamed of yielding, or of going or looking back. Why, it were worth a thousand years, a cycle of Cathay, to have breathed the air with them, to have put one's name to that cabin compact, to have planted that colony. . . . Our lives are comparatively humdrum prose or cheap doggerel. Theirs was a paean. They were idealists, poets, seers; but it was that germinating and rich idealism which flowers out in the world's glory and beneficence. If it was poetry, it is a poetry that lives after them, in a larger vitality and range. Its music is not a far-off strain. It is not con- fmed to a stone's throw from the rock on which they set foot. It rolls across a continent from sea to sea. ... It is poetry, indeed, but the poetry of industry, of growth, of school and farm and shop and ship and car. You hear it now in the hum of ten thousand mills, in the trip of a hundred thousand hammers, in the bustle of myriad ex- changes, in the voice of a mighty people who are a mighty people, and will be mightier yet, because, and so far as they are true to the courage of the Pilgrim P'athers, to their lofty stride and aspiration, to their superiority over fortune and the dubt, to their foundations of education and the home. -'14 j.-i:,:i:s m.douiiLi. and lo tijcir consrcnition f>f themselves to tl»e glory of God, the advancement of faith, and the hon<^r of their country. Forefathers' Day! \\\' have no day that is not Fore- fathers' Day. Our national independence is their se])ara- tism. Standish is the common jjrototype of (Jrant and Slierman. Whatever is wholesome in our social life is the ellluence of their homes. tJur constitutional liberty and our ct)nstitutional law are the consummate llower of their compact. I doubt if there 1)C to-day a radical footj)rint that may not trace itself to tliem ; and many an economic and industrial result is an issue from their good sense and honest labor. . . . This great democracy of ours, the broadest- based and securest government in the world, self-sufTicient, self-sustaining, self-restrained, and developing new capacity to meet every new necessity and demand of its own stupendous and startling growth, is only the expansion of their own democracy. Let us do our dutv by it as faithful 1\- as they did theirs. Doing that, let us await its destiny as calmly as did they, assured, as they were, that liberty is better than repression; that liberty, making and obeying its own laws, is God; and that unless man, made in His image, is a failure, the self-government of a free and educated people, whatever its occasional vicissitudes, will not and cannot fail. DANGEROUS LEGISLATION P.y Jamks McDowkll, Statesman; Governor of Virginia, 1842-44; Member of Congress from Virginia, 1846-51. From a speech made in the House of Representatives, February 23, 1849, on tlie formation of one or more new States out of the Territories of New Mexico and Cali- fornia. See Ap/>endix to Congressional Globe, Feb. 23, 1849. Mr. Chairman ; When I pass by the collective parties in this case, and recall the particular ones; when I see that my own State is as deeply implicated in the trouble and the danger of it as any other, and shares to the full, with all of DANGEROUS LEGISLATION 215 her Southern colleagues, in the most painful apprehensions of its issue; when I see this, I turn involuntarily, and with unaffected deference of spirit, and ask. What, in this exigent moment to Virginia, will INIassachusetts do? Will you, too (I speak to her as present in her representatives), — will you, too, forgetting all the past, put forth a hand to smite her ignominiously upon the cheek ? In your own early day of deepest extremity and distress — the day of the Boston Port Bill — when your beautiful capital was threatened with ex- tinction, and England was collecting her gigantic power to sweep your liberties away, Virginia, caring for no odds and counting no cost, bravely, generously, instantly, stepped forth for your deliverance. Addressing her through the justice of your cause and the agonies of your condition, you asked for her heart. She gave it ; with scarce the reservation of a throb, she gave it freely and gave it all. You called upon her for her blood ; she took her children from her bosom and offered them. But in all this she felt and knew that she was more than your political ally — more than your political friend. She felt and knew that she was your near, natural-born relation — such in virtue of your common descent, but such far more still in virtue of the higher attributes of a congenial and kindred nature. Do not be startled at the idea of common qualities between the American Cavalier and the American Roundhead. An heroic and unconquerable will, differently directed, is the pervasive and master cement in the character of both. Nourished by the same spirit, sharing as twin sisters in the struggle of the heritage of the same revolution, ivhat is there in any demand of national faith, or of consti- tutional duty, or of public morals, which should separate them now ^ Give us but a part of that devotion which glowed in the heart of the younger Pitt, and of our own elder Adams, who, in the midst of their agonies forgot not the countries they had lived for, but mingled with the spasms of thejr djing: 2l6 J. 4 MPS M.nOH'F.iL hour a last ami imploring appeal to tin- Parent of all mercies, that lie woulil remember in eternal blessings the land of their birth; give us their devotion — give us that of the young enthusiast of Paris, who, listening to Mirabcau in one of his surpassing vindications of human rights, ami seeing him fall from his staml, dying, as a i)hysician jiroclaimed, for the want of blood, ru<;hed to the spot, and as lie bent over the cxi)iring man, bared his arm for the lancet, and crietl again and again with impassioned voice: "Here, take it — oh! take it from me! let me die, so that Mirabcau and the liberties of my country may not perish! " Give us some- thing only of such a love of country, and wc are safe, forever safe; the troubles which shadow over and oppress us now will pass away like a summer cloud. The fatal element of all our discord will be removed from among us. . . . It is said, sir, that at some daik hour of our revolutionary contest, when army after army had been lost; when, dis- pirited, beaten, wretched, the heart of the boldest and faithfulest died within them, and all for an instant seemed conquered, except the unconquerable soul of our father-chief, — it is said that at that moment, rising above all the auguries around him, and buoyed up by the inspiration of his im- mortal work for all the trials it could bring, he aroused anew the sunken spirit of his associates by this confident and daring declaration: " Strip me," said he, " of the dejected and suffering remnant of my army — take from me all that I have left — leave me but a banner, give me but the means to plant it upon the mountains of West Augusta, and I will yet draw around me the men who shall lift up their bleeding country from the dust, and set her free! " Give to me, who am a son and representative here of the same West Augusta, give to me as a banner the propitious measure I have endeavored to support, help me to plant it upon this moun- tain-top of our national power, and the land of Washington, undivided and unbroken, will be our land, and the land of our children's children forever! So help me to do this at THE PURITAN SABBATH 217 this hour, and, generations hence some future son of the South, standing where I stand, in the midst of our legitimate successors, will bless, and praise, and thank God that he, too, can say of them, as I of you, and of all around me — these, these are my brethren, and oh! this, this, too, is my country ! THE PURITAN SABBATH By Henry van Dyke, Clergyman, Professor, Author, Poet; Pastor Brick Presbyterian Church, New York, 1882-99; Professor of English, Princeton University, 1899 — . From an address made at the annual banquet of the New England Society in New York City, Dec. 23, 1805 ; the anniversary having been postponed because Forefathers' Day that year fell on a Sunday. See New York Tribune, Dec. 24, 1895. The Puritan fenced in his Sabbath with a wall of iron. We do not altogether admire the architecture of that wall ; but let us never forget that within it were sheltered, through stormy centuries, three inestimable treasures — the sanctity of human rest, as well as of human labor; the peace and order of the Puritan household, and the dignity and sim- plicity of common worship. Let us never forget that out of that sacred enclosure issued the men and women, trained and solidified by self-restraint and sober discipline, who were to be the very backbone of the permanent morality of this nation. . . . There is no question of the day, it seems to me, that comes closer to the life of the people and affects our future welfare more deeply than the Sunday question, with all that it involves of personal liberty, civic order, the rights of labor, and the freedom of conscience. In order to settle it, we must free our minds from cant; the cant of politics and the cant of religion. We must recognize the difference between the American Sunday and the Puritan Sabbath. The one is a day of restraint, the other is a day of liberty. The one is a religious observance, the other is a humane institution. -MS HluSKV r.V.V /)>-A7:- W c uui^lit iu>t to coufusf tlKiii, iior alttiiipt tn ncoiicilt' them by compromise. Coinpromiso in in.ittcr.s of j)iiiicij)l(-- is always a failure. . . . For those who believe in the substance of the i'uritan Sabbath as a day of religit)us devotion, needful for the v.'hri>itian life, to give up their private convictions and change their j)ersonal practice to conform to a passing fashion, is to make a false compromise. For those who believe in tiie .\merican .Sunday as a day of secular rest, needful for the national life, to narrow its liberty ami imperil its security by overloading it with restrictions and attempting to change it into a day of forced religion, is to make a false compromise. Clear and distinct, the two days stand side by side; or, to speak more truly, circle within circle, sphere within sphere. 'I'he day of universal repose spreads like a fair, well-ordered garden, in whose pleasant ways the burdens of toil and the strifes of competition shall be laid aside, and all men shall be free to rest and refresh themselves in common joy and brotherly regard. Within that garden, protected by its beautiful peace, stands the day of divine worship, like a shining temple, into which none shall be compelled, but all shall be invited, to enter. There they will learn that the deepest rest comes through atloratiun, the strongest refresh- ment is drawn from faith, and the sweetest music is that which praises God. Gentlemen, let us maintain the liberty of the garden, and let us use our own liberty to preserve the sanctity of the temple. i\Iany of the outward forms of the Puritan Sabbath have passed away; but God grant that its spirit and sub- stance may never vanish from our hearts and homes. What memories haunt our souls so strong, so precious, as those that come down to us from its morning hour of prayer around the household altar, its noontide hour of worshij) in the quiet house of God, its evening hour of music in the home, where voices long since fallen in silence joined in the sweet songs of Zion ? All our lives long we shall remember THE PURITAN SABBATH 219 these things, and the remembrance will make us better, braver, more loyal and more steadfast men. And shall our children have no such memories ? Shall they look back from the coming conflict and turmoil of the twentieth century into homes where there was a Sunday but no Sabbath ? Nay, will you not rather restore to your domestic and social life the potency and promise of your true Forefathers' Day ? And will you not add to it the milder but no less sacred influence of that other day, so near at hand, which my forefathers reverenced and cherished, the day of St. Nicholas, the merry Christmas Day ? There is no discord between them, but harmony and concord. Before the ancient temple at Jerusalem there stood two pillars, Jachin and Boaz, wreathed with lily-work and carven with pomegranites. So let these two memorial days stand at the doorway of our houses, like shining, steadfast columns, which never shall be removed, the Sabbath Day and Christ- mas Day, emblem of loyal faith and self-restraint, emblem of joyous hope and glad good-will to all, upholding with undesecrated purity and undiminished strength " The homely beauty of the good old cause, Our peace, our fearful innocence. And pure religion breathing household laws." From the shelter of such holy homes a new manhood shall come forth; serene, thoughtful, peaceful; prepared and able to defend the nation's honor, which is righteousness, and to preserve the nation's glory, which is peace. aao ^A'.V.-f liUZAlHiTH DICKISSOW THF. ASSAULT ON TORT WAGNER By Anna Ki i/ aui i ii Dickinson, l.octiiror, Nnvi-list, I'Uiywri^jlit. It(.>nt ill rhilailcl|>lii:i, 1S4J. Tlirough tlic whole afternoon lliere IkkI l)eus harbor of Habana, the black-winged vulture watches for the dead, while over it and over all there is the eagle's piercing eye sternly watching for the truth. Whether the appropriation carried by this resolution shall be ultimately charged to fate or to some foe shall soon appear. ^Meanwhile a patient and a jjatriotic people, enlightened by the lessons of our history, remembering the woes of war, both to the vanquished and victorious, are ready for the truth and ready for t!.eir duty. •'The tumult and tlie shouting dies — Tlie captains avid the kings depart — Still stands thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, he with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget." THl: SOLDIER'S I'AITH 225 THE SOLDIER'S FAITH By Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jurist, Professor, Author; Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Massachusetts, 1899 — . Burn in Boston, Mass., 1 841. Taken from an address delivered on Memorial Day, May 30, 1895, at a meeting called by the graduating class of Harvard University. See " Speeches by Oliver Wendell Holmes," published by Little, Brown & Co., Uoston, Mass., 1896; also J/,t> vard Graduate's Magazine, December, 1895. By permission of the author. The ideals of the past for men have been drawn from war, as those for women have been drawn from motherhood. For all our prophecies, I doubt if we are ready to give up our inheritance. Who is there who would not like to be thought a gentleman .'' Yet what has that name been built on but the soldier's clioice of honor rather than life } To be a soldier or descended from soldiers, in time of peace to be ready to give one's life rather than to suffer disgrace, — that is what the word has ineant; and if we try to claim it at less cost than a splendid carelessness for life, we are trying to steal the good-will without the responsibilities of the place. We will not dispute about tastes. The man of the future may w-ant something different. But who of us could endure a world, although cut up into five-acre lots and having no man upon it who was not well fed and well housed, without the divine folly of honor, without the senseless passion for knowledge outreaching the flaming bounds of the possible, without ide.nls the essence of which is that they never can be achieved .-' I do not know what is true. I do not know the meaning of the universe. But in the midst of doubt, in the collapse of creeds, there is one thing I do not doubt, that- no man who lives in the same world with most of us can doubt, and that is, that the faith is true and adorable which leads a soldier to throw away his life in obedience to a blindly accepted duty, in a cause which he little understands, in a plan of campaign of which he has no notion, under tactics of which he does not see the use. Most men who know battle know the cynic force with 2 26 oiiiTR in-Nnr.Li. holmfs which the thoughts uf cDininon sense will assail tluin in timi'S of stress; but they know tli;U in their qriwti'st moments f.iiih lias tranii)leil those thoughlN mult r Innt. il yoii liave been in line, suppose on Trenionl street mall, onkrcd simply to wait and to do notliinj;, and have watched the enemy bring their guns to bear upon you ilown a gentle slope like that from Ik-acon street, have seen the pufi of the firing, have felt the burst of the sjiherieal case-shot as it came toward you. have heard and seen the shrieking fragments go tearing through your company, and liave known that the next or the next shot carries your fate; if you have advanced in line and have seen ahead of you the spot whicli }()u must pass where the rifle bullets are striking; if you have ridden by night at a walk toward the blue line of fire at the dead- angle of Spottsylvania, where for twenty-four hours the soldiers were fighting on the two sides of an earthwork, and in the morning the dead and dying lay piled in a row six deep, and as you rode have heard the bullets splashing in the mud and earth about you; if you have been on the picket-line at night in a black and unknown wood, have heard the spat of the bullets upon the trees, and as you moved have felt your foot slip upon a dead man's body; if you have had a blind, fierce gallop against the enemy, witli your blood up and a pace that left no time for fear, — if, in short, as some, I hope many, who hear me have known, you have known the vicissitudes of terror and of triumph in war, you know that there is such a thing as the faith I spoke of. You know your own weakness and are modest; but yon know that man has in him that unspeakable somewhat which makes him capable of miracle, able to lift himself by the might of his own soul unaided, able to face annihilation for a blind belief. ... War, when you are at it, is horrible and dull. It is only when time has passed that you see that its message was divine. I hope it may be long before we are called again to sit at that master's feet. But some teacher of the kind we THE SOLDIER'S FyllTH 227 all need. . . . We need it everywhere and at all times. For high and dangerous action teaches us to believe as right beyond dispute things for which our doubting minds are slow to find words of proof. Out of heroism grows faith in the worth of heroism, . . . We do not save our traditions, in this country. The regiments whose battle-fiags were not large enough to hold the names of the battles they had fought vanished with the surrender of Lee, although their memories inherited would have made heroes for a century. It is the more necessary to learn the lesson afresh from perils newly sought, and per- haps it is not vain for us to tell the new generation what we learned in our day, and what we still believe. That the joy of life is living, is to put out all one's powers as far as they will go; that the measure of power is obstacles overcome; to ride boldly at what is in front of you, be it fence or enemy; to pray, not for comfort, but for combat; to keep the soldier's faith against the doubts of civil life, more besetting and harder to overcome than all the misgivings of the battle-field, and to remember that duty is not to be proved in the evil day, but then to be obeyed unquestioning; to love glory more than the temptations of wallowing ease, but to know that one's final judge and only rival is one's self; with all our failures in act and thought, these things we learned from noble enemies in Virginia or Georgia or on the Mississippi thirty years ago; vhese things we believe to be true. " 'Life is not lost,' said she, 'for whicli is bouglit Endlesse renowm.' We learned also, and we still believe, that love of country is not yet an idle name. " Deare countrey ! O how dearely deare Ought thy remembraunce, and perpetual! band Be to thy foster-child, that fn)m thy hand Did commun breath and nouriture receave ! How brutish is it not to understand How much to her we owe, that all us gave; That gave unto us all, whatever good we hav '" »a8 RICH.4Rn H.-iRDlSG D.H'IS THE DEATH OF RODRIGUEZ Hy KiflivRD IlAKniNi; Davis, Novelist, Short story writer. Jmirnalist. I5orn ill I'liiladclphi.i, iVnii., i8(>4. Reprinted, by permission of the publisher, (roni " Cuba in \V,ir Time." tupyriglit 1898. l>y K. H. Russell. New York. Ailolfi) Rodrii;iicz \vas the only sun of a L'lihan farmer. When tlie revolution broke out ynuui^ KmlriL^ucz joined ilie insurgents, leaving his father and mother and two sisters at the farm. He was taken by the .""Spanish, was tried by a militar)' court for bearing arms against the government, and sentenced to be shot by a fusillade some morning before sunrise. His execution took place a half mile distant from the city, on the great plain that stretches from the forts out to the hills, beyond which Rodriguez had lived for nineteen years. There had been a full moon the night preceding the execu- tion, and when the squad of soldiers marched out from town it was still shining brightly through the mists. It lighted a plain two miles in extent broken by ridges and gullies and covered with thick, high grass and witli bunches of cactus and palmetto. In the hollow of the ridges the mist lay like broad lakes of water, and on one side of the plain stood the ^valls of the old town. On the other rose hills covered with royal palms, that showed white in the moonlight, like hundreds of marble columns. A line of tiny camp-fires that the sentries had built during the night stretched between the forts at regular intervals and burned brightly. As the light increased a mass of people came hurrying from the town with two l)lack figures leading them, and the soldiers drew up at attention, and part of the double line fcU back and left an opening in the square. The merciful Spaniards made the prisoner walk for over half a mile across the broken surface of the fields. I expected to find the man stumbling and faltering on this THE DEATH OF RODRIGUEZ 229 rnu'l journey, but as he came nearer I saw that he led all tlie others, and the priests on either side of him were tripping on their gowns and stumbling over the hollows, in their efforts to keep pace with him as he walked, erect and soldierly, at a quick step in advance of them. He had a handsome, gentle face of the peasant type, a light, pointed beard, great wistful eyes, and a mass of curly black hair. He was shockingly young for such a sacrifice, and looked more like a Neapolitan than a Cuban. You could imagine him sitting on the quay at Naples or Genoa, lolling in the sun and showing his white teeth when he laughed. He wore a new scapula around his neck, hanging outside his linen blouse. It was very quickly finished with rough, and, but for one frightful blunder, with merciful swiftness. The crowd fell back when it came to the square, and the condemned man, the priests, and the firing squad of six young volunteers passed in and the line closed behind them. Rodriguez bent and kissed the cross which the priest held up before him. He then walked to where the officer directed him to stanfl, and turned his back to the square and faced the hills and the road across them which led to his father's farm. As the officer gave the first command he straightened himself as far as the cords would allow, and held up his head and fixed his eyes immovably on the morning light which had just begun to show above the hills. He made a picture of such pathetic helplessness, but of such courage and dignity, that he reminded me on the instant of that statue of Nathan Hale, which stands in the City Hall Park, above the roar of Broadway, and teaches a lesson daily to the hurrying crowds of money-makers who pass beneath. But there was this difference, that Rodriguez, while probably as willing to give six lives for his country as was the American rebel, being only a peasant, did not think to say so, and he will not, in consequence, live in bronze during the lives of many men, but will be remembered only 230 KicH.iKn H.-tKiVNC n.-tns as Diio o( thirty C'ubaiis, one of whom was shot at Santa Clara on each succccilini:; ihiy at siinriso. ■'riic olliccr hail given the oriler, tlie nun had raiseil their pieces, and the condemned man hail luard the elicks of the triggers as they were jnilleil back, and lie had not moved. And then happened one of the most cruelly refined, though unintentional, acts of torture that one can very well imagine. As the oflicer slowly raised his sword, preparatory to giving the signal, one of the mounted officers rode uj) to him and pointed out silently, that the Hring squad were so placed that when they fired they would shoot several of the soldiers stationed on the extreme end of the scjuare. Their captain motioned his men to lower their pieces, and then walked across the grass and laid his hand on the shoulder of the waiting prisoner. It is not pleasant to think what that shock must have been. The man had steeled himself to receive a volley of bullets in the back. He believed that in the next instant he would be in another world; he had heard the command given, had heard the click of the IMausers as the locks caught — and then, at that supreme moment, a human hand had been laid upon his shoulder and a voice spoke in his ear. You would expect that any man who had been snatched back to life in such a fashion would start and tremble at the reprieve, or would break dow-n altogether, but this boy turned his head steadily, and followed with his eyes the direction of the officer's sword, then nodded his head gravely, and with his shoulders squared, took up a new position, straightened his back again, and once more held himself erect. As an exhibition of self-control this should surely rank above feats of heroism performed in battle, where there are thousands of comrades to give inspiration. This man was alone, in sight of the hills he knew, with only enemies about him, with no source to draw on for strength but that which lay within himself. The officer of the firing squad, mortified by his blunder, THE DEATH OF RODRIGUEZ 231 hastily whipped up his sword, the men once more leveled their rifles, the sword rose, dropped, and the men fired. At the report the Cuban's head snapped back almost between his shoulders, but his body fell slowly, as though some one had pushed him gently forward from behind and he had stumbled. He sank on his side in the wet grass without a struggle or sound, and did not move again. It was difficult to believe that he meant to lie there, that it could be ended so without a word, that the man in the linen suit would not get up on his feet and continue to walk on over the hills to his home. But the figure lay on the grass untouched and no one seemed to remember that it had walked there of itself. It was a thing of the past, and the squad shook itself like a great snake, and then broke into little pieces and started off jauntily, stumbling in the high grass and striving to keep step to the music. From all parts of the city the church- bells jangled out the call for early mass, and the whole world of Santa Clara seemed to stir and stretch itself and to wake to welcome the day just begun. But as I fell in at the rear of the procession and looked back, the figure of the young Cuban, who was no longer a part of the world of Santa Clara, was asleep in the wet grass, with his motionless arms still tightly bound behind him, with the scapula twisted awry across his face and the blood from his breast sinking into the soil he had tried to free. asa ini.ii.-i.M I rsris Kissni.L THK C0MM0N>X'1:ALTH of MASSACHUSETTS Ky \\ II I lAM lusris Rts^iKi.i . l.;iwy6. Krom a speecli m.-i(le at the aiiiuial fciitival of the Now KiiglaiiJ ^iuciL■ty in the City of New York, Dec. 22, 1843. See New York I riouHi, l)ec. jj, 1S93. Thomas \V. MiRj^insonin his introduction to •' Speeches and Addresses ofW. K. Russell." says : "No one ever heard him utter tlie words, ' the «lcar old Commonwealth,' without discoverin»j that he lias what the French call ' tears in his voice '; and no one can know liiui well without recognizing that those thrilling tones represent in this case profound feeling." Gladly to-nip;ht when for the last time I speak for Massa- chusetts officially, I avail myself of the privilege of laying at her feet the humble tribute of a loving son. One is apt to judge a State solely by evidence of her material prosperity; to think only of her acres and dollar.^, her population and cities, her industries and material resources. Important anil great as these are, I fancy the Puritans would have called tlicm " the outward things," and not the only or the truest test of her real strength and grandeur. Or else one thinks of her only as a great power, ever enforcing obedience to her sovereign will. To us, her children and citizens, she is far less a governing power than a guiding, uplifting influence, ever setting before us high ideals of life and its meaning, and ever leading in great agitations for freedom and humanity. This is the real Massachusetts. 'I"o understand her, one must go back to the early days and work which to-night we commemorate. They were wise, farseeing men who founded our colony and Commonwealth. It seemed to be given them to look down the future and to know that they were church-building and nation-building, founding institutions which were to last as long as men should fear G(jd and love libLity. They were serious men, these, our founders and forefathers. We laugh now at their long faces and mournful manr^^s, THE COMMOMM'^EALTH OF MASSACHUSETTS 233 but wc forget that theirs was no holiday pastime. They were not seeking how easiest to live, but how best to live "for God's glory and the Church's good." They bound Church and State together in a union which would not now be tfjierated, but by their labor and sacrifices they planted, beside the Church, the school and the town-meeting, and made these the foundations for an intelligent, liberty-loving. God-fearing people. We care not so much now for the distinctive doctrines of their faith as for the fact that they had faith ; not so much for the scruples of their conscience as that for conscience sake they dared to suffer; not so much for their suffering as that in spite of it they never yielded. That was the stuff out of which to make Commonwealths that were to last; that was the warp which, wrought into the fiber of our national life, has made it strong and permanent. With all their short- comings there was dominant in the founders a sense of duty and responsibility, a serious view of life and its work, which developed strength and character, self-reliant men and free institutions, making the basis of a State, education, piety, and self-government. This was the beginning of Massachusetts, and this spirit ever since has marked her life. What do we owe to it .? 1 give the Yankee answer, What do we not owe to it ? Massa- chusetts from it gets a sturdiness of character, an independ- ence of thought and action, a willingness to assert and fight for honest convictions, which have been her very backbone, and through her a potent influence in our national develop- ment. You can trace this down in all our after life, in the early wars for self-defense, in the later wars for independence, and against the tyranny of foreign power, and, generations later, in our war for union and liberty. It is this which gives point and meaning to our great historic monuments. They exist because of the continuity of tliis influence. " When the tall gray shaft of Ikinkcr Mill speaks greetings 234 J.-IMf-S irniTCO.MK KII.F.Y to Memorial Hall,"* it is tin.' Puritan o( 1775 sj)caking to the Puritan of 1S61, ami both recalling the patriotism and char- acter, the struggle ami the sacrifices <>( tlio ])ast, nerving us as bravely to do our duty. How wtll rhillij)s illustrateil this in his plea for the prc-si-rvation < •( tlu- ( )ld South mei'ting- housc, so dear to tlie New England luart. He was answ<-r- ing the argument tliat the Old South was not worth saving because it hail changed in fdrm and ilid not meet approved architectural standards, and he was asserting that il had a deeper meaning and a truer puri)ose than these outwanl things. " True," he .said, " it has changeil ; it is not sightly to the eye; but when the troops went fi.rth in ' (n to light for their country and liberty, as they passed the old IniiUling there was something within its homely walls which spoke tth the robbers, ;\iul biKk-;iiul-i;a,L;; And liiiul them safe in the cminty jail — Or, as Aunty saiil, with a bkiulcd awe And subtlety, — " Safe in de calaboose whah Do dawps caint bite 'em! " — So prevail The faithful! — So liad the Loril upheld His servants of both deed and prayer, — His the glory unparalleled — Theirs the reward, — their every son Free, at last, as the parents were! And, as the tlriver ended there In front of tlie little liouse, I said. All fervently, " Well done! well done! " At which he smiled, and turned his head And pulled on the leaders' lines and — " See! ''' He said, " you can read old Aunty's sign." And, though 1 read aloud, I could Scarce hear myself for laugh and shout Of children — a glad multitude Of little people, swarming out Of the picnic-grounds I spoke about. — And in their rapturous midst I see Again — through mists of memory — A black old negress laughing up At the driver, with her broad lips rolled Back from her teeth, chalk-white, and gums Redder than reddest red-ripe plums. He took from her hand the lifted cup Of clear spring-water, pure and cold. And passed it to me: And I raised my hat And drank to her with a reverence that My conscience knew was justly due The old black face, and the old eyes, too^ The old black head, with its mossy mat THE TRUE POIVER OF A NATION Of hair, set under its cap and frills White as the snows on Alpine hills; Drank to the old black smile, but yet Bright as the sun on the violet, — Drank to the gnarled and knuckled old Black hands whose palms had ached and bled And pitilessly been worn pale And white almost as the palms that hold Slavery's lash while the victim's wail Fails as a crippled prayer might fail. — Ay, with a reverence infinite, I drank to the old black face and head — The old black breast with its life of light — The old black hide with its heart of gold. THE TRUE POWER OF A NATION By Edwin Hubbell Chapin, Preacher. Lecturer, Essayist. Born at Union Village, N. V., 1814; died in New York City, 1880. Selected, by permission of the publishers, from Chapin's " Living Words," published in 1869, by the Universalist Publishing Co., Boston, Mass. Christianity is the true conserving and developing power of a nation. All time demonstrates this truth. What is the source of progress and safety to a people .' Let " the vocal earth," let the graves of buried nations, answer. One after another they have arisen, — they have built their towers of strength, and fortified their lofty walls, — the}^ have opened their sources of wealth, and hardened their sinews of power; and for what object .? For perpetuity and success. Go linger around the desolate spot where stood Chaldea, — go question the fallen columns of Tadmor, — go seek the mystic pyramids of Egypt, — go ask the Acropolis or the Capitol; — go speak to one or all of these, and they will tell you that the hearts which have withered to ashes beneath their ruins, that the minds which were their pride and their glory, that the hands which strengthened their power, were all moved 3 4° /7>/r/.v Hiimrii chmpis' by tlu- great iilra of .adilinc: to their j)rospcrity and greatness, and perpetuating their station in the earth. Surely, then, here in this pillared jiast we may ascertain the source of a nation's prosperity and conservation; at least we may ascer- tain what it is riot. Is it 'rcalihp Where is Lydia ? Its inhabitants "pos- sessed a fertile territory and a prt)fusion i>f silver." IJut its vast treasures were no walls tit defen.se; the riches of (lyges and Crccsus were not its safeguanls. It was swej)t by the sword of Cyrus, trampled umler f(H>t by the victorious hordes of Persia. Has inteUeciual e.\cellence alone secured perpetuity and progress to empire .' Where is Greece .'' Its very .soil is animate with mind, and its every pillar, like ancient Memnon, breatiies music to the sun. Its moldering altars are garlanded with poetry, and eloquence and philosophy kindle amid its desolations. The home of Socrates and Plalo, Demosthenes and yEschylus, Pericles and Homer, — what is it .' Did its intellectual greatness, its glorious poetry, its lofty philosophy, its burning eloquence, its glowing can- vas, its lifelike marble save it from the dust .' Did Spartan heroism gather around it in tlie liour of \>q.x\\ ? Did Attic genius flash up from its altars, like guardian llame .^ It went down at last; the wave of desolation rolls over it. Can power insure prosperity and safety to a nation .•" Where is ancient Rome .' Where is the crowned and imperial city that .sat upon her seven hills, and sent her armies through the earth .' Her " eagle flag unrolled, and froze '' by the icy streams of the north ; the bones of her legions covered the burning sands like drifting snow; her triumphant .shouts pealed up from the hills of Gaul and the chalky cliffs of Britain, and were answered by her hosts from far Jerusalem and Damascus. Over the face of the known world, you entered no walled city where stood not a Roman sentinel, you passed no crowd in which was not heard tlie Latin tongue. Where is the proud citv of the Capitol .'' Where RF.yERENCn FOR THE FLAG 241 arc the mailed hand and the kingly brow ? Did lier power start forth from the tomb of Julius, did her ancient renown appear in the person of Augustus, when the eager hordes of Goth and Hun rushed upon her palaces, quenched the light on her altars, shattered her glorious marbles, and trampled with barbaric exultation on her purple pride? Her very tomb is crumbling beneath the breath of time. I know that these references are trite; yet would I urge you to seize upon the deep burden of their meaning, to feel their cogency. They demonstrate that wealth, knowledge, power, without a controlling influence, — without a right motive for their direction, — arc not the sources of conserva- tion and true progress. REVERENCE FOR THE FLAG By Horace Porter, Brigadier-General, Lecturer, Author; United States Ambassador to France, 1897 — . Born in Huntington, Penn., 1837- From a speech at a banquet of the New England Society in New York, December 22, 1891. See New York Tribune, Dec. 23, 1891. In preserving among the sons that spirit of patriotism which has been handed down from' the sires, I know of no better method of inculcating this sentiment in the minds of the youth of the rising generation than an effort to inspire them with a still more exalted respect and reverence for the Hag — that symbol of national supremacy, that emblem of the country's glory. They should be taught that that flag is not simply a banner for holiday display; that it is not merely a piece of bunting which can be purchased for a few shillings in the nearest shop, but that it is the proud emblem of dig- nity, authority, power; that if insulted, millions will spring to its defense. They should be taught that as that flag is composed of and derives its chief beauty from its different colors, so should its ample folds cover and protect its citi- zens of different color. 24-» noR.tcr roRTFR It is (or those reasons that I like to sci- tlic flags of the war (or the integrity o( the I'liion carried througli the streets in the hands of our veterans upon yj/c days. Those ])recious war-banners, bullet-riddled, batlle-stained, many of tluni but remnants of their former selves, witli scarcely enough left of them on which to imprint the names of the battles they had seen. Every tattered shred which flutters in the breeze is an object lesson in i)atriotism. The youth of the land should be made to feil ih.it tluir country's flag is to be their pillar of cloud by day, their pillar of Are by night; that it is to wave above them in victory, be their rallying-])oint in defeat, and if, perchance, they offer uj) their lives a sacri- fice in its defense, its crimson stripes will mingle with their generous heart's blood; its gentle folds will rest upon their bosom in death; its very presence there upon their bodies, coffined or uncof!ined, will write a more enduring epitaph than that on the sarcophagus in wiiich the great Sesostris sleeps. That flag should be kept everywhere in view. It is par- ticularly necessary in a land like this, in which there are so many who have been reared under foreign flags, and who cannot be made too familiar with the flag of the great Republic. I think there would be nothing more grateful to the hearts of the American people than to have it ordained by national and State enactment that the flag of the country should be hoisted over every Government building, every public place, every prominent memorial, and especially over every schoolhouse — kept there by day and by night, through calm and through storm, and never hauled down. At the beginning of our last war a rallying cry rang throughout the land, which quickened every pulse, which made the blood tingle in the veins of every loyal citizen — a rallying cry which we cannot too often repeat: " If any man hauls down the American flag, shoot him on the spot," THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOIV 243 THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW By Robert Trail Spence Lowell. Clergyman, Author, Poet. Born in Boston, Mass., 1816; died 1891. Oh! that last day in Lucknow fort; 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 roar, And then it would all be done. There was one of us, a corporal's wife, A fair young gentle thing. Wasted with fever in the siege. And her mind was wandering. She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid, And I took her head on my knee; " When my father comes hame frae the pleugh, " she said, " Oh! 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 half-open door. And the mother's wheel is stayed. It was smoke and roar and powder-stench. And hopeless waiting for death; But the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child. Seemed scarce to draw her breath. J44 ROPl-RT TR.-Ul. SPFh-Cr l.OUTLL I sank t»> slrip ;iml I IkiiI inv divam Of an l'.iij,'lisli village hini- Ami wall ami garilcn — till a sudclcn scream l?rouglit me back to the roar again. Tlure Jessie J>ro\vn stood listening, And tlu-n a broai' gladness broke All over her face, and she took my hand, <\nd drew me near and spoke : T/ic Highlanders I Oh, dinna ye hear The slogan far awa' ? The 'McGregor's? Alil 1 ken it weel ; It's the grandest of them a". " God bless thae bonny Highlanders; We're saved! 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; and the rattling fire Far off, and the far-off roar Were all, — and the colonel shook his head, And they turned to their guns once more. Then Jessie said, " That slogan's dune, But can ye no hear them, noo ? The Campbells are comin' ! It's nac a dream, Our succors hae broken through! " THE RELIEF OE LL'CKNOIV 245 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 played " Auld Lang Syne "; It came to our men like the voice of God; And they shouted along the line. And they wept and shook one other's hands. And the women sobbed in a crowd; And every one knelt down where we stood, And we all thanked God aloud. That happy day, when we welcomed them in. 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 streamed. Marching round and round our line; And our joyful cheers were broken with tears. As the pipes played " Auld Lang Syne." 2^6 Hrs'Kr c.iHOT loiHu: THE BLUE AND THE GRAY By Henry Cabot Lodck, Lawyer, I'.ililor, Author; Menil>er of Con- ^^rcs-i fn>m Massachusetts, 1886 03; Senator, 1803 — . Horn in BostiMi, Mass., 1S50. Taken, by peniiissiim of tlie niithur, from a spcctli made at the Jiniier to Robert K. Lee Camp of Confederate Veterans, in IJoston, June 17, 1887. See "Speeches of Henry Caljot Lodge," copyriglit, 1801, by H. C Lodge, published by Houghton, Mifflin S: Co., Hoston. 1 do not Stand up in this presence to indulge in any mock sentimentality. You brave men who wore the gray would be the first to hold me or any other son of the North in just contempt if I should say that, now it was all over, I thought the North was wrong and the result of the war a mistake, and that I was prepared to suppress my political opinions. I believe most profoundly that the war on our side was eternally right, that our victory was the salvation of the country, and that the results of the war were of infinite benefit to both North and South. But, however we differed, or still differ, as to the causes for which we fought then, we accept them as settled, commit them to history, and fight over them no more. To the men who fought the battles of the Confederacy we hold out our hands freely, frankly, and gladly. To courage and faith wherever shown we bow in liomage with uncovered heads. We respect and honor the gallantr}' and valor of the brave men who fought against us, and who gave their lives and shed their blood in defense of what they believed to be right. We rejoice that the famous general whose name is borne upon your banner was one of the greatest soldiers of modern times, because he, too, was an American. We have no bitter memories to revive, no reproaches to utter. Reconciliation is not to be sought, because it exists already. Differ in politics and in a thousand other ways we must and shall in all good-nature, but let us never differ with each other on sectional or State lines, by race or creed. THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 247 We welcome you, soldiers of Virginia, as others more eloquent than I have said, to New England. We welcome you to old ]\rassachusetts. We welcome you to Boston and to Faneuil Hall. In your presence here, and at the sound of your voices beneath this historic roof, the years roll back and we see the figure and hear again the ringing tones of your great orator, Patrick Henry, declaring to the first Con- tinental Congress, "The distinctions between Virginians, Pennsylvanians, New Vorkers, and New Englanders are no more. I am not a Virginian, but an American." A dis- tinguished Frenchman, as he stood among the graves at Arlington, said: " Only a great people is capable of a gjeat civil war." Let us add with thankful hearts that only a great people is capable of a great reconciliation. Side by side, Virginia and ^Massachusetts led the colonies into the War for Independence. Side by side they founded the government of the United States. Morgan and Greene, Lee and Knox, Moultrie and Prescott, men of the South and men of the North, fought shoulder to shoulder, and wore the same uniform of buff and blue, — the uniform of Washington. Your presence here brings back their noble memories, it breathes the spirit of concord, and unites with so many other voices in the irrevocable message of union and good will. I\Iere sentiment all this, some may say. But it is sentiment, true sentiment, that has moved the world. Sentiment fought the war, and sentiment has reunited us. When the war closed, it was proposed in the newspapers and elsewhere to give Governor Andrew, who had sacrificed health and strength and property in his public duties, some immediately lucrative office, like the ccllectorship of the port of Boston. A friend asked him if he would take such a place. " No," said he; "I have stood as high priest between the horns of the altar, and I have poured out upon it the best blood of Massachusetts, and I cannot take money for that." Mere sentiment truly, but the sentiment which ennobles and uplifts mankind. It is sentiment which so hallows a bit r:f -A^ HENRY lyOODH-N CR.-IDY torn, staiiuil l>untini;, th.u men go ghully tn tli'.ir deaths to save it. So I say that the sentiment nianifestetl by your presence licrc, brethren of \'irginia, sitting siile by side with those \\\\o wore the blue, has a far-reacliing and gracious influence, of more value than many practical things. It tells us that these two grand oKl Commonwealths, parted in the shock of the Civil War, are once more side by side as in tlie days of the Revolution, never to j)art again. It tells us that the sons of Virgmia and Massachusetts, if war should break again upon the country, will, as in the olden days, stand once more shoulder to shoulder, with no distinction in the colors that they wear. It is fraught w ith tidings of peace on earth, and you may reatl its meaning in the words on yonder picture, " Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and in- separable. THE SOUTHERN NEGRO By He.nrv Woodke.n' Grauv, Journalist, Orator. Born at Athens, Ga., 1851; died at Atlanta, 1889. Taken from a speech at the banquet of the Boston Merchants' Association, December, i8Sg. See " Henry W. Grady : His Life, Writings, and Speeches," published in 181^0, \y The Cassell Publishing Lompany, New York, X. V. Far to the South lies the fairest and richest domain of this earth. There by night the cotton whitens beneath the ^tars, and by day the wheat locks the sunshine in its bearded sheaf. There are mountains stored with exhaustless treas- ures, forests, vast and primeval, and rivers that, tumbling or loitering, run wanton to the sea. But why is it, though the sectional line be now but a mist that the breath may dis- pel, fewer men of the North have crossed it over to the South, than when it was crimson with the best blood of the Republic, or even when the slave-holder stood guard every inch of its way ? There can be but one answer. It is the very problem we are now to consider. My people, your brothers in the South — brothers in blood, in destiny, in all that is best in our past and future — are so beset with this THE SOUTHERN NEGRO 249 problem that tlieir very existence depends upon its right solution. 1 thank God as heartily as you do that human slavery is gone forever from the American soil. But the freedman remains. With him a problem without precedent or parallel. Note its appalling conditions. Two utterly dissimilar races on the same soil — with equal civil and political rights — almost equal in numbers, but terribly unequal in intelligence and responsibility — each pledged against fusion — one for a century in servitude to the other, and freed at last by a desolating war — the experiment sought by neither, but approached by both with doubt, — these are the conditions. The President of the United States, discussing the plea that the South should be left to solve this problem, asks: " Are they at work upon it .'' What solution do they offer ? When will the black man cast a free ballot ? " When will the black cast a free ballot .'' \\'hen ignorance anywhere is not dominated by the will of the intelligent; when the laborer anywhere casts a vote unhindered by his boss, — then and not till then will the ballot of the negro be free. INIeantime we treat the negro fairly, measuring to him justice in the fullness the strong should give to the weak, and leading him in the steadfast ways of citizenship, that he may no longer be the prey of the unscrupulous and the sport of the thoughtless. The love we feel for that race you cannot measure nor comprehend. As I attest it here, the spirit of my old black mammy from her home up there looks down to bless, and through the tumult of this night steals the sweet music of her crooning, as thirty years ago she held me in her black arms and led me smiling into sleep. This scene vanishes as I speak, and I catch a vision of an old Southern home, with its lofty pillars and its white pigeons fluttering down through the golden air. I see women with strained and anxious faces, and children alert yet helpless. I see night come down with its dangers and its apprehensions, and in a big homely room I feel on my -'50 HENK) HOOI>fi;\' liK.-IDy tired hciid the touch of loving hands — now worn and wrinkled, but fairer to me yet than the hands of mortal woman, and stronger yet to lead nie than the hands of mortal man — as they lay a mother's blessing there, while at her knees — the truest altar 1 yet have found — I thank God that she is safe in her sanctuary because her slaves, sentinel in the silent cabin or guard at her chamber door, j)Ut a black man's loyalty between her and danger. 1 catch another vision. The crisis of battle — a soldier struck, staggering, fallen. I see a slave scuffling through the smoke, winding his black arms about the fallen form, reckless of the hurtling death, bending his trusty face to catch the words that tremble on the stricken lips, so wrestling meantime with agony that he would lay down his life in his master's stead. I see him by the weary bedside, ministering with uncomplaining patience, praying with all his humble heart that God will lift his master up, until death comes in mercy and in honor to still the soldier's agony and seal the soldier's life. I see him by the open grave, mute, motion- less, uncovered, suffering for the death of him who in life fought against his freedom. I see him when the mound is heaped and the great drama of his life is closed, turn away and with downcast eyes and uncertain step start out into new and strange fields, falter- ing, struggling, but moving on, until his shambling figure is lost in the light of this better and brighter day. And from the grave comes a voice, saying: " Follow him! Put your arms about him in his need, even as he once put his about me. Be his friend, as he was mine." And out into this new world — strange to me as to him, dazzling, bewildering both — I follow. And may God forget my people when they forget these! THE CHARIOT RACE 251 THE CHARIOT RACE By Lew Wallace, General, Lawyer, Diplomat, Novelist; United States Minister to Turkey, 1881-85. ^"i"'^ ^^ Brookville, Ind., 1827; resides at Crawfordsville, Ind. Taken, by permission of the publishers, from "Ben-Hur," by Lew Wallace. Copy riglit, 1880, 1891, 1899, by Harper & Brothers, New York. The preparations were now complete. Straightway the stir, of the people and the hum of their conversation died away. Every face near by and every face in the lessening perspective turned to the east, as all eyes settled upon the gates of the six stalls which shut in the competitors. The trumpet sounded short and sharp. Forth from each stall, like missiles in a volley from so many great guns, rushed the six fours; and up the vast assemblage arose, electrified and irrepressible, and, leaping upon the benches, filled the circus and the air above it with yells and screams. The arena swam in a dazzle of light; yet each driver looked first for the rope, then for the coveted inner line. So, all six aiming at the same point and speeding furiously, a colli- sion seemed inevitable. Nothing daunted, the Roman shook out his long lash, loosed the reins, leaned forward, and, with a triumphant shout, took the wall. "Jove with us! Jove with us!" yelled all the Roman faction, in a frenzy of delight. The race was on; the souls of the racers were in it; over them bent the myriads. For a moment Ben Hur was half-blinded by the light in the arena; yet he managed to catch sight of his antagonists and divine their purpose. At Messala, who was more than an antagonist to him, he gave one searching look. He saw the soul of the man, as through a glass, cruel, cunning, desperate. In a time not longer than was required to turn to his four again Ben Hur felt his own resolution harden to a like temper. At whatever cost, he would humble this enemy! Yet there was no passion, no blinding rush of heated blood from heart to brain and back again. He had 252 I.niV IV.-ll.L.-ICF. his plan, and he settled to the t.i^k, never more observant, never more capable. Ikii II ur yiiKKd tlie wall for tiie time. He drew head to the right, and with all the speed of his Arabs darted across the trails of his oj)p(>nents, and took the course neck and neck with Messala. Autl now, racing together sitle by side, a narrow interval between them, the two neareil the second goal. " Down, Kros! up, Mars! " Messala shouted, whirl- ing his lash with practiced hand. " Down, Eros! up, ^lars! " he repeated, and caught the well-doing Arabs of Ben Ilur a cut the like of which they had never known. Then, involuntarily, down from the balcony, as thunder falls, burst the indignant cry of the people. The four sprang forward as with one impulse, and forward leaped the car. Where got Ben Hur the large hand and mighty grip which helped him now so well .'' Where but from the oar with which so long he fought the sea ? And what was this spring of the floor under his feet to the dizzy, eccentric lurch with which in the old time the trembling ship yielded to the beat of staggering billows, drunk with their power .? So he kept his place, and gave the four free rein; and before the fever of the people began to abate he had back the mastery. Nor that only ; on approaching the first goal, he was again side by side with ]MessaIa, bearing with him the sym- pathy and admiration of every one not a Roman. ' ' Ben Hur ! Ben Hur! " they shouted, " Speed thee, Jew! " " Take the wall now!" "On! Loose the Arabs! Give them rein and scourge! " " Let him not have the turn on thee ! " Over the balustrade they stooped low, stretching their hands im- ploringly to him. And now, to make the turn, Messala began to draw in his left-hand steeds. His spirit was high; more than one altar was richer of his vows; the Roman genius was still president. On the three pillars only six hundred feet away were fame, increase of fortune, promotions, and a triumph ineffably sweetened by hate, all in store for him! That moment Ben THE CHARIOT RACE 253 Hur leaned forward over his Arabs, and gave them the reins. Out flew the many-folded lash in his hand; over the backs of the startled steeds it writhed and hissed, and hissed and writhed again and again; and, though it fell not, there were both sting and menace in its quick report; and as the man passed thus from quiet to resistless action, his face suffused, his eyes gleaming, along the reins he seemed to flash his will; and instantly not one, but the four as one answered with a leap that landed them alongside the Roman's car. Messala, on the perilous edge of the goal, heard, but dared not look to see what the awakening portended. From the people he received no sign. Above the noises of the race there was but one voice, and that was Ben Hur's. In the old Aramaic, as the sheik himself, he called to the Arabs. "On, Atair! On, Rigel! What, Antares! dost thou linger now ? Good horse — oho, Aldebaran ! I hear them singing in the tents. I hear the children singing and the women — singing of the stars, of Atair, Antares, Rigel, Aldebaran, victory! And the song will never end. Well done! Home to-morrow, under the black tent — home! On, Antares! The tribe is waiting for us, and the master is waiting! 'Tis done! 'tis done! Ha, ha! We have overthrown the proud. The hand that smote us is in the dust. Ours the glory! Ha, ha! Steady! The work is done — soho! Rest!" The thousands on the benches understood it all. They saw the signal given, the magnificent response; the four close outside Messala's outer wheel, Ben Hur's inner wheel behind the other's car — all this they saw. Then they heard a crash loud enough to send a thrill through the Circus, and, quicker than thought, out over the course a spray of shining white and yellow flinders flew. Down on its right side toppled the bed of the Roman chariot. There was a rebound as of the axle hitting the hard earth; another and another; then the car went to pieces, and jNIessala, entangled in the reins, pitched forward headlong. The people arose, and leaped upon the benches, and 254 HFNRY C,R.4TT.^M shouted and screamed. Those who looked that way caught glimpses (.)f Messala. now under the tramjiling of the fours, now under the abandoned cars, lie was .still; they thought him ileail ; but far the greater number followed Ben Ilur in his career. They had nut seen the cunning touch of the reins by which, turning a little to tlie left, he caught Mes- sala's wheel with the iron-shod jioint of his a.\le, and crusheil it; but they had seen the transformation of the man, and themselves felt the heat and glow of his spirit, the heroic resolution, the maddening energy of action with which, by look, word, and gesture, he so suddenly inspired his Arabs. And such running! It was rather the long leaping of lions in harness; but for the lumbering chariot, it seemed the four were flying. When the Byzantine and Corinthian were half- way down the course Ben Ilur turned the first goal. And the race was won ! REPLY TO MR. CORRY By Henry Grattan, I>awyer, Statesman. IJorn in Dublin, Irelanii, 1746; died in London, England, 1820. From a speech delivered in the Irish Pariiament, during the debate on the union of Ireland to England, Februarj- 14, i?oo. See Goodrich's "British Eloquence," pub- lished, in 1854, by Harper and Brothers, Xew York, X. Y. Has the gentleman done .' has he completely done } He was unparliamentary from the beginning to the end of his speech. There was scarce a word he uttered that was not a violation of the privileges of the House. But I did not call him to order — why .-' because the limited talents of some men render it impossible for them to be severe without being un- parliamentary. But before I sit down, I shall show him how to be severe and parliamentary at the same time. — On any other occasion, I should think myself justifiable in treating with silent contempt anything which might fall from that honorable member; but there are times when the insignificance of the accuser is lost in the magnitude of the REPLY TO MR. CORRY 255 accusation. I kncjw tlic difficulty the honorable gentleman labored under when he attacked me, conscious that, on a comparative view of our characters, public and private, there is nothing he could say which would injure me.N The public would not believe the charge. I despise the falsehood. If such a charge were made by an honest man, I would answer it in the manner I shall do before I sit down. But I shall first reply to it, when not made by an honest man. The right honorable gentleman has called me " an unim- peached traitor." I ask why not " traitor," unqualified by an epithet ? I will tell him — it was because he durst not. It was the act of a coward who raises his arm to strike, but has not the courage to give the blow. I will not call him villain, because it would be unparliamentary, and he is a privy counselor. I will not call him fool, because he hap- pens to be Chancellor of the Exchequer. But I say, he is one who has abused the privilege of Parliament, and freedom of debate, by uttering language which, if spoken out of the House, I should answer only with a blow. I care not how high his situation, how low his c^iaracter, how contemptible his speech ; whether a privy counselor or a parasite — my answer would be a blow. ^ He has chaged me with being connected with the rebels. The charge is utterly, totally, and meanly false. Does the honorable gentleman rely on the report of the House of Lords for the foundation of his assertion .? If he does, I can prove to the committee that there was a physical impossi- bility of that report being true. But I scorn to answer any man for my conduct, whether he be a political coxcomb, or whether he brought himself into power by a false glare of courage or not. I have returned, — not, as the right honorable member has said, to raise another storm, — I have returned to discharge an honorable debt of gratitude to my country that conferred a great reward for past services, which, I am proud to say, was not greater than my desert. I have returned to protect 25<' //////■ HrRKIlT that ton>iituiii,)n nf wliich 1 was ilic parent and founder, irom the assassination of such men as the right honorable gentleman and his unworthy associates. 'I'hcy are corrupt, they are seditious, and they at this very moment are in a conspiracy against their country. I have returned to refute a libel as false as it is malicious, given to the public under the appellation of a report of the committee of the Lords. Here I stand ready for impeachment or trial. I dare accusation. I ilefy the honorable gentleman; I defy the government; 1 defy their whole jjhalanx; let them come forth. I tell the ministers, 1 will neither give quarter nor take it. 1 am here to lay the shattered remains of my con- stitution on the floor of this House, in defense of the liberties of mv countrv. ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST By ELmu Burritt, "The Learned Blacksmith," Linguist, Lecturer, Author. Born in New Britain, Conn. , i8ii; died in New Britain, 1879. The scene opens with a view of the great Natural Bridge in \'irginia. There are three or four lads standing in the chaimel below, looking up with awe to that vast arch of unhewn rocks, which the Almighty bridged over those ever- lasting butments, " when the morning stars sang together." The little piece of sky spanning those measureless piers is full of stars, although it is midday. It is almost five hundred feet from where they stand, up those perpendicular bulwarks of limestone to the key-rock of that vast arch which appears to them only of the size of a man's hand. The silence of death is rendered more impressive by the little stream that falls from rock to rock down the channel. The sun is darkened, and the boys have uncon- sciously uncovered their heads, as if standing in the presence- chamber of the majesty of the whole earth. ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST 257 At last this feeling begins to wear away; they begin to look around them; they find that others have been there before them. They see the names of hundreds cut in the limestone butments. A new feeling comes over their young hearts, and their knives are in their hands in an instant. " What man has done, man can do," is their watchword, while they draw themselves up, and carve their names a foot above those of a hundred full-grown men who have been there before them. They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion, except one. This ambitious youth sees a name just above his reach — a name that will be green in the memory of the world, when those of Alexander, Caesar, and Bonaparte shall be lost in oblivion. It was the name of Washington. It v/as a glorious thought of the boy, to write his name side by side with that of the great father of his country. He grasped his knife with a firmer hand, and clinging to a little jutting crag, he cuts a gain into the limestone, about a foot above where he stands; he then reaches up and cuts another for his hands. 'Tis a dangerous adventure; but as he puts his feet and hands into those gains, and draws himself up carefully to his full length, he finds himself a foot above every name chronicled in that mighty wall. W'hile his companions are regarding him with concern and admiration, he cuts his name in rude capitals, large and deep into that flinty album. His knife is still in his hand, and strength in his sinews, and a new created aspiration in his heart. Again he cuts another niche, and again he carves his name in larger capitals. This is not enough. Heedless of the entreaties of his companions, he cuts and climbs again. The grada- tions of his ascending scale grow wider apart. He now, for the first time, casts a look beneath him. Had that glance lasted a moment, that moment would have been his last. He clings with a convulsive shudder to his little niche in the rock. He is faint with severe exertion, and 858 Fl.lHU RURRITT trembling from tlu* sudilen view of the dreadful destruction to which he is exposeil. What a moment I \\'h:it n meager chance to escape destruction! There is no rctiiuing liis steps. It is impossible to ]>ut his hand into the saim- niche witii his feet, and retain his slender hold a moment. His companions instantly j)erceive this new and fearful dilemma, and await his fall with emotions that " freeze their young blood.'" He is too high, too faint, to ask fur his father and motluT, and brotlurs antl sisters. lUit one of his companions anticipates his desire. Swift as the wind, he bounds down the channel, and the situation of the ill-fated boy is told upon his father's hearth-stone. Minutes of almost eternal length roll on. The poor boy hears the hum of new and numerous voices both above and below. He can distinguish the tones of his father, who is shouting, with all the energy of despair, " William! William! don't look down! Your mother, and Henry, and Harriet, are all here, praying for you. Don't look down! Keep your eyes towards the top! " The boy didn't look down. His eye is fixed like a flint towards heaven, and his young heart on Him who reigns there. He grasps again his knife. Pie cuts another niche, and another foot is added to the hundreds that remove him from the reach of human help from below. How carefully he uses his wasting blade! How anxiously he selects the softest places in that vast pier! How he economizes his physical powers, resting a moment at each gain he cuts! How every motion is watched from below ! The sun is half way down the west. The lad has made fifty additional niches in that mighty wall, and now finds himself directly under the middle of that vast arch of rocks, earth, and trees. Fifty more gains must be cut before the longest rope can reach him. His wasting blade strikes again into the lime- stone. The boy is emerging painfully, foot by foot, from under that lofty arch. Spliced ropes are ready in the hands ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST 259 of those who are leaning over the outer edge of the bridge. Two minutes more and all must be over. The blade is worn to the last half inch. The boy's head reels; his eyes are starting from their sockets. His last hope is dying in his heart; his life must hang on the next gain he cuts. That niche is his last. At the last faint gash he makes, his knife — his faithful knife — falls from his little nerveless hand, and ringing along the precipice, falls at his mother's feet. An involuntary groan of despair runs like a death-knell through the channel below, and all is still as the grave. At the height of nearly three hundred feet, the devoted boy lifts his hopeless heart, and closes his eyes to commend his soul to God. 'Tis but a moment — there! one foot swings off — he is reeling — trembling — toppling over into eternity! Hark! a shout falls on his ear from above! The man who is lying with half his length over the bridge has caught a glimpse of the boy's head and shoulders. Quick as thought the noosed rope is within reach of the sinking youth. No one breathes. With a faint convulsive effort, the swooning boy drops his arms into the noose. Darkness comes over him, and with the words " God ! — Mother ! " on his lips, the tightening rope lifts him out of his last shallow niche. Not a lip moves while he is dangling over that fearful abyss; but when a sturdy Virginian reaches down and draws up the lad, and holds him up in his arms before the tearful, breathless multitude, such shouting — such leaping and weeping for joy ' — never greeted the ear of a human being so recovered from the yawning gulf of eternity. »6o UII.IIAM MKINt.r.Y GRANT Hy Wiit.iAM MrKlNI.FY, Lawyer, Statesman; Member of Congress, iSyo-cjO; l.ovorimr (if Ohio, i8()i 05; rnsiileiit of tlie Uiiifed States, 1897 — . Horn in Nilcs. < >liio. iS4^. Krom a speecli made at Onlena, 111., April 2;, i-.jj. Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from " McKinlcy's Masterpieces," published by 1,. C. Page & Co , Boston. With no ciisparagennMit to otIicr.><, two names ri.sc above all tin; rest in American history since (ieoru^e Washington — transcendently above them. They are Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant. Each will be remembered for what he ilid and accomplished for his race and for mankintl. Lincoln proclaimed liberty to four million slaves, and upon his act invited "the considerate judgment of mankind and tlie gracious favor of Almighty God." He has received the warm approval of the one, and I am sure he is enjoying the generous benediction of the other. His was the greatest, mightiest stroke of the war. Grand on its humanitv side, masterly in its military aspect, it has given to his name an imperishable place among men. Grant gave irresistible power and efficacy to the Proclamation of Liberty. The iron shackles which Lincoln declared should be loosed from the limbs and souls of the black slaves. Grant with his matchless army melted and destroyed in the burning glories of the war; and the rebels read the inspired decree in the Hashing guns of his artillery, and they knew what Lincoln had decreed Grant would execute. Only a few years ago, in one of his journeys through the South, when he was receiving a great ovation, some colored men crowded his hotel to look into the face and to grasp the hand of their great deliverer. To this intrusion objection was made, and the colored men were about to be ejected, when the General appeared, and in his quiet way, full of earnest feeling, said: " Where I am they shall come also." He believed in the brotherhood of man, in the political CR/1NT 26l equality of all men; he had secured that with his sword, and was prompt to recognize it in all places and everywhere. But, my friends, Death had marked him for a victim. He fought Death with his iron will and his old-time courage, but at last yielded, the first and only time the great soldier was ever vanquished. He had routed every other foe, he had triumphed over every other enemy, but this last one con- cjuered him, as in the end he conquers all. He was not an old man when he died; but, after all, what a completed life was his! Mightier events and mightier achievements were never crowded into a single life before, and he lived to place them in enduring form, to be read by the millions living and the millions yet unborn. Then laying down his pen, he bowed resignedly before the Angel of Death, saying: " If it is God's providence that I shall go now, I am ready to obey His will without a murmur." — Great in life, majestic in death! He needs no monument to perpetuate his fame; it will live and glow with increased luster so long as liberty lasts and the love of liberty has a place in the hearts of men. Every soldiers' monument throughout the North, now standing or hereafter to be erected, will record his worth and work as well as those of the brave men who fought by his side. His most lasting memorial will be the work he did, his most en- during monument the Union which he and his heroic associates saved, and the priceless liberty they secured. Surrounded by a devoted family^ wath a mind serene and a heart resigned, he passed over to join his fallen comrades beyond the river, on another field of glory. Above him in his chamber of sickness and death hung the portraits of Washington and Lincoln, whose disembodied spirits in the Eternal City were watchjng and waiting for him who was to complete the immortal trio of America's first and best loved; and as the earthly scenes receded from his view, and the celestial appeared, I can imagine those were the first to greet his sight and bid him welcome. M'.> l:MM.-1 HUNTINGTON N.4SON \Vc arc not a nation of luTo-worshipcrs. Wc arc a nation of generous freemen. Wc bow in affectionate reverence and with most grateful hearts to these immortal names, Washing- ton, Lincoln, ami Cirant, antl will guard with sleepless vigilance their mighty work and cherisli their memories ever- more. UNTER DEN LINDEN June 16, I "^7 1 By Emma IlrNTtNOTON Nason, Poet. Bom in Ilallowell, Me., 1845. Krom " The 'lower with Legends and Lyrics," published, in i8->5, by Houghtoiv Mifflin & Co., Boston and New York. By permission of the author. L " Victory! " This was the first that she read: And then, " Heart's dearest," the soldier had said. Tracing the lines in a faltering way, " Heart's dearest, the hospital surgeons say That I shall be out of their hands to-day. 'Twas an ugly wound, but the danger is past; I am coming to you, at last — at last! Unter den Linden! Yes, we shall be there! Come with a rose in your dark shining hair — Not the white blossoms )'Ou once used to wear. White roses are meet for those who are slain ; The rich wine-red, for the welcome, remain, Red as our life-blood, and sweet as the air That floated from Eden, sweet and as rare; Greet me with a wine-red rose in your hair! Germania triumphs! Come with a song; And can you, dear heart, be patient and strong ? For slow is the crutch and ghastly the sling. And gone is the hand that once wore the ring — Your ring, the one pledge I promised to bring! I yield them ungrudged, with life, should need be. But hold fast my troth to country and thee." THE SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES OF OUR COUNTRY. 263 II. In through the Brandenburg gateway they come. With clashing of arms and clangor of drum! Uiiter den Linden! How proudly thy shade Quivers and thrills with the wild cannonade. As wild as the battle's carnival made! Borne on its passion we catch up the song; Thrilling and swelling, it thunders along; Hear it, ye nations afar o'er the sea! " Germania triumphs! Germania free — Free and united through glad victory! " Heroes of Saarbriick and INIetz and Sedan Tell how the torrent of victory ran ! Fair hands of women shall bring from afar Hundreds of flowers for each bloody scar — Scars that far dearer than rare jewels are. ' ' The Emperor comes ! ' ' for his guardsmen make way ! — " A woman, struck faint, has fallen," ye say ? And the troops, in their jubilant grand review, March on through the linden-grown avenue; But she in her death-swoon still lieth there, A woman stone-white, yet passingly fair. With the bloom of a wine-red rose in her hair. Ah ! what did ye hear the guardsman had said ? " Only a man, in the hospital, dead! " THE SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES OF OUR COUNTRY By Charles William Eliot, Educator; President of Harvard Univer- sity, 1S69. Born in Boston, Mass., 1834. Delivered at the Washington Centennial in New York York City, April 30, 1889. That brief phrase — the schools and colleges of the United States — is a formal and familiar one; but what imagination can grasp the infinitude of human affections, powers, and wills which it reall/ comprises ? Imagine the eight million 264 CHMRIFS U'lIl-l.-tM lU.lOT cliiKlrcn actually in attendance at the lUnicntary selmols of the country broup;ht before your view. They would lill lliis great house sixteen luindred times, and every tiim it wmiKl be packed with bounillcss hives and hojies. I'.ach unit in that mass speaks of a glad birth, a brightened home, a mother's i)ondcring heart, a fatlur's careful joy. In all that multituile every little heart boumls and every eye shines at the nami' of Washington. Next i>icture to yourselves the sixty thousand students in colleges and universities — selected youth of keen intelligence, wide reading, and high ambition. They are able to compare Washington with the greatest men of other times and coun- tries, and to appreciate the unique quality of his renown. They can set him beside the heroes of romance and history — beside David, Alexander, Pericles, Cxsar, Charlemagne, John Hampden, William the Silent, Peter of Russia, and Frederick the Great, only to find him a nobler human type than anv one of them, completer in his nature, happier in liis cause, and more fortunate in the great issues of his career. They recognize in him a simple, stainless, and robust character, which served with dazzling success the precious cause of human progress through liberty, and so stands, like the sunlit peak of the ]\Iattcrliurn, unmatched in all the world. And what shall I say on behalf of the three hundred and sixty thousand teachers of the United States } They deserve some mention to-day. None of them are rich or famous; most of them are poor, retiring, and unnoticed; but it is they who are building a perennial monument to \\'ashington. It is they who give him a million-tongued fame. They make him live again in the young hearts of successive generations, and fix his image there as the American ideal of a public servant. It is through the schools and colleges and the national literature that the heroes of any people win lasting renown : and it is through these same agencies that a nation is rao^'ied AGAINST FLOGGING IN THE NAl/Y 265 into the likeness of its heroes. This local commemoration of one great event in the life of Washington and of the United States is well ; but it is as nothing compared with the incessant memorial of him which the schools and colleges uf the country maintain from generation to generation. What a reward is Washington's! What an influence is hi:-, and will be! One mind and will transfused by sympathetic instruction into millions, one character a standard for millions, one life a pattern for all public men, teaching what greatness is, and what the pathway to undying fame. AGAINST FLOGGING IN THE NAVY By Robert Field Stockton, Commodore in the United States Navy; United States Senator from New Jersey, 1851-53. Born at Princeton, N. J., 1795; died at Princeton, 1866. Taken from a speech delivered in the Senate, January 7, 1852 ; the Senate having un- :ier consideration a memorial from citizens of the United States praying that the practice of flogging in the U. S. Navy should not be abolished. See Cotii^! essioiuii Clol/e, Jan. 7, 1S52. There is one broad proposition upon which I stand. It is this: That an American sailor is an American citizen, and that no American citizen shall, with my consent, be sub- jected to the infamous punishment of the lash. If, when a citizen enters the service of his country, he is to forego the protection of those laws for the preservation of which he is willing to risk his life, he is entitled, in all justice, humanity, and gratitude, to all the protection that can be extended to him, in his peculiar circumstances. He ought, certainly, to be protected from the infliction of a punishment which stands condemned by the almost universal sentiment of his fellow citizens; a punishment which is proscribed in the best prison-government, proscribed in the schoolhouse, and proscribed in the best government on earth — that of parental domestic affection. Yes, sir, expelled from the social circle, from the schoolhouse, the prison-house, and the Army, it finds defenders and champions nowhere but in the Navy! »66 ROBl-RT FIFin STOCKTON Look to your histi)ry, — tliat part d it wliich the world knows by heart, — and you will Ihul on its hiijj^htcst page the glorious achievements of the Aiiurican sailor. NN'hatevcr his country lias ilone to disgrace liini ami break his sjjirit, he has never disgraced her; he has always been ready to serve her; he always /nts served her faithfully ami effectually, lie has often been weighed in the bahxnce, and never found wanting. The only fault ever found with him is that he sometimes fights ahead of liis orders. The world has no match for him, man for man ; and he asks no odds, and he cares for no odds, when the cause of humanity, or the glory of his country, calls him to fight. Who, in the darkest days of our Revolution, carried your flag into the very chops of the British Channel, bearded the lion in his den, and woke the echoes of old Albion's hills by the thunders of his cannon and the shouts of his triumph ? It was the American sailor. And the names of John Paul Junes, and the Bon Homme Richard, will go down the annals of time forever. \N'ho struck the first blow that humbled the Barbary flag, — which, for a hundred years, had been the terror of Christen- dom, — drove it from the INIediterranean, and put an end to the infamous tribute it had been accustomed to extort .f" It was the American sailor. And the name of Decatur and his gallant companions will be as lasting as monumental brass. In your War of 1812, when your arms on shore were covered by disaster, — when Winchester had been defeated, when the Army of the Northwest had surrendered, and when the gloom of despondency hung like a cloud over tlie land, — who first relit the fires of national glory, and made the welkin ring with the shouts of victory .' It was the American sailor. And the names of Hull and the Constitution will be remem- bered, as long as we have left anything worth remembering. That was no small event. The wand of Mexican prowess was broken on the Rio Grande. The wand of British invincibility was broken when the flag of the Guerriere came down. That one event was worth more to the Republic CLAUDIUS AND CYNTHIA 267 than all the money which has ever been expended for the Navy. Since that day, the Navy has had no stain upon its escutcheon, but has been cherished as your pride and glory. And the American sailor has established a reputation through- out the world, — in peace and in war, in storm and in battle, — for heroism and prowess unsurpassed. He shrinks from no danger, he dreads no foe, and yields to no superior. No shoals are too dangerous, no seas too boisterous, no climate too rigorous for him. The burning sun of the tropics can- not make him effeminate, nor can the eternal winter of the polar seas paralyze his energies. Foster, cherish, develop these characteristics by a generous and paternal government. Excite his emulation and stimulate his ambition by rewards. But, above all, save him, save him from the brutalizing lash, and inspire him with love and confidence for your service — and then there is no achievement so arduous, no conflict so desperate, in which his actions will not shed glory upon his country. And when the final struggle comes, as soon it will come, for the empire of the seas, you may rest with entire confidence in the persuasion that victory will be yours. CLAUDIUS AND CYNTHIA (Abridged) By Maurice Thompson, Civil Engineer, Lawyer, Essayist, Novelist, Poet. Born in Fairfield, Intl., 1844. Taken from Scrz'iner's Monthly for February, 1870. It is interesting to note in con- nection with this selection that Mr. Thompson is a skillful archer. The title of one of his books is " The Witchery of Archery." It was in the mid-splendor of the reign of the Emperor Commodus. Especially desirous of being accounted the best swordsman and the most fearless gladiator of Rome, he still better enjoyed the reputation of being the incomparable archer. This being true, it can w^ell be understood how Claudius, by publicly boasting that he was a better archer -^'S MAURICE THOMPSON than C'ommoilus, liaii broui^ht ui)on hiinstif the calamity of a i>ublic execution. lUit not even Nero would have thought of bringing the girl to her lieath for the fault of the lover. (.lauilius and his young bride had been arrested together at their wedding-feast, and dragged to separate dungeons to await the Kmperor's will. The rumor was abroad that a most startling scene would be enacted in the circus. The result was that all the seats were filled with people eager to witness some harrowing scene of death. Commodus himself, surrounded by a great number ol favorites, sat on a richly cushioned throne about midway one side of the inclosure. All was still, as if the multitude were breathless with expectancy. Presently out from one of the openings Claudius and his young bride — their hands bound behind them — were led forth upon the arena and forced to walk around the entire circumference of the place. At length the giant circuit was completed, and the two were left standing on the sand about one hundred and twenty feet from the Emperor, who nov.' arose and in a loud voice said : " Behold the condemned Claudius, and Cynthia whom he lately took for his wife. They are condemned for the great folly of Claudius, that the Roman people may know that Commodus reigns supreme. The crime for which they are to die is a great one. Claudius has publicly proclaimed that he is a better archer than I, Commodus, am. I am the Emperor and the incomparable archer of Rome : whoever disputes it dies, and his wife dies with him. It is decreed." The youth, erect and powerful, set his thin lips firmly and kept his eyes looking straight out before him. Many knew him as a trained athlete and especially as an almost unerring archer; they knew him, too, as a brave soldier, a true friend, an honorable citizen. Little time remained for such reflec- tions as might have arisen, for immediately a large cage, containing two fiery-eyed and famished tigers, was brought CLAUDIUS AND CYNTHIA 269 into the circus and placed before the victims. The hungry beasts were excited to madness by the smell of fresh blood, which had been smeared on the bars of the cage for that purpose. They growled and howled, lapping their fiery tongues and plunging against the door. Look for a brief moment upon the picture: fifty thousand faces thrust forward gazing; the helpless couple lost to everything but the black horrors of death, quivering from head to foot. Note the spotless beauty and unselfish love of the girl. Mark well the stern power of the young man's face. And now, O, now look at the bounding tigers! See how one leads the other in the awful race to the feast. The girl is nearer than the man. She will feel the claws and fangs first. How wide those red, frothing mouths gape! How the red tongues loll ! The sand files up in a cloud from the armed feet of the leaping brutes. There came from the place where Commodus stood a clear musical note, such as might have come from the gravest cord of a lyre, if powerfully stricken, closely followed by a keen far-reaching hiss, like the whisper of fate, ending in a heavy blow. The multitude caught breath and stared. The foremost tiger, while yet in mid-air, curled itself up with a gurgling cry of utter pain, and with blood gushing from its eyes, ears, and mouth, fell heavily down dying. Again the sweet, insinuating twang, the hiss, the stroke. The second beast fell dead or dying upon the first. This explained all. The Emperor had demonstrated his right to be called the Royal Bowman of the World. Had the tyrant been content to rest here, all would have been well. While yet the beasts were struggling with death he gave orders for a shifting of the scenes. He was insatiable. For the first time during the ordeal the youth's eyes moved. The girl, whose back was turned toward the beasts, was still waiting for the crushing horror of their assault. A soldier now approached the twain, and, seizing the arm a 7© M/iURICF. THOMPSON of each, Icil tliem some paces further away from tlic I'Jiiperor, whore he statiom-d thcin facinj:^ each oilier, and with their sides to Coininodiis, wlio was preparing; to slioot again. Before drawing his bow, he cried aloiul, " Behold, ("oni- inodus will pierce the centre of the ear of each! " The lovers were gazing into each other's eyes still as statues, as if frozen by the cold fascination of death. C'oni- modus drew his bow with tremendous power, fetching the cord back to his breast, where for a moment it was held without the faintest (piiver of a muscle. Ilis eyes were fixed and cold as steel. The arrow fairly shrieketl through the air, so swift was its flight. The girl, filled with ineffable pain, flung up lier white arms, the rent thongs flying away in the paroxysms of her final struggle. The arrow struck in the sand beyond. Something like a divine smile flashed across her face. Again the bow-string rang, and the arrow leaped away to its thrill- ing work. What a surge the youth made! The cord leaped from Ins wrists, and he clasped the falling girl in his embrace. All eyes saw the arrow hurtling along the sand after its mission was done. Commodus stood like fate, leaning for- ward to note the perfectness of his execution. His eyes blazed with eager, heartless triumph. " Lead them out, and set them free, and tell it everywhere that Commodus is the incomparable bowman." And then, when all at onca it was discovered that he had not hurt the lovers, but had merely cut in two with his arrows the cords that bound their wrists, a great stir began, and out from a myriad overjoyed and admiring hearts leaped a storm of thanks, while, with the clash and bray of musical instruments, and with voices like the voices of winds and seas, and with a clapping of hands like the rending roar of tempests, the vast audience arose as one person, and applauded the Kmperor. RECEiyiNG THE MASTER'S DEGREE FROM HARl^ARD 271 ON RECEIVING THE MASTER'S DEGREE FROM HARVARD By Booker Taliaferro Washington, Educator; Principal of Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute. Born a slave near Hale's Ford, Va., in 1857 or 1858. A speech made at Harvard Commencement, June 24, 1896. See Harvard Gradu- ates' Mixgaziiie, September, 1896. It would in some measure relieve embarrassment if I could in even a slight degree feel myself worthy of the great honor which you do me to-day. Why 3'ou have called me from the Black Belt of the South, from among my humble people, to share in the honors of this occasion, is not for me to explain; and yet it may not be inappropriate for me to suggest that it seems to me that one of the most vital questions that touch our American life is how to bring the strong, the wealthy, and the learned into helpful touch with the poorest, most ignorant, and humble, and at the same time make the one appreciate the vitalizing, strengthening influence of the other. How shall we make the dwellers in the mansions on yon Beacon Street feel and see the need of the spirits in the lowliest cabin in Alabama cotton-fields or Louisiana sugar- bottoms ? This problem Harvard University is solving, not by bringing itself down, but by bringing the masses up. If through me, a humble representative, seven millions of my people in the South might be permitted to send a message to Harvard, — Harvard, that offered up on death's altar Shaw and Russell and Lowell and scores of others that we might have a free and united country, — that message would be, "Tell them that the sacrifice was not in vain. Tell them, by the way of the shop, the field, the skilled hand, habits of thrift and economy, by the way of the indus- trial school and college, we are coming up. We are crawling up, working uj), yea, bursting up, — often through oppres- sion, unjust discrimination, and prejudice; but through them all we are coming up, and, with proper habits, intelligence. 2 7 -' liOOKrK T. •/ /. /. ■iri:RKO I / '. IS/ //,\'(; n )s' aiul i>roj>iTty, tlicrc is no j)i)\vcr on earth ili.it cii j)er- inancntly st.iy our prot^rcss. " If my life in the past lias meant anything; in the lifting up of my j)eopie, and the bringing about of better relations between your race and mine, I assure you from this day it will mean doubly more. In the economy of God there is but one stantlard by which an individual can succeed, — there is but one for a race. This country demands that every race measure itself by the .Vmerican standard. By it a race must rise or fall, succeed or fail, and in the last analysis mere sentiment counts for little. During the next half-century and more, my race must continue passing through the severe American crucible. We are to be tested in our patience, our forbearance, our perseverance, our power to endure wrong, to withstand temptations, to economize, to acquire and use skill; our ability to compete, to succeed in com- merce, to disregard the superficial for the real, the appearance for the substance ; to be great and yet small, learned and yet simple, high and yet the servant of all. This, this is the passport to all that is best in the life of our Republic, and the negro must possess it or be debarred. While we are thus being tested, I beg of you to remember that wherever our life touches yours we help or we hinder. Wherever your life touches ours you make us stronger or weaker. No member of your race in any part of our countr\ can harm the meanest member of mine without the proudest and bluest blocd in Massachusetts being degraded. When Mississippi commits crime, New England commits crime, and in so much lowers the standard of your civilization. There is no escape, — man drags man down, or man lifts man up. In working out our destiny, while the main burden and center of activity must be with us, we shall need, in a large rtieasure, in the years that are to come, as we have had in the past, the help, the encouragement, the guidance that the strong can give the weak. Thus helped, we of both races in the South shall soon throw off the shackles of racial and THE SOLDIER BOY 273 sectional prejudice and rise, as Harvard University has risen and as we all should rise, above the clouds of ignorance, nar- rovv^ness, and selfishness into that atmosphere, that pure sun- shine, where it will be our highest ambition to serve man, our brother, regardless of race or past condition. THE SOLDIER BOY By John Davis Long, Lawyer, Author; Governor of Massachusetts, 1882-88; Secretary of the Navy, 1897—. Born in Buckfield, Maine, 1838. From an oration delivered before the Grand Army Posts of Suffolk County, Boston, May 30, 1SS2. Reprinted, by permission of the author, from " After Dinner and Other Speeches," published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, copyright, 1895, by John D. Long. Memorial Day will hereafter gather around it not only the love and tears and pride of the generations of the people, but more and more, in its inner circle of tenderness, the linking memories of every comrade, so long as one survives. As the dawn ushers it in, tinged already with exquisite flush of hastening June, and sweet with the bursting fragrance of her roses, the wheels of time will each year roll back, and lo! John Andrew is at the State-house, inspiring Massachusetts with the throbbing of his own great heart; Abraham Lincoln, wise and patient and honest and tender and true, is at the nation's helm; the North is one broad blaze; the boys in blue are marching to the front; the fife and drum are on every breeze; the very air is patriotism; Phil Sheridan, forty miles away, dashes back to turn defeat to victory; Farragut, lashed to the mast-head, is steaming into Mobile Harbor; Hooker is above the clouds, — ay, now indeed forever above the clouds; Sherman marches through Georgia to the sea; Grant has throttled Lee with the grip that never lets go; Richmond falls; the armies of the Republic pass in that last great review at Washington; Custer's plume is there, but Kearney's saddle is empty; and, now again, our veterans come marching home to receive the welcome of a grateful 2 74 JOHN iK-triS l.ONC people, and to staek in Dorie Hall the tattired Hags wliiih Massachusetts forever Ijence shall wear above her heart. In nieniorv of the tieaci, in honor ol the living, for insjiira- tion to our ehiUlnn, we gather to-day to deck the graves of our patriots with flowers, to j)ledge conniionwealth and town and citizen to fresh rccitgnition of tiie surviving soldier, anil to picture yet again the romance, the reality, the glory, the sacrifice of his service. As if it were but yesterday you recall him. He had but turned twenty. The exquisite tint of youthful health was on his cheek. His pure heart shone from frank, outspeaking eyc^. His fair hair clustered frr)ni beneath his cap. He had pulled a stout oar in the college race, or walked the most graceful athlete on the village green. He had just entered on the vocation of his life. The doorway of his home at this season of the year was bril- liant in the dewy morn with the clambering vine and fragrant flower, as in and out he went, the beloved of mothers and sisters, and the ideal of a New England youth. . . . And when the drum beat, when the first martyr's blood sprinkled the stones of Baltimore, he took his place in the ranks and went forward. You remember his ingenuous and glowing letters to his mother, written as if his pen were dipped in his very heart. How novel seemed to him the routine of service, the life of camp and march! How eager the wish to meet the enemy and strike his first blow for the good cause! What pride at the promotion that came and jnit its chevron on his arm or its strap upon his shoulder! , . . They took him i)risoner. He wasted in Libby and grew gaunt and haggard with the horror of his sufferings and with pity for the greater horror of the sufferings of his comrades who fainted and died at his side. . . . He tunneled the earth and escaped. Hungry and weak, in terror of recapture, he followed by night the pathway of the railroad. He slept in thickets and sank in swamps. He saw the glitter of horse- men who pursued him. He knew the bloodhound was en his track. He reached the line; and, with his hand grasping THE UNKNOH-'N Sri'.AKER 275 at freedom, they caught and took him back to captivity. He was exchanged at last ; and you remember, when he came home on a short furlough, how manly and war-worn he had grown. But he soon returned to the ranks and to the welcome of his comrades. They recall him now alike with tears and pride. In the rifle-pits around Petersburg you heard his steady voice and firm command. Some one who saw him then fancied that he seemed that day like one who forefelt the end. But there was no flinching as he charged. He had just turned to give a cheer when the fatal ball struck him. There was a convulsion of the upward hand. His eyes, pleading and loyal, turned their last glance to the flag. His lips parted. He fell dead, and at nightfall lay with his face to the stars. Home they brought him, fairer than Adonis over whom the goddess of beauty wept. They buried him in tlie village churchyard under the green turf. Year by year his comrades and his kin, nearer than comrades, scatter his grave with flowers. Do you ask who he was .'' He was in every regiment and every company. He went out from every Massachusetts village. He sleeps in every Massachusetts burying-ground. Recall romance, recite the names of heroes of legend and song, but there is none that is his peer. THE UNKNOWN SPEAKER By George Lippard, Author. Born near Yellow Springs, Penn., 1822; died in Philadelphia, 1854. It is the P'ourth day of July, 1776. In tlie old State- house in the city of Philadelphia are gathered half a hundred men to strike from their limbs the shackles (.1 jjiitish despotism. There is silence in the hall — every face is turneil toward the door where the committee of three, who liave been out all night penning a parchment, are soon to enter. The door opens, the committee appear. 276 croRCE iirr.iRD Tlic throe advance to the table. The paicliineiit is hiul there. Shall it be signed or not ? A fierce debate ensues. But still there is doubt, and tme pale-faced man whispers sonic- thing about axes, scaffolds, and a gibbet. " (iil>bet .' " echoes a fierce, bold voice through the hall, " Gibbet .' They may stretch our necks on all the gibbets in the land; they may turn every rock into a scaffold; every tree into a gallows; every home into a grave, and yet the words of that parchment there can never die! They may pour our blood on a thousand scaffolds, and yet from every drop that dyes the axe a new champion of freedom will spring into birth. The British king may blot out the stars of God from the sky, but he cannot blot out His words written on that parchment there. The works of God may perish; His words, never! " The words of this declaration will live in the world long after our bones are dust. To the mechanic in his workshoj) they will speak hope; to the slave in the mines, freedom; but to the coward-kings these words will speak in tones of warning they cannot choose but hear. " They will be terrible as the flaming syllables on Bel- shazzar's wall! They will speak in language startling as the trump of the Archangel, saying: * You have trampled on mankind long enough! At last the voice of human woe has pierced the ear of God, and called His judgment down! You have waded to thrones through rivers of blood; you have trampled on the necks of millions of fellow beings. Now kings, now purple hangmen, for yoti come the days of axes and gibbets and scaffolds. ' "Sign that parchment! Sign, if the next moment the gibbet's rope is about your neck! Sign, if the next minute this hall rings with the clash of the falling axes! Sign by all }our hopes in life or death as men, as husbands, as fathers, brothers: sign your names to the parchment, or be accursed forever! THE UNKNOIVN SPEAKER 277 " Sign, and not only for yourselves, but for all ages, for that parchment will be the text-book of freedom — the Bible of the rights of men forever. Nay, do not start and whisper with surprise! It is truth, your own hearts witness it; God proclaims it. Look at this strange history of a band of exiles and outcasts suddenly transformed into a people — a handful of men weak in arms — but mighty in God-like faith; nay, look at your recent achievements, your Bunker Hill, your Lexington, and then tell me if you can that God has not given America to be free! " As I live, my friends, I believe that to be His purpose! Yes, were my soul trembling on the verge of eternity, were this hand freezing in death, were this voice choking in the last struggle, I would still with the last impulse of that soul, with the last wave of that hand, with the last gasp of that voice, implore you to remember this truth— God has given America to be free! Yes, as I sank into the gloomy shadows of the grave, with my last faint whisper I would beg you to sign that parchment for the sake of the millions whose very breath is now hushed in intense expectation as they look up to you for the awful words ' You are free! The unknown speaker fell exhausted in his seat; but the work was done. A wild murmur runs through the hall. " Sign! " There is no doubt now. Look how they rush forward! Stout- hearted John Hancock has scarcely time to sign his bold name before the pen is grasped by another — another and another. Look how the names blaze on the parchment ! Adams and Lee, Jefferson and Carroll, Franklin and Sher- man ! And now the parchment is signed. Now, old man in the steeple, now bare your arm and let the bell speak! Hark to the music of that bell! Is there not a poetry in that sound, a poetry more sublime than that of Shakespeare and Milton ? Is there not a music in tliat sound that reminds vou of those sublime tones which broke 278 rKf:in:Rn: Ri:\t: coidirt from angtl lips wlicn tin.- news of the cliild Jesus burst cm the hill-tops of Ik thlehcin ? For the tones of that bell now conic pealing, pealing, pealing, " Independence now and Inde- pendence forever. THE CITY OF NEW YORK Bv FRinKKii- Kvsi-. C'oiukk r. l.awver. Kh\l oiit-iloor. TIk- air was staiu'il witli black: Night hail conic early, on the siorni-cloud's back: And everything kept ilinuning to the sight, Save when the clouds threw their electric light; When, for a llash, so clean-cut was the view, Id think I saw her, — knowing 'twas nt)t true. Tlirougli my small clearing dash'd wide sheets of spray, As if the ocean waves had lost their way; Scarcely a pause the thunder-battle made, In the bold clamor of its cannonade. And she, while I was shelter' d, dry, and warm, Was somewhere in the clutches of this storm! She who, when storm-frights found her at her best, Had always hid her white face on my breast ! My dog, who'd skirmish'd round me all the day, Now crouch'd and whimpering, in, a corner lay. I dragg'd him by the collar to the wall, I press'd his quivering muzzle to a shawl, — " Track her, old boy! " I shouted; and he whined, Match'd eyes with me, as if to read my mind, Then with a yell went tearing through the wood. I follow'd him, as faithful as I could. No pleasure-trip was that, through flood and flame We raced with death ; we hunted noble game. All night we dragg'd the woods without avail; The ground got drench 'd, — we could not keep the trail. Three times again my cabin home I found, Half hoping she might be there, safe and sound ; But each time 'twas an unavailing care: My house had lost its soul: she was not there! When, climi)ing the wet trees, next morning-sun I^ugh'd at the ruin that the night had done. Bleeding and drench'd, by toil and sorrow bent. Back to what used to be mv home I went. 77//; I'lRST SETTLER'S STORY 285 But, as I near'd our little clearing-ground, — Listen! — I heard the cow-bell's tinkling sound. The cabin door was just a bit ajar; It gleam'd upon my glad eyes like a star. " Brave heart," I said, " for such a fragile form! She made them guide her homewanl through the storm! " Such pangs of joy I never 'felt before. " You've come! " I shouted, and rush'd through the door. Yes, she had come, — and gone again. She lay With all her young life crush'd and wrench'd away, — Lay, the heart-ruins of our home among, Not far from where I kill'd her with my tongue. The rain-drops glitter'd 'mid her hair's long strands, The forest thorns had torn her feet and hands, And 'midst the tears — brave tears — that one could trace Upon the pale but sweetly resolute face, I once again the mournful words could read, " Lve tried to do my best, — I have, indeed." And now Lm mostly done; my story's o'er; Part of it never breathed the air before. 'Tisn't over-usual, it must be allow'd. To volunteer heart-story to a crowd, And scatter 'mongst them confidential tears, But you'll protect an old man with his years; And wheresoe'er this story's voice can reach, This is the sermon I would have it preach: Boys flying kites haul in their white-wing'd birds: You can't do that way when you're flying words. '' Careful with lire," is good advice we know; " Careful with words," is ten times doubly so. Thoughts unexpress'd may sometimes fall back dead, But Ood Himself can't kilj then) wjicn they're saicj! 286 RicH^RP s.-nri-N SrORRS You li;\vf iiiv lifr-griif : do not tiiink a minute ■ Twas toKl to take up time. 'I'liero's business in it. It shevls advice: whoe'er will take and live it Is welcome to the pain it costs to give it. THE PURITAN SPIRIT Bv Richard Salter Storrs, rroaclier, Autlior, Lecturer; Pastor Church of tlie Pil^jrims, Hrooklyii, 1846-99. Born at Uraintice, Mass., 1821; died in Brooklyn, 1900. From an .iddress before the Congregational Club, P.oston, Mass., nccembcr 22, 1889. Hy permission of the publishers, The I'llgrini I'rcss, Boston and Chicago. Not for the Puritan, in his reservetl and haughty conscious- ness of supernal relations, is the dainty sumptuousness of color, the symmetric grace of molded marbles, the rhythmic reach and stately height of noble architecture, the pathos and the mystery of music. . . . He has not remembered that to some minds a relish for what is lovely in fancy and in art is as native as color to the violet, fragrance to the rose, or song to the birti: that God's own mind must eternally teem with beauty, since lie lines with it the tiny sea-shell, and tints the fish, and tones the hidden fibers of trees, and flashes it on breast and crest of flving birds, and breaks the tumbling avalanche into myriads of feathery crystals, and builds the skies in a splendor, to a rhythm, which no thought can match. . . . It is obvious, too, that with this disesteem of things esthetic has been often associated a foolish contempt for the minor elegancies of life, of letters, of personal manners, and of social equipment, with sometimes a positively dangerous disdain of the common innocent pleasures of life. . . . But if such are its deficiencies, which we may not hide, let us not forget that it has also certain magnificent qualities and superlative traits, which surely we ought, as well, to recognize. ... It has, for one thing, a masterful sincerity. , . . Men may charge the Puritan with sternness, and with THE PURITAN SPIRIT 287 being too little regardful of others- but he is not apt to be temporizing in policy, ambiguous cr diplomatic in forms of expression. . . . It is certainly to be said, too, that if the Puritan spirit is not naturally strong on the side of moral tenderness, it has a superb and shining courage, as well as a capacity for tremendous enthusiasm, and for a self-devotion conspicuous and complete. It is not afraid of what man can do, so long as it feels that God and His righteousness are on its side. It has been frankly and gladly ready to face not only the fierce charge of cavaliers, but loneliness, exile, the sea, and the wilderness, the unknown perils of a soil and an air which civilization had not tried, the cruel craft of savage enemies. It has gone out from happy homes for this, and from lovely surroundings, and has not flinched before the hazard and life-long loss, any more than it had flinched before the frowning face of kings. . . . ]\Ien have made kings out of rubbish, and statesmen, so-called, out of pedants and rogues. They have tried, at any rate, to make scholars out of those too lazy to work, soldiers out of padded uniforms, philanthropists out of cranks. But it takes a strong man, and a sound one, to be developed into a Puritan. Samuel Adams was a Puritan, if ever there was one: son of a deacon in the old South Church; carefully trained in his father's ways; of whom Hutchinson said that, though he was poor, such was his inflexible disposition that no office could bribe him; whom Gage excepted by name from his offer of pardon to penitent rebels; who raised and ruled the eager democracy of the town and the State, and to whom Washington was no more than another, if he did not succeed. Colonel Abraham Davenport was a Puritan : who sat in the governor's council at Hartford on the extraordinary dark day, May 19, 1780, when chickens went to roost in the morning, and cattle came lowing from the fields, when a pall of darkness swept through the sky as if the sun had been -'^S A7C7/.-/A7* .s.-// /7:A' STOKHS siuklcnly fXtiiii;ui>lKHl, aiul wluii the Day « ii Jmlgiiunt waa triiuMiiij^ly thought to be at haiui. The House of Repre- sentatives had already adjourned, anil it was jjroposed to adjourn the council. " The Day of Judgment is at hand," saiil the C'olonel. " t)r it is not. If not, there is no occasion for adjournment. If it is, I choose to l)e found doing my duty. Bring in the candles." . . . Wendell Phillips was a Puritan: supple as an athlete, graceful as Apollo, gentle as a woman among his friends, to whom eloquence was an idiom, and the delightful grace of convcrsati*)n botli an ornament and a wea])on, but from the silver bow of whose musical lips Hew fiery shafts against whatever api)cared to him wrong, and whose white j)lume shone always in the dangerous. van of the heady figlit. . . . Here, tlien, is our dut}" j)lainiy before us: not to eulogize this spirit, but to incorporate it, and make it a ])art of our personal life. . . . We want the same temper, amid the changed world in which our personal lot has been cast, which has been in those who have stood, in all their times, against corruption in Church or in State, with hearts that no more failed, and brows that no more blanched, than does the granite before the rush of the storm; the same temper which was in our fathers two hundred and seventy years ago, when they left whatever was beautiful ?.t home, in obedience to conscience, and faced, without flinching, the sea and the savage, when they sought not high things, and were joyfully ready to be stepping-stones for others, if they might advance the kingdom of God ; but when they gave to this New England a life which has molded its rugged strength from that day to this, lias made it a monument surpassing all others which man can build, and a perj)etual living seminary of character and of power for all the land; — a life, please God! which shall never'be extinct, among the stronger souls of men, j!ll the earth itself shall have vanishetl like a dream. THll SOUTH AND HER rROBLBMS 289 THE SOUTH AND HER PROBLEMS By Hknry Woodfkn Grady. Journalist, Orator. Born at Athens, Ga., 1851; died at Atlanta, Ga., 1889. 'I'aken from a speech made at the Texas State Fair, at Dallas, October 26, 1887. .See " Henry W. Grady: His Life, Writings, and Speeches," published in i8go by The Cassell Publishing Co., New York, N. Y. A soldier lay wounded on a hard-fought field, the roar of the battle had died away, and he rested in the deadly stillness of its aftermath. . . . Off over the field flickered the lanterns of the surgeons with the litter-bearers, searching that they might take away those whose lives could be saved and leave in sorrow those who were doomed to die. . . . This poor soldier watched, unable to turn or speak as the lanterns grew near. At last the light flashed in his face, and the surgeon, with kindly face, bent over him, hesitated a moment, shook his head, and was gone, leaving the poor fellow alone with death. He watched in patient agony as they went on from one part of the field to another. As they came back the surgeon bent over him again. " I believe if this poor fellow lives to sundown to-morrow, he will get well." . . . All night long these words fell into his heart as the dews fell from the stars upon his lips: " If he but lives till sundown, he will get well." He turned his weary head to the east and watched for the coming sun. . . . He watched it inch by inch as it climbed slowly up the heavens. He thought of life, its hopes and ambitions, its sweetness and its raptures, and he fortified his soul against despair until the sun had reached high noon. It sloped down its slow descent, and his life was ebbing away and his heart was faltering, and he needed stronger stimulants to make him stantl the struggle until the end of the tKi\' had cunie. He thought uf his far-off home, the blessed house resting in tranquil peace with the roses climbing to its door, and the trees whispering to its windows, and dozing in the sunshine, the orchard and the little brook running like a silver thread through the forest. -^oo HFNRY IVOODFFN CRMDY " If I live till sundown, I will sec it again. I will walk down the shady lane; I will open the battered gate, and the mocking-bird shall call to me from the orchard, aiul 1 will drink again at the old mossy si)ring. " Ami he thought of the wife who had coini- from the neigh- boring farmhouse ami juit Irt hand sliyly in his, and hrougiit sweetness to his life and light to his home. " If I live till sundown, 1 shall look once more into her deep and loving eyes and press her brown head once more to my aching breast. And he thought of the old father, patient in prayer, bend- ing lower and lower every day under his load of sorrow and old age. "HI but live till sundown, I shall see him again and wind my strong arm about his feeble body, and his hands shall rest upon my head while the unspeakable healing of his blessing falls into my heart. " And he thought of the little children that clambered on his knees and tangled their little hands into his heart-strings, making to him such music as the world shall not equal or heaven surpass. " If I live till sundown, they shall again find my parched lips with their warm mouths, and their little fingers shall run once more over my face." And he then thought of his old mother, who gathered these children about her and breathed her old heart afresh in their brightness and attuned her old lips anew to their prattle, that she might live till her big boy came home. " If I live till sundown, I will see her again, and I will rest my head at my old place on her knees, and weep away all memory of this desolate night." And the Son of God, who had died for men, bending from the stars, put the hand that had been nailed to the cross on ebbing life and held on the stanch until the sun went down and the stars came out, and shone down in the brave man's heart and blurred in his glistening eyes, and the lanterns of the surgeons came and he was taken from death to life. The v.-orld is a battle-field strewn with the wrecks of THE SOUTH AND HER PROBLEMS 291 government and institutions, of tlieories and of faiths that have gone down in the ravage of years. On this field lies the South, sown with her problems. Upon the field swing the lanterns of God. Amid the carnage walks the Great Physician. Over the South He bends. " If ye but live until to-morrow's sundown, ye shall endure, my countrymen." Let us for her sake turn our faces to the east and watch as the soldier watched for the coming sun. Let us stanch her wounds and hold steadfast. The sun mounts the skies. As it descends to us, minister to her and stand constant at her side for the sake of our children, and of generations unborn that shall suffer if she fails. And when the sun has gone down and the day of her probation has ended, and the stars have rallied her heart, the lanterns shall be swung over the field and the Great Physician shall lead her up, from trouble into content, from suffering into peace, from death to life. . . . As I think of it, a vision of surpassing beauty unfolds to my eyes. I see a South, the home of fifty millions of people, who rise up every day to call from blessed cities, vast hives of industry and of thrift; her country-sides the treasures from which their resources are drawn ; her streams vocal with whirring spindles; her valleys tranquil in the white and gold of the harvest; her mountains showering down the music of bells, as her slow-moving flocks and herds go forth from their folds; her rulers honest and her people loving, and her homes happy and their hearthstones bright, and their waters still, and their pastures green, and her conscience clear; her wealth diffused and poor-houses empty, her churches earnest and all creeds lost in the gospel. Peace and sobriety walk- ing hand in hand through her borders; honor in her homes; uprightness in her midst; plenty in her fields; straight and simple faith in the hearts of her sons and daughters: her two races walking together in peace and contentment; sunshine everywhere and all the time, and night falling on her as frorn the wings of an unseen dove, 3Q; .-ISOS) MiH s THH VICTOR OI- MARENGO AniinYMOI's. Hascd on an acounit of tlio battle nf M.iroiijjn, hy J. '!'. IlcidlfV, in " Najxilfoii and His M.irs-lials," \\>\. I, ]llll)li^ll<•ll, in 1S46. liy Haker & Scribncr. Ni-w Vurk, N. V. Naiu)l«.'i>n was sittin.i; in his tent; luforL- liim lay a iiiap ton. Maine, 1S31. From .1 speech m.nlc 111 the Senate, January z^, 181/) ; tlic Senate liaviiijj under con- sideration resoUitiuns relative tu the massacre of Cliristians in Armenia. The good people of the United States have planted in Turkey over six million dollars for a single purpose, to im- prove and better the condition of the people of that country. They have erected as fine colleges as there arc in the ^vorld. They have been maintained by American money. They have educated thousands and hundreds of thousaiuis of Turks, or Armenians who are subject to Turkey. It has been a work of wonderful beneficence, a work which has had marvelous success, and yet it is stopped absolutely to-day. That American capital is now held up; it cannot do an ounce of work. At Harpoot the American colleges were burned down and the Americans themselves were compelled to flue for their lives. I do not know how far tlie United States of America can interfere in Turkey. I am in favor of these resolutions as an expression of our opinion upon the awful tragedies there; but if 1 had my way, after the ])Owcrs of Europe have waited now a solid year looking each other in the face with sus- picious eyes and neither one daring to make a move lest the other shall receive a benefit — I say if I had my way, I would have Congress memorialize Russia and say to her: "Take Armenia into your possession, protect the lives of those Christians there, and the United States of America will stand behind you with all of its power." That, sir, is the memorial and resolution I would have passed. Sir, American citizens are suffering there. American lives and American property are being interfered with day by day in the interior of Armenia, I know that Americans are com- pelled to flee for their lives. I know that they do not receive the protection of the Turkish Government there. THE PROTECTION OF /AMERICANS IN ARMENIA 295 Now, so far as American citizens are concerned, I would protect them at any cost. We never agreed that the Dardanelles should be closed to us. There cannot be found a line in the policy of the United States of America which ever permitted any great navigable water to be closed to our ships; not one. On the contrary, we have been ready to go to war at any time to keep navigable waters open to our ships. We have given no assent to the agreement of the concerting nations over there that the Dardanelles shall be closed. If it was necessary to protect American citizens and their property, I would order United States war-ships, in spite of foreign agreements, to sail up the Dardanelles and plant themselves before Constantinople, and there demand that American citizens should have the protection they are entitled to. Mr. President, I think one of the grandest things in the history of Great Britain, and one thing for which I admire her, is that she does protect her citizens anywhere and every- where, under all circumstances. Her mighty power is put forth for their relief and protection, and it is admirable. I do not wonder that a British citizen loves his country. Why, that little incident, which all of you are familiar with, is a marvelous illustration of that. The King of Abyssinia took a British citizen by the name of Campbell, about twenty years ago, carried him up into the fortress of Magdala, on the heights of a lofty mountain, and put him into a dungeon without cause. It took six months for Great Britain to find that out, and then she demanded his immediate release. King Theodore refused to release him. In less than ten days after the refusal was received, three thousand British soldiers and five thousand sepoys were on board ships of war sailing for the coast. When they arrived they were disembarked, were marched seven hundred miles over swamp and morass under a burning sun, then up the mountain to the very heights, in front of the frowning dungeon, and then they gave battle. They battered down the iron gates, the stone ro6 .^n.4rTi:D walls. King Tlicodore hail kilkil liinisilf with his own pistol. Then thov reached down into the dungeon with that English hanil. lifted out from it that one British citizen, carried hin> ilown the mountain heights, across the same swamjis and morass, landed him on the whitc;-winged ships and spctl him away to liis honu' in safety. That cost Great Britain twenty-live million ditllars and made (leneral Napier Lord Napier of Magdala. Now. sir, that was a great thing for a countr}- ti) dt). A country that has an eye that can sec away across an ocean, away across the many miles of land, up into the mountain heights, down into a darksome dungeon, one, just one of her thirty-eight million people, and then has an arm long enough and strong enough to reach across the same ocean, across the same swamps and marshes, up the same mountain heights, down into the same dungeon and pluck him out and carry him home to his own country a free man — in God's name who will not die for a country that will do that ? Well, IMr. President, our country will do it, and our country ought to do it. All that 1 ask of this grand Republic of ours is that it shall model itself after Great Britain, if it pleases, in this one thing, that the life of an American citizen .shall be protected wherever he may be, whether in Great Britain or in Turkey, and in no other thing whatsoever. NOT GUILTY (.Adapted I It was a sultr}- noon, and in the Jefferson ville court-house a murder trial was in progress. The prisoner, a strongly built and middle-aged negro, was evidently not impressed by any sense of peril, though already a clear ca.sc of murder had been proved against him, and only his statement and the argument remained. No testimony had been offered for the prisoner. A man had been stabbed; had fallen dead, his hands clasped over the wound. From beneath this hand, >vhcn convulsively opened, ji knife had fallen, which the NOT GUILTY 297 prisoner's wife seized and concealed. So much had been proved by the State's witnesses. The prisoner took the stand to make his statement. He declared that he had killed the deceased in self-defense, that the knife which fell from the relaxing hand was the dead man's. He told the story simply and quietly; and as he began it a tall thick set gentleman, with iron-gray hair and clad in a gray suit, entered the room and stood silently by the door. As the prisoner resumed his seat, the newcomer entered within the rail and sat down near him. The solicitor then arose and stated his case in a few cold words. This man had stabbed another wantonly. If the knife was the property of the deceased, why was it not produced in court .'' The prisoner's wife had picked it up. He passed the case to the jury, and the judge was preparing to deliver his charge when the old gentleman in gray rose to his feet. "If it please your Honor." he said, "the prisoner is entitled to the closing argument, and, in the absence of the other counsel, I beg you will mark my name for the defense." " INIr. Clerk," said the court, "mark General Robert Thomas for the defense. " The silence was absolute; the jurymen stirred in tneir seats; something new was coming. Only this old man, grim, gray, and majestically defiant, stood between the negro and the grave. Suddenly the lips of the general openea, and he said with quick but quiet energy: " The knife tnai was found by the dead man's side was his own. He had arawn it before he was stabbed. Ben Thomas is a brave man, a strong man ; he would never have used a weapon upon him unarmed. A brave man who is full of strength never draws a weapon to repel a simple assault. The defendant drew when he saw a knife in the hand of his foe, not from fear, but to equalize the combat. Why do I say he was brave ? Every man upon the jury shouldered his musket during the war. Some of you were perhaps at Gettysburg; I was there too." A murmur of applause ran around the "oom ; the old man's war record 29^ .-tO.tPTL'l) was a houschoKl legend. •' I aiul the only broliic r tliat Clod ever gave me. 1 well remember that (iglit. The enemy met our charges with a courage and a grit that could not be shaken. Line after line melted away during those days, and at last came Pickett's charge. As that magnificent command rusheil in, a negro man, a captain's body-servant, stood behinil it, shading liis eyes with his hands and waiting. " Vou know the result. Out of that vortex of llame and that storm of lead antl iron a haiulful drifteil back. From one to another this man of black skin ran; tlien turned and followed in the trail of tiie charge. On, on he went, gone one moment and in sight the next, on, up to the flaming cannon themselves. Then there he stooped and lifted a form from the ground; and then, stumbling, staggering under his load, made his way back across that field of death, until, meeting him half-way, I took the burden myself from the hero and bore it myself to safety. That burden w^as the senseless form of my brother" — here he paused, and walked rapidly towards the prisoner, his arm raised on high, his voice ringing like a trumpet, — "gashed and bleeding and mangled, but alive, thank God! And the man who bore him out, who brought him to me in his arms as a mother would a sick child, himself torn by a fragment of a shell until the great heart was almost dropping from his breast, that man, O my friends, sits under my hand. See if I speak not the truth." He tore open the prisoner's shirt, and laid bare his breast on which streamed the silent splendors of the afternoon sun; a great ragged scar marked it from left to right. " Look," he cried, " and bless the sight, for that scar was won by a slave in an hour that tried the courage of free men and put to its highest test the best manhood of the South. No man who wins such wounds can thrust a knife into an unarmed assailant. I have come seventy miles in my old age to say it." It may have been contrary to the evidence, but the jury SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS 299 without leaving their seats returned a verdict of "not guilty"; and the solicitor, who bore a scar on his face, smiled as he received it. SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS By Elijah Kellogg, Preacher, Author. Born in Portland, Me., 1813. It had been a day of triumph in Capua. Lentulus, return- ing with victorious eagles, had amused the populace with the sports of the amphitheater to an extent hitherto unknown even in that luxurious city. The shcjuts of revelry had died away; the roar of the lion had ceased; the last loiterer had retired from the banquet, and the lights in the palace of the victor were extinguished. The moon, piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dewdrop on the corselet of the Roman sentinel, and tipped the dark waters of Volturnus with wavy, tremulous light. It was a night of holy calm, when the zephyr sways the young spring leaves, and whispers among the hollow reeds its dreamy music. No sound was heard but the last sob of some weary wave, telling its story to the smooth pebbles of the beach, and then all was still as the breast when the spirit has departed. In the deep recesses of the amphitheater a band of gladiators were crowded together, — their muscles still knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam upon their lips, and the scowl of battle yet lingering upon their brows, — when Spartacus, rising in the midst of that grim assemblage, thus addressed them : " Ye call me chief, and ye do well to call him chief who, for twelve long years, has met upon the arena every shape ol man or beast that the broad Empire of Rome could furnish, and yet never has lowered his arm. And if there be one among you who can say that, ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him step forth and say it. If there be three in all your throng dare face me on the bloody sand, let them come on! 300 HI II. in Kriiocc Wt 1 w.is not always tlius, a hirril butcluT, a savage chief of savage nun. My father was a reverent man, wlu) fearcil great Jupiter, and l)rougl)t to tlie rural deities his offerings of fruits and (lowers. lie dwelt among the vine- clad rocks and olive groves at the foot of llelieon. My early life ran quiet as the brook by which I sported. 1 was taught to prune the vine, to tend the Hock; and then, at noon, 1 gathered my sherp huneath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's llutL-. 1 IkuI a friend, the son of our neighbor; we led our lloeks to tlu- same pasture, and sharetl together our rustic meal. " One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle that shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra, and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, withstood a whole army. I did not then know what war meant; but my cheeks burned. I knew not why; and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, till my mother, parting the hair from off my brow, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, and think no more of those old tales and savage wars. " That very night the Romans landed (jn our shore, and the clash of steel was heard within our cfuiet vale. 1 saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the iron hoof of the war-horse; the bleeding body of my father flung amid the blazing rafters of our dwelling. To-day I killed a man in the arena, and when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold! he was my friend! He knew me, — smiled faintly, — gasped, — and died; the same sweet smile that I had marked upon his face when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled some lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph. I told the praetor he was my friend, noble and brave, and I begged his body, that I might burn it upon the funeral-pile, and mourn over him. Ay, on my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that boon, while all the Roman maids and matrons, and those holy SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS 301 virgins tiiey call vestals, and the rabble, shouted in mockery, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale, and tremble like a very child before that piece of bleeding clay; but the prastor drew back as if I were pollution, and sternly said, ' Let the carrion rot! There are no noble men but Romans! ' And he, deprived of funeral rites, must wander, a hapless ghost, beside the waters of that sluggish river, and look — and look — ^and look in vain to the bright Elysian Fields where dwell his ancestors and noble kindred. And so must you, and so must I, die like dogs! " O Rome! Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to me! Ay, thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd-lad, who never knew a harsher sound than a flute-note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint; taught him to drive the sword through rugged brass and plaited mail, and warm it in the marrow of his foe! to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a smooth-cheeked boy upon a laughing girl. And he shall pay thee back till thy yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life- blood lies curdled! " Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are! the strength of brass in your toughened sinews; but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet odors from his curly locks, shall come, and with his lily fingers pat your brawny shoulders, and bet his sesterces upon your blood! Hark! Hear ye yon lion roaring in his den .'* 'Tis three days since he tasted meat; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon your flesh ; and ye shall be a dainty meal for him. " If ye are brutes, then stand here like fat oxen waiting for the butcher's knife; if ye are men, follow me! strike down yon sentinel, and gain the mountain-passes, and there do bloody work as did your sires at old Thermopylae! Is Sparta dead .? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that ye do crouch and cower like base-born slaves beneath your master's lash.'' O comrades! warriors! Thracians! if 30a I.4MFS Gll.LESriF Rl .-ilNF. we must fipht. let us fij^flit for ourselves; if \vc must shiuglUcr, lot us slaughter our oppressors; if we nuist ilie, Kt us die under the open sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honor- able battle." NEW ENGLAND CHARACTER By Jamks Ciii,LKSriK. Hi.aink, Journalist, Statesman, Author; iMi-mbcr of Congress from Maine, 1S63-76; Senator, 1876-81; Secretary of State, 1881, 1SS0-1892. Horn in West Brownsville, Penn., 1830; died in Washington, D. C, 1893. Taken from a sjieecli made at a banquet of the New England Society in the City of New York, December 23, 1878. Mr. President, I am not ashamed to say in any presence that in the settlement of this continent and the shaping and moulding of its institutions the leading place, the chief merit, belongs to New England. Why, every chapter of its history is weighty with momentous events. A small number came in 1620; there was no immigration to speak of till 1630; there was none after 1640. And the twenty-one thou- sand men that came in those brief years are the progenitors of a race that includes one-third of the people of the United States of America. They are the progenitors of a race of people twice as numerous as all who spoke the English language in the world when they came to these shores. The tyrannical father of Frederick the Great said to his tutor: "Instruct this young boy in history; do not dwell much on the ancients, but let him know everything that has happened in the last one hundred and fifty years." And 1 submit to you, Mr. President, that the great event which has happened in the last one hundred and fifty years — not to go back to 1620, the cause of which was planted then — has been the progress of the Anglo-Saxon race in the world. As I have said, not seven millions of people spoke the tongue when the Pilgrim Fathers landed at Plymouth; not seventeen millions spoke it when the American Revolution was born. In this one hundred years — mark it well — great has been the NEIV ENGLAND CHARACTER. 303 progress with other nations. The German Empire has been reformed, and is stronger and firmer than it ever existed before; Russia, springing from semi-barbarism, has come to be a great and first-class power; Italy has been born again, and promises something of its ancient grandeur; France has fallen and risen again, and fallen and again risen under the aid and inspiration of republican energy and patriotism. And yet, with all this progress of all these countries, the one great fact of the last hundred years is that when the Revolu- tion of the American colonies was fought, not seventeen million spoke the English tongue, and to-day one hundred million speak it. We are in the habit of deploring the hardships of the men who settled New England, and in deploring their hardships we are in the habit of alluding to them as a poor and friend- less and downcast race of men. They were anything else. They had the nerve and courage to endure hardship. But they were a class of men the like of which never before and •never since emigrated from any land. They were men of intelligence and learning; they were men of property. They were men of education and large experience in affairs; they were men who had in the literature of that day Milton and Locke and Lightfoot; they were men who had in the minis- try John Robinson and Brewster and Davenport; they were men who had in statesmanship Cromwell and Hampden and Pym ; they were men who, in all the great departments of civil polity and in all the great features of personal and indi- vidual character at that day, led the van in the English race. And when we wonder at what has been done in New England we wonder without knowledge, for those men brought with them all the elements of success that has'since crowned their efforts. And they brought with them one thing which has stuck pretty well to the end with them and their descendants, and that was the belief that if you set a principle that is founded on truth in motion it will go through. They believed, in the language of one of their most eloquent men, 304 THO.M.-IS h'R/fNClS M/.-fCJ/rK that an army of juinciplos will jn-nctratc wluro an anny oi men cannot enter. The Rliine cannot sto]^ it nor the ocean arrest its progress. It will march \o tlie horizon of the work), and it will comiuer. MEAGHER'S DEFENSE Hy Thomas Francis Mf.ac.iik.r (.Mil'licr), Irish Orator, r.rii,':nJicr-Gcn- cral ill the Unitoii Slates Army. IWii in W.itcrfonl, Ireland, 1S23; died near Furt Henton, Montana, 1867. In October, 1848, after the passage of the treason-felony act in Ireland, Meagher was convicted of treason and sentcnccfl to death. "The sentence was afterwartl commuted to banishment for life, and on July 9, 1849. he was transported to Van Diemen's Land, but he escaped in 1852 and took refuge in the United States." A jury of my countrymen have found me guilty of the crime for which I ."^tood indicted. For this I entertain not the sliglitest feeling of resentment towards them. Influenced, as thev must have been, by the charge of the Lord Chief Justice, they could have found no other verdict. What of that charge .'' Any strong observations on it I feel sincerely would ill befit the solemnity of this scene; but I would earnestly beseech of you, my Lord, — vou who preside on that bench, — when the i)assions and prejudices of this hour have passed away, to appeal to your own conscience, and to ask of it, was your charge as it ought to have been, impartial and indifferent between the subject and the crown ? I\Iy Lords, you may deem this language unbecoming in me, and perhaps it will seal my fate. But I am here to speak the truth, whatever it may cost; I am here to regret nothing I have ever done, — to retract nothing I have ever .said. I am here to crave, with no lying lij), the life I consecrate to the liberty of my country. Far from it, even here — here, where the thief, the libertine, the murderer, have left their footprints in the dust; here on this spot, where the .shadows of death surround me, and from which I see my early grave in an unanointed soil opened to receive me, — even here, MEAGHER'S DEFENSE 305 encircled by these terrors, the hope which has beckoned me to the perilous sea upon which I have been wrecked still consoles, animates, enraptures me. No; I do not despair of my poor old country, — her peace, her liberty, her glory. For that country, I can do no more than bid her hope. To lift this island up; to make her a benefactor to humanity, instead of being the meanest beggar in the world; to restore her to her native powers and her ancient constitution, — this has been my ambition, and this ambition has been my crime. Judged by the law of England, I know this crime entails the penalty of death; but the his- tory of Ireland explains this crime, and justifies it. Judged by that history, I am no criminal, — I deserve no punishment. Judged by that history, the treason of which I stand con- victed loses all its guilt, is sanctioned as a duty, will be ennobled as a sacrifice. With these sentiments, my Lord, I await the sentence of the court. Having done what I felt to be my duty, having spoken what I felt to be the truth, — as I have done on every other occasion of my short career, — I now bid farewell to the country of my birth, my passion, and my death; the country whose misfortunes have invoked my sympathies; whose factions I have sought to still; whose intellect I have prompted to a lofty aim ; whose freedom has been my fatal dream. I offer to that country, as a proof of the love I bear her, and the sincerity with which I thought and spoke and struggled for her freedom, the life of a young heart, and with that life all the hopes, the honors, the endearments, of a happy and an honored home. Pronounce, then, my Lords, the sentence which the law-s direct, and I will be prepared to hear it. I trust I shall be prepared to meet its execution. I hope to be able, with a pure heart and i)erfect composure, to appear before a higher tribunal, a tribunal where a Judge of infinite goodness as well as of justice will preside, and where, my Lords, many, many of the judgments of this world will be reversed. 3o6 li'll.l.l.-(.\f M.KIM.F.Y A CITIZEN'S RESPONSIBILITY By William McKinlky, Lawyer, Statesman; Member (jf Congress, 1S70-00; (.loveriior of Oljio, 1801-95 ; President of tlie I'nitcd States, 1807 — . Horn in Niles, Ohio, 1843. From A 5i>ecch delivered at Canton, Ohio, May 30, i8<74. Kcprintcd, by permission of the publishers, from " MclCinlcy's Masterpieces," published by L. C. Page & Co., Boston. Sumtrr ami Aiiiximattox 1 What a Hood i>f mcjiiorics these names excite! How tliey come unbickien to every soldier as he contemplates the great events of the war! The one marked the beginning, the other the close, of the great struggle. At one the shot was fired which threatened this Union and the downfall of liberty. The other proclaimed peace and wrote in history that the machinations which inaugurated war to establish a government with slaverj' as its corner-stone had failed. The one was the commencement of a struggle which drenched the nation in blood for four years; the other was its end and the beginning of a reunited country which has lasted now for twenty-nine years, and which, God grant, may last forever and forever more, blazing the pathway of freedom to the races of man everywhere, and loved by all the peoples of the world! The one marked the wild rush of mad passion; the other was the restoration of the cool judgment, disciplined by the terrible ordeal of four years of bloody war. Patriotism, justice, and righteousness triumphed. The Republic v.'nich God had ordained with- stood the shock oi battle, and you and your comrades were the willing mstruments in the hands of that divine Power that guides nations which love and serve Him. Howells, thirty-two years ago, expressed the simple and sublime faith of the soldier, and the prophecy of the outcome of the war, in words which burn in my soul whenever I pas? in review the events of that struggle. He said: " Where are you going, soldiers. With banner, gun, and sword ? " "We 're marching south to Canaan — To battle for the Lord ! " TOUSSAINT L'OUyERTURE 307 Yes, the Lord took care of us then. Will we heed His decrees and preserve unimpaired what He permitted us to win? Liberty, my countrymen, is responsibility; responsi- bility is duty; duty is God's order, and when faithfully obeyed will preserve liberty. We need have no fears of the future if we will perform every obligation of duty and of citizenship. If we lose the smallest share of our freedom, we have no one to blame but ourselves. This country is ours — ours to govern, ours to guide, ours to enjoy. We are both sovereign and subject. All are now free, subject henceforth to ourselves alone. We pay no homage to an earthly throne; only to God we bend the knee. The soldier did his work and did it well. The present and the future are with the citizen, whose judgment in our free country is supreme. TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE By Wendell Phillips, Lawyer, Orator. Born in Boston, Mass., 1811; died in Boston, 1884. From a lecture delivered in New York and Boston, December, 1861. Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from " Speeches, Lectures, and Letters of Wendell Phillips," published by Lee & Shepard, Boston. If I were to tell you the story of Napoleon, I should take it from theTips of Frenchmen, who find no language rich enough to paint the great captain of the nineteenth century. Were I to tell you the story of Washington, I should take it from your hearts, — you, who think no marble white enough on which to carve the name of the Father of his country. But I am to tell you the story of a negro, Toussaint L'Ouverture, who has left hardly one written line, I am to glean it from the reluctant testimony of his enemies, men who despised him because he was a negro and a slave, hated him because he had beaten them in battle. Cromwell manufactured his own army. Napoleon, at the age of twenty-seven, was placed at the head of the best troops .?o.s niKPFi.i run /IPS Kuropc ever saw. Cromwell mvir saw an aiinv till 1k' was forty; this man never saw a soKlii-r till lie was ti(t\-. Crom- well manufactured his own army DUt of what? I'.ii^lish- men. — tlie best blood in l'".uro])e. ( )ut of the niitidU- class of l-"nglishmen, — the best blootl of liie i>lainl. Ami with it he conquered what? Knt|;lishmen, — tiuir rciuals. 'I'liis man manufactureil his army out of what ? Out of what you call the despicable race of nej^roes, debased, denioralizetl by two hundred years of slavery, oni; humlred thousand of them imported into the island witliin four years, unable to speak a dialect intelligible even to each other. Vet out of this mixed and, as you say, despicable mass he forged a thunder- bolt, and hurled it at what ? At the proudest blood in I'.urope, the Spaniard, antl sent him home conquered; at the most warlike blood in Kurope, the French, and put them under his feet; at the ])luckiest blood in luirope, the English, and they skulked home to Jamaica. Now, if Cromwell was a general, at least this man was a soldier. Now, blue-eyed Saxon, proud of your race, go back w ith me to the commencement of the century, and select what statesman you please. Let him be either American or European ; let him have a brain the result of six generations of culture; let him have the ripest training of university routine; let him add to it the better education of practical life; crown his temples with the silver lucks of seventy years, and show me the man of Saxon lineage for whom his most sanguine admirer will wreathe a laurel rich as embittered foes have placed on the brow of this negro, — rare military skill, profound knowledge of human nature, content to blot out all party distinctions, and trust a state to the blood of its sons, — anticipating Sir Robert Peel fifty years, and taking his station by the side of Roger Williams, before any English- man or American had won the right: and yet this is the record which the history of rival States makes up for this inspired black of St. Domingo. Some doubt the courage of the negro. Go to Ilayti, and PHF.IDIPPIDES 309 stand on those fifty tliousand graves of the best soldiers France ever had, and ask them what they think of the negro's sword. I would call him Napoleon, but Napoleon made his way to empire over broken oaths and through a sea of blood. This man never broke his word. I would call him Cromwell, but Cromwell was only a soldier, and the state he founded went down with him into his grave. I would call him Washington, but the great Virginian held slaves. This man risked his empire rather than permit the slave-trade in the humblest village of his dominions. You think me a fanatic, for you read history, not with your eyes but with your prejudices. But fifty years hence, when Truth gets a hearing, the Muse of history will put Phocion for the Greek, Brutus for the Roman, Hampden for England, Fayette for France, choose Washington as the bright consummate flower of our earlier civilization, then, dipping her pen in the sunlight, will write in the clear blue, above them all, the name of the soldier, the statesman, the martyr, Toussaixt L'Ouverture. PHEIDIPPIDES By Robert Browning, Poet. Born in Caniberwell. England, 1812; died in Venice, Italy, 18S9. When Athens was threatened by the invading Persians, she sent a fleet messenger to Sparta to demand aid against a foreign foe. The runner, Pheidippides. so says the legend, ran from Athens to Sparta and back again, a distance of three hundred miles, in two days and two nights. He returned to Athens with these words: First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock ! Cods of my birthplace, daemons and heroes, honor to all! . .' . Archons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return ! See, 'tis myself here standing alive, no specter that speaks! 3 1 o ROKIIK 7" /'•A'( ) / 1 \ /,\'(; Crowned with the mvrtlc. ilnl you cominaiul nic, Athens and you, " Run, rheidippides, run and race, reach Spartii for aid! Persia has come, we are here, where is Slie ? " Your com- mand I obeyed, Kan and raced : like stul)ble, some (k-KI which a lire runs through, Was the space between city ami city: two days, two nights did I burn ( )ver the hills, umU-r the ilales, down ])its and up peaks. Into their midst 1 broke: breath served but for " Persia has come! Persia bids Athens proffer slaves'-tribute, water and earth; Razed to the ground is Eretria — but Athens, shall Athens sink, Drop into dust and die — the flower of Hellas utterly die, Die, with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the stander-by ? Answer me quick, what help ? " . . . Lo, their answer at last! " Has Persia come, — does Athens ask aid, — may Sparta befriend ? . . . Ponder that precept of old, ' Xo warfare, whatever the odds In your favor, so long as the moon, half-orbed, is unable to take Full-circle her state in the sky! ' Already she rounds to it fast: Athens must wait, patient as we — who judgment suspend." .\thens, — except for that sparkle, — thy name, I had mould- ered to ash! That sent a blaze through my blood; off, off and away was I back. Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the vile! PHEIDIPPIDES 311 Yet " O Gods of my land! " I cried, as each hillock and plain, Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them again, " Have ye kept faith, proved mindful of honors we paid you erewhile ? " . . . Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Parnes' ridge; Gully and gap, I clambered and cleared till, sudden, a bar Jutted, a stoppage of stone against me, blocking the way. . . . There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he — majestical Pan ! Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his hoof: All the great God was good in the eyes grave-kindly — the curl Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortal's awe. As, under the human trunk, the goat-thighs grand I saw. " Halt, Pheidippides! " — halt I did, my brain of a whirl: " Hither to me! Why pale in my presence ? " he gracious began : . . . " Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith In the temples and tombs! Go, say to Athens, ' The Goat- God saith : When Persia — so much as strews not the soil — is cast in the sea. Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and least. Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free and the bold! ' " . . . But enough ! He was gone. If I ran hitherto — Be sure that, the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but flew. Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the razor's edge! Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon rare! 313 ROliHRT RROH''NlNG Tlan spuko Miltiadcs. " .\n*l tlm-, l)f.-t ninnir of (jfcccc, \\"ln.>sc limbs liid duty indeed, -wliat j^ift is jiroiniscd thyself ? Tell it us straij^htway, — Athens the mother demands of her son I Rosily blushed the youth: he pauseil ; but, liftin^^ at length His eyes from the gnnintl, it seemed as he gathered the rest of his strength Into the utterance — " Pan si)oki' thus: ' I'Hr what tliou hast done C'ount on a worthy reward I lltiueforth be allowed thee release From the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in j)raise or in pelf! " I am boUi to believe, Pan Tneans reward the most to my mind! Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel may grow,— Pound — Pan helping us — Persia to dust, and, under the deep, Whelm her away forever; and then, — -no Athens to save, — Marr}- a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave, — Hie to my house and home; and, when my children shall creep Close to my knees, recount how the God was awful yet kind. Promised their sire reward to the full — rewarding him — so! " Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day: So, when Persia was dust, all cried, " To Akropolis! Run, Pheidippides, one race more! the meed is thy due! ' Athens is saved, thank Pan," go shout! " He flung down his shield, Ran like fire once more: and the space 'twixt the Fennel-field And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through. Till in he broke: " Rejoice, we conquer! " Like wine through clay, Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died — the bliss! THF. NFAV SOUTH 313 So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute Is still " Rejoice! " — his word which brought rejoicing indeed. So is Pheidippides happy forever, — the noble strong man Who could race like a God, bear the face of a God, whom a God loved so well, He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suffered to tell Such tidings, yet never decline, but, gloriously as he began. So to end gloriously — once to shout, thereafter be mute : " Athens is saved! " Pheidippides dies in the shout for his meed. THE NEW SOUTH By Henry Woodfen Grady, Journalist, Orator. Born at Athens, Ga., 185 1; died at Atlanta, 1889. Taken from a speech at a banquet of the New England Society in the city of New York, December 21, i8£6. See New York Trilun , Dec. 22, i8£6; also " Henry W. Grady: His Life, Writings, and Speeches," published, in 1890, by The Cassell Pub- lishing Co., New York, N. V. You have just been told how, in the pomp and circum- stance of war, your returning armies came back to you, marching with proud and victorious tread, reading their glory in a nation's eyes! Let me picture to you the footsore Confederate soldier as, buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was to bear testimony to his children of his fidelity and faith, he turned his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865. Think of him as ragged, half-starved, heavy-hearted, en- feebled by want and wounds, having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in silence, and lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, pulls his gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and painful journey. What does he find i* — let me ask you who went to 3»4 HHNRY lyOODl'l-N CR.IPY your homes eager to find, in the wilconu- you Inul justly earnci!, full payment for four ycurs' sucrilicc. Ik' liiuls iiis house in ruins, liis farm dcvastatcil, liis slaves free, his stock killed, his barns empty, his trade destroytei, his money worthless, his social system, feudal in its magnificence, swept away; his people without law or lei;al status; his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy on liis shoulders. Cru>hed by defeat, his very traditions are gone. Without money, credit, employment, material, or training; and beside all this, confronted with the gravest jiroblem that ever met human intelligence — the establishing of a status for the vast body of his liberated slaves. What does he do — this hero in gray with a heart of gold .'' Does he sit down in sullenness and despair ? Not for a day. Surely God, who had stripped him of his prosperity, inspired him in his adversity. As ruin was never before so over- whelming, never was restoration swifter. The soldier stepped from the trenches mto the furrow ; horses that had charged Federal guns marched before the plow, and fields that ran red with human blood in April were green with the harvest in June. From the ashes left us in 1864 we have raised a brave and beautiful city; somehow or other we have caught the sunshine in the bricks ami mortar of our homes, and have builded therein not one ignoble prejudice or memory. It is a rare privilege to have had part, however humble, in this work. Never was nobler dutj' confided to human hands than the uplifting and upbuilding of the prostrate and bleeding South — misguided, perhaps, but beautiful in her suffering, and honest, brave, and generous always. The new South is enamored of her new work. Her soul is stirred with the breath of a new life. The light of a grander day is falling fair on her face. She is thrilling with the consciousness of growing power and prosperity. As she stands upright, full-statured and equal among the people of the earth, breathing the keen air and looking out upon the expanded horizon, she understands that her emancipation THE hIElV SOUTH 315 came because through the inscrutable wisdom of God her honest purpose was crossed, and her brave armies were beaten. This is said in no spirit of time-serving or apology. The South has nothing for which to apologize. I should be unjust to the dauntless spirit of the South and to my own convictions if I did not make this plain in this presence. The South has nothing to take back. In my native town of Athens is a monument that crowns its central hill — a plain, white shaft. Deep cut into its shining side is a name dear to me above the names of men — that of a brave and simple man who died in brave and simple faith. Not for all the glories of New England, from Plymouth Rock all the way, would I exchange the heritage he left me in his soldier's death. To the foot of that I shall send my children's children to reverence him who ennobled their name with his heroic blood. But, speaking from the shadow of that memory which I honor as I do nothing else on earth, I say that the cause in which he suffered and for which he gave his life was adjudged by higher and fuller wisdom than his or mine, and I am glad that the omniscient God held the balance of battle in His almighty hand, and that human slavery was swept forever from American soil, the American Union was saved from the wreck of war. Now, what answer has New England to this message .-* Will she permit the. prejudice of war to remain in the hearts of the conquerors, when it has died in the hearts of the con- quered 1 Will she transmit this prejudice to the next genera- tion, that in their hearts, which never felt the generous ardor of conflict, it may perpetuate itself .? Will she withhold, save in strained courtesy, the hand which straight from his soldier's heart Grant offered to Lee at Appomattox .? Will she make the vision of a restored and happy people, which gathered above the couch of your dying captain, filling his heart with grace, touching his lips with ])rai^e, and glorifying his path to the grave — will she make this vision on which the 3>" fii;\K)K sii:\hii:UiL/. last sigh of liis expiring soul breathed a benetliction, a cheat ami a ilelusion .' If she does, the South, never abject in a>king for comradeship, must accejjt with ilignity its refusal; but if she does not refuse to accej)t in frankness and sincerity tliis message of go(.)d will and frientlship, then will the pro])hecy itf Webster, delivered in this very society forty years ago amid tremenilous apj)lause, become true, bi- virified in its fullest sense, when he said: "Standing IkuuI Id hand and clasping hands, we should remain united as we have been for sixty years, citizens of the same country, members of tlie same government, united, all united now and united for- ever. ' ' THE RESCUE OF LYGIA liy Henrvk SlENKlEWlcz. Translated from the I'olisli Original by Jeremiah Curtin. Taken, by permissittn of the publishers, from "'Quo Vadis," published by Little, Brown & Co., Boston. Jeremiah Curtin. Author; iKjrn in Milwaukee, Wis., 1840. Ilenryk Sienkiewicz (sc'enke'avich), Polish Novelist; born at Okreya. Poland, 1846. Tliough the [Roman] people were sated already with blood-spilling, still, when the news went forth that the end ot the games was ai)proaching, and that the last of the Christians were to die at an evening spectacle, a countless audience assembled in the amphitheater. . . . Those who had seen Lygia at the house of Plautius told wonders of her beauty. Others were occupied above all with the question, would they see her really on the arena that day.' . . . Uncertainty, waiting, and curiosity had ma.stered all spec- tators. Caesar arrived earlier than usual; and immediately at his coming people whispered that something uncommon would happen, for . . . Caesar had w^ith him Cassius, a cen- turion of enormous size and gigantic strength, whom he summoned only when he wished to have a defender at his side. ... It was noted also that certain precautions had THE RESCUE OF LYGIA 317 been taken in the amphitheater itself. The pretorian j^uards were increased; command over them was held, not by a centurion, but by the tribune Subrius Flavins, known hitherto for blind attachment to Nero. It was understood, then, that Caesar wished in every case to secure himself against an outburst of despair from Vinicius, and curiosity rose al! the more. Every eye was turned with strained gaze to the place where the unfortunate lover was sitting. He was exceedingly pale, and his forehead was covered with drops of sweat ; he was in as much doubt as were other spectators, but alarmed to the lowest depths of his soul. . . . Despair, which had been set at rest, began again to cry in his soul ; the former desire to save Lygia at any price seized him anew. . . . He said in his soul that Christ might take her to himself out of the prison, but could not permit her torture in the Circus. . . . " Thou canst! " repeated he, clenching his fists convulsively, "Thou canst!". . . . "Do not refuse even this, and I will love thee still more than hitherto.". . . He crushed doubt in himself, he compressed his whole being into the sentence, "I believe," and he looked for a miracle. . . . At that very instant, almost, the prefect of the city waved a red handkerchief, the hinges opposite Caesar's podium creaked, and out of the dark gully came Ursus into the brightly lighted arena. The giant blinked, dazed evidently by the glitter of the arena; then he pushed into the center, gazing around as if to see what he had to meet. ... In Rome there was no lack of gladiators larger by far than the common measure of man, but Roman eyes had never seen the like of Ursus. . , . Senators, vestals, Caesar, the Augustians, and the people gazed with the delight of experts at his mighty limbs, as large as tree-trunks, at his breast, as large as two shields joined together, and his arms of a Hercules. . . . The murmur rose to shouts, and eager questions were put: Where did the people live who could produce such a giant ,' He stood 3iS HENRYK SIENKir.incZ tliLTC, in the miiKlle of tlic anipliithcator, naked, more like a stone colossus than a man, with a collcctcil expression, and at the same time the sad look of a barbarian; and while sur- veyinj; the empty arena, he gazed wonderingly with his hhie cliihllike eyes, now at the spectators, now at C'xsar, now at the grating t)f the cunicida, whence, as lie thought, his executioners would come. . . . He was unarmed, ami determined to tlie as hecajne a confessor of the " I.amh," jieacefully and jjatiently. Mean- while he wished to pray once more to the Saviour; so he knelt on the arena, joined his hands, and raised his eyes towards the stars which were glittering in the lofty opening of the ampiiithcatcr. That act displeased the crowds. 'Ihey had had enough of those Christians who died like sheep. They understood that if the giant would not defend himself the sj^ectacle would be a failure. Here and there hisses were heard. Some began to cry for scourgers, whose oflice it was to lash combatants unwilling to fight. . . . Suddenly the shrill sound of brazen trumpets was lieard, and at that signal a grating opposite Cx\sar"s podium was opened, and into the arena rushed, amid shouts of beast- keepers, an enormous German aurochs, bearing on his head the naked body of a woman. " Lvgia! Lygia! " cried Vinicius. Then he seized his hair near the temples, squirmed like a man who feels a sharp dart in his body, and began to repeat in hoarse accents, — " I believe! 1 believe I O Christ, a miracle! '' . . . This time the amphitheater was silent. The Augustians rose in their places, as one man, for in the arena something uncommon had happened. That Lygian, obedient and ready to die, when he saw his queen on the horns of the wild beast, sprang up, as if touched by living fire, and bend- ing forward he ran at the raging animal. THE RESCUl: Of I.YGU 3^9 From all breasts a sudden cry of amazement was heard, after which came deep silence. The Lygian fell on the raging bull in a twinkle, and seized him by the horns. , . . All breasts ceased to breathe. In the amphitheater a fly might be heard on the wing. People could not believe their own eyes. Since Rome was Rome, no one had seen such a spectacle. The Lygian held the wild beast by the horns. The man's feet sank in the sand to his ankles, his back was bent like a drawn bow, his head was hidden between his shoulders, on his arms the muscles came out so that the skin almost burst from their pressure; but he had stopped the bull in his tracks. And the man and the beast remained so still that the spectators thought themselves looking at a picture show- ing a deed of Hercules or Theseus, or a group hewn from stone. But in that apparent repose there was a tremendous exertion of two struggling forces. The bull sank his feet as well as did tlie man in the sand, and his dark, shaggy body was curved so that it seemed a gigantic ball. Which of the two would fail first, which would fall first ? . . . In the Circus nothing was heard save the sound of flame in the lamps, and the crackle of bits of coal as they dropped from the torches. Their voices dietl on the lips of the spec- tators, but their hearts were beating in their breasts as if to split them. It seemed to all that the struggle was lasting for ages. . . . Meanwhile a dull roar resembling a groan was heard from the arena, after which a brief shout was wrested from every breast, and again there was silence. People thought them- selves dreaming till the enormous head of the bull began to turn in the iron hands of the barbarian. The face, neck, and arms of the Lygian grew purple; his back bent still more. It was clear that he was rallying the remnant of his superhuman strength, but that he could not last long. Duller and duller, hoarser and hoarser, more and more ;^.'0 ///:".VA')A Ml \h/l li JL/. Iiainliil i^nw thi.' iiro.in of tlic bull as it inin;;lcil with the whistling breath from the breast »>{ the giant. The heail of the beast turned more and more, and from his jaws came a long, foaming tongue. A moment more anil to the eyes of the spectators sitting near came as it were the crach of bri-aking hours; then the beast rolletl on the earth witli his nrek twisted in lUalh. The giant nnioved in a twinkir the ropes from the horns of the bull. and. raising the maiden, began to breathe hurriedly. His face became pale, his hair stuck together from sweat, his shoulders anil arms seemed Hooded with water. For a moment he stcjoil as if only half conscious; then he raised his eyes anil looked at the s])ectators. The amphitheater had gone wild. The walls of the building were trembling from the roar of tens of thousands of people. Since the beginning of spec- tacles there was no memory of such excitement. . . . Everywhere were heard cries for mercy, passionate and per- sistent, which soon turned int(j one unbroken thunder. That giant had become dear to those people enamored of physical strength : he was the first personage in Rome. He understood that the multitude were striving to grant liim his life and restore him his freedom, but clearly his thought was not on himself alc>nc. He looked around awhile; then approached Caesar's podium, and, liolding the body of the maiden on his out.stretched arms, raised his eyes with entreaty, as if to say, — " Have mercy on her! Save the maiden. I did tliat for her sake! "... At the sight of the unconscious maiden, who near the enormous Lygian seemed a child, emotion seized the multi- tude of senators and knights. . . . Some thought the man a father begging mercy for his child. Pity burst forth sud- denly, like a flame. They had had blood, death, and torture in sufficiency. Voices choked with tears began to entreat mercy for both. THE RESCUE OF LYGIA 321 But Caesar halted and hesitated. Against Vinicius he had no hatred indeed, and the death of Lygia did not concern him ; but he preferred to see the body of the raaitlen rent b}- the horns of the bull or torn by the claws of the beasts. . . . And now the people wanted to rob him. Hence anger appeared on his bloated face. Self-love also would not let him yield to the wish of the multitude, and still he did not dare to oppose it, through his inborn cowardice. So he gazed around to see if among the Augustians, at least, he could not find fingers turned down in sign of death. But Petronius held up his hand, and looked almost challeng- ingly into Nero's face. Then Nero turned to the place where command over the pretorians was held by the stern Subrius Flavins, hitherto devoted with whole soul to him, and saw something unusual. The face of the old tribune was stern, but covered with tears and he was holding his hand up in sign of mercy. Now rage began to possess the multitude. Dust rose from beneath the stamping feet and filled the amphitheater. In the midst of the shouts were heard cries: " Ahenobarbus! matricide! incendiary! " Nero was alarmed. . . . He understood that to oppose longer was simply dangerous. A disturbance begun in the Circus might seize the whole city, and have results incalcu- lable. He looked once more at Subrius Flavius, at Scevinus the centurion, a relative of the senator, at the soldiers; and seeing everywhere frowning brows, moved faces, and eyes fixed on him, he gave the sign of mercy. Then a thunder of applause was heard from the highest seats to the lowest. The people were sure of the lives of the condemned, for from that moment they went umler their protection, and even Caesar would not have dared to pursue them any longer with his vengeance. JOHN H^Y JIM BI.UDSO, OF Tin- PRAIRIH BELLE Hy Ji>U\ Hay. Autlioi, Toil, L.iwvit, Diplomat; Ainl>ass.i(lor to Kng- l.iiiil. 1807-0S; Srcrclary of Stiitf, l8')S- Horn in Salcni. Indiana, 1S3S. T^kcn, by peniiivsion of the publislicrs, (mm " I'ocnis by Jobn Hay,'" published by IIou);hton, Mifflin & Co., Boston. Wall, no! I can't ttll wliar lie lives, Because he dont live, you sec; Leastways, he's got out of the habit Of livin' like you and nic. Whar have you been for the last three year That you haven't heard folks tell How jimmy Bludso pas.scei in his checks The night of the Prairie Belle ? He weren't no saint, — them engineers Is all pretty much alike, — One wife in Natchez-under-thc-Hill And anotlier one here, in Pike; A keerless man in liis talk was Jim, And an awkward hand in a row, But he never flunked, and he never lied, — I reckon he never knowcd how. And this was all the religion he had, — To treat his engine well ; Never be passed on the river; To mind the pilot's bell; And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire, — A thousand times he swore, He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last soul got ashore. All boats has their day on the ^Nlississip, And her day come at last, — JIM BLUDSO, Ol- THE PKAIRIE BELLE 2>^^ The Movastar was a better boat, But the Belle she wouldn't be passed. And so she come tearin' along that night — The oldest craft on the line — With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,' And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine. The fire bust out as she clared the bar, And burnt a hole in the night, And quick as a flash she turned, and made For that wilier-bank on the right. There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim }-elled out, Over all the infernal roar, " I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last galoot's ashore." Through the hot, black breath of tlie burnin' boat Jim Bludso's voice was heard, And they all had trust in his cussedness, And knowed he would keep his word. And, sure's you're born, they all got off Afore the smokestacks fell, — And Bludso's ghost went up alone In the smoke of the Prairie Belle. He weren't no saint, — but at jedgment I'd run my chance with Jim, 'Longside of some pious gentlemen That would n't shook hands with him. He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing, — And he went for it thar and then ; And Christ ain't agoing to be too hard On a man that died for men. ;>-» Ai.HHRT ji:ri:Mi.-ih nryHRiDGE AMERICA'S MISSION V-y Al.BKRT Jf.rkmiam IJkvf.riik;!-.. Lawyer; Senator from Indiana, iSoo — > Horn in IIighl.in>l County, Ohio, 1862. Fmm .1 speech delivered in the Senate, j.-inuan- 19, kjoo. See Congressional Kecor,!, Jann.irj- 19, nyv KoBKRT Grekn iN(;F.KSoi.i., Lawyer, I. pctiircr,, Orator. IWii in Dresden. N. Y., 1833; died in New York, N. Y., 1899. Kxtract Ironi a speccli delivered at the soldiers' reunion at Indianapolis, September J I, i8;6. Reprinted, by permissiun ul the publisher, from " i'rosc I'ocnis," copyright, 1S84, by C. P. Farrell, New York. The past rises before mc like a dream. Again wc are in the great struggle for national life. We hear the sounds of preparation — the music of boisterous ilrums — the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see thousands of assemblages, and hear the appeals of orators. We see the pale cheeks of women, and the flushed faces of men; anil in those assem- blages we see all the dead whose dust we have covered with flowers. We lose sight of them no more. We are Mith them when they enlist in the great army of freedom. We see them part with those they love. Some are walking for the last time in quiet, woody places, with the maidens they adore. We hear the whisperings and the sweet vows of eternal love as they lingeringly part forever. Others are bending over cradles, kissing babes that are asleep. Some are receiving the blessings of old men. Some are parting with mothers who hold them and press them to their hearts again and again, and say nothing. Kisses and tears, tears and kisses — divine mingling of agony and love! And some are talking with wives, and endeavoring with brave words, spoken in the old tones, to drive from their hearts the awful fear. We see them part. We see the wife standing in the door with the babe in her arms — standing in the sunlight sobbing. At the turn of the road a hand waves — she answers by holding high in her loving arms the child. He is gone, and forever. We see them all as they march proudly away under the flaunting flags, keeping time to the grand, wild music of war — marching down the streets of the great cities — through the THE VISION OF IVylR 327 towns and across the prairies — down to the fields of glory, to do and to die for the eternal right. We go with them, one and all. We are by their side on all the gory fields — in all the hospitals of pain — on all the weary marches. We stand guard with them in the wild storm and under the quiet stars. We are with them in ravines running with blood — in the furrows of old fields. We are with them between contending hosts, unable to move, wild with thirst, the life ebbing slowly away among the withered leaves. We see them pierced by balls and torn with shells, in the trenches, by forts, and in the whirlwind of the charge, where men become iron, with nerves of steel. We are with them in the prisons of hatred and famine; but human speech can never tell what they endured. We are at home when the news comes that they are dead. We see the maiden in the shadow of her first sorrow. We see the silvered head of the old man bowed with the last grief. The past rises before us, and we see four millions of human beings governed by the lash — we see them bound hand and foot — we hear the strokes of cruel whips — we see the hounds tracking women through tangled swamps. We see babes sold fi-om the breasts of mothers. Cruelty unspeak- able! Outrage infinite! Four million bodies in chains — four million souls in fetters. All the sacred relations of wife, mother, father, and child trampled beneath the brutal feet of might. And all this was done under our own beautiful banner of the free. The past rises before us. We hear the roar and shriek of the bursting shell. The broken fetters fall. These heroes died. We look. Instead of slaves we see men and women and children. The wand of progress touches cne auction- block, the slave-pen, the whipping-post, and we see homes and firesides and schoolhouses and books, and where all was want and crime and cruelty and fear, we see the faces of the free. These heroes are dead. They died for liberty — they died 328 THEODORE DlllCin HELD lor us. Tlicv are at rest. They sleep in tin- laml tliey made free, umler tlie flag tlicy rendered stainless, under the solemn pines, the sail hemlocks, the tearful willows, and the cm- bracing vines. They sleep beneath the shadows of the clouds, careless alike of sunsliine or of storm, each in the windowless palace of Rest. Earth may run red with other wars: they are at peace. In the midst of battle, in the roar of Conflict, they found the serenity of death. I have one sentiment for soldiers living and dead: Cheers for the living; tears for the dead. AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF WENDELL PHILLIPS By TilKonoRK Dwir.itr Wklp, -'a reformer of Boston, long prominent as an Abolitionist." Born 1803; died 1895. Adapted from an address delivered at memorial services upon tlie seventy-fourth birthday of Wendell Phillips, November 2g, 1885. December 8, 1837, witnessed a memorable scene in Faneuil Hall. There, in the old Cradle of Liberty, a great birth was born for Freedom's trial hour. There the frenzy of a pro-slavery mob was, for the first time, confronted, and with a sublime audacity defied and whelmed in defeat; an assault as triumphant in its issue as it was daring and resist- less in its victorious grapple. The immediate occasion of that scene which immortalized anew the old Cradle of Liberty was the series of tragedies enacted by pro-slavery mobs in St. Louis, I\Io. , and Alton, 111., destroying successively two printing-offices, four presses and sets of types, and murdering Lovejoy, the editor of the St. Louis Observer, who, despite threats and curses, branded slavery as sin. For this mobs hurled to destruction offices, presses, types, and editor. Pierced with five balls he lay in his blood, his murderers scoffing over him. While these atrocities were the special occasion of that Faneuil Hall meeting, its logical antecedents, grown then to a mul- titude, compelled those who called it to in.stant action. Ahl INCIDENT IN THB LIFE OF IVENDELL PHILLIPS 3^9 Two years before that meeting, Wendell Phillips, from the glowing threshold of his young manhood, looked down on Boston helpless in the clutches of a mob of thousands, its mayor, aldermen, and police consenting and conniving, while law, justice, and civilization itself lay trodden in the streets. He saw William Lloyd Garrison, for words spoken against slavery, pounced upon by a mob, driven and dragged half nude through the streets of Boston, while anarchy defiant shouted over its barbarian conquest. The hour for the meeting came; those in sympathy with its object filled the first floor: earnest, enkindled, deter- mined, and silent, there they stood. The gallery was packed with a crowd of another sort, lawless, turbulent, fierce, bent on riot, and lowering malign upon the law-abiding phalanx below. Then in the front gallery uprose a bold-faced man and launched into a violent harangue. His whole aspect revealed the bully, truculent, insolent, and defiant, his face a sneer, his voice a taunt, his whole air threat and swagger, as he shouted, " Lovejoy died like a fool." Then he com- pared the drunken mob that shot him down to the Revolu- tionary sires, who spurned overboard that hated tea taxed by British usurpation; thus glorifying a mob of assassins by likening their atrocities to the patriotic exploits of the men of '76, and thus dragging them down to the depths of infamy along with bandits and brigands. Who was this railing brawler vilifying the Revolutionary dead by herding them with murderers .'' The Attorne} - General of Massachusetts, the highest legal officer of the Commonwealth. Was this a man whom the grand old Bay State delighted to honor .? She had sunk thus low. Then it was when liberty, law, and justice put on sack-cloth, cast dust upon their heads, and sat down wailing forlorn together; for truth had fallen in the streets, equity could not enter, justice stood afar off, and judgment was turned away backward. Profoundly revolving these horrors, Wendell Phillips had 3jO THtiOnOKH nHIGHI' li'hl.l) come uj) to tliis great consult in the old Cradle of Liberty. Musing on the drear past, brooding over the heaving present, and forecasting the portentous future, lie could give less heed than he would to the wise words of the venerated C'lKinning. But when the brutal harangue ot the Attorney-deneral smote his ear, his half reverie broke with a crash, as he heard Austin's scornful llout of Lovejoy, that he " died like a fool," his impious eulogy of his murderers, his sacrilegious slander of the Revolutionary dead. As soon as Austin's last brutal words dropped, Phillips sprang to the lectern. Then came that outburst of elo- quence, in tempest, soul of fire, flashing its lightnings from a tongue of flame. " Sir, when I heard principles laid down that place the murderers of Alton side by side with Otis and Hancock, with Quincy and Adams, I thought those pictured lips would have broken into voice to rebuke that recreant American, the slanderer of the dead. Sir, for the sentiment he has uttered on soil consecrated by the prayers of Puritans and the blood of j)atriots the earth should have yawned and swallowed him up! " Then from the mob in the gallery burst howls of rage, and down plunged an avalanche of yells and curses. Babel clanged jargon, and Bedlam broke loose, drowning all speech. At last these mob yells came clanging through the din: " Take that back; take that back; make him take back that word ' recreant ' ; he shan't go on till he has taken that back! " At length mob throats grew hoarse, and Phillips began: " I will not take back my words. Surely the Attorney- General of Massachusetts needs not the aid of your hisses against one so young as I am." When Phillips' volcanic outburst had blown the Attorney- General out of sight he began to dissect his argument. He showed that it was neither law nor logic, had neither premise nor conclusion, was a sheer inflammatory harangue to in- furiate the mob he led. At the end of Phillips' speech where vas that burly swell of brag, brass, and bluster ? At the THE OTHER FELLOfV 331 outset sneering, insolent, defiant, he had burst upon the meeting with the swing and swagger of a bravado. In the role of a bully he had blurted insults at his own pastor, and with swinish hoofs had trampled the ashes of the Revolu- tionary dead. Now at the meeting's close what is left of his bloated grandiloquence .'* He had felt dashed against his brazen brow and burning into it the brand of infamy as that conquering young arm launched the bolt that smote him down. That bolt was symbolized in the stone sped to Goliath's forehead by the hand of a stripling three thousand years before, when the giant of Gath dashed to earth lay headless in the bloody dust. Thus was the Goliath of the Bay State bar struck down by another stripling, who, though he never had a brief, had a sling and stone, an unerring aim, and an arm that drove the missile home. The bolt flew true, and down headlong went the perjured official, perfidious to the highest trusts, false to liberty, and patron of mobs and murderers, and grand old Faneuil Hall rang out in a thousand echoes its loud — Amen! THE OTHER FELLOW By William Hawley Smith, Teacher, School Superintendent, Lec- turer. Born in Sunderland, Mass., 1845; resides in Peoria, 111. From "The Evolution of Dodd," copyright, 1884, by William H. Smith and John W. Cook, and published by Rand, McNally & Co., Chicago, 111. Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes says that in every one of us there are two persons. First, there is yourself, and then there is the Other Fellow! Now one of these is all the time doing things, and the other sits inside and tells what he thinks about the performance. Thus, I do so-and-so, act so-and-so, seem to the world so-and-so; but the Other Fellow sits in judgment on me all the time. I may tell a lie, and do it so cleverly that the people may think that I have done or said a great or good thing; and they may shout my praises far and wide. But the Other Fellow sits inside, and says, "You lie! you lie! you're a ;,.?-' l-DH'.-tRH hli'.KlhSOS B.fKr.R sneak, and you know it! " 1 till him to shut up, to hear what the people say about nu- ; but he only continues to repeat over aiul over aj^ain, " Vou lie! you lie! you're a sneak, and you know it! " Or, again. 1 may do a really noble deed, but perhaps be inisunderstooil by the public, who may persecute me and say all manner of evil against me, falsely; but the Other Fellow will sit inside and say, " Never mind, old boy! It's all right! stand by! " And I would rather hear the " well done " of the Other Fellow than the shouts of praise of the whole world ; while I would a thousand times rather tliat the people should shout and hiss themselves hoarse with rage and envy, than that the Other Fellow should sit inside and say, " You lie! you lie! you're a sneak, and you know it! " TO YOUNG MEN OF NEW YORK IN 1861 By Edward Dickinson Baker, Lawyer, Member of Congress from Illinois, 1844-51 ; Senator from Oregon, 1860-61; Major-General of Volunteers. Born in London, England, 181 1; killed in the Battle of Ball's Bluff, 1 86 1. From an address at a great mass-meeting in New York City, April 19, i£6i. Reprinted, by permission of the publisher, from " Masterpieces of E. D. Baker," published, 1899, by Oscar T. Shuck, San Krancisco. The hour for conciliation is passed; the gathering for battle is at hand, and the country requires that every man shall do his duty. Fellow citizens, what is that country ? Is it the soil on which we tread .-' Is it the gathering of familiar faces .-* Is it our luxury, and pomp, and pride ? Nay, more than these, is it power, and might, and majesty alone ? No; our country is more, far more, than all these. The countr}' which demands our love, our courage, our devotion, our heart's blood, is more than all these. Our country is the history of our fathers, the tradition of our mothers. Our country is past renown; present pride and power; future hope and dignity; greatness, glory, truth. TO YOUNG MEN OF NEIV YORK IN iSbi m Constituiional guarantees^ — ^ above all, freedom forever. These are tlie watchwords under which we fight, and we will shout them out until the stars appear in the sky in the stormiest hour of battle. I have said that the hour of con- ciliation is passed. It may return, but not to-morrow or next week. It will return when that tattered flag [of Fort Sumter] is avenged. It will return when rebellious Con- federates are taught that the North, though peaceable, is not cowardly; though forbearing, not fearful. That hour of conciliation will come back when again the ensign of the Republic will stream over every rebellious fort of every Con- federate State, to be, as of old, the emblem of the pride, and power, and dignity, and majesty, and peace of the nation. - Young men of New York ! you are told that this is not to be a war of aggression. In one sense, that is true; in another, not. We have committed aggression upon no man. . . . We have committed no oppression, broken no compact, exercised no unholy power, but have been loyal, moderate. Constitutional, and just. We are a majorit}-, and will govern our own Union, within our own Constitution, in our own way. We are all Democrats. We are all Repub- licans. We acknowledge the sovereignty within the rule of the Constitution; and under that Constitution, and beneath that flag, let traitors beware! In this sense, then, young men of New York, we are not for a war of aggression ; but in another sense, speaking for myself as a man who has been a soldier, and as a man who is a Senator, I say I am for a war of aggression. I propose that we do now as we did in Mexico — conquer peace. I propose that we go to Washington, and beyond. I do not design to remain silent, supine, inactive — nay, fearful — until they gather their battalions and advance upon our borders or into our midst. I would meet them upon the threshold, and there, in the very hold of their power, in the very atmosphere of their treason, I would dictate the terms of peace. It may take tliirtv millions of dollars, it mar take three hundred 334 F.DH\-1Rn PICK INS OX BAKER millions — what then ? ^^'c have it. Lovnlly, nobly, grandly do the merchants of Now York respond to the appeals of the Cjovernmcnt. It may cost us seven thousand men ; it may cost us scvcnty-five thousand; it may cost us seven hundred and fifty thousand — what then ? We have them. The blood of every loyal man is dear to nie. My sons, my kinsmen, the men who have grown up beneath my eye and beneath my care, they are all tlear to me; but if the country's destiny, glory, tradition, greatness, freedom, Constitutional government demand it, let them all go. I am not now to speak timorous words of peace, but to kindle the spirit of determined war; I speak in the Empire State, amid scenes of past suffering and past glory. The defenses of the Hudson above me, the battle-field of Long Island before- me, and the statue of ^^'ashington in my very face; the battered and unconquered flag of Sumter is waving at my side, which I can imagine to be trembling again with the excitement of battle. And as I speak, I say my mission here to-day is to kindle the heart of New York for war — short, sudden, bold, determined, forward war. . . . Let no man underrate the dangers of this conflict. Civil war, for the best of reasons upon the one side, and the worst upon the other, is always dangerous to liberty, always fear- ful, always bloody. But, fellow citizens, there are yet worse things than fear, than doubt and dread, and peril and blood- shed. Dishonor is wor.se. Anarchy is worse. States forever commingling and forever severing is worse. Secessionists are worse. To have star after star blotted out, to have stripe after stripe obscured, to have glory after glory dimmed, to have our women weep and our men blush for shame through generations to come; that and these are infinitely worse than blood. . . . And [young men of New York] if, from the far Pacific, a voice feebler than the feeblest murmur upon its shore may be heard to give you courage and hope in the contest, that voice is yours to-day. And if a man whose hair is gray, who ^r THE TOMB or NAPOLEON 335 is well-nigh worn out in the battle and toil of life, may jiledge himself on such an occasion, and in such an audience, let me say as my last word that as amid sheeted fire and flame, I saw and led the hosts of New York when they charged in contest on a foreign soil for the honor of the flag; so again, if Providence shall will it, this feeble hand shall draw a sword, never yet dishonored, not to fight for honor on a foreign field, but for country, for home, for law, for government, for Constitution, for right, for freedom, for humanity — and in the hope that the banner of my country may advance, and wheresoever that banner waves, there glory may pursue and freedom be established. AT THE TOMB OF NAPOLEON By Robert Green Ingersoll, Lawyer, Lecturer, Orator. Bom in Dresden, N. Y., 1833; died in New York City, 1899. From an address on "The Liberty of Man, Woman, and Child," Reprinted, by permission of the publisher, from " Prose Poems and Selections from the Writings of Robert G. Ingersoll," copyright, 1895, by C. P. Karrell, New York City. A little while ago, I stood by the grave of the old Napoleon — a magnificent tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a dead deity — and gazed upon the sarcophagus of black Egyptian marble, where rest at last the ashes of that restless man. I leaned over the balustrade and thought about the career of the greatest soldier of the modern world. I saw him walking upon the banks of the Seine, contem- plating suicide. I saw him at Toulon — I saw him putting down the mob in the streets of Paris — I saw him at the head of the army of Italy — I saw him crossing the bridge of Lodi with the tricolor in his hand — I saw him in Egypt in the shadow of the Pyramids — I saw him conquer the Alps and mingle the eagles of France with the eagles of the crags, I saw him at Marengo — at Ulm and Austerlitz, I saw him in Russia, where the infantry of the snow and the cavalry of the wild blast scattered his legions like winter's withered leaves. 33^> J OS ITU c. siHirr I saw him at Lcipsic in tkfcat ami disaster — tlrivm 1)\- a million bayonets back upon Paris — clutched like a wild beast — banished to Klba. I saw him escape and retakr an empire bv the force of his genius. I saw him ujion the frightful field of Waterloo, where Chance and Fate combined to wreck the fortunes of their former king. Antl I saw him at St. Helena, with liis hands crossed behinti him, gazing out upon the sad and solemn sea. I thought of the orphans anil willows he had made — of the tears that had been shed for his glory, and of the only woman who ever loved him, pushed from his heart by the cold hand of ambition. And I said I would rather have been a French peasant and worn wooden shoes. I would rather have lived in a hut with a vine growing over the door, and the grapes growing purple in the kisses of the autumn sun. I would rather have been that poor peasant with my lo\'ing wife by my side, knitting as the day died out of the sky — with my children upon my knees and their arms about me. I would rather have been that man and gone down to the tongueless silence of the dreamless dust tlian to have been that imperial impersonation of force and murder. FOR EXPANSION By Joseph C. Sibley, Member of Congress from Pennsylvania, 1893-95 and 1899 — . Born in Friendship, N. Y., 1850. From a speech made in the House of Representatives, February 1, 1900. See Con- gressional Record ior February 1, 1900. Shall we keep the Piiilippine Archipelago and Puerto Rico? Every foot! No nation on the globe has higher rights or better title to a rod of soil. We hold by a double claim — the right of conquest and the right of purchase. My belief is that where once our banner's shadow has fallen, there will survive a race of freemen. And I should hold Cuba until stability, order, the protection of life, property, and good government were assured. FOR EXPyiNSION 337 And again I echo the President's query, "Who would haul down the flag?" Who planted it there? What Cabinet council ? What warrior ? What statesman ? What Senator or Representative ? What body of men framed any plan of conquest ? The cries of suffering humanity, ground down beneath the iron heel of oppression, rang in our ears, and we stopped our ears. Their groans were heard, but we answered not. We saw them stripped and wounded on our way to Jericho, and like the priest and Levite passed by on the other side. Not unheard at the throne of heaven were those groans and prayers. In order to awaken us from our torpor and almost criminal indifference the Almighty permitted the engines of His wrath to hurl their thunderbolts under the bows of the Maine lying peacefully at anchor in Habana Harbor. Nor keenest sighted statesman nor most daring warrior had even contemplated the possibility of gain, growth, or greatness to us as a nation to come out of the war of which the blowing up of the Maine was the first declaration. These lands and people, unworthily ruled, were, in the wisdom of the Almighty, to pass from the house of Saul to that of David. God and the valor of American arms gave us this territory, not because w.e are a nation altogether free, altogether pure and blameless, but because working through human instrumentalities. He has given it to the boldest, freest, most progressiva, most enlightened, and most Chris- tian of all the nations of the present age. . . . Should the Administration surrender this territory and the advantages it secures to America, the historian of the future will write it down as one of the most pusilanimous Adminis- trations that ever had control of national events. Shall we eternally take council with our fears ? Shall we play the role of opportunists in politics ? Shall we act the part of poli- ticians on issues of such tremendous consequence? No! No! Tx't us rather set our faces toward the morning and keep step with the forward progress of the world. No party 3,v^ losiPH c. smu-Y or individual will ever win success, or even deserve it, by any jiolicy of mere negation. No man or party wins success, <>r should, by merely ])ointing out the mistakes of others. We have forgotten the name of a single one of the horde of critics of Paradise I.osf, but we remember well that its author was John Milton. \Vc recall the fact that Watt invented the steam-engine. We have forgotten, or never cared to know, the names of the multitude of men who have wrecked steam-engines. Primitive man liveil in caverns, clothed himself in skins, and ate his meat raw, and there has never occurred a change for the higher and better forms of life without arousing the hostility of some okl mossback, consenative hunker, who will prate of those fairer and better days of old, when their grandfathers swung from the limbs of the trees in the wilds of the forest primeval. Mr. Chairman, we have held up to us for warning the history of Persia and Greece, of Babylon and Rome. They have flourished and faded. They had their morning hour and their meridian and went out in the blackness of night. Rome expanded until, like a wheel, the spokes radiated from the hub through Europe, Asia, and Africa. The collapse of her power and of every empire of the past came, not from the weakness of the periphery of the wheel, but from the rottenness of the hub. '• Rome fought for .spoils and booty, and all the loot of war. The talons of her eagles ever left tlie cankering scar, Her consuls led her legions forth with sword, and scourge, and chain; And captives reel at the chariot wheel when home they come again. '•■ Not for spoils and booty, not for the loot of war, Not for a train of captives chained to the conqueror's car, Our nation sends her legions forth, far out across the sea, With her starry emblem floating, proclaiming all men free." We go forth with the plowshare and the pruning-hook; with the Bible and the spelling-book. From the jungle and the hilltops will float the banner of freedom over countless schoolhouses; we go to lift up cellar-hatchways and let out FOR EXPANSION 339 fetid poisons and miasmatic vapors; we go forth not to pillage temples, but to erect them ; not to stifle liberty, but to give nobler ideals of liberty; not to forge fetters, but to break them. History finds man first in Asia, from which the human family have emigrated to the westward until they have circled the globe, and to-day the new civilization clasps hands at INIanila with the ancient. . . . Mr. Chairman, every dictate of prudence and of statesman- ship, every dictate of business sense and of commercial ad- vantage, every dictate of reason, every prompting of human- ity, and every obligation of applied Christianity unite in the demand that we go forward. We have a mission to perform ; a destiny to accomplish; an example to be given of how nations may justly rule themselves, not in license but in liberty. Nor shall the mission be finished, or that destiny be fully accomplished, until — " The war-drums beat no longer, And the battle-flags are furled In the parliament of man — The federation of the world." Shall we falter in our duty ? Shall we haul down that flag whose waving stripes speak the white of purity and the red of sacrifice, and whose shining stars stand in the field of blue as an aspiration and inspiration for all that is noble in life and beneficent in government.'' No! Let it float! And jmder its shadows " Shall brothers be knit in closer bands From the mountain's crest to the gray sea-sand-s, And the world be better, I ween." 34° ROHt:KT CRf-fN inci:rsoj.l THF. PLUMED KNIGHT 1U- KoHF.RT Grf.kn 1n(;ersoi.i., Lawyer, I^-cturer, Orator. Br>m in Dresden, N. V., 1S33; died in New York City, 1S99. Krom a speech m.-ide in the Republican National Convention at Cincinnati, June 15, 1S76. Reprinted, by permission of the publisher, from " Prose Poems and Selections from the Writings of Robert (.). IngersoU," copyright, 1895, by C. P. Farrell, New York City. Tlic Republicans of the Uniteti States tieinaiul as their leader in the great contest of 1876 a man of intelligence, a man of integrity, a man of well-known and apj)roved politi- cal opinic)ns. They demand a statesman; they demand a reformer after, as well as before, tlie election. They demand a politician in the highest, broadest, and best sense — a man of superb moral courage. . . . The Republicans of the United States demand a man who knows that prosperity and resumption, when they come, must come together; that when they come they will come hand in hand through the golden harvest fields; hand in hand by the whirling spindles and turning wheels; hand in hand past the open furnace-doors; hand in hand by the flaming forges; hand in hand by the chimneys filled with eager fire — greeted and grasped by the countless sons of toil. . . . The Republicans of the United States want a man who knows that this Government should protect every citizen at home and abroad; who knows that any government that will not defend its defenders and protect its protectors is a dis- grace to the map of the world. They demand a man who believes in the eternal separation and divorcement of church and school. . . . The man who has in full, heaped and rounded measure, all these splendid qualifications is the present grand and gallant leader of the Republican party — James G. Blaine. Our country, crowned with the vast and marvelous achievements of its first century, asks for a man worthy of THE PLUMED KNIGHT 341 the past and prophetic of her future; asks for a man who has the audacity of genius; asks for a man who is the grandest combination of heart, conscience, and brain beneath her fiag. Such a man is James G. Blaine. For the Republican host, led by this intrepid man, there can be no defeat. This is a grand year; a year filled with the recollections of the Revolution, filled with proud and tender memories of the past, with the sacred legends of liberty; a year in which the sons of freedom will drink from the fountains of enthusiasm; a year in which the people will call for a man who has preserved in Congress what our soldiers won upon the field; a year in which we call for the man who has torn from the throat of treason the tongue of slander; ... for the man who, like an intellectual athlete, has stood hi the arena of debate and challenged all comers, and who, ap to the present moment, is a total stranger to defeat. Like an armed warrior, like a plumed knight, James G. Blaine marched down the halls of the American Congress and threw his shining lance full and fair against the brazen foreheads of the defamers of his country and the maligners of his honor. For the Republicans to desert this gallant leader now is as though an army should desert their general upon the field of battle. James G. Blaine is now, and has been for years, the bearer of the sacred standard of the Republican party. I call it sacred, because no human being can stand beneath its folds without becoming and without remaining free. Gentlemen of the convention, in the name of the great Republic, the only republic that ever existed upon this earth; in the name of all her defenders and of all her supporters; in the name of all her soldiers living; in the name of all her soldiers dead upon the field of battle; and in the name of those who perished in the skeleton clutch of famine at Andersonville and Libby, whose sufferings he so vividly remembers. Illinois— -Illinois nominates for the next Presi- 3P FAnV.4RD m Llll:R, LORD t.YTTON dent of this country that jirincc of inirlianicnlaiians, that leader of leaders, James Ci. lilaine. THE LAST OF THE ROMAN TRIBUNES Py F.DWAKD lU i.WKR, LoKD Lytion, Novelist. I'l.iy wriijht. Essayist, . Tot-t, Suitcsm.iii. llorii in LonJuii, KinjUiml, 1803; died ii> TDrcjuay, Kngland, 1S73. Krom tlie novel " Ricnii," published by George Routledge and Sons, London and New York. Ricnzi, the Roman Senator, \vas at the Capitol awaiting the mob. On they came, no longer in measured order, as stream after stream — from lane, from alley, from palace, and from hovel — the raging sea received new additions. On they came — their passions excited by their numbers — women and men, children and malignant age — in an awful array of aroused, released, unresisted physical strength and brutal wrath. " Death to the traitor — death to the tyrant — death to him who has taxed the people! " Suddenly came a dead silence, and on the balcony above stood Rienzi — his head was bared and the morning sun shone over that lordly brow, and the hair grown gray before its time, in the service of that maddening multitude. Pale and erect he stood — neither fear, nor anger, nor menace — but deep grief and high resolve — upon his features! A momen- tary shame — a momentary awe seized the crowd. He pointed to the Gonfalon, wrought with the Republican motto and arms of Rome, and thus he began : " I too am a Roman and a citizen! hear me! " "Hear him not! Plear him not! His false tongue can charm away our senses! Hear him not! down with the tyrant! Hear him not! death to the death-giver! " From earth to heaven rose the roar — " Down with the tjTant — down with him who taxed the people! " A shower of stones rattled on the mail of the Senator, — still he stirred not. No changing muscle betokened fear. THE LAST OF THE ROMAN TRIBUNES 343 He stood collected in his own indignant but determined thoughts! Darts and arrows began to darken the air; and now a voice was heard shrieking, " Way for the torches! " Straw, and wood, and litter were piled hastily round the door of the Capitol, and the smoke curled suddenly up, beating back the rush of the assailants. Rienzi was no longer visible; an arrow had pierced his hand — the right hand that supported the flag of Rome — the right hand that had given a constitution to the Republic. He retired from the storm into the desolate hall. He sat down; and tears, springing from no weak and woman source, but tears from the loftiest fountain of emotion — tears that befit a warrior when his own troops desert him — a patriot when his countrymen rush to their own doom — a father when his children rebel against his love, — tears such as these forced themselves from his eyes and relieved, bu* i/iey changed, his heart ! "Enough, enough!" he said, rising and dashing the" drops scornfully away; " I have risked, dared, toiled enough for this dastard and degenerate race. I renounce the thought of which they are so little worthy! — Let Rome perish! — I feel, at last, that I am nobler than my country-! — she deserves not so high a sacrifice! " Death lost all the nobleness of aspect it had before pre' sented to him. His active mind ran over the chances o\ disguise — of escape; he left the hall — passed through the humbler rooms,- — found in one of them a coarse working- garb — indued himself with it — placed upon his head some of the draperies and furniture of the palace, as if escaping with them. With that he awaited his occasion. Meanwhile the flames burnt fierce and fast; the proud Capitol of the Caesars was already tottering to its fall! Now was the time! — he passed the flaming door — the smoldering threshold; he passed the outer gate unscathed — he was in the middle of the crowd. The mob rushed past him — he went on — he gained the last stair descending into the open 344 h:nii.4Rn lU'l.HT.R, LORD lYTTON streets — he wus at tin- last gate — liberty ami life were before liiin. A soklier (oiu' of his own) seizeil him. " Pass not — whitlier goest tliou ? " "Beware lest the Senator escape disguised!" cried a voice behind. " I am a .*~^enator! " he said in a loud voice. " Who dare touch the representative of the people .' " The multitude were round him in an instant. Not led, but rather hurried and whirled along, the Senator was borne to the Place of the Lion. There arrived, the crowd gave way, terrified by the greatness of their victim. The whole Capitol wrapped in fire, lighted with ghastly pomp the im- mense multitude. Down the long vista of the streets extended the fiery light and the serried throng, till the crowd closed with the gleaming standards of the Colona — the Orsini — the Savelli ! Her true tyrants were marching into Rome! As the sound of their approaching horns and trumpets broke upon the burning air, the mob seemed to regain their courage. Rienzi prepared to speak ; his first word was as the signal of his own death. "Die, tyrant!" cried del Vecchio; and he j)lunged his dagger into the Senator's breast. " Die, executioner of Montreal! " muttered Villani; and his was the second stroke. Rienzi, without a word, without a groan, fell to the earth — as the roaring waves of the multi- tude closed over him. A vast volume of smoke obscured the fires afar off; then came a dull crash, and the next moment, the towers of the Capitol had vanished from the scene, and one intense and sullen glare seemed to settle over the atmosphere, — making all Rome itself the funeral pyre of the last of the Roman tribunes! APPENDIX. PROPER NAMES FOUND IN THE PRECEDING SELECTIONS AND WORDS OFTEN MISPRO- NOUNCED. KEY OF SIGNS AND DIACRITICAL MARKS. fate, ah, all, care, at, ask, final ; gve, let, fern, silirnt ; ice, ill ; Sid, orb, 6dd ; Qse, up, urn ; pity ; mOon, book ; out, oil ; chair ; go; sing ; ///en, thin ; zh like z in azure. abdomen — ab-do'men, not ab'do- nien. abject — ab'jekt, not ah-jeki'. ablative — iib'la-iiv, not ab"l-ilv'. abstemious — ab-ste'mius, not ab- siem'i us. acclimate— ak-kli'mat, not ak'kli- niat. accouter — ak-koo'trr, not ak- kt>u'ter. accurate — ak'kfi-rat, not ak'ker-it. acquiesce — ai<-kwi-e>'. not -esk. across — likros, ttot a-krosi'. acumen— a-ku'men, wc^ak'n-men. address (noun and verb) — ad-dre^'. adept (noun and adj.) — a-dgpi'. Adonis — a-do'nis. adult — :i dull'. aerie — e ri or a'er-i. again — agen', not a-gSn'. against — a-gensi'. (adj ) — a'jril, not ajii. albumen — al-bu'men. Aldebaran — al-de-ba-ran' or 2.1- deb'a ran. alien — al'virn, not al'i-2n. allopathy — al-l6p'a-tby. alloy (noun and verb) — al-loi'. ally— al-li'. almond — ii'mund. almost — al'most, not al'must. Alpaca — al-pak'a not al-apak'a. Alpine — al'pin or -pin. alternate (noun and adj.) — S.1- ter'nate, riot al- always — al'waz, not al'wuz. amateui — am'ater or am'a tQr'. Amherst — am'erst, not am'herst. amenable — li-me'na-b'l, not a- men'- anarchist — an'ar-klst. anchovy— an-clio'vy. aniiiinciate — an-nun'shi-5t. antarctic — int-ark'iik, not int-iir' tik. Antilles — an tll'les. 345 346 U OKI ).s ( )/ / /: ;V .V/;.s7 \V( ),VOi NCl-D. antipode — Ai»'i1-|h"k1, /-«/ antlp'O- applicable— Ai/pllk-a-bl, «<•/■ Ap- plik'.l-b'l. appraiser— Ap-pia/'ti, no/ ;"i p- l)lI/'cT. appreciate — :'ip-prc shi-at, iu>i :\p- pu" >i-.lt. Arab- ;^i':1l). Aramaic — ar-;i-ma'lk. archangel — ark-.ln'jcl. archbishop— arch-blsli'fip. archipelago — iirk-i pel'a-go, ttot arch- arctic— iirk'tlk, tto/ ilr'tlk. artificer — ar-tU'I-sSr. Asia— a'shid. associate— as-sO'shl-at, not -si at. athlete — ath'lct, not aih'l-gt. Attila— ai il-a. attorney — at-tur'ny, no/ at-t6r'i)5^. attribute — at-irib Qt, no/ at-trib'- it. audacious — a-da'shus, not a-dash' us. aurochs — a roks. Austerlitz — as'ter-lits. auxiliary — agz-il'ya-ry. aversion — a-ver'shun, no/ -zhuii. ay (yes)— I. aye (always) — a. B bacillus — ba-sil'lus. bade — bad. banana — ba-nii'na, no/ ban-an'a. Basil — ba'zil, }io/ ba'sil. Bastile — bas-tel' or bas'tel. because — be-kaz', fio/ be-kiiz'. been — bin, ben in England, ne-.tr ben. Beethoven — ba'io-wn. believe — belev', «(»/ bl5v. beloved (adj.) — bg-luv'6d. beloved (part.; bc-liivd'. beneficent — Le-nef'I-sfnt, no/ ben- c-lisaVni. beneath — Lg-tie///' or be-ngth' betroth — be troth'. Bingen — bins^'gn, tio/ bing'ggn. biography — Iji-Gg'ra-fJ-. Bismarck -blz'niiirk. bitumen — bl-in'mgn, no/ blt'yC- luiMI. bivouac — Mv'wak or biv'OO-ak. blithe \Mlh. not bllth. boisterous — boistCr-us, no/ bois'- iri'is. bomb — bcini or biim. bombast bnin'ljast or bfini'bast. Bonhomme Richard — bo-nom' iC- sliiii '. bouquet— buo-ka', no/ bO-ka'. bow-legged — bo'legd, no/ bo'leg- C(l. bowsprit — bo' sprit, no/ bou'sprit. bravado — bra-va'dO. breeches — brich'Cz. bronchitis — brong-kl'ils. brooch — broch, no/ brOOch. bulwark — boolwurk or -wark. buoy — bwoi or boi, no/ boo'i. butcher — boOch'er, no/ boO'cher. cabriolet — kab-rI-0-la'. Caesar ea — ses-a-rg'a. canine — ka-nin'. canon — kan'ytin. carbine— kiir'blii. caricature — kar'l-ka-tOr. cartridge — kar'trij, no/ kat'rij. catch — kach, no/ kech. Caucasus — ka'ktf-sus, no/ ka-kas'- us. cello — chcl'lO. cement (noun) — sem'ent or sg- nient'. cerement — sgr'm^nt. certain — ser'tin, not ser'ian. Chaldea — kal-dg'a. chap (jaw.) — ch6p. Charlemagne — shar'l6-man or cliar'- chary — char'^ or cha'ry. chastisement — chas'iiz-m^tit, not chas-ilz'mi'iit. Cheyenne — shl 6n' or she-fin'. Chicago — shi-ka'gO, no/ shi-ka'gO. Chinese — chl-ngz' or -ngs'. circular — ser'ku-lar, no/ ser'ker- lar. IVORDS OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED. 347 clapboard — klab'bord (ttof klSp'- bord). cleanly (adj.) — klen'ly. cleanly (adv.) — klgn'ly. clique^klek, not klik. coadjutor — ko ad ju'ler, not kO- ad'jQ-ter. cocoa — ko'ko. cognomen — kog-nO'men, «<^'/kog'- iiO-men. coigne — koin. column — korriin, not koryum. combatant — k6m'bat-(iiu. comely — kum'ly, tw/ kOm'ly. Commodus — kom'nio-dus. comrade — kom'rad or kom'-rad. concave — kon'kav or kijng'kav. condolence — kon-do'lens, not kon'- do-lCns. congeries — kon-je'ri-ez. conjure (juggle) — kun'jur. conjure (implore) — kon-jure . conscientious — k 6 n-sh i-e n'shus, not kon-si-en'shus. constitution — kon-sii-tQ'shun, not kons-tu'shun. contumacy — kon'iu-ma-sy, not kon-tu'ma-sy. conversant — k6n'ver-s«nt. copse — kops, ftot kops. corps — kOr, plural korz. courier — kOo'ri-er or koor'i-er. courtesy (civility) kur'te-sy ; (salu- tation) kurt'sy. courtier — kOrt'yer. covetous — kuv'et-us. coyote— kl'o-te or kl'ot. cupola — kQ'po-la, ttot ku'pa-lo. cursed (adj.) — kurs'ed. curtain — kur'tin, not kiir'tan. dais — da'is. damage — dam'aj, not dam'ij. Daniel — dan'i-gl or dan'ygl. daub — dab, not d6b. daunt — dant. deaf— def or def. Decatur — dg-ka'tur. decease — deses'. deco ous — de-ko'rus ^r dgk'o rus. decrepit — de-krgp'lt, not de krgp'- Id. deficit — def i-sit, not dg-fis'it. demesne— dg-men'. denunciate — de-nun'shi-at, not dg-nuii'sl-at. depot — de'po or da-po' or dep'O, not da po. depreciate — dg-prg'shiat, not dS- pre'siat. De Quincey — de kwin'si, not kwin'- zi. Desaiz — dos-sa'. despicable — des'pik-il-b'l, not d6s- plk'a-b'l. desuetude —des'wg-tud. devil— duv"l, not dgv'il. dififerent— dif'fer-,?nt, not dif'rSnt. diphtheria — dif-thg'ri-a or dip- diphthong — dif'thong or dip- direct — di-rect', not dirgct'. discern— diz-zern'. disputant — dis'pQ-tant. doth — diith. draught — draft, drought— drout. drouth — drouth. duty — dQ'ty, not daQ'if. economic — g-kO-nom'ik or Sk-o- Edinburgh — 6d'in-bur-o, not ed'- in-burg. education— ed-ii-ka'shun, not ej- oo-ka'shun. e'er — ar or ar, not 6r. eh — a or e. either — e't/ier or I't/icv. El Caney — al ka'ney. Elgin (Illinois.)— gl'jin ; (mar- bles) — gl'gln. embroglio— em-brol'yo. English — Iiig'glish, not eng'gllsh. enquiry — en-kvvir'y. envelope — eii'vel-op or anSvl-op. epitome — g-plt'o me. ere — ar or ar. Eretria — g-re tri-a. erysipelas —eri sip'g-las, not er, I :-ip'e las. 4S // ■( )A7).s ( )/ 77 .V ,\//.s7'A'( ),V( )l 'NCHD. eioteric — Cs-5-icr Ik. Esquimaux — Cs'kI-(nO/. Esther — Os'iei. not fs'ihcr. every Ov'cr-J-, «<»/ Cv'rJ-. evil c'vl, tiof C'vll exchequer — Oks-diCk'er. extant — eks't.nu. eyrie— il'r5- t>r O't) . facade — fa-sfid' or lii-siid'. facile — f;\s'il. falcon — lu'k'ii. Faneuil — I'Ad'uI. faucet — la'sOi. fetich — fo'iish. finale— fc-iiii'la. financier — fin'-ilii-sCr'. flaccid — flak'sC-d. forensic — fO-rcn'slk, no/ -uk. forehead — fOr'cd. fountain — foun tin, >ii>i foiin'iiiii Frances — fran'sCz. Francis — fraii'^is. fungi — fun'jl. Gaeta — gii-a' lii. gallant (bravei — gal'laiit. gallant (cliivalruus) — gal-laiu' gamin — gaiu'iti. gamut— gfun'fit. gather — galh'cr, ;/<>/ getli'cr. gauge -gaj. gaunt — giiiit. Gaza — ga za. Gellius — jOl'i-us. Gennesaret — gcii-ncs'u-rct. Genoa — jun'o-ii. genuine — jun'fi-iii. gherkin — ger'kin. gibbet — jib'bc!. gin (machine) — jin. glacier — glii'sher cr glas'l-er. Golgotha — gol'go-tha. Grahame — gram. Greve — giav. Grierson — grCr'si^n. Grosvenor — grdv'ner. Guido — gwg'dO. guild— gild. gules— gnl/ gums — giimz, ti<'/ gOOmz. Gutenburg — guO'tCii-borg. H harass— liar'./s. haunt — liiiiit. hautboy — lio'boi, Hawaii— liiiwrc;. Hayti— lia'tl. hearth — liiirth. height— lilt, 110/ huh. heinous — ha'nus. heraldic — liC-ral'dik. herb — urb i>r herb. Herculean — hcr-ku'IC-an. Herve Riel — cr-va re-el'. hiccough — hi k'kiip. history — his'to-ry. homage — hom'aj. homoeopathy —ho iiiCop'a-thy. homogeneity — hO-mO-je-ng'it-J^. hoof — hoilf, )i(}/ hoof. horizon — lio-rrzon. hovel — h6v'el. hover — hnv'er. humble — hum'b'l. humor — hu'mer or u'mer. hyperbole — li!-[^e I 'bo-lg. hypocrisy — hi-pok'ri-sy. Icarus— ik'a-rus. ideal— I-dC'<*I, no/ i'dC-al. idyl— I'dil or Id'il. Ik Marvel— Ik miir-vgl, noi ik. Illinois — i!-lin-oi' or Il-IIn-oiz', no/ el. illustrated— il-ius'ira-iC-d, no/ iV- liis-tra-tcd. imbroglio— im-brcryo. impious— impl-us. impotence— im'pO-t^'ns. inaugurate- In-ag'Q-rat, no/ In- a'giir-at. inchoate — in kOat. incomparable — i n-k 6 m'pa ra-b'I, no/ In-kom-par'ab'l. indict — in dii'. IVORDS OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED. 349 indisputable — in-dis'pri-td-b'I. indissoluble — in-dis'so-lil-b'l. infamous — in'fa-mus. Ingelow — in'je-Io. inquiry — in-kwi'ry, no( In'kwir-y. integral — in'te-gnil, noi in-tg'gral. interested — iti'ier-ested, not in- ler-est'ed. interlocutor — In-ter-Iok'yii-ter. intrigue — In-treg'. inveigh — in-va'. inveigle — in-vg'g'l. inventory — iii'ven-tO-ry. Iowa — i'o-wa, no/ I-o'wa. irrefragable — ir-ref ra-ja-b'l. irregular — ir-rSg'u-ler, )to( ir- reg'er-ler. irrevocable — Ir-rev'd-kfi-b'l, not ir-re-vo'ka-b'I. isolate — I'so-lat or is'o-Iat. Italian — i-tal'yrtn, not I-tal'y^n. Ivry — iv'ry or ev'r5^. Jacob — ja'kob, not ja'kiip. Jairus — ja I'rus. January — jan'yu-a-ry^. jaunty — jan'ty. jocund— jok'tind. joust — just or joost. jugular — ju'gu-lar. Juliet — ju'li-et. Kansas — kan'sas or zas. kiln — kil, not kiln. Kossuth — kosh'oot . label— la'bel, not la'b'l. laboratory — lab'5-ra-to-ry, not lab'ra-to-ry. laird — lard, lamentable — lam'en-ta-b'I, not la- munt'a-b'I. languor — lang'gwer. Larmes — larmz. larynx— lar'lnks. laugh — laf. launch — liinch. 1 aunder — I an'd e r. laundry — lan'dry. learned — lern'ed. leash — lesh. leave — lev, not lef. legate — iSg'at, not Je'gat. leisure— le'zhQr or lezh'ur, not la'zhur. Lentulus — lent'yu-lus. lethargy — leth'ar-jy. lever — le'ver or lev'er. library — ll'bra-ry. licorice— lik'o-ris, not lik'o-rlsh. lief —lef, 71 o( lev. literature — lit'er-a-tur. Lodi — lo'de. loggia— lod'ja. lower (threaten) — lou'er. Lucknow — luk'now. Luzon — Ifi-zon' or -z6n. lyceum — li-sg'um, not ll'se-um. M Madrid— mad-rid'. Magdala — mag'da-la. Magdalen (college) — mod'lln. manoeuvring — ma-nu vring, not ma-nu'ver-ing. manufactory — man-yu-fak'to-ry, not man-yu-fak'chu-ry. Marseillaise — miir-sa-yaz'. Massachusetts— mas-a-chu'sets. Matanzas — ma-tan'zas. matron — ma' trim, mausers — mou'zers. mayoralty — ma'er-al-ty. measure — mezh'ur, not ma'zhur. Melas — ma'Iiis. memoir — mem'wor or mgm'. memory — mem'o-ry, not mem'ry. Messala — me-sa'la. Metz — mgts. Michael — mi'kel or ml ka-el. microscopy — mi kros'ko-py. Milan — mll'an or mil-an'. Millet — me-ya'. mineralogy — -min er-al'o-jy, not -ol'o-jy mischievous — mis'che-vus, not mis-che vus. J.->* iroRns o/TFs .\fisrh'o\of\'ci:n model —nulil'C'l. fii'f inoil'l. molecule — nuM'C-kOl, »of mOl'knl. Moultrie-mOO'tiF cr ninoi'lrl, Monroe — miin lu'. mountain — inmm'tlii, not mouri'- I'li I'r moiin'lXn. Mozart — mO'7:irl <'r mO'tsUrt. museum — nin-7C'um. rxi'/ mn'zc- Ulll. mustache— mils- t;ish'. mystery — mis'tcr-^', not mls'ir5'. N naivete — na Cv-ta'. naked — iia'kcd, not nC-k'Od. nape — nSp, not nip. Napier — na'pC-er. nascent — nas'^-nt, not nS's^'nt. ne'er — nar or iiar, ttot nCr. neither — n57//er or ni't/ier. nephew — nOf'n or nev'u. neuralgia — nO-ral'ji-a, not nu- ral'ja or nfi-ral'i-j^'. new — nu, not nOO. New Orleans — or'lg-anz, not 6r- ICnz'. Nicaragua — ng'ca-ra-gwa. niche — nich. nominative — nOm'i-na-tIv, not nuni'nd-tiv. nonchalently — n6n'sha-lant-lj^'. none—nun, not nOne. nothing — luith'ing. oaths — ui/iz, not Oths, obeisance — o-be's«ns or u-ba' oblique — ob-lgk' or -Ilk'. often — 6i"n, «t rep-er-zent'a-tiv. reputation — rep'u-la'shun, not rep-er-. research — re-serch'. resource — ^re-sors'. reveille — re-val'ya. " /» t k e United Stales service commonly rev'a-le'." — Webster. revocable — rev'o-ka-b'l. ridiculous — ri-dik'u-lus, not rl-dik' er-. Rigel — rl'jel or re'jel. rinse — rins, not rens. Eio Grande — ri'o grand or re'o griin'da. rise (noun) — ris or riz. robust — ro-bust'. Rodriguez — ro-dre'geth. roof — roof, not roof. room — room, not room. root — root, tiot root. roseate — ro'zg-at. route — root or rout. routed — rout'ed. routine — roo-ten'. S Saarbriick — sar'bruck. sachem — sa'chirm. Sadowa — sado'wa. Sagasta — sa-gas'tii. Samoa — sa-mo'ii. St. Louis — sant loo'Is or loo'i. San Juan — san hoo-an'. sanguine — sang'gwin. Santiago — san-te-a'go. satin — sat'in, iiot sat"n. savage — sav'aj, not sav'ij. schismatic — siz-mat'ik. Schurz — shoorts. secretary — se k'r e-ta-r J^, not sek'er-. Sedan — se-dan'. sergeant — sar'jVnt or ser-. sesame — ses'a-me. Sesostris — se-s6stris. sesterce — ses'ters. several — sev'er-al, not sev'raL sheik — shek. shone — shon or shon. shriek — shrek, not screk. shrill — shril, not scril. since — sins, not s6ns. sloth— sloth or sloth. slough (cast-off skin) — sluf. slough (pit)— slou. Solferino — s61-fe-re'no. spoon — spoon, not spoon, squalor — skwa'lor or skwol'er. St. Domingo — do-ming'go. stalwart — stol'wert or stol'wert, not stal-. steady — sted'y, not stid'y. stint — stint, not stent, strategic— stra-te'jik or -tej'ik. succinct — suk-singkt', twt sus-. superfluous — su-per'flu-iis, not su- per-flu'us. tabernacle — tab'er-na-k'l, not tab'na-k'l. taunt — tant. tedious — te'di-us or ted'yus. tenable — t6n'a-b'l. tenet — tfin'et. tepid — lep'id. therefore — thar'for or ther'fSr. Thoreau — tho'ro or th5-ro'. tiny — tl'ny. tortoise— lor'tis or -tfis. TouBsaint L'Ouverture — too-san* loo-ver-lui'. 352 // '( )AV ).s ( )/ I UN MIsrK( ),V( )l JNCED. toward- uTcrd. Trafalgar— traf-ai-Riir'. tranquil — li;lii_i;'k\vil. Transvaal — trans-viir. travail — trav'ill. tremor — tre'niOr or trcin'Oi. troth — troth. trough — trOf, not trOth. turbine — tfir'bln. Turin — tn'rin. turquoise— iur-k(iiz'c>/- -kgz'. XT ugh — 66. umbrella — um-brSl'la, not um- bril'lii. unguent — ung gwgnt. usage — uz'aj, not us'aj. usurpation — u-zur-pa'shun. Utah — Q'tii or u'ta. vagary — va-ga'ry. not va'ga-r};-. valet — val'et or val'a. valuable— val'u-a-b'l, not val'u-b'l. vanquish — van g'k wish. Varinius — va-rin'i-iis. vase— vas or viiz. vaudeville — vod'vil. vaunt — vant or vant. vehement — ve'he-m^nt. Vendee — von -da'. Versailles— ver-salz'. vicar — vik'er. vignette — vin-yfit' or vin'ygt. Vinicius — vl-nlsh'l-us. Villages — vC-l6-g6sh'. viscount — vl'kount. visor — viz'er, not vl'zcr. Volturnus— v6l-tur'nus. W wan — won, not wan. wary — wa'rv. Waterloo — wa-ior-loO'. Wellesley — welz'iy. Weyler — wa'Ier. wharf — hwiirf, 7iot warf. whene'er — hwcn-ar' or -ar, not hwen-gr'. which — hwlch, not wich. whole— hoi. whooping — hoop ing, tiot h66p'- ing. wont (custom) — wuni, won't — wont. Worcester — woos'ter. wound — vvoond or wound, wreaths — rethz, not rgths. youths — vQths. Zaccheus — zak-g'us. zoology — zo-Ol'o-jy, not zoo-6l 'o- Zuyder Zee — zi'der ze. INDEX OF AUTHORS Anonymous, 73, 83, 149, 292, 296 Baker, Edward Dickinson, 332 Beecher. Henry Ward, 112, 116 Beveruk;e, Albert Jeremiah, 324 Bl.vine, James Gillespie, 14.2, 302 Boyesen, Hjalmar IIjorth, 92 Bright, John, 205 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 189, 208 Browning, Robert, 118, 309 Burritt, Elihu, 256 Carleton. Will, 172, 280 Chamberlain, Joshua Law- rence, 39 Chapin, Edwin Hubbell, 75, 239 Chatham. Lord, 91 Child, Lydia Maria, 120 Clay', Henry, 78 CoppEE, Francois, 153 Coudert, P'redekic Rene, 278 Cousins, Robert G., 223 Curtis, George William, 136 Davis, Richard Harding. 17 228 Depew, Chauncey Mitchell. 166 Dickinson. Anna Elizabeth, 220 Dkomgoole, Will Allen. 31 Eliot, Charles William, 263 Erye, William Pierce, 5, 86, 145, 294 GouGii, John Bartholomew, 179 Grady', Henry Woodfen, 248, 289, 313 Grant, Robert, 48 Grattan, Henry, 254 Hale, Edward Everett, 57 Hay, John, 43, 322 HiLLis, Newell Dwight, 26 Hoar, George Frisbie, 80, 88, 133, 185 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 225 Howells. William Dean, 199 Hugo, Victor Marie, 69 Hyde, William DeWitt, 98 Ingersoll, Robert Green, 326, 335. 340 Johnson, Henry U., 5 Kellogg, Elijah. 299 King, Charles, r :35? o54 INDEX or .-ILr/HOKS Lincoln, Abraham, 196 LiiTARU, Gkorcie, 1S2, 275 l.lTTLKKIELl), CllAKLKS E. , I I4 LoUGE, Henry Cabot, 11,30, 51, 170, 197, 24O Long, John Davis, 59, 124, 211, 273 Longfellow, IIknkv Wads- worth, 62 Lowell, Robert Traill Spence, 243 Lytton, Lord, 342 McClike, Alexander Kelly, 177 McDowell, James, 214 McKiNLEY, William, 20, 260, 306 Meai;iier, Thomas Francis, 304 Moore, Maude, 7 Nason, Emma Huntington, 262 Page, Thomas Nelson, 108 Parker, Theodore, 158 Parkhurst, Charles Henry, 146 Phillips, Wendell, 307 Porter, Horace, 206, 241 Read, Thomas Buchanan, 163 Reade, Charles, 38 Reed, Thomas ISracketi-, 152, 194 Riley, James Wihtcom)!, 127, 234 Russell, William Eustis, 232 Sargeni, Epes, 156 SciiuRZ, Carl, 71 SiHLEY, Joseph C, 336 SlENKlEWICZ, HkNRYK, 316 Sill, Edward Rowland, 103 Smith, William Hawley, 331 Stockton, Robert Field, 265 Storrs, Richard Salter, 286 Taylor, Benjamin F'ranklin, 23 Thompson, Maurice, 267 Thurston, John Mellen, 28, 66, 105, 130, 187 Trowbridge, John Townsend, 138 Van Dyke, Henry, 53, 217 Wallace, Lew, 251 W^ashington, Booker Talia- ferro, 122, 160, 271 Watterson, Henry, 55, 06, loi Webster, Daniel, 106 Weld, Theodore Dwigiit, 328 WHiTiMAN, Walt, 181 WoLCOTT, Edward Oliver, 15 INDEX OF TITLES PACK Against Expansion Ht-nry U. Johnson 45 Against Flogging in the Navv. . .Robert Field Stockton 265 Against Imperialism George Frisbie Hoar 185 Against the Fugitive-Slave Law. Theodore Parker 158 Against the Spoils System Henry van Dyke 53 Agencies in Our National Prog- ress Alexander Kelly McClure. ... 177 American Battle-Flags Carl Schurz 71 America's Mission Albert Jeremiah Beveridge.. . . 324 Appeal to the People, An John Bright 205 At the Tomb of Napoleon Robert Green Ingersoll ..... 335 Assault on Fort Wagner , .Anna Elizabeth Dickinson.. . . 220 Banty Tim John Hay 43 Bell-Ringer of '76, The Anonymous 73 Benediction, The Fran9ois Coppee 153 Bible, The Newell Dwight Hiliis 26 Blue and the Gray. The Henry Cabot Lodge 246 Boat-Race, The Robert Grant 48 Brier-Rose Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen 92 Chariot-Race. The Lew Wallace 251 Charles Sumner George William Curtis 136 Citizen's Responsibility, A .William McKinley 306 City of New York, The Frederic Rene Coudert 278 Claudius and Cynthia .Maurice Thompson 267 Columbian Oration Chauncey Mitchell Depew. . .. 166 Commonwealth of Massachu- setts, The William Eustis Russell 232 Cuba William Pierce Frye 145 Dangerous Legislation James McDowell 214 Daniel Webster George Frisbie Hoar 88 Death Bripge of the Tay, The.. .Will Carleton 172 355 356 INDEX OF TlTl.rS PAr.K l)EAiu ov Charles thk Ninth. . . ..Maiulc Moore 7 Death of Garkiei.d, The James Gillespie Blaine 142 Death ok Rodrigiez Kichani 1 laniing Davis 228 Death Penalty, The Nictnr Marie liuj:;o 60 Dedication ok Gettysiu rc. Ceme- tery. The Ahraham Lincoln 196 Eyangeline, From Ilcmy \Vad^\vol•tll Longfellow 62 Fight Okk Santiago Henry Cabot Lodge 36 First Settler's Story Will Carleton 2S0 F'ool's Prayer, The Edward Rowland Sill 103 Forefathers' Day. ., John Davis Long 211 For Expansion Joseph C. Sibky 336 Grant William McKinley 260 Great Britain and America Edwin Oliver Wolcott 15 Greek Revolution, The Henry Clay 78 Heart ok Old Hickory, Thk Will Allen Dromgoole 31 Herve Riel Robert Bn.wning 189 Horace Greei.ky Henry Ward Beeclier 116 Incident of the French Camp. . . . Robert Browning 118 Incident in the Like ok Wen- dell Phillips, An Theodore D. Weld 32S Jim Bludso John Hay 322 Knee-Dekp in June James Whitcomb Riley 127 Lark, The Charles Reade 38 Last of the Roman Tribunes, 'J'HE.Lord Lytton 342 Let Us Have Peace Henry Watterson 96 Liberty and Union Daniel Webster 106 Lincoln : A Man Called ok God. .John Mellen Thurston 130 Maiden Martyr, The Anonymous 83 ^L\iNE at Gettysburg Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain 39 Man Who Wears the Button, The ,,.,,,. John Mellen Thurston 105 Man Without a Country, The.. . .Edward Everett Hale 57 Mass.vchusptts Plenry Cabot Lodge 170 Meagher's Dekense Thomas Francis Meagher. , . . 304 3Iess.>c;b from the Sol'TH, A I?(«>ker Tii].iaferro VVashingtoji 160 INDEX OF TITLES 357 PAGE Mission of the Public School, The. William DeWitt Hyde 98 Monroe Doctrine, The John Mellen Thurston 66 Mother and Poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning . . 208 iNfR. Travers's First Hunt Richard Harding Davis 17 New Americanism Henry Watterson 55 New England Character James Gillespie Blaine 302 New England Civilization William Pierce Frye 5 New South, The Henry Woodfen Grady 313 Not Guilty Anonymous 296 O Captain ! my Captain ! Walt Whitman 18 1 One Niche the Highest Elihu Burritt 256 On Receiving the Master's De- gree from Harvard Booker Taliaferro Washington 271 On the Other Train Anonymous 149 Opportunity to Labor, The Thomas Brackett Reed ic2 Other Fellow, The] William Hawley Smith .... 33 r Our Duty to the Philippines William McKinley 20 Our National Flag Henry Ward Beecher 112 Our Pledge to Puerto Rico Charles E. Littlefield. 114 Our Rich Heritage John Mellen Thurston 187 Oxford County John Davis Long 59 Path of Duty, The George Frisbie Hoar 80 Pheidippides Robert Browning 309 Piety and Civic Virtue Charles Henry Parkhurst. . . . 146 Pilot's Story, The William Dean Howells 199 Plea for Cuba, A John Mellen Thurston 28 Plumed Knight, The Robert Green IngersoU 340 Power of Habit, The John Bartholomew Gough .... 179 Protection of Americans in Ar- menia William Pierce Frye 294 Puritan Sabbath, The Henry van Dyke. . , 217 Puritan Spirit, The Richard Salter Storrs 286 Ray's Ride Charles King i Relief of Lucknow Robert Traill Spence Lowell. . 243 Reply to Mr. Corry Henry Grattan 254 Rescue of Lygia, The Henryk Sienkiewicz 316 Reverence for the Flag Horace Porter 241 Revolutionary Rising, The Thomas Buchanan Read 163 Rider of thp Black Horse, Thk. .George Lippard, ,,,,,,.,,,, lit .vSS /A7)/;-.V or 11 ILLS Siiiooi.s AND Colleges ok Oi:r Coi'NTRY, The ("li;\rks William Eliot 263 Seckei" of Lincoln's rowEK, 'Ihe.. Henry \\ attLrson loi SltlMllCANCE OF THE Si'ANISlI WaK, The John Davis l.ong 124 Soldier Hoy, The John Davis Loni^' 273 SoLDU'R of the Empire, A Thonuis Nelson I'age loS Soldier's Faith, The Oliver Wendell Holmes 225 Solution of the Southern Prou- l.EM, The liooker Taliaflrro Washington 122 South and Her Problkms, Thk. . . Henry Woodfen (jrady 2S9 Southern Negro, The Henry Woodfen Grady 248 Spartacus to the Gladiators Elijah Kellogg 299 Spartacus to the Roman Envoys. Epes Sargent 156 Spate of Maine, The William Pierce Frye 80 Storming of Mission Ridge, The.. Benjamin Franklin Taylor. . . 23 Supposed Speech of James Otis . . .Lydia Maria Child 120 To THE Grand Army of the Re- public Thomas Brackett Reed 194 ToussAiNT L'OuvERTURE Wendell Phillips 307 To Young Men of New York Edward Dickinson Baker 332 Traditions of Massachusetts, The Henry Cabot Lodge 12 Traveler's Story, The James Whitcomb Riley 234 Tribute to Gen. Sherm.\n, A Horace Poner 206 Tribute to the Men of the M.vine, a Robert G. Cousins 223 Triumph of Peace, The Edwin Hubbell Chapin 75 True Americanism Henry Cabot Lodge 197 True Power of a Nation, The Edwin Hubbell Chapin 239 True War Spirit, The George Frisbie Hoar 133 Unknown Speaker, The George Lippard 275 Unter den Linden Emma Huntington Nason. . . . 262 Vagabonds, The John Townsend Trowbridge. . 138 Victor of Marengo, The Anonymous 292 Vision of War, A Robert Green Ingersoll 326 War with America, The Lord Clialham 91 What the Flag Means Henry Cabot l^jdge 51 r> I'll 111 |jui.i MAR 81 1931 JUfi X ^ 193X FEB '^ ]933 MR^' 1 7 1934 I 130 tio^ '^ ^33* FEB 4 1935 m ^^ ^H ^/ir ;? OCT '^ kM ^^ tiiv2-5^ ^omi L-9— 35)»-5 ,'28 D^:: 3 1942 'JUN 9 W7 •'AN 3 1948 ^mv !?2 194« APR 2 3 1S53 4201 Mitchell - M69-Scliool^ai cop.l college 8f>©ak§rv DEMCO 2t4N 4201 M69 cop.l L 009 567 702 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 001 232 638 5 UNIVKKSJTY ot CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES LIBRARY